#that must be a tall ladder

[totalcl0wn]

local artist discovers he can draw something that isn't flower husbands(SHOCKING)

(aka saw mellon_soups new base and immediately thought of them)

[fazcinatingblog]

Looking for housemate, preferably Mason Cox height, who is adept at exterminating a nest of ants presumably coming from the top of the highest cupboard.

[kykyonthemoon]

How to function your very tall boyfriend

Having troubles reaching things that are too high for you? Don't fret. That's what having a really tall boyfriend for.

A request by Sora.

🌻 Character x F!Reader Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel and Caleb (first time writing for Caleb <3)

Tags: soft, sweet, lovers, established relationship. This fic is for short girlies like me out there <3

Masterlist

Request a fic

𝑿𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒓

You stood on tiptoe, reaching the full length of your arm towards the row of shelves in front of you. A finger touched the box but you still couldn't get it. You looked around the archives, looking for the help of a ladder, chair, or anything. Then, the door opened, and you saw Xavier's face peeking inside.

Without waiting for him to speak, you waved to your savior. You looked at him, then pointed to the box located at the highest position on the shelf. 

"You want me to get it down for you?"

You gave him a nod. And, with a gust of wind, he appeared right next to you.

Your hair was still hanging over your face from the breeze that had just passed. When you recovered consciousness, you noticed that the box you required was in Xavier's hands.

“Wooooooooow!”

That was all you could say. Your eyes widened and looked at him, mixed with admiration and gratitude.

Xavier maintained a somewhat tired expression on his face. He handed you the package and said in a calm tone:

“Do you need anything else?”

Your gaze was still locked on Xavier. As usual, he was already quite attractive, but when he rushed to your side and grabbed stuff for you in the blink of an eye, his coolness grew tremendously in proportion to your heartbeat.

"I need… that one!"

You pointed your finger at another row of shelves. In truth, you already had everything you needed for the mission, but watching more of Xavier using his skills in bringing everything from a higher place down for you wouldn't hurt.

"Okay."

As soon as he finished speaking, Xavier dashed to the shelf before returning to your side. All in a blink of an eye!

"That one too!" You pointed your finger in another way. "This one! That one! Two up there!…”

In only a few minutes, all the boxes stacked on high shelves were brought down and placed around you to form a wall made of cardboard.

"Woooooooow! "Xavier, you're so cool!"

You couldn't help but blurt out, causing the skin on his face below his blue eyes to grow scarlet. He came closer, put the last box in your hand and said:

“I've taken down all the things from higher shelves for you. Isn't it time I received my reward?”

Caught off guard when he suddenly leaned closer, you blushed a little in reply:

“Y-You… What do you want then…?…”

Xavier smiled mysteriously. He turned sideways and pointed at his cheek.

“You already know.”

Embarrassed, you placed a quick kiss on it. Xavier seemed unsatisfied.

“You really don't need all of these boxes, right? I heard that Jena will cut off the bonuses if she catches anyone tampering with the team's records. I can assist you clean up, but the prize must be more than this."

You chuckled. You'd become accustomed to his solicitation tactics.

"Please help me then. I assure you'll be pleased with the latter prize." After that, you lifted up his chin and gave Xavier an even deeper kiss on the opposite cheek.

𝒁𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆

You were used to visiting Zayne's house every weekend or on days off. Even when he was not home, you still liked to be there waiting for his return. You had a habit of eating snacks, especially sweets. So you brought a lot of things to his house to eat together. And always, he kept them nicely organized in the refrigerator or cupboards over the stove.

But sometimes, he put them out of your reach. At moments like that, you called out his name from the kitchen.

“Doctor Zayne. Doctor Zayne. Doctor Zayneeeee.”

He appeared soon after. On the bridge of his nose was still a pair of reading glasses. He carefully adjusted it and sighed.

“What do you need this time?”

“That jar of fruit gummies.” You pointed at it.

“I'm not your ladder.” Despite his grumbling, Zayne still took it down for you. With his height, it did not appear to be a problem at all.

"Thank you." You said. “I don't want to bother you. Why did you have to put my snacks so high up there?”

“I put it away so some sweet-loving worm doesn't eat too much.”

“I'm not a worm.” You replied, pouting. Zayne patted your head.

"Alright. Would you like anything else?"

Zayne kept telling you not to eat too many snacks, but he still took them all down. He separated them into parts and placed them on a large plate. The rest was put away to make sure you did not consume too much.

Knowing he was concerned about your health, you didn't ask for anything else but ate all of the treats he brought out. However, it was only when Zayne was away that you could properly appreciate his caring nature. Outside your snack cupboard was a letter with Zayne's handwritten words, which you took forever to read. It turned out he had moved your food to another place within your reach. Inside that cabinet was a candy tray with a lid. Zayne had prepared everything for you, with one additional note: Don't eat too much.

You burst out laughing. In response to his concern, you decided to rearrange his working space. Because he had left in a hurry to go to the hospital that day, his books were still not put away. That night, you caught him walking back and forth in front of his bookshelf, his expression rather serious.

“Did you rearrange the bookshelf?”

"Yes."

You replied. He placed his both hands on the bookshelf in front of him, skimming through the book titles printed on the spine. The book he had been reading in the morning was nowhere to be seen. Rather, you slithered right into the gap between his arms, making him turn to face you.

The sudden close distance made him a bit surprised. However, he maintained his composure and gazed down at you. The book he was looking for was in your hand. He smiled:

"What's wrong? You couldn't put it back since you found its place to be too high?"

You said with a pout, "If that's the case, then I won't give it to you."

You hid the book behind your back. WWho would have imagined that Dr. Zayne would boldly lean down, one arm around your waist to draw you in, while the other hand taking the book away from you.

You could hear his heartbeat matching yours as he pressed his body against you to return that book to its proper place on the shelf. He looked down at you, who was extremely confused. You asked:

“Aren't you going to read it?”

"No. I'm preoccupied with something else.”

He leaned down again, and kissed you.

𝑹𝒂𝒇𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒍

Your favorite store had just been redecorated, and the items you needed had been moved elsewhere. Most of them were within your reach, but some decorations with lights were located high up. You turned around to look for help, but the store staff was already busy with another customer. So you looked in the other direction, where you found Rafayel staring at some little decorative fish bowls.

“Rafayel. Please help me get this thing.”

Rafayel turned to face whichever way your finger was pointing. He would waste no effort to reach the lamp you needed. He placed his hand on a spherical night lamp.

"Is this the one?"

"Not that one. The one in purple.”

His hand went to another. "This?"

“Nooooo. I said the purple one…”

"This one has purple in it." Rafayel put his hand on a purple lamp, but it wasn't what you wanted.

“Rafayel. The purple one. In the shape of a jellyfish."

“Hmm…” Rafayel pretended not to see what you described, even though it was right in front of him. "All I see is a seahorse and a whale."

He's definitely teasing you. You scowled:

“I'm not joking with you, Rafayel. Get the jellyfish lamp!”

“Are you sure?” He reposed the question with great seriousness. “This jellyfish is so ugly and painful to look at that my eyes automatically ignore it.”

You puffed your cheeks and said each word clearly: “Take. That. Jellyfish. Lamp!"

"Okay." Rafayel gave a shrug. At last, his hand found the precise object you wanted. He lifted it. But instead of placing it in your eagerly outstretched palms, he put it on a higher shelf.

“Rafayel!” YYou yelled out of rage. He grinned from ear to ear.

“Here, you told me to take it, so I took it. You didn't mention that I had to give it to you"

“You!… Argghhh!…”

You were so furious that you failed to speak. You stood on your tiptoes and jumped up, trying to grab the item, but Rafayel raised the object entirely.

“Give it to me! Give it to me!” You danced in a circle around Rafayel, who was clutching the jellyfish lamp like a trophy. All eyes in the store turned to both of you. You stopped. Your face was red, both from anger and embarrassment.

You looked at Rafayel, who was teasing you with that handsome but punchable face. Then, like a light bulb had just turned on in your head, you thought of a way to "repress" him.

Your hands stretched out. Rafayel thought you were aiming for the lamp so he raised it even higher. But it was his collar you were after. He wasn't on guard so you pulled him down so easily, so close. Until your lips touch his delicate ones.

Rafayel rolled his eyes. He was so surprised. Taking advantage of the situation when his arm was gradually falling, you immediately grabbed the jellyfish lamp and stepped back, holding it triumphantly in your arms.

“Ha! I snatched it from you!”

Rafayel was in disbelief. He had earlobes the color of ripe tomatoes. With one hand softly brushing his lips, he turned to face you.

“You… cheated.” He said, "In that case, you can snatch me too!"

𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒃

It had been a long time since both Caleb and you had a chance to go home to visit Grandma. A family meal was inevitable. He took you to the supermarket near your house to shop and prepare dinner.

Caleb knew too much about your taste. You simply followed him and let him select nearly everything. But when you were walking by the snack shelves, your gaze unintentionally paused at the top row, where there was a particular kind of cookie that you and Caleb used to enjoy together as children.

After noticing your halt, Caleb turned to face you.

“Oh, they still sell this?” He spoke up.

“I want to buy it!” You told him. One hand reached up but you couldn't get the snacks. You heard Caleb laughing hysterically next to you. You folded your arms and pouted: "What are you laughing at?" Why don't you get it for me?"

"I assumed you could handle anything on your own since you're already an adult." Caleb made a joke. “Remember when we were kids? Every time you couldn't reach something, you ran to me and tugged my arm?”

You reminisced about your childhood days. Whenever you needed to get something from a high place, the first person you called was Caleb. He would bend down so you could climb on his shoulders and then carry you like that until you got what you wanted.

“Yeah. I remember." You replied. “But why— Ouch!”

Caleb suddenly bent down, wrapped his muscular arms around your thighs and lifted you up.

“Caleb?! What are you doing?!" Your arms wrapped around Caleb's neck, holding on tight as if your life depended on this. You looked down at Caleb's grinning face. He responded:

“I'm helping you get your cookies.”

“N-Not like this!…” You blushed. You had grown up and no longer the innocent little girl you used to be. Being lifted up by him like this made you extremely timid. “People… People are looking at us…”

“Ignore them.” Caleb paid no attention to his surroundings. “Just look at me.”

You felt the heat radiating from your cheeks. Caleb didn't stop there, he asked you:

"Ready?"

"Huh?"

Without waiting for your response, he spun around so fast in that posture, which made you scream suddenly. You leaned entirely on Caleb, counting on him to keep you both balanced. He continued to rotate a few more times, before becoming lightheaded himself. Then he came to a complete halt and rested his back against the shelf.

You both burst into laughter. Laughing until your stomach muscles start to hurt. But Caleb still didn't let you go. He breathed heavily and said:

“I just remembered. Besides helping you get things from high places, I also helped you climb that wall when you snuck out without Gran knowing!"

“It was completely your idea!” You pinched his nose. “After that, both of us got grounded by Grandma.”

"Sorry." Caleb chuckled. “Shall I make it up to you with cookies?”

“Then help me up a little higher.” You uttered it out with joy. “Let's buy all the cookies here!”

[mv1simp]

Haunted ♥️ Part 1 of 2

Alpha!Max Verstappen x Reader (Omegaverse AU)

it’s where we go, it’s what you see (I know if i’m onto you, you must be onto me)

As Mercedes’ rookie female driver, you garner a lot of media attention, even more when you reveal you haven’t presented. You don’t care about true mates or presenting - all you wanted was the championship. You’d be a lot closer to it, if it wasn’t for the dominating Alpha Max Verstappen. But after your late presentation, you two realize there’s a lot more to your bond than competition.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, size kink, primal themes, dom!Max, Sub!Reader, enemies to lovers. WC: 5.4k

Triumphantly holding the trophy up in your hands, you beam at the sea of black and white fans who scream their approval. Winning your second race after having fought your way throughout the season as the new Mercedes driver was an unforgettable feeling - sealing in that it was your talent, not luck that got you the first. And no one had given you a harder time and held up your long overdue win than the reigning world champion - Max Verstappen. Turning to your right, you reward him with a smirk as your national anthem finally plays instead of the Dutch one.

He doesn’t hide his frustrated glare at you from his P2 podium that instinctively makes you want to sprint away and hide in your safe garage behind Toto. You’re a bit annoyed he’s still taller than you, even though you’re on the highest step. One of the downsides of being 5 foot compared to Max’s tall 6 foot frame - but that hasn’t stopped you from finally taking the win from him and proving how deserving of your seat you are, you remind yourself.

