#telling him about all the ridiculous shit he got up to in the desert | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jamminvroomvroom · 1 year ago

Text

777.

ln x fem!reader

in which lando has a wild week in vegas

on a bit of a roll whoops! had to write something slutty for vegas week/lando’s birthday so here it is! enjoy my loves and please please pleeeeease tell me what you think! 🎲💘 have literally been thinking about this since vegas was announced and i couldn’t stop listening to silk sonic lol

posting this with the @lavenderlando seal of approval 🫡🤍

inspired loosely by 777 by silk sonic

warnings: 18+ minors dni i am so serious!! listen it’s smut. it’s a lot lot lot of smut. alcohol, swearing, fuckboy!lando, one night stand vibes, choking, unprotected sex, general sex acts, some kinky shit, fluff, minor angst bc lando is a moody little shit

5k words

lando had gotten used to the taste of champagne.

the golden bubbles had grown on him over the course of the season, they tasted like success. so, he didn’t protest when several magnums showed up at the round table, some ridiculous happy birthday remix being blasted over the casino speakers.

it was the night of his 24th birthday, and the drinks hadn’t stopped flowing. he was surrounded by his friends, max and ash joining him, as well as the drivers that had arrived in vegas. the crisp white sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows by now, midnight fast approaching, the material half unbuttoned.

they’d started the night in a bar, drowning in a river of alcohol, and now they were in a casino, one of many on the strip. it was all a bit predictable, kitschy decor everywhere he looked since he’d arrived in las vegas, but that’s what made it iconic. the tackiness seemed to mesh well with the old money vibe, and lando knew this would be a birthday to remember.  

everything was mahogany, gold or red. nothing didn’t twinkle in the lights. his suit jacket was slung over his shoulder, curls messy already from the light breeze of november in the desert. his cheeks were champagne rosy, the alcohol going straight to his head and he felt so fucking good.

everyone toasted to the birthday boy, slot machines rattling in the background. lando didn’t usually enjoy this sort of environment, but he was too drunk to care, deciding to embrace the insanity of his life and live on the edge for one night.

he found himself hunched over a gaming table, fingers drumming against the green felt. his eyes scanned the embroidery, taking in the game that was being played. blackjack, he assumed. this really wasn’t his type of place.

by then, as if by some sort of divine intervention, it was.

a flash of red. a swish of hair. manicured nails on a martini glass.

suddenly blackjack seemed like the best fucking game in the world.

lando couldn’t look away from you.

you were stood right opposite him, drink in hand, red satin draping over every curve of your frame. the dress seemed to cover everything, and nothing at all, perfect for the environment you were in. it was daring, enticing, and lando sure liked being enticed.

from the very second he laid eyes on you, he was picturing what you’d look like against a clean, white bedspread, how his name would sound rolling off your tongue in the form of a desperate whimper. it was a crude thought, but he’d become a crude man.

things had changed a lot since his last breakup. he was messy, leaving a trail of clothes and kisses across every country he stepped foot in. he didn’t get off on the number of people he’d slept with, he got off on the rush of someone new, and he knew before he’d even touched down in vegas, a week earlier than he needed to, that this would probably be the messiest week of his life.

but then he saw you, and it felt weird. he didn’t just want to learn your name and bend you over the nearest surface, gone from your bed before the sun was even in the sky. he was addicted at first sight; he had to take you home, at the very least.

his fixation on you was broken by the dealers voice; it seemed like you were up to play next and you needed at least another player. lando’s eyes flitted back to you, wondering if he even knew how to play blackjack before he offered himself up to you on a glaring shiny platter. you took the decision away from him, because this time, you were staring right back at him.

internally, he was choking on air. externally, he was mentally undressing you with a filthy smirk on his face.

“wanna play, birthday boy?” you smiled coyly, an eyebrow quirked seductively. he could have fallen right to his knees at just the sound of your voice. sweet and spicy.

lando realised that you’d seen the embarrassing display the boys had put on for him. maybe you even knew who he was. he definitely wanted to know who you were, and that’s why he decided to give in to your electric stare.

“you’re on.”

he lost.

every. single. game.

numbers were never lando’s thing.

it was hard to care, though, when he had you sprawled out on the desk of his hotel room, his lips all over your neck.

the walk from the casino up to his room had been short, a bottle of champagne in his left hand and the curve of your ass in his right. there’d been very little small talk, very little convincing needed to seduce you, not with the way you’d been eye-fucking from opposite sides of the table, cards laid bare before you both.

he’d kissed you in the elevator, sloppy and desperate, pressed you against the door to his suite, and quickly pinned you to the other side of it once you were finally inside. you tasted like fruit liquor and cigarettes, your dress slowly bunching at your hips as his hands roamed the silky material. lando was restless, craving everything you had to offer, so he picked you up effortlessly, spreading his palms across the back of your thighs.

it had been a short walk to the desk from the door, and he placed you down carefully. lando slid the dress up your thighs, his finger grazing your calf as he did. you were arching into him, pushing his jacket off his frame and frantically tugging at the buttons of his dress shirt until it was hanging undone off his shoulders.

the look in your eyes sent his blood rushing, frenzied and desperate for him as much as he was for you. taking your jaw in his hand, he tilted your chin towards him until you were looking up at him through your lashes. lando tucked your hair behind your ear, continuing to graze down your neck until he reached the flimsy strap of your dress.

“are you gonna let me have you?” his grip on your jaw tightened and he studied your face.

he gulped when your lips twisted into a smile, conniving, dangerous, red lipstick smudged deliciously. you hadn’t caved into his touch, fallen into submission, and suddenly lando was swimming way out of his depth.

it seemed he’d finally met his match.

you pushed him away, giggling as he stumbled backwards towards the bed, and stood from your place on the desk. slowly, you made your way towards him, until you’d backed him up all the way to the foot of the bed, at which point he collapsed. he scrambled up onto his elbows, smirking up at you.

your eyes raked over his frame, swollen lip caught between your teeth. he looked disheveled in the best way, shirt framing lean sun kissed skin.

slowly, you unzipped your dress, letting it fall off your frame. the material pooled at your feet and you stepped out of it carefully, kicking it away. lando had moved up the bed so that he was sitting against the headboard, watching you hungrily. you were left bare, aside from a lacy thong and red stilettos. lando could have cried tears of joy.

happy fucking birthday.

lando’s eyes lit up like 777 had spun onto a slot machine. he may have lost at blackjack but he’d definitely hit the jackpot.

you crawled onto the bed towards him, not stopping until you were sat on his lap. his hands scaled your thighs, stroking up and down the soft skin. you rolled your hips, experimenting, toying with him, and he groaned, low and loud.

“does this answer your your question?” you whispered, leaning into him so that you could loop your arms around his neck.

lando kissed you, slow and sloppy, sitting up even further just to feel you closer. he could feel your nipples brushing against his bare chest, low whines breaking through the kiss your shared every time you felt too sensitive. your bodies were rolling together in unison, friction building nicely between your legs.

he was growing impatient, itching to get rid of the remaining barriers between you. lando held you still, tight, flipping you both over so that he was hovering over you. his lips worked your neck, hickeys littered down your neck and over your collarbone, while his hands moved down your body. he toyed with the band of your thong, snapping the material against your waist.

lando left you there, keening for his touch, while he peeled his shirt off. his trousers went next, along with his boxers, and then he was right back where he’d left off. your panties disappeared in a flash, his kisses punctuated by a splotchy purple mark sucked below your left breast.

and then he was buried between your legs, licking stripes into you like he was starving. he moaned into your pussy when he felt the first pull on his hair, spurring him on. he applied more pressure, taking it slow, revelling in the way you tugged harder and harder with every swipe. lando slid two fingers through your folds, coating them in your slick.

when he slid the digits inside of you, his mouth latched onto your clit, flicking against it relentlessly. he found the perfect rhythm, balance, everything he was doing made you see stars behind your eyelids. you were thrashing, helpless, and he was getting off on it.

you jaw went slack when you raised yourself onto your elbows just to find him grinding against the mattress, groaning into your cunt at the sensation, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. you couldn’t even hold yourself up then, dropping into the mattress as you fell apart beneath him.

lando resurfaced a few moments later, a glint in his eyes, his mouth glistening in the dim light. your vision was hazy, body shattered, but you ached for more of him. the feeling only intensified, your legs tightening around his waist, when he raised his coated fingers to his lips, lapping up every last drop of you. his tongue swirled around his digits lewdly, and you shuddered.

lando didn’t mind at all when you pushed him onto his back, clambering on top of him. you looked wild, animalistic even, as you guided the tip of his cock through your folds, and he folded his arms behind his head to enjoy the view. once you’d slicked him up, not that he really needed it, you sunk down on him.

fingerprints stained your hips; his grip on you increased tenfold as you adjusted around him, your walls throbbing around his swollen cock. lando sucked in a harsh breath through his teeth, holding you down on him. your movements were stuttering, trying to hold yourself together and ignore the way he fit inside you so damn perfectly. you tested the waters, rolling your hips a few times, and his eyes rolled back in his skull.

you felt heavenly, like velvet and butterflies.

he lost all sense of control, every fibre keeping him from wrecking you. his grip didn’t loosen when he fucked up into you, bending his knees for any extra leverage he could get. your nails scraped down his chest, his abs, dripping at the way he tensed under your touch. you tried your best to keep up with him, to meet his thrusts, holding your own for longer than you thought you would.

and then you were folding, melting into his chest, one of his hands pulling both of your behind your back, holding you down as he fucked you into your orgasm. your whines were panted right into his ear, sending him hurtling towards his own high.

lando couldn’t help himself, spilling into you, your body pressed helplessly into his. you were exhausted, wrecked, grinning lazily against the thrumming of his heartbeat.

with your hands held behind your back, you couldn’t stop him from planting you on your back, snaking down your body, burying his tongue deep inside you. the room was filled with the sound of sex, his tongue dragging over you like you were the last meal on earth and he was ravenous. he cleaned up the mess he’d made quickly, sounds that would make the population of sin city blush bouncing off the walls.

your vision was white, maybe your were screaming, it was hard to know what was going on when he had you about ready to ascend. when you fell over the edge, you were boneless, at one with the bed. you watched as he licked his lips, flopping onto the bed beside you.

he stroked your hair and you hummed, content and satiated.

lando didn’t dare look away from you while you came down.

apparently, it was rare to wake up after a wild night in vegas and remember the events of the night before.

lando remembered everything.

the exact shade of your eyes, the feel of red satin and black lace, the way you tasted.

your lips on his skin, hips in his hands, the way you moulded pliantly to his touch.

the way you gave as good as you got.

he was smiling before he’d even opened his eyes, reaching blinding across the bed, ready to propose round… four? five? lando had lost count.

warm hands met cold sheets and suddenly he was wide awake.

lando sat up dead straight, searching for a sign of life in the room. there was none. no shoes on the floor, no dress to match, no thong hanging from the door handle. a pit formed in his stomach.

is this how he made people feel?

waking up alone after the best sex of his life and no trace of the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on was quite miserable.

he thudded back into the mattress, hands shielding his eyes from the burn of daylight. he felt like shit, that was undeniable. when he’d fallen asleep, naked and with you nestled into his side, he couldn’t wait to wake up, perhaps arrogantly thinking that you’d be waking up with him. what was that saying, again?

hope breeds eternal misery.

his brain was wracked with the image of you and him, champagne flowing right before he’d taken you again, bent over the desk. and then again in the shower, a harmless attempt to clean yourselves up ending up with you on your knees before your cheek was pressed against the shower screen.

lando tried to fathom why you’d leave after the night you’d shared. there was something about it, something more intimate in the desperation you’d shared, that left him senseless as to why you were gone before the sun was in the sky.

just like he usually was.

it dawned on him, quite quickly, that the habits he’d made of quick fucks and fast getaways was not good form. it was reckless and casually cruel, and he felt guilt for the first time since his string of one night stands had begun. perspective was a crazy thing.

when he sluggishly made his way out of bed, he felt even worse.

“where’d you get to last night? we lost you after that terrible game of blackjack.” max teased, sipping his coffee.

lando found himself at the breakfast table, head rested on his hand and hoodie pulled tight. he wasn’t in the mood to talk, but max was like a dog with a bone; there was no avoiding this conversation.

“met a girl.” lando mumbled, aimlessly stirring the tea he knew he wasn’t going to drink.

“ah, understood.” max said, grinning knowingly. but then, as if lando’s bad mood finally clicked, he continued. “wait, why are you in a mood then?”

“tired.” lando replied, monotonously. he wasn’t quite sure how to unpack this one.

“bullshit.”

“woke up alone.”

“oh.”

“she was- i don’t know. just thought it would be different, that’s all.” lando couldn’t disguise the deflated tone of his voice.

“don’t tell me you caught feelings from a shag.” max rolled his eyes, chomping away at his toast. lando could barely stomach the sight of food.

“shut up, i’m not saying i fell in love. just liked something about her.”

“well, anything can happen in vegas. you never know, mate. she might find her way back to you.”

lando was getting ready for the netflix cup before he knew it. he’d managed to shake off max, escaping to the darkness of his room, the curtains drawn and the lights off.

he pretended it was the hangover that had him laying face down on his bed.

the last thing he wanted was to go and play corporate circus on the golfing green, but he figured some fresh air wouldn’t hurt. and so, he was in the backseat of a car well on his way to the tournament.

carlos couldn’t distract him, neither could alex or pierre. rickie fowler was much less interesting that he hoped, or maybe he wasn’t and lando just wasn’t interested enough. not even zak’s mclaren printed trousers could cheer him up.

lando was leaning into his golf club, starting mindlessly into the crowd, waiting for this garish event to begin when he caught a glimpse of someone he recognised. in a sea of influencers and obnoxious businessmen, there you were.

there you fucking were, in your knee high boots and a mini skirt, sunglasses perched on your nose, skintight top under an oversized blazer and hair shining under the warm sunlight. he lost his balance, the golf club slipping from underneath him, and the only thing that kept him upright was the burning urge to keep his eyes on you.

just who were you?

lando didn’t need to clarify whether or not you were looking at him, too. no, you made it abundantly clear by the way you winked at him, before pushing your sunglasses back up the bridge of your nose.

you fucking winked.

he took a step in your direction, shaky legs ready to carry him all the way over to you. he only had your first name and he craved your second, your phone number, anything really. he’d just take the small talk, to be completely honest.

but then the klaxon screeched, knocking him out of his trance and he whipped round to discover that they were ready to tee off. lando cursed under his breath, rapidly turning to search for your face but you were nowhere to be seen.

had he imagined you? had he imagined all of it?

every golf ball hit was hit with frustrated vengeance.

the week disappeared in a bittersweet blur.

lando had achieved multiple hangovers and about zero dollars in winnings, but he’d successfully managed to take his mind off of you.

okay, so that was a bare faced lie, but if lando didn’t lie to himself, he wouldn’t be able to lie to anyone else.

he wouldn’t be able to lie to max that he was no longer moping. he wouldn’t be able to lie to the media when they asked him if he was oh so excited about the race. he wouldn’t be able to lie to his team when they asked him if he was still suffering the consequences of his week long hangover.

lando had been rushing around all day, after a solid p4 in qualifying the night before. the entire day had been horrendous, sequins and bright lights being shone in his eyes. all he wanted to do was hide, get in the car and then go to bed.

fate had other plans.

lando was rushing to the front of the grid for the national anthem, certain that whatever display that was about to occur would make him nauseous. he was derailed on his journey, caught by rachel brookes in the pitlane, and then accosted by martin brundle once he’d made his was onto the grid.

“good qualifying yesterday and good luck today!” martin called to lando, turning to wrestle another insufferable celebrity.

as lando was making his getaway, ready to jog through the masses of people to his place at the front, he went barrelling into another body, putting his hands out to steady himself and the poor person that had become his collateral damage. as he regained his balance, he must have looked like a cartoon character, eyes bulging out of his head.

“are you stalking me?” was all he could choke out when his eyes met yours.

what the actual fuck were you doing here?

lando had given up on the possibility of ever seeing you again, and yet, here you were, stood under the bright floodlights on the grid, his office. this was the last place he’d expected you to show up, paddock pass swinging from your neck. again, what the actual fuck were you doing here?

“might as well be, at this point.” you teased. “hopefully you’ll do better today than you did at golf on tuesday.” you smiled coyly up at him, tucking your hair behind your ear.

lando was on quite the time crunch, glancing at the time on the clock at the front of the grid. he had a minute to spare, if he was lucky, but he had to talk to you, before you inevitably disappeared again.

“thought i’d get at least your phone number before you left.”

“from what i hear, you don’t usually stick around long enough for those.” you smirked.

well, his reputation certainly proceeded him. he couldn’t really argue with that.

“maybe i’m trying to change that.” lando attempted to flirt but really, he sounded desperate. you didn’t seem to mind.

“i’ll make you a deal,” you proposed, leaning in just a little bit closer. lando’s breath hitched in his throat. “get on that podium, and i’ll be waiting in your hotel lobby.”

“and if i don’t?” lando’s mouth was dry.

“maybe i’ll see you next year.”

lando watched you walk away, your hips swaying tantalisingly, wondering if the hefty fine he would be bollocked with would be worth it if he didn’t move his ass for the national anthem.

this would be the drive of his fucking life.

lando couldn’t recall a time he’d left a track faster in his life.

media duties were rushed, so was the shower he had before he fled. it was lucky he was already on the strip, so the walk to his hotel was blissfully short.

he entered the lobby with a shit eating grin and a comically large bottle of champagne in hand.

a string of second places had gotten rather frustrating, but this one felt particularly good. a podium was a podium, fair and square, and assuming you’d kept to your end of the bargain, he was in for the best celebration of his life.

sitting pretty at the bar that stretched through the lobby, you were waiting for him, heels swinging from the stool you rested on. denim clung to your hips, a dark corset style top moulding to your curves. he wondered if love at first sight was real; lust at first sight certainly was.

lando’s eyes beckoned to towards him, and you slipped inconspicuously into the elevator together, not wanting to draw too much attention to your rendezvous. it was a futile attempt, frankly, because he had you backed into the mirror before the doors had even fully shut.

kisses on your neck had your eyes fluttering closed, one of his knees slotting comfortably between your thighs. one of his hands was clasped tight around the neck of the neck of the bottle, giving lando the fantastic idea to find your neck with his free one. he held you firmly, forcing you to look at him.

“i’m gonna make you wish you never left.”

hours on the mattress pulling countless orgasms from one another left you both weak, exhausted, a little bit clingy.

lando felt electric. no other person had ever left him so feral, so euphoric.

he’d had you first against the door, pulling your jeans off and pinning you against it, your thighs in his firm grasp as he fucked you into the wooden panel. then, he’d taken you to bed, your knuckles turning white from your brutal grip on the headboard when he’d planted you down on his mouth. two orgasms later, you were face down in the sheets, ass in the air for him while he slammed into you like his life depended on it, pulling you into his chest by your hair when you reached your climaxes.

all that hard work called for a bath, where you both found yourselves now. it had started off quite innocently, sat at opposite ends of the extravagantly large bathtub amongst the bubbles. but then you’d given him those eyes, and then your back was pressed against his chest, your body draped over his. his head was nestled into the crook of your neck, one arm slung over your waist. his other hand brought the bottle of champagne to his lips, the liquid going down smoothly. lando pressed the bottle to your pursed lips too, trading backwards and forwards while your bodies relaxed into the hot water.

lando’s hand on your waist was getting restless, fingers drumming over your abdomen, up, up, up, until he found your breast. he circled your nipple with his finger, not quite touching the bud yet, but he could feel it hardening from his scarce touch. your hips rolled backwards into his, feeling him hardening once again against your lower back. lando cupped your breast, massaging it in his hands before he switched, flitting between your tits.

you slumped somehow even further into him, not a millimetre of space between your bodies. he was winding you up beautifully, heat burning between your legs once more. you didn’t know how you did it, how you could be so ready for each other after the eventful evening you’d already shared.

lando was flicking your nipples between his finger, switching back and fourth until you were moaning quietly. you took charge, the sensitivity building too quickly, and so you rolled over in his arms, clambering into his lap.

the bath water splashed around you, moving in small waves across the tub as you situated yourself on top of him, grinding down on him until he was buried deep within your walls. he found that spot, rolling your hips against his, and then you were rocking up and down on him, nice and slow. he touched parts of you that never had been before, the pace and the angle intensifying every little sensation. your head was thrown back, hands clawing at his shoulders for something to hold onto, just for the feel of him.

lando reached over the edge of the bathtub, blindly searching for the bottle he’d discarded while you’d been switching positions. he felt the green glass grazing his fingertips and brought it back to his lips, eyes trailing over your body in sheer awe.

he couldn’t help himself, taking a sip before tilting it towards you, pouring the golden bubbles over your clavicle, jaw tightening - just like your cunt did at the sensation - as he watched the sticky alcohol drip down over the curve of your bouncing breasts.

you quivered when you felt his tongue lap over your nipple, then the other, dragging over your sodden flesh until he reached the junction between your neck and your shoulder. he bit down, hard, eyes rolling back at the taste in his mouth and the way you clamped down around him, whimpering out between breathless pants.

lando felt you let go, stuttering on his cock and sinking down on top of him, the water - now lukewarm - soothing your tired limbs. he held you close, basking in the intimacy of the moment, his hearing honing in on the dull hum of ecstasy you expelled.

the bath grew colder and colder as you sat there, comfortable silence filling the air along with the quiet rush of water that came with any movements made. when the time came, lando held you up as you got off of him and stepped onto the plush rug, quickly following suit. you were eyeing the shower when he turned to hand you a towel.

“i think i need a shower, as much as i enjoyed the bath.” you spoke, opening the screen and stepping in to adjust the knobs.

lando weighed up his options, agonising over joining you or doing his back in. he couldn’t exactly tell his trainer that his back gave out from too much sex.

“am i invited?” lando asked, stepping in behind you, hands on your waist.

“seems like you’ve already invited yourself.” you teased, looking at him over your shoulder.

“no funny business, you.” lando rested his head on your shoulder.

“from me? you’re just as bad.” you quipped, letting the hot warm stream all over your flushed bodies.

lando stayed as he was for a second, but then you turned your head again, looking at him from the corner of your eye and he needed to kiss you. he couldn’t help but, and so he twisted you round to face him and leaned in. you were more than receptive, fingers raking through his wet curls.

the hot water rained down on you while you stood there, holding each other close. lando couldn’t put his finger on it, why he didn’t want to let you go. he couldn’t even begin to process the idea of having anyone else in his arms like this. it was absurd, really, but he was too caught up in the moment to care.

when you were both clean and dry, you laid down in bed, gazing mindlessly at one another. his eyes followed the lines of your face, the curve of your lips. he learned a lot about you, a formula 1 fan with who ran her own business and took herself on holiday to vegas. the conversation flowed like the champagne had and you were laughing at all his stupid jokes. in turn he grinned like a fool at your quick wit, the sound of your laughter.

“so what are you doing next? back to work?” lando asked, an idea forming in his mind like a tornado.

“nope,” you popped the p. “giving myself some well deserved time off.”

“have you ever been to abu dhabi?” lando asked, lips quirking mischievously.

inbox me your thoughts bc aaaaaaaa 😨😨

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yukimiyaz · 2 years ago

Text

THANKFUL

miya osamu x gn!reader

includes: bf osamu. afab!reader. smut lol. he uses a shit ton of pet names. he might have a bit of an oral fixation if you squint.

notes: old fic. wanted it here lol

You were just trying to bring your boyfriend lunch.

Walking in with your sweet smile and warm eyes and the packed container that Osamu had left on the kitchen counter this morning from running late. Granted, he does work at his own restaurant, so it’s not like he would’ve gone hungry (or been ridiculed for his tardiness) but still. You know how fussy he gets when he is looking forward to a certain meal and you didn’t want his poor employees to have to be subjected to that.

So in you came—like the absolutely great partner you are, regardless of what his brother (your annoyance) says—saving the day yet again with your boyfriend’s lunch in hand.

And it was damn near sickening, how his eyes lit up the instant he heard that bell jingle and saw it was you, the immediate softening of his face as a smile spread across his lips. He was pouting too, so yeah, you really did save his poor employees.

“Aw, baby. Ya didn’t have to do that,” he had cooed as you walked behind the counter to give it to him, letting him pull you into a big hug as he swayed you both side to side.

(But the thankful, knowing look his cashier had given you only confirmed your suspicions as you returned the embrace and let him peck your lips).

It was that same cashier that smiled at you both, waved you away, shooed you off. “You can go boss, don’t worry. I’ve got this covered. Rush time is over.”

Now normally, it would take a bit more convincing for Osamu to leave one of his workers manning the front all by themselves. Normally, he’d wait until one of the others returned from their own lunch before he deserted them and took his own. Normally, he puts his boss priorities first by a smidge in situations like this.

Normally, you don’t end up with your back arching off his hardwood desk with your muted moans echoing off his walls.

“What. A fuckin’. Sweetheart ,” Osamu grunts, each word punctuated by the pistoning of his hips as his hands grip onto your waist.

You grapple for him, for something, anything to hold onto as he mercilessly fucks into you. One hand wrapping around his wrist, the other trying to reach around his shoulders. He ruts into you again and you think you nearly bust your lip from how hard you’re biting it trying to keep your voice down.

“I just—you left it—so I—” a gasp rips out of your throat as he shifts, the head of his dick brushing against that spot in you that makes you want to scream. Nails digging into his skin, mouth dropping open to pant an ungodly variance of his name.

“You what?” he asks, and you fucking hate the way he sounds so collected when you’re literally losing your damn mind right here in his cramped office. “Thought about me, hm? Takin’ care of me, ain’t ya? My sweet baby.”

He leans over you enough to steal a sloppy kiss from your parted lips, drinks in the sighs and breathy exhales you push out. His eyes catch yours, stone grey pinning you, as if his arms coming up to cage you weren’t enough. A calloused, familiar hand cups your jaw, grips it like he thinks you would even dare look away.

“Yeah, my sweet fuckin’ baby,” he smirks in a way that has your stomach flipping ten times over, coil tightening up. “My turn to take care of you. Show you how fuckin’ thankful I am.”

And you want to dismiss him or shush him or curse him or something. He didn’t even lock the fucking office door for Christ’s sake, and it’s too loud. You’re both way too loud, and you want to tell him that. Tell him that he needs to be quiet, needs to keep you quiet, because you don’t think you’d ever be able to face any of his employees again if you knew they could hear you right now.

But all that comes out is a broken off moan into his mouth as his pace doubles. It’s hot in his office. You always berate him for not buying a fan, but you’re not too sure the lack of circulation is really what’s to blame for the heat this time as a rough hand slips between your bodies and the pad of a thumb presses to your clit.

“Shh, shh, baby.” And oh, now he worries about your volume? “Don’t want them to hear me showin’ my thanks, d’ya?”

His grip eases up a little on your jaw, just enough for him to slip his thumb up to rub against your bottom lip, tugging it down and letting it go. You can practically see the hearts in his eyes as he does it again, licking his own lips as he plays with yours. He’s always told you that you had a pretty mouth—when you were eating, talking, just sitting. You catch him staring, call him out just to watch him dopely smirk, listen to some cheeky remark he’ll give.

Now, though, it seems like every bit of cheeky is drained from him as he darts his tongue out to lap into your mouth, seemingly forgetting to even pull his thumb away before doing so.

If the chorus of thank yous he’s been spewing weren’t enough for you to get it, the ones he’s been quite literally drilling into you are. Your pussy flutters around him just barely, and that’s all the sign that he needs. His thumb on your clit speeds up, rubs patterns in a way you almost think could be the kanji for thank you as well. It’s what it feels like. Like every bit of him is exuding gratitude. Like he’s trying to engrain it into your pretty little brain one way or another. And you’re more than happy to help him.

He pulls back with a string of spit connecting you, warm pants into your mouth and on your cheeks as his hips stutter and his eyes go a little hazy.

“Fuck, fuck. C’mon sweetheart, cum f’me.”

And he’s just so damn pretty, flushed and breathless above you, chest heaving just a bit with every rock of his hips. You don’t think you could deny him even if you wanted to, and for some reason you’re nodding. Your frazzled little head bobbing as you tug him closer, bring him down again, let his mouth muffle your cry of his name as your legs start to shake and your cunt clenches around his cock. And Osamu, he’s never been one to receive without giving, and the same applies to this moment now as he gives your pretty cunt a few more shallow thrusts until a new type of warmth is being shot into you.

It’s static in the office for a few moments, staggered breaths and hammering heartbeats as the two of you stay pressed together. Slowly, Osamu raises his head up enough to look down at you again in his post-orgasmic glory, and with the look in his eyes you already want to kill him.

“Did ya get the message? Or do we need to go another—”

You shove his face away before he can even finish, rolling your eyes despite the slippery grin that spreads across your lips. And he just presses a kiss to your palm, giving it a lippy little bite when you try to shove him away the second time.

