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smurphyse · 3 years ago

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Butterflies and Lavender

Part 2 of Room 405

Masterlist

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: 5,708

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Warnings: Phone sex, mutual masturbation, sex toys, remote control sex toys, praise/degradation, orgasm denial, ruined orgasm, little bit more angst at the end

***If you choose to read, you're responsible for the content you consume. Don't come at me about it and minors DNI***

Summary: Spencer plans a surprise for the reader, but gets called away at the last minute, leaving you to enjoy it on your own... with a few instructions from him.

You sighed as you stepped up to Room 405. It had been a long day, made longer still by the need to stay late and go over some paperwork. It was 7:15, and you were running late.

As you opened the door, preparing for the disappointment of having a shit day, a shit week, and not having Spencer on the other side, you gasped.

The living room was covered in rose and lavender bouquets, soft candlelight gleaming off the petals and glass. The scent hit you as you stepped inside, leaning against the door with your mouth agape as you tried to see through the ocean of flora.

Every surface had a bouquet on it, the glittering vases shining. You stepped forward to the nearest one, brushing your fingers over some of the soft petals and breathing in deep. Spencer was usually a vanilla guy, leaving you with vanilla bubbles and rubbing you down with shea butter after the two of you shared a dip, but already he’d outdone himself tonight.

You spotted a wide flat black box on one of the tables, embedded between a sea of flowers, a familiar cream colored envelope slipped between the satin ribbon and the plush cushioned box.

You couldn’t deny that your heart sank a little at the sight of the letter, but the flowers had been just the right touch to keep you happy despite the fact that you wouldn’t touch Spencer tonight.

You pulled the envelope from the box, smiling at Spencer’s chicken scratch. Your name was hastily written on the front, and you ran your fingertips over the indent the black ink made on the thick paper. You opened it and pulled out the note, excited to see what Spencer had planned for you.

Sweetheart,

Upon our meeting last week, I realized Valentine’s Day went and passed me by. What kind of daddy would I be if I let my good girl go without a night of pampering and relaxation?

I got you a few presents, I hope you like them. They were meant to be an apology for neglecting you all these weeks, but I’m being pulled away at the last minute.

I expect you to wear this one next time we see one another because I’m dying to see you in it. The anticipation has been killing me all week.

Put this on, run a bath. There are a few things waiting for you in the bathroom.

-Daddy xo

You frowned a bit. He must be really tired to suggest you put on whatever garment laid in the box before getting into the bath. You made a mental note to dress exceptionally well for him next time, to try to do something nice for him.

Setting down the letter, you tugged gently on the satin ribbon. It was fantastic quality, so you knew whatever was inside would be far more expensive than you wanted to know.

Your jaw dropped open as you pulled the lid off the box. Inside the plush satin lining sat a string of pearls.

They glittered under the candlelight, swimming in undertones of peach and lavender. These were real pearls, you could tell by the little knots in between the beads. A small diamond clasp held them together as you ran your fingers across the cool stones.

Your eyes welled up with tears as you eyed the delicate necklace. It was just the right thing to make up for the horrible week you’d had.

How he spoiled you.

Slipping off your coat and tossing it over a chair, you picked up the box and carried it into the bedroom and set it on the dresser, watching yourself excitedly in the mirror. You stripped yourself of your dress and shoes. Standing all alone in a flower-covered hotel suite, you picked up the pearls and took a deep breath.

Placing the string around your neck, you clasped it, then leaned back to admire yourself.

The pearls sat delicately at the hollow of your throat, accenting off your lavender lingerie set in the warm glow. Running your fingers over the supple stones, you wished it were Spencer's hand around your neck.

You were unbelievably grateful, always in awe of how he somehow managed to know exactly what kind of gifts would make you feel better about him not being with you. You knew he couldn't help being gone, and it made that fire in your belly ignite a little more knowing he thought of you while he was away.

You sighed as you stepped into the bathroom, confronted with more flowers and bouquets and candles, but you smiled anyway. He was such a goof, romantic somehow even when he was pounding you into a mattress and calling you names, even when he wasn't there to be with you.

A bottle of your favorite red wine and a glass sat on the side of the marble tub, and beside that chocolates in a heart shaped box. A smile crept across your face as you popped open the box. Another note sat inside, just above the thin crepe lining:

Sweetheart,

I think you know what to do with these. Don’t forget to take a picture for me.

-Daddy xo

Your brow furrowed as you read. You two didn’t even know each other’s last names, let alone have one another’s phone number. Instead you communicated through these little notes on the cream stationery Spencer kept in the nightstand drawer. This hotel suite was the only place you spoke, saw one another. You’d never seen him come in or leave, or seen him in the daylight…

You waved your hand in front of your face, pushing the intrusive thought away. Tonight was about Spencer and the night he wanted you to have, not some stupid romantic notion that popped up in your head at the worst times.

Scanning the counters, your eyes landed on yet another black box on the sink. You decided to run the bath before opening your next present, sitting on the marble and feeling the water as it filled with lavender scented bubbles. It seemed he had a theme tonight.

When the water was slightly less than scorching, you turned off the tap, dried your hands and went over to the sink.

Turning the box over in your hands, you squinted at it. It was a plush satin, just like the rest of them, but it was shaped differently. Too wide to be a vibrator or a sex toy, too tall to be another necklace or outfit.

Cautiously you popped open the lid, hardly able to contain the smile that peeled across your face.

Inside laid a dusted purple Instax camera, your name lasered into the front with a heart. There were a few boxes of replacement cartridges next to it, also settled in the satin. Another letter sat inside between the two, your name once again scrawled across the front.

Sweetheart,

I've been gone so long and so often, it breaks my heart not to have a picture of you to keep me company on these long trips.

I had some plans to tie you up and snap a few, but it seems like that'll have to wait. Take one for me? You have no idea how happy it makes me to see you enjoying my gifts, knowing I at least know you well enough to give you things you like and use.

Make them as saucy as you like, but give me one I can keep in my wallet, to look at when I'm without and missing you.

You have another present coming at 8:30, so take your bath and relax before the fun starts.

-Daddy xo

The fun? Your brow furrowed, but that damned smile broke through again. He really was pampering you tonight, buttering you up for something.

You popped open the back of the camera and inserted one of the cartridges, then went back into the bedroom.

Biting your lip, you laid down on the soft white comforter, your hair fanning out behind you on the king sized mattress. You adjusted your breasts in your bra, making sure they were pushed up just enough to be tantalizing.

Lifting the camera above your head, you bit seductively onto your thumb and gave your best bedroom eyes for the camera and clicked the button. You sat up to check it, suddenly quite insecure despite the fact that Spencer had seen you naked a million times at this point.

A few seconds later, a photo popped out and you waited for it to show up on the little film. You smiled as it did, your hair fanned perfectly on the covers, your expression just seductive enough that you knew Spencer would want to throw you down on the bed the second he saw it. The candlelight shone off the pearls against your throat, and you knew he would be satisfied.

You decided to play more with the camera in the bathtub, where you could take more ‘saucy’ photos, as he put it.

Pouring yourself a glass of wine and popping a piece of chocolate in your mouth, you stepped up the marble stairway and slowly got into the tub. The lavender surrounded you as you settled into the water, leaning back against the little cushion for your head and sighing deeply. Your muscles began to relax as the heat of the water and the taste of the wine mingled.

It was the perfect bath, made only slightly less because Spencer wasn’t there to join you. Were he here, he would rub out the knots in your shoulders, kiss the back of your head and speak softly in your ear. Eventually, the perv he was, his hands would wander and grope, telling you how beautiful you looked, how wet looked good on you. His hands would delve between your thighs and your head would rock back onto his shoulder as he fingered you beneath the bubbles.

Your legs rubbed together at the thought, and it hit you that he hadn’t left you with a sex toy to satisfy yourself with. Usually he left them on the bed, with instructions to follow to the letter and details on if you could take it home to add to your growing collection. Some of them he liked to keep for himself to use on you later, to ask you which of you were better at using them. It was always him.

Maybe that’s his surprise for later, you hoped.

You took a few more photos in the tub, using the wine glass and some strategically placed bubbles to give him a few more options, always making sure to display the string of pearls as best you could.

Were they not so delicate, you would relate them to a collar, a mark of ownership only the two of you knew about. You supposed that was exactly why he got them, so you could wear them outside the hotel room and feel like his even when you weren’t together.

Smiling to yourself, you put the camera down and sank into the water. You sipped on your wine and let yourself relax more, only getting out of the tub when your eyes began to droop. You didn’t want to miss his present.

As you were putting on one of the plush robes that hung on the back of the door, there was a knock from the main door. You felt the excitement rush through you, hoping beyond hope that it would be Spencer on the other side to surprise you.

You ran to the door, pulling it open without looking through the peephole, coming face to face not with Spencer, but with a young bellboy. His face turned bright red as he saw you in your robe, face flush from the heat and the wine with obviously nothing underneath.

“Uhm.” He held out a silver domed tray with a shaking hand, “Dr. Reid requested I have this delivered.”

"Dr. Reid?" You asked aloud without meaning to, and the kid nodded.

Spencer Reid, you thought. What a good name. It suited him.

"He, uh," he said, obviously trying desperately to avoid looking at your bosom. "He said he had a guest and that you were to be taken care of in his absence."

You took the tray from him and closed the door behind you, laughing to yourself as he let out a sigh of relief when the door shut. Poor kid, probably never saw a naked woman who wasn’t on a computer screen.

It didn’t smell like food, so you took the tray with you to the bed. You glared at it as you settled on your knees on the mattress, unsure of its contents or why Spencer had it delivered instead of bringing it ahead of time like he usually did.

Just as your hand laid on the handle on top of the dome, a phone rang, shocking you as you pulled your hand away like it was hot to the touch. It wasn't the room's phone, so you took the lid off the tray, and inside lay a smartphone and a box, ringing with the name Daddy on the screen.

You shook your head and chuckled to yourself, what a goof.

“Hello?” you asked quietly, and you were rewarded with a familiar chuckle on the other side.

“Were you doing something bad, sweetheart?” Spencer asked darkly. “You sound like you got caught doing something I told you not to.”

“Spencer,” you breathed with a relieved smile. That relief soon turned to disappointment as you realized why he was calling. “You’re not coming.”

The line was quiet for a moment, and Spencer cleared his throat on the other end, “No, I’m sorry. I was there, and I was looking forward to tying you up and having my way with you… I had a shit week, sweetheart…”

“It’s okay,” you said softly, not wanting him to feel bad after all he’d done for you already tonight. "The pearls, the flowers, they're all beautiful. I-I’m blown away, honestly Spencer."

“I wanted to be with you when you opened them so badly, baby. I just got back this afternoon, and I went straight to the suite to set up a perfect night for us,” he told her bitterly, “And as soon as I got it all finished I got a call and was back on a plane by 6:30.”

“Are you okay?” you asked, “You never call when you’re away.”

“Well, I was disappointed, to say the least. My colleagues informed me of my bad attitude on the plane,” Spencer chuckled to himself. “But since we just got back today and flew right back out… they’re giving us the night to rest up for tomorrow.”

You scrunched up your face, what kind of job wants you to work 24/7? Your job was busy, yes, and you worked longer hours than you liked, but you were hardly on call all day and all night.

Maybe he was a surgeon, but what medical doctor was flown to new places each week for work? If he was a PhD, what kind of work was he into that he was gone so often?

“So,” he sing-songed nervously when you didn’t reply. “I may be four hundred miles away, but as of right now, you have me all night. I thought maybe… a little phone sex might satisfy you until I can see you again."

You grinned girlishly, happy he couldn’t see your stupid dopey face over the phone. “You’re my last present then? I’m the luckiest girl in the world, daddy.”

Spencer groaned, and you heard the blanket shift through the receiver. That word was magic to him. Even if he’d just cum, you could call him daddy and it would rile him up all over again.

“You didn't open the box?” he asked after a moment, his voice hoarse as he tried to compose himself.

“Oh,” you muttered, looking back to where the box sat on the bed. “The kid delivered it right before you called. I was just about to look inside.”

“Open it, sweetheart,” he ordered you, so you happily obliged, holding the phone between your shoulder and ear.