As the first female driver in decades, you’d sent shock waves through the paddock when Mercedes had pulled you out of the F4 pool and straight into their seat after the loss of their golden boy, Lewis Hamilton, to Ferrari. What had been even more shocking was the fact that you were an Unpresented female in a sport that was almost exclusively dominated by Alpha males.

Like the majority of premier athletes, most of the drivers had presented from a very young age as Alphas. Unsurprising - given the traits of ruthless competitiveness, aggression and passion that came naturally to Alphas. And out of all this group of already highly dominating drivers, Max Verstappen was the alpha, well known for his perfect instincts, the ultimate apex predator. His early career was famous because of how, at 17, his intimidating aura had been enough to make grown men racing on the same track give way to the younger alpha. This automatic submission Max was able to elicit from others was one of the many, many benefits that came with being an Alpha in society - especially for one such a powerful as Max.

So when you - who was not an Alpha, or even a Beta, but rather an Unpresented - showed up to the paddock for your first ever race and then ended up somehow going wheel to wheel with the reigning world champion by Lap 20, jaws dropped and headlines were rapidly printed. Presenting as an Alpha was rare, an Omega even rarer - with the majority of the population being Beta. However a small population also remained Unpresented, spending their whole lives without any sign they belonged to any gender. Essentially, you were like a scentless Beta - but just several rungs below on the social ladder as Alpha commands had minimal effect on you. It could be worse, you had mused when started racing - you could have been born an Omega.

Omegas were a rare breed and highly sought after. With their attributes of being sweetly nurturing and natural carers - they made the perfect match for protective Alphas. Of course, as the world had historically always been ruled by Alphas, in turn Omegas had been stereotyped as the soft, submissive, delicate ones who needed to be closely guarded in society’s eyes.

So it had been suprising to you that there were not one, but two Omega drivers on the paddock this year. Yuki Tsunoda made sense, you supposed, with his slight frame and pretty features giving him away. But he certainly swore so aggressively up and down the track he’d have the commentators asking if maybe he had been assigned the wrong group. Alex Albon had been much more surprising with his very Alpha-like build - but given his quietly confident aura and gentle nature compared to the other drivers who were always aggressively arguing, it made sense looking back. And it had been even more surprising when he announced he’d found his true mate and Alpha, his girlfriend Lily.

Really, you were grateful you didn’t have the drama that came with being assigned a presentation. Even if it meant you would never have a true mate, you could live with it if you could have a shot at being world champion. But goddamn Max Verstappen, with his intense gaze and powerful aura that even you would feel tickling the back of your neck, across the paddock, would keep getting in your way. Your first P1 though, 2 months ago in Japan, you hadn’t let him win and successfully defended him off. It was the only advantage of being Unpresented - unlike the other Alphas and Omegas on the track, you were the least affected by his suffocating presence and used that to your advantage when pulling dangerous manoeuvres that vexed the Dutch driver to no end.

And he’d certainly let you know it after your first win - after a neutral indifference to you when you approached him on your first day to greet him, unlike the majority of the drivers who’d curiously flocked to the first female one. But after you took P1 from him, he claimed angrily, with dirty fucking moves, what was that overtake on the 2nd corner- you’d formed an instant dislike of him. Just because you didn’t bend to his will like everyone else?! Just because you’d won using the same move - you pointed out to him furiously - that he’d used to overtake you on the last race?

The pair of you had become quick rivals, butting heads more and more as each race went on and providing lots of great content for the media which ate it up. Sometimes Max would confuse you into thinking you were friends - occasionally murmuring helpful advice as you watched the post race highlights in the cooldown room, or shutting down sexist questions you’re repeatedly asked in the driver interviews. You’d think this was the warm, caring Max that you’d heard existed off the grid. But then you two would have some racing incident or the other and he’d be back to the fire breathing lion he usually was.

That first P1 in Japan had been bittersweet to you - because after your argument with Max, when you’d gone back to your hotel to admire your new trophy, you’d started to becoming increasingly unwell for a few days and had high fevers. You hadn’t even realised what was going on until your Beta coach banged on the door demanding to be let in, before saying you were finally presenting, 5 years late, as an Omega.

You’d been shocked and upset, of course, leading to a very traumatic first heat in a foreign country where although the desire and lust hadn’t been intense, the longing for an Alpha to comfort and protect you as you cried and whined has been so overwhelming. You had never wanted to feel anything like that again, so disempowered - so you had sworn your manager to secrecy and after a very private meeting with you, your teammate George Russell, your managers and a very concerned Toto Wolff - you’d tearfully told them what had happened. You’d expected to be dropped from the team, but they had taken one look at your distress and instantly calmed you down. Mercedes will most certainly not be dropping their very promising rookie, who had just taken P1 at her 4th ever F1 race, Toto had reassured you firmly, exuding calm confidence as he handed you a tissue. George’s large hand rubbed warm circles on your back and within a few minutes you’re laughing at jokes the two tall Alphas made to cheer you up, unable to resist the urge to protect the small Omega in front of them and using their scents to soothe you.

Regardless of how understanding your team principal had been, the fact was it would be terrible PR for you to publically present as an Omega female and risk the loss of sponsors. Given that the first heat after the presentation was notorious for being especially painful in an effort to attract a fated mate from the very start, Toto had guided you to a discreet specialist doctor to ensure the world continued to believe you were Unpresented. You’re relieved, hating the idea of being stereotyped as something delicate and pretty to be protected when you were anything but. You literally drove like a suicidal madwoman at 300km/hr for a career! So you’d promptly been started on high strength suppressors to avoid any issues with a first heat happening in the middle of a race weekend, and a couple sprays of sweet perfume later no one would be any the wiser if they picked up on any residual Omega scent that the suppressors couldn’t block.

So here you were now, celebrating your second win in Barcelona with a few of the drivers and friends at a 3 story club downtown. Although you’d been enjoying drinking and laughing with your friends, you’d been unable to stop the shivers that ran down your bare spine from your rival’s intense gaze, still simmering with anger, across the dancefloor where he was talking to Lando. You hated the way that you still felt so affected by him, by his scent that always seemed to drift over to you, always smelling more and more heady each time you saw him. And the urge to submit to him was just stupid and desperate, you thought, rolling your eyes and taking another shot. It turns out your “slutty inner omega whore” as you had not-so-fondly dubbed her, seemed more interested in having a strong Alpha’s dick inside her, instead of hating said Alpha for trying to run her off the track. Multiple times.

And tonight, the suppressants were clearly not doing their job because you couldn’t control the way you squeezed your thighs together, panties suddenly damp with the thought of an alpha like Max keeping his eyes on you - instead of the girls who had been throwing themselves at him the second he’s entered the club. You tell your inner slut who delighted in this attention to get it together, because the attention was likely murderous rage from the competitive Dutch champion at losing a race. Forcing yourself to ignore the prickles down your spine, you take another shot instead and head back to the dance floor.

Many, many drunk dances with your girlfriends later, you found yourself safely dropped off at the hotel. Pressing the button, you waited patiently for it to come down, fanning your face because you felt strangely hot in the night chill despite having left the club. And then you feel it - that heady, dominating aura that makes you want to fall to your knees. Spinning around, you see Max standing there, dressed in a rare outfit of a fitted white tee and tight pants, accentuating his broad shoulders and thick thighs. Fuck, you had forgotten Redbull was staying in the same hotel as your team this weekend.

He smirks at you, asking if you’d had a good night celebrating, because it’ll be the last win he’ll let you have this year, Princess. You despised the nickname he’s given you over the Redbull radio one race, and how it had stuck in the media too - the pretty little Mercedes princess. You give him an unimpressed glare and tell him to fuck off, Verstappen as you get in the elevator, staying right by the front with your back purposely to him. As the doors close, you can’t help but notice through the reflective wall how Max’s dark gaze unabashedly wanders down your body, enjoying the sight of your curvy, petite form dressed in a backless halter satin minidress and stiletto heels that accentuated your thick ass. Forbidden delight curls in your abdomen from the thought of an alpha as strong as Max finding you desirable. A deeper part of you - one that you would never admit to anyone - can’t deny that you desperately wanted Max to want you, having always idolised him before you joined F1. That when you’d picked out this dress you wondered if Max was going to be out tonight, if he’d see you in this outfit…and find you pretty.

And you’d never, ever admit that recently you woke up with damp thighs and lingers of a dream of being underneath a dominating blonde Alpha, his voice deep and accented as he whispered for you to take it all for me, prinses…

Again, you promptly tell your inner slut to close her mental legs - just in time as the elevator opens before both your floors to let in a large group heading to the upstairs bar.

They’re a drunk, rowdy bunch of businessmen and you’re in no mood to be felt up - and you find yourself moving beside the protective aura of Max. You scowl at how you couldn’t seem to control yourself around the taller man then find yourself surprised when he moves to cover you from their curious gazes. His wide shoulders block out their view of how enticing you look as he crowds you into one corner, his back to them. You nervously make sure you don’t stare anywhere else but straight ahead at his toned chest, your heart beating at 200bpm as the desire that’s pulsing through you being this close to him. Especially when he’s decided to look so fucking hot tonight, that intoxicating deep scent making you light headed, like luxurious velvet running down your skin, like burnt amber, smoky and woody from the embers of a winter's night fire. That wicked inner omega of yours can’t stop purring at how your scandalous choice of dress gives Max a generous view down your cleavage.

The elevator comes to a stop with a sharp jolt on the businessmen’s floor, startling you out of your thoughts and you find you’ve placed a manicured hand on Max’s toned abs to steady yourself. And as soon as you touch him - the first time you’ve ever laid hands on him, you realise later - electricity crackles in between you both. His scent becomes all the much headier to you - as if all the same flavours had suddenly become 10 times amplified. It makes you whimper and again, your body betrays you with the fresh wetness that suddenly drenches your panties.

The change in the air is instant, tension clearly palpable as you nervously peek under Max’s arm and realise the group of businessmen aren’t leaving the lift - and instead all their eyes are turned in your direction with lustful gazes. You shiver but don’t hesitate to glare at them as you tell them to get out. They don’t move, looking entranced at you, when a low, threatening rumble from Max’s chest makes it very clear that you are not to be messed with - unless they wanted to go against the strongest Alpha in a 100 mile radius. Slightly tilting his head to look back at the group, Max’s narrowed eyes and threatening aura makes them run off with their figurative tail between their legs.

The elevator closed with neat ding, moving back up, and suddenly you realised you were in a very compromising position with your rival - who had definitely noticed the very Omega-like addictive, sweet smell you were giving off as a supposed “Unpresented” female.

Verstappen- you say anxiously, frantically thinking of what to say to convince him to keep your secret. But all thoughts are cut off when Max unexpectedly leans down and buries his face into your neck, making you gasp. Your hands grab his shoulders to push him away, to ask what the fuck he thought he was doing. But the words don’t even make it out of your mouth because your head is spinning from his lips now pressing kisses against your delicate collarbones. Somehow, you’re finding yourself winding your fingers in his blonde locks, which were just as soft as they looked.

By the time the elevator reaches your floor, you’re almost falling to the ground from the sensation but Max easily supports your weight against him. He’s guiding you out of the lift and trapping you against the nearest wall - and following immediately with his hard body pressed right up against your soft one. You’re whining that he needs to stop, what is he doing, you’re in a hallway for anyone to see, but he cuts you off again with his husky voice as he breathes out that this scent, your scent, princess…fuck, I’d thought it was perfume or something but it’s all you, isn’t it? I can’t get enough of how intoxicating you are.

Tilting your head back with his strong hands, he bends down to the opposite side now and shuts up your half hearted protests by licking a line straight up the column of your throat. Oh my god, your inner omega was having the time of her life right now. Max, you murmur weakly, and he sharply inhales as your gazes meet. The dark hunger in his eyes is clear when he tells you to say that again.

And when you sweetly call his name again, he’s kissing you, still leaning against the wall in the dimly lit hallway, and you automatically moan into the passionate kiss because it feels so good, so right as his lips moved against yours with a gentleness you hadn’t expected.

But when the lift dings, signalling another arrival to your floor, Max turns to look with narrowed eyes at the potential threat and you’re reminded of how wrong wrong wrong this is and how you’d lose all your sponsors if the media found out about this scandal. So you use his second of distraction to use your small frame and slip under his arms, hastily swiping your card and slamming the door behind you when you enter.