You were just trying to bring your boyfriend lunch, but now you’re rushing out of his restaurant with a red face and messy hair, trying to get to your car before his cum starts to leak out too much.

And pretending you didn’t see the look his poor cashier gave you as you ran out.

#yukimiyaz writing #miya osamu x reader #osamu x reader #osamu smut #miya osamu smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut

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hunn1e-bunn1e · 5 months ago

Note

Hello,I'll have saw the post Sinbad ask with dorm leader of twisted wonderland, can you do a same but with vice leader or first years group please?

Trey Clover, Ruggie Bucci, Jade Leech, Jamil Viper, Rook Hunt & Sebek Zigvolt - Sinbad (Magi, Aos) Male Reader

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Hey @ryu-things, you have no idea how long I've been pushing this ask back and procrastinating. I was trying to avoid it until I got done with all of the unfinished single-character asks that I have backed up, but I suddenly stumbled upon a really good song that I could use for the lyric quote. So here I am, suffering once again. (post note: somehow Lilia transitioned into Sebek 1/3 of the way through, so I'll do a part three of the first years and add Lilia there.) The lyrics quoted in this one are from the song “Cautionary Tales” by Jon Bellion. —Benny🐰

🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏

❝𝕭𝖎𝖌 𝕽𝖊𝖎𝖌𝖓, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖎𝖝𝖙𝖍, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓- 𝕳𝖊𝖞 𝕳𝖊𝖞, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕶𝖎𝖓𝖌, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕷𝖊𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖉! 𝕭𝖆𝖓𝖌 𝕭𝖆𝖓𝖌, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕿𝖗𝖚𝖙𝖍, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖂𝖊𝖆𝖕𝖔𝖓- 𝕳𝖊𝖞 𝕳𝖊𝖞, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕶𝖎𝖓𝖌, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕷𝖊𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖉!~❞

. . .

♠️ Trey has been the target of many flirtatious comments already, so you'd think he wouldn't be too flustered, right? The suggestive remarks and sexy smirks would simply roll off of him, like water off a duck's back. Except… He didn't think that [Name] would corner him up against a wall in the kitchen and whisper so close to his ear that he could feel the dampness of the world-hopper's breath. Trey didn't expect just how large the foreign king's hands would be as they engulfed his waist. The Vice Dorm Head didn't take into account that [Name] would treat him with such respect yet be so blunt with his desire. By the Seven, is this even legal?

♠️ Considering that the Queen of Hearts was well… the Queen of Hearts, Trey isn't too surprised at [Name] being the king of an entire country back in his old world. Although the bespectacled man didn't believe him at first since he's a naturally skeptical person, the man did come from another world. Not only that, but the foreigner gives off the air of a natural-born leader who has experience with being in a significant position of power. Trey will ask [Name] if he can spare some advice to Riddle about being an important public figure who holds power over others. He trusts his childhood friend, of course, but the clover-haired man can't help but feel that the redhead could still use the help.

♠️ This bespectacled man is about to lose his marbles if he receives one more ridiculously expensive ingredient from that hard-headed king! This has to stop; Trey is really starting to feel bad. How is he supposed to give [Name] gifts that are of equal value if the guy is buying shit that costs upward of one hundred thousand madol!? His family owns a local bakery for Seven's sake, not an international catering company! Not that Trey doesn't appreciate the foie gras, gold leaf, and fresh morels; he does, but he wishes [Name] would give him something less expensive and more personal. He also wishes that the world-hopper would stop spending such ridiculous amounts of money on the most unimportant shit.

♠️ Now, Trey is certainly not a jewelry connoisseur, however, he is absolutely certain that he's seen jewelry of a similar style to [Name]’s draping off of Kalim and even Jamil on certain occasions. They are quite lovely things aren't they, though, the six-pointed stars that were engraved into a few of them were telling enough of their true origin. Apparently, [Name] had gotten them from a structure called a dungeon; what the otherworldly man described as a giant spire that erupts from beneath the sands of the vast and vacant desert at the command of a magi. Whatever a magi is supposed to be… The Sindrian king even offered to make Trey one of his household vessels! Even if the bespectacled man still has no clue what that's supposed to mean…

🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏

“N‐now listen, you! This is a kitchen. It's meant for kitchen-related activities and not… n‐not this. You'll dirty the counters if you keep this up. H‐hey! Don't give me such a look!”

🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾

🍩 Its safe to say that Ruggie was very caught off guard when he was on the receiving end of someone's flirting. He's sure that he's not exactly anybody's first choice when it comes to a romantic partner, he'll, he's not even the first choice for a friend. But the hyena beastman can't deny the thundering of his heart in his throat when [Name] appears behind him and rests his face in the crook of his neck. Nor can Ruggie admit the swirling thoughts of a future together whenever the charismatic [Name] sneaks into the Savanaclaw Dorm kitchen and lifts him onto the countertop so the man can hand feed him. The feeling of large hands holding the underside of his thighs is forever burned into his mind.

🍩 Aw jeez, not this shit again. No offense to [Name] or anything, but this hyena is really burned out by all this royalty stuff. If the Sindrian king turns out to be another jealous royal, Ruggie's going to start ripping his hair out; one Leona is more than enough for him to deal with. He would ask the otherworldly man to talk some sense into his Dorm Head but he doesn't even bother, he lost hope long ago. [Name] being a king does sound pretty cool though, if the foreigner ever wants to spare him some gold or food the Ruggie will welcome it with open arms. The hyena beastman does think about how it would feel to sit on a throne, but a king's lap is comfortable enough for now.

🍩 Oh, for him? [Name], you shouldn't have– just kidding, keep them coming, ol’ Ruggie can pawn some of these beauties for a hefty sum of madol and then he can send it to his family back in the Afterglow Savana. O-oh, the Sindrian king is wondering why his little doughnut lover isn't wearing most of the gifts he bought them. Those are– those are in his room! Yes, his room. This hyena just didn't want to dirty anything that was given to him by someone as important as [Name], with him being a king and all. The ol’ Rugster definitely didn't sell most of the gifts that were given to him, absolutely not. But… on the off chance that that's exactly what happened, surely the foreigner wouldn't be mad at him, right? He's got priorities after all.

🍩 You know, Ruggie doesn't mind it too much when [Name] wears his gaudy jewelry when they cuddle, so long as this hyena gets to wear some every once in a while. For some reason, though, the henchman of the second prince of the Afterglow Savana only wants to wear the jewelry that the otherworldly man won't let him touch. But how could he blame him, it's the scrap hound in him, looking at things he can't have with big wanting eyes. [Name] will have to end up showing Ruggie just how important his accessories actually are eventually and it's safe to say that the hyena beastman will no longer let his Sindrian sugar daddy wear such dangerous things while he wants to be vulnerable for a moment.

🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾

“Hey, if ya ever get tired of eatin’ the same ol’ royal meals, yer pal Ruggie‘ll take care of it for ya. I'll clean yer plates lickety-split an’ free o’ charge. Heck, I'll even throw in a free fridge cleanin’ for ya as a bonus! All this with a downpayment o’ absolutely nothin’!”

🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚

🐬 Is Jade flustered? No, no, dear, he's more amused than flustered. This slippery eel hasn't had someone speak to him in such a bold way before, aside from Rook, but the hunter goes about it in a much more eloquent way. [Name] wants to wrap an arm around his waist and pepper his neck with kisses. Alright, but the monarch from another world better expect a bite or two placed over his Adam's apple in return, it's only fair.~ [Name] wants to sit him on his lap and whisper sweet nothings in his ear? That's fine, but he'd better expect Jade to take those sweet words up a few notches into dirty territory, this eel won't hold back. The king had better watch himself and stick to flirting with the mushroom lover only; this vice dorm head doesn't share.~

🐬 Hoh? A king? [Name]? It's not that Jade doesn't believe that the Sindrian man is royalty, he just doesn't want him to know that he believes it. It was fairly obvious by just the way that the foreign man carried himself and even subtly in the way he spoke. Hell, even Floyd figured it out -not that this eel is saying anything about his brother- was it even a secret at this point? But even so, Jade doesn't care too much about [Name]’s social status and will continue to pretend that he doesn't believe the man for the sake of seeing his frustration. That glare that the Sindrian man shoots him whenever the gentlemanly eel once again denies his claims, is really gratifying in a way.

🐬 Yes, that hand-crafted broach is absolutely stunning, and yes, these rings are embedded with treasured stones from all around Twisted Wonderland, but does Jade want them? Absolutely not. What use would he have for them? Sure, he could wear a few of the accessories that [Name] gifted him to any formal events that he may need to attend, but other than that, they'll just sit around and collect dust. He will certainly take his time to sit down with the world-hopper and discuss preferences; although the slippery eel prefers to do it the difficult way and make the king guess instead. Luckily for Jade though, [Name] seems to like the ones that play hard to get the most, so the influx of gifts being sent to the twin's shared room in Octavinelle skyrockets. Poor Floyd is so annoyed at being buried in fancy gift boxes, give him a rest already.

🐬 The amount of side-eye that this man gets from Azul whenever [Name] comes into Monstrou Lounge all decked out in gold and jewels is downright atrocious. Jade loves his otherworldly himbo boy toy, but it's becoming a bother to try and steer his childhood friend's schemes away from him at this point. Especially since a few of those accessories radiate a foreign magical signature and the Seven knows how power-hungry that four-eyed takoyaki is. So [Name], if you would be so kind, stop broadcasting your vulnerability to the group of people who are known all around the college's campus for taking advantage of vulnerable people, you dumbass. Jade himself is a part of said group, he hopes that just because he and the Parthevian native are in a certain relationship, the man won't assume he's a good person.

🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚

“Oh my, you're still going on about that? I understand that you're magicless, but I doubt lying about your social status will help your situation. Honestly, I'm starting to believe you're having delusions.”

🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌

🐍 While Jamil appreciates that [Name] is trying to cheer him up, such vulgar words are- are unnecessary. Yeah, as much as I love our beautiful serpent man, he can be a bit dense. No matter what compliment, kind gesturing, or suggestive remark the king flings at him, he will immediately assume one of four things; 1. Those were meant to be passed onto Kalim, 2. They're trying to insult him in some way, 3. They need a favor from him, and 4. They're just trying to annoy him. But even then, Jamil can't ignore how hot-faced and tongue-tied he gets when [Name] pinches the brunette's chin between his large, calloused fingers and plants a searing kiss on his lips. Or how the Sindrian man leads him away to take a break and runs his fingers through his long dark brown hair.

🐍 As soon as the words ‘I'm also the king of’ left the handsome worldhoppers lips, Jamil could only let out a long resigned sigh. Of course [Name] was royalty, which explains why that man is so childish and irresponsible; running around and leaving masses for other people to pick up. The Al Asim servant resented the charismatic man quite a bit after that revelation; going as far as to slap his hands away whenever the other tried to touch him. Jamil will feel a bit bad after a while though, [Name] hadn't done anything wrong and he was taking his frustration over his situation with Kalim out on a third party. Thankfully the foreigner accepted his apology immediately and even offered to take him and his sister back to Sindria with him, how sweet.

🐍 Once again this serpentine man assumes that all kind words and gift-like objects being given to him are things that he's meant to pass to Kalim, and he does just that. It was only [Name]’s asking whether or not the gifts he had given him were useful and Kalim pointing out that the gifts were addressed to him by name that Jamil finally got it through his thick skull. This time, surprisingly, it was the Al Asim prince who was exasperated at his servant and not the other way around. The prince even made it a point to tell people to give all gifts meant for him directly to him so that they'd leave his servant be. (responsible Kalim for the win!) Looking over his now recovered gifts, Jamil couldn't help but flush at how costly they were. The thought of [Name] spending so much money to please him made the basketball player both embarrassed and endeared.

🐍 At first he didn't really notice them, but after being pulled against the muscled chest of his word-hopping fling(?), he was smooshed onto the business end of a few of the man's familiar-looking accessories. The imprint of a six-pointed star was on the side of Jamil’s forehead for days after that, to which the idiot whose arms he was in made a joke about him having a shiny forehead. [Name] got a good bonk on the head after that. The Sindrian man had once shown Jamil a djinn that dwelled inside his necklace, but after seeing the look that the serpentine man was giving the djinn, [Name] decided to keep the rest to himself. Now, the dark brunette gets frequent reminders that, if he so chose, the foreign king would take him with him when he eventually went back to Sindria.

🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌

“You'll take me back with you? You'd really do that for me? Then please… remember you said these words to me… and take me away from this place when the time comes.”

🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞

🏹 Well [Name], prepare to be outdone by a true professional. Rook will make the foreign man swoon so hard it's not even funny. The Parthevian native wants to pin this hunter to a tree, oh, haha look, now he himself is against that tree while the bob-headed blonde attacks his neck in between whispers of recherché poetry that he wrote earlier that day. That Sindrian king is lounging on a blanket in the wooded area just on the outskirts of the Pomfiore dorm campus and trying to coax the Frenchman onto his lap? Oh my, what's this? [Name] is now practically nude as Rook kisses and caresses each and every inch of his muse's warm muscular body. Somehow the blonde finds this thing the two have going on to be even more thrilling than a hunt.

🏹 His lovely muse is a king? It looks like [Name] has another new pet name courtesy of a certain huntsman. In fact, it's become Rook's favorite pet name, so his darling muse and everyone else in his vicinity is going to be hearing the words ‘Mon Roi’ as often as they breathe. Oh, this bob-headed blonde is dying to know what kind of wildlife is back in Sindria; he can describe beauteous landscapes in his poetry, what newfound fauna could be his prey, ah what thrilling thoughts he has. Since [Name] is the king, he'd certainly let Rook hunt to his heart's content, right~? You can't just tell him about all these curious little creatures and then ban him from hunting them; such a tease the otherworldly man is being, how cruel.~

🏹 The feeling of being spoiled with gifts by [Name] reminds him of how Vil ‘saved him’ during his first year when he was still in Savanaclaw. Although, Rook could never think back on his experience in his old dorm negatively; his roots are firmly planted in the Afterglow Savana after all. But instead of a haircut and rigorous skin care, he was given the best hunting equipment money could buy, and when it came to [Name]’s money, well there was a lot of it. As Rook's lovely Mon Roi told him, the greatest hunters are those who aren't afraid to become a beast themselves for the sake of the hunt. These new intricate daggers that he was gifted seem to have quite the resemblance to fangs do they not?

🏹 Rook doesn't bother too much when it comes to his Mon Roi's jewelry, it's simply a token of a faraway home in his eyes; the hunter himself has many of his own. Yes, the bob-headed blonde does in fact notice that his otherworldly muse's adornments emanate a mystical aura and glow from time to time and yes the poetry enthusiast also knows that the giant blue figures that [Name] calls djinn do live in the ones with stars engraved on them, but he could care less. What Rook is really interested in is having his dearest muse hold that pose while he captures how the light bounces off the gold and jewels that draped across [Name]’s naked chest in this portrait. The hunter made sure to hang the paintings on the wall opposite his bed so that he could see his magnetic Mon Roi when he woke up every morning.

🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞

“Ah~ Mon Roi, the tales you have given me do you no justice. You are far more magnifique than these simple words can capture. It seems that I have found myself a challenge to overcome; I must bid you adieu.~”

🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉

⚡ He keeps swearing up and down that he's been cursed by the otherworldly man; why else would he be feeling so odd around him after every interaction!? Sebek has been feeling flushed, and sweaty all over, having racing thoughts, been unable to sleep, and has continuously been stumbling over his words since he met [Name]! This has to be a curse; the half-fae wasn't experiencing any of these symptoms before! Even after Sebek demanded a duel in order for the foreigner to release the spell, to which wrestling on the bed was the request by the perpetrator, the curse only got worse! Now his mind is only occupied with thoughts of [Name] at any given moment; but he needs those thoughts for Waka-Sama, not some random human witch man!!!

⚡ So, the witchy human claims to be a king? HAH! Fat chance! There's no way Sebek would believe such an obvious farce, just who does this human take him for? The only royalty worth any salt is clearly his Waka-Sama, didn't you know? This half-fae knows what that human ‘king’ is up to, that man is just trying to lie his way into Waka-Sama's good graces, that's the only explanation! Even if Sebek knows that [Name] walks with the same regal posture as Malleus and knows that he has the same aura as Lilia does whenever they're sparring during swordsmanship lessons, he just won't accept it. And no, he will not accept a duel to change his mind.

⚡ A new sword and armor that cost millions of madol? Denied. As if Sebek would accept anything from some lowly human that definitely has plans to hurt Waka-Sama, he's not an idiot. Even if that sword looks expertly crafted and the blade is magically reinforced to cut through concrete like butter, h‐he's not interested in [Name]’s wicked wares! Ah, but… the weight of the blade is pretty good and the handle is very comfortable to grip onto… oh, and the hand guard is customizable too… A‐ah! Sebek wasn't admiring the craftsmanship, he was– he was just making sure that [Name] didn't place a curse on this sword is all. Yeah, that's it. What? No, he won't give it back, it was a gift, wasn't it? N‐not that a proud fae warrior like himself needs gifts from lowly humans!

⚡ Poor [Name] no matter what he does, Sebek continues his tsundere behavior. If the Sindrian king were to show the half-fae his djinn or metal vessels, who knows what he'd be accused of? Probably something like kidnapping his djinn and holding them against their will or saving a metal vessel for Malleus so he can trap him inside. But, if not that, Sebek would likely say that he has them for nefarious purposes. Whatever, [Name] better go back to the drawing board.

🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉

“HUMAN! Remove this curse you've cast upon me at once, it's interfering with my duties to Waka-Sama! Wha- You still have the gall to lie right to my face!?”

. . .

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Reblogs are appreciated ~ 𔓘

Wanna see similar content? Check out my Masterlist!

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kaylopolis · 5 months ago

Text

Alastor's Shadow (18+) - Chapter Ten

Alastor x F!Reader, Alias: Thestral

Synopsis: There’s a new Overlord in town and it isn’t the Radio Demon. Six years after you fell into Hell, you have finally earned your seat at the table as Pentagram City’s newest and baddest and with the Extermination coming six months earlier than planned, it is now time to implement your ultimate endgame. After all, who doesn’t love a bit of power and chaos? Your plan brings you to the doorstep of the Hazbin Hotel as Charlie’s newest Redeemer, but who you find waiting for you will not only turn your entire plan upside down but also challenge your grab for power…

Tag List: Slow burn, rivals to lovers, eventual smut

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

(Let me know if you want to be added to the Tag List!)

____________________________________________

Author note: Dear Hoteliers, This episode was written after episode 7 of Helluva Boss but before Full Moon. Full Moon events have not yet happened. It's also shorter, as some of it was moved to chapter nine.

<3 Stay smutty

Chapter Ten - Cute

Content Warning: Minors DNI!!!, Smut (let me know if I missed any)

“Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Oh, shit!” The imp dove behind the desk. “Look, I’m sorry! We did everything you asked! Okay! What more do you fucking want!?”

You appeared in the middle of the office’s conference room, scaring the shit out of Blitz. It was deserted, save for the boss, who had been cleaning his prized horse figurine collection.

“Mr. Radio Demon sir, please don’t kill me,” Blitz begged from behind the table.

You raised an eyebrow at Alastor, who had taken a seat in a chair and placed his microphone on the table.

“I may have hired him to corroborate your backstory.” The demon purred, his chin resting atop folded hands. Amusement sparked in his eyes.

Ah. Well, no wonder Blitz is terrified - he probably found a whole lot of weird shit. Which meant Alastor heard a whole bunch of weird shit. Which meant Alastor knew you were traipsing around Earth for the past 100 years before "falling" into Hell. Great.

You wondered if he knows about your friend who traipsed with you...

“Hey, Blitzy, why didn’t you tell me someone hired you to find information on me?” You did your best to give a sweet smile. The imp didn’t know you as the Shadow. He knew you as Thestral. Which is why you came dressed in your regular clothes.

It was now Alastor’s turn to look confused.

“Are you fucking kidding me!?” His horns appeared over the table. “It’s the Radio Demon! He woulda killed me on the spot.”

Hmm. True.

“Where are Millie and Moxie? You can’t be a third wheel without the other two.” You ran a finger across the desk, feigning interest in the imp's affairs.

“What the fuck is this, a social visit? What do you want, and why did you bring him?” Blitz gestures to Alastor.

“Ignore him. He’s not important.” You think you heard Alastor growl - you did your best to ignore the butterflies it stirred within you. “Your fuck buddy owes me a favor. Where in Hell is he these days? Heard he finally left the bitch, but I didn't know if he got the house or…”

“Okay,” the imp laughs as if that was the most ridiculous thing he has ever heard. “First of all, he’s not my fuck buddy. Where did you hear that?”

“Octavia,” you smiled.

Yes, the famous Princess of the Night. You just so happened to run into her in the Pride Ring one night she ran away. The responsible thing would have been to return her to the Prince as soon as possible, but you ran into her as Thestral - the piano player at Mimzy’s. She thought you were the coolest. So you two went out, got drunk, and had a fun night. You returned her to Stolas eventually. He was so grateful and none the wiser.

Octavia has ended up in your apartment a few more times since then. Hence why, you’ve run into the I.M.P. as they were recruited to help find her.

Stolas loved you, and Octavia loved you. Blitz has mixed feelings towards you. You made his life harder, but you could keep up with his sense of humor, so that made you okay. He also may have made a pass at you, and you rejected him. Not cool.

Blitz mumbled profanities under his breath before finally giving you an answer, “The Royal took his daughter topside for margaritas.”

You shot him a dumb look, “Margaritas?”

“Yeah, she’s been all excited about the human world ever since the fucking Hollywood incident. Stolas takes her on field trips now that she actually likes him again or some shit. I don’t know! It’s her rebellious teenage millennium.”

Great.

You turned to Alastor, who was thoroughly happy that Stolas was trapped topside and out of reach. Perhaps he thought you would give up now and return to your cage?

But you didn’t give up easily and Lucifer was coming tomorrow. This had to happen now.

“Open it,” you commanded.

“What?” The imp’s voice cracked.

Alastor frowned, desperately trying to hide his anger. “My darling, I don’t think…”

“Blitz,” you pulled a fat stack of cash from the Void - the remainder of Crim’s money. “Open it.”

The imp was practically salivating at the sight.

“Deal!” He swiped it from your hand before Alastor had a chance to protest. You turned to the Radio Demon and stared him down, your eyes daring him to try and stop you.

Do it. Start a fight right here. You’d take him on. You were practically begging for a fight with the Overlord now.

No more running, right Rosie? Time to face this head-on.

You were goating him, and he could tell.

Blitz chanted the spell from the grimoire, and the portal cracked into being.

“Ready?” You held an elbow out for Alastor, who sat unmoving in the chair beside you.

“Wait, you don’t have human disguises,” Blitz reminded you.

“Oh, right,” you took the grimoire from his hands and flipped through a few pages before finding the right spell.

“How the fuck…” Blitz’s jaw dropped.

The story of this grimoire and you was for another time and another place.

You slid the book over to Alastor and plopped into the seat next to him - summoning a quill and an ink well. You had a human disguise - you had spent nearly a hundred years over there before ending up in Hell - but he didn’t.

“I need to draw this on your skin,” you pointed to the symbol in the book. “Is that okay?” You asked cautiously. You knew the demon didn’t like to be touched.

His eye’s flit to Blitz.

Ah, yes, he wouldn’t like an audience.

“Get out,” you commanded.

“Yeah, no problem!” He skitted out of the room.

Your eye’s find Alastors - a deep crinkle weighing down his eyebrows. He was liking this plan less and less by the minute.

You cleared your throat, the bubbles of anxiety filling your chest. “It needs to be drawn over the heart.”

There’s no way Alastor was going to…

He stood, took his jacket off, and draped it over the chair. He loosened his black tie and unbuttoned his red suit vest. His eyes never leaving your face, he slowly undid the top buttons of his black collared shirt.

God, you were so jealous of his fingers. They got to undress him. You didn't.

He pulled the clothing aside to reveal the left side of his chest.

You tried not to gasp, you really did, but the sight was just too shocking. The Radio Demon was covered in scars. You felt the blood drain from your face, the knot in your chest winding itself tighter and tighter until it was hard to breath.

“Don’t fret too much, darling, these scars are not of this life,” his gaze was hot on your face, heating your cheeks.

Your heart sank. Did that mean…?

“These are not what killed me,” he answered as if reading your mind.

You swallowed dryly, trying to find the ability to move once more. Dipping the quill in ink, you brought the feather to his chest. He stiffened at the contact of the tip against his skin, looking over his right shoulder, his jaw ticking with every stroke. You did your best not to touch him as much as possible as you drew.

Alastor couldn't even look at you. God, he looked so uncomfortable.

Rosie’s words echo in your mind. “Alastor is scared too…”

You cleared your throat, "Play something for me?”

Alastor shot a questioning glare from the corner of his eye.

“Humor me,” you gave him a soft smile.

The demon thought a moment before his radio clicked through a few channels, finally landing on Louis Armstrong’s “Heebie Jeebies.”

You snorted, “Very funny.”

“I live to entertain, darling,” Alastor’s smile was half-hearted.

And it pained you.

“Why radio?” You ask, dabbing your pen in the ink well. “I mean, you could have done a lot of things in life, but why that?”

"Annonymity," Alastor answered after thinking a moment. "I enjoyed the power of captivating an audience while remaining invisible outside of the booth."

Your heart skipped a beat. Alastor liked staying in the shadows...

"I've heard the stories. Rosie said you remained nameless for a long time after your broadcasts went out. It's how you earned the name 'the Radio Demon.' There wasn't a face to attribute to the deaths until..." Your voice trailed off.

"Until Vox coaxed me from the shadows," there was a gleam in his eye.

You dropped your pen, "What happened with him exactly?"

"Hmmm," Alastor hummed. "For an attempt at a distraction, darling, you are doing a poor job at it." He teased.

Oh, right.

"Fine, what's your favorite song?" You asked instead.

The demon blinked. Did you say something you shouldn't have?

After a long while, he finally said, "I don't think anyone's ever asked me that before."

Your stomach dropped.

Alastor was many things. Alastor the Overlord, Alastor the Radio Demon, Alastor the radio host... And yet, Alastor the lonely was never a persona you thought he'd fill.

You know Alastor has friends - Rosie and Mimzy, for example - but what did that mean? He and Rosie were close, you didn't know anything about how deep his relationship was with Mimzy other than she knew him when she was alive. Yet, from the way Rosie treats him, she's more a mother than a friend. Mimzy seemed more like a friend you kept at arm's length, knowing her proclivity for attracting trouble - a.k.a, she couldn't be trusted completely.

So, who did Alastor have, really?

Husk? Yeah, no. Stupid question.

So, then...

"Shave 'em Dry' by Lucille Bogan*," you answered for him.

Alastor laughed so hard his face was in his hands. His laughter was infectious, and it brought forth giggles of your own. God, the way Alastor's natural joy warmed your heart.

The demon reached out, his other hand finding your fingers wrapped in the feather pen. His thumb stroked the top of your hand, eliciting goosebumps across your skin. Even through his gloves, his hands had a way of making your bones melt.

Alastor didn’t think he had a favorite song. He had never really entertained the thought, and he enjoyed so much of it all.

The demon ran his thumb across your hand to give himself time to think. He let his eyes bleed into your gaze, watching as you stifled a sharp intake of breath.

The demon had never really thought of his favorite song till the day you moved into the hotel, your red lips taunting him from the beginning. He never considered the flutter of feelings in his chest might be worthy of a song until you were dying in his arms. He never let himself consider the weight words of music held till he caught your beautiful voice singing in his kitchen.

The demon never considered he might have a favorite song till you gave him a reason to want, to desire...

“Unforgettable,” he smiled, “by Nat King Cole.”

He watched as your cheeks turned as red as your lips. “Alastor…”

God, he loved hearing his name fall from those lips.

“That’s a love song.”

Of course he knew that.

“Yes, darling, it is.” Alastor simply smiled, and that was enough to have the hair on the back of your neck standing on end.

He watched you nervously bite your lip and envied those teeth.

A sharp intake of breath, “I didn’t take you for a romantic….” You drew a few more strokes on his chest before finishing. This time, Alastor faced you and watched as you drew. He chuckled silently at the shake in your hand - he thought it adorable, really.

“You’ll find that there are many things about me..." Alastor ran his hand through your hair, cascading over your shoulder. He felt you shutter at the contact. The demon moved your hair aside with his finger, allowing a clear view of the bruises. Alastor smiled, "...that will surprise you."

He enjoyed seeing you flustered and speechless and decided the sight of you biting your red lips was his new favorite view. The sound of your heart skipping a beat in your chest and the little noise you make when he nibbles on your skin was his new favorite sound. The feel of your magic sparking to life as it reacted to his touch was his new favorite feeling. Satan’s mistress... Alastor the Radio Demon was discovering he had many favorites today.

Your gaze fell, your face heating as you tried to focus on the last few strokes of the rune on his chest. Your hand lingered a moment too long before you cleared your throat, “done.”

The demon stood abruptly and faced away from you as he reassembled his ensemble.