Inside the dome sat another black box wrapped up with a silk ribbon, and you giggled to yourself, “You and these boxes. What do you do, have them custom made?”

“Just for you,” Spencer said, and the heat that rushed up your face would have been embarrassing were he there with you. Now you felt less pathetic knowing they were piled up high in your closet because you couldn't bear to get rid of them. “This had not originally been part of my plan for the night. I stopped and ordered it while I was on my way to the plane.”

You pulled the ribbon and popped open the box, nearly dropping the phone as you laid eyes on its contents.

In the box was what you assumed was a sex toy and some lube. You giggled as you picked it up and pulled it out of the box. It looked like a lavender butterfly… with a very large curved penis.

“Is this…?” you started, and he cut you off.

“Remote? Yes, and guess who has the controller.”

You gasped as the little device started vibrating in your hand, and Spencer laughed into your ear and it turned off.

"I'm sure you had a long week, too," Spencer sighed, suddenly sounding tired and far away, "so if you're not feeling up to it, we can just talk, or I can leave you alone with some room service."

"No," you said quickly, too quickly . As much as you enjoyed your nights in this room, even when he was gone, being with him was always so much better. "You just need to tell me how to use this thing and why I need a phone to do it."

"Well the range on normal remote controls is far less than four hundred miles, baby," he said, only a little condescendingly, but your face still scrunched up a little. "There's an app on the phone that connects the remote to the device, so I can play with you all night long."

“Hmm,” you hum, holding the toy up to the light and inspecting it. “I guess I’m just glad it’s not going up my ass, this is bigger than I think I could take.”

“I know we talked about trying anal a while ago, but you were nervous…” Spencer answered gruffly, and you could tell he was picturing it and trying not to get worked up. “But if you want to try that now I’m more than willing to help.”

“We did already try the plug,” you moan softly, smiling as he grunted to himself on the other end. “This isn’t much bigger.”

“Don’t tease me,” he told you seriously, and you couldn’t help but sit up straight and listen, “You might not like what happens. If… you don’t feel ready for this over the phone, I left another toy in the drawer for you to play with on your own.”

You considered his offer, looking between the toy and the drawer. He would never be angry with you for avoiding something you were uncomfortable with, you knew that. He would call you a good girl, pat your head and then make you cum on his tongue until you passed out. Spencer was good like that, he was perfect.

"We can just talk, sweetheart," his voice broke through as you thought. "You won't be disappointing me."

"I know," you tell him, smiling to yourself. "I'm just thinking about how I'm going to put it in. I am just a dumb little girl after all… I need daddy to help me."

"Well," he chuckled darkly, "lay down and get comfortable, and I'll walk you through it, baby."

You moved the tray to the floor, tossed off your robe, then lay down on the bed. Rubbing your free hand over the pearls, you had an idea.

"One second," you mutter into the receiver, exciting out of your phone call and switching over to the camera app.

You took a picture of yourself, naked but for his pearls, back arched, making a face of pure sex. You sent it to him, then put the phone back up to your ear.

"I miss you, daddy," you whispered, biting your bottom lip. "Hope this helps."

"You always help, swee- hang on," he muttered, obviously annoyed. The phone shifted away from him, and you heard him gasp softly, "Fuck, baby, I can't wait to see you."

"Did you get my picture?" You ask cheekily, and he groaned heavily in your ear.

"You have no idea how much I needed that," Spencer groaned again, the sheets shifting again, "I can't wait to cum all over that pretty face. I'll give you another pearl necklace soon, okay?"

"Okay daddy," you giggled, picking up the toy again. "I need you, daddy, tell me what to do."

"First I need to get you nice and wet-" he began, but you cut him off.

"I get wet the second I think about you, wetter still when I walk into this room, Spencer."

“Ugh,” you heard Spencer groan, some more rustling, then he cleared his throat. “What did I say about teasing me, baby?”

“I’m not trying to tease,” you insist, but if he could see the smile plastered across your face he’d slap you around until your ass was black and blue. “I’m just telling you the truth.”

"Color?" he asked, his voice full of hope and deliciously dark intention.

"Green, Spencer," you said, leaning back and sighing, ready to do anything he told you.

"Touch yourself," he ordered you, his voice gruff and stern, and your hand went straight to your pussy. "Tell me how much you miss me."

You were already wet, slick and throbbing just from hearing his voice and feeling him around you in the room.

Groaning quietly as your fingers brushed your clit, your face turned hot as you realized something. You were nervous .

The two of you hadn't done this before, and though you trusted Spencer with your life, literally as he choked and spanked you, you were worried about making him feel like he made you feel. You wanted to satisfy him, too.

"Will you touch yourself too, daddy?" You asked hesitantly. "Wanna make you feel good."

"I am, baby, don't worry," Spencer cooed in your ear, and you could swear he had a smile on his face. It made the tightness in your chest ease a little. "I'm sitting here, in this hotel room all alone, touching myself while I think about you covered in lavender and my pearls, naked and wet just for me."

Spencer groaned, and you could hear a slick sliding noise, your eyes lighting up as you realized he really was doing just that.

You wondered idly if he used lotion when he masturbated, or if he used lube, and if he always thought about you while he did it.

"Oh, I miss you so much daddy," you moaned, swiping two fingers around the little bud and arching your back. You closed your eyes, imagining his rough calloused fingers instead of your own. "I thought about you all week, wearing my collar and touching myself, wishing you were choking me instead."

"God, my hand wraps around your throat like it was made to, sweetheart." The slick of his hand around his cock sped up as he grunted in your ear, so yours sped up too. "You think about me when you're at home?"

"I think about you at home, at work, in the back of cabs," you huff, your voice rising a few octaves as your cunt began to clench around nothing, that familiar dizzy feeling rushing to your head as you heard Spencer fuck his own hand. "Wanna touch myself thinking about you all the time, but I'm a good girl so I only do it at home."

"You are a good girl," Spencer said, and you heard his hand slow down. "Put in the toy, good girl, use the lube if you need to."

You picked up the toy, a little nervous. It was weighty, the head thicker than the base. It was a g-spot toy you knew that much, but the little butterfly part had a little notch to stimulate your clit as the cock spread you open and the wings held you closed.

You groaned a little as you pressed the bulbous head to your entrance, "Talk to me daddy, please."

"Baby if I was there, I'd be fucking you right now," Spencer started, moaning breathily as he slowly stroked his cock. You pushed the head inside, your face heating up as you imagined what he told you, "I'd have my hand under those pearls, holding you down by that pretty neck of yours, telling you what a good little whore you are for daddy."

"You wear all the things daddy buys you, don't you?" he asked darkly, but he was hesitant because you both know he could never know the answer himself. "You use my toys when you're all alone and desperate for me?"

"Yes, yes," you whimpered as the toy finally sheathed inside of you. The heavy butterfly base pushed the head up into your spongy cunt, "Every chance I get… I'll wear this one too, whenever you want daddy!"

"Oh you might regret that later," Spencer said, and you could almost hear him cooking up a plan over the phone. "You got it in okay, baby? It's not too big for you?"

You laughed breathily, itching to go back to rubbing your clit, but the butterfly hugged you tight, covering your lips and the little bundle of nerves. You pressed against it, gasping as it pushed deeper into you. "You're much bigger than this could even hope to be."

"I love stretching you open, sweetheart. I wish I were there to fill you up inch by inch, but since I'm not..."

Suddenly the butterfly began to vibrate, and your head rocked back into the pillows as you let out a startled moan.

"Put the phone on speaker, baby," Spencer commanded, "let daddy hear you choke yourself."

With a shaking hand, you did as you were told, setting the phone next to your head and lying back down. You dragged your hand up your stomach and chest, just like he had last week, and wrapped your hand around your throat.

You whimpered, clenching your thighs together to feel the vibration even stronger. The pearls were cool against your knuckles, and you let yourself relax under the weight of your own hand, imagining it was his.

"I can hear you, baby," Spencer soothed, "what a good little whore for daddy."

"Wanna be good for you, daddy, wanna be the best whore you've ever had," you slurred as you tightened your grip on your own neck.

You let out a startled cry as the toy began thrusting inside you, letting your legs fall open as it fucked you slowly. You rocked your hips in time as you listened to Spencer's hand around his cock.

Oh you could see him in your mind’s eye, leaning back against the headboard, surrounded by a sea of cotton blankets, his head rocked back and his eyes closed as he fucked his hand thinking of you.

"Play with those titties for me, sweetheart, can you do that?"

"Yes, daddy." Sliding your free hand over your breasts, you flicked one of your nipples, hard, just like Spencer would have.

You twisted and pinched the little bud, tugging and moaning as the toy began to fuck you harder and faster. Your hips humped the air, desperately trying to fuck down onto it, to be railed like you would be if Spencer were here.

"Just imagine daddy there fucking you, Y/N. Sinking my teeth into those beautiful tits of yours and making your back arch so you can take more of me, " Spencer grunted into the speaker, the sounds of his lube covered cock mingling with his moans in your ear. Your body reacted like it would have if he were there as you started to pant and choke yourself harder. "Gonna bruise you, gonna fuck you til you can't walk…"

"Please, please," you gasped. Your orgasm was fast approaching, your veins lighting on fire as you twitched and moaned alone in the bed. "Please, God, daddy. Please can I cum? Please?"

"You wanna cum for me sweetheart?" Spencer snarled into the speaker, making your hips jump and your ears blossom with heat. "You think you've been good enough to cum for daddy?"

"Yes yes yes!" you slurred, the vibrations from the toy increasing as you laid there and just took what it gave you. "Wanna be your good little slut, wanna cum just for you, nobody else!"

"Okay then."

Just as your chest began to expand, the blissful light at the end of the tunnel about to explode across your vision, the vibrations stopped. The toy stopped fucking you, and you gasped in defeat.

"Daddy, why?" you cried, tears welling in your eyes as the tide of your release faded away.

"You wanna cum for me? Just for me?" Spencer laughed quietly, but you could still hear him stroking his lube covered cock. He moaned, his own desperate sounds rising in his chest. "You can wait, you pathetic whore. Make daddy cum, baby, and maybe I'll let you cum next time."

You stared at the ceiling in shock, your bones rubber and your cunt aching. That bastard.

But after everything he'd done for you tonight, for you the last few months, you couldn't disobey him.

"I'll be good for you daddy," you purred shakily into the phone, clenching your thighs together and pushing the toy into your pussy with your hands. "Wanna be so good for you, wanna wait until you can fill me up till my belly bulges, wanna wait until you're here to choke me and slap me like the desperate whore I am."

"That's right, baby wait for me," Spencer moaned breathily, the beautiful squelching sound of him fucking his hand to the thought of you entrancing you as you listened. "Mmm, wait for daddy to satisfy you."

"You gonna cum inside me daddy? Till my poor tired pussy is filled and dripping with cum? Gonna mark me and show me who I belong to?"

"Fuck, gonna cum, baby. Oh you're so good to daddy." You listened to the groan that came primally from his chest, that gorgeous sound that only came from him as he spilled into his own hand.

You waited until his wanton moans turned into breathy sighs, and as his hand left his dick he groaned.

"Daddy?"

"You didn't cum, did you, sweetheart?" he panted, but his voice had an edge. "You waited for me?"

"Of course, daddy," you soothed him, and you smiled when he groaned in relief.

"Good girl. I don't want to punish you next time I see you. I've got other plans."

You sighed and laid back on the pillows, taking the phone off speaker and putting it back up to your ear.

"So I can't cum until next time I see you?" You asked with a pout.

Spencer laughed cruelly in your ear, "You're so smart. Such a good girl."

"Well, what if you're not here?"

"We'll cross that bridge if we come to it," Spencer sighed, shifting on the bed. "You okay, sweetheart?"

"Sexually frustrated, yes, but I'm okay daddy," you reassured him, but you winced. Your wetness was seeping through the toy, trickling between your legs and down your cheeks. "I just miss you when you're gone."

"I miss you," Spencer told you, and you swore for a moment you could hear the yearning in his voice. Maybe he really did think of you often when he was away. You hoped he did.