Heart beating, you lean back against the door as your replay what just happened over and over, your hands running over your tingling lips where Max’s - your rival - has just been a second ago. Across the other side, Max leans against your door just the same. He’d let you escape his hold - for now - but he wouldn’t next time, because he knew what it meant to smell a scent so divine it made him want to destroy anything that so much as glanced in your direction. That made him lose all inhibition and pin you against a wall as he desperately resisted the urge to bury his fangs in you right there. You were his fated mate, he thinks with relief, pure joy and warmth spreading across him with the idea of having you as his mate. The one who he’d not thought he’d find at age 26 after meeting countless women. And yet here you’d been the whole time, right in front of him, the only driver who drove him so wild on the track. He'd never thought about why the pretty little Unpresented driver was able to generate such strong responses from his Alpha unusually quickly. With a backwards glance to your room where you safely hid, Max wandered away, contemplating how he was going to claim his Omega who hated him.

Meanwhile, the kiss has sent you into an absolute flurry of panic, trying to come up with ways of convincing your rival to keep your secret, having no idea why he suddenly found your scent irresistible. Your half baked plans came to an end when Max texted you the next day to meet him in the hotel lobby to talk. No fucking way, you texted back furiously, so you can get me alone and kiss me again without my permission?

You’d flown back to Monaco an hour later, ignoring Max’s replies. Clearly, he seemed as troubled by this…situation as you were, and judging by the fact you hadn’t woken up to headlines about you secretly being an Omega, it seems Max was keeping your secret - for now, at least. And you were terribly confused by how good his kiss had made you feel, even though you were furious with how he’d done it without asking, as if you belonged to him.

So you decide to ignore Max for the whole week, but when he shows up at your apartment door unexpectedly, you couldn’t hold him off. We need to talk, he’d said tersely, and that’s how you found yourself on the apartment rooftop - surprised that Max hadn’t barged his way into your apartment. In fact, he stood well away from you, leaning against the railing and looking out towards the setting Monaco sun over the pristine Mediterranean waters as you watched his back uncertainly. Just when you were going to ask him what he wanted, he began telling you the story of how his Alpha father, Jos, had claimed his Omega mother, Sophie before she had been ready. You tilted your head, confused. You were very familiar with that particular media scandal - where Jos had deliberately performed the claiming, the ancient ritualistic tradition of an Alpha marking an Omega as theirs - in the peak of Sophie’s career, and had illegally used their mating bond to manipulate her into early retirement and focus on the family instead. It left a bitter taste in your mouth, of how no court or laws could protect an Omega fully from the abuse of a controlling Alpha.

I- I know about your parent’s story, it was quite…anyways, why are you bringing it up now? Max didn’t answer your question, turning around instead to face you. You felt that same fluttering beating of your heart as his intense blue gaze locked in on your doe eyed brown one. After she was able to get the divorce, he continued, she finally found her true mate. And she told me about the difference she’d felt, in how my father and her mate had treated her, how one had made her into the wife he wanted and the other had protected her as she chose to life she wanted for herself.

You’re truly confused now about why he’s still on this topic, and tell him that you’d even spoken with his mother when you began racing about her advice as a female on the track, and you’d expressed your sympathies for how hard it must have been to have her career tarnished so early by an abusive Alpha. Being her son was one of the few things you actually respected about him. Thinking he was foreshadowing what he was going to ask of you, your scent became sour with anger. So, out with it, Verstappen, you demanded, what’s your blackmail plan, I know you know about me being an Omega, are you going to make me promise not to try for P1 because you can forget it-

Max cut you off then, stepping forward and making you tilt your head back to look up at him. You wanted to step back so desperately, knowing what happened last time he was so close - but that inner omega vixen of yours was far too satisfied with the reassuring, soft spicy scent Max was now gently emitting. You hadn’t even known he was capable of anything other than the intense scent he used to dominate on the track.

No, schat, Max says softly. I’m not going to tell anyone anything you don’t want shared. Or use it against you. I wanted to tell you my parents story…to show you my father is the kind of Alpha I don’t want to become. I don’t want anyone to go through what my mother did. You can literally feel your body relaxing from his reassuring words, with the way he had called you darling in Dutch for the first time, from his soft look and scent. And it pisses you off to no end, that he can use his biology to make you feel like this - you’d had no idea the effect from an Alpha could be this strong on you. You realize you’ve involuntarily said that out loud when he tells you it isn’t normal for you to react this intensely to an Alpha, but it’s because it’s him that you’re reacting to. At your perplexed look, he’s reminded that your parents are both Betas and you had very limited knowledge of presentations, compared to his own family which were exclusively Alpha-Omega mates for generations.

Because…because we’re rivals? You ask, those sweet doe eyes of yours blinking up at him and making the urge to protect you bloom deep in his chest. Unfortunately for his inner alpha, he was about to cause you a lot of distress with his next words.

Because - Max swallowed, because, schat, we’re true mates. I’m your Alpha, if you’ll have me.

The distress that comes off you is instant and makes Max want to jump off the balcony railing, if it means ending your despair. You’re stammering out your shock, confusion, and then just straight denial at his claim, insisting it can’t be true - but he watches you with an apologetic expression, only speaking after a long time once you’ve let out all your conflicting emotions. He softly explains why it was true, that you might not know because your own parents weren’t a true match but what happened in the elevator, the reaction to each other’s scents - it was the first step to prime you two for the claiming.

He can see the colour drain from your face, flushed caramel skin now going pale as your distress turns to pure rage, steeped with fear - of him, Max realises. So that's why you're pretending to be so nice, isn't it? you question hotly, so that I say yes to your claiming just for you to use it order me to leave racing? And you'll act like its so different to your parents-

Max can't bear this foreign pain in his chest any longer, each furious word from you twisting a knife into his heart. His inner alpha is screaming at him to comfort and console you, so he does just that by stepping forward again and taking your small form into his large arms, forming a secure hold around you. Your annoyed shriek is muffled against his toned chest, but after a few seconds you calm down once he says, sounding so unusually desperate, he will never do the claiming until you ask him too, even if that's well after your racing career finishes. You pause, hearing the genuine sincerity in his words, and somehow deep within you a sense tells you that Max is telling the truth. As his warm, large hands soothingly rub circles on your back, you find yourself closing your eyes and lean into him, your french manicured hands pressing against his firm muscles and hearing his strong heartbeat through his chest.

You stay like that for a long time, slowly processing everything he's told you, until the sunset disappears over the Monaco horizon and the bright city lights emerge. At some point his arms have wrapped around your soft waist, one hand firmly on your hip and the other cradling your head against him, softly stroking your dark curls. If anyone had told you a month ago that you'd find yourself in this position with goddamn Max Verstappen you'd have laughed them off the track. But here you are, your inner omega purring with satisfaction at the secure embrace of your strong Alpha. You find yourself returning his comforting embrace by tentatively moving your small palms up over his pecs and across his ridiculously broad shoulders, looping around his wide neck. You hear Max's breathing hitch as he feels your shy touch, and then he’s hit with your delicious scent as your new position exposes your neck. It's the same as in the lift - so sweet, like exotic Indian jasmine on a hot summer night, like burnt sticky vanilla in the stroopwafels he adored as a kid, on the rare days he was allowed to go to the park instead of karting. But this time, your scent is even more inviting as your desire for him is stronger, and he doesn't fight his instincts and buries his face into your delicate neck again. He inhales deeply and leaves you gasping when he starts leaving lazy, soft kisses in the hollow of your throat. This time, you can't bring yourself to pull away, your fingers gently threading into his hair as you tentatively call out V-Verstappen, this is-

That's not my name, prinses he rumbles lowly, Dutch accent slipping through as he continues moving up your neck, leaving hickeys with flicks of his tongue and gentle, teasing nips of his sharp fangs - teasing, but not puncturing your tantalising caramel skin. And when you sweetly moan Max for him, looking up at him with those wide brown doe eyes, heady with desire, and a pretty red flush across your full cheeks, he meets your plush lips with his own. There's no hesitation this time, your fingers tangling into his messy blonde locks as you kiss deeply. His large hands running across your body make you feel like you're on fire. And when he grabs a hold of your thick ass, squeezing it like he owned it and and pulling you even closer to him, you're gasping and moaning sweetly into his mouth. He doesn't hesitate to slide inside your parted lips, completely dominating the kiss as he easily takes control over your tongue despite your efforts to battle against his.

Max, this is so wrong you say breathlessly, eyes fluttering closed in pleasure as his large thigh parts yours, your skirt sliding up as thick muscles come into contact with your aching core. You're certain he's going to be able to feel the wetness rapidly pooling between your own legs. Then why does it feel so right, prinses? He cockily responds, squeezing your ass greedily again and moaning himself when you start grinding against his leg, your wetness dripping past your soaked panties and ruining his pants. Fuck, he was never going to take these off, so he would always have the intoxicating scent of how sweet you smelled when you were so desperate for him, hmm?

The harsh ringing of your phone you'd set on a nearby table startles you. Max ignores it, flexing his thighs up against you to tempt your self control again as your inner Omega begs you to let the Alpha - your Alpha - claim you right here, right now, for all the world to see. But through the haze you see your boss's face flash on the screen and suddenly you're reminded of what's at stake. Snapping to your senses, you stumble away from Max's strong hold, making him growl in annoyance as he reluctantly releases you from his arms. This is why I didn't want to talk, you hiss at him, but he can tell from your scent you’re more conflicted than angry. Because you- you cutely flush, -we can't control ourselves for more than 5 minutes without something like this happening. You gesture to the space between you two as he watches you inquisitively, taking in every small movement with a tilt of his head like he was a lion stalking a deer. Stay away from me from now on, Verstappen you say with a scowl on your pretty face, pointing right at him, his sharp blue eyes not missing the slight tremor that gives away how affected you feel by him. I need to focus on winning this championship and not your…slutty Alpha seduction techniques.

He lets you go, smirking as you practically sprint away down the stairs to avoid any further temptation, enjoying the view of your generous ass from behind. Using his thumb to brush the dampness you left on his pants, he licks it away, chest lowly rumbling in approval as he confirms you’ll taste just as sweet as you looked, as you smelled. Next time, he promises his disgruntled inner Alpha.

After all, it was only a matter of time before he claimed you - it was a question of when, not if. The dark, controlling parts of him wanted to lay his claim on you right now, knowing that you desired him and would be unable to resist if he wanted to have his way with you. But you’d be so much sweeter, more pliable, more eager for him if he waited until you came begging.

He’d have his fun in the meantime.

[fic-over-cannon]

Jason todd who finds out, though not from you telling him he just knows how to use his eyes, youre insecure about something. Your nose, eye color, not so white teeth. Unconventional things that nobody else really stops to think about.

But dont you know he could get lost in your eyes and he makes sure to do it often.

Suddenly he's booping your nose with his more, kissing the end of your nose etc.

Whitening strips appear in the bathroom "cuz he wanted to try em"

He never says anything about it, just does little things. When your insecurities shift to bigger things like height and weight, suddenly theres a step stool in the kitchen even though you didnt ask, (or if your tall he has emptied the lower cabinets and moved everything high up for the both of you), when he buys the groceries theres either sharpie or torn paper where the nutri' info used to be, oh did you wanna know the carb count, too bad he dropped the package in the sink and smeared the ink oops

this prompt was so beautifully written, it feels so in-character for him. jason's own body issues come into play with this, i think his own struggles make him perfect not only for noticing when someone doesn't like aspects of themselves but also the long road to learning to love yourself anyway. i hope you enjoy my little expansion on this!

Jason's got years of struggling to fit into a body he doesn't recognize under his belt to know the signs when someone's feeling insecure about something. He's seen it in the mirror often enough. So he notices when your eyes glide over a feature of your face, the way you stiffen when someone makes a remark (good or bad) about your appearance, how you'll spend too much time reading food labels. Catalogues the way you cover your teeth with your hand when you smile, frown at your side profile, huff at the sizes printed on your clothes.

Don't you know that all he wants is forever with you? That he doesn't care what package that's wrapped in as long as you're together? Every time he looks at you, he finds something more to love. The slope of your nose, the curve of your brow, the way the colour of your eyes is slightly different around your irises. He wants to kiss the sharp point of your elbow, the fullness of your belly, the top of your head. He loves the way you smile, how it takes up your whole face. Jason doesn't see what you call flaws as anything but the little details that make up you. But that's not how you feel.

So he starts making changes, little ones, without prompting or owning up to them. There's a step stool in the kitchen one morning and the cabinets are reorganized. The scale in the bathroom suddenly never has batteries to work. Labels and food packages always turn up ink splattered or torn. The harsh fluorescent light of the bathroom gets switched out for something softer that doesn't have you worrying about looking ill anymore. There's a ladder - the same kind as in Beauty and the Beast, the kind you've always wanted - attached to the bookshelf now. The sticky window, the one that had always secretly made you worry about being too weak suddenly opens just fine.