Jesus Christ, you were watching Alastor dress - so intimate an action, and yet you couldn't look away. Why didn't you at least offer to help with the buttons? Fuck, you prayed for the strength to get through today in one piece...

“Blitz,” you screamed for the imp when Alastor shrugged on his jacket once more.

You handed the imp the grimoire. “Drinks on me next time?”

“Oh, Hell yes! You fucking owe me!”

You resisted the urge to point out that you just gave him a fuck ton of money.

“Ready?” You held your elbow out to the demon.

“Good luck!” Blitz called after you as you stepped through the portal. “You’re going to fucking need it.” He closed the portal behind you.

You were in a dark alleyway, the sound of commotion far off. The world was warm and sunny - Hell, the sun. You hadn't seen real sunlight in years. Pulling Alastor to a half-broken mirror, you could see that you had transformed.

Your hair hung in waves down your back, no longer the silver of the damned but a beautiful natural blonde that matched your eyes. Your skin was pink and full of life, but much the rest remained the same.

God, had it been six years already since you were here? The image was quite a shock - a reminder of what came before your life flipped upside down and you packed your bags for the Underworld.

You caught Alastor staring, your cheeks turning red. A blush crept up Alastor’s neck, the same color as his suit jacket.

“Your turn,” you smiled, suddenly extremely self-conscious of your appearance. Say, " Transformare.”

“Transformare.” A whirlwind wiped around the alley, twirling its way up Alastor’s body. His skin transformed to a creamy tan, his hair darkening to a light brown, but in the morning sun, at just the right angle, it had a red tint to it. His ears and antlers disappeared as his hair shortened. It was long and curly on top but with a shortened buzz cut around the base. His monocle was replaced with a small pair of reading glasses sitting at the edge of his nose. His eyes stayed their usual red, however, and his canines were sharper than average for a mortal - a reminder that he was not fully human.

Alastor’s entire body went rigid.

The spell you had used wasn’t simply a disguise spell - it was a sort of rejuvenation spell. The Radio Demon was now staring at the reflection of his former living self.

Ooooooh, the French, the Voodoo, his taste for jambalaya. Alastor was Creole. "This face was made for radio..." It suddenly made sense...

Alastor ran a hand through his hair in complete disbelief. Cute. The thought hit your brain subconsciously, and you dropped your gaze so he wouldn't see.

“I should have warned you,” it came out as a whisper.

Alastor took a shallow breath. “No. No. I’m glad you didn’t. I don’t think I would have come if you had.”

Oh… Why did that make your heart sink?

You both stood a minute longer, Alastor’s eyes glued to the mirror before taking your arm in his.

“Shall we?” He asked.

You nodded.

Weaving between alleyways, you finally rounded the corner and were met with the deafening roar of people and music.

“What the…”

You popped out onto the street in a huge crowd, confetti filling the air, beads being tossed, a band marching down the street. It was an absolute madhouse.

Alastor laughed next to you as people tried to shove their way around you. He protectively wrapped an arm around your middle, bringing you into him. The rumble of his laugh vibrated through his chest and into yours. His scent overcame you, numbing your senses and clouding your mind with thoughts of him holding you close.

He still smelled like himself. Like the forest after rain...

“Mardi Gras!” A genuine smile formed across his face. “He didn’t say margaritas. He meant Mardi Gras!”

Oh, shit. You were in New Orleans, the French Quarter specifically - Alastor’s birthplace and hometown.

You had inadvertently brought Alastor home.

People shuffled by you in wild outfits of greens, purples, and golds. Feathers and beads decorated an ocean of partygoers hidden beneath masks.

“Oh, this won’t do,” his eyes were on you now, analyzing your outfit. “If I’m to escort you around New Orleans during Mardi Gras, you certainly can’t dress like that.” With a flick of his wrist, your outfit changed.

Alastor dressed you in a dress with numerous yellow ruffled skirts and thin straps of tied ribbon holding it up. Your hair had curled into a cute bob iconic of the 1930s, and a mask of yellow feathers completed the look. The top edge of your tattoo was visible beneath the dress, but instead of its iconic silver shade, it had faded to black. Humans have all sorts of tattoos in this day and age; no one would be any the wiser... Besides, Alastor couldn't see anything but the very top of it... He wouldn't know what it was just from that...

Alastor’s suit changed into a matching set of gold, a fedora to accompany, complete with a yellow mask of felt. “Absolutely beautiful, darling,” he grabbed your hand and intertwined your fingers with his. His black leather gloves were soft in your hand. “Now, where to?”

You pushed down the creep of blush running up your neck and tried to think. You were here for a reason, and it wasn't to ogle at the Overlord, no matter how slim his waist looked in gold or how badly you wanted to run your fingers through his curls...

If Octavia was here then hopefully the card was too. You dug deep behind your navel, searching for the familiar tug of the obsidian calling card you had given the Princess all those years ago.

She didn’t know what it was when you gave it to her, a precaution for her to use in case she ever got into any trouble. It only worked when you were on the same plane, however, so when she ran away to Hollywood, she couldn't use it to contact you. Now that you are both topside, you should be able to find her.

There.

“This way,” you screamed over your shoulder, pulling the Radio Demon through the crowd behind you.

Pushing through the crowd hurt, but you were on a mission, and the parade was far from over. Finally, you made it to a place called the Hotel Royal - a cute two-story corner hotel just off the main road. Dipping inside, the building led to a courtyard filled with live music and dancing. Off to one side was a bar, complete with a fountain at the center of the cobblestones. Two rows of balconies encircled the yard, with more people dancing and drinking throughout.

“It’s still here!” Alastor curled in next to you, his hand on your hip, allowing others to pass as you surveyed the scene.

You shot him a questioning look.

“Come this way,” he pulled you to the bar, complete with a wooden backdrop. He tugged you down under the bar stool, his fingers running over the wooden panel. “Here!” He screamed over the music. Beneath his fingers were two names etched into the wood: Marcel Gerard and Alastor Hartfelt**.

Holy shit.

“My mother cleaned for the hotel when we were strapped for cash. She’d bring me along to play with the owner’s son.” The demon smiled at the carving.

There it was, that concoction of butterflies and bubbles that made you queasy. What was happening? Rosie’s words flitted through your mind again as you surveyed the demon, smiling at the wood.

You felt terrified, but you were… excited about it? Alstor’s hand was still in yours, your fingers intertwined. It was… nice. The demon hated touch, but here you were, hand in hand.

Was this romance?

All of last night comes rushing back - of Alastor's hand in yours, of the demon's fists bunched in your pajama bottoms, of his mouth on your lips.

You knew the smell of vanilla was going to hit before it even graced your nose.

You didn't really know what romance was, but you wanted to.

Fuck, you wanted this. You wanted him.

And it terrified you.

Because if Alastor knew who you were and what you carried with you, he'd kill you...

Fuck.

Alastor would kill you.

You dropped his hand and stood.

“Is everything alright?” The demon's smile dropped, his face crinkling in concern.

Before you could find an excuse to explain away your weird behavior, you felt the tug. She was here.

You spun, surveilling the dance floor. There, in the middle of a group of girls was the tallest human girl you had ever seen. Her dark hair cascaded down her back into a pool of purple tips. She wore a Green dress, her mask covered in glittery sequins, which exploded into a bloom of peacock feathers above her head.

Octavia.

You pushed your way through the crowd and tapped her shoulder. She spun, clearly a little tipsy, before her eyes lit up in recognition. “What are you doing here!?” She screamed over the music, bringing you into a hug. You winced when she let you go, grabbing your arms and twirling you about.

“Same as you!” You lied. “To enjoy the festivities! Where’s your father?”

“Dad?” She stopped spinning you. “Over here, come with me!”

She dragged you to the side of the dance floor, where an extremely tall gentleman was sitting in a chair. He twirled the straw in his drink, a glum look plastered across his face. That was until he saw you and Octavia standing before him. He lit up at the sight of you and brought you into a bone-crushing hug.

“Hi, Stolas,” you managed to breathe out. He dropped you, and you stumbled back into a strong pair of arms: Alastor.

The Radio Demon bowed to the Royal, “Your Highness.”

“Oh, please, that’s unnecessary,” he waved awkwardly. Stolas hated the attention. He always has.

The music turned to a dirty jazz, a song Alastor perked his ears up at.

“You mind distracting the Princess for a moment,” you whisper-screamed into his ear.

You’d hate dragging her into this.

His smile turned cockeyed - a knowing grin. He grabbed your hand and placed a kiss atop it. “Of course, ma cherie.”

He grabbed the Princess and twirled her about, dragging her onto the dance floor. You’d heard from Rosie about Alastor's dancing skills. He could kill it on the dance floor.

Turning back to Stolas, your smile faltered. “I’m afraid I’m not here for fun. I need to call in that favor.”

“Oh,” he collapsed back into his chair, looking disappointed. God, he looked so lonely.

The waiter came to take your order: a glass of red and two fingers of rye.

You pulled a piece of paper from the Void and handed it to him. He read it. Then, read it again. He eyed you suspiciously. “And what do you need this for?”

“Got into trouble a little while back. I need to take some… necessary precautions.” And Stolas was the only person you knew who knew the spell. Well… He was the only person you knew willing to share it with you. Fucking Goetia and their secrets. They had a whole ass society based on them.

He waited for you to elaborate further, but you didn’t.

“Very well,” he pulled a quill from the void, awaiting your arm expectantly. “I’m assuming you have the ink?”

You summoned the white liquid from the Void - you took it off Cain after he died.

The waiter returned not long after, shooting you two a weird look as the demon drew a mark on your arm in sparkly white ink. The liquid was mixed with the bones of a saint - it had to be for the spell to work.

Your mind turned to the dance floor as you sipped the Cabernet. Alastor was twirling the poor girl around and around in a flurry of drunken giggles. At least she was having fun, and so was the Overlord. A genuine smile plastered across his face as the saxophone dived into a solo. Watching him enjoy himself warmed your heart but also pained it.

Were you going to tell him?

“Such strange company you keep,” Stolas interrupted your thoughts. Of course, he recognized the Radio Demon.

“Like I said, necessary precautions.” You shot him a fake smile. You decided to pivot the conversation. “How are you, Stolas?” You genuinely wanted to know.

“It has been hard,” the Prince started. “But my little owlette has been keeping me busy.” He half-heartedly laughs.

“I heard about Hollywood. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help.”

“It’s quite alright. You have done so much for us already. Besides, I’m glad it happened. We’ve grown closer because of it.” He smiled at his daughter on the dance floor.

Your heart panged. Pulling a key from the Void, you slowly pushed it across the table. “You’ll find the cabin on the outskirts of Levitowne in Envy. It’s well-hidden and private. Just in case. I’ve heard the stories.”

He eyes the key, then eyes you. He knows Human Sinners can't leave the Pride Ring. He knows there is no way you could ever have gone to Envy, let alone secured a home. There are questions swimming in his eyes, you know he’s thinking if he can trust you. You hope your actions in the past prove true.

Besides, you needed powerful allies in your back pocket for what you were planning...

“Thank you.”

Oh, thank the Lord.

“You always have an ally in Pride, of course. If you ever need it, I’ll drop everything and run.”

A smile found his face again. “You always do.” He returns your forearm to you. You watch the ink set into your skin, its white sparkle fading into black. You hoped that was a good sign. You slip the ink well back into the Void.

“I hope it works,” the Prince eyes the tattoo now visible on your forearm. “For your sake.”

For everyone's sake.

“Dad!” The Princess practically falls onto your table. She scrambles for the Prince’s arm. “Come! I must show you this dance Al taught me!”

Al?

The demon appears next to you, his forehead shining with sweat. He fixes his mask on his face and runs a hand through his wild hair. He laughs and says something to the Princess in French. “Merci pour cette belle danse, chérie.”

She giggles and responds in the language. “Arrête de traîner et fais-le déjà!”

Since when does she know French!?

“Comment sais-tu que c'est ce qu'elle veut?” Alastor asks.

Wait a minute; you’re an Angel, you know every language. You flipped the switch in your mind.

“Je vois la façon dont vous vous regardez. Tu as déjà son cœur... mais elle ne le sait pas encore! She just doesn't know it yet!” Octavia laughs hysterically as she drags her father into the crowd. She winks at you as she disappears behind a wall of bodies.

The Radio Demon shirks off his coat and hangs it over the back of your chair.

“Do I want to know what that was all about?” You raise an eyebrow questioningly, handing him the drink you ordered for him.

He downs it in one gulp, then collapses into the chair across from you. "Just a bit of teasing," he laughs, motioning to the two of them on the dance floor. Kicking his legs out in front of him and leaning back in the chair. "The Princess is a quick study."

Hmm...

You sipped your wine. From your seat, you could see the Princess attempting to spin Stolas in the same way you had watched Alastor spin her. The height difference made it difficult, but the Prince was beaming regardless.

“I didn't realize you were fluent in French?” You asked.

“Darling, I could speak French before I could walk.” He smiles, his Southern accent slipping through. You were surprised but should have guessed. He was a New Orleans native turned Radio Host Star, of course he adopted the Transatlantic accent. Yet, his words curled around you and whisked your breath away.

The music changes abruptly, slowing in tempo. You watch as dancers paired off, swaying with the music. Stolas and Octavia have disappeared completely. You’re not worried - the Princess can handle anything thrown at her in this realm. It was Stolas who needed a babysitter.

You turn to take another sip of your drink but find Alastor leaning on the table. His eyes half-lidded, his smile tipped up in a cockeyed grin, he holds a gloved hand out expectantly.

“May I have this dance?” He purrs, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your heart skips a beat at the desire glowing in his eyes. He was captivating, all-consuming. He looked at you like the rest of the world didn’t exist. Like it was just you and him in this club right now.

“Okay,” you slipped your hand in his. He led you from the table to the fountain at the center of the courtyard. Bringing your hand to his shoulder, he found your waist and pulled you a beat closer, careful of your wounds. You weren’t touching, other than your grips, but the proximity would have been considered scandalous in his day.

He led you around the dancefloor in a slow waltz, matching the speed of the music. You were a terrible dancer; at every ball you attended in Heaven, you found some way to weasel out of it early. You never danced unless required, finding comfort on the sidelines, preferring to hide in the crowd than be out on display.

You originally became the Shadow for that very reason - you hated eyes on you. You hated the spotlight. You preferred to work behind the scenes, behind a mask. It was more comfortable there.

Your eyes slipped down to your feet as Alastor led. You did your best to match his, terrified of stepping on his toes. He had a reputation as a fabulous dancer, after all.

“Eyes on me, darling,” he said, placing a finger under your chin and guiding your face to meet his.

The cold steel of red softened as you held his gaze. The room fell away, the music lulling you into a world of your own. Alastor pulled you a beat closer, your chest heaving against his. Your heart rammed against your ribs, and you prayed the demon couldn’t hear it; you prayed he couldn’t smell the adrenaline running through your veins or the vanilla wafting off you in droves.

You were terrified; you wanted to jump out of your skin and run, but his gaze kept you cemented to his side, like a bird trapped in a cage. Yet the cage didn’t feel like a prison. It didn’t even feel like a cage at all. It was freeing. Like you could take off into flight knowing the sanctity of protection forever remained.

No more running.

“Alastor, last night..." You swallowed dryly, "was what happened... only about Vox?”

Alastor's eyes lit up in amusement as he pondered. “Hmmm, no.” Your heart skipped a beat. “Although I do admit jealousy is not an emotion I am accustomed to.”

He was jealous. You were right. So, does that mean...?

You smiled nervously. Thank God Alastor was wearing gloves right now because your palms were sweating. "So you didn’t know about the date when it was happening then?”

The demon ran his hands through your hair, giving him a clear view of your bruised neck. “I assure you, ma cherie, had I known about it at the time, Vox would not currently be breathing.” The demon leaned in, his breath hot on your face. “I do not like it when someone tries to take what is mine.”

Butterflies erupted in your chest, stealing the air from your lungs. “Mine?” You breathed, your mind fully aware of the closeness of his lips, of the demon leaning in more and more as you swayed.

“Mine.” Alastor growled as his mouth found yours.

It was far softer this time. Last night, Alastor was hungry; now he kissed you like a delicacy he wanted to savor - like he had nowhere to be and all the time in the world to be nowhere.

The demon cupped your cheek, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. He held you like you might flee from his grip, like you might fade away beneath his fingers if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

You tipped up on to your toes, leaning your body into him, letting your hands fist the lapels of his suit jacket. The taste of rye flooded your mouth as Alastor's tongue found its way between your teeth. You moaned into him as little bolts of Alastor's static zipped across your skin.

Your senses were on fire as the demon threaded his fingers through your hair. God, you set a mental reminder to wear your hair down more often, if only to feel Alastor's fingers play with it as he kissed you.

You pushed your magic through the connection and actually felt Alastor's adrenaline surge through his veins. The demon spun the two of you around, walking you backward to the brick wall. His lips never left yours, his soft kisses turning hungrier.

With one hand fisting in your hair, his other trailed down your side, and you actually whined when he skipped your breasts and went straight for your hips.

"Such a greedy little thing," he murmured against your lips as he pressed his waist into you.

You yelped.

Jesus Christ, he was hard.

Fuck you knew Alastor was big, but you didn’t really know. That day in the bayou, when you ground your hips into him, you only stuck around long enough to feel the beginning of his erection and not the process of it.

You threw your hands around his neck, needing the extra leverage to arch your body into him. Your fingers brushed the base of his hair, reminding you of the earlier itch to play with his curls. So you did just that. It was different, not having the antlers or the ears, but his hair was so soft, softer than his short-cropped red hair in Hell. The curls wrapped your fingers as you played with it before grabbing hold. The demon growled into your mouth, his hot tongue swiping over yours, his hands falling from your hair straight to your hips.

The demon used his teeth to pull off a glove, before moving lower and grabbing hold of your skirt...

"Alastor!" You gasped, trying to break apart, but Alasotr held you firmly in his grasp. "We're in public!"

The demon's chuckles rumbled through your chest, his forehead never leaving yours, “Ah, and yet we are completely alone."

You blinked.

What?

You surveyed the room, which was thoroughly on fire. Blues and greens bled into the walls and furniture, slowly overtaking the building. Your and Alastor's magic had ignited at some point during your kiss, billowing out of control and spilling out into the world around you.

The crowd must have run at the sight of the flames, and yet you heard none of it. The two of you were too completely and absolutely entranced with one another to notice.

"Oh," you squeaked.

The demon pressed his lips to your ear, his voice deep and smokey as he said, “You started sparking the second I asked you to dance.”

Shit. You weren’t paying attention. Your mind was elsewhere…

Alastor's hands moved again, bunching your skirts in his fist to allow access to...

"Oh, my God!" You yelped as Alastor cupped your sex.

"I assure you, darling, he had nothing to do with this," the demon growls.

Alastor moved your underwear aside, his finger separating your folds, feeling your wetness...

"Al...Alastor!" You gasped as a finger entered you.

"That's better," he smiled.

"What happened to waiting till I'm healed?" Your nails dug into his shoulders as he started to move. Tiny gasps escaped your lungs as he slipped in and out of you.

It was a foreign feeling for you; you had never had this kind of stimulation before, but GOD did it feel good. When did you get so wet? It was like your body knew what was happening before you did and was already prepared.

"I don't know if you noticed, ma cherie," the demon catches your gaze, his irises flashing back and forth between pupils and radio dials, "but I'm fighting restraint." His lips ghost over yours, his grip on your waist hardening. "And I'm losing terribly."

The demon's lips swallow your moans as a second finger presses in. First knuckle. Second knuckle. In and out. In and out.

Jesus, Alastor was teasing you.

How rude.

You bit down on Alastor's bottom lip as you ground down into his hand, your body begging for more friction. The demon moaned this time, his hips bucking on instinct.

He pressed into you, his knee coming to rest between your thighs to give himself more leverage. You could feel it, though, the throb of his dick in his pants.

You reached out to cup him through his pants - to do exactly what you didn't know. You'd never done anything like this before, but your body, heart, and mind were screaming at you - want, want, want!

Alastor pulled his hips back, just out of reach. You actually whined when your fingers met nothing but air.

"Uh, uh, darling, it's my turn to play." He growled, the vibrations reverberating through your chest.

"But, Al-!" You started to protest, but then Alastor curled his fingers, and the pleasure wave that rolled through you had you gasping for breath. It was so much more.

Somewhere, off in the distance, there was a crash, but your mind was too numb to process it.

"There it is," the demon smiled against your cheek, clearly proud of the control he had over you, over your body. The demon placed a kiss on your cheek as you continued to grind down into his hand. His mouth trailed to your neck...

You collapsed into the demon when his teeth bit down, not enough to draw blood, but enough to nibble, to send your skin alight with his static. The demon sucked and then licked at the sore spot with his forked tongue, soothing the pain. Your hands clenched in his suit jacket for stability as your legs begin to give out, your climax building.

Alastor's hands thrust up into you harder, his other hand pressing down on your lower abdomen. Jesus, why did that make everything feel so much better?

"Cum for me, darling." He commanded his lips on your neck. Nipping. Sucking. Licking.

"Al, I'm... Oh, God!" And you obeyed.

You screamed into his shirt, your walls twitching around him as you rode that wave of ecstasy. It wasn't like before, like in your dream. Then your pussy throbbed on nothing but air, but now, now Alastor filled you with his warmth, and the high was so so much better.

Alastor continued to pump into you until your thighs stopped convulsing around him, your walls desperately milking his fingers for more. Each small thrust of Alastor's hand had your body shaking, had the pleasure prolonging more and more. The demon held you up against the wall, your legs nothing but jelly, your mind numb, and your thoughts muddled.

You swore you heard glass break.

Alastor kissed you on the top of the head, "Good girl."

You moaned when he slipped out of you, his other hand fixing the skirt of your dress. God, how could anyone function after something like that?

"Mmmmmm," Alastor hummed, sucking his fingers dry. "Heavenly." The demon shot you a knowing smile. He wrapped a finger around your chin, tilting your head towards his. "You always taste so sweet."

Goddamn...

The look of pride in Alastor's eyes made your heart swell as he whispered, “We should probably leave, ma cherie, before we burn the place to the ground.”

Somewhere in you, you found your bones again. Forcing clarity into your mind, you not only registered fire, but the building itself had begun to crumble. Walls had collapsed, glass had broken, and the bar was in shambles. The only thing still standing was the brick wall surrounding you, as if the blue and green magic knew to protect the pleasure swimming between the two of you.

Well, shit. Your orgasm had practically leveled a building.

Wait.

"What about you?" You raised an eyebrow, gesturing to his pants. Still weak, you continued to hold on to his shirt, letting the scent of musk swirl around your numb brain.

God, you never wanted to move again.

Alastor tipped his head back and laughed, "Oh, darling, let's just say I have ruined another pair of perfectly good trousers."

Your cheeks heated. Wait, did that mean that he...? Wait. Wait. Wait. What does he mean by "another"...?

The sound of sirens brought you back to the situation. You needed to leave, but first...

You shot Alastor a smug look, his hands still wrapped around your chin as you - SNAP! The colored fire disappeared. The demon tipped his head back and laughed again before planting one last kiss on your lips.

Rolf shadowed you outside to the alley. The building was plagued with blackened walls, the air impregnated with ash. The structure was crumbling in on itself. You had left mere seconds before being crushed.

Holy, shit, you did that.

"I'm sorry," you apologized, your stomach dropping. "That was a childhood memory, and I destroyed it..."

"And made a new memory," Alastor smiled at you, running his thumb across your cheek.

He wasn't mad. If anything, he looked proud.

Alastor laughed at the sight before taking your hand. “Come, I want to show you something.” He led you back out onto the street, your legs jelly as you followed after him.

Out of the chaos, he sat you on a bench a few blocks down before disappearing into a storefront. He came out a few moments later with a donut topped in green, gold, and purple sprinkles.

“A King Cake,” he called it, breaking it in half for you. “Winner finds the baby.”

You scrunched your nose in confusion, making him laugh.

“An old French tradition,” he took a bite. “To celebrate the coming of the Three Kings. A small object is hidden in the dough; whoever finds the trinket - a small plastic baby Jesus - is brought luck and prosperity for the next year.”

You giggled, “Why does it feel fitting that a former Angel and a cannibalistic demon are sitting on a bench in the human realm eating a metaphorical baby Jesus?” You took a bite.

He laughed. “Yes, if Mother could see me now.”

Your heart sank. “What was your mother like?”

His eyes wandered off as if viewing a memory. “She was the kindest soul. Her smile lit up a room, her laugh infectious. She could make the sun shine on a rainy day and cure anything with a bowl of her jambalaya.”

Ah, that’s where he learned that recipe.

“She would have adored you,” he smiled to himself, tilting his head.

You forgot about the pastry for a second. Placing your hand in his, you squeezed. “And I’m sure I would have adored her.” You smiled at each other for a moment before returning to the cake.

“You know, when they sent me down here in search of Eve, I went everywhere; New York, L.A., London, Tokyo, Prague, Moscow, you name it. Yet, I never made my way to New Orleans. We might have met if I had.” You giggled.

“And did you find her?”

“Who?”

“Eve.”

You froze, finally realizing your mistake.

“Ma cherie?” Alastor leaned forward into your vision, worry creasing his face.

Oh, fuck.

“Uhm!” You jumped to your feet, wincing from the pain. “We should… We should go.” The words tumbled out of your mouth in a panic. “The Hotel needs work before Lucifer shows up and I’m sure Charlie is panicking right now. You know how she gets when she’s stressed. And I haven’t seen them in two weeks nor have I checked in with Husk and Angel after I collapsed. They’re probably worried sick. And I… And I…” You were hyperventilating now. “And I should help clean up the Hotel. You’re the Manager so you should definitely be there. What if Nifty get’s stuck again and…”

Alastor gripped your face in his hands, forcing you to look into his eyes.

“You need to calm down, darling, you’re on fire.” He said calmly.

You looked down at your hands to see green flames licking your skin. You jumped back out of Alastor’s grip. “No. No. No.” You repeated to yourself under your breath, trying desperately to smother the flames.

The demon tried again to reach out for you, but you held up a hand and backed away. “Don’t touch me.” You snapped.

He froze right on the spot, his look of concern melting into cold steel. “I’m only trying to help.”

“Don’t!” You held a finger up to him. “I don’t need your help. I didn’t ask for it.”

Both his eyebrows rose in surprise, “Oh? Come now, darling, there’s no need to be mean.”

You needed to get away from him. You snapped your fingers, and a portal to Hell appeared. Alastor’s look of surprise was not lost on you.

You were far, far more powerful than he thought.

He raised an eyebrow in question, staring at the cracks in reality surrounding the portal. “Keeping secrets, are we? What happened to our quid-pro-quo, darling?”

Your heart cracked. You couldn’t tell him. Not because you didn’t trust him but because you were afraid. He wouldn’t understand. He would never look at you the same again.

And he'd kill you in a heartbeat.

You didn't know what would be worse, seeing the look of betrayal flash across his face or him actually stabbing you in the heart with a Carmine blade.

You sniffed, tears threatening to spill, "I... I'm sorry. I can't..."

“Apparently,” he mumbled. “Well,” he summoned his microphone, twirled it behind his back, and nodded to you. “Don’t let me keep you waiting.”

His look of disbelief had been replaced with his mask, the same look reserved for everyone else but you - the Radio Demon persona. Something in his gaze made you realize the cavern you had created between the two of you - the silent battle waged between you by simply denying him the truth.

And to Alastor, the truth was everything. You had promised. Yet, here you are breaking it a mere days later.

It didn't go against your contract, technically. The information didn't benefit you both, but he didn't know that.

You practically ran through the portal, closing it behind you, when you heard Alastor step through. You dashed up the steps and flung yourself into your room and onto your bed in a heap of sobs.

The door rattled off his hinges, swinging to reveal Rolf waiting for you on the precipice. The shadow looked devastated as he desperately tried to enter the room, but the wards you put up after Angel’s incident still held. No matter how hard he tried, he wasn't getting in.

And when he finally realized that, a look of hurt spread across his face which had your heart breaking all over again.

“What the fuck,” Angel appeared in the doorway, sidestepping the shadow. Realizing the situation, he quickly closed the door and collected you in your arms.

You sobbed as the spider demon held you...

Translate the last line of French, I dare you. (I'm also lowkey so curious to know ya'll's theories)

*Shave 'em Dry bu Lucille Bogan is considered one of the most scandalous and lewd jazz songs of the 1930s: Link

** Yes, this is a Vampire Diaries reference! Same hotel, too.

-> Chapter Eleven

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added!):

@sirens-and-moonflowers @wonderlandangelsposts @saccharine-nectarine @goyablogsstuff @mommymilkers0526

@eris-norwega @missgirlsstuff @alastor-the-radio-demons-blog @sillywormtrixareforkids @its-a-dam-blue-brick

@cloverresin20 @blue-bird251 @speedycoffeedelight @littlebluefishtail @sawi1987 @mopeyghost @beelz3bub

@fraugwinska @minamilinaqueen @demoarah

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waratah-vroom · 1 year ago

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Scandalous (ms47)

✨ join waratah's (over) 100 follower celebration ✨ Made to order for super sweet anon

Liked by yndaily, ynsource and 19,274 others ynstylefiles: When will they finally admit they're dating? They're so cute together!