There was a knocking sound and Spencer cursed under his breath. You heard a voice, "Reid, c’mon, we've got another one!"

"Fuck, I gotta go, Y/N, I'm sorry." He paused and sighed, "I meant it when I said I can't wait to see you. I'm sorry I couldn't be there tonight."

"It's okay," you told him, but your heart wasn't in it. You wanted him here, with you, not far away and stressed like he sounded. You were supposed to relieve that for him, but it seemed as soon as he left it came back. "Daddy?"

"Yes, baby?" he asked softly.

"I love the necklace. I'm never taking it off again unless I have to."

Spencer let out a happy chuckle, "Good. I'll see you soon, sweetheart. Get some sleep, stay the night. I'll be back before you know it."

And then he was gone.

You laid there, staring at the ceiling, feeling like an idiot as your eyes swam with tears.

This wasn't a relationship. You didn't get to cry because he wasn't there. You two had a deal, and you weren't going to be the one to break it.

You needed this, needed him. Since starting up all those months ago your troubles seemed to fade in the background, your hectic life feeling less like a burden and more like what you had built for yourself.

This arrangement had given you something to look forward to, and then it gave you confidence you hadn't known you lacked. You found yourself leaving Room 405 with your head held high, ready to face the week ahead, and you'd be damned if you gave it up before it ran its course.

You gasped as the toy vibrated once more, just for a second, just so Spencer knew you wouldn't forget his promise to come back and make up for it next time.

It made you smile, and you curled up with the butterfly still inside you, just in case he decided to play while he was working.

Pulling the covers over you, you relished in the way the toy shifted, pressing up into you and leaving you wet and wanting.

You fell asleep thinking about Spencer.

Spencer Reid.

803 notes · View notes

waitimcomingtoo · 2 years ago

Text

Never Been Kissed ~ P.P

chapter seven: baby, can we dance

series masterlist

On the night of your prom, you stood in front of your full length mirror in your prom dress. Your makeup was already done and had taken you a full hour since you wanted to look perfect. You stared at your body in the mirror for a long time and felt like someone else was looking back at you. You tilted your head to the side and look at your reflection curiously. You slowly reached out to touch the foreign reflection in the mirror, yanking your hand away when you heard your bedroom door open. You turned around and saw your mom in your doorway with a jewelry box in her hand.

“Hi sweetie. I just wanted to bring you this.” She said and shook the box. You nodded and she shut the door behind her. She opened the box up and took a diamond necklace out of it. You instinctively moved your hair as she placed the necklace around your neck.

“Your daddy got this for me on our first anniversary. That’s what you need to find, sweetie. A man with the means to buy you the finer things in life.” Your mom said as she clasped the necklace. You stared at the diamond pendant for a minute before your eyes flicked to the bracelet on your vanity. It was made of string and beads of your favorite color. The middle of the bracelets had beads that spelled out Peters name. He had given it to you for your one month anniversary and you’d been wearing it everyday.

“Can you zip me up?” You asked once you looked back in the mirror. Your mom nodded and zipped up yoru took dress in the back. It was a dusty rose color that you had picked up months ago. You had loved it back then, but now you didn’t like the way it hung off your body like a hospital gown.

“You look beautiful. You’ve never looked better.” Your mom smiled at your reflection in the mirror as she fixed your hair. You looked at yourself again and put your hands over your stomach.

“Mom?” You asked quietly and she made eye contact in the mirror.

“Mom, I haven’t eaten in three days.” You whispered. You held eye contact with her in the mirror as your eyes glasses over. Her eyes, however, showed no emotion. She blinked just only before throwing on a smile.

“Pretty hurts.” She said simply.

“Pretty is killing me.” You said as your voice cracked. Your mother blinked again in the mirror and seemed to be remembering something.

“I did the same thing in high school. I counted every calorie and went way more than three days without eating something. And now, I get to look back at my prom pictures and feel like I looked perfect. Don’t you want that? Don’t you want to be perfect?” She said finally.

“I don’t know anymore.” You shook your head and stopped looking at your reflection. Your mom noticed your face and her smile faltered a little.

“I was prom queen, you know.” Your mom said with a smile to change the subject.

“I know. You’ve told us many times.”

“Do you think you’ll win tonight?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s stupid anyway. It turns a fun night into a competition.”

“Life’s a competition. And prom queens get ahead. Look at me. I was prom queen and I’ve never been happier.” Your mom smiled widely after she looked at herself in the mirror. You looked at the necklace your dad had given her again and frowned.

“Are you?“

“Am I what?”

“Happy?”

“Yes. Of course I am. Why would you even ask that?” Your mom laughed like it was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard.

“Then why did you make me suffer the way you did?” You asked her as you made eye contact in the mirror. Your mom gulped a little and looked away from you, pretending to be interested in the frame of of the mirror.

“Look at me, mom. Look in the mirror.” You whispered desperately. She stopped looking away and made eye contact with you again as you clutched your stomach.

“Where did I go?” You asked, mostly to yourself. Your mom stayed silent as you reached over and grabbed a photo off of your vanity. It was a picture of you and your mom from back when you lived in California. You were just a little girl in the picture, sitting on your moms lap with the biggest smile in the world as she held you close. You both looked completely different then you did now.

“Where did you go?” You asked as you stared at the photo. You looked back up in the mirror and could swear you saw your mom wiping a tear. Before you could say anything else, the doorbell rang.

“That must be Peter.“ Your mom threw on a smile and wiped her face again. She walked out of your room without another word and went to answer the door. You grabbed the bracelet Peter had made you off your vanity and slipped it on before leaving your room as well. You walked to the front of your apartment to see Peter and May talking to Archer. Peter and Archer were dressed in similar tuxedos but looked very different. Peter looked up when he heard you come in and his jaw dropped.

“You look….there are no words for how you look.” Peter said breathlessly as she stared at you with soft eyes. You smiled shyly and looked down at your dress.

“You don’t look too bad yourself.” You told him.

“Get together for pictures!” May excitedly urged and motioned for you to get together. You walked over to Peter and kissed him hello before getting into position. He held you prom style as Archer and his date did the same. May and your mom stood back and took a bunch of pictures of the four of you as you posed.

“Sweetie, suck in your stomach.” Your mom called from behind her phone. A silence filled the room and everyone looked at you with a mixture of shock and sympathy.

“She doesn’t need to. She looks beautiful.” May said it cut the silence.

“Yeah, mom. She looks beautiful. Just take the pictures.” Archer said as he looked angrily at your mom. They went back to taking pictures and May could tell that your smile was significant dimmer. Peter held you closer and leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“I think you look beautiful.” He said so only you could hear. Your smile widened again and you leaned into him.

You all left in Archers car and arrived at prom with the rest of your class. You nervously clung to Peters hand as you stepped into the gymnasium. You spotted your friends by the food table and waved to them. They all screamed in excitement and ran over to you. Peter stood back as your hugged your friends before they went to hug him as well.

“Hey Brittany. I like the all black.” Peter complimented as he looked at Brittany’s black gown.

“I’m half white.” Brittany replied.

“No, that’s not what I - okay. Sure.” Peter decided it was best not to engage and just moved on. MJ and Ned eventually joined you in your small circle, both wearing suits. You all mingled for the first hour as party music blasted behind you. As time went on, you felt yourself starting to disassociate. You stopped participating in the conversation when people started to sound far away. You looked around at the party lights and started to feel woozy. You fanned yourself a little and clung harder to Peters arm to keep yourself up right. You looked over at the food table and figured you probably needed to eat something to feel better.

“Are you hungry?” Peter asked when he followed your eye line.

“I’m okay. I ate before I came.” You lied and shook your head. Peter frowned a little but didn’t want to start another fight at prom. Before he could say anything else, a slow sling started to play.

“May I have this dance?” Peter asked and held his hand out to you.

“You may.” You smiled at the gesture and took his hand. He led you out to the center of the dance floor before assuming the position you had taught him just a few weeks ago. You slow danced in the way you practiced as the music blasted from the speakers. The loud music combined with the lights was starting to make you feel worse. You felt hot and cold all at the same time but kept a smile on for Peters sake.

“I can’t believe I’m at my senior prom with you.” Peter said with a soft smile. “I’ve always wanted this. I just never thought it would happen.”

“I know. MJ might’ve mentioned you having a crush on me.” You teased him.

“Well your friends might have mentioned you being totally obsessed with me.” Peter taunted right back. You playfully rolled your eyes and stepped closer to him. Peter looked into your eyes for a minute before leaning to kiss you. You tightened your grip around his neck and pulled him as close as possible as you kissed him back. You both knew what prom night meant. Your graduation was the next day and that meant your fake relationship would be coming to an end soon. You were going off to separate colleges come August and by this point in your relationship, you didn’t have much left to teach each other. You felt yourself getting emotional as you kissed him and pulled away. You rested your forehead against his and let out a shy laugh. The song came to an end but you stayed in each other’s arms.

“I’m gonna check my makeup in the bathroom. I’ll be right back.” You smiled sweetly at him before going to the ladies room. Once you were out of the gymnasium, you sat down on the closest bench and put your head in your hands. You felt like you were about to pass out and needed to get some air. Your stomach growled loudly and you let out a little whine.

“One more night.” You told yourself. You tried to get up but felt light headed and sat back down.

“Hey. You okay?” Brad David asked as he came up to you.

Elsewhere, Peter was in the gym waiting for you to come back. He felt like you were taking an unusually long time and decided to look for you. He got you some fruit punch before going out into the hall. As Peter walked up to you, he saw Brad walking away.

“Hey. I got you some punch.“ Peter said and handed you a plastic cup full of bright red fruit punch.

“Oh. Thanks”. You smiled weakly and took the cup. You looked back over at Brad just as he was going back into the gym and frowned a little.

“What’s wrong?” Peter asked and looked back at Brad too.

“Um, Brad just asked me out.” You said and laughed a little to ease the blow. Peter felt his heart stop and looked at Brad again.

“He did?”

“Yeah. He said he’s like me for a really long time and that you told him that we weren’t together.” You said as you kept your focus on Peter. You wanted to see his reaction, but he was still looking over at Brad.

“Did you really tell him that?” You asked quietly as you stared at Peter.

“He asked.” Peter shrugged. He didn’t mean to use such a harsh tone with you, but he was panicking. One of the most popular boys in school had just asked you out right when your fake relationship was coming to an end. Peter could tell he was about to lose you and was starting to lash out.

“Peter-“

“He asked me and I told him the truth.” Peter cut you off. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Peter.” You tried again. You could tell he was beginning to spiral and wanted to diffuse the situation before it got out of hand.

“You know what? You should do it. You should go out with Brad. That’s what we prepared for, right? This is what all the lessons were for. For you to go off and get a real boyfriend. Not a fake one, like me.”

“Peter.” You whispered and stepped back from him, feeling hurt by his words.

“I think that sounds like a great idea, actually.” Peter laughed sadly. “Go date Brad. He’s practically perfect for you. He’s a good guy, he’s popular, he’s rich, and he’s an athlete. Did you know he was on the football and the basketball team? Thats two more teams than I’ve ever been on. He’s got money, popularity, a large friend group, a basketball scholarship to NYU, and now he’s got you too. He’s living the dream. Good for Brad freaking Davis.”

“Peter.” You said, angrily this time.

“What? Why do you keep saying my name?”

“Because I want you to calm down and talk to me. You’re freaking out over nothing. All I said was-“

“All you said was what we planned for all along.” Peter cut you off. “We said we’d stop once we graduated and we graduate tomorrow. We have nothing left the teach each other so you don’t have any use for me anymore.”

“Use you? Are you kidding me?” You laughed in surprise. “We said this would be mutual from the beginning and it has been. We even said we’d continue this into the summer if we wanted to. Can you just stop feeling sorry for yourself for a second and talk to me like a normal person?”

“I don’t really want to talk to you right now. Because if I talk to you, all I’m gonna think about is you using the lessons I taught you to be a perfect girlfriend for Brad Davis. You’re gonna let him put his hands where mine used to be and go on dates with him and let him sleepover and it’s gonna be fine because that was the plan all along. That’s why you and I started this in the first place, right? It was always with the intention of gaining experience so you could get into a relationship and know what you were doing.”