Little sticky notes start appearing on your mirror every morning, i love yous and looking gorgeous circled with hearts and stars. Must be the mirror learnin' to speak, he says when you ask.

Jason will help you take as many pictures as you want, but he'll go through them with you after and tell you a different thing he loves about you in each one. You brush him off at first, uncomfortable with the praise of the parts you wish he wouldn't notice. Jason understands that knee-jerk urge to deflect, to hide. But one day he hopes it'll grow a little less automatic.

You've shown Jason how to love his body, to inhabit it, own it, to come alive with it. Now he wants to do the same for you.

[sonamytrash]

A good fuckin' show

Electrician Toji Fushiguro.

Porn trope Toji series, part 1🖤

Warnings: MDNI, Dom!Toji x fem!reader, shameless smut, smut with minimal plot, smut with porno plot, vaginal fingering, eating pussy, eating ass, fisting, squirting, oral sex (m and f receiving), cum swallowing, dirty talk, probably more, not proof read.

I don't know what to say for myself. I got carried away, but there's no way any Toji in any universe wouldn't be this feral. Wrap up, don't let your electrician fist you unless it's Toji. Enjoy you nasty sluts 🖤

Dividers by @cafekitsune

The rain pattered against the windowpane, casting a rhythmic pattern of shadows across the living room carpet. You pull your hair into a messy bun as you stare at the clock. It was 2:58 PM on a dreary Saturday. The TV hummed with a cooking show, the only company you had while waiting for the electrician you'd called earlier that week.

The sudden knock at the door startled you. You peered through the peephole, and there he was: Toji Fushiguro, the man who'd been recommended by your friend. He was tall, his broad shoulders almost filling the doorframe, and his handsome face was a picture of confidence. You felt your heart skip a beat, not from fear but from the electric charge that seemed to pulse through the air around him.

You undid the lock and opened the door. "Hi," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "You're the electrician?"

Toji nodded, flashing a grin that made your knees weak. "Yep, that's me," he said, his eyes shamelessly roaming over your figure. "Toji Fushiguro, at your service." He stepped inside, his work boots squeaking slightly on the polished floor. The air grew thick with tension as he moved closer, invading your personal space in a way that was both intimidating and tantalizing.

You led him to the flickering light in the lounge, trying to ignore the way his gaze lingered on your hips.

"So, what seems to be the problem?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through your very core.

You pointed up at the light fixture. "It's been doing this for a few days now," you said, your voice a little shakier than you'd intended. "I don't know much about electrical stuff, so I figured it was better to call a professional."

Toji nodded, his eyes still fixed on you as he pulled out his toolkit. "Might just be a loose wire," he murmured, setting the tools down on the floor. He walked over to the switch, turning the light on to see the issue for himself before turning it off again. He reached up, his strong arms flexing as he unscrewed the cover. "Let's see what we can do about that."

As he worked, his shirt rode up slightly, revealing a trail of dark hair that led down to his waistband. You couldn't help but stare, your thoughts drifting to the powerful body that lay beneath. The room grew warmer, or maybe it was just your imagination. You licked your lips, feeling a familiar ache building between your legs.

Toji must have noticed your gaze because he glanced down, catching you in the act. He smirked and leaned in closer, his breath hot against your neck. "You like what you see?" he said, pulling you from your thoughts.

You blushed, trying to play it cool. "I'm just admiring your... work ethic," you replied with a roll of your eyes, your voice a breathy whisper.

Toji chuckled, his deep laugh sending a shiver down your spine. He stepped back and bent over the toolkit, his pants stretching tight across his muscular ass. You felt your eyes wander, taking in every inch of his body. He pulled out a pair of wire cutters and a screwdriver, his movements deliberate and precise.

"Might need to get up there to take a better look," he said, his eyes twinkling mischievously, "Could you help me out?"

You nodded, a mix of excitement and nerves bubbling in your stomach. You stepped closer, reaching to hand him the ladder from the nearby closet. As you did, your breasts brushed against his hand, and you felt a spark of desire ignite. He took the ladder and set it up under the light fixture, his biceps bulging with the effort.

"You can just stay down there," he said, his voice gruff. "I'll let you know if I need anything."

You watched as he climbed the ladder, his thighs flexing with every step. When he reached the top, he leaned over, giving you a perfect view of his ass. You bit your lip, trying to focus on the task at hand, but the anticipation was too much.

"You can go ahead and hand me those wire strippers," he said, holding out his hand without looking down. You reached up, your fingertips grazing his palm as you handed them over. Fuck, his hands were so big.

As you watched him work, you couldn't help but let your thoughts wander. The way his muscles moved beneath his shirt, the scent of his cologne, the roughness of his hands. Before you knew it, your own hand was resting on your thigh, squeezing slightly. You could feel your pussy growing wetter with every passing second.

Toji paused in his work, sensing the shift in the air. He glanced down at you, his eyes darkening. "You okay down there?" he asked, his voice a little gruffer than before.

You nodded, trying to regain your composure. "Yeah, I'm fine," you said, your voice strained.

Toji took his time climbing down the ladder, his eyes never leaving yours. When he reached the bottom, he stepped closer, so close that you could feel the heat emanating from his body. "You sure about that?" he asked, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

Your breath hitched as his hand reached out, brushing against your cheek. His thumb traced a line along your jaw, sending a shiver down your spine. "I can see you're a little... distracted," he murmured.

You swallowed hard, unable to form a coherent response. His touch was like a brand, searing through your skin and igniting a fire within you. The ache between your legs grew more intense, and you realized you'd been subtly shifting your weight, trying to relieve the pressure.

Toji leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "Maybe I can help with that," he whispered, his hand sliding down to rest on your hip. His fingers dug in, holding you in place as he stepped closer, trapping you between his body and the wall.

You gasped as he brought his mouth to yours, his kiss rough and demanding. His tongue slid past your lips, exploring your mouth with a hunger that matched your own. Your body responded instinctively, arching into him as you wrapped your arms around his neck. His hands roamed over your body, one sliding up to cup your breast, the other slipping down to squeeze your ass.

With a growl, Toji picked you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the couch. He set you down, his eyes never leaving yours as he stripped off his shirt, revealing a chest that was a sculpted masterpiece. You reached out, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the heat of his skin.

He kissed you again, his hands deftly unbuttoning your blouse. Your breasts spilt out, and he took one in his mouth, sucking and biting gently. You moaned, your body responding to his touch with a fervour that surprised you.

"Fuck," you breathed, as his hand slid up your thigh, pushing your shorts aside. His rough fingers grazed your wet panties, the fabric already soaked through. He leaned in, capturing your mouth again as he ground his hips against you, his erection pressing into your core.

You reached for his belt, eager to feel his bare skin against yours. He let out a low growl as you unbuckled it, his erection straining against his pants. He stepped back for a moment, pulling his pants down to free himself, revealing his thick, hard cock.

You couldn't take your eyes off it, the sight making your mouth water. "Suck it," he ordered, his voice a low growl that sent a bolt of excitement through your body. You didn't hesitate, sliding off the couch to your knees. The scent of his arousal filled the air as you leaned in, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock. You took the tip into your mouth, feeling the heat and the velvety skin against your tongue.

Toji's hands tangled in your hair, guiding your movements as you took more of him in. "That's it, baby," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "Take it all." His curses and praise grew more fervent as you worked him, your mouth sliding up and down his length, taking in as much as you could and using your hand to pump the base. The salty taste of his precum mixed with the musky scent of his skin was driving you wild.

"You like that, don't you?" he groaned, his grip tightening. "You like being a good little slut for me." You nodded, unable to speak around his cock and tears pricked the corners of your eyes. The idea of being his, of being used by him, was intoxicating.

"Mmhmm," you managed to murmur, your voice muffled by his shaft.

Toji's grip in your hair tightened as he thrust deeper into your mouth, his hips rocking slightly as you gagged on his cock. "Such a good girl," he groaned, his voice a mix of pleasure and dominance. "So eager to please.

You moaned in response, the vibrations travelling along his length as your throat spasmed around him. He was heightening your arousal with every filthy word that left his lips. You could feel your own juices trickling down your thighs, your pussy begging for his attention.

"Look at you," Toji said, his voice a gruff whisper. "Such a greedy little whore. You want more, don't you?"

You nodded, your eyes watering slightly as you kept up the pace. His grip in your hair tightened, pulling you back and forth as he fucked your mouth. You could feel his cock swelling, growing harder with every stroke. "That's it," he growled. "Take it all, baby."

His praise was driving you to be the best you could be for him. You moaned around his length, the vibrations sending shivers through his body. His curses grew louder, his hips bucking as he reached the edge. "I'm going to cum," he warned, his voice strained. "Be a good girl and swallow every fucking drop."

You nodded, eager to please. His cock pulsed in your mouth, and you felt the first hot spurt of his cum hit the back of your throat. You swallowed, the salty taste flooding your mouth. He pulled out, stroking himself the last few times, spurts of cum landing on your face and chest. You sat back, a proud smile playing on your lips.

Toji pressed you back onto the couch, His hands deftly found the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down with a harsh jerk. Toji's gaze raked over you, his pupils dilating with desire. He slid his thumbs under the elastic of your panties, pulling them down with a slow, deliberate motion. You felt the cool air hit your skin, making you shiver.

He dropped to his knees, his breath hot against your thighs. "Spread 'em," he ordered, his voice thick with lust. You obeyed, your legs parting as he moved closer. His hands slid along your inner thighs, his rough fingers sending shivers up your spine. You felt his mouth on you, his tongue tracing the line of your pussy before delving in. You moaned, your hips bucking as he began to eat you out.

His tounge found your clit with ease, pressing down with just the right amount of pressure. He teased it mercilessly, flicking and circling as you squirmed beneath him. Then, without warning, one of his thick digits slid inside you, filling you up. You gasped, the sudden intrusion making your eyes roll back in your head. He chuckled against your skin, his teeth grazing your clit as he added a second finger.

Toji's fingers began to move, pumping in and out of you in a rhythm that grew more frantic with every passing second. You could feel yourself getting wetter, your juices coating his hand as he worked you closer to the edge. His tounge remained on your clit, rubbing it in time with the thrusts of his fingers. It was as if he knew exactly what you needed, as if he could read your mind.

With a wicked grin, he pulled away, leaving you panting and desperate. He leaned back, his eyes traveling over your exposed, trembling body. "Ready for more?" he asked, his voice low and dark.

You nodded, unable to form words as he repositioned himself between your legs. He spread your cheeks apart, his breath hot on your sensitive skin. You felt his rough fingers slide into your pussy, coating them in your wetness before moving to your tight asshole. "Look at this perfect little asshole," he murmured, his voice a mix of awe and lust. "So tight and pink. Do you want me to play with it?" He began to massage the entrance before you could reply, loosening you up with gentle pressure. The sensation was foreign and thrilling, making you squirm with anticipation.

With a wicked smirk, Toji leaned in, his tongue darting out to taste you. He licked around the edge of your asshole, the sensation sending shockwaves through your body. You tightened your grip on the couch cushions, biting back a moan. He circled the tight ring of muscle before pushing his tongue inside, making you gasp. The feeling was intense, a mix of pleasure and pressure that was driving you wild.

As he ate your ass, his fingers remained busy, plunging in and out of your pussy. He stretched you wider, filling you with his digits until you were begging for more. You felt a third finger slide in alongside the first two, stretching you even further. The sensation was almost too much to handle.

He pulled away, smacking his lips. "You're so fucking tight," he murmured, his eyes dark with lust. "But I think you can take more." He pushed a fourth finger inside you, the blunt pressure making your eyes water. You gasped, your body tensing, but he held you down, his other hand keeping your pussy filled.

Toji began to pump his four fingers in and out, stretching you open. You felt your body start to relax, to accept the intrusion. You groaned, the sensation overwhelming. It was too much, but at the same time, it wasn't enough. You wanted more.

He looked up at you knowingly, his eyes dark with hunger. "Beg for it," he growled.

You couldn't believe the words that slipped from your mouth. "Please, Toji," you whimpered, "Fist me."

"Nasty fuckin' slut." He teases with a wicked grin, but he complied, adding the addition of his thumb, his hand disappearing into your pussy. You felt a brief moment of panic before the pressure grew, stretching you wider than you ever thought possible. He pushed in, inch by inch, his fist disappearing into your body. The pain was exquisite, a delicious agony that had you crying out in a mix of pleasure and pain.