"You need to leave."

Mick had barely finished tying his shoelaces when you threw him his jacket. "Pushing me out so soon, Hase?"

"No, you idiot, I mean you leave now and I'll follow you out in ten minutes. We'll meet in the car."

"This is getting ridiculous, honestly. I don't know why we can't just say we're dating."

You'd had this conversation a million times before. "You know why."

He groaned, his head falling against the back of the couch. His response was always the same. "It's so stupid."

You and Mick had already been dating for three months when your show's publicist approached you about entering a PR relationship with your co-star, Jacob. You'd flat out refused, but since you hadn't gone public with Mick yet, they'd managed to talk you into a compromise of leaving an 'air of ambiguity' between you and Jacob.

Mick wasn't thrilled, and to be honest neither were you, but it was either publicly ignore your boyfriend and get caught grabbing coffee with your co-star a couple of times a week, or damage your reputation with the biggest studio in Hollywood. That was six months ago, and your season finale was set to air in a week.

"It's just until the season finishes, then we can tell everyone."

"It's been six months, Hase. I'm getting exhausted with all the sneaking around."

You were getting exhausted too. It was tiring staggering your exits from hotels and restaurants, never being able to hold your boyfriend's hand in public. It was also getting annoying wearing sunglasses and a beanie everywhere you went, even in the height of summer. But you'd come this far and the finish line was almost in sight.

It's not like you didn't enjoy hanging out with Jacob. The two of you had become close friends since his character had been introduced as your new love interest at the start of the season. It was also helpful that Jacob was a huge sports fan so him being seen with a formula 1 driver didn't raise any questions. He also loved talking to Mick about cars so he was happy to tag along on your 'dates'.

Like right now, when you and Mick had found yourselves at a group dinner with Jacob, a popstar, two NBA players, and a few more of your co-stars.

"You know I love your friends but I really wish this was just the two of us," Mick took hold of your hand beneath the table, his thumb rubbing circles on your skin. "We could be home alone right now eating pasta. I would have gotten to have my desert first."

"I've been promising Olivia I'd catch up with her for ages," you whispered. "I couldn't turn her down a third time."

You would have much rather been at home too. You'd been on edge all day. Your manager was going to ring you some time tonight and you'd been over thinking the phone call since you'd woken up.

Olivia knew what day it was, how could she not when you brought it up any chance you got? She'd invited you and Mick out tonight as a distraction. "I can see the wheels turning in your head, babe," she said from across the table. "I know you're thinking about it."

"It's an Oscar nomination, how could she not be thinking about it?" Jacob asked, tossing a chip in his mouth.

It was true, how could it not be on your mind? As soon as your new film had started being shown to the press, the Oscar buzz had begun. It had only intensified when the film was finally released, and now you had an entire studio worth of pressure on your shoulders. Today was the day nominations would be announced and you were just waiting for your phone to start buzzing in your pocket.

"You'll get it, Hase. I know you will. You deserve it."

"I bet you'll feel like shit if she doesn't get it now," someone said quickly followed by a thud and a yelp.

"Of course she'll get it, the movie's incredible."

"She's incredible in everything she's in!"

You drowned out their chatter, a bubbly feeling slowly growing in your stomach. You'd won awards before; hell you'd won an Emmy for the first season of your TV show, but the Oscars were big. Really big.

A tapping on your shoulder snapped you out of your daze and Mick said, "your phone's ringing."

"Everyone shush," Olivia's eyes widened as you answered your phone. Her whole body seemed to vibrate as you spoke to someone on the other end.

"Okay, thank you," you nodded, listening as your manager said something about press and photographs. "Yeah, I'll speak with you in the morning. Okay. Bye."

The table was silent, everyone's eyes were on you, waiting for you to speak.

"I got the nomination. Best Actress."

Cheers and shouts erupted from everyone at the table. Olivia was the loudest, shouting that she never had any doubt, but your eyes were focused solely on your boyfriend.

He grinned, "ich war mir sicher, dass du es kapieren würdest, Hase."

"I don't know what that means but it sounds like you love me."

"I do love you," his hands grabbed your cheeks, pulling your face to his as he kissed you. Just as you deepened the kiss by slipping your tongue into his mouth he whispered, "ich bin so stolz auf dich"

"Again, no idea," your lips chased after him as he pulled away to look in your eyes.

He went in for another kiss but stopped when Olivia cleared her throat, "as much as I'm loving this moment between you two, there's cameras."

Y/N L/N CAUGHT CHEATING ON JACOB ELORDI

Y/N L/N SEEN KISSING MICK SCHUMACHER AT AN INTIMATE DINNER: CLICK HERE TO SEE HER RUMOURED BOYFRIEND'S REACTION

JACOB ELORDI REPORTEDLY DEVASTED AMIDST Y/N L/N CHEATING RUMOURS

"Oh my god, I'm going to have to post one of those notes app apologies, aren't I?" You'd been pacing the living room for what felt like hours.

Mick had checked his phone and it hadn't been longer than five minutes. He'd tried to pull you in for a hug but you'd shaken him off, continuing your laps around the coffee table. He'd resigned himself to sitting on the couch and letting you rant. "You haven't done anything wrong."

"People think I cheated on Jacob."

"You'd have to be dating him for it to count as cheating."

"Everyone hates me!"

"I think you're overreacting, Hase."

"You don't get it, Mick. You're not a woman. It's always our fault. They're making me out to be some sort of... I don't know... Sex-crazed adulterer!"

"Adulterer? I don't know what that means."

"Cheater, Mick. I'm a cheater," you finally collapsed on the couch next to him, your hands covering your face.

"Hase. Schatz. Love. Come here," he patted his thigh and you sighed, reluctantly moving to sit on his lap. All it took was Mick stroking your hair for you to bury your face in his shoulder and let out a shaky breath.

"You haven't done anything, okay? It's always just been me and you. You can't cheat on me with me, can you? Plus it's not like you've ever kissed Jacob or confirmed you two were dating. The media made it all up in their heads. Sure you never told them they were wrong and I'm not going to say I said it would end badly-"

"Mick," you groaned. "Not helpful."

"It'll blow over, Hase. I promise."

He looked so sure of his words, his blue eyes full of confidence. He always had a way of putting you at ease.

You pressed your forehead against his and kissed his nose. "You still love me, right?"

He went to turn his head away but your palm caught his cheek, keeping his eyes locked on your own. "Do I need to respond to that?"

"Yes."

"Ich liebe dich mehr als alles andere."

Tagged: mickschumacher Liked by yourfriend, taylorswift and 15,392,842 others yourusername: In my lover era 💘

mickschumacher: Mein Schatz 🤍

jacobelordi: Never seen a better matched pair than you and Mick

oliviarodrigo: Cutest couple!

georgerussell63: Thank god. I think Mercedes admin was going to have a heart attack if they had to crop you out of another photo. ↳ mercedesamgf1: It's true, my blood pressure has been shockingly high.

read more of my writing here

ﾟ｡ ⋆ mags' radio: Idk how awards nominations work... so pls suspend your disbelief. This was a fun one! I know anon said they wanted a chaotic ending, so I tried my bestest ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

German translations (idk German so I used a translator) Hase, Schatz = affectionate nicknames (side note: all german nicknames are adorable) Ich war mir sicher, dass du es kapieren würdest = I knew you’d get it Ich bin so stolz auf dich = I’m so proud of you Ich liebe dich mehr als alles andere = I love you more than anything

taglist: @fulla02reads @flowerchild-96 @camillalarke @cool-ultra-nerd @azxulaa @booksobsess @formulakay

#waratah-vroom perfumes #mick schumacher #mick schumacher x yn #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher x y/n #mick schumacher x you #mick schumacher fanfic #mick schumacher imagine #mick schumacher drabble #mick schumacher instagram #mick schumacher smau #f1 imagine #f1 #f1 fanfic

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eunchancorner · 7 days ago

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Rambles and Realizations (TTT)

I tried my best to write drunk Henry, and it just kinda went all over the place.

TW for alcohol consumption

Henry couldn’t hold his liquor to save his life. A lesson Carol had learned the hard way.

Normally, Henry didn’t like to get drunk anyway; he claims he doesn’t like how it feels, but Carol always felt like it was because he was embarrassed about being such a lightweight compared to the others. Nowadays, feeling like someone wanted his head on a mount also helped deter him.

But, tonight, he’d decided to go for it, as long as Carol was by his side. He claimed he could use something to help him destress after the hassle of addressing new members, the complications of canceling the rocket project, and constantly having to look over his shoulder. He’d suggested having one of the new recruits, a woman named Ellie, over to drink as well, but Carol still didn’t totally trust her, so she pushed against the idea. Henry had conceded, and she’d brought over some whiskey for them to share.

A couple of shots in and Carol had decided that, for both of their sakes, she should stop, so she could keep an eye on him. Henry, however, kept going. Which led to where they were now.

Henry’s face on his desk, blubbering about ‘timelines’ and ‘endings’ and ‘fails’ and other things that made Carol wonder if Henry was just straight-up crazy.

“And-and in the one, where uhm- there’s this guy named Charles, y-you don’t know him, great guy, absolutely beautiful- a-anyway- and he- he picks us up, from like, the Wall, a-and takes me and Ellie to the rocket base, a-and then, we start an epic dance party! And then we, uh, w-we tie Sven up, and, uh, send the rocket to, uh, the-the uhm, the Wall. A-and then! There’s this- this one where I steal the rocket! And turn it into… uhm… I-I forgot, uh… shit, it was uhm…”

What is this idiot talking about? she caught herself thinking. Carol couldn’t tell whether she wanted to hit him and make him shut up, or laugh at how ridiculous it all sounded.

“God, Henry, you have one hell of an imagination when you’re drunk, don’t you?” she cut into his ramblings with a quiet chuckle, making him stop and turn to face her.

“Nononono, it’s- it’s all real! There-there was one where E-Ellie helped me escape, but I-I left her, and I came back here a-and she followed me! A-and she dethroned me! But I got away, with-with Thomas and Geoffrey a-and Dave!”

“Who the hell is Dave?”

“Th-the prisoner guy! Go- go ask him! And-and then we meet up with some weirdo in the desert! It’s true! I-I know it sounds crazy!”

Carol rolled her eyes at him. It sounded a lot more than crazy, but she decided to humor him.

“And are any of these endings one where you die, then?” she asked, expecting some ramble about him being ‘immortal’ or something.

Instead, he went quiet, averting his gaze for a few moments. Carol could see his mood shift almost immediately.

“S-some, yeah…” he finally began speaking again, “It’s- it’s mostly fails, but… there’s- there’s one where, uh, Reginald succeeded in throwing me off, a-and I fell into the ocean. Then- then this doctor lady gives me robot parts, a-and I come back, and crash the airship and I-I kill everyone… then-then I die, too…”

“Oh… damn… What do you mean, succeeded? Like… does he try and fail in one of these other timelines?” she questioned, raising a brow.

“This one! H-he did that in this one, but- but I was too fast for the bastard! I knew it was coming this time, heh…”

Carol’s blood ran cold. Reginald DID try to kill him! I fucking knew it! she thought.

“Henry, when did this happen?” she asked him, turning him in his chair to face her. “When did Reginald try to kill you?”

“When- when you guys were rescuing me, duh! He caught me and tried to throw me back down, but I grabbed his wrist! And- and I think the- his Right Hand Man was in on it! But you can’t tell anyone, okay? Especially not Carol, she’ll- she’ll flip!”

“... Right. I won’t tell her,” she ‘agreed’. “Anything else I need to know about?”

“Uhhhhhhh…” he seemed to zone out for a few minutes, before snapping back to reality. “Ellie!! I-I need to make friends with Ellie again! She doesn’t know it, but- but her and I are, like, best friends! And she, uh, she- she helped me get with uh, Charles a few times! And- and we did dumb shit together, heh… she’s so fun…”

“So you need to… befriend Ellie?” she tried not to sound as shocked as she was at the sudden change. I didn’t think we’d go from attempted murder to… friendship so fast.

“Yeah, yeahyeahyeah, she’s, like, the coolest person ever!”

“Ouch,” she feigned disappointment, chuckling as Henry scrambled to reassure her.

“You’re- You’re cool too! You’re strong, and intimidating, and-and you’re smart! You keep everyone in line! You kick ass but you’re also, like, really good at planning! You’re, like, the best Right Hand I could have picked!”

“Aw, Henry…” she couldn’t help but smile at him, “Thank you. You’re the best leader I could be the Right Hand to.”

Her smile quickly faded as he suddenly hugged her, and she quickly pushed him off.

“No, no hugging,” she scolded, but immediately felt bad when he looked hurt. With a groan, she conceded. “Fine. One.”

He quickly hugged her again, the smile returning to his face. She pat his back, grumbling quietly at how affectionate he was being, and after a few moments, she shoved him back off.

“Alright, hug’s over, get off.”

“Aww, okay… thanks for being here…” he told her as he laid his head on his desk. She shrugged, though she could feel a small smile forming on her face once more.

“It’s my job to be here, y’know,” she dismissed him, but he shook his head.

“No, you-you could just be sitting outside of the door… but you’re in here… with me… and that’s really nice… because i-it gets lonely… in here… no one to trust… but- but then you come in. And suddenly, I’m not lonely. And- and you could’ve left, but, y-you didn’t. You’re staying… s-so thanks…”

She couldn’t help but smile softly at him, patting his back as he began to drift off.

“Yeah, yeah… You’re welcome, chief.”

#eun writes #thsc #the henry stickmin collection #the henry stickmin au #ttt au #total toppat takeover #henry stickmin #carol cross #tw alcohol

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spaghettificationandpretzels · 2 years ago

Text

Be Known in its Aching

Mayans MC Masterlist

Part three of A Gentle Kind of Love.

Contains: Fluff, mutual pining, angst (endless longing, discussion of sibling death, sadness and grief, combat and war and past near-death experience.) flashbacks in italics, slow burn.

5.5k words

Comment if you want to be tagged/removed or follow #a gentle kind of love.

Wasteland, baby, I'm in love, I'm in love with you.

"What are you fuckers gossiping about now?" Bishop wasn't happy, they had returned to Oakland from Santo Padre in the early morning after dropping you off. They were back home now, milling around the Clubhouse, acting like idiots.

"Manny and the good doctor Pres, something happened when we took her home."

Bishop sighed, resigning to the fact that this was happening, "you wanna tell me what?"

Angel smiled, "well, he walked her to her door and she kissed him."

Bishop's eyes went wide, "on the mouth?"

Coco shook his head, "on the cheek but it looked, umm, affectionate."

Bishop huffed, "this is what you're wasting your time about, a kiss on the cheek? Get back to work you shitheads."

You had been a worried mess since Manny dropped you home two days ago and your conversation with Coco the next day hasn't helped.

You kept going back to your phone, considering calling Manny and explaining yourself when Coco called you. You picked up and didn't even give him a chance to speak, "oh my God, I made such a fool out of myself."

Coco chuckled, "nah, the dude hasn't stopped smiling, it's getting creepy."

"What the fuck do you mean? Please just put me out of my misery."

He snorted, "no. I was calling to tell you your car's almost fixed, I'll drop it by your office before you head home tomorrow."

You rubbed your face, "thanks Coco. Has Angel been terrible?"

Coco chuckled, "yep, he's right you know."

You shook your head, "no he's not. We're just friends."

"Sure y/n."

A knock on your office door had you shaking your head, "doing paperwork, can I help you?"

It was your security guy Barry, "ahh, Manny? Is here with your car."

You shot up and opened the door, "tall, neck tattoo?"

He nodded, "that's the fella."

You smiled, "thanks B, all go out there and deal with it."

Barry stopped you, his thick English accent making the whole situation feel even more ridiculous, "you and the lad, is something going on there?"

You sighed, "no, has a man named Angel turned up in your dreams to tell you differently?"

Barry shook his head, "nah, just something about the way he looked when I said I'd send you out."

You walked outside to be greeted by Manny leaning against your car holding your keys up, "your steed."

You smiled, "my steed? How fancy."

He smiled, "the last time we saw each other, you did look like a princess, so I figure it fits."

You shook your head, "thank you Manny. How was the rest of your weekend?"

He smiled, "good, it looks like we won't have to go to Charming."

You breathed a sigh of relief, "that's good, the Club has its own mess to clean up without having to deal with anyone else's."

Manny's shoulders dropped, "yeah I know. It's getting worse, Yuma not even bothering to call to help with the Sons, shit's brewing."

You blinked, "unless all the other charters get on board there's nothing you can do. I know SP and Yuma have been at each other's throats since Marcus chose you guys for the new pipeline but Canche still has the connections."

"It's not just that, what happened in the desert caused some kind of cosmic shift. Shit's gonna hit the fan if nothing is done about it."

You shrugged, "what can you do? It either gets worse and something terrible happens or Canche comes to his senses and begs for people to stop seeing him as an enabler for a monster."

Manny nodded, "yeah, you're right." He tapped the hood of the car, "I gotta head back to the metal yard, you call me if anything goes wrong?"

You nodded, "will do, thank you for dropping it off."

He smiled, "no worries, I can't wait for the cake."

You got around to the cake a few days later, you had wrapped it up nice and taken to the metal yard when you were currently slicing it for Coco and Angel. "This is so good, how do you do it?"

It was muffled, "Angel, don't talk with your mouth full, it's made with strawberries from my garden and local honey." You looked around, "where's Manny?"

Angel shrugged, "he's in the back. He's been a bit sad, maybe you can cheer him up?"

You nodded, "thank you, I'll take him a slice." You put one on a plate and headed to the back office, softly knocking on the door and waiting for Manny to answer. He offered you a soft smile when he opened the door, "I brought cake." You held it out and he took it from you, looking at it like it was some foreign substance,

"It will keep for like five days, you don't need to eat it now. You seem down, is there something you want to talk about?"

The silence was deafening, "nah, it's just been a long week but it's better now that you're here, do you have some time to eat this with me?"

You nodded, "of course, let me get my own slice and a fork, I'll be right back."

You returned as fast as you could, sitting down next to him on the couch, "how's work been?"

He shrugged, "hauling scrap metal isn't all that fun."

You nodded in agreement, "I imagine, shit pay, no appreciation, possible hazards. Is there anything I can help with? I've done a lot of odd jobs through the years."

He smiled, "nah, how's your day been?"

You thought for a moment, "good, one of my favourite patients had their last regular appointment today, they're at a place where they'll only need to stop in if things take a turn."

Manny's head tilted, "are you allowed to have favourite patients?"

You sighed, "in theory? No. In practice? Almost everyone does, I'm still human and in all honesty, the parents play a roll too."

He nodded, "I could not do your job, I'd start killing people."

You huffed, "you don't think I think about it, there are people I would happily shoot."

Manny's eyes went wide, "wow, I thought you were all about kindness and understanding."

You smiled, "most of the time I am but sometimes I just think about it, vivid homicidal fantasies keep me sane in court."

Manny seemed to agree, he also seemed a little brighter, "how's Mr Butterscotch?"

You smiled, "jonesing for a beard to lick, he looks behind me when I come home now."

Manny smiled, "that is so cute."

Something about him made you feel worried, "I mean, you can come over and provide yours, I think he'd be happy with that."

Manny averted his eyes, "I can't just drop by your place to hang out with your cats, I'd never leave."

You snorted, "please, come over and hangout with my cats, I only have so much lap to offer."

He laughed, "alright, how does tomorrow afternoon sound?"

You smiled, "that sounds great."

He was at your door right on four the next day, to your surprise, he opened his arms for a hug as you invited him in. You wrapped your arms around his body and squeezed and he almost collapsed into your embrace. A meow parted you and he bent down to pick up Mr Butts, the fluffy ginger cat going right to his beard.

"I miss the little guy."

You smiled, "judging by how his little paws are holding on to you, I think he feels the same way. You want something to eat? I'm making grilled cheese."

He shook his head, "nah, why are you always trying to feed me?"

You shrugged, "because you're my guest and I'm civilised, it's polite to offer you food."

"You punching Canche wasn't very civilised." There was humour in his voice.

"He was asking for it, maybe the kick to the testicles was uncivilised."

Manny chuckled and shook his head, "nah, that was awesome." He was still holding Mr Butts, burying his face in his fur.

He sniffed and a sadness came over the room, "you work with kids who have lost people, does it ever get easier?"

So that's why he was there, "it's like a open wound, it heals and scars over but it never goes away, you wanna tell me why that's on your mind?"

There was silence and then he spoke, "my little sister died when I was fifteen, her birthday is tomorrow."

You sat next to him and put your hand on his leg, his arms hugging the cat to his chest, "I'm so sorry for your pain, would you like to tell me what happened?"

He sniffed again and you could see his eyes getting red, "cancer, it was fucking horrible."

You nodded, "I can't imagine how terrible it must have been to watch her suffer that and I understand why you're so sad right now, it's clear to me how much she matters to you and you're not going to get to see her grow up. How old was she?"

"Seven, my parents tuned out at the end, I was the one there when it happened."

His voice was cracking now, "that's a lot of put on a young boy, you shouldn't have gone through that."

He nodded, "yeah, well it made me a man."

You nodded, "I can understand that, you had to do a lot of growing up in a very short amount of time."

Mr Butts settled on his lap as the other cats wandered in to see what was going on, Manny looked at Lady Midnight as she jumped on the couch and rubbed her head on his shoulder, "your cats are really sweet."

You nodded, "they know when people need a bit of love. Have you considered talking to someone about how you're feeling? "

He shook his head, "what's the point, it's not going to bring her back."

You nodded, "no, it won't but I never heard you say one thing about your parents and I'm getting the sense that you don't really like them that much."

He huffed, "I fucking hate them."

You could tell by his tone he wasn't lying, "I don't blame you, they left you to care for your dying sister all by yourself, I think would there was something up if you didn't have any ill will towards them."

"Really, I thought therapy was all about love and getting over shit."

You shook your head, "no, a lot of what I do is teaching people it's ok to hate people when they hurt you, it's ok never to want to talk to someone again. You just can't let it take over your life."

He smiled sadly, "I just miss her so much. She wanted to be a teacher, she'd spend all her time reading, when I couldn't find her I knew she be hiding under the stairs with her head in a book."

You smiled and reached up, wiping the tear from his cheek, "I have the whole night free, how about you tell me all about her."

Manny didn't know where to start, he was lost between being overwhelmed with her memory, the pain of losing her and not knowing where to start, "her name was Clara, she loved daisies and her favourite colour was yellow. She hated peas but loved fried rice so I used to pick out the peas for her so she didn't have to."

He was awash with visions, "I walked her to and from school every day and in the afternoon she tell me everything she learned, she was always so happy. When she got sick the worst part of it was that she was missing school so I would go to the library and print out worksheets and take them into the hospital."

He blinked away tears, and you placed your hand on his leg, "when she got really sick, she couldn't even hold up a pen so I would just read to her. She would fall asleep and I would stop then her eyes would..."

He could keep going, overwhelmed with pain and grief, he crumbled into your arms and started to sob, "I miss her so much."

You hugged him to you, trying to soothe the ache in his soul, "I am so sorry."

"You seemed better."

Manny nodded, "yeah."

His lack of elaboration had Coco curious, "you went and saw y/n."

It was a statement, not a question, "she's really great."

Coco smiled, "I know, you love her don't you?"

Manny sighed, "yeah, I do." It's not like everyone was in the dark, it was clear by the way he looked at you that he loved you, it was just that he hadn't said it out loud yet, "please don't tell Angel, he'll never let me forget it."

"Tell me what?"

They jumped, "where the fuck did you come from?"

Angel shrugged, "I was in the yard, what don't you want me to know about?"

Coco smiled, "Manny's in love with the good doctor."

Manny glared at Coco while Angel smiled, "tell me something I don't know, you gonna grow a set of balls and tell her?"

"Nah, I ain't going to ruin our friendship."

Angel huffed while Coco shook his head, "are you blind mano? She's into you."

Manny wasn't listening, "you're seeing shit that isn't there Angel, you need to let it go."

Angel sighed, "alright, but I'm gonna be telling you I told you so."

"GET BACK TO WORK YOU LAZY FUCKS."

Bishops booming voice filled the yard, "sorry Bish."

Coco slapped Manny's chest, "you heard him, we've got to get back to it."

It had been four days since Manny's visit and you were at the metal yard hanging out after a long day at work, "you guys seem busy?"

EZ nodded, "we got a contract from a used car guy, he sends us the ones that he can't sell."

You raised your eyebrows "good for you, I hope you don't find anything gross."

Coco cringed, "it was one time, how were we supposed to know people think you can dispose of bodies in a compactor."

"Have you ever seen a mob movie? It's like the most common way."

EZ shook his head, "I thought that was concrete shoes?"

You waved your arms around, "do you see any water around here?"

Manny came wandering in, a smile on his face, "are you still going on about that body? It was probably just some dealer disposing of his rival."

There was a loud noise, not unusually for the work going on but the screams that followed had everyone running, you rounded the corner and found the source of the yelling. Riz had a piece of rebar embedded in his shoulder.

Without thinking, you pulled off your top to wrap the wound, running over to him to hold the hunk of metal steady. "You need to call an ambulance, I don't think it hit anything but the longer it stays in the worse it's going to be."

Manny was standing in front of you, his eyes locked on your body, you could see the wheels in his brain turning as he took in the deep scar on your stomach. "I got shot, now stop fucking gawking and call for help." It didn't take long for the ambulance to arrive and Bishop directed you to the bathroom where you could clean up.

Knock knock

"Yeah, come in." Manny opened the door his eyes stuck on the back wall as he handed you a spare work shirt, "thanks."

He nodded, seemingly wanting to say something, "ask, everyone does."

He blinked, "I'm sorry I didn't mean to stare."

You shook your head, "it's fine, I looked like I was gored by a bull."

He huffed, "it's honestly pretty badass. What happened, I mean, if you don't mind telling me?"

"It happened in Afghanistan, I was working at a brick and mortar field hospital and had just finished a group therapy session for a bunch of kids when two Afghani cops went rogue and went looking for people to kill. Their first stop was my office. I was wearing a bulletproof vest but one of them had a sawed off shotgun. The gun I was given jammed and he got the best of me, most of the pellets went through the vest and into me."

Many blinked, "what happened next?"

You sighed, "I raised my sidearm and fired, it hit the mark and he dropped like a sack of potatoes. I was mostly ok, but some of the pellets ended up in my right lung. After the guy died, I don't remember much, I could hear someone screaming for a medic turns out it was me. Then the next guy came in, I knew that was it because with all the blood I was losing, there was no way I could fire my gun again, then the guy's head exploded."

Manny was deep in thought, "Coco?"

You nodded, "Yep, the man saved my life. All I could think about when I was lying there bleeding out was that I had to get to the ER with a chance or they'd let me die. I spent like four days at death's door. All I have left is this nasty thing and the pellets in a glass case."

Manny smiled, "that is so hardcore."

You chuckled, "yeah, it is. Not as hardcore as the time a patient's father stabbed me for getting his kid taken from him."

You pointed to the faint scar under your collarbone, "you're right, there's is a lot I don't know about you, I never would have guessed you were so metal."

You lifted the shirt up, "I'm gonna put the shirt on now, I'm getting kinda cold."

Manny looked at his hands, "yeah, I'm gonna see Riz, wanna come?"

"Yes please, I'd like to see how he's doing."

Riz was out two days later then it was time for another Friday party, this one was a big one since Marcus and Oakland were there. You were sitting by the fire with Manny and Creep, talking about Creep's strange fascination with mushrooms, "I was really disappointed when I had truffles."

He nodded, "yeah, they taste like dirt."

Manny huffed, "when did you two get so fancy?"

"It wasn't really my choice, I was on a date, he ordered for me."

Manny smiled, "I bet you hated that?"

You nodded, "he tried to order me wine after that, I got the hell out of there and took my dirt pasta with me."

Creep shook his head, "you took it with you?"

You nodded "out of spite, I gave it to Barry, he liked it."

"Wow, I learn more and more about you every day, what else have you done out of spite?"

There was something in Manny's tone that had you ready to laugh, "truth time?"

They both nodded, "I only come here to spite Raul."

Creep made a face, "what do you mean?"

You could tell he was bullshitting, "I know you all know what happened, there's no way something like that doesn't get out."

Manny smiled, "your conversation with Coco was on speaker, we all heard it."

You clapped, "I fucking knew it, you wanna fuck with him a bit more?"

Manny smiled, "fuck yeah."

You nodded, "call him over."

Creep shot up and looked around, landing eyes on the prospect, "HEY SHITHEAD, GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE."

Raul came running, barely looking at you before standing at attention in front of Creep, "did you need something?"