“I don’t get why you’re freaking out over this right now.” You said as you rubbed your eyes. “You don’t get to be mad at me because someone else asked me out. Especially since you practically handed me over to Brad.”

“Handed you over? What are you even talking about?”

“Brad said you told him to “go ahead” when he asked you if he could ask me out. He said that you told him “she’s all yours”. You practically gave me to him as if you couldn’t wait to get rid of me. How do you think that made me feel?”

“Oh my God. That is not how I meant it.” Peter groaned. “What was I supposed to say to him? What would you have said?”

“I would’ve said that we were together. I would’ve told him it was real. Because if the roles were reversed and some girl asked me if she could ask you out, I’d tell her no. I’d tell her you were mine. Because up until now, I thought I was yours.” You said as your voice cracked.

“You were never mine.” Peter insisted as his eyes welled up with tears.

“I wanted to be.” You smiled sadly. “But not once since starting this have you suggested that we should just date for real. You’re always the one to bring up the fact that it’s just pretend. Meanwhile, this whole time I thought the only thing we were pretending about is that fact that we’re pretending. But maybe that’s just me.”

Before Peter could say anything else, he heard the principle take the microphone as the music died down.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention.” Your principle said into the microphone.

“You’re right.” Peter stated. “I was never pretending. I have been in love with you since forth grade. You never liked me back then and it’s no different now. It was never going to be different.”

“Our 2022 Midtown Tech Prom Queen is…”

“You never even asked me what I said to Brad after he asked me out.”

“Well what did you say?”

Just as you were about to respond, you heard your name called on the microphone. You frowned and looked past Peter as someone opened the gym doors. Inside, everyone was looking at you as a path cleared for you in the crowd. You looked back at the crowd in shock before looking back at Peter, who had tears streaming down his face.

“This was never going to work.” He said tearfully. “You and I are from two completely different worlds. We always have been. You’re the freaking prom queen and before I met you, I had never even been kissed.”

“And your prom king, Brad Davis.” The principle continued into the microphone. You looked back at the crowd before looking at Peter again. You both had tears in your eyes but yours were the only ones to fall.

“Yeah? Neither had I.”

You slipped your bracelet off and handed it to him before bumping his shoulder as you passed him. Peter watched your dress drag on the floor behind you as you made your way through the crowd. Brad held a hand out and helped you into the stage as Peter watched through the open gym doors. You stood center stage next to Brad as crowns were placed on both your heads. You gulped and tried to hold back your tears as you stared out at the dozens of blinking eyes that stared back at you. The brought lights and the heat were really getting to you now. You felt dizzy and the corners of your vision were beginning to dim. You had zoned out so hard that yu had ent even realized Brad had been giving an acceptance speech. People were cheering for him as Peter silently stood back and watched. You looked out at the crowd and made eye contact with Peter as a bouquet of flowers was placed in your arms.

“Would our prom queen like to say a few words?” Brad asked into the microphone before stepping to the side. You faked a smile and stepped up to the microphone stand before looking out at Peter again.

This time, Peter was gone.

You felt a wave of nausea hit you again and stumbled back a little. You held onto the microphone stand for support and gave the crowd an embarrassing smile.

“I-“ You said into the microphone, seeing feedback throughout the gymnasium as people plugged their ears. You gulped in embarrassment and looked at the principle, who gave you a weak thumbs up. You looked back at the crowd and touched your crown with your free hand.

“Thank you for this. I’m so grateful that you voted me to be your queen.” You smiled weakly as you took the crown off of your head. You looked down at it in your hands but it was blurry. You felt weak in the knees again and sucked in a shaky breath.

“I can’t thank you enough. My whole life, all I wanted was to be prom queen.” You said into the microphone as you continued to stare at the crown in your hands. You were determined to see it without the blurriness, but you couldn’t seem to focus. You need to see it for it to be real. This is what all of the pain was for. All the nights you went to bed hungry was so that you coudk look perfect when you stood on stage as prom queen. You need to see the crown now to know it was all worth it, but you couldn’t get your eyes to focus.

“I’m sorry, I’m just trying to see something.” You said into the microphone as you continued to stare at the crown. You heard snickers and confused murmurs from the students and felt your face go hot with embarrassment. You ignored it and continued to look at the crown until suddenly, it cracked in half. You heard shocked murmurs spread throughout the crowd and you felt your entire body heat up in embarrassment. You looked up and out at the crowd, but you couldn’t see anything since your eyes had teared up. You dropped the two halves of the crown and the clattered to the floor, making a sound that echoed through the dead silent gymnasium.

And with that, you took off.

You picked up the end of your dress and pushed your way through the crowd until you reached the emergency exit. Cold air hit your bare shoulders after being inside the hot gym for so long. You could feel tears running down your face and ruining your makeup as you ran into the night.

Meanwhile, Peter was sitting on a bench in front of the school. He had his best pout on as he played with the bracelet you had given back to him. He remembered the night he had made it for you and how excited you had been when he gave it to you. You were someone who owned designer clothes and fancy jewelry, but you said it was the nicest thing you owned. Peter smiled a little at the memory before remembering your fight. He sniffled and wiped his face when he heard the school doors opened. He looked up and saw Brad Davis in his prom king crown, making a chill run down his spine.

“Dude.” Brad said as he approached Peter.

“Oh God.” Peter gulped and slid down on the bench.

“What gives man? I thought you told me you and Y/n weren’t dating?”

“We aren’t.” Peter said quietly and looked back down at the bracelet.

“That’s not what she said.”

“What do you mean?” Peter asked as he looked up.

“Well I asked her out and she totally turned me down.”

“She what?” Peter asked, a new hope growing that you might be able to repair your relationship.

“Yeah. She said she had a boyfriend that she was “very much in love” with. I’m assuming that’s you?” Brad asked and folded his arms. Peters eyebrows raised in surprise and he couldn’t help but smile.

“She said that?” He asked hopefully.

“Dude, you gotta talk to her yourself. And while you’re at it, try to figure out what the hell is going on between the two of you. Because it seems like you’re on two completely different pages.”

“You’re right. I gotta find her.” Peter said as he stood up.

“Good luck with that.” Brad mumbled.

“What do you mean? Isn’t she inside?”

“No. She broke her crown in half and then ran off the stage. You didn’t see that?”

“No. I was out here.” Peter said as a panic rose in his chest.

“Well she left the building a little while ago. She could be anywhere by now. You’re probably not gonna find her.” Brad told him. Peter immediately thought of the Spiderman suit he had on under his tuxedo and nodded his head.

“I’ll think of something. Thanks Brad.” Peter patted Brads shoulder before taking off inside the school. He undressed himself as he ran through the halls until he found his secret hiding spot. He grabbed his web cartridges before stuffing his tuxedo under his spot under the lockers. Then, he took off into the night. Peter shot a web at the nearest building and ran up the side of it. He leapt from rooftop to rooftop, calling your name all over the city. When he didn’t see you anywhere, he called your phone. He knew you wouldn’t pick up after the fight, but he figured it was worth a try. To his luck, Peter heard your phone ring somewhere in the distance with his enhanced hearing. He immediately swung towards the sound until he found it a few blocks away. Peter dropped down from the rooftop and walked down an alleyway but didn’t see you anywhere. Peter frowned under his mask and continued to search for you, he tripped over something. Peter steadied himself and looked back to see what he tripped over. What he didn’t expect to see was an arm. Peter pulled his mask off and followed the arm until he found the body attached. Your body.

“Oh my God. Are you okay?” Peter dropped to his knees and rolled you over. You had a cut going across your entire face that was bleeding heavily. Peter gulped and looked up, seeing the pipe you must have scratched your face on. He quickly pulled you into his arms and shook you.

“Come on. Open your eyes. I need you to open your eyes.” Peter pleaded as he lightly smacked your face. Your eyes fluttered a little but didn’t open and Peter felt his panic grow. He stood up with you in his arms and slipped his mask back on, noticing how much lighter you felt. Peter knew he couldn’t swing with you in his arms, so he took off running instead. He ran all the way to the nearest hospital and burst through the doors.

“I need some help over here!” He exclaimed. A few doctors and nurses came over to him as someone wheeled over a bed.

“What happened?” A doctor asked as Peter gently laid you down on the bed. You let out a groan and clutched your stomach in your unconscious state.

“I found her passed out on the sidewalk. I’m not sure how long she’s been unconscious.” Peter told them as he took your hand and squeezed it to let you know he was there.

“Can you tell us her name?” Another doctor asked.

“I don’t know her.” Peter lied. “Her ID is probably in her purse.”

“Okay. We got it from here.” The doctor told him. Peter looked down at you in the hospital bed and felt a physical pain in his chest.

“Sir?” The doctor asked, getting Peters attention. Peter didn’t realize he had been gripping the railing of your bed as tight as he was and let go.

“We got it from here.” The doctor said again. Peter reluctantly let go of your bed as the doctors pulled you away. He stood in the noisy ER and watched as you disappeared while tears slid down his face under his mask.

Tag list 💋

@ivorysdinonuggies @wvndavwsion @yeswhatever33 @local-mr-frog @laamaking @edgycatx

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker imagine #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction

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flappyhappystim · 2 years ago

Note

I'm a little bit confused on how the chewing necklace works - we have a chewing stim and I'd love something to bring everywhere to use, but I don't quite understand how one uses it

The silicone beads/pendants are chewable. We've tried to make the necklace strings long enough that you can reach and chew on the beads without taking the necklace off. Please don't chew on the cords or clasps as they're not designed for chewing on.

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sithsecrets · 4 years ago

Text

exchange | din djarin x reader

the crest’s one and only crewmember buys mando a few shirts, and he gives her a gift in return.

---

2k words

mentions: none, this is fluff!

this is part 1 of my valentine’s week special! you can find the other parts here!

---

You take notice of it when you’re doing the laundry.

Mando’s got the Crest cruising through hyperspace, course set for Nevarro, and you’re catching on up on chores in the meantime. The baby’s three little outfits are clean and stain-free, you’ve set aside a pair of your own pants for mending, and Mando… Mando, you come to find out, has two shirts. Total. As in, two shirts including the one he’s currently wearing under his armor. You know he had more than that the last time you did the washing, but— but shit, he got cut by a quarry last week, and another one of his beat-up long-sleeves ripped and bit the dust shortly after that. So yep, Mando’s small wardrobe is now even smaller, and that makes you sigh. Even now, the brown cloth you have in your hands feels thin and worn, rough fibers catching your fingers every now and then. You think about telling Mando that he needs some new clothes, but you know he’ll just put it off or insist that whatever he has now is fine. And so you decide that you’ll resolve the issue yourself, knowing that something from the bazaar will probably do.

Sure enough, you find just what you need. The textile vendor says he can match Mando’s measurements without a problem after you show him Mando’s singular extra shirt, and a droid whips up the garments for you right there. You come away with two black and two brown, all long-sleeves and all made from the same material Mando seems to preder. Two are a bit thicker than the others— something for him to wear in the cold— and you decide that they’ll do nicely for his needs. Back on the Crest, you leave the stack of clothes on Mando’s bed and then promptly forget about them, distracted by the baby’s antics further back in the hull.

Mando asks you about the shirts later, holding the stack out to you like he’s looking for an explanation.

“What are these?” he asks, and you’re too busy with dinner to make a big deal of it.

“Those are for you,” you tell him, cutting the heat under the stew you’re making. The baby’s trying to get his hands in the pot, so you snatch him up, settling the little green boy on your hip as you add the finishing touches on tonight’s meal. “I realized you had like, two shirts when I was doing laundry on the way here.”

Mando sounds absolutely floored. “You bought these for me?”

That earns him a little laugh, and you hand him the baby. “No, Mando, I stole them off an Imperial transport vessel. Yes, I bought them for you! What kind of crewmember would I be if I let you run around looking ragged?”

“I…” Mando trails off, settling the Child in his arms. “Thank you.”

And then the two of you don’t talk about it again, the matter quickly forgotten in the midst of the evening ritual and your departure from Nevarro.