As his fist filled you completely, his other hand moved back to your asshole, slipping a digit inside. The sensation of being so full was overwhelming, making your eyes water. You couldn't believe how much you enjoyed the feeling of his hand buried inside you, his knuckles pressing against the walls of your pussy. It was as if every nerve ending was on fire, the pleasure searing through you.

Toji leaned back in, his tongue licking your clit as he fisted you. The combination of his hand moving in and out of your tight hole and his tongue swirling around your sensitive nub was more than you could handle. You felt your orgasm building, a crescendo of sensation that was about to crash over you.

"Fuck, you're taking this so well," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "You like that, don't you?"

You could only nod, unable to find the words to respond as he began to move his fist in and out of you with a steady rhythm. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure through your body, making you arch off the couch. His tongue danced around your clit, licking and sucking as his fist pumped in and out of your pussy. The sensation was like nothing you'd ever experienced before, a delicious mix of pain and pleasure that had you begging for more.

Toji's hand was a blur of motion, his fist disappearing and reappearing as he fucked you with a ferocity that left you gasping for air. Your orgasm grew closer, the tension coiling tight in your belly. You could feel your muscles spasming around his hand, the pleasure building to a fever pitch.

With a final, desperate thrust, your body let go. You squirted, your juices spraying all over his hand and the couch beneath you. The force of your climax was so intense that you saw stars, your body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. Toji's eyes widened in surprise, but his smile grew even more wicked as he watched you come apart in his arms.

As your body trembled, he withdrew his fist, your muscles clenching around his retreating hand. He licked his lips, his eyes never leaving yours as he took in the sight of your quivering form. "Damn, you're a squirter," he murmured, his voice filled with approval. "I fucking love a good show."

[jintaka-hane]

A Visit to the Infirmary

Masterlist

Img by Buffoland

This is a gift for the lovely @akagami-no-laney 🎁!! I like Hongo thanks to you, and when I went to look for more content about him, I saw there was very little! So I decided to write this. I hope you like it! 💕 Summary: You've fallen in love with the doctor aboard the Red Force. In complete denial of your feelings, you think it’s best to avoid him for a while until the feeling passes. But a terrible pain in your back will force you to pay him a visit. Word count: 3000 Notes: Love in denial. Flirting. Confessions of love. Use of 'Darling' and 'Doll'. Reader is a brat. Beckman is a saint. Hongo doesn't really know how to approach you, though in the end it seems like he manages to 🤪. I have no knowledge in medicine, so everything here is pure fiction XD.

"Dammit, Beck!!!" you roared as you kicked and flailed in the air, landing futile punches on the immense, wardrobe-like back of the first mate. "Let me go!" 

The tall man's grip tightened as he carried you over his shoulder, his face serious and stoic as he strode determinedly towards the ship's infirmary.

"Scream all you want, Darlin’, but we’re going to see Hongo whether you like it or not." 

“NO!” you protested, writhing with renewed intensity. “NOT HONGO! PLEASE! I—I’ll do anything you want! I’ll… I’ll get you the finest cigarettes at the next port!”

Beckman chuckled and shook his head, clearly amused by your desperate efforts to escape.

"BECKMAN, I’m serious! Let me go!! I-I swear that… that…  OUCH!!" you twisted in agony as a sharp, searing pain shot through your lower back.

Your captor halted immediately, noticing how you contorted in pain, and gave you a moment’s respite as he tried to ease you through the surge.

“Darlin’,” he spoke softly, one hand moving to your back and rubbing it gently, “you need help… and he’s the only one here who can give it to you, do you understand?” 

You nodded, closing your eyes and gripping his shirt tightly, enduring the wave of suffering as best you could.

You had been dealing with unbearable pain in your lower back for days. You didn’t know what caused it—whether it was some bad posture, the fall when you climbed down from the lookout, or the time you landed hard on your backside going down the ship’s ladder. Whatever it was, you must have injured something, and the pain, coming in waves like stabbing knives, was horrible. 

Stubbornly, you had tried to let it pass on its own, avoiding asking anyone for help and steering clear of the infirmary. Yet your walks on the deck, face twisted in pain and hand pressed to your lower back, hadn’t escaped the ever-watchful Benn Beckman. Guessing your reluctance to see the ship’s doctor, he had kept his distance and observed you from afar without asking questions, but, as he watched your condition deteriorate further, he decided it was his duty to act.

“Hongo’s a decent doctor. Give him a chance,” he said, turning his head over his shoulder to look at you with his concerned gray eyes.

The problem wasn’t whether Hongo was a good doctor. You knew full well that he was competent and professional. The real issue was that he was also kind, tall, funny, and undeniably attractive. 

That, and the fact that you were maybe… probably, a little bit in love with him—an insignificant detail, as you were fighting it, convinced that maintaining the right distance would make the feeling pass and spare you from a possible broken heart. All you had to do was avoid him and act like a brat when he was around, and everything would be fine. You were as certain of this as you were that your back pain would eventually subside on its own.

BAAAANG!!!!

The infirmary door swung open with a deafening bang as Beckman kicked it harder than intended, his hands fumbling as he tried to grab hold of your increasingly elusive body.

“Sorry, Hongo,” he said, noticing that part of the doorframe had splintered.

“Oi, Beck,” Hongo said without turning around, completely unfazed by the door’s loud crash as he meticulously washed his hands in the sink. “I see you’ve convinced y/n to come and see me.”

“That’s not—” you began to say.

“YES,” Beck shot you a reproachful look as he carefully set you down on the floor. “She’s a smart girl and understands what’s best for her.”

You tried to speak, but his hand covered your mouth, stopping you in an instant. His cold eyes bore into yours as he mouthed the word “behave,” leaving no room for argument.

“Perfect,” Hongo said, turning around with that disarmingly charming smile that always had a hold on you. “Welcome to my office, y/n.”

You held his gaze for a moment, noting the way his eyes crinkled kindly beneath the scar that ran down his temple. His tall figure stood straight before you, broad shoulders framing a muscular chest that his shirt merely hinted at. He picked up a small white towel and dried his hands with a delicacy unusual for a pirate, the thought making you feel slightly uneasy. Unable to maintain his gaze any longer, you looked away, taking in the ship’s infirmary for the first time.

It was surprisingly tidy and well-organized. Shelves lined with neatly arranged medical supplies and herbs occupied one wall, while a sturdy wooden table in the center held a pristine array of bandages, ointments, and surgical tools. Alongside, a set of syringes was neatly displayed, and a patient examination table, covered with a fresh, white sheet, stood ready for use. 

“Do you need me to stay?” Beckman asked, unsure of what to do.

“Yes—” 

“NO—” Hongo said at exactly the same time.

Beckman’s gaze flicked between the two of you, perplexed. 

“I’ll be outside if you need me,” he added, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and placing it between his lips.

Shit.

You watched him leave, casting a murderous glance his way, and as soon as the door closed, Hongo’s gaze locked onto you again, his smile lingering as he took a step closer.

“So…” he began, halting when he noticed you flinch and step back, “you’ve had a sharp pain in your lower back for days, haven’t you?”

Of course, that bastard Beckman had told him.

“Maybe,” you replied nonchalantly, avoiding his eyes.

“And you didn’t come to see me until now, why?”

“It’s not that bad.” You shrugged, the careless movement causing the pain in your back to flare up again, but in a wave you managed to endure with dignity.

“Uh-huh…” he paused briefly, examining you. “Let’s take a look, okay?”

He took another step forward, this time slow and deliberate. “Can you lie face down on the examination table for me?”

Your gaze flickered to the examination table before snapping back to the doctor. 

“Absolutely not,” you said, staring at him with a defiant look, your arms crossing tightly over your chest as you stood your ground. 

Hongo’s expression shifted instantly, his gaze narrowing, sharp and calculating, with a hint of something predatory.

“Very well,” he muttered, kicking aside a stool that stood in his way as he moved toward you, “then by force”.  

You swallowed hard as you realized your back was pressed against one of the shelves on the wall, and as soon as you saw his menacing figure lurking closer, you scrambled for cover behind the wooden table. You clutched its edge and dragged it to shield yourself, causing several bandages, bottles and ointments to scatter across the floor, some breaking open and spilling.

“Eeehm, do you need help!?” Beckman’s raspy, concerned voice came from the other side of the door.

“No!” Hongo bellowed as he charged after you, his eyes fixed on you and ignoring the mess on the floor. “No need for help! We’re behaving like two perfectly normal, civilized people!”

He moved along the right side of the table while you quickly circled to the other side, moving as fast as your body allowed. As he reached out to grab you, you twisted to evade him, but a sharp, agonizing pain shot through your back, spreading to your hips and down your thighs. Your legs gave way under the intensity of the pain, and just as you began to collapse, Hongo caught you in mid-air, preventing you from hitting the ground.

“I’ve got you…” he soothed, his usual tenderness reappearing as he held you tightly against his chest, unwilling to let you go until the pain subsided. “I’ve got you…”

You buried your head in the crook of his neck, sobbing and swallowing your pride, and you stayed wrapped in his arms for a few minutes, until he felt your body gradually relax as the pain started to ease.

“I’m going to take you to the exam table now, alright?” he said, feeling your head nod against his neck.

“You know…' he helped you to sit down, "you must be made of steel, because in all the time you’ve been with us, you’ve never come to see me…” his fingers danced lightly along the edge of your shirt. “Can I examine you?” 

“NO.” You swatted his hands away immediately.

"Alright, alright..." He smiled, rising his hands in surrender. "Let’s focus on your back, then." He gestured with his finger for you to turn over on the examination table. "Can you lie face down, please?"

You glared at him, chin tilted defiantly, your stubborn streak ready to surface again. He raised an eyebrow, catching the rebellious glint in your eyes.

"Face down, Doll. NOW." His voice radiated such strength and authority that it made it clear who was in charge.

With a dramatic roll of your eyes, you gave in, knowing full well there was no choice but to comply with your doctor’s orders. You turned over on the table, and the movement sent a fresh wave of pain through your back, forcing you to moan and press your face into the soft, white sheets. Hongo’s fingers ghosted over your back, right at the spot where the pain was the worst.

"It’s right here, isn’t it?"

You nodded, surprised at how efficiently he pinpointed the exact source of it. With your head still buried in the soft, cushioned surface of the table, you heard the sound of a stool being dragged toward you. You turned your head to see him, but instead found his knees and the tops of his thighs, legs set apart.

"Okay…" you heard him muse, his voice soft, calm, and steady, “... intramuscular analgesia”.

His left hand rested on your lower back, applying just enough pressure to keep you in place, while his right hand deftly prepared the cotton and antiseptic. As he turned his torso, his defined abs peeked above the waistband of his pants right before your eyes, making you turn your head to the other side, exhaling sharply.

"Don’t worry Doll, I’ll be gentle…" he said, assuming your reaction was just a fear of needles, nothing more. "I need you to lift your skirt and lower your underwear, please"

You didn’t respond. You just lay there on the examination table, motionless, your heart pounding in your chest. The pain in your lower back was unbearable, a relentless, gnawing agony, but the thought of Hongo standing behind you, asking to see your ass, was somehow worse.

"Come on, Doll…" he tried to encourage you in an even softer voice, "be a good girl for me."

This time, a surprised chuckle escaped your lips. Never in a million years had you imagined hearing those words from him, and a warm flush crept up from your neck, staining your cheeks. You hesitated, hands trembling as you slowly lifted your skirt over your hips. Your fingers fumbled with the waistband of your panties, and as you exposed the soft, vulnerable skin of your ass, you felt Hongo shift slightly on the stool, his breath catching.

“... Hongo?”

"Yes," he cleared his throat with a hint of self-reproach. "Please, keep your ass up."

The tension in the room was suffocating.

The sharp scent of antiseptic saturating the air, the weight of his gaze on your exposed skin, and that last command... It was too much. You had to say something, anything that might unsettle him and tip the balance just a little in your favor.

“Tsk, tsk, doctor, you can’t just pull down a girl’s panties and say 'ass up’ without, you know, a little courting first, can you?”

He let out a snort of laughter, and the sound made you smirk, proud of yourself, though not for long.

"Oh, Doll..." His fingers brushed against your skin, tapping with the cotton swab soaked in alcohol. "You know I've been wanting to court you for a long time, don't you? But it’s hard to do when you’re always running away from me."