Manny smiled, "yeah, tell us about your night together, what was it that you said about y/n?"

His mouth opened and closed like a fish, "umm, it's not important."

You smiled and tapped the seat next you, "oh come on, don't be like that, I'd love to hear your version of things."

Manny's expression was tinged with something, "what, you were fine talking about what happened when we were together, is there any reason you can't do it with her here?"

He swallowed, "look, I'm really sorry about what I said, I figure you've already been through all of them and I'd look bad if you……" You covered your face and Manny's hand collided with Raul's jaw.

You turned to Creep who was smirking, "should we, umm?"

He shook his head as Manny climbed on top of the man, "nah, the dude needs to learn if he wants to get his patch."

It didn't last long, Manny was stepping back and dragging Raul up by his kutte, "fuck off prospect and go and get me a fucking beer."

You smiled, "maybe don't ask him to get you anything, I don't think you want his spit in anything."

"Good idea y/n, you can go clean the shitter instead."

Raul hurried off and Manny sat down and rubbed his knuckles, "you want me to get you some ice?"

He shook his head, "I'm alright, that felt good though."

You sighed, "you didn't need to hit him you know?"

Manny huffed, "yeah, I did."

Creep chuckled, "you really have shit luck with men, don't you?"

You rolled your eyes, "I mean, I don't have the best track record but you know, I have this thing, it's called a vibrator, and it kinda makes men obsolete."

Creep cringed, "you're a little vulgar, you know that?"

You nodded, "I'm just being honest."

Manny shook his head, mischief on his face, "you talk like their competition and not friends, maybe you just haven't found the right guy yet."

You pressed your lips together to stop yourself from laughing, you face getting hot and the implication of his words settled over you, "what are you, God's gift to women. Does that cocky shit really work for you?"

Manny nodded, "hey, I'm just being honest."

You sighed, "well.. I don't have a response to that other than, good for you."

Marcus watched the fight with curious eyes, "what was that about Primo?"

Bishop sighed, "the prospect told everyone he and y/n went at it, in reality, she climbed out the window to avoid humiliating him."

Marcus chuckled, "and her and Manny?"

Bishop shrugged, "there's something going on there but they're both too blind to say anything. If Angel had any say they'd be married already."

Marcus nodded, "and your read on her?"

Bishop thought for a moment, "she's a good woman, very kind but you saw what happened with Canche, she's no shrinking violet. She's not a big fan of these parties but she comes because people like her company and she's always ready to help. She's been through something because she's got a healed gash the size of my fist on her stomach and she's observant like she's seen the business end of a gun one too many times."

"Does she know about the drugs?"

Bishop nodded, "I think she figured it out pretty quick."

Marcus huffed, "it sounds like she's a good fit. And it looks to me like those two are meant for each other."

Bishop rolled his eyes, "not you too."

Marcus chuckled, "don't worry about it Primo, these things work themselves out."

You sighed and stood up, you had been talking to a revolving door of people all night, "as much as I would love to continue this conversation, I need some air. I'm going for a walk, I'll be back in a bit."

Manny stood up, "let me go with you."

You waved your hand, "it's alright, I just need ten minutes."

He nodded, "alright, but come back in ten minutes or I'm sending a search party."

You smiled, "ten minutes, I promise." You headed off and wandered up the streets, enjoying the clear night sky, they were mostly empty until you came to a long street a few blocks away from the Clubhouse. There was a black van on the road, and four men were milling around it. As you got closer, you could hear parts of their conversation and you started to worry.

"We got to do it now," One of the men shook his head, "no, we wait until they're all drunk. Those fucking Mayans won't know what hit em."

You swallowed, a plan forming in your brain. You took your phone out and looked around like you were lost then walked up the street looking for street signs. After a few moments you approached the men doing your best to look lost, "I'm sorry gentlemen, I'm looking for a fancy French place, La Creme or La Cream or something like that, I'm really lost and I'm late, can someone tell me where it is?"

You didn't miss how one man was doing his best to hide the iron cross on his neck, "you're going to wrong way, it's back there miss."

You sighed, "you're not serious, I've been walking this was for twenty minutes." As you spoke, you made sure to memorise the men's faces and any tattoos they had, you could hear men in the van, but not their conversation.

"You know where the biker clubhouse is?"

You shook your head, "I walked by a crazy party with some bikes out the front, is that the place?"

One of them nodded, "yep, it's about ten minute's walk from that, take the long road up, then take a left down the side street and you should get to Mainstreet it's easy to find from there."

You looked at their faces, the older, harder, looking men wouldn't even acknowledge you were there and judging by the way everyone was acting, you could see that this was some kind of initiation, the ones that were talking to you were the ones looking to jump into the gang. You smiled, "thank you so much, I'd offer to buy you some beers but I'm so late."

The man with the iron cross on his neck stiffened his posture, "then you better head off, you don't want to run into trouble all by yourself out here, bad things can happen to a nice lady like yourself." You got the message loud and clear and with one last thank you, you started to jog away, breaking out into a run the moment you were out of their sight.

You bearly had any breath left when you got to the Clubhouse, Angel and Gilly were standing by the door and noticed something was wrong, matching your pace to meet you at the door, "what's wrong?"

You raked in a breath, "the Clubhouse is about to be hit, I heard and a group of men talking a few streets up. They said they were going to wait a little while but I don't know how long you have."

Gilly had run off, coming back with Marcus and Bishop, "what's going on?"

You took a deep breath, "you need to get everyone inside, I guess you're about half an hour away from a massacre."

They looked at you and Marcus blinked in worry, "what do you mean." Bishop waved to someone and produced you a bottle of water.

"I was walking around the block when I overheard a bunch of guys talking about hitting the place, no elaboration. I acted like I was lost so I could get a read on them. As far I could tell, it's some kind of jump in, only two guys had any gang markings. One had an iron cross on his neck, which he was doing his best to hide and the other had a strange tattoo on his wrist I had never seen before, the only reason I could tell it was white power was that there were the numbers fourteen and eighty eight."

Angel's eyebrows wrinkled, "what does that mean?"

You inhaled again, trying to calm yourself, "H is the eighth letter in the alphabet, so eight eight is HH meaning heil Hitler and fourteen is fourteen words, it's a white power slogan."

"We need to get everyone to safety." Bishop's tone was firm.

You rubbed your face, "permit me to share my idea?"

Marcus nodded, "you don't know who these guys are or what they want, wouldn't it be better to stage an ambush of your own? Have the music loud enough that they can't tell people aren't here, close the big doors and lead them in the small door then grab them and question them."

Bishop smiled, "I don't see why that won't work, could you ID the tat if you saw it again?"

You nodded, "it's the only reason I spoke to them, I could tell you all about the guys I could see."

By now, most of the Mayans were standing around you. Hank was giving orders, and then he turned back to you, "how many guys?"

"Four men on the street and I could hear three or four men in the black van, the license plate was 7FYNY89. One guy had San Quentin prison tats they were all under fifty and all white and before you tell me to go home, I'm the only one who saw their faces, you need me here."

Hank huffed, "we are not putting you in harm's way."

You glared at him, "I knew the risk I was taking when I went up to them, you need me here. Now you all need to get your shit in order before they show up."

Coco put his hand on your shoulder, "I'll take her to the back and see if I can find that tattoo she was talking about, we should have enough time?"

You nodded, "the guy in charge wanted to catch everyone off guard, you've got a little bit of time left"

The air changed and everyone jumped into action, Bishop stopping you just as you turned to go, "we're going to talk about this young lady."

You threw your hands up in the air, "I can't fucking wait, last I checked you're not my fucking daddy, you can't tell me what to do and you're not responsible for me." You could tell by the way everyone was acting that there was a lecture on the way but they had more pressing matters right now.

It only took ten minutes for them to clear the compound, and all the Mayans were preparing themselves to face the threat. It didn't take long for them to arrive, you could see the large metal doors shake and then they tried the small door, falling right into the trap.

It was over quickly, they came in and looked around but they realised too late that it was a trap. Two of them were stupid enough to try and fight and they died where they stood, dropping like stones as the bullets entered their heads. The others fell to their knees the second the command was given and then they were being pulled away.

It was the sound of the van screeching off that had them running but by the time they got to the front, it was too late and at least one of them had gotten away. You were still in the back when Manny came in and he looked worried, "what's going on? I heard shots."

He sighed, "we need to out here, did you manage to ID the tat?" You nodded, "yeah, some group called the hidden order, their whole thing is blending in. Manny, what's going on?"

"One guy got away, we don't know if he knows your face." When you walked out into the compound the only evidence that someone was there was some blood and bullet casings, Bishop and Hank stomped up to you looking unimpressed.

"Someone needs to stay with you until this is done." Hank left no room for you to argue.

"Fuck that, I have a state of the art alarm system and I sleep with an M16 under my bed. I can look after myself."

Bishop shook his head, "no, we're not leaving you alone, Coco can stay with you until we deal with this."

You huffed, "no, Coco needs to stay with Lettie and Hope."

"Manny can stay with her."

You wanted to punch Angel, but Marcus was smiling, "great idea Angel."

You sighed, "fine but that's as far as it goes, you're not parking yourself outside my work."

They weren't listening, "someone will be watching the street."

You looked at them, eyes wide, "this is insane, you don't even know if they're going to come after me."

"It's not up for debate y/n, Manny is going to stay with you until we know you're safe and people will be watching your office. They'll stay in a car, no one will know they're there."

You shook your head, "I thought you'd be the logical one Marcus, I'll be fine."

"Come on Tesoro, we have fun."

You sighed, "fine, I give up."

Hank smiled, "thank you y/n, you saved a lot of lives today."

You huffed, "and you're thanking me by landing me with a babysitter?"

Hank's face was impassive, "I'm thanking you by keeping you safe."

Bishop and Marcus turned to the group, "Temple now."

Part 4

Song inspo for this chapter is Hozier - Wasteland, Baby!

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sick-ada · 11 months ago

Text

CICADA AGENTS MASTERPOST

bc i keep forgetting that i havent actually put much abt my agents on my tumblr and i need to expose the max number of people to my blorbos as i can

going under the readmore cause this is gonna get longg

(this has been in my drafts for over a month)

CB-808 (agent 8, she/her) and Bubbles (agent 8 AGAIN, a SECOND TIME, CAN YOU TELL EIGHT IS MY FAV, he/him)

they're "twins", meaning they both woke up without any memories, saw that they were the only two nearby who looked similar (being the only non-sanitized octolings in the metro) and assumed that meant they were twins

they do all of the tests in octo expansion as a duo! this makes some tests easier (like girl power station) and others much harder (like the one with the dualie squelchers and the grindrails, since they have to share the weapon between them)

this kinda fucks with the computer systems and all their mem cakes are blended (lmao) together. they have to work together to figure out whose memories are whose, to varying success levels

very very very codependent. theyll get anxious if you take the other to another room where they cant see each other. proto (cap3) convinced them to do one test separately and CB got so worked up she punched the side of the carriage and permanently dented it

they didnt try a second time

ON THE TOPIC OF CB DENTING THE METAL: shes freakishly strong, in an artificially-modified way rather than a very-strong-but-normal way

after the splatoon 1 campaign, elite soldiers deserted en masse since nearly all of them were at the concert/final-battle, leaving a gaping hole in the octarian military. in an attempt to fill that gap as quickly as possible, volunteers were "purposed" to become enhanced super-soldiers

(ill probably make a dedicated post abt it when i remember but "purposing" is what they do to make octarians (the stubby tentacle guys) into all the different forms you see in-game. debateably ethical to begin with, SUPER unethical to do to actual octolings)

im bad at timelining but she signs up to this when she's like,,, 13. still kinda blobby

functionally, what it did to her was make her freakishly strong (she breaks the handles on doors ridiculously often) and about 50% more resistance to enemy ink. girls a tank. however, she has trouble regulating her strength and therefore cant superjump accurately since she overshoots her target every time

it's also super painful. she permanently lost her voice from screaming too much and cant speak any louder than a whisper, but she knows octarian and inklish sign languages so she gets along fine

her name is CB-808 bc that was the serial number printed on a livestock tag in her ear

BUBBLES ON THE OTHER HAND. not physically fucked up. mentally though................

his parents were some of the elites who deserted after hearing the Inkantation (in my headcanons it's something that can be resisted, but only temporarily). he wanted their approval more than anything so them leaving him was devastating

hes not actually a dude he just think he/him is a cool set of pronouns. heard someone say "him" once and absorbed it into his gender

he lied abt his age to become a scout/reconnaisance (how you spell that??), even if nobody was really gonna check given the situation after splat1

where CB is built like a tank, he's tall and lanky, and also scarily smart. combined with his lack of filter he'll literally just stare at you for 5 seconds before saying some shit like "oh i see. youre scared of us because of our competence and your perception of our alleigances compared to urs"

captain 3 is scared by him more than CB. as they should be.

his name is Bubbles because he has circular markings on his upper arms and CB is not very good at coming up with names (shes an amnesiac teenager give her a break)

theyre both 15 during octo expansion, and 20 by splatoon3

after reaching the surface they move in with flora (4) and his roommate bola (oc) to form the Leftovers Squad, an inksports team and maybe-gang

these two are wonderfully terrible influences and teach the two of them how to defy authority n shit, it's great, ill talk abt it more in their specific sections

CB mains the dynamo but plays it like a splat roller because she's so strong she can swing it with about that speed. Bubbles mains the e-liter and has nutty aim. the kind of duo that makes people realize theyre ex-soldiers

both of them are too obedient to authority, leftover habits from the military even if they don't fully remember their time there. CB is much worse in this regard, since she was more heavily conditioned to follow orders and Bubbles is observant enough to realize when theyre being taken advantage of

FLORA (agent 4, he/she used interchangeably)

part of the Leftovers Squad! a young punk squid that revels in rebellion and violence and showing people what's what

almost entirely deaf. he had pretty bad hearing to begin with, but loud raves without ear protection worsened it significantly. his hero headset functions as hearing aids but he doesnt usually wear them unless he's on NSS missions or patrols or w/e

came to inkopolis when she was 14, but it wasnt intentional. her parents were the kind of awful perfectionists that expected their children to be equally as perfect, so decided to leave flora in inkopolis bc she did awful in school

he was taken under Bola's fin (get it it's a fish pun theyre fish im hilarious) and became enamoured with the adrenaline-fueled, bloody-mouthed rush of fighting, in and out of inksports

the best way i can describe her is "violent for the sake of violence and gleeful about it". she starts a fight with someone twice her size just for the fun of attacking and taking a beating. probably something wrong with her. i love her with every fibre of my being

has absolutely zero respect or trust in authority -- especially adults, which includes Marie since she's 19 in splat2 and he's only 16

still goes along with her whole "hey go save the zapfish" spiel because A) she cant actually hear what marie is saying B) marie gave her some free fancy hearing aids so she GUESSES she has to return the favour somehow C) she wants to fight some octarian soldiers D) she wants to steal her own zapfish (she succeeds, it gets a tank in Leftover Squad's living room) and E) she thinks itll be REALLY funny to fuck with marie

shes right btw. its hilarious

she only follows orders when it's funnier than disobeying them. she puts zapfishes back in levels she wants to complete a second time. she teaches octolings how to play poker (and how to cheat at poker). she lets a squee-g splat her "to see what it feels like"

if callie wasn't missing marie would NOT put up with his bullshit, but alas.

respects agent 3 even less than marie, when they meet, since at least marie has a sense of humour

he's the one who suggests that CB and Bubbles move in with him and Bola after Octo Expansion. less out of his own goodwill and more out of a combination of morbid curiousity and a sense of "bola has a habit of taking weird inkfish under their fin, walking in with two soldiers will be really funny"

gets hypnoshaded 5 years post-splat2 (during the splat3 campaign) and has to be rescued by the leftover Leftovers (lmao) and Off the Hook. octavio doesnt really convince her to put them on, theres no realistic way he could do that, so he physically overpowers her and puts the shades on

he gets rescued tho! so it's all good and absolutely no interpersonal issues come from it i swear (lying)

Bola (they/them, not an agent)

another member of Leftovers Squad and, arguably, its leader

is about as comfortable with violence as flora (read: very comfortable) but, unlike him, doesn't enjoy it for its own sake. when they do a violence, it's for a specific aim and a purpose, even if that purpose seems inane or petty

theyre the leader of the leftovers mostly because theyre the only one with a goal or any sort of purpose. also because theyre by far the most charismatic of the bunch but mostly bc theyre the only one with any direction in life. the other three are happy to just help with that

(calling it a purpose is doing it too much justice, it's a grudge. a massive fucking grudge against Squidforce as a brand and an institution and a company. they want that thing obliterated)

when they first came to inkopolis (they were like 12), they werent a citizen of inkadia so they had no ID and weren't allowed to do official Squidforce battles, so they went to unofficial/illegal/unregulated turf wars to make some cash

this got shut down by squidforce

they decided "no. fuck this. fuck you, im gonna fuck every single one of you over, die." and swore vengeance about as dramatically as a then-13 year old could. luckily, bola was a very dramatic, kinda blobby 13 year old

they met flora when he came to inkopolis and introduced him to the concept of You Can Just Fight These People If You Don't Like Them

would have agreed to housing CB and Bubbles if Flora had just asked but this is fine they guess

theyll be the last to admit they have a compassionate streak, but they have a soft spot for the underbelly of inkopolis and everyone who lives there, most of which are underrepresented or downtrodden by the system that squidforce upholds

theyre an octoling but not an octarian (citizen of octaria, the nation that lost the great turf war and now lives in the domes) like CB and Bubbles are

instead, theyre a weird subspecies of octoling that went back in the water while the "normal" species of inkfish stayed on the surface. they still have most of the same features as an inkfish, like the shapeshifting, but have more aquatic adaptations like gills and razor sharp teeth and being able to swim in water unharmed (ik inkfish dying in water is only dubiously canon but for my headcanons normal inkfish dissolve like ingame if they fall into water)

they also have sepiism! better described in this post this means their ink/tentacle colours are limited to blacks and browns. their subspecies is more prone to this colour mutation than other inkfish since black is a pretty good camoflague colour if youre in the deep ocean. idk i wanted an excuse to make them look cool dont think abt it too hard

they absolutely despise proto (captain 3). aint no world where theyd trust the militaristic authority figure that orders around the two ex-soldiers theyre trying to teach how to be independent

not to mention the grudge they form against the captain after the hypnoshading incident that i will elaborate on i PROMISE its in the next section

aFTER I TALK ABOUT THE LEFTOVERS SQUAD AS A WHOLE. IF I CANT ESCAPE THEM NEITHER CAN YOU

when they meet, post octo expansion, the twins are 15 and the punks are 16, so theyre 20 and 21 respectively by the time splat3 rolls around

flora gets squidnapped just after splat3 campaign (which lasts like a day for reasons that will be evident once i get to neo 3 and "little" buddy), so proto and the squid sisters are in alterna monitoring the situation and doing cleanup while it happens. this will be relevant later. foreshadowing is a technique where--

a couple months after the twins move in, CB discovers inksports and makes the biggest saddest puppy dog eyes at the rest of the squad until they agree to making a league team together. it's also called the leftovers

CB and Flora love it because they enjoy physically fighting people (CB likes that she doesnt have to be permanently hurting people during it, Flora would like it better if there was a lil permanent injury tbh). Bubbles enjoys it because his sister enjoys it and also because he enjoys using his big brain to do sick predicts and snipe people from across the map where he's nice and safe. Bola only joins at first because telling the ex-soldier, who theyve been trying to convince that you dont need peoples permission to do things, "no" would be counterproductive. they hate every moment they have to fight in a squidforce battle. but then once the team gets well-known they realise that squidforce cant get rid of them anymore and uses their platform to absolutely troll the shit out of squidforce

like when they go on interviews and stuff they constantly mention how shitty squidforce is and "yeah i personally prefer [smaller organisation]'s inksports, they have way better maps and modes, squidforce just has a monopoly so..." and squidforce cant do shit bc theyre the charismatic face of this popular new team and itd be bad publicity

CB and Bubbles dont have real IDs cause theyre amnesiac teenagers who made up their own names. flora and bola get them fake IDs that claim CB stands for Courtney Blitz, making bubbles into Bubbles Blitz

CB often gets called Clam Blitz. CB does NOT appreciate this. Bubbles thinks it's hilarious and only answers people who call him "Blam Blitz" for like a week

Bubbles mains the E-liter but likes lots of different anchors, CB exclusively plays her "splat roller" (a dynamo swung really fast), Flora learnt how to play every weapon from the splat2 campaign and can play basically anything (but usually goes for something close-range so his bloodlust gets put to good use. heavy weapons tend to turn into bludgeons in his hands) i dont know what bola would use tbh. i wanna say a splatana but this is set mainly in splat2 so they wouldnt have those. if anyone is still reading this far pls make suggestions in the notes 👍

CB and Bubbles dont have any sense of money (in my hcs, the domes work more on a communal property + bartering system) so they have no reason to object to pearl giving them inordinate amounts of money. bola and flora have to have a conversation where they ask whether pearl is their sugar daddy. this is agonising for everyone involved.

they used the money to buy an unreasonably large bed that they all sleep on together bc theyre my ocs i make the rules

i promised it was proto next. here *throws them like a javelin through the screen

Proto (captain 3, they/them)

i shld probably start at the beginning for them bc their actions through all the games are the catalyst for a Lot of plot

they were raised in calamari county, their parents were friends with callie and maries parents so they hung out a bunch when they were kids. basically the third squid sister, though they get way too bad stage fright to become idols like the other two

hanging out with those two so much also meant a lot of exposure to cap'n cuttlefish. proto idolised him to no end, decided they wanted to be just like him when they grew up

when the squisters went to inkopolis to become idols, proto became their manager. they were also recruited alongside callie and marie into the NSS when craig decided to reform it. ive never actually watched a playthrough of splat1 so i dont actually know how the plot works other than "craig is there and then callie & marie are there" so the next part is probably gonna be more canon parallel than canon adjacent

also because im just making up random shit about splat1. thats probably also a factor

in this version of canon, the octarians dont steal every zapfish you grab at the end of the levels, only the ones used for the boss levels. all the rest are ones owned by the octarians, mostly bred in captivity cause where tf else are you gonna get the power for running the domes

proto isnt an active agent in splat1, it's callie and marie who go in and do the fighting while proto is the one coordinating them and making plans. their plan is to steal all these extra zapfish to strain the domes' resources and then perform the inkantation during the final confrontation to make the maximum number of soldiers (especially elites) desert, all so they become incapable of stealing more zapfish or launching a retaliatory strike

and cap'n cuttlefish approves so surely that means that this is a good plan and any suffering caused is a necessary evil and it's not like this paranoid old man has any biases or grudges that would impede his judgement. surely not

side note: instead of inner agent 3, CB and Bubbles have to fight inner agents 1 & 2. inner-callie targets CB and inner-marie targets Bubbles because i think the roller-charger parallel is cool

the plan works! elites and soldiers desert in droves, neutering the octarian military capability, and octaria has to focus what resources it has on not starving (which it barely achieves, theres a famine regardless) rather than attacking back. it also creates the conditions for bubbles' parents to leave him and for CB to undergo the extremely painful and inhumane procedures to become an enhanced supersoldier but proto doesnt learn this til octo expansion

the squid sister stories proceed basically like canon, but proto dedicates themselves to agent work while marie focuses on the radio and callie focuses on acting. theyre out investigating the metro with craig when callie gets squidnapped so they dont find out until octo expansion finishes (like a few weeks after she gets rescued)

SPEAKING OF OCTO EXPANSION. PROTO IS THERE THE WHOLE TIME

they dont fight CB and Bubbles, theyre a terrible fighter and a bit of a wimp (and those two are kinda terrifying), instead they watch when they get overpowered and captured by a squad of sanitized octolings (those two got sent to investigate since people kept vanishing when they went that way). they still get the same "youre down here because of me" guilt since they chose to watch rather than intervene

they later got into the metro proper and found those same people but like super amnesia'd and a little traumatised already, even if theyre not sure how much of that was already there, and then they get even MORE fucked up because the metro is fucking Like That

also guilt bc they dont actually help with the tests beyond advice thru the comms. can never have too much of that

they get CB and Bubbles out of the blender by removing their special limiter and spamming splashdown on the top til it breaks, getting exhausted and passing out afterwards, letting tartar control them

the hole in the ceiling gets made by CB throwing a bit of broken blender really hard

usually they would get their ass kicked by either CB or Bubbles, let alone both at once, but the two of them are so exhausted and fucked up and a little injured that the fight is closer than anyone would like. the fight ends when CB grabs them by the ankle and slams them into the floor. think that one scene from the avengers with the hulk and loki

unfortunately, since CB is way too scared and full of adrenaline to properly regulate her strength, she completely crushes their ankle and lower leg. since it doesnt splat them, they dont respawn, and everyone is too preoccupied with destroying the NILs statue to get them to a hospital, the leg wasnt salvageable and they had to get it amputated below the knee

theyre an ambulatory wheelchair user, after that. sometimes crutches instead, but they tend to go for the chair in alterna bc crutches and ice do NOT mix trust me on this. i only had crutches for a couple months but i fell on my ass SO much

anyway they reconnect with callie and marie and things are fine and good and theyre totally not avoiding the twins because marina kept updating them on relevant files she found during OE and theyre struggling to reconcile the idea that these are enemies with the undeniable truth that nobody has had a greater negative impact on their lives than them.

probably would be worse if marina told them the twins were 15. good thing she doesnt!

oh yeah i forgot ages. proto is 17 in splat1, 19 in splat2/OE and 24 by splat3

anyway yeah in their efforts to avoid the twins so that they dont have to think about the wide-reaching consequences of their past actions, they dont actually leave them with any way to contact them while they go check out the Crater. itll only be a quick mission, right? no need to worry about it

alterna happens

then they and the squid sisters come back to cuttlefish cabin to find it completely empty, then discover that flora is still in the hospital after having the shit kicked out of him because he was hypnoshaded and they didnt have any low-tide ink because marie wasnt there and they couldnt contact her and they tried and they tried and why didnt anyone answer and

theres a big cool dramatic confrontation where CB and Bubbles reveal they got all their mem cakes and know exactly who proto is and what they did and would have forgiven if they had been honest but now they cant trust their captain and formally quit the NSS

honestly theres more stuff for proto after this but i ahvent actually figured it out yet.

personality-wise, theyre overconfident in their own abilities and underconfident in the abilities of everyone else, they struggle to give control of anything over to someone else. because why would they allow someone else to be in charge when they know that their own plans are automatically so much better?

as they learn about the actual consequences of their splat1 plan via CB and Bubbles' descriptions of their mem cakes, this confidence falters a bit. they spent so long with that plan being one of their greatest achievements that they cant reconcile with the reality that it had devastating consequences for innocent people

this is not at all helped by Flora, who makes no secret of his opinion on proto. at first he's just fucking with them for the sake of fucking with them, the same way he does for marie, but it gets more antagonistic when proto reacts with genuine anger rather than the good humour marie does. flora absolutely does not take kindly to people trying to exert authority over her so she aims to piss off proto at every opportunity

it is very easy for flora to piss proto off

OKAY I HIT THE CHARACTER LIMIT ILL MAKE A SECOND POST FOR THE REST

#splatoon oc #splatoon #cicada screaming #oc: bubbles #oc: proto #oc: cb 808 #oc: flora #oc: bola #long post

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tg-pilled · 8 months ago

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Still thinking about the shit storm that was my grandfather's funeral ❤️ This is a funny story to me NOW but at the time it was literally INSANE and stressful 😭 Miles lore has dropped

For starters, his funeral didn't happen for a few months because my grandma kept him as decoration for a WHILE until my aunts and dad convinced her to have a funeral. Like a day before his funeral service, my cousin wanted to do donuts in my grandfather's truck with his urn in the desert they live in so he put the urn in there but didn't secure it. The urn ended up cracking and my family had to vaccuum up most of my grandfather's ashes and buy a new urn for him. His ashes were also put in these really god awful necklaces that my grandma bought (they're gold with SO many jewels on them and in the shape of an angel). I turned one down because I didn't really want my grandfather's remains for personal reasons. At the actual service, my aunt made a powerpoint slide with different photos of my grandfather and my gradnfather with the family. There was a 50% opacity American flag in the background and My Heart Will Go On by Céline Dion was playing because it's my grandma's favourite song. My sister ended up laughing during the service because of how absolutely ridiculous it went. During the after party/part where you eat, my grandma ended up choking on the food and had to be saved. After that, we all went back to her house and I ended up hiding in her spare room and reading with my sister because the rest of our family was being too loud. During my grandfather's military funeral, he had shotguns go off for him but when we got to the actual gravesite in the veteran's cemetary, his grave was completely covered in dirt and laying in a construction site. Anyways that entire trip was fucking insane and my cousin ended up going to jail not shortly after because he stole semi-trucks and did donuts with them in the desert. Can you tell my dad's side of the family is white

#pilledtalks

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enpr-ss · 7 months ago

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I just thought of this but I cannot believe, that not a single one of these pairs came up with using ender porters. It’s like designed for this feature and Etho or Impulse or Tango didn’t even think of it. Bro. What a waste. Etho and Joel could have survived the trapped portal (assuming Etho didn't go to the nether lol).