Week later, the Crest touches down on a distant planet, a place you’ve never been that Mando knows well. He tells you that the three of you will be spending some time here, and that makes you happy. It seems like a nice place, and the locals are kind.

Two days into this little excursion, you’re about to crawl in bed, only or stop short when you see a little satin pouch sitting on top of the covers. It’s pale blue, blue like the sky on your home planet, and no bigger than your palm. Curious, you pick it up gently, examining the little white embroidery on the edge, the way the drawstring pulls the fabric together just so. It pulls open easily, and you dump the contents into your palm without a second thought.

Scores of pale, pearly little beads glint in the light, strung neatly on a thin, delicate chain. Nothing about the trinket is particularly special, but it’s the simplicity that makes it stunning, in your eyes. You’ve had jewelry over the course of your lifetime, naturally, but never anything so dainty and pretty as this. The beads and the way they’re strung are styles unique to this planet, and you’ve seen countless people wearing necklaces similar to this one over the past few days.

There’s only one person that could have placed this here for you to find, and you go up to the cockpit to speak with him not five minutes after his gift falls in your hand.

Mando’s a bit busy when you go up there, fiddling with something on his vambrace in the pilot’s chair. You feel a little shy as you come to stand before him, the string of beads dangling from your fingers.

“Did you buy me this?” you ask softly, and that’s when Mando finally looks up at you.

“I—” The helmet tilts in the direction of your hand, and it’s like he’s a whole different person. Mando becomes nervous, back stiffening in his chair as he looks from you, to the necklace, and then back again. “I, um. Yeah, I did.”

Just hearing him say it makes you feel lightheaded, but you tell yourself not to get your hopes up. “What for?”

Mando stutters terribly, but he does manage to give you an explanation. “You— Well, you got me those shirts a few weeks ago, and you take good care of the baby. And the ship. And me. I just— I thought you’d like it, that’s all.”

You study the beads carefully for a moment, admiring the way they shimmer in your hand.

“I don’t just like it,” you declare, “I love it.”

And then you’re threading Mando’s give around your neck, reaching behind your head to do up the clasp. The jewelry is just as light as you thought it would be, sitting daintily against your collarbones. Mando watches you do all of this, and not the hundredth time do you wish you could see his face.

“Thank you, Mando, really.”

He nods. “You’re welcome.”

---

“Ah, so my suspicions were correct.”

The sound of the fruit vendors voice catches your attention, and you find yourself face-to-face with her satisfied smile when you lift your head up. You’ve been doing business with her every so often for almost a week now, always intrigued by the selection she has to offer. She also likes the baby, and he’s more than happy to coo at her for a free morsel or two.

“Excuse me?” you blurt, completely lost here. The old woman shakes her head at you, white braid swishing from side to side behind her back, and the smile on her face only deepens.

“Your necklace, child,” she says, pointing at the beads strung around your throat. You touch it on impulse, the baby wriggling in your other arm, and grow even more confused.

“I don’t understand,” you tell her, feeling stupid now, but the old woman just laughs. Her wrinkled fingers are soft on your cheek, the mirth in her eyes unmistakable.

“You don’t have to be secretive with me, my dear,” she chuckles, “I knew you were the Mandalorian’s woman from the minute I saw the both of you together. No man watches a woman that closely if he doesn’t care for her. And now he’s gotten you a necklace, so.”

She punctuates this with a shrug, behaving as if the meaning of your new accessory should be obvious, and you think you might actually pass out.

“I—” You huff, grasping for the right words. “I’m not— I don’t know the ways of this planet,” you say finally, mostly because it’s the truth and mostly because you don’t know how to so much as mention anything else the fruit vendor’s said.

It feels like you’ve been slapped across the face, like someone picked you up and shook you and until your brain rattled around too hard in your skull. Mando knows this place, he knows this city... Custom and culture are sacred to him, even if they have nothing to do with his own, and you find it difficult to believe that Mando gave you this gift without first considering its meaning. This is the man who speaks with the Tuskens, a man who has committed himself to a creed, a man who never wants to be rude or imposing unless he’s dealing with an enemy—

No. No, Mando definitely bought this for you on purpose.

In the thirty seconds it takes for you to form these thoughts, the fruit vendor comes to realize that your confusion was no act. You must look terrible, for she puts a hand on your arm as if to keep you upright.

“My dear, surely— I mean, the two of you care for this baby, and he is always watching over you. I simply thought there was something there, several people in this market did. Forgive me, please, I had no idea—”

“No, no, forgive me,” you blurt, rushing to reassure the woman that she has caused no offense. “I had no idea what these meant. I would have— Maker above, I should have—”

The old woman’s bewilderment matches your own, and you realize that you’re raving like a lunatic.

“I have to go!”

And then you are going, going and going until you’re back on the Crest. The baby seems content to laze about in his pram, thank the stars, and you put him down almost without a second thought, mind racing a thousand kilometers a second. You clamor up to the cockpit like a woman possessed, the noise movement drawing you there. Sure enough, Mando’s right where you thought he would be, parked in his pilot’s chair and fiddling with something on one of his blasters. He doesn’t even turn to look at you when you come up, completely calm despite your frantic movement.

“How was the—?”

“Why did you buy me this?” you cut, bisecting his question with one of your own. Mando’s hands still at once, and he tucks the gun back in the holster at his side.

“Someone told you,” he declares, finally turning to face you. All you can do is nod, heart beating so hard it almost hurts. You can almost taste it, this thing you’ve been wanting for months now, it’s right there on your tongue— but you don’t want to speak, don’t want to be the first one to suggest it. It’s never worked out for you in the past, and with a man like Mando thrown into the equation, you’re not sure what that kind of bravery might get you.

Mando sighs, heavy and tired. You watch him more closely than you’ve watched anyone before in your life as he stands, coming to face you. It’s cramped in this little room, and if you took even just half a step forward, the two of you would be pressed flush. He doesn’t say a word to you, just stands there and stands there until you can’t take it anymore.

“If you didn’t mean it like that, Mando, it’s fine, but I just want to know—”

“I… I’m not good at talking.” These first words have you cutting yourself short, and Mando continues like you never spoke in the first place. “To people, I mean. I can do what I need to do to conduct business, but other than that, I’m useless when it comes to things like this.”

“You talk to the baby,” you offer, and Mando nods.

“I do talk to the baby. Sometimes I even talk to you, but not enough.” He takes in a deep breath, seemingly gathering the courage to continue. “That’s why I did this.”

Mando runs his fingers along the beads at your throat, and it takes all you have not to fall down.

“This… This said everything for me. Or it was supposed to, at least.”

You melt at that, shoulders sagging. “Mando, I didn’t know, not until today.”

“I know,” he says companionably. “It’s not your fault I’m a coward.”

“You’re not a coward,” you declare, shaking your head. Mando brings his hand up, pressing it to your cheek like he’s been doing it all his life.

“If I’m not a coward, what am I then?”

All you can do is smile. “You’re mine.”

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #my writing #valentine's week 2021

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spoopyredacted · 4 years ago

Text

unheavenly creatures

chapter four

clan leader mand’alor!din x shayr’la(ofc) 1.7k

masterlist / pinterest

chapter one / chapter three / chapter five

description: we have some soft dummies on our hands yall. dancing, cheeky comments, palm kiss?!

a/n: @tiffdawg is literally a godsend. she listens to me ramble on and on about these two and always helps me through my writing blanks. i love her with all my heart. i decided to break this chapter up because one(1) im excited, and two(2) the next two scenes are heavy and i didn’t want to wait a million years to update again. so we get a shorter chapter this time.

———

Don’t you care?

Yes.

———

TWO WEEKS BEFORE THE JOR’ADIR BE NUHUR

The Mand’alor paces back and forth in the throne room, waiting for Shayr’la to show. I should have just found her myself, Paz might— The door creaks open, interrupting his train of thought, and Shayr’la walks in. Her long golden dress stands contrast against her dark skin and the Mand’alor thinks, like he has so often lately, about how beautiful she looks.

He walks to her, the sound of his boots echo around the room, with a greeting resting just on the tip of his tongue but the closer he gets the more he notices she’s upset. Her cheeks are blotchy and her normally clear brown eyes are now red rimmed and puffy. She’s been crying. “Ka’ra?” He reaches her and cups her face in his gloved hands, rubbing his thumbs over the apples of her cheeks. “Are you alright?”

She doesn't want to answer him, scared her voice will crack and give away too much emotion. She brings her hands up to cover over his and she nods, nuzzling into his palms.

“Okay, Ka’ra.” She knows that he doesn’t believe her, but she can’t bring herself to tell him what Paz said, that he felt compelled to say those things to her.

Did he not see that she did care?

She just… It takes… It hurts.

Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath to calm herself back down. Inhaling the leather and woodsy musk that is ultimately him, she turns her face into the leather of his gloves and kisses it. Not realizing what she’s done until it's too late, just caught up in the comfort he always seems to provide for her.

Oh.

Shayr’la clears her throat, trying to break the tension she’s accidentally created. “Paz said you wanted to see me.” She looks up into the black T of his visor. “Did you need something, Mand’alor?”

She hasn’t moved away.

“I.. uh, yes.” He slides a hand to the back of her neck, slow , and takes a small step towards her. “We need to practice.” She cocks her head to the side, a mimic of the Mandalorians around her, he wonders if she realizes that she has picked up the little quirk.

Cute.

“Practice?” she questions. “Practice what?” He invades her senses, her space, her mind, her soul . And she allows him to maneuver her head, tilting it up with a thumb to her jaw. She unconsciously moves closer to him, like an invisible string tying them together; a pull to one another that neither wants to admit to and yet they have no control over.

The rasp of his voice comes through the modulator answering her, “Te redalur.”

———

The Mand’alor starts the music, something with a flowing beat that repeats itself and is easy to keep time to. He walks back to the center of the room where she is waiting for him. She looks nervous, hands twisting with one another.

“Just follow my lead, Ka’ra.” He nods his helmet at her in encouragement trying to swallow down his own nerves.

Shaking out her arms to loosen up, she pushes back the voice of Paz telling her she doesn’t belong, that she doesn’t care. She does. Taking a deep breath in, she steadies herself, looks back, and acknowledges that she is ready.

For anything.

The Mand’alor lifts his right arm, bent at the elbow, palm facing Shayr’la and she mimics him. Taking a step to her he matches their forearms together but doesn’t clasp her hand. He walks her through the first few steps his eyes taking in her form and the determination set in her face. Half to make sure she is following his lead and keeping in time, and half because he can’t drag himself to look away from her.

They twirl around the room in time with the music, only stumbling in their steps occasionally, “You’re doing very well Ka’ra,” she looks up to the visor, a smile gracing her lips, but before she can speak she trips over her feet as they spin and he's there catching her, pulling her into him before she has a chance to fall. The laugh that escapes her causes his heart to clench and warmth blooms in his chest.

He wants to hear her laugh more.

He wants to cause that laughter.

———

The Mand’alor watches her as she tries to take in the next steps he showed her, a series of side steps and a flourish of a spin to end it. It was a simple end to the dance that they have been practicing for a while.

“Why do they call you Vizsla?” Shayr’la keeps her head down, memorizing the steps she’s taking. The question has been plaguing her for months but she never felt that there was a good time to ask, and if the name is soon to be her own she might as well ask now, “Is it really your last name?”

He steps to her before answering, pulling her into his arms, they start again when the beat begins its repeat, “No, no it is not.” He’s not surprised by her questioning and he's happy to oblige her. “A long time ago on another planet there used to be many of us, many different clans, many different leaders, Alor’s—”

She interrupts his explanation, looking up to him excited that she recognizes one of their words, “The children have called me that, I wasn’t sure what it meant.” There’s a sparkle in her eye. He can tell she wants to learn, that she wants to know more about them. She wouldn’t spend hours in the story halls translating and scribing the stories if she didn’t.

Paz is mistaken. She does belong here. She wants to be here.

Right?

“—yes,” he takes her hands pulling her into him bringing their bodies flush together, a small puff of air escapes her as one of his arms wraps around her waist, settling into the dip of her lower back. She looks up to him, it almost never fails that she finds his eyes and this time is no exception.