Your heart raced again, this time even faster as you processed his words. You wanted to disappear. You wanted to get up and run out of the infirmary. But unable to do any of that, you simply turned your face away, squeezed your eyes shut, and tried to focus on anything but what he had just said. He stifled a sigh, noticing your distress, and prepared the syringe with measured precision.

“Okay, here we go,” he said as the needle pierced the skin with a sharp, clean sting that made you gasp. “Good girl, you’re doing really well…”

His hand was steady, his movements deliberate as he slowly injected the analgesic into your muscle. He noticed how tightly you were gripping the sheet on the exam table, and unable to bear seeing your discomfort, he slipped his free hand beneath yours, and interwined his fingers with yours.

“That’s it, hold on a little longer…”

You focused on his words, letting the rhythm of his calm, measured breathing soothe you, and as soon as he finished, he withdrew the needle and turned away to dispose of the syringe.

“Try to rest a bit until the medication takes effect,” you heard him say as he rose from the stool and moved away to give you space.

With your face still turned to the wall, you pulled up your underwear, feeling that the pain in your back hadn’t disappeared yet but was fading, leaving you with a fleeting sense of relief. Then, you slowly sat on the exam table, surprised to find you could do so without wincing.

From that angle, you had a clear view of the infirmary, and saw Hongo kneel on the floor to clean up the mess you had made in your frantic attempt to escape. You watched him quietly, his back hunched and his shaved neck bowed, carefully working to pick up the spilled liquids and shards of glass, taking care not to cut himself. A sigh escaped you at the sight, as you felt the stubbornness in your heart giving way to something warmer. You decided to moved closer and crouch down beside him.

“Is your back feeling better?” he asked as soon as he noticed your presence nearby.

“Yes… ,” you said softly, keeping your gaze fixed on the floor. "Thanks."

“Anytime.” 

You felt his gaze on you as you concentrated on the task, sorting the broken jars and glass shards into a bag. You worked side by side in a silence that, strangely, didn’t feel uncomfortable, and you wished it could stay that way. But when your hands brushed against each other and you withdrew yours, he spoke.

“Why do you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you,” you replied without looking at him.

“But you avoid me…”

You remained silent, grabbing a rag and scrubbing it vigorously against the floor, feeling a knot in your stomach grow larger and larger.

"Look at me," he said, stopping you as he placed a hand on the crown of your head, guiding it to face him. "Isn’t a ship’s doctor good enough for you?"

You shrugged off his hand and stood up abruptly, trying to hide the mixed feelings on your face.

“It’s not that, Hongo, it’s… it’s complicated.”

He quickly rose to his feet to match your stance, his eyes locking with yours with a hint of pleading in his expression.

“It shouldn’t be complicated… actually, it’s very simple. At least for me, loving you is as simple and natural as breathing.”

His words pierced your heart like arrows set aflame. He might have tended to your back, but his gaze and his words were leaving your mind and heart reeling, caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

“You love me…” You closed your eyes, and pinched the bridge of your nose, feeling your heart weary from fighting.

“Of course I do… You know I'm crazy about you.”

You opened your eyes to meet his gaze, his face calm yet sharply attentive to your reaction.

"I just..." you trailed off, your eyes darting between his, "need a little more time to sort out my feelings and make things... right."

He held your gaze for a moment, letting your words sink in, before nodding with a reassuring smile. Then, he raised his hands, palms open, in a gesture that seemed to take in the entire infirmary.

“I’ll be right here.”

You returned his smile. It wasn’t going to be very hard to come to terms with your feelings if he kept acting like this. Discarding the dirty rag you had been holding into a bin, you turned and walked toward the door, feeling as though you were leaving a piece of your heart behind.

"I’d really like to see it again, you know? Though, maybe under different circumstances…” he said as your hand reached for the doorknob. 

“See what?” you turned to look at him, hoping that whatever he said next wouldn’t be too out of place.

"That beautiful ass."

Bastard. 

Your heart betrayed you as you felt oddly flattered, having to suppress a smile.

He was a pirate after all.

“Oh, Hongo,” you looked at him with pursed lips, “I can’t believe it. Where’s your professionalism?”

“Trust me, I’ve been plenty professional,” he playfully placed a hand over his chest, a hint of feigned indignation crossing his face. "I’ve had to stop myself from giving you a smack, and believe me, I’ve really wanted to.”

"Ugh!!" you huffed, exiting the infirmary and slamming the door behind you, bumping into Beckman, who was waiting in the hallway.

“How’s it been, darlin’? Feeling better?” he asked, looking at you with his deep gray eyes.

With a smile you could barely hold back, you pulled him into a hug, rising onto your toes to press a quick kiss to his cheek. Then, you brushed your fingers along his chin before continuing down the hallway, leaving him momentarily stunned. The infirmary door opened, and Hongo leaned against the doorframe, watching you walk away.

Just before you disappeared from their sight, you responded over your shoulder.

“Much better!”

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

Taglist: @fanaticsnail @armiliadawn @pandora-writes-one-piece <3

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Musician Age Gap AU Pt 11

As soon as Alex and her family are safely in a car on the way to a hotel, Kara and Lena board Lena's jet back to the states. During the flight, Lena curls in on herself, picking nervously at her cuticles with a worried, guilty expression.

"Hey," Kara says, pulling Lena's gaze towards her. Her features remain heavy. "I'm not mad."

At that, Lena's face softens, but only enough to grimace with a soft huff. "You're not the one I'm worried about."

Kara must look confused, because Lena soon continues.

"As a rule, my mother knows who I spend my time with, and when." The guilt returns. "Except for you."

"So she didn't know I was in Capri with you..."

Lena confirms it with a shake of her head. "Nor why I went back to National City."

Well... this wouldn't be easy then. Dealing with a rabid press is one thing-- being at odds with one of the key players in keeping her family safe is another.

"I'm sorry," Lena murmurs. "I just... wanted to keep you mine. Just for a little while."

Kara shoots her a look. "I'm still not mad."

"You can be. If you want."

"I don't." She moves seats, switching to the bench Lena's on. She makes no attempt to still Lena's nervous picking, but simply spreads her legs enough for the outsides of their thighs to touch. Kara intends the physical contact to serve as reassurance, but she doesn't know if it works.

"I'm a big girl, Lena. I know I can back out whenever I want to. But I don't. Not yet."

A little bit of warmth cuts through Lena's anxious fog. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Kara's heart beats a little faster, when a small smile answers her. Impulsively, she leans over to kiss Lena's cheek. She feels... giddy? Far more exhilirated she has any right to feel at her age. "Bring it."

----

Lillian Luthor is a slender, austere woman. Kara clocks her the moment the plane lands on the tarmac, tall and styled in her designer clothes and looks that only money and astronomically good genes could provide.

Only Kara witnesses the short beat Lena takes before stepping out of the plane, bracing herself for whatever follows. Kara keeps pace with her once they descend the ladder in single file. She may not be driving this bus, but she is no shrinking flower. In this, she is Lena's equal.

Not that the look Lillian gives her would have anyone believe.

"In the car," the woman orders. "Now."

Lena obeys without a word. Kara is a little slower to fall in line, but ultimately follows Lena's lead. Lillian climbs in behind them, leaving Jess and a woman Kara doesn't recognize to scramble on board last.

"The family is checked into the Lariat. So far no indication that they've been identified, but its still early."

"What about Kara?"

"What about you??" Lillian demands, tone scathing in its heat. "What were you thinking?"

Kara sees Lena wilt, and anger bubbles up in her throat. "Don't talk to her like that--"

"You have zero business here," Lillian fires back with steel in her voice.

"Mom!" Lena exclaims in Kara's defense. "It's not that big a deal--"

Ice blue eyes turn on Lena, freezing her to the spot. "It's a big enough deal that you saw fit to sneak behind my back, with a woman twice your age no less--"

"Mom!"

"Timeline, now."

Lena's shoulders sag, but says nothing. Looking to divert some of Lillian's ire, Kara moves to speak up. "We--"

"She already knows," Lena rolls her eyes.

"I do," her mother confirms. "But I'll hear it from you nonetheless."

Lena huffs. "Night two of the National City stop. Her niece left her phone backstage, and we exhanged numbers."

"Then?"

"Texting."

The exhange sounds like a repeat of one they've had many times before. Neither Jess nor the other woman-- who Kara assumes is Lillian's own assistant-- look at all nervous at the rapidfire crossing of words.

"Texting?" Lillian demands. "Or sexting?"

Kara bristles. "I don't see how that's any of your--"

"*Texting*, Mom, god!" Lena seethes. Her cheeks are bright red, from anger or embarassment or both. "Will you just--"

"Just *what* Lena?"

Lillian's voice is so sharp Kara can see the moment it cuts Lena down. Her jaw tightens, and when Kara sublty shifts to take her hand, Lena shifts away.

Satisfied that her daughter is suitably in line, Lillian turns to her assistant. "Mercy, have PR prepare a statement. The photos were misconstrued, they simply capture a couple of friends taking in the sights."

"Mom, no," Lena croaks. "I don't want-- who cares if people know that I'm gay--?"

"You are not gay!"

Lena flinches, features blanching as though Lillian had landed a physical blow. Only then does Lillian seem to realize that she's talking to an actual person. Her tone doesn't soften, exactly, but it doesn't sharpen any further.

"Your *brand* isn't," she amends, likely the closest thing to thing to an apology Lena would get.

"I thought Lena is the brand," Kara interjects.

Lillian's frigid gaze snaps to her. "She is."

"Her fans are more open-minded than you think--"

"Her fans don't buy tickets," Lillian informs her coolly. "Their parents do. And *they* are far less forgiving."

Kara looks towards Lena, who meets her gaze with a helpless one of her own. It's not untrue-- Esme hadn't bought her tickets, after all.

"Then what do we do?" Kara allows finally.

"Cut ties. Immediately." Lillian looks down her nose at Kara, her regard as condescending as though she were speaking to a teenager, not a women merely ten years her junior.

"No."

To Kara's surprise, Lena's response is faster than her own, and carries only the barest of trembles.

"Don't be foolish..."

"I'm not--"

"Do you love her?"

Lena freezes. Her gaze flicks to Kara. "It's only been a few weeks..."

"Precisely. Cut ties now, before--"

"But I want to," Lena finishes. This time, her gaze lingers on Kara's, a small smile warming her eyes. "I want to love her."

Lillian scoffs low in her throat. "You're too old to be play the love sick teenager. Or have you forgotten what happened last time?"

Kara watches Lena hold her mother's gaze, something heavy passing between them, inscrutable to anyone else. But Lena holds her ground, and surprisingly, Lillian is the one to back down.

"Then what would you suggest?"

"Like you said-- we give them something else to talk about." Lena swallows, but forges ahead. "I have some new material, I can perform it live in Paris."

Lillian purses her lips, but doesn't smack down the idea. She considers it, her gaze calculating. "And you two?"

"We do what we want," Lena delivers firmly. "No statement, no confirmation or denial. Let people see interpret it however they want. However they need."

Kara thinks of the young fans, isolated in their orientations or identities, seeing themselves reflected in their favorite artist. The gift that would be, the vote of confidence needed to dream of a future where what Lena and Kara share might be theirs.

Lillian shoots Kara a hard glare. "And you? It's your family in the crossfire if this idea goes to shit."

"Then it goes to shit, and we deal with it."

It might be selfish of her, but in all of their conversations, neither Alex or Kelly have suggested backing off. They spoke only of adapting, of overcoming, and Kara knows she has their unspoken support. And even now, being talked down to and chided, she feels happier sitting next to Lena in this moment than she has in years.

Lillian barely contains her snort of derision.

"Very well," she concedes, with a sharp note of criticism. Then she turns from them entirely to speak with Mercy in low tones.

Kara takes advantage of the moment to lean closer to Lena, murmuring in her ear.

"I want to go to Paris with you."

Lena blinks at her. "You don't have to--"

"Would you feel better if I were there?" Kara asks bluntly. Lena deflates a little, but this time in relief rather than shame.

"Yeah."

"Then let me come." Kara gives Lena's hand a squeeze, and is rewarded with a tired smile. "You're not alone in this."

"Okay," Lena says, her smile deepening into a challenge. "Let's bring it."

[xxnghtclls]

Flickering Lights

Chapter 2: A Tall, Pink Haired Man

Chapter (1/3)

True Form Sukuna x Reader

For tags and synopsis, please see Chapter 1!

Bam!

You slam the door shut behind you. Finally you’re home in your small apartment, still thinking about what happened in your office. Sitting down on one of your two chairs, you absentmindedly tap with your key into the surface of your kitchen table.