And now for the workwife POV:

HOW DID HE KNOW THAT HE WAS LINKED TO ETHO. WITH SUCH A SOFT VOICE OF HOPE. OH MY GOD. OBSESSED. He’s trying to crit with punching!! Does that even work?? LOL. “What d’you mean no??!!” He’s so indignant! “When I look into that red eye-“ JOEL YOU COWARD WHY DID YOU CUT THERE? A loaded crossbow and iron ingot? Etho you homophobe. No wonder Joel was so concerned about Pearl taking his crossbow later.

Ah the origin of the “grian tell him off” joke. Of course Scar of Concorp thinks his true soulmate is the allay. Grian’s scream of despair. “Scar I think we’re soulmates and you’re too busy chasing fairies” this is the most desert duo dynamic ever. I DIDNT KNOW THE ENDERPEARL THING WAS RIGHT AFTER GRIAN’S REALIZATION. LOL. HOW IS SCAR’S AIRDROPS ALWAYS PERFECTLY TIMED. That water bucket clutch is pretty cool. Immediately negated by the wheat shenanigans and how right after he mocks Jimmy for being yellow, he dies to the endermen. SCAR DIGGING OUT GRIAN’S WAY DOWN THE TREE. LOL. IRONIC. Ah fishing standoff. “Give it a puff” ETHO. Look at him bullying the Ranchers. Also what an LOTR nerd. “Horns of Gondor” indeed.

Ah yes the potential of a powdered snow trap. JOELS ETHO SKIN AND SCARS JELLIE SKIN!!! LOL THE RANCHERS. GOATS HAVE TO RAM NATURALLY SPAWNED HARD BLOCKS IN THEIR BIOME. LOL. AND THEN THE ADULT INE ESCAPES. they’re so pathetic in their leather armor. “I hope he comes home safely”. Such strong “When will my husband return home from the war” vibes. He’s truly Etho’s #1 fan. Everytime he takes damage he’s such a worried housewife. The dichotomy between their episodes is so funny. Etho’s surviving a horror game to get goods while Joel’s just chilling making a pretty build as their home. THEYRE BULLYING JIMMY SO BAD OMG. Tango rage moment!

Wait did etho change his skin for boat boys!??

Joel why would you caption it like that. Joel goes sniffing for sugarcane!! “Joel I’ll sell YOU SOME SUGARCANE” never gets old! His inventory’s full what an idiot. He then goes back to working on decorating the relation ship like an actual housewife lol. HE EVEN MENTIONS PUTTING THEIR BEDS TOGETHER. WHY. Babysitting with Bdubs! And then dig party with the mole rats. Jimmy’s distant “Oi!” SO GOOD. AND HE IMMEDIATELY GOES TO GIVE IT TO GRIAN TO SPREAD THE BULLYING. “Have you thought of that?” epitome of soft dangerous tone right there. HE’S THE ONE MONOPOLIZING SAND LOL. LOOK AT ALL THE SAND IN HIS INVENTORY. WHY WOULD YOU SHOOT THE WARDEN JOEL.

He’s making mood lighting candles in the interior of the ship. Why. Fishing people on minecart never fails to be utterly ridiculous.

What a good idea Joel. Such manly screams from everyone too. The foreshadowing with Etho blatantly asking if they shouldn’t wear their diamond armor. That was definitely lag because you can see him land the water down. Rip. He should have known better though. The moment when Joel kills Pearl and shit got real. And then the encore. Scott’s just like NO NOT AGAIN. HE WAS TRAPPED WITH A SKELETON WHILE POISONSED. BRO. “Everytime you lie, a panda dies!” And he actually killed one right there. Holy shit. Where was this coolness during Last Life. Him going all high pitched and unhinged never fails to be hilarious. Omg ren actually crashed the pool party with his zombie army.

“Pincushion of a teammate” lol. That was such a dumb deal on all parts. The sand. The horse death. “That was so unnecessary!” “it was always necessary!” The only counter to Scott’s calm logic is Joel’s unhinged insanity. He got down to 1.5 hearts. Etho may be risky when in the deep dark but otherwise it’s Joel causing all the damage. Joel’s unhinged standoffs with others is very fun to watch. Oh he put a tnt minecart below the tnt bait too. Nice. “I’m inviting you to a funeral-” BOOM. I FORGOT THAT SCAR SAID THAT, WHICH SET OFF THE SCULK SENSOR. HAHAHAHAAHA PERFECT TIMING. THE SYNCHRONIZED “OH”S. “THE CAKE CANDLES HAVE BEEN LIT” LOL. How long and how many times did he say “the ship burns everything burns”?? JOEL WAS LITERALLY IN THE SAME SPOT BEFORE REN DIED TOO. OH MY GOD.

Oh so it was Scott who burned the ship down. And Joel got his dramatic rocket faceoff with Scott. And his focused quiet as he starts properly hunting. “Where the heck is Eefo I’m so worried. Why has he not come home?!” Joel you’re really immersed. Look at him panicking and threatening bdubs for it. Truly a workwife waiting for his husband to return from the war. Etho you idiot if you stayed within the portal frame you would have been fine. Rip.

I can really see how this series made all the fans collectively insane.

Descending into Double Life Insanity here I gooooo:

And immediately Scar and Bdubs continue the tradition of watching someone do their intro and heckling Etho for his terrible upload schedule (yet another strong techno vibe). ETHO’S JEALOUS THAT HE DIDNT GET BDUBS LOL The disappointment from BOTH OF THEM. Joel didn’t even need to say it. Incredible. And of course Etho immediately tries to figure out the loopholes in the shared damage / slight kickback. PERFECT CUTOUT SCREAM. TANGO DIED?!?? LOL. and is that how the ranchers found each other? Their mischievous shenanigans… truly a pair. “EEFO! CAREFUL” the first of many. JOEL DIED BY BREAKING THE BOAT?!? THE ENDERMAN?? AGAIN??? SECOND TO TANGO??? IN THE FIRST EPISODE??? LOOOOOL HIS CRINGEFAIL LOSER STREAK CONTINUES. Why didn’t they eat. They’re both so stupid omg. Huh is this the origin of Boat Boys. There’s absolutely no way that Scar doesn’t know. He’s gotta be trolling Grian. Bro is too tired to craft a fishing rod. He actually led the pillagers to bdubs. Omg. That was so chaotic.

Why is Joel wearing Etho’s face. Why. Etho and his extremely flammable bases. Why. Divorce Quartet is so toxic omg. And Bdubs and Impulse sowing seeds of doubt, doing to Etho what he tried to do to them. Etho with his insane eye for eye punishment. “Just a little bit short, just like in real life” WARDEN??? Everyone must have been watching the achievements and going wild. I cannot believe they put the enchanter down there. Everyone flees with extra flee while Impulse and Etho are just CHILLING. IMPULSE AND ETHO HAVE PLOT ARMOR!!! Omg what a lovely boat. THE RELATION-SHIP?!? LOOOL. The etho face actually coming in clutch. Gossip girls omg. AND THEY ARE BACK ON THEIR PILLAGER BULLSHIT. How did Joel not see Pearl right there. Pearl is such a crazy ex holy shit.

“I’m going to do a little bit of resource gathering” say Impulse right as Etho and Joel waterfalls away having already mined all of it. Voice prox setting off the shriekers is actually so good. Tango… wool and nametag?? Is he going to bring the warden up? And also look at Boat Boys pysching out Jimmy. Desertduo falling apart at the seams. Joel is so ride or die with Etho’s crazy ideas. Cleo and Martyn yikes. And Boat boys bullying Jimmy again. How does Etho always follow along with Scar’s shenanigans. Look at them heckling Bdubs. Pearl is CRAZY. Babysitting went so well. “He took me to a bad place….” With all the arrows. ALL THAT DIGGING WITH THAT DISTRACTION AND LIKE HALF THE SERVER AND THEY DIDNT EVEN FIND IT. MOLES INDEED. “How about I sell you some sugarcane, Joel I will sell yOU SOME SUGARCANE” as he finds it. Truly a watcher voice moment right there. LOL. JOEL’S INVENTORY WAS FULL HAHAHAAH. That whole thing was such a circus! And then Tango’s Warden. Of course Joel shoots it and is cowering from it on a tower. And of course everyone gathers round to punch desertduo into the Warden’s waters. That was fucking wild.

They are fishing the warden??? They’re nuts. Joel-Grian-Etho standoff LOL. Fishing shenanigans never fails to be utterly hilarious. And Grian stuck the landing!!!! That was pretty cool. THE WARDEN FLEW SO HIGH AND LANDED RIGHT AMONG THEM OH MY GOD. AND IT DIED FROM FALL DAMAGE??? HAHAHAAH. THE SHEER PANIC AND GRIEF. Omg I thought they were going to die there. Etho with the clutch save but also with the bad ideas. “It’s good to be lit as the children say.” “You are hip and trendy and down with those kids.” “Don’t patronize me, you 35-year old man.” “I’M 29!!” Of course Scar stole the enchanter. Why does he keep doing that. What was that Etho growl before the chain fishing. Of course Joel dies; what did they expect. THE FIRST RED MURDER!!! Rip Scott. He was disappointed but not surprised; even set his spawn LOL. The moment Joel goes red he’s speedrunning unhingedness. He’s bloodthirsted killed Pearl just like how Pearl killed him in Last Life. Rip Scott indeed. And then it happens again LOL. And of course they get double poisoned. Etho saving their gear and their lives there. Joel goes for Scar and Etho for Grian. They are SO scared. Scar back on his enchanter bs. Scar keeping quiet because his pandas lives hang in the balance. When Joel goes all high pitched HAHAHA The way Scott Cleo and Joel all turn and look at Etho like he’s the only one that can understand what’s going on with Bdubs and his horse breeding!!! The moment Tango has access to the enchanter and Boat Boys and basically everyone is so down to murder the Ranchers!!! Nothing beats Voice prox mod when someone is falling or ascending. That was a pretty cool clutch from Scar. Grian keeps using end of the session for his advantage lol. HE KILLED JIMMY!!!

REN WHAT ARE YOU DOING. Boat boys in sync as they both shoot the TNT minecart; Etho breaks it and Joel picks it up.

LOL Bro blowing up all those pandas was horrifying omg. THE ENCHANTER WAS IN THE CHEST THE ENTIRE TIME. IT WAS JUST HIDDEN UNDER ONE BLOCK. THEY COULD HAVE ACCIDENTALLY BLOWN IT UP. Etho what you saying. You’re comparing Joel to a Tiger??? Bro his ego will never be the same again. What have you done. Grian is definitely a distraction and a lure. WHAT IS THAT FACE. WHAT.

Tango and Jimmy come crawling back HAHAH. Etho condescending to them about water elevators Desert duo cowering from the reds and then the zombie gets them. LOL. AND THEN A CREEPER ENDERMEN GETS JIMMY LOOOOOL. OH MY GOD. The Red Army actually got them. ETHO BARELY SET THE TNT TRAP, THE MOST OBVIOUS TRAP IN THE WORLD, BEFORE SCAR IS BRIDGING OVER TO STEAL IT. I HAD THOUGHT IT WAS SITTING THERE LONG ENOUGH THAT NO ONE WAS SCARED OF IT BUT NO. NOT EVEN A MINUTE GOES BY AND SCAR JUST GETS HIMSELF BLOWN UP. HAHAHAHAA. Joel is so happy that a trap worked first try. Jellie in a backpack is adorable though. Grian is just accepting of his fate; he’s done. (Why are we here, just to suffer) What is that whole conversation with Impulse and Bdubs. They’re so weird. Fire spreads real fast on this server huh. “The ship burns everything burns”. Boat boys just egging each other on. That long look at Box earlier was just perfect foreshadowing. OH MY GOD ETHO NEARLY DIED BUT REN GOT IT!!! That’s so many deaths in one episode. Oh Scar absolutely burned it down, look at him hiding behind Grian. Scar literally hurt himself IRL out of indignation over the enchanter.

“Honey I’m home!” ETHO. Joel LOTR nerd. Ah yes Grian with the same idea as Etho with the bubblevator tnt. But this time he said it louder so they did it and probably didn’t work since Joel did it. Scar third wheeling Boat boys and all of them then heckling Grian as he sets up the sculk sensor trap. At least he redeems himself by setting off the tnt trap intentionally. Etho aiming his crossbow right at Scott and him being unaware until he turns around, along with all the frantic whispering due to the warden, is such a classic movie scene. Joel is SO concerned and guides Etho out with the sound of his voice LOL. He did choose Joel’s water over Bdubs’ ladders but the water ran out. Rip Pearl. What is this polycule. Wait did Bdubs and Impulse really trap the portal? Doesn’t seem like their style. And given the smooth stone + dirt it kinda seemed like their portal linked up with another one. Huh. THEIR BEDS WERE TOGETHER LOL. Ah yeah they figured it out too. Omg if the ship burns everything burns. Including them.

This series was so fast-paced and dramatic! The pairs really brought out something within each other. It's always great to see laidback people go feral on red. And all the jokes about "welp guess I'll just die" because their partner was doing something dangerous NEVER gets old. Truly the stuff of fanart and fanfiction. Grian must have been scrolling too much on Twitter when he decide to go through with this idea.

#etho #joel

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headcanonthings · 4 years ago

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Sokka: so, I started seeing someone

Katara: like as in dating or hallucinations?

Sokka: THAT WAS ONE TIME!

#katara’s never gonna let go of how sokka acted while in cactus juice #when they weren’t in immediate danger she took great pleasure as only a sibling can #telling him about all the ridiculous shit he got up to in the desert #whenever he offers her a drink she asks if its the quenchiest?#a;tla #incorrect quotes #incorrect avatar the last airbender quotes #sokka #katara

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thebisexualdogdad · 3 years ago

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A werewolf in Roswell (Liz Ortecho x male reader)

Living in Roswell came with its perks, the main one being the abundance of desert land you had to run around in when you shifted.

You had been born a werewolf, where the gene came from in your family bloodline was a mystery but unlike those silly stories mundanes had been telling each other for centuries you were in fact not confined to the glow of the full moon however it was much easier to conceal yourself at night where in the darkness you would appear to be like any other wild animal that called the desert its home.

To the world you were just a normal guy, keeping out of trouble and your head down low, despite your lifelong secrets.

Arturo Ortecho was happy to give you a job as a busboy after high school, you and Liz had been friends since childhood so he already knew you would be a dependable worker and a decade later you were still cleaning off tables at the crashdown Cafe.

You kept in touch with Liz while she was away at college but drifted apart as sometimes friends do though when she returned to Roswell your friendship started to rebuild.

A lot of weird things had been going on in Roswell lately, the deaths of Noah Braken and Jesse Manes, the white supremists running around with guns and alien masks supposedly protecting their land, Maria DeLuca going into a mysterious coma and Arturo's niece Rosalinda who looked an awful lot like his daughter Rosa who had died shortly after high school coming to town just to name a few.

You needed to clear your head so you went outside the city limits and with no one around you shifted into your werewolf form.

Running around the desert always gave you a certain kind of clarity but tonight was different.

You accidently stumbled across a couples campsite, the woman screaming in terror and the next thing you hear is a gunshot accompanied by an immense searing pain coursing through your shoulder.

—

*morning*

Liz walks into the cafe, taking a seat at the counter and Rosalinda pouring her a cup of coffee.

She notices how a lot of the booths are covered with empty plates and coffee mugs from the morning crowd with you nowhere to be seen.

"Hey where's Y/N?" She asks.

"I don't know he was supposed to be in three hours ago," Rosalinda replies.

There's two guys sitting a couple seats down from her at the counter talking very loudly so of course Liz and Rosalinda overhear their conversation.

"Man did you hear what happened to Billy last night?" One man says.

"Didn't he and his girl go camping last night? What did the drunk bastard do, fall into the fire pit again?" The other laughs.

"Nah they got attacked by some crazy animal! Billy says it looked like a wolf but was the size of a bear! Says it might have been even wearing pants."

"Don't be ridiculous, they probably just drank an entire bottle of whisky and were seeing things."

"Either way Billy said he shot the thing in the shoulder and it ran off, they packed their shit up and got the hell out of there," the first guy says stuffing his face with his pancakes.

Arturo comes out from the kitchen, tub in hand to collect the dirty dishes himself.

"I'm worried about Y/N," Arturo states, "it's not like him to not show up to work, in ten years he hasn't so much as even been late for a shift."

"Let me call him," Liz suggests, taking out her phone and attempting to reach you multiple times with no response, "maybe he just decided to have a little too much to drink at the pony last night and overslept."

"Can you go check on him Elizabeth, something just feels off," Arturo asks.

"Of course Papi," Liz says, kissing her father on the cheek before she takes one last drink of her coffee and heads to your place.

Arturo was right, something was off, Liz spots a trail of blood going to your front door which wasn't even closed all the way.

"Y/N?" She calls out, cautiously stepping inside.

There's no response so she calls your name out again and this time is met with the sound of a struggled groan coming from your bedroom.

She finds you on the floor, shirt gone and pants ripped to shreds with blood pooled around you who's barely conscious and what appears to be a gunshot in your shoulder.

"Oh my god Y/N," she says rushing to your side, "you're going to be okay I'm gonna call 911."

With the little strength you have you grab her arm, "no don't."

"You've lost a lot of blood, we have to get you to the hospital," Liz replies.

"No hospital, just need to get the bullet out and I'll be fine," you explain.

"That's not how that works Y/N," she says, spotting a pair of pliers covered in blood that you had clearly been using to try to pull the bullet out of yourself with.

"Liz, please just trust me," you beg.

Against her better judgment Liz grabs the pliers and huffs, "this is really going to hurt."

"I know, do it, please," you struggle to get out.

Liz gulps, and sticks the pliers inside your wound, digging around for the bullet.

You howl in pain but Liz continues until she feels a tap of hard metal.

"I think I got it," she says using her free hand to hold you still as she pulls the bloody bullet from your skin.

The pain immediately starts to soothe and Liz sees your wound healing itself.

"What the hell was that," Liz says in shock, "your shoulder, it's like you weren't even shot. Wait, two guys at the crashdown were talking about their friend shooting some wolf bear thing in the shoulder last night."

"I'm not even going to try to lie to you Liz, I'm a werewolf."

"Oh… okay… that makes sense," she says oddly calm.

"You're not freaked out by this? I just said I'm a werewolf," you say confused, your strength starting to return to your body.

"You being a werewolf is one of the least weirdest thing that has happened to me in the last few years," she tells you.

"What does that mean?"

"Y/N… do you believe in aliens?"

#roswell new mexico imagine #liz ortecho imagine #liz ortecho x reader #x male reader #fic

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ahtsumu · 4 years ago

Text

long shots ; miya osamu

pairing: miya osamu x f!reader

synopsis: miya osamu is the teacher’s assistant for food chemistry i. you can’t stop thinking about him.

tag(s): college!au, slow burn, TA!miya osamu, grad student!reader, fluff, reader is a go-getter!! ; warning(s): profanity, suggestive themes, talk of insecurities and imposter syndrome ; wc: 5.6k

a/n: happy birthday to @starrysamu! i love u. pls excuse any errors. i’ll weed them out later! btw this fic is not a sugar daddy au LOL

HIS NAME IS Miya Osamu and he always looks like he has it all figured out. Comes in every class with his black hair perfectly tousled, the sleeves of his dark button-up rolled to his elbows, a cup of coffee in one hand and the strap of that black messenger bag in another.

“He drives a BMW, did ya know?” Isla says in your ear one morning. Your only friend in Food Chemistry I gives you a pointed look before sitting back in her chair in the lecture hall with a smirk on her face. “Saw it this morning. Bet he’s loaded.” The two of you watch the subject in question walk across the classroom and settle in his seat at the table in the corner.

“Shut up,” you whisper with wide eyes. A grin–– far from innocent–– makes its way onto your face. “Imagine being Miya Osamu’s sugar baby.”

“He’s not old enough to be a sugar daddy.” Isla looks at her nails disinterestedly. “And that’s too many AUs in one. He’s already the TA, for god’s sake. This isn’t some shitty Wattpad novel.”

A light giggle slips out of your lips. “I can see the title already. My Sugar Daddy is the TA?!”

Now, if anyone had been listening in on your conversation, they would’ve assumed many things about you. The first being that you’re both gold-diggers. This is untrue–– at least, in your case. Isla, you’re not so sure about, given how your friendship only goes back about one month. But she tags you in memes on Instagram so maybe it’s as real as real gets. Their second assumption would be that you have a big fat crush on your TA. That one’s complicated, mostly because it’s true, but only kinda. It all started in the second week of school when Isla caught you staring at Osamu and slipped you a post-it note with both your initials encircled in a heart. And, because you’re shameless with a good sense of humour, you made a show of kissing it while she was looking. And thus began your meaningless but incredibly entertaining, satirical, co-written fantasy about Miya Osamu.

It also didn’t help that on the first essay you got back, Isla’s paper had been marked up with “are you sure?”s and “this is a jump”s, while yours had “excellent reasoning” and “insightful analysis”. You’d even gotten a little comment at the bottom: y/n, fantastic work. you should speak up in class more often. –– OM

But Miya Osamu doesn’t play favourites because the next week you’d gotten another essay back, this time with another comment at the bottom: y/n, not your best work. you could’ve done better by connecting your first paragraph with the second using grant’s reading. conclusion lacked punch, too. all the best. –– OM

Every time you’d read the words scrawled in blue ink, you’d felt a pair of eyes on you. But you chalk it up to Osamu being a careful grader. A good TA. Someone who cares about his students.

Isla calls bullshit on that. You’re not really sure how to feel about her stance.

The classroom door opens and shuts again. You don’t have to look at your phone to know that it’s nine on the dot. Instead, you and Isla straighten your backs, pull out your notebooks, and focus. Your no-nonsense professor says “good morning” in her usual perky manner before jumping right into her keynote presentation.

“Did you all find the reading okay?” Professor Lee asks an hour into the lecture.

A chorus of “yes”s fill the air. You bite your lip, wondering if revealing that you didn’t understand shit will out you as the class idiot. Or maybe your silence is telling enough–– maybe the people in the seats beside you have noticed the grimace on your face and are having thoughts like ‘gee whiz, am I glad I’m not dumb like her’. Heat rushes to your cheeks. Sometimes you really wonder if you’re smart enough to be here. Occurrences like these do nothing to dispel your insecurities.

You vaguely hear her ask something like, “Any thoughts about the reading?” It’s not that you’re actually dumb. It’s just that this class is ridiculously hard for an introductory course, even for a graduate programme. From the start of the semester til now, fifteen people have dropped the class. There’s just twenty of you left. Guess a ridiculously hot TA can’t save a course’s drop-rate.

Before you can make your mind up on what to say, your professor moves on from her question.

As you look off to the side of the room for a break from your thoughts, you find a pair of blue-grey eyes pointed in your direction.

Everything about you, from the expression on your face to the way your muscles tense, makes you look like a deer caught in headlights–– even though he was the one caught staring in the first place. So maybe your shamelessness works on a scale.

Miya Osamu lifts one corner of his mouth.

And as if the exchange hadn’t happened at all, he looks back down at his laptop and continues typing.

The rest of the lecture goes through one ear and out the other.

“Everyone, I believe Osamu has something he wants to say,” Professor Lee says as everyone begins packing their bags.

The raven-haired TA slides out of his seat and sits on top of his desk. “Yeah.” Osamu clears his throat and crosses his arms over his chest. You notice how the muscles in his arms bulge from the movement.

“Whipped,” Isla mutters, grinning mischievously.

“Him for me,” you whisper back, though your eyes do travel back to his face where they should’ve been all along. Osamu catches your gaze and holds it. And then he looks away again.

“Now, I know you’re all Nobel prizewinners in the making,” he begins, garnering a round of snickers and giggles from your classmates. Most people say that cliques dissolve in college. That there’s no such thing as popularity amongst graduate students. That much, you agree with. But no one ever said anything about popular teacher’s assistants. Especially smart, attractive, witty teacher’s assistants like Miya Osamu. “But in case you didn’t understand the reading or would like to develop a deeper understanding of it, don’t hesitate to email me. I’ll try to host a review session all of us can attend.”

Professor Lee smiles appreciatively at Osamu, adding, “That’s a wonderful idea, Osamu. Guys, please take this opportunity if you struggled with the reading. I know eighty pages is a lot, but our next three classes are structured around the concepts in the reading and the mid-term next week will almost exclusively be about it, too.”

Well, shit.

To: [email protected]

Hi Osamu,

I was wondering if I could get some help with the reading from last class. To be frank, I couldn’t make it past page 15 and I’m lost like a snot-faced five-year-old in a shopping mall on Black Friday. Sorry. Thanks in advance!

Regretfully,

Y/N

MS Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

From: [email protected]

no problem. is 5 pm tomorrow at jack’s okay? we start on the concepts from the reading next class so i want to get you up to speed asap. let me know. thanks.

PhD Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

It’s five minutes to five when you pull into the parking lot of Jack’s Diner. The shiny, retrofuturistic eatery is a university favourite but the empty parking lot tells you it’s completely deserted right now (and rightfully so–– who eats dinner before six?). The black BMW parked a few spots from your car, however, says that you’re not alone.

Osamu’s figure comes into view as you reach for the handle to the front door of Jack’s. The twenty-six-year-old sits by himself at one of the bright red tables in the back, typing away on his dark grey laptop.

His head lifts up at the sound of the opening door. Osamu calls out your name and waves you over.

“Hi,” you greet with a smile, sitting down across from him.

“Hey.”

You look around before leaning forward on the table. “Is anyone else coming?”

“No.” Osamu sits back in his seat. “I thought about hosting one big group, but then I realised that it’d probably be stressful for the staff here.” He nods his head in the direction of the kitchen. “And I had a hunch that everyone would have different questions. Forcing everyone to review concepts they already know is a waste of time.”

At first, you nod. That makes sense. But then you furrow your brows. “So how long have you been here?”

Osamu blinks. He hadn’t expected you to ask about him. “Hmm? Oh.” He taps his phone to check the time. “Just a while.”

Quirking a brow, you ask, “And how long is ‘a while’ to you?”

“Seven hours,” he admits, chuckling lightly when he sees your jaw drop. “A lot of people had questions. They just don’t act like they do. Anyway, time flies. Really, it does.” Quickly, he clears his throat and sits forward. “So, about your email.” He grins. “Not sure if you meant it to be funny, but it was.”

“I’m glad my distress was entertaining for you. Do you TA just to watch grad students suffer?”

“Perks of the job,” Osamu says. His grin widens when you giggle. He’s never heard you laugh before and he realises at that moment that it’s really nice. And then that same grin falters. Gracefully, of course, and imperceptibly to you. But not to him. Is it okay for him to be… thinking things like that? About a student? But you’re not really his student since he’s just the TA. Right? Osamu ignores the weird feeling that comes over him and clasps his hands together at the edge of his laptop. “Back to your email. Can ya tell me what you’re confused about?”

Three hours and two Impossible Burgers later, you suddenly understand everything about food molecules so well that you wonder why you’d even been confused in the first place. But besides that, you’ve also picked up things about Osamu. As a person and not an idea. Not that you’d been actively searching for fun facts about your TA. But they’d stuck to your brain like gum at the bottom of a desk. He likes to slip sarcastic quips into a conversation every now and then. Eats burgers upside down (“The right way,” as he’d said, smirking). Is friendlier than he looks.

“You’re really good at explaining things,” you comment as Osamu shuts his laptop closed.

“Well, I kinda have to be,” he says. And maybe it’s the mental fatigue catching up on him or the fact that he’s real fond of the reason why he can break big concepts down into morsels but suddenly, the rest of his thoughts spill out his mouth like wine. “I have a twin brother with potato salad for brains.”

“Oh?”

And before he can stop himself, he tells you about Miya Atsumu, the pro-athlete you’ve definitely heard of but never gave too much thought. And then you hold onto the fact that they were both on the volleyball team and you ask of which school, so then he tells you about Inarizaki, the high school he attended, and then his decision not to go pro to go to college, and then––

“Sorry,” he laughs, cheeks turning pink. “You probably didn’t need to hear all that.”

“No, it’s fine,” you say–– and you mean it. “Your life is interesting.”

Osamu leans back in his chair. “Well, I’m sure yours is, too.” He holds your gaze like it’s the key to your presence. It’s an invitation. The kind that comes from people who don’t really know if they want you around but also don’t want you gone.

You take it.

Osamu shouldn’t–– he really shouldn’t–– but he wonders about the things you didn’t tell him the entire drive home.

Isla laughs when you tell her about what happened at Jack’s. You lay in bed with your phone next to you on speaker, your face turned on your pillow so that you’re staring out the window at the city below.

“He wants you,” she sings.

“Or he was just being nice.”