“You will be my wife,” he doesn’t mean for it to sound so possessive, but it does. And he likes it. Does she? “So in turn you will be their leader.” He spins her out, letting her go as far as he can, until they are only held together by each other’s fingertips. “That is, if you want to be.”

He pulls her back into him, his arms resuming their hold around her body. They’re close, so close , that if it weren’t for his helmet they would be breathing each other in, consuming one another.

If they wanted.

Shayr’la’s eyes dance across the emotionless helmet, forever seeing her own reflection looking back at her. Never the face beneath. She wonders what he looks like, if his eyes are as kind as she thinks they are. If his voice is just as rough and pleasant sounding without the modulator. Does he have stubble or a beard lining his face? Or does he shave everyday to keep it from irritating?

How does he look when he smiles?

He’s so caught up in her gaze that he hasn’t realized he’s stopped talking. Stopped moving. They’re just staring at each other. Wrapped up in each other’s arms. The Mand’alor drags his gloved hand up her spine sending a shiver through her body and pulling her out of her own thoughts.

“Mand’alor?” she whispers out, not wanting to break whatever is happening.

His hand rubs at the bare skin between her shoulder blades, he doesn’t know what he’s doing but he knows he doesn't want to stop. “I— sorry, Ka’ra,” he apologizes, his own voice just barely caught in his vocoder. Though he doesn’t take any movement to stop the drag of his hand along the edges of her dress at her back, or to separate himself from her embrace.

In a hushed tone she asks “Do you want to take it off?”

He cocks his helmet to the side in confusion and shock at her question. His hand stilling at her back with a finger hooking underneath the fabric there, “You— I—” the Mand’alor stumbles over his words as his brain tries to catch up to what Shayr’la asked him.

“What?”

Smirking at his bewilderment and finding his stupor amusing she wonders, “Do you ever want to take it off?”

“The helmet?” he slides his finger along the back of her dress, sliding up her shoulder. He plays with the fabric that lays gently there, almost teasing it. Moving it only slightly, gauging her reaction. He doesn’t see any objection in her eyes. No hesitance to his movement. Maybe only a hesitance in wanting to let herself crave.

She nods. Whether it be from his spoken, or unspoken question he doesn’t know. But he’s not going to argue with her.

Not when the leather of his glove drags across her skin. Caressing it. Feeling the warmth from her skin bleed through. How would it feel against his bare skin?

Against his palm?

His lips.

They can’t help but gravitate towards one another. Drawn in by something neither one wants to put a word to. Too afraid it could break. That it could shatter into a million pieces and then they would never be able to put it back together. So she looks away from him, eyes cast down to the few necklaces that lay against his chest. Reaching out to touch them, her fingers dance over the chains and beads there.

What do they mean?

“Recently.” His voice timid, just picked up by the helmet. Shayr’la closes her eyes at the feel of his gloved hand rounding her shoulder and dragging along her collarbone to rest at the base of her throat.

A pause.

A moment.

A break.

A swallow.

And then movement. His fingers curl around the back of her neck while his thumb caresses the hollow of her neck. He glides his hand up, tilting her head to look directly at him. Eyes open— wide, and dilated, and bright.

And there’s a fire in her stare.

“I’ve been thinking about it.”

———

Te redalur - the dance

Jor’adir be nuhur - celebration of good times

@mylifeliterally @tintinwrites @damerondjarin @shadow-assassin-blix @mikeisthricedeceased @djxrxn @theocatkov @buckstaposition @wrestlingfae @mostly-megan @tiffdawg @generaldamneron @softpedropascal @hardcorewwetrash @helplessly-nonstop @maybege @ollypopp @housekenobi @lettherebrelight @himbodjarin @the-bird-suit @obaby-wan @mitchi-c @nominalnebula @perropascal @roxypeanut @neverlandlibrarian @adampage @johnc0nstantine @goldafterglow @skylerrae-solo @bisexual-space-slut @sin-djarin @mandoplease @blue-writes-a03 @velvetmel0n @opheliaelysia @veuliee2 @eternallyvenus @gallowsjoker @mrpascals @thirstworldproblemss @smarchit @unstoppableforcce @haley-the-comet @stardust-galaxies @wanderlustmags @littlevodika @roxypeanut

(i have to tag the rest in a reblog because this website is stupid)(also can y’all let me know if you got the notification)

#the mandalorian #sw #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x oc #cl!din #julia tries writing

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chronictonsillitis · 4 years ago

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no pain so exquisite as to be bound (to you)

“Gon nau,” the officiant says, slipping her hand into the man’s. From now—

Their skin is hot against each other's, palms sweaty as their fingers lace together.

“Tu ste glong raun kom won.” Two are joined as one.

Clarke swallows hard, and looks up. Two pairs of eyes widen simultaneously, two sets of hackles instantly rising.

**** Forced to stand alone by the departure of her sort-of almost co-leader, Clarke does her damndest to hold the Dropship camp together. The thanks she gets when the Ark comes down? Her camp shuttered and her authority stripped. For her people, she agrees to marry a stranger, dashing any hope of finding her soulmate. Clarke is told nothing of her Grounder betrothed; yet the man waiting at the altar she knows all too well. In exchange for keeping his identity secret, an agreement is made, and the clock starts counting down: to the arrival of her soulmark, and the dissolution of this sham marriage.

Written for The t100 Fic for BLM Initiative Donation Celebration with beautiful artwork by Bri ( @underbellamy)! The Initiative is still accepting prompts and going strong, hitting $4000 in donations as of this week!

Chapter 1/?

(Ao3) or

She probably should’ve expected something like this.

After all, if her mom had been willing to send her down to Earth with the rest of them for the sake of the Ark, why would she balk at a simple marriage?

And of course Clarke goes along with it, because if not her, then who? Wells is dead, Bellamy is long gone; there’s no one else of the right age visible enough, no one else important enough to the Council to be a worthy prize for the Grounders.

Clarke scoffs internally. A worthy hostage is more like it.

The irony of it is not lost on her. She was forced into leadership by the actions of the Council, sending her to the ground, and forced to stand alone in charge of the delinquents by the unceremonious departure of her sort-of, almost co-leader. It was her who faced down the Trikru leader, her who held the Dropship camp together as they were besieged, and her who ultimately negotiated for peace.

And what was the thanks she got when the Ark came down? Her camp shuttered, her authority stripped, her role limited to a purely honorary seat on the Council with no real power, an empty concession as a reward for all her hard work. She’s spent the last year more or less stagnant, being spoken over in meetings and condescended to by people who kept her around purely because the Trikru representatives refuse to speak to anyone else. She wonders how they’ll deal with that particular problem now that they’ve shipped her off to Trishanakru.

Clarke expected to feel relief when she wasn’t in charge anymore, but instead she’s felt useless, like a child who’s long outgrown the kid’s table. Useless and flat.

Still, she didn’t expect her return to usefulness to be as a bargaining chip.

“You understand what you’re asking me to give up?” Clarke asks her mother behind closed doors after the offer of marriage is first put forth. “The home I’ve made, the relationships I’ve built?”

Abby wrings her hands, eyes full of guilt. “It’s not forever, you’ll be able to come back. To visit, at least.”

Clarke laughs harshly. “It is forever, that’s the point!” She paces back and forth, her heart clenching almost painfully. “It’s not a job, Mom, it’s a marriage. I’ll be one of them, bound to one of them, for life. I’ll never get a chance—” She breaks off, stopping facing the wall. “I’ll never have the opportunity to have what you and dad had. I’ll never get to have a true partner.”

She’s still too young to have her mark, just a hair past nineteen. They say it happens when you turn twenty, but that’s just an estimate. She’s likely got nine months or so until it starts to form, the lines beginning to weave their way across the skin below her collarbones in bits and pieces, slowly darkening until it’s all there, her own unique pattern branded black into her flesh.

An outward marker of genetic compatibility, her mom had called it during Clarke’s medical training, but Clarke prefers the traditional term: soulmark.

Matches on the Ark were not universal, but they were common enough. Her parents had been matched, and it had been easy for Clarke even as a child to see the difference between their relationship and that of the non-matched couples. There was a reason nobody took relationships seriously until they both were marked.

“I know that, honey,” Abby says, her voice soft. Clarke hates it, hates when she combines politics with acting like her mom. Abby puts her hand on Clarke’s arm, her touch innately comforting in a way that is wholly unfair given the situation. “But with Wells gone…”

Her words trail off, but the implication is clear. Abby thinks Clarke won’t match anyways. She thinks her daughter’s intended match is lying dead in a grave beside the dropship, buried beneath six feet of dirt, so what is she really being asked to give up? Only a dream, only a fairytale. Nothing of substance.

Clarke isn’t so sure.

She loved Wells, she still does, but it was never— like that, for them. She knows growing up everyone expected them to match, the prince and princess of the Ark, and maybe when she was little she believed it. But when he died it was her best friend that she grieved, not her soulmate.

And maybe she’s being foolish and romantic, but she still has hope. She thinks her match is out there somewhere, still breathing. But if she accepts this deal, this marriage, that hope is dead.

Clarke remembers the girls at the dropship camp tittering beside the fire, speculating about their marks and their matches. She remembers the way Octavia stared intently at Lincoln’s soulmark, memorizing it, confident in three years she’d be marked with its twin. She remembers tracing a pattern across Finn’s skin in the bunker, imagining he could be hers.

None of the delinquents were old enough to have a mark, save Bellamy of course. Raven’s started blooming a few weeks in, but Bellamy’s soulmark was fully fledged well before they came down, winding black and proud across his chest as he strutted about the camp shirtless. From his prolific activities with the camp girls, Clarke assumes he didn’t have a match that he knew of. On the Ark, at least, it was unheard of to have a matching soulmark and not act on it. To be given a gift like that and to turn it away— no one is that stupid.

Then again, it’s Bellamy, so who knows.

He was stupid enough to leave his sister, stupid enough to leave Clarke to fend for herself as leader of a bunch of kids barely younger than herself, with nothing but a half-hearted shooting lesson and a suggestion to keep Miller close. And yeah, she’d survived, but it would have been a hell of a lot easier with a partner.

“If we had any other options, Clarke,” Abby begs. “I wouldn’t ask. But we need this alliance. Without Trishanakru, Azgeda will wipe us out before the end of the summer.”

Clarke stiffens, her nose pointing upwards, because she knows this. Of course she knows this. She’s been in every goddamn Council meeting, even if nobody had bothered to listen to what she had to say. Maybe if they had, they wouldn’t be in this position.

But they didn’t, and now they don’t. It’s this or nothing.

So fine. If this is all she can do for her people, she’ll do it. She’ll give up her family, give up her friends, give up her chance to be with her soulmate even before her mark begins to darken on her skin.

It’s better that way, her Trishanakru attendants say as they bathe her in milk and drape her in silk, prettying her up like a lamb for slaughter. Better not to know, so she can go into the marriage free of tethers, unbound by her own expectations. Clean of skin and pure of heart, they say.

“And what of my husband-to-be?” Clarke asks dryly. “Is he still unmarked?”

The question is only half sarcasm, the other half genuine curiosity. She knows nothing of the man she is to marry except his status amongst the clan: second to the Chief, a warrior. In negotiations they never mentioned his name, temperament, age, nothing. He could be an old man for all Clarke knows; even a child, if Trishanakru shares the same customs as Trikru.

The woman braiding her hair purses her lips, not meeting Clarke’s eyes. “No,” she admits. “But he will show you the same respect you show him. He has not found his match, and after today, he will have no match but you.”

How romantic, Clarke thinks, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

She has no pretensions about this marriage. She does not expect love, nor even happiness. All she expects is the treaty with Skaikru to be honored. If that happens, it will be enough.

She stands still as they drape her with beads and gems, lace strings of pearls into her hair. Absentmindedly, she wonders where exactly all the jewelry came from. Maybe an old museum, or a jewelry store.

They pat around her eyes with oil, pressing gold leaf to it so it peels off on her skin. Her dress is long and heavy, layers of fabrics darned with intricate embroidery. She almost laughs, thinking of what everyone back in Arkadia would say. She imagines the Princess jokes would come on pretty strong.