Tap.Tap.Tap.Tap.

“Who was that?” you mumble to yourself, while your leg is wiggling nervously. “Where and… why? Four eyes and four arms, too?”

A pause.

Tap. Tap.

“HOW?” you blurt out loudly and distort your face in confusion. Your brain is so tired.

Shaking your head, you decide to get up and get a hot shower.

-Monday me- is going to have a huge problem, leaving the office like this.

“This” meaning a broken window, a crack in the floor and the wall. Your computer is for the trashcan, too. A fucking mess.

Motherfucker. 

You kind of hope it was a dream, a hallucination or a lightning. Monday you will get back to your same old habit, going to work and writing emails, lists and calculations. And then Tuesday. And then Wednesday. Thursday. Friday.

Sigh.

Rashhhhh

You close the shower curtain in front of your face and turn on the water. Warm steamy drops are tickling your face and calming your nerves. Sleepiness washes over you with the steamy warmth and you’re quick to finish soaping you up. You let out a big yawn, as you turn off the water and step out. 

“Time for bed.” you sigh, before you brush your teeth and dry yourself. Taking your phone with you, you carry yourself up the ladder to your elevated sleeping space. The perks of living in tokyo.

Mini studio apartments.

Crawling onto the futon, you pull the blanket up to your nose. A last time you peek onto your phone, before your eyes shut themselves.

- 01:38 a.m. -

“Goodnight...” you mumble, before you fall asleep. “Stranger.”

♫ Up with the sun, gone with the wind, she always said I was lazy-

“The fuck?” you breathe into the darkness, still half asleep, as you peek onto your phone, trying not to get blind from your display brightness.

- 6:00 a.m. - 

“Ughhh shut up, Bob.” you groan, as you shut your alarm off. You must have forgotten to adjust the settings in your alarm to workweek only, after you had to get up for an out of schedule meeting last saturday. 

But, today is free.

You close your eyes and think about what you want to do today.

Get new earphones perhaps. Get groceries. Find out who…who…  

Zzzzz…

After a moment, you send another peek to your phone.

- 10:12 a.m. -

“Good morning sunshine.” you grumble to your sleepy self, before you yawn and stretch. “Sorry Bob, now you can sing.” you mumble and put on Bob Seger’s song that ripped you out of sleep earlier. 

-play-

“Travelin maan, love when I caan. Turn loose my hand ‘cause I’m goiingg.” you sing, as you’re making yourself some eggs for breakfast, checking your social media inbetween. You roll your eyes, as you read that there’s some unnecessary discourse over something unimportant AGAIN and you swear to yourself, that you’re going to delete that app sooner or later. It just makes you angry. 

Fucking idiots.

Your eggs are ready and you sit down, take a bite and text your bestie Mio. 

Oy. Akiba in 45 mins?

👍

Good. Need new headphones. Mine broke last night.

No wonder. Get some real ones.

You huff at her text.

“No way.” you smile, as you’re putting your phone away and shove the last bite of eggs into your mouth. You need to get dressed quickly, in order to catch the next train to Akihabara. 

On your trainride, you stare out of the window across from you. Listen to the railway and see the houses passing by, the sun shining onto the roofs, before the train goes underground again. Silhouettes and moving lights run along the window.

Moving lights. Flickering lights.

And suddenly you remember last night. 

What happened?

That creature, that… man. 

How unusual he looked and how his eyes pierced through your soul. 

Uncanny. 

You wonder if you should tell Mio about it. 

Maybe not…

Maybe it was a dream or a hallucination or a lightning after all.

…That rip in space definitely.

But what if he was not?

“Excuse me, is everything alright?” an elderly woman that’s sitting right next to you asks you. 

You must’ve zoned out, looking so concentrated… maybe even, as if you’re constipated or something. 

“No, I’m fine. Sorry- I mean, thank you.” you force a smile at her, before you pull out your phone to look busy at least.

And you start to scroll on your socials. 

And scroll.

And scroll. 

And scroll.

Not thinking anything, just remembering that man’s face. Those tattoos. The nose.

Kinda pretty nose, you think as your lips turn into a pout.

Two slits in his eyebrows.

That mask.

So interesti-

Wait what?

Interesting…?

Sigh.

…He is.

You get out at Suehirocho Station and walk to the next 7-eleven, the point where you’re going to meet with Mio. She’s not there yet, so you decide to walk in and buy an Onigiri. 

Only one? 

No, two. 

For later. 

Of course you open the first one immediately and bite into it. The first bite is always the best.

Goddamn.

You love it. Closing your eyes, to savour the taste, you stand in front of the store, enjoying the bliss.

“Oy, peanut!” Mio’s voice comes up behind you. You turn around and nudge your head to her, shooting her a look. 

“What’s up?” you say with your mouth full.

“Got one for me, too?” she eyes your Onigiri.

“No.” you bite into it another time.  

She cocks her eyebrows at you, probably already knowing that you bought two and that you don’t want to share, before a little pout cracks upon her lips.

“Get your own!” you complain, before she pokes her finger into your arm. 

“I’ll get you some snacks later!” she coos.

“Fine!” complain and offer her a bite of your last piece. 

“Mwuah hah hah!” she laughs deeply in excitement, before she gulps down the whole remaining Onigiri. “I know you love me.”

“Ehhh.” you sigh, letting your shoulders sink, disappointed that she ate it all.

“Sorry.” she brushes off her hands on her jacket. “Anyway, let’s go, my greedy little peanut.” she says, before she hooks her arm into yours. “Did you cut your hair?” 

You laugh her question off, as you both start to walk into the city.

While on the search for new 5000 yen headphones, you both keep bullying each other lovingly, laugh and talk about the week. No matter how exhausting your workweek is, she always manages to distract your mind, makes you feel not as lonely. She really is the light of your week. 

You don’t really know how it came to this. To feel like this in this city of millions. You used to go out, to dance and fuck a guy every now and then. But maybe it was just the start of how you feel now. The nights of clubbing grew rare, the nights at the computer and phone listening to music grew more frequent. Because nothing could really satisfy it. This hole in your heart. Listening to music helps. Spending time with Mio helps, but only to a degree. Because you wish for a change in your life. More than work and eat and shower and sleep. More than everyday life.

However, you decide not to tell her about what happened last night. Maybe you’ve gone crazy after all. Even if you’re not, you still feel odd about it. Feel, like it might be the change you yearned for, an adventure. 

Feel like it only belongs to you.

Quickly you find some new headphones and earn a mocking joke from the side, while Mio continues to buy herself a new phone case. Huge, pink and with little glittery stones and charms.

So ugly.

“Don’t look at me like that, when you’re the one who walked around with a Hello Kitty phone for the longest time!” she complains.

“At least I wasn’t mistaken for a disco ball.” you sneer at her.

You walk to another store to get your promised snacks and after a while, when the hottest gossip is done being discussed, you catch yourself getting silent inbetween.

Because your mind wanders off.

Because you remember.

Those eyes.

Dangerous.

Sometimes she notices and throws you a glance, but you just wave it off, excuse it with sleepless nights because of work. 

And she buys it.

At least you hope she does.

“I need to get home.“ you sigh, as you arrive at the next train-station. “I still need to get some groceries. I’m gonna gonna see you next week?”

She sighs too and stops in her tracks. You turn and look to her, seeing her face turning serious. Suddenly the energy shifts. You halt and frown at her in confusion.

Something’s wrong.

“What?” you ask. 

“I need to tell you something.” she looks to the ground and it makes you worried.

“What is it?” you poke her shoulder. 

She hesitates.

“You’re gonna hate it…” she mumbles and your heart starts pounding. You hate situations like this. Last time she acted like this, she told you she lost the one pair of very expensive headphones you bought in your life. You hated her for it, but you learned your lesson. 

Crossing your arms, you keep staring at her, almost holding your breath, trying to remember what kind of item you possibly could’ve lent her recently.

A pause.

“I’ll be on a work trip.-”

“Jesus.” you complain, as you exhale loudly in relief, rolling your eyes.

“For the next week.” she continues, a smug smirk on her face. So proud, knowing to have you fooled so good. “Coming back on Sunday night.”

You sigh.

“I’ll manage!” you exclaim snobbish into her face, but deep down, you know it’s gonna be hard. You’re not gonna see her for two weeks and you’re gonna miss her. A lot. Next to the fact that you can’t meet up with her next weekend, she’ll be busy too and not be able to text you much during the week either.

She punches your shoulder, before you grab her sleeve.

“Come.” you tug on it. “We gotta wish you a safe travel and return.” you mumble, as you drag her with you.

“Huh?” she exclaims, but gives up and willingly walks down to the underground with you. 

“I didn’t go to the Meiji shrine in a while. Let’s hang up an Ema there.” you fiddle with her sleeve, as you’re both sitting next to each other in the train towards Yoyogi Station.

“Is everything alright?” she asks and you notice real concern in her voice. 

She knows something’s up.

“I think I need to go out more, Mio.” you mumble. “If you’re not here to cheer me up, I need to see someone else then.”

“Sounds as if you’re already have someone in mind.” she jokes and you feel the heat rising in your ears, feel caught.

“Yeah.” you fake-laugh, before you try to change the topic. “Where are you going next week?”

“We’re going to have some meetings in Gifu. But also team-building events, this sort of stuff.” she says, while fiddling with her new phone case and you nod.

“Never went there.” you respond. “Tell me if it’s nice, yes?” 

“Sure, little peanut.” she smiles, before she looks back at you. You smile back before, looking around in the wagon.

“Maybe you should go out while I’m gone.” she says, making you look back at her. “Try to focus less on work and have some fun. Treat yourself.” she punches you in your arm again. 

Hard.

“Ow!”

“It’s just work after all.”

“I shall.” you hiss, while you rub your hand over the soon-to-be bruise, as the train stops at Harajuku-Station.

After a short walk, Mio and you arrive at the entrance of the shrine. It’s busy, just like the last time you visited, but as soon as you walk through the Torii, it grows calmer with each second. You might not believe, that in you’re a city of millions, when you walk through the beautiful area around the shrine. Trees and plants seal yourself off the loud noises of the streets. 

Quiet.

Maybe I need a vacation.

“I’m thirsty.” Mio longingly says, as you walk past the huge Sake barrels. 

You snort at her comment.

“Mio Mio Mioooo.” you squeak like a bird. “You called me greedy.”

“That’s what you are.” she chimes. “I know you still have that second Onigiri in your jacket.”

“Shut your mouth.” you smile, while you look up to see the sunlight shine through the branches of the trees, as a gentle breeze flows against your faces. It’s beautiful at this place, but somehow, a weird feeling grows in your gut. 

After a ten minute walk along the shrines nature, you arrive at the camphor trees where the Emas are hanged upon. Mio steps forward, reading some of the wishes that are already hung up. After purchasing a little wooden plate yourself, you tipple to the desks and start writing. 

For my lovely Mio. 

Please let her have the safest travel, a lot of fun and a more safer return to her little peanut.

You draw a little raccoon in the corner, since that’s her favourite animal and turn around, ready to hang it up, only to notice, that Mio holds a little wooden plate in her own hand as well.

“No! I already got one!” you wiggle it into her direction, before you hang it up. 

She steps into the corner of your eyes, hanging her own plate right next to yours. You’re about to complain that she bought an unnecessary one, as your eyes catch what she wrote.

For my lovely y/n.

Please let her have the most fun, good food and a little adventure, until her Mio returns.

“Is this for me?” you ask with wide eyes.

“Bro, it’s your name right there!” she sneers as if you’re stupid, tapping her knuckle loudly against the plate.

Your heart warms up, before you continue in a serious voice.

“You forgot to draw a cat.” 

“I cannot draw a cat.”

“Bullshit. Everyone can draw a cat.” you wave her off and turn around, only to see-

Oh shit.

You freeze in your spot, as you see that tall man from last night standing in front of the holy praying area of the shrine. His back is turned to you, but his height, his black cloak and the pink spiky hair is proof enough.

A sinister energy reaches your feet and crawls up your legs.

“What’s up?” Mio asks, as she notices how you froze in your spot, tugging at your sleeve.

Your heart starts pounding. 

Badum. Badum. Badum.

In the corner of your eyes, you see Mio catching focus on that man herself.

“I’ve never seen a guy that tall-“

“Me neither.” you mumble, while you keep staring. In the corners of your eye, you see many people walking around the mean, peeking and staring and mumbling about his unusual appearance.