“Methinks not!” Isla giggles. “He’s intrigued, girl! You’re like that cute little new mystery in his life and he just wants to get to know you.”

“I think he was just being polite.”

“Or he’s crushing on you!”

“In your dreams.”

“You mean yours? Boo, you’re no fun today. Usually, you go along with the jokes.” Isla’s tone is playful on the surface but full of implications.

A few silent seconds pass. Yeah, you think, agreeing. I do.

“Girl,” Isla drags out the word in a high pitch, saying it like a scientist says ‘eureka’. “You’re not playing along anymore because it’s real now. You're actually catching feelings!”

“Am not!” you laugh.

“The Y/N I knew would’ve said ‘nah, bitch, he’s catching feelings’ and I think that says all there is to say.”

“Okay, I think he’s cute but it’s not a crush,” you concede, grinning. “And he’s the TA, Isles. It’d never happen.”

“Not while he’s still a TA in a class you take.”

“Isla.”

“Ask him out once this semester ends! Unless you’re chicken.”

“I’m not asking him out.”

“Knew you were––”

“Have you seen me? He’s asking me out.”

Miya Osamu walks through the door at eight-fifty as usual that next morning, dressed in his usual button-up, holding his usual cup of coffee. But this time, as the rest of his tall frame passes through the doorway, Osamu’s eyes subtly scan the faces in the lecture hall, lingering for just a while over yours. The corners of your lips turn up. You hope he saw that.

“Bitch!” Isla whisper-screams. The students sitting around you turn around at the noise and grin at each other when they realise it’s just Isla being… well, Isla. She shoos them away jokingly.

“What?” you whisper back.

“Care to explain why our TA was literally eye-fucking you?”

“That was hardly eye-fucking,” you retort. “Maybe like an eye-handshake.”

“Yeah, a naked eye-handshake where his thang is handshaking your––”

He does it again the next class.

And the next.

And then he doesn’t. Miya Osamu walks through the door to Food Chemistry I at eight-fifty in the morning in a navy blue button-up with a cup of coffee in his hand and looks through the rows of seats in the lecture hall for your face, only to find it missing.

He debates pressing the matter.

To: [email protected]

hey osamu,

i wasn’t in class today because i’ve been sick with the flu (no big deal, just feel like i’m dying). a classmate sent me pictures of the slides from today so i think i should be fine, but is it okay if i email you with any questions? thank you very much!

miserably,

Y/N

MS Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

From: [email protected]

y/n,

of course. sorry to hear that you’re sick. let me know if i can do anything to help you. the midterm is next week. get well soon.

PhD Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

“You writing that the midterm is next week did not offer me any peace of mind, by the way,” you say, spinning around in your chair as Miya Osamu enters your pod in the library.

He offers you a wry grin. “Hello to ya, too.”

“Was that an accent?” You thought you’d heard one at Jack’s, but you couldn’t be sure because it’d been so spotty.

Osamu slips into the seat beside yours and pulls out the laptop in his messenger bag. You catch a whiff of his cologne–– something spicy and woody, but clean. It suits him. “Nice catch. Yeah, I speak a regional dialect. Took me a while to smooth it over but it still resurfaces every now and then.”

“Why?”

“It just didn’t seem fitting for a PhD candidate, I guess,” Osamu explains, opening the slides from the class you missed. A day after your initial exchange, you’d emailed him again (with a much clearer mind) and asked if he could go over the slides with you in person.

i literally feel like i’ve been given the homework from russian lit, you’d written. except the russian has been translated to hieroglyphs and my task is to choreograph an interpretive dance based on the hieroglyphs.

Osamu had snickered when he saw your email. that doesn’t even make sense. must be the fever talking, he’d been tempted to write. But that strange feeling had come over him again, the one that’d screamed at him to keep it professional, goddamnit, so he’d played it safe instead and sent is eight pm at the main library okay? He hates that you’re getting a watered-down version of his personality. Osamu swears he’s a lot more interesting when he’s not, well, a TA.

“I think it’s fine,” you say, smiling. “I like it. It’s you.” And suddenly, you’re wondering if it’s okay to be complimenting your TA. If it’s okay to say that you like things about him, or if that crosses some grey, unclear line. Is it weird to treat your TAs like they’re your friends? It’s not like TAs are real teachers. Right?

A grin–– wide and genuine and almost excited–– grows on Osamu’s face. He rubs the back of his neck as his eyes flit over to the laptop screen. “Thanks. Really.”

You nod. But you feel like there’s more that he might want to say, so you wait.

“I got a lot of shit for it when I came here for my master’s, y’know. Not to my face, of course, but people would refer to me as ‘the guy with the accent’. A professor once said it made me seem crass. Said it’d hold me back in my career.”

“So you changed.”

“Adapted,” Osamu corrects. “It’s hard to admit but conforming is sometimes all you can do when you don’t have the power to change the system. Can’t really make everyone suddenly respect a dialect.”

“And after you’re finished with your PhD, you’ll go back to speaking in that dialect?”

Osamu looks out the window and smiles, probably imagining the plans he’s already made about the future. “Yeah.”

“What if you have to speak the standard language at your job? Like, your boss is all, ‘hey man, if you don’t speak––”’

“I’ll be the boss.”

“Oh?”

And with a little more prodding, Miya Osamu tells you about the restaurant chain he plans on opening after graduation, the slides about food additives left completely untouched.

The librarian knocks on your pod a few minutes before eleven to tell you they’re closing.

“Shit,” Osamu murmurs, running his hands through his hair. You’re still laughing about something he’d said before the librarian interrupted him–– one of his stories from high school–– and he thinks that you’ve completely forgotten that the reason you came to the library was to catch up on the material you were already behind on. And now you’re behind on that. But you look so carefree right now and, actually, you’re very pretty and you’ve got such a good heart and it’s a lot for him to process but he knows he just wants to see you happy a while longer. So Osamu just slumps back in his chair and laughs along with you.

He says your name as his chuckles grow softer. “It’s pretty late. How’re you getting home?”

“I’ve a bike,” you reply. It’s good for the environment and is a pretty solid form of exercise if you do say so yourself. Sometimes you just don’t feel like driving.

Osamu presses his lips in a thin line. Would it be too much to offer you a ride? “I can drive you home. It’s really not safe for you to be alone outside, especially near midnight. You can get your bike tomorrow. Or I’ll get it for you.”

He drives fast. Not the unsafe fast that speed demons drive at, but the kind of fast where you know he’s got some edge to his character. You bring it up to him–– especially since it’s nighttime, for god’s sake, he could hit something–– and all he does is remind you how there are lamps as bright as the sun lining the entire road to your dorm. And the fact that you live in the least accessible dorm on campus.

“A twenty-minute drive?” he’d exclaimed when he saw the GPS monitor.

“A bunch of roads are closed for construction. It’s a ten-minute bike-ride because I can cut through campus.” And suddenly feeling a little burdensome, you’d added, “Sorry. I can still bike––”

“No.” He’d held his hand out in front of you, gesturing for you to stay in the passenger’s seat. “It’s not a bother at all.” Because it wasn’t. Osamu was… happy. Not that he’d admit that.

“So this BMW,” you start in a teasing tone.

Osamu smirks. “A gift.”

“Can I guess from who?”

“Sure.”

“Atsumu.”

His brows rise. “Colour me impressed.” He hadn’t expected you to remember anything he’d said about Atsumu. Or maybe he had but told himself otherwise to lower his hopes.

“I’m smart like that.”

He snorts. “Not if you keep distracting me and using your review time to…” hang out with me, get to know me, tell me things about you… “…goof off.”

You grimace. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

Osamu makes a turn down a familiar street. It dawns upon you that you're ten minutes away from your dorm and suddenly you wish he’d just make the wrong turn at the next intersection so that you could talk to him some more. It can even be about the health benefits of fish or the molecular makeup of kale–– you don’t mind. You just want to be around him longer.

“I think you’re really smart,” Osamu says quietly. “I think you’re not processing the readings because you’re distracted, or just not fully applying yourself. Obviously, last class’s slides are a different thing, since you were absent. But you really are smart. I’ve seen your papers.”

You bite your lip to hide your grin, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. “Thank you.” You look out the window, too jacked on dopamine to think straight. “I think I still need you, though.”

And that innocuous little sentence floats right out your mouth into the air, settling between you like a little wedge before either of you even realise it. Neither of you says anything. You marinate in the awkwardness before stuttering out a clarification. “To, um, to explain things. Y’know, since you’re, uh, so good at… explaining things.”

Osamu clears his throat and chuckles stiffly. There’s a slightly pink tinge to his cheeks. “Thanks,” he says, looking straight ahead. He can’t even look at you. Fuck. It’s so awkward. “I’ll try to keep… explaining things.” Fuck. What does that even mean?

A few uncomfortable minutes pass in silence. The night can’t end like this, you think. It can’t when everything else had gone so well. You still have to see him for a few more months. “Did you know,” you start, catching Osamu’s attention, “that Jack’s Diner has a location in Italy?”

“Oh?” he asks, making the final turn to the street where your dorm is. He actually hadn’t.

“Yeah. I asked the owner about the chain a while back. Have you ever been to Italy?”

Osamu shakes his head. “I’ve been to Paris, though. To see a friend. He’s a chocolatier.”

Now, if Osamu had been your friend, you would’ve said something like well, let’s go to Italy together, except he’s not. He’s your TA and you’ve been reminded that enough tonight. So instead, you say, “When you open that restaurant of yours in Italy, let me know.”

“That’s gonna take a while,” he laughs. He appreciates how you said ‘when’, though. And he tucks that little bit of confidence you have in him somewhere deep in his mind so that it doesn’t get lost.

“Isn’t that just seven hours?” you shrug, grinning. Osamu’s BMW pulls up outside your dorm and parks as he marvels at what you just said. You’re amazing. You unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to face your driver.

“Thank you for driving me,” you say, offering him a smile.

“Yeah,” he replies.

You stretch out your hand. With a puzzled look on his face, Osamu grabs it and shakes it. Firmly. You can’t help but notice how nice his hands are. Calloused for sure, but they feel nice.

“Goodnight, Osamu.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

He watches you jog into the building before driving away. And it’s like you’ve possessed his car or something because the smell of your shampoo and perfume is everywhere and it’s too much but it’s also not enough at the same time and he can feel your palm against his as he spins the steering wheel to make a turn and for the first time in his life he doesn’t turn on the radio to fill the silence in his car. Osamu replays everything you said in his head.

But he especially thinks about that part where you said you need him.

Weeks melt into months. You turn in essays after essays for Food Chemistry I, each coming back with detailed commentary in an all-too-familiar blue scrawl. All your other classes go well–– extremely well, actually. You might just end the semester with a 4.0 if Food Chem doesn’t fuck you over. Isla still tags you in memes on Instagram. You still tell her about everything that happens with Osamu.

Speaking of.

“That’s the wrong equation,” he says behind your ear as he settles in the seat beside you. The sound of his low voice so close to your ear sends a small shiver down your spine. “You gotta switch the hydrogens.” Osamu knocks on your skull lightly. “What’s goin’ on up in there? Ya got somethin’ on your mind?”

You laugh and elbow him in the side. “Shut up, ‘Samu.” He’d told you during one of his office hours that he’d gone by that nickname because he had a teammate with a foreign name in high school. It sounded so cool, he’d said, grinning.

I think Osamu sounds pretty cool already, you’d teased.

And he’d replied, Let’s trade. I like yours, you like mine, why not share?

You teeter on the line between friends and less-than-friends and, oddly enough, more-than-friends. Sometimes you still play it safe. Sometimes he pauses between texts and real-time conversations, no doubt to scrap an instinctive reply for something more “professional”. Sometimes you say things that make him look at you with the ghost of a smile at the corners of his lips. Sometimes he calls Atsumu to scream about you.

“S’not a no,” Osamu points out. He’s dressed in a black sweater and grey trousers today. You’re suddenly reminded of how the weather’s been getting colder when someone opens the door to the university café and lets in a gust of chilly autumn air.

“Okay,” you admit, setting down the pencil. “I just… don’t really feel prepared for this next test.”

Osamu frowns and looks down at your worksheet. “Your process is correct, though.”

“Right, but… I don’t know. I’ve just not been feeling great about myself lately,” you laugh, looking down at your feet. “Food Chem’s the toughest class I’ve ever taken. And remember how I completely embarrassed myself in that class discussion last week? It’s not really making me feel like I belong here.”

“Imposter syndrome,” Osamu remarks.

“Correct-o.”

He says your name softly and puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Maybe you’re not the smartest, but you’re definitely smart. And you belong here. I’ve seen your papers. They’re just as great as anyone else’s and I don’t hand out compliments for nothin’. You’re gonna do some great things but ya can’t improve if you ever give up.” Osamu searches your eyes for a sign of your understanding.

There’re a lot of things you want to say but you don’t know how to put them into words. “Can I hug you?” you finally ask.

Osamu doesn’t even think about it. “Of course.”

He feels you smile against his chest and wonders if you can feel his heart beat faster.

Isla camps out in your dorm as finals come around the corner.

“I don’t understand shit!” she wails, throwing her notebook into the air.

“Isles, it’s okay,” you laugh, slipping out of your chair and walking over to her nest in the corner. “You gotta chill, dude.”

“Not fair! I didn’t have a hunk holding my hand through this course all semester,” she retorts, humour glittering in her dark eyes. “I had the Organic Chemistry Tutor and his accent’s cute enough but, girl, you had Miya Fucking Osamu!”

“You’re literally the worst.” You giggle and sit down beside her. “Tell me what you’re confused about. I’ll try to explain it to you.” The way Osamu does.

You text him that you’d channelled his brains later that night.

His reply comes seconds later. all you, einstein.

From: osamu

good luck on the exam

you’re going to kill it

To: osamu

would u like to divulge any… information about it? 😏 😏 😏

From: osamu

bye

To: osamu

i was kidding :(

From: osamu

fine. tip #1: write your name

To: osamu

not very helpful. 0/10

From: osamu

keep running your mouth and 0/10 is what your score’s going to be

i’m kidding

you got this, y/n

“Holy fuck,” Isla groans as you cross the street to head to lunch at Jack’s. “If you don’t see me next semester it’s because I’ve gotten my grade back and decided to drop out.”

“What would you do?” you ask, amused.

“Maybe move to New Zealand. Raise some sheep. Marry a hot, blond shepherd and fuck off to a cliffside cottage.”

“Solid plan.”

“What about you?” she asks.

“What about me?”

“Remember that conversation we had at the start of the year? About your man?” The two of you reach another red light for pedestrians.

“We’re friends. He’s not my man,” you laugh. Though it pains you to. Something about being Miya Osamu’s friend doesn’t really sit right with you, but you don’t know how to not be his friend. You don’t know how to move out of the corner you’ve backed yourself into.

“But you wish he were! And now you can finally hit him with that ‘Hey, Osamu, I’ve been madly in love with you since the start of the semester, wanna fuck like rabbits and then open that store in Italy?’ and he’ll be all––”

A throat clears behind you. With wide eyes, the two of you turn around.

Holy fuck.

Miya Osamu stands behind you with his hands in his pockets and an enormous smirk on his face.

“He’ll be all what?” he asks, eyes fixed on you.

Isla murmurs an excuse and starts walking on her own to Jack’s.

“Um.” You swallow nervously and shrink in your coat. “You heard all of that, right?”

“Yep.” Osamu grins. He grins. He’s grinning. He’s smiling like he’s won the fucking lottery and you honestly don’t know what to do with that information.

“So, like,” you look down at the sidewalk and kick at a pebble, “what are your thoughts about that?” God, you could die. “‘Cause I know you’re a TA and it’d probably look pretty bad and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you because I like you and it’s cool if we just…”

Osamu interrupts you with a laugh. “My thoughts,” he says, “are that I want to kiss you.” His fingers lift your chin up. “What are your thoughts about that?”

Well, shit. “I think that’s pretty cool, yeah,” you breathe, eyelids fluttering shut as his face comes closer to yours.

He tastes like mint. And his lips move softly, slowly against yours like he’s savouring the moment. And then you feel his hands snake around your waist to pull you closer–– closer because you both are tired of forcing the distance between bodies that want to be near each other, closer because he’s thought about kissing you just like this for so long, closer because you remember the last time he’d touched you was three days ago and it was just a brush of his fingers against your arm and that feeling of wanting more haunted you for the entire night. But holy shit, Miya Osamu is kissing you. He’s kissing you.

And then he pulls away. His dark eyes flit over yours. “I,” he breathes, “I need your course load next semester.”

“What?” you ask, disbelief written all over your features, chest rising and falling as you try to steady your breathing. You just kissed, for God's sake, and he's––

“I need to know which courses not to apply to TA for,” he grins, cupping your face in his hands. “Can’t be teachin’ in a class with my girlfriend as a student.”

“So we’re official?” you ask, beaming.

“If you want,” Osamu replies with a smirk.

You grab the front of his coat and tug him down for another kiss. “Hell yeah, I want to be official.”

#miya osamu #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu scenarios #miya osamu imagines

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val-made-a-mistake · 3 years ago

Text

❝DON’T GO YET.❞

(not my gif)

summary: benoit blanc’s heading off to greece soon, and marta cabrera doesn’t want him to go when there’s still unfinished business in massachusetts. in fact, she’ll stall him any way she can.

warnings: smut, complete and utter filth as a matter of fact, oral sex m receiving, implied past oral sex f receiving/facesitting, age gap (all legal), my horrible attempts at recreating daniel craig’s ridiculous southern accent

word count: 887

a/n: KNIVES OUT 2 WHEN???? kinda bummed we won’t get more of these guys, ngl. i rewatched this movie recently and saw that the cablanca ship was curiously lacking in filth, so i wrote this both for myself and the four other people still on this ship in 2021 lol. i already know this is going to flop, but to all who choose to read, i hope it delivers.

//////

“Miss Cabrera?”

Blanc’s voice is light, like wind on water, but not quite soft enough to conceal the obvious Kentucky in his accent. Marta would never be able to say it, else someone ridiculed her for it, but something about him drove her positively insane, and she was pretty sure he knew.

She keeps her eyes on her lap, at her hands clenched there, knowing full well her breathing is out of control. They’re parked well away from the Thrombey security cameras, and it’s dark. It’s just them in this shitty blue car.

“Yes?” she breathes back.

Still her hands tremble. When she gathers the courage to look at him, thoughtful blue eyes are searing into hers.

“No one can see us out here, can they?” Blanc asks softly.

Marta whips around a bit too earnestly. The grounds are deserted.

“The - the Thrombeys have no reason to be out here this late,” she replies, trembling as she looks back at him. “Not unless Meg is sneaking out again, but - but I don’t imagine she would be out on a night like this.”

Blanc stares at her, contemplating. Then he speaks.

“Marta, I - I wouldn’t want word to get around, y’see-”

“Please,” she whispers, and something about her blunt honesty startles him, she can see it in his eyes. She can tell he expected vomiting.

Marta meets his gaze, too distracted by the heartbeat between her legs to care.

“I - I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let this go like last time.”

Blanc’s eyes search her face. It’s an emotion she hasn’t seen from him before: he’s genuinely taken aback.

“Young lady,” he starts, but Marta just presses her lips to his.

Blanc sharply exhales through his nose, neither condemning it or melting into it, and lets her grasp a handful of his tweed jacket. He knows she needs this, bad.

It’s not something he would easily admit, but something about her neediness makes his trousers unusually restrictive.

“I want to touch you,” Marta mutters breathlessly, pulling away the smallest inch. “Can - can I-“

“Fuck, child,” Blanc hisses, glancing up at the roof of Marta’s car. “You’re already making a mess of me now, arent’cha?”

Marta grins sheepishly and gently pulls his cock from his pants.

He’s thick, hot in her palm, and fucking dripping.

She glances up at him for the smallest second— he looks just as stunned as she is— before she wraps her mouth around him.

Blanc sinks back into his seat almost reflexively. “Fuck, darlin’...”

The girth of him stretches Marta’s mouth effortlessly, and she gags in spite of herself, feeling her mouth fill up with an excess of saliva. Filthy noises are filling the car soon enough, and Blanc’s hand finds the crown of her head, pushing her down further onto his cock.

Tears materialize in her eyes as she sucks him to the best of her ability, but she doesn’t want to let go.

With a breathy, desperate kind of sound escaping Blanc, the hand on her head suddenly tightens, and Marta grins, lets herself be guided downward until his cock is pulsing at the back of her throat.

Meanwhile, Blanc’s rambling, senseless and not making much sense.

“Darlin’, if you wanna come with me - Lord - anywhere you want, you got it, just keep - shit - keep doin’ that...”

He brushes hair out of her face with a heavy hand. “I’m headin’ off to Greece in a couple of weeks, you like the sound of that?”

Marta gives a hasty giggle. “Mr Blanc, you need to calm down.”

Something about the way his name rolls off her tongue has him clenching, but he tries to ignore it.

“Marta, darlin’, there’s plenty’a reasons not to be calm right now.”

She draws back to wrap her hand around his length, jerking him off quickly and efficiently, and a moan escapes him again. Marta Cabrera was never as plain as she looked, but still, she was never like…this.

“Are there?”

Blanc lets his thumb drift across her face. “Might need to fuck the cockiness outta ya if you keep talkin’ like that, sweetheart.”

Marta just smirks. “Looking forward to it.”

Blanc’s looking forward to it too: he doesn’t even have to concentrate to feel the ghost of her drenched cunt over his mouth, or the weight of her thighs on his shoulders. He can still hear her cute little whimpers and curses, too.

“Fuck, child,” he whispers again, because it feels like the only thing he can say. It’s dark all around them, but his vision is starting to blur around the edges with whiteness: one gentle swirl from Marta’s tongue is all it takes.

Suddenly, a strangled moan catches in Blanc’s throat and his hips jerk, pushing his cock further into Marta’s mouth. He’s fucking coming, warm, hot, and fast, and in the very back of her throat at that.

“Filthy fuckin’ girl,” Blanc whispers as she gags around him, taking it all.

When she draws back to stick out her tongue for him, her tongue is wet with nothing but her own saliva.

Swallowed.

Marta grins, mouth further widening, clearly proud of her work.

“Needa go back to my hotel room,” is the first thing Blanc is conscious of himself saying.

#cablanca #knives out #benoit blanc #marta cabrera #daniel craig #ana de armas #benoit x marta #marta cabrera smut #daniel craig smut #ana de armas smut #benoit blanc smut #cablanca smut #knives out fanfiction

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xcertaindarkthingsx · 4 years ago

Text

make you mine

pairing: jealous!mando x fem!reader

summary: you’ve been traveling with the Mandalorian for a while now as a healer and caretaker for the Child. one day, the Mandalorian needs your specific skills to help him catch a bounty, and needless the say he is NOT happy about it.

warnings: two idiots that don’t know they like each other, some fluff and yearning, a smidge of possessiveness/jealousy, canon-typical violence, swearing in basic and mando’a, brief mentions of unwanted touching, mentions of taking care of injuries/stitching and blood, SMUT 18+ (minors BEGONE), porn w/ plot i guess, thigh riding, finger sucking, grinding, a lil’ dirty talk (if i miss any just please let me know!)

word count: 7.6k (i’m soRRY)

a/n: WHEW OK so i originally wrote this for #dincember but because i suck at deadlines and take forever to write it just turned into something else. reader is a lil insecure but mando makes it all better (self-projection, anyone?) ummm, this is my first time writing for din AND my first time writing smut but i hope you guys like it! comments/likes/reblogs/feedback are completely welcome and much appreciated! i apologize if this is a mess kladjflkd but shoutout to @a-dorin and @princessxkenobi for being wonderful beta readers and helping me when i got stuck. i am planning on making this a two parter, so if you want to be added to my tag list let me know! if you prefer to read on ao3 you can do so here . mando’a translations at the end!

gif credit: @bestintheparsec

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Soft coos filled the air inside the Razor Crest as you desperately tried to rock the Child back to sleep. You were almost certain he was starting to get hungry, but you were out of snacks and Mando had told you not to leave the ship under any circumstances.

You had been traveling with the Mandalorian for a while now, after being picked up on Arvala-7. You were a healer—a pretty damn good one, if you had anything to say about it—and had patched him up after a bounty hunt gone wrong.

The Mandalorian thought your services would be helpful if things ever got a little dicey again, so he asked you along for the ride (the reality was you had nagged and scolded him so much about how cauterizing was not the answer for every wound, that he eventually caved just to get you to stop). There wasn’t really anything tying you to Arvala-7, so you agreed.

Plus, the Child had taken a real liking to you, and how could you say no to that precious face?

The Mandalorian was an odd man—well, no. Not odd. More like intriguing, and you were drawn to it. It had been quiet and awkward the first few months. He was a rigid man of few words, never speaking more than necessary (unless he thought he was alone with the kid; the way he spoke with him made your heart melt). But after countless late nights together of taking care of the Child and constantly tending to his injuries, you were surprised to find there was a sense of gentleness under all that beskar.

The Mandalorian had been just as surprised as you when he found himself warming up to your presence. It was all the little moments that had snuck up on him, the stolen glances and lingering touches, and now his heartbeat seemed to quicken every time you were together.

Little did he know, yours did too.

At the sound of the hatch door opening, you looked up. You watched as the Mandalorian walked up the platform, admiring his strut. How someone could look so good just walking, you had no idea, but it was maddening.

“No bounty?” you called out, turning the kid in your arms so he would be facing out towards his dad. It was unusual that Mando hadn’t found the target yet, but you were just thankful he was in one piece for now. He shook his head.

“Not yet. I ran into some… complications,” he huffed and even though his voice was laced with frustration, it put you at ease. Being on the ship alone for nearly the whole day, sometimes you just missed hearing that husky baritone filtering through his modulator.

Not to mention you thought it was sexy as hell.

You quirked an eyebrow at him. “Complications?”

He heaved a deep sigh, lifting a hand for the Child to grab, which he took happily. “Hey, kid,” he whispered, and you smiled as the Child babbled back. Mando turned his helmet towards you and continued. “Yes, but I found a contact who should be able to give more information. I came back for you and the kid first. I know you guys must be hungry.”

You nodded at the same time the little green bean gave a resounding coo, earning a soft chuckle from the both of you. “I’ll get the pram ready.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

After a quick stop in the marketplace for supplies, Mando had led you two into what seemed to be the only bar in town. It was only late afternoon, leaving it nearly empty, save for a few older patrons lazily sipping on glasses of ale. You ignored the way the Weequay behind the bar seemed to look you up and down.

Mando set you and the kid up with two bowls of soup at a table nearby while he talked business with his contact, who happened to be the bartender. Sipping your soup, you tried not to eavesdrop as the two began to fall into what you would call a heated discussion. On Mando’s end. Apparently, this was a particularly “difficult” target.

“Lucky for you, he’s got an eye for pretty girls,” the bartender drawled, jutting his chin at you. “She’ll do fine.”

Your head snapped up from your task of feeding the child, spoon mid-air. “Excuse me?”

“No. Absolutely not,” resounded Mando’s gruff voice from under the helmet.

“Listen, Mando. This guy is high-profile, practically untouchable, bodyguards with him at all times. And I’m not talkin’ your run of the mill pair of idiots that can’t shoot for a damn, I’m talkin’ highly trained mercenaries.” The Weequay sighed. “I don’t doubt your skills as a Mandalorian, but you’re just one man. You need to get him alone, and she is your only way of doing that,” he insisted.

“I said, no,” Mando gritted out. You were non-negotiable.

The bartender just shrugged. “Then consider this a loss, cause you’re not getting anywhere near him.”

Your heart hammered in your chest listening to the two of them argue. Embarrassment flooded your cheeks, remembering the way the bartender eyed you when you walked in. All you wanted to do at this point was bury yourself in the confines of your room in the Razor Crest.

Mando seemed final in his decision, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was because he didn’t want you involved or if he thought you simply lacked the skills to do so. He could probably tell you weren’t really the seducing type, and truthfully the thought of trying to do was mortifying.

But Mando needed this, right? You thought of all the things he’s done for you, how he’s protected and provided for you. This was the least you could do for him. You could deal with one night of potential discomfort so he could get his bounty. It was a lot of credits.

“I’ll do it.”

Mando snapped his head around at you so fast, it was a miracle he hadn’t hurt himself. “For the last time, I said you are no—”

“I’m doing it,” you said a little more forcefully, cutting him off. You didn’t need to see his face to know he was staring daggers into you from underneath the helmet, but it was going to take more than a dirty look to get you to change your mind.

“Excellent!” the bartender’s cheery voice cut through the tension in the room. “Come on back, I’ve got an old dress an ex-girlfriend left behind that you could probably use.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

The dress in question was a slinky black number that had you freezing your ass off in the cold of the desert night.

The dress was too… everything. Too short, too revealing, too tight; but the only other thing you had to wear were some oversized t-shirts and utility pants, which aren’t exactly sexy, so you were shit out of luck.