For all the bangles they slide up her arms, all the jewels the hang from her ears, her ankles, her hips, her hair, they put no necklaces on her. It’s confusing, at least until it isn’t.

Clarke balks at the monstrosity they pull out, because it’s a collar.

There’s no better word for it really. Not a collar like a dog would wear, not a thin strip of leather, no: this is a bridle, a harness, an anchor. It’s gold and bejeweled and if Clarke wasn’t the one wearing it she’d call it beautiful, but she is.

It’s thick and heavy, settling on her shoulders like a weight, making them sag. It covers her chest from the hollow of her throat to the middle of her sternum, covers her shoulders from clavicle to acromion.

It’s choking her.

It clasps behind her back with some complicated mechanism she cannot see, and Clarke thinks she spots one of the attendants pocket a key. Her throat goes dry, hands fighting the urge to scrabble at her throat.

“What is this?” Her voice is shaky, her anxiety leaching into her tone.

Her attendants are polite enough to ignore it, reaching out to adjust her hair so it falls over the hammered metal, gold on gold. “It is traditional in weddings like this. To cover your mark.” The woman hums, her finger tracing over the jewels, a wistful look on her face. “They are normally leather. You must be very important to the clan.”

Oh joy, Clarke thinks.

“I don’t have a mark yet,” she grits. “Why do I have to wear it?”

“But you will. It’s tradition, but besides, it’ll be easier for you to start now. So there’s no temptation.”

Clarke isn’t sure what kind of fucked up weird conservatism she’s marrying into, but she’s not thrilled. “When can I take it off?” Her attendants go quiet, their eyes not meeting hers. “Hello?”

The youngest one, a kind looking girl who’d smiled when Clarke had asked her name, gives her an apologetic look. “You can’t. The key will go to your husband, as a sign of your trust.” She shrugs. “You will get used to it.”

Clarke highly doubts that, but she also doubts that these women have any say in whether she stays permanently collared.

It’s moments like these she thinks she probably should have insisted on meeting her husband before the day of the wedding, or insisted on having some of her own people here with her to advocate on her behalf. Besides the inherent powerlessness of this marriage, she didn’t expect to actually be locked into anything.

Not physically at least.

The last piece of her outfit that they add is a gold beaded vail, hanging over her face and eyes like a curtain. She joked about being lamb for slaughter, but seriously. The collar, the blinders: she feels like livestock.

Clarke frowns. She will put up with the indignity for her people, of course she will, but fuck if she can’t show her displeasure.

The first part of the wedding is small, intimate, and Clarke is grateful. The nice attendant tells her it will last a half hour, in which her husband-to-be and her will be bound temporarily. After that, they will have time to meet privately.

By the downcast eyes of the attendant, Clarke thinks that this is a polite way of saying he will have time to sample the goods before committing to her permanently. Her skin crawls at the thought. She knew there was likely to be some sort of required consummation, but she’s sort of blocked it out. She hasn’t had sex since Finn, hasn’t had any sort of romantic or sexual interactions in the interim. She hasn’t wanted to.

She’s both embarrassed by her inexperience and furious at herself for being anything other than angry.

They lead her into the ceremonial hall, an open room with a vaulted ceiling. Light shines in through broken stained glass windows, and she thinks maybe, before the bombs, this used to be a church. Fitting, she supposes.

She’s directed to a cushion at the end of the room, in front of some sort of altar. She sweeps the silks away from her ankles and kneels, sitting back on her bare feet.

Clarke would think someone would tell her husband-to-be she’s already there, or that this was to be a formal event, but nevertheless she can hear him arguing with someone as he approaches the door. Her attendants stand at her back, waiting calmly.

“—ridiculous for them to just expect I would have no problem with it,” a man says, his rasp deep in a familiar way that she cannot seem to place. “I have duties to the clan, to you, and your ambassadors just expect me to drop everything and marry a stranger, just because she’s related to some backwoods Seya. Is she supposed to come with me into battle?”

Another man speaks softly in response, his voice low enough it doesn’t quite reach Clarke’s ears.

“Why should it matter to me whether she’s marked or not? If she’s not a warrior I have no use for her. What am I supposed to do with some— some spoiled child bride?”

His last hiss echoes through the room as he enters, striking her like a slap to the face.

Clarke bristles, her teeth clenching, and lifts her shoulders. She doesn’t want to be in this marriage either, thank you very much, especially not to a man who’s clearly too arrogant to see past his own nose.

She’s not a warrior, fine, but she fights in different ways. She’s a politician, and a healer, and a strategist. Clarke is useful, and not just as some diplomatic trophy.

The reply is too quiet for her to hear, but she’s sure it wouldn’t calm her down.

Her intended apologizes to her attendants, and Clarke hears them shuffle to the side, letting him past. She’s not sure why he bothers, clearly he has no care for propriety. He drops unceremoniously to his knees beside her without a glance in her direction, the man to whom he was speaking coming around to stand in front of them. The officiant, she guesses.

Clarke keeps her gaze straight ahead, glaring at the paneled wall in front of her.

The ceremony is conducted wholly in Trig, the words unfamiliar and spoken so quickly Clarke misses most of the actual content. She’s okay at Trig, but with her unofficial house arrest leaving only Lincoln to practice with, she’s still far from fluent, and none of this is anything she would have even thought to learn.

At some point she’s directed to raise her right hand, and the man beside her his left. The officiant continues, “—ogeda. Nomfa kom Trishanakru, Seken kom Seya, yu na teik dis?”

The bone of her wrist brushes against his skin. The contact is disconcerting, and her eyes flicker involuntarily to the man’s hand.

His skin is tan, several shades darker than her own, his hand broad. His nails are short but clean, and she wonders if he too had to take a milk bath before this.

“Sha,” he says, his voice a low rumble, and the officiant hands him one end of a red ribbon, wrapping it once around his wrist. Clarke shivers.

Probably not.

Her eyes come back up as she realizes the officiant is speaking directly to her now, his words slow and careful. He gives her a serious look, something almost fatherly, his eyebrows pulling together. “Nomfri kom Skaikru,” he asks. Daughter of Skaikru. “Yu na teik dis?” Will you allow this?

In the corner of her eye, she sees the man at her side stiffen, his spine snapping straight, but she doesn’t have time to puzzle through that. She meets the officiant’s eyes with a resolute stare, and nods. “Yes.”

His lips curl into a half grin, as though he is proud of her answer, and he loops the ribbon around her wrist, placing the end softly into her hand. Clarke closes her fist around it.

The officiant bids them to stand, and they do, rising as one to their feet, wrists bound between them. The officiant takes both their unbound hands and gestures for them to face one another.

Clarke closes her eyes and opens them again, releasing a steadying breath through her nose. She forces her feet to turn, keeping her gaze pointed downward. She will not let this man see doubt in her eyes, won’t let him catch a hint of fear.

“Gon nau,” the officiant says, slipping her hand into the man’s.

From now—

Their skin is hot against each other's, palms sweaty as their fingers lace together.

“Tu ste glong raun kom won.”

Two are joined as one.

Clarke swallows hard, and looks up. Two pairs of eyes widen simultaneously, two sets of hackles instantly rising.

Because even though her husband is a stranger, she knows his eyes: deep brown staring out now from unfamiliar charcoal black; the same way she knows the curl of his hair, the line of his shoulders, the pattern that lies beneath the paint on his chest.

She knows these things the same way he knows the slope of her nose, the curve of her breasts, the mark above her lip, the weight of her body clinging to his.

Clarke’s heart races.

Bellamy.

#bellarke #bellamy blake #The 100 #clarke griffin #the 100 fic #bellarke fic #bellarke fanfiction

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kaetastic · 4 years ago

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PRINCE CHARMING

pairing: Luca Changretta x Reader

summary: Luca brings the Reader to a fancy family gathering, except, he can’t take his hands off of her when she’s in a fiery red dress, displaying her tattoos [requested: @supermegapauselouca]

word count: 3.4k (oop)

warning: slightly ??? nsfw lol couldn’t help it (’m horny for the man), a lot of interruptions

note: i’m so sorry this took long! i had to finish up history unfolds and was writing trouble on the side. bless you and your freaking amazing ideas 🥰 i hope this is alright :) also, i wanted to post this for my 2,000 post but nvm lol

Chattering and stifling of expensive giggles swirled in with clanking of metal on ceramic. Shufflings of polished shoes paced on the marble floors which had been drowning in shimmers of iridescent glimmer from the dancing flames huffing from the candles. The ball of hovering fire resided on the stick of wax. Beads of sweat poured to puddle on the silver tray.

With a smile, Y/N incessantly nodded her head at the woman who had been persistent on firing up a conversation. The mirror dangling from her neck blared sparkles of cerulean blue and innocent white under the howling moonlight. Although her mind directed to flickers of other thoughts, the hostess couldn’t help but stand and entertain her guest.

The woman had been rambling on and on about the origin of the diamond necklace that was up for display on her neck as if a museum. The gem was colossal, almost inhumanely possible to be sold as a worn necklace. The hostess wasn't uncomfortable with the elderly woman's declaration of the necklace's background which sounded it had a more complex, entertaining past than Y/N. It was slightly embarrassing. Every time her head had pulled her out to the abyss, the woman inquired questions like: What do you think about it? or What gem looked good on me? It felt like Y/N was tugged back to school. The elderly woman would raise her arm into the air, sparkles from the gold rings wrapped around her arm sung a choir of clanking with every jab of muscles. The amount of gold she had worn was enough to halt worldwide human hunger for at least a month.

“Zia Gianna,” The familiar English interjected the conversation. Luca’s voice was mellow honey poured over a freshly plucked out plump peach. The viscous sweetener glistened over the fruit, seeping into the minuscule pores to branch valleys of the sticky liquid. However, the Italian in his voice embedded a piercing gem on the peak of the fruit. Well, that was the popular comments quirked up towards the Italian, all sourced from his Italian family members.

Although most of the males did not bat an eye at the slightly toned-down accent, it did not pass the females without them darting a glance. His aunts were the one quirk up the English poking from his Italian. Even though he hoped the two aunties from his father’s side were the last ones to comment on his accent, hope was not enough as it went on with the night, “I see you’ve met my wife. Are you pestering Y/N about the necklace?”

The woman let out a laugh, causing her head to be thrown back, her neck nearly snapping in half. With her white silk-gloved hands on her chest, the elder woman grinned of glee after she recovered from his words. A charmer even towards his family members. Luca’s arms snaked around his wife's waist to brush his thumb gingerly over her hip as if she was a fragile plucked out flower. With the signature quirk of his lips, his pearly white teeth shot a sparkle towards his aunt, “Oh, Luca, of course. I will never stop talking about it until I die.”

The Italian shook his head, “Zia Gianna, you live under the same roof with Zio Giovanni, you’ll surely live longer than I will.”

Grinning from the mention of her hard-working (maybe over-working) husband who sacrificed his sleeping hours for the late-nights for the organization, the elderly lady clasped her hands to gawk at her nephew as if he was a hero who had saved her life, “Thank you for giving that man a day off. You don’t know how many times I've annoyed him to eat dinner at home.”

“Now I just need to give Gabriele vacation,” Gianna bopped her head, nodding in agreement with her nephew’s words. Although the woman had familiarized herself enough with the infamous mafia, she never had her sweat coated over the organization. However, the woman with prominent wrinkles can approve of the recent bustling days which was a fluctuated period of time since it was just a calm breeze before. Overhearing her working sons and husband during their rare days of consuming breakfast at home, she had picked up enough information from their ranting. Some problems that were rising in some ports had caused a rattle in the foundation of the business. “Well then, I’ll steal my wife back.”

“Of course, congratulations on the wedding once again and remember Luca,” Dragging her silk glove-covered index fingers down her cheeks, she flicked it in his direction, “Don’t lose her.”

A flicker in the aunt’s eyes was shot at the man before she left the room, strutting out of the main room to converse with her other cousins.

“I like that,” Y/N mumbled, fingers furled around her husband’s arm, clumping up his suit while he guided them out of the crowds. The scent of lingering wood and expensive whiskey swirled into her lungs, the odour that smeared over their bedsheets. She continued. “You calling me your wife.”