Mando nearly choked when you came out of your room, thankful for the helmet for hiding his widened eyes and agape mouth. You looked absolutely ravishing, the black fabric clinging to all the right places on your figure. His eyes roved over the valley of your chest, the curve of your hips, the length of your legs, and his hands balled into fists, just aching to hold you. It’s as if your skin was begging to be touched.

You cleared your throat, feeling incredibly exposed and wondering what in the blazes Mando was looking at because you were certain you looked absolutely ridiculous. The noise shook him out of whatever daze he was in and he quickly shifted his gaze.

“Not a word,” you warned, wobbling down the platform. As bad as the dress was, the heels it came with were somehow worse. “I feel ridiculous.”

“You shouldn’t,” he answered a little too quickly. “You look…” words were lost on him as he tried to find the right one. One that wouldn’t make it obvious that he was losing his kriffing mind in front of you. “Good,” he finally decided on, and mentally kicked himself for it. Good?

You gave him an exasperated look. “I know you’re just being nice.”

He opened his mouth to argue but was interrupted by an ill-timed fit of babbling from the kid. You had bent down as best you could to give him a little pat on the head and he could feel a lump forming in his throat.

Mando couldn’t express how much he didn’t want you to do this. And well, he tried. The whole way back to the ship, in fact. But for some reason you were completely hell-bent on doing this for him, and he didn’t know how to explain that you and your safety meant more to him than a few thousand credits.

The reality was, Mando wanted you. He never thought he’d be so fond for someone besides the Child, but you were the exception. And even though he wanted to make you his, he knew it would be selfish of him to pursue you, to claim you, when he couldn’t give you everything you deserved; his Creed prevented him from doing so.

But Mando was a greedy man, so he took what he could get. He drank up all the kindness you so freely gave him, like a parched soul wandering in the desert, and cherished every little moment the two of you shared. They probably meant nothing to you, but they were everything to him. And he wanted more.

Not only was he a greedy man, but a stingy one as well. The thought of anyone other than him seeing you in that dress was enough to send his thoughts into a jealous frenzy.

“You don’t have to do this,” he tried to reason again.

You placed a gentle hand on the soft spot between his pauldron and neck and offered a small smile. “Don’t worry, Mando. Everything will be fine.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Everything was, in fact, not fine.

The night had started well enough. After all of Mando’s failed attempts at dissuading you again, he had finally resigned to silently stewing in his disapproval rather than voicing it.

You entered the bar while he stayed behind and watched closely from the outside. He had given you a comms device, that, with the push of a button, would let him know you were alone with the bounty and it was time for him to step in.

“Just press it, and I will be right there,” he assured, his gloved fingers pressing the device firmly into your bare palm. Something about the protective tone of his voice stirred something in you. You nodded before looking away, trying to ignore your racing heart.

The bar was rowdy that night, patrons hooting and howling from the booze. The smell of stale spice and death sticks wafted in the air, making you wrinkle your nose. Your newfound bartender friend had waved you over, pointing out the target with a nod of his head.

Your eyes fell on a Pantoran man across the bar with a drink in his hand, dozens of black suits surrounding him. His associates—a Rodian and another Pantoran—seemed to all be talking business. The bartender wasn’t kidding about this guy’s security.

How the hell am I supposed to get this guy’s attention? You desperately racked your head for subtle ideas but came to a halt when his eyes met yours. Kriff, he had caught you staring. So much for subtle. Trying not to panic, you flashed your best coy smile before turning back towards the bar.

Somehow, that was enough to give him the courage to approach you.

Cocky bastard, you thought as he swaggered on up to you, leaning in close, leering. With his chiseled features and striking yellow markings, you would’ve called him handsome— if you didn’t already know what a sleazebag he was. An air of arrogance surrounded him, the type that made him think he could get whatever he wanted with a flash of those pearly whites. Typical douche. You wanted to smack him for being so close.

Instead, you flashed another winning smile. Placing a hand on his shoulder, you leaned in close and with a breathy whisper of, ‘Let’s get out of here’ he was tossing credits to the bartender and signaling to his guards that he was leaving with you.

The Weequay had shot you a knowing look as he watched you leave; a warning. You assured him that everything was fine with a slight nod of your head.

The asshole had his arm snaked around you, hand on your ass, as you made your way to the motel just across the street. You fought back the urge to throttle him, instead fawning about how, ‘I can’t wait to be alone with you, darling.’

Your hands began to clam up as he retrieved the keys from the clerk, and you tried to convince yourself that everything would be fine once you clicked the button on your comm from the inside of the room.

Wrong.

Immediately after the Pantoran locked the door, the unease in your stomach began to grow. Bile rose in your throat at his grinning face, the way he fidgeted and licked his lips as he pressed you into the wall. A hand landed on your bare thigh, trailing dangerously high, where you shuddered in disgust at the feeling.

“We’re gonna have so much fun,” he whispered, and that was your cue to press the comms device you were desperately clutching in your small purse. Your mistake was failing to mask the faint beeping noise it emitted. Your companion stiffened at the sound, pressing you further into the wall.

“What the hell did you just do?” he growled, using the other hand to rip your arm from your purse. He stared at the comms device with contempt, before turning his attention back to me. “You bi—”

He never got to finish, because the next thing you knew your Mandalorian was crashing through the door, blaster in hand.

The scene Mando had walked in on nearly made him sick. That osi’kovid’s hands all over you, and worst of all, the look of pure fear on your face after being made. He’d planned to put a quick end to the whole ordeal, but the bounty had plans of his own.

Mando rushed him, shoving him into the wall and away from you. As expected, the Pantoran went flying before crumpling onto the floor. What Mando hadn’t been expecting was for him to be armed. He didn’t peg him as the type to get his hands dirty.

The Mandalorian was about to release the fibercord whip from his vambrace when the bounty rose from the floor with a sneer, a small combat knife in hand as he lunged at Mando, before wrestling him to the floor and sending his blaster skittering.

You watched in frozen horror as the two fought for the upper hand. At one point, the bounty had tried to charge at you, slashing wildly, but Mando was already there blocking his blows. The knife caught on the cowl above his chest, slicing the skin underneath with a sickening noise. That seemed to kick your brain into overdrive, and you dived for the fallen blaster on the ground.

You took a steadying breath before you aimed and shot once, twice, at the bounty’s leg. He cried out from his place above Mando before clutching his leg and finally falling over.

Mando rose and immediately released the fibercord, imprisoning the bounty. He held his hand out for his blaster, and you watched with wide eyes as he smacked the butt of it into the Pantoran’s face once, twice, three times. The third time ended with an appalling crack, his head lolling forward, and leaving him unconscious.

You stared as Mando stood in front of the bounty, seething. You could have sworn his hands were shaking.

“Stars, Mando, your neck,” you murmured, breathless. The room was dim, but you could see the dark stain of blood that was beginning to drench his cowl. Your hands went to inspect the wound, but he quickly brushed you off.

“We need to go,” he grunted, gathering the rope and heading towards the back entrance of the room. The two of you hadn’t exactly been quiet and the bounty’s guards were bound to notice their boss had been gone for too long. When you had opened your mouth to argue, to insist that you needed to check his injuries, he was already out the door.

Adrenaline still coursed through your veins as you walked back towards the ship. You pulled your arms tight across your body in an attempt to quell your trembling hands; guilt, bubbling up in your stomach as you replayed the events of the night in your head.

You had been the one to volunteer yourself for the mission.

You were the one who had repeatedly insisted that everything would be fine.

And now, your Mandalorian was bleeding profusely from a nasty wound on his neck.

“Mando,” you pleaded, trying to keep up with him in your ridiculous heels. Instead of acknowledging you, your words fell to deaf ears. He was stomping his way back to the ship, the unconscious bounty in tow.

Worry bloomed in your chest. The wound had looked bad back at the motel, but it was as if he couldn’t even feel it. You could hear his ragged breathing from behind; whether it was from the fight, the long walk, or the wound, you weren’t sure.

“Mando,” you tried again, this time raising your voice as you approached the hatch of the ship.

Nothing.

He let out another grunt as he hauled the bounty onto the ship, towards the carbon-freezing machine. You pursed your lips, jaw clenching in his direction. You did not appreciate being ignored, especially after just half-saving his ass just moments before.

Granted, you were the one that had put him in that position, but that was besides the point.

His back was to you and you stepped closer, ready to unleash a piece of your damn mind, when you stopped. You took in his brooding stance and clenched fists. The tremble in his hands. Anger seemed to roll off the Mandalorian in waves, making you falter.

What the hell was his problem?

“Mando, can you kriffing listen to me? I need to treat you, you have no idea if he nicked an important artery or something. I don’t know what you’re so worked up about, but you’ve been bleeding for a few minutes now and I just need to look—” annoyance rose in you as he continued to prep the carbon machine. “Maker, can you even hear me?”

The Mandalorian couldn’t hear you, not clearly anyways. Blood was still rushing in his ears, his vision still tinged red. But with another call of his name, you were finally able to get through and he suddenly whipped around.

“He touched you,” he gritted out, seething and shaking. “That skanah had his hands all over you and I swear if I didn’t need him alive for the bounty, he’d already be dead.” He punctuated the last word with the slam of a button on the machine.

You took a step back, eyes wide and brows furrowed. Something warm tightened in your chest and belly. Wh-why did he care so much? A lump had lodged itself into your throat. “Mando, I—I’m fine. Alright? I’m okay,” you tried to assure. “So, can you please calm down and let me just—"

But the Mandalorian already had his back turned again. You threw your hands up in the air, groaning in frustration as he continued to work. Another minute passed and with a faint whoosh, the bounty was finally set in carbonite.

A shiver ran through your body as the cool night air blew its way into the Razor Crest, raising goosebumps on your exposed skin. Seeing you tremble in the cold seemed to break Mando out of whatever angry stupor he was in.

In all honesty, he hadn’t meant to ignore you, but something in him snapped back at the motel. The image of that skanah touching you had made his blood boil, and his sole goal was to get him back to the ship and be done with it.

“You’re… cold,” he stated, the words coming out slow and soft, like pulling them out of a dream. You must have been freezing in that dress.

Your head snapped up at him. “I—what?”

“Let me get you a blanket or—” He hesitated when he saw you pinch the bridge of your nose, eyes screwed shut.

You couldn’t believe this idiot.

“Mando, seriously?” Your heart and your brain were having a hard time deciding whether you should be flattered about him caring so much or pissed off because he didn’t seem to give a damn about himself.

You chose a mix of the two.

“Mando,” you sighed, looking up at him. “I promise you I’m fine, thank you. Really.” You gave him your most genuine, caring look to show you were thankful for his concern, and then quickly replaced it with a hard one. “But if you don’t get up into that cockpit right now and let me treat you, I’m going to use that damn pulse rifle on you.”

And just like that, you had managed to dissolve the lingering traces of anger in his mind. His lips twitched under the helmet. “That supposed to scare me?”

You glared. “Don’t push it.” You could have sworn he was laughing under there.

The Mandalorian would have laughed if the wound on his neck hadn’t began to ache. Instead, he begrudgingly nodded, throwing his hands up in mock surrender before disappearing into the cockpit.

He began to input the coordinates back to Nevarro into the navicomputer, warmth unfurling in his chest as he listened to you check on the Child. A tiredness had begun to settle in his muscles from the fight earlier, and he grimaced as he reached for a lever on the control panel. The pain on his neck was getting worse, and if he was being honest it burned like all hell, but he was not going to admit that to you.

The door behind him slid open and you stepped in frazzled, medkit in hand. Even with your hair in disarray and scrapes littering your arms and legs, he thought you looked breathtaking.

“Uh, so bad news,” you began, gesturing at the medkit. “They didn’t have any at the market earlier, so we’re out of bacta shots and spray. I’m gonna have to stitch it closed depending on how deep it is.” You shot him an apologetic look.

He nodded, putting in the last of the coordinates before removing his chest plate to give you easier access, and turning his chair to face you. You closed the space between the two of you, quickly going to work. Careful hands began to peel away at the fabric stuck to the wound, a hiss of pain at the tip of his tongue as you ripped off the last of it.

“Sorry,” you whispered, inspecting the fabric before discarding it. “You’re definitely gonna need a new cape.”

He shrugged. “At least now you’ve got a new blanket.” You always had a habit of curling up into all his old stuff.

With a smile, you returned your focus to the task at hand, mentally sighing in relief as you began to clean the wound. It could have been worse, but it was still very deep. An inch to the left and just a smidge higher, and you would have had quite the problem on your hands.

“Idiot,” you muttered.

“What was that?”

“Lucky,” you corrected, biting back a smirk. “You got lucky. Any higher and this would be a lot messier.” You tossed the last of the gauze out and prepared the needle and thread.

Mando took in your awkward stance as you tried to bend down and begin stitching. Standing was fine for when you were cleaning, but for something this intricate it wasn’t the best position. You cursed and tried again, trying to get the angle right, but it was no use. The thought left his mouth before he even had a chance to filter it.

“You can sit on me if that’s easier.”

Heat blazed on your cheeks at his words, nearly dropping the damn needle. “Oh—um—” Coherent thoughts didn’t seem to be forming in your head at the moment.

Panic flooded the Mandalorian’s brain as he took in your shocked expression and realized his mistake. “I—well, not like that—what I meant was—” he spluttered, trying to find the right words, thankful that his helmet hid his mortified expression.

“No, no it’s okay I—I know what you meant,” you managed to choke out after picking your jaw up off the floor. It would have been comical—the certain and capable bounty hunter struggling to regain his composure—but his words had flooded your mind with some less than innocent thoughts and images, ones that left you heated and flustered. You swallowed hard in an attempt to relieve your suddenly very dry throat. “I can, if you’re okay with it?”

He slowly nodded, mentally kicking himself for being so daft. He held his breath as you stepped closer, bracing a hand low on his chest as you perched yourself on his lap. You cursed, trying to your best to maneuver yourself onto him without being inappropriate.

Finally, you were situated, hovering precariously over his thigh. You breathed deep, willing your mind and body to calm down. Being in such close proximity to the Mandalorian was… dizzying, but you had a job to do. And so, you went to work.

A few minutes in, Mando could feel the tension rolling off your body, the tremble of your thighs as you tried to hold yourself above him. “You can sit if you need to.”

The thought had crossed your mind, but truthfully you were afraid of how your body would react if you did. Eventually you gave in, shivering at the cold kiss of beskar on the insides of your thighs as you straddled his leg. A knot was forming in your belly, low and warm.

Maker, help me, you thought.

The change in position had slid your dress higher and Mando’s eyes began to wander again, taking in the exposed skin where your dress had hiked itself up, the material bunching around your hips. His hands felt that pull again, that ache to touch you; to dig his fingers into the soft, plump flesh.

Osik, he cursed, trying to control himself. In his mind he conjured up the image of a blaster, mentally taking it apart and putting it back together as a pitiful attempt at a distraction.

You had fallen into a steady rhythm of stitching and knotting, your hands absentmindedly working. The Mandalorian had fallen into a dull haze in the wake of your delicate touches, despite the sting and pull of the needle. But when your hands brushed the edge of his helmet, he snapped to attention, reflexes kicking in.

A strong hand had immediately encircled your wrist, forcefully locking it in place. Your breath seized at the realization of your colossal fuck-up. How could you be so stupid?

“Shit, shit, I—I’m sorry,” you stammered out. “Mando, I—I promise I wasn’t going to take it off, I just needed to adjust it to get the needle under.” Your heart thundered against your chest, and you swear you could hear it in the empty silence of the cockpit. The iron-clad grip he had on your wrist was starting to hurt, biting into your skin.

Mando saw the flash of fear in your eyes, the way you had flinched at his touch and loosened the grip on your hand. Regret began to bubble up inside him. He opened his mouth to apologize, it had just been his instincts, but you beat him to it. Your next words caught him off guard.

“Do you trust me?”

He swallowed hard. Of course he did. There was no question about it. You were the one constant in his life besides the kid; the one he found he could rely on time and time again for anything. You had never betrayed him, in Creed or otherwise. He took a steadying breath before answering. “Yes.”

You tried to ignore the burst of warmth in your chest at his admission and what it implied. Instead, you nodded, slowly allowing yourself to move again and continue your care. “Lean back,” you whispered and he obliged, fully baring his neck to you. It was a vulnerable position, but the cautious movements of your hands crushed any anxiety that threatened to well up in him.

And maybe it was that cautious, careful touch that had begun to wear down his walls; the tenderness you so freely gave that softened his heart and opened him up. He wanted to make up the last minute to you, to show that he really did trust you. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t stop the next thing that tumbled out of his mouth.

“Din.”

You paused mid-stitch, confusion flickering on your face. “What’d you say?”

His heart felt like it was going to fly out of his ribcage. “My name. It’s Din.”

Confusion slowly morphed to shock at his revelation. He had just shared his name with you; something incredibly personal and dear to him. Knowing it felt… intimate. How many people actually knew his real name? You couldn’t stop that slow smile that had begun to spread on your face.

“Din,” you repeated, hushed as if someone else would hear. His heart skipped at the sound of his name on your lips; the soft way your voice curled around the short syllable. Your eyes peered into his through the visor of his helmet, a question behind them. “Just ‘Din’?”

“Din Djarin,” he corrected.

You repeated it again, delight clear on your face. “I like it.”

I do too, he thought. Especially when you say it. “You can use it whenever, as long as we’re alone or it’s just the kid.”

“Of course,” you nodded, then added a soft, “Thank you.” For trusting me.

The two of you had settled back into a comfortable silence, his hands resting comfortably on your hips, and Din couldn’t fathom why you kept biting back a smile. You were the first to break it.

“I’m sorry, for all this.”

“It’s fine, it’s not that painful.”

You shook your head. “No, I mean—” you gestured at his neck and then to you. “He was aiming for me.”

He scoffed. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’d let anything happen to you.” You could hear the anger beginning to simmer beneath his words again. “No, I… I would protect you every single time. Besides, that osi’yaim got what he deserved in the end.”

Your eyes flicked to his visor again and you tried to ignore the way the knot in your belly tightened at his promise to you and the shiver his low voice sent down your spine. Instead, you tried to change the subject. “Osi’yaim?”

“A useless, despicable person. A waste of space.”

A soft laugh escaped you lips. “You need to teach more Mando’a. Something besides the bad words.”

Din’s heart clenched at your request. Something about you asking to learn his language stirred something deep in him. “Of course,” he managed to reply, but it came out more strangled than he had meant it to.

You continued with your task, getting lost in the repeated movements of your fingers.

Watching you work had always fascinated Din. You granted each injury the same amount of attention, whether it was as small as a papercut or as big as the gash he had now. It was endearing. The meticulous way you ensured every stitch, every bandage, was perfect and in place. The adept movements of your fingers, steady with every touch. The way you bit your lip and furrowed your brow as you concentrated.

He was captivated by it, and you, every time.

His gaze was concealed by his helmet most of the time, but tonight you could feel the weight of his eyes on you. Your cheeks began to burn at the thought of him staring at you so closely and you thanked the maker that he couldn’t see the crimson hue painting your face.

“Are you warm?” he asked, the low rumble of his voice startling you.

“What?”

“You’ve been shivering since you started, but… you’re all flushed,” he explained.

Your eyes widened at his words, heart stopping. “Wait—how can you see my—”

“Heat sensors.” Din couldn’t help but notice the way the heat on your face spread even more, down the soft slopes of your neck and chest.

Of course, heat sensors. You were absolutely mortified, a nervous laugh erupting from your chest. May as well be honest.

“No, not warm, more like embarrassed,” you tried to explain, unable to meet his eyes.

Din tilted his head, trying to understand. “Why?”

You scoffed. “’Cause I just realized I’ve been sticking my ugly mug in your face for the past 20 minutes.”

Din was dumbfounded. Ugly? The mere thought of you seeing yourself in that way made his heart ache. How could you think such a thing when he saw you as the most radiant thing in this galaxy? That, every time he saw you, he had to remind himself to breathe?

He had no idea what the in blazes he was doing, but he knew that he couldn’t let you go on thinking such things about yourself. Din reached out and tilted your chin up towards him, making you meet his eyes.

“Cyar’ika, you are the furthest thing from ugly that someone could be. I—you are absolutely stunning. Do you—do you know what seeing you in that dress tonight did to me?” he confessed, letting out a breathy laugh. The front of his pants tightened in reminder. “I’ll teach you something new in Mando’a right now.” He paused, letting his fingers brush over your chin. “Mesh’la.”

It felt like you were on fire at that point, burning under his gaze, but somehow you found your voice underneath all the flames. “What does it mean?” you breathed, unable to mask the tremble in your voice.

“Beautiful,” he murmured. “You’re beautiful.”

Your body betrayed you, melting into a puddle with just a taste of his touch and the boldness of his words. It was a devastating effect, and there was no denying the dampness that had pooled between your legs now. You managed to stutter out a, ‘thank you’ before trying to finish the last knot of his stitches.

“All done,” you whispered.

Din watched as you admired your handiwork and noticed that you made no move to remove yourself from him. Instead, your hands were softly dragging across the planes of his exposed chest, leaving a trail of fire wherever they went. It was such a foreign feeling, flesh against flesh on such a shielded part of his body. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him there, let alone so gently.

A strangled sound caught in his throat as you brushed over a particularly sensitive spot, just above the other side of his collarbone. It was almost too much, the shot of electricity that singed his nerves, but it felt good.

His body involuntarily bucked at the sensation and his hands gripped your hips roughly, pressing you flush against him.

You gasped at the sensation, of your clothed core dragging against the beskar plate on his thigh, your knee brushing against the bulge that had tented his pants. Your hands scrabbled to find something, anything, to anchor yourself from the blinding pleasure that fizzled through you.

“Maker,” Din murmured, letting out a shuddering breath. “Osik, cyar’ika, I’m didn’t mean to touch you like that but—”

“But what if I want you to?” your own voice sounding foreign to your ears. You did not miss the way his breath hitched, caught in the modulator of his helmet.

Din’s mind was reeling. “You—you want me to?” he swallowed thickly around the ball of shock that was caught in his throat.

And you’re nodding, eyes dark and body and mind clouded with need, leading his hands up your torso and chest; but Din, he needs to hear you say it. “Use your words, cyar’ika. I need to hear you.”

“Yes, Din. Please,” and that’s enough to dissolve any shred of self-control he thought he had. The sound of you saying his name like that, a plea for him and only him, was maddening.

His hands were on you in an instant; hands that you had seen nearly beat a man to death just for touching you, but on you they were soft, gentle. Desperate, but tender. Rough, but passionate and loving. The contrast was making your head spin.

“Din,” you whimpered. “You have to be careful, your cut—”

“I don’t care,” he rasped. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to touch you? Make you mine?” He pulled you closer against him, hands grasping at anything he could reach. He wanted to erase any trace of the bounty from your presence.

You tried to answer, but you were a mess, filling the cockpit with soft moans and mewls as you bucked your hips on his thigh.

“I want to watch you make yourself feel good, can you do that? Just like this?” You frantically bobbed your head. “Good,” he answered, stroking your cheek. “You deserve it after tonight, sweet girl.”

The sound of ‘sweet girl’ sent wet heat straight to your core. If anything, you thought he was the one that deserved to be taken care of right now. But you were not about to argue with the Mandalorian who insisted on you using him to get yourself off.

Your hands pawed at his chest again, struggling to find some kind of purchase to anchor yourself. They finally settled for his biceps, nails digging deep. He watched as you grinded down on his thigh, eyes screwed shut. His hands fingered the strap of your dress and you nodded, giving him permission to slide it down.

Din took in the sight of your bare chest, your nipples pebbling in the cold air of the cockpit. He ached to take them into his mouth, hear you whimper and moan against his tongue, but he settled for brushing his gloved fingers over them and watching you arch.

You ground down harder, desperate you get the friction you needed. Din’s hands slipped from your breasts down back to your hips, stilling them. A high whine escaped your throat and it was almost pitiful.

“Up,” he instructed, confusion marring your face as you lifted yourself off his leg. He gripped the thigh plate and dropped it to the ground, promptly setting you back onto his thigh. “Wanna feel you,” he growled, and you could only moan in response.

Soon enough, your arousal had seeped through your panties and onto the fabric of his pants. The heady smell hit his nose and his mouth watered, desperate to know what you tasted like, to know what sounds you would make if he buried his face between your thighs.

You guided his hands back up your chest, up to your neck. His fingers cupped your face again, thumb brushing the bottom of your lip. You held his hand in place, biting the leather tip of his glove and slowly slid it off, letting it drop between you.

The feeling of his bare thumb resting on your lips sent another wave of arousal through you. “Wanna feel you,” you breathed, grinning before taking his thumb into your mouth and sucking hard. Din’s eyes rolled back and he groaned; the sight of your hollowed-out cheeks and the sensation of your tongue on the pad of his thumb nearly sent him over the edge.

One hand trailed to the base of your neck, tangling itself softly in your hair. He took in the way your eyes were screwed shut, the furrow in your brows as you chased your high. You had taken your bottom lip between your teeth, biting hard and almost splitting it from the pressure. It was almost the same concentrated expression you wore as you tended to his injuries, though it was clear you were concentrated on something far more rewarding now.

“Mesh’la,” he commanded. “Look at me.”

You wretched your eyes open, fixing your gaze on him.

Din watched, enraptured, as you continued to pleasure yourself. You were a sight before him; pupils blown, mouth agape, chest heaving as you tried to ease the ache in your belly. He was lost in the way your eyes sparkled, perfectly matching the dark galaxy you were set against just outside the viewport.

Your moans filled the cockpit, desperate sounds and pleads of Din’s name as he sent delicious licks of pleasure throughout your body. You held on for dear life, panting as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

He feels the tension simmering from your shuddering figure, like a coil just waiting to spring.

“Are you close, mesh’la?” he whispered, his words and the rasp of his voice sending you higher and higher. “Are you going to come for me?”

And you’re a wreck, whimpering and pleading, yes, Din, yes; and all Din can think is he can die happy knowing how you moan his name. He shifts you, pulls you right onto the straining bulge in his pants and you both gasp, the sensation pulling you even closer to your orgasm. A bare hand snakes between where the two of you are pressed against each other and he presses right onto your clit.

A sob tears from your throat and stars burst behind your eyes as you’re pushed off the edge; and you’re falling, waves of ecstasy washing over you and burning straight to your toes. Din holds you close as your body continues to shudder, a steady hand on your back coaxing you down from your high. He lets out a groan when he feels evidence of your orgasm seep through to his clothed cock.

Fog clouds the bottom of his helmet as you softly pant, the pleasure lulling to a dull thrum in your veins. He’s admiring your sleepy eyes, the flushed cheeks of your afterglow. You give off a shy smile, peering into his visor. “Beautiful,” he murmurs right next to your ear. “Just like I said.”

“Thank you,” you hum, pressing a searing kiss onto his bare neck and sliding a hand over the hardness trapped beneath you.

Din hisses at your touch and you laugh, trying to ease the ache between his own legs. “Mesh’la,” he warns, grunting at the loss of contact as you lift yourself off him and slide between his knees, kneeling.

“Yes?” you respond, sliding your hands up and down his thighs, and pausing at the button of his pants.

“You don’t have to—” he starts, but you quickly cut him off.

“But I want to, Din,” you assured. You rest your head on his knee, peering up at him with wide, innocent eyes, awaiting his permission. “Wanna return the favor, wanna taste you,” and you grin at the strangled sound that leaves his throat. He couldn’t deny you even if he wanted to.

Finally, he nods, spreading his legs wider to accommodate you. Your smile grows and your nimble fingers make quick work of the buttons on his pants. You’re just about to free him from the confines of his boxers when an alarm signal sounds from the ship, startling the both of you.

“Come in, Mando,” Greef Karga’s voice crackled through the small room. “We’ve got a problem. I repeat, we’ve got an emergency, please come in.”

Din groans and you throw an exasperated look towards the comms on the control panel. “Just ignore him, it can’t be that—” and you’re cut off by another sound.

The unmistakable sound of a baby crying.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, pressing your forehead into Din’s knee. You loved that little green bean to death, but damn him for his horrific timing. Din softly slid his hand over yours and you looked up.

“It’s alright, cyar’ika,” he hummed. “Go check on him,” and you slowly nodded, shooting him an apologetic look before rising from your spot on the floor.

Din watched in mild amusement as you wobbled to the door, before turning his chair towards the control panel and sighing. His own arousal was almost overwhelming, but he did his best to shove it to the back of his mind.

Whatever Greef needed, it had better be good, he grumbled in his head.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

mando’a translations:

osi’kovid – shithead

skanah – very hated person, fucker

osik – shit

osi’yaim – cowardly, useless person

cyar’ika – darling, beloved

mesh’la – beautiful

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

thank you for reading! let me know what ya think!

#the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian #din djarin #star wars #star wars fanfiction #make you mine #certaindark writing #the mandalorian smut #smut #AHHHH I HOPE Y'ALL LIKE IT #IDK HOW TO TAG LOL #I’M SO NERVOUS ABOUT POSTING THIS BUT IT’S FINE #din djarin x reader

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