“Yeah?” With a clench of his fingers, she jumped back at the abrupt feeling. A satisfied smirk sported on his lips, happy with her reaction. “Get used to it.”

Rolling her eyes, Y/N couldn’t believe this was the man she ended up marrying. Although the pair had been together as couples for a long while, nearly three years, it wasn’t until he had brought up the ring. Which then led to the necklace wrapped around her finger, its diamond sparkling under the chandelier light. The wise man who was in his late thirties believed they should see how well the boats rock over the raging waves.

After caressing his eyes over the party, he craned his neck down, hot lips puffing warm air into her ears as his eyes darted onto her inked skin that always managed to quiver his knees. A powerful woman with painting over her skin (even though he believed he could make better art on her), “Remember what you told me before?” Slightly confused, the quirked up eyebrows loosened once she understood what he had meant. Y/N couldn’t help the appearance of the satisfied smirk plastered across her face. A coquettish hum echoed into his ears. “It’s true?”

While his close cousins paced past, Luca gave a silent bop of his head as an acknowledgement of their presence. The woman peaked on her toes, whispering over the cross on his neck, “Why don’t you find out?”

Tongue grazing his bottom lip, Luca's eyes beamed at his wife. The strings of wanton mumbling stood on the tip of his tongue, ready to flick into her ears. All that clogged in his head was pictures of her bare. His fingers trailed down, further from the appropriate position that was on her hip; down, closer towards her bare legs.

“Luca!” The Italian yanked his hand back in a snap, fingers scratching the nape of his neck while he cleared his throat. Approaching the pair of the night was his uncle whose hair twinkled of stardust, neck drooping with the hefty golden chains that were the size for docking boats. An amused giggle brushed her lips. It was always amusing to see Luca get riled up even though she had to face the consequences which were then followed by days of resting.

“Zio Federico.” The curled up corner of Luca’s lips etched a barely noticeable twitch, one only his wife could see. The dancing wine lapped against the glass flute as the middle-aged man hopped towards the married couple. Y/N wasn’t sure if it was because of the incessant amount of chains he dragged upon, but the head of Luca’s uncle shot forward, shoulders too slow to meet a middle-ground.

There was one thing Y/N had learnt during the ride with Luca’s life, well, more like inspect. It would be the first thing for eyes to graze upon but their lips would be sealed shut. And now that she was officially Luca’s; it will always be the elephant in the room unless there was no article of clothing on him. Every man in the party wore suits. A fortune for those outside of the blood pool to purchase. A walking advertisement for those who wore it. The grey-blue of his waistcoat contrasted with the dying black jacket, his tie of a peculiar dotted pattern that nearly resembled that of a canvas painted by birds shit.

Trekking with a slimy gait, Federico’s arms were wide open for the boy, well, man. Even though they work in the same organization, the elderly man was positioned on a different station, somewhere lower of New York. Not so secretly, Federico had a soft spot in his heart for the youth, his nephews and nieces. It felt like days ago when Luca was no more than a 12-year-old boy. Visioning it wasn’t hard as Luca had been one of his favourites (also not a secret because it had been pointed out by nearly everyone) since the boy never matched up with the rest of his troublesome cousins. The man still remembered when the meddling boys sneaked out of their classes while Luca had remained, completing the whole school day. He was much easier to control. Well, Y/N wouldn't be able to agree.

“Ciao, Luca,” He let out a boisterous cackle, yanking the taller man by his neck to smack his lips, cheek to cheek. “Look at you, married.”

With a quivering smile, Luca became the temporary slapping victim for his uncle. The once grimacing clapping of skin died down when the man had enough of his teasing, “Said it yourself, wasn’t rowdy as Alessandro.”

“That boy will never settle down,” Inhaling in the liquid, Federico shook his head at the issues riled up by his nephew. “At least Alessandro didn’t get her first.”

Y/N wore a tight lip as Luca’s frigid hands rubbed her bare skin. Although slightly debatable, she was sure the creeping smirk on his lips was not because of the amusing rumours spiralled by his cousin but because he noticed the bulging bumps and her shuddering, “At least Alessandro didn’t get her first.”

“We’ll catch up later, I’m sure you two are busy. If you want to see Luca baby photos in his diapers, I can pass ‘em around.” With a wink, the elderly man stomped away from the pair to boisterously yank his cousins in a hug.

A sigh fell of Luca’s lips, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose at his uncle’s antics. Although he was annoyed at the man, Y/N couldn’t stifle her amusement at the thought. Luca Changretta in diapers? She will need to see that.

“Were you in baby nappies?” Y/N whispered as giggles weaved through her words. While pacing down the long side of the table, she shot a sparkly smile towards one of Luca’s many aunts who returned the same gesture. Arms locked tightly, the pair sauntered around the room, gazing over the party with hidden pride flared in them.

Humming at her words, Luca halted once they were in a dim corner before his fingers found its way up her neck. All he needed was to get the idea of his uncle introducing his wife to the embarrassing childhood pictures of him out of her head and out of her creative thinking. A shudder zipped down his body at the thought of her seeing him in the train-patterned pinned diapers. Oh, he could only imagine the days of her taunting. The area of skin his calloused fingers trailed over bulged with bumping hills at the cooling sensation. To be a mafioso, Luca’s hands were often smeared with a frigid kiss of a gun’s metal. Something she had grown to adapt to.

“Luca,” Y/N hissed at her pesky husband. With a hum, his fingers laid on her cheeks, his lips were nudged to the crook of her neck, nose swirling in her intoxicating scent. “Your family’s here.”

Another hum rumbled from him, albeit, it was just to give an indication of acknowledgement. Even though her fingers were clutching onto the lapels of his jacket to nudge him away, her staggering exhale said otherwise, “How ‘bout I check now?”

With no reply but faint moans, Luca’s fingers descended at a languid pace. Caressing his skin with frigid kisses was the silk fabric of her dress, “Fuck. How can I keep my hands off of you when you look ravishing, especially with this?”

Gently nipping his teeth on the smeared trail of a slithering snake tattoo, all he could imagine was ending the party so they could get out. A dark smear hazed over his already dark iris when he couldn’t feel the usual presence of the garter. Before he had the chance to inquire her, she exhaled an explanation, “Took it off before we arrived.”

Luca’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding over one another at the thought of her bare, ready for him, “All I can think about is just having you on the desk,” Luca mumbled. While the words puffed over her neck, the flesh of his warm lips caressed her with ever so feather touch. “Can you imagine? If we were at home right now? I would just tear this dress apart.”

A gulp plunged down her throat, warmed by her deadly acid. Luca was a tease; unfortunately, she had to learn it the hard way, “Are you wet?”

He was so close. So close to dragging her out of the party to validate it himself, but, of course, what better night than a family gathering. After his name was once again called out, he reluctantly sauntered away.

As the night aged, Luca had been yanked into countless conversations, hurling him from one side of the room to the other as if he was a throw pillow. He could feel the gurgling acid ascending his throat at the dizzying motion. However, there was one thing his mind couldn’t wipe off and that was his wife. People were rambling on about work or meeting again at a café, but his focus was not set on them. Y/N was in the same room as him. He couldn’t help his mind but divert to the silk red dress she wore. Occasionally, his eyes would steal discreet glances across the room where she would be accompanied by an aunt or his.

He wouldn’t snap his neck towards her direction if he didn’t know what laid under the sheer fabric. The dress she wore was the exact colour of the brassiere and lace garter she wore. Well, had worn. The Italian knew this because she walked in his studies while he was finishing up some papers, in only the two undergarments. If only they hadn’t have to be rushed. And fuck was it difficult for him to maintain his twitching. Despite them being the couple of the night as they were the one to host the party, the two barely spent time together while she was dragged into gossiping about God knows what.

Cutting off the water supply with a squeak, Y/N paced out of the powder room after she was satisfied with her fixed appearance. Even though her locks of hair had been poking out of its usual, organized manner, the absence of her comb gave her only one option and that was to tolerate the mess throughout the night. As she sauntered into the empty hallway, the sharp clicking of her heels resounded off the brick walls. A buzzing sang from the flickering lights who was starving for electricity. The location of the party might’ve been in an exquisite ball but the powder room had to be underground.

Y/N knew everyone was busy munching on the meals that were being served; however, she felt eyes brushing over her figure. Having ties with the mafia was one thing, married to a mafioso was another. There had been instances where she had let her guard down at situations like this. Thankfully, Matteo or Frederico had been present. It never ended without a smear of blood on her dress. No one could get in, right? The whole mafia was present in the building. As she sauntered down the dim hallway, her shoulders were tensed, eyes set only onto the open arch that led to the ascending stairs.

Steps after steps, she could hear her breathing overlapped by her thrumming heart. A few more and she could glide over the shimmering stairs. Just a few more.

As a chilled hand slammed over her hands, the scream she stressed clogged in her throat. Thrashing in their grip, faint slamming of her unsuccessful attempts to produce at least frantic clicks of her heels whispered. Her clenched arm was ready to plunge her prodding elbow into the figure. That was until a familiar musk trickled into her head; the familiar fabric of a suit made way into her peripheral. With a toothy grin, Luca craned his neck down. Y/N didn’t feel the same way.

After a smack to his chest and an amused chuckle, his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her body onto his, “What're you doing?” Y/N hissed, annoyed at the stunt he just pulled.

“You were gone for too long.” He mumbled as his fingers gripped on her waist. His lips pressed chaste kisses on her neck.

“I was gone for five minutes..” The woman stammered as the frigid bricks kissed her back. Luca’s mouth rested on the spot he knew too much of. The area of her sensitive skin he loved to mark. All she could see was a white haze smeared over her vision at his teasing pecks. Neck angled for better access, the Italian grazed his teeth over the tattoos trailing on her skin. Fuck. If there was one thing that can ruin Luca Changretta, it would be his woman and her tattoos. Too indulged in the ticklish feeling of his kisses, Y/N didn’t notice his hand lowering until it slipped to squeeze her inner thigh.

“Luca...” Y/N moaned, lips pressing one another as she tried her best to suppress the wanton sounds. There was one thing she didn't want. And that was to not be caught by a family member of his in such a public place. Chuckling at her bucking of hips, Luca retracted his fingers. An exasperated sigh brushed her lips, head slamming into the wall at his antics. Eyes blurred with the smeared scribble of his cross tattoo, her breathing puffed over the sole patch ink. At an agonizing pace, he pushed his fingers up. Heat radiated over his skin. Oh, he was close to the mess she had created.

A clearing of a throat trickled into their ears, snapping through the warmth that was shared between the two. Pulling away with flushed faces as if teenagers who had been caught, Luca feverishly sleeked his hair back. Still in shock, Y/N’s cheeks were smeared pink at the sight of her mother-in-law.

“I know I said I want grandchildren, but I didn’t mean to conceive the poor soul at a family gathering.” Even though her words weaved with disappointment, there was a glint of amusement flickering behind her eyes. After her soft voice seeped through the cracks of the walls and she was no longer in sight, Y/N finally realized what had just happened.

Luca chuckled, head shaking before he burst into strings of laughter. He didn’t know what was funnier, the fact that his mother had nearly caught him fucking his wife or his frozen wife who had still yet to regain from her rigid stance.

Yanking down the hem of her dress, a frustrated groan brushed over her lips. Y/N shot irritated glares at her husband who was in a spell of laughter. Audrey Changretta just saw the hands of her son in her daughter-in-law’s dress, “What?”

After a faint smack against his chest, Luca noticed her furrowed eyebrows and narrowed eyes, “What?” The woman hissed, mocking him as she clawed through her hair with her fingers in a makeshift comb. “Your mother just saw your fingers in me.”

“Well, technically, it wasn’t in yet,” Another chuckle fell off his lips when she slapped the same, sore spot. Y/N rolled her eyes. “What was I meant to do?”

Having enough of Luca, she let out a huff bnefore stomping away from the scene, “Luca!” The Italian grinned at her squeak once a boisterous smack of his hand against her back echoed through the tranquil hallway. Y/N didn’t even bother to shoot a glance at his words.

With a matchstick dangling on the corner of his lips, he yelled out as she faded away, “Don’t get too tired, Amore! We’re not done!”

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