He walks up the stairs, shoving a middle aged woman out of his way. She tipples, looses balance and-

Bam!

falls down the stairs, while he’s stepping closer to the doors that lead to the praying area. The huge doors, that now don’t seem to tall in comparison anymore.

“Disrespectful asshole!” Mio exclaims in disgust, as an appalled gasp is heard from the by-standing people and the feeling in your gut grows into a huge lump. Others rush to the woman to help her back up, and Mio wants to go forward too, but you grab her sleeve, holding her back. You stay silent, as you keep watching the man intensely, seeing him lay his right hand on the wooden surface of the saisen-bako that’s placed inbetween the doors. People start to talk to him, try to get his attention, but he is ignoring them, concentrated on doing what he came to do. 

Your eyes are fixated on his hand, a tattooed black ring decorating his wrist. The people around him grow louder and louder, but the sound grows mute in your ears. Almost as if you’re hypnotised, you watch how the wooden surface starts to vibrate, the lines between his hand and the wood start to blur. A deep humming starts to vibrate in your ear, just like last night.

Mio notices your trance and calls you, but you hear without hearing. 

Whatever he’s doing, it has you in his grip.

Mio calls you again, louder and snips her fingers in front of your face to wake you from your trance but you keep being fixated on his hand until-

“Hey!” another man loudly exclaims and tugs on his cloak to get his attention. Without even looking, the pink haired man flicks his left hand and suddenly the throat of the other man bursts with blood and his head falls from his shoulders.

Fwip! 

Pap.. Pap… pap.

Down the stairs it falls and rolls. Your heart drops and everyone starts to scream, as your eyes widen in horror. Blood splatters everywhere, as the head rolls and comes to a halt next to the woman, coating the holy grounds with red essence.

“Y/N!!” Mio calls your name again, now very loud and clear, making your body finally start moving.

You meet Mio’s eyes and grab her wrist, before you run towards the entrance, already seeing security guards run into the opposite direction. Other people run in panic as well, shoving you out of their way, almost make you stumble. For some reason, shortly before you can run through the huge gate, you need to turn around.

Turn around.

The time slows down.

Exhale.

You look.

Focus.

And he turns around, too. Making your eyes meet his for the split of a second, before you turn back forward again, running through the gate.

Inhale.

Sirens are already howling in the distance, as Mio and you and many other people run through the shrine grounds in order to get back to the entrance you came from. Your heart is pounding in your throat and your throat is as dry as sand, as you finally reach the streets. A glance to Mio and a nod from her confirm that you will not separate your ways right now. She’ll come with you.

Bam!

Zschk Zing!

You lock your front door behind you, as Mio sighs loudly, slumping down on one of your kitchen chairs.

“Jesus.” you sigh under your breath, your hands still lingering on the door-lock, your eyes staring into nothing. The image of that mans head rolling down those stairs keeps replaying in your head. 

“Gonna make tea.” Mio says, before she gets up and fills the cattle.

You blink and shake your head, before you turn around and sit down on the other chair on the adjacent corner of the table. 

You have seen some bad stuff on the internet before. Multiple times unfortunately. However it’s still different to see such things in real life.

“The police will get him right?” she asks. 

“Maybe they shot him on sight.” you mumble. “Most probably.” you try to assure her and yourself.

She hums and the kettle starts to whistle.

Louder and louder.

Louder and louder.

Until Mio takes it from the stove and fills your cups with water.

You take a sip and the warmth flows through your body, making you feel better in an instant. 

“I still got no groceries.” you mumble into your cup.

“Let’s just wait a bit. It’ll be safe in a few hours.” she mumbles into hers.

A pause.

And you ponder.

“He wouldn’t have slashed that man, if he let him do his thing in peace.” you sip absentmindedly. “Whatever he was doing.” you add and she glances over to you, cocking an eyebrow.

“If he didn’t shove that woman down the stairs, he wouldn’t have been bothered.” she responds annoyed. “Nothing he was doing can justify this.”

“Yeah.”

Another pause.

“Doesn’t matter now, they probably shot him.” she sighs. 

Your eyebrows twitch at the thought. Somehow, you don’t feel like it’s true.

A few silent hours go by, sipping tea, trying to calm down. Both of you avoid to read the news, try to distract you from what just happened, talk about anything, except about what happened at the shrine today.

And somehow, it works. They probably shot him after all.

The sun sets and it grows dark outside. Mio taps on her phone.

- 10:13 p.m. - 

“I think I should go now.” she sighs. “Gotta get up early tomorrow.” 

You inhale deeply, knowing it’s the last time you’re gonna see her for at least two weeks.

“Alright.” you exhale, as you stand up and walk her to your door. “Text me when you’re at the station, k?” 

“Sure, peanut. The police is probably still roaming around. And if not they got him.” she smiles at you and leans in for a tight hug. “Gonna miss you.” she whispers in your ear and it almost makes you tear up.

What today happened was a lot for you and now you have to deal with it alone, if the distraction looses its effect. For two whole weeks.

“Gonna miss you, too!” you sniff into her ear and press her against you, before you separate.

“Stop crying, bitch.” she jokes and boops your nose. 

You stick out your tongue and with wet eyes, you unlock your front door. 

“Here you go, your Majesty. Please return safely.” you bow, trying to overact your upcoming crying-session and it makes her giggle. 

“It’ll be fine.” she waves you off and walks down the hallway. “I’m a big girl.”

“Text me!” you yell after her, before you close and lock up the door.

Zschk Zing!

Silence.

Too silent.

You grab your back and pull out the new headphones you bought. In all the hectic you forgot to properly charge them, but luckily, they always are charged halfway up when you buy them. 

You sit down on your kitchen chair and go to your phone’s settings, to connect it via bluetooth with your headphones. 

It worked.

You put them on and scroll through your music library, not sure what will give you the right mood for now. If you want more distraction or if you want to cry. Already feeling an empty feeling spreading in your heart, you scroll and scroll and your eyes keep watering.

Maybe crying it is. 

Mio didn’t text yet and you hope she’s about to arrive safely at the station. It’s just a short walk anyway. You keep scrolling. Being a person who listens to almost everything, it’s difficult to choose sometimes. Closing your eyes, you tap on shuffle, letting fate decide what song to play.

But right in the moment, when the song is about to start, a loud knocking is heard on your door.

Knock. 

Knock. 

Knock.

You quickly look to the door.

Mio? 

Maybe she forgot something.

Without turning off the music, you put your headphones on the table and tipple to the front door.

“Mio, is that you?” you call.

No answer.

You frown in suspicion, before looking through the peephole. 

And your heart drops into your socks, as you see a deformed fish-eye version of a stranger.

A tall, pink haired man.

[florwons]

(not so) successful break in — lee heeseung fanfic ☆⋆｡𖦹

synopsis trying to sneak into your best friend's room seemed like a terrible idea from the start. little did you know that instead of being in her room, you would find yourself face to face with her actual brother in his own room.

pairing bsf-brother!heeseung x fem!reader

genre technically strangers 2 lovers 🧐?, crack, fluff

warnings profanity, a break in, petname (pretty) wc 1K+ (1124)

note first heeseung fic yay !! took a break from hurt fic and this is what i ended up doing 😚 this is for my amazing friend who suggested for me to write heeseung as your bsfs brother 🥹 i really hope you like reading this (´｡• ᵕ •｡`)

"I can't believe this – why can't I just use the front door?" you grumbled into your phone while adjusting the ladder against what you believed to be your best friend's bedroom window. After inserting your earbuds, you stashed your phone in your bag, ensuring it was secure on your shoulder.

Jieun's voice came through the earbuds, filled with exasperation. "I'm telling you, my brother is one nosy little fucker! He'd interrogate you like there's no tomorrow, especially about all those snacks you brought for me!" You winced at the sudden increase in volume. "I think you’d understand if you ever met him."

"How come I've never seen him?" you asked as you climbed the ladder, inching closer to the window.

Jieun's voice responded, growing fainter as she moved away from her phone. "He's usually not home whenever you decide to visit. But today, he's here because our parents are away, so this is the only option."

You paused your ascent. "What are you doing?"

"Just downstairs, cleaning out some stuff," she replied.

You sighed, realizing the dilemma. "Hey, how am I supposed to enter your room if you're not looking out your window?"

Jieun's reassurance came through, "My windows unlocked; you'll be fine."

Reaching the window, you attempted to lift it, and to your surprise, it swung open easily as Jieun had said. You climbed through and found yourself in her room, snacks in hand. Glancing around, you noticed some significant changes, the most noticeable being the rearranged furniture. Her drawers were now on the left side, not the right, and the bed was closer to the wall.

"Hey, you've really changed your room a lot!" You wandered around, taking in the alterations. Your eyes landed on a cologne bottle on one of the nightstands, and you examined it closely. "Jieun, have you had some mystery guy over in your room?"

Jieun's voice came through the earbuds, alarmed. "What the hell do you mean?"

"Then what's this cologne doing in your room?"

"What cologne? I don't have—oh my fucking god. YN, did you break into my brother's room?!" Your heart sank as you began to realize the truth: you hadn't entered Jieun's room, but her brother's, someone you had yet to meet.

"Oh my god."

"Quick, YN, get out of there! He's probably not there right now, so you might as well make a run for it!" Jieun urged, but she seemed to remain where she was. You hurried to the door, but just as you reached for the doorknob, it turned, freezing you in place.

There, at the entrance, stood a tall guy with a white towel loosely on top of his head. You were staring right at Jieun's older brother. He was undeniably handsome, and your feet felt like they were glued to the floor as he reacted to the unexpected sight of you. Questions raced through his mind: Why was there a girl in his room? Who were you?

"Before I freak out, what are you doing in my room?" he asked calmly, though clearly bewildered.

"I'm just here for Jieun—I'm Jieun's best friend, in case that wasn't clear. I know you must be wondering how I got here, but I thought it was her room. When I realized it wasn't, I was about to leave. So, this is, um, our first encounter," you stammered, your eyes darting from his gaze to the floor. You couldn't help but feel like you were making a complete fool of yourself.

"Nobody was at the front door, though—oh. Did you happen to break in?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"What—no! What makes you think that—"

"My window is not closed all the way," you cursed under your breath, realizing your mistake. "Ah, my sister must not have wanted me to see you come over, is it?"

You stammered, caught off guard. "I—Um, well, yeah. Basically that." You couldn't help but wonder where Jieun was and why she hadn't appeared to rescue you from this increasingly tense and awkward situation.

"You must have left the ladder outside the house then," Jieun's brother sighed, glancing towards the window while continuing to rub the towel through his wet hair. You couldn't help but steal occasional glances at him, quickly averting your eyes whenever you caught his gaze.

He let out a small chuckle, and you couldn't help but think it was a charming laugh. But no, you scolded yourself, this was supposed to be an embarrassing first meeting.

Interrupting your thoughts, he said, "I'll go get the ladder outside. Just... just use the front door instead, yeah?" Your face flushed as you nodded, your grip on the plastic bag of snacks tightening. It seemed like he was noticing every little thing you did.

"Oh, that's my favorite snack," he pointed at a snack peeking out of the bag. Reaching for it, he took it out, locking eyes with you once more. "I'll take this as my reward, how about that?"

With a flustered demeanor, you simply nodded in agreement, unable to find your voice. His soft smile only intensified your embarrassment. Your cheeks were undoubtedly a deep shade of red.

As he prepared to leave the room to retrieve the ladder, he introduced himself, "Lee Heeseung."

Your eyebrow raised slightly at the unexpected introduction.

"My name is Lee Heeseung. How about yours, pretty?" Your heart did a little somersault at that moment. Heeseung, you made a mental note to remember that name.

"LN YN..."

"Pretty name. Well, I'll leave now. Hope to see you around soon, pretty," he said with a smirk before exiting the room, leaving you utterly flabbergasted by the sudden nickname. Did your best friend's brother just call you pretty?

"Did my brother just flirt with you?" Jieun asked, her voice tinged with curiosity. As you exited the room, you finally spotted her, rushing up the stairs. She had hung up the phone now that she was face to face with you. You realized that you had forgotten to end the call.

"No... you must have misheard," you tried to lie, attempting to brush off the encounter.

"Hmm, I'm not that dumb. Oh my God, did he really take my favorite snack?" Jieun frowned as she peered into your bag, searching for the missing treat. "Why didn't you stop him?"

You shrugged, still slightly dazed by the recent interaction. "He was kind of, um, charming. It just happened, I guess."

"You think my brother's fine?" she said, which you realize you blurted that out. You quickly cover your mouth, shaking your head to convey that you hadn't meant to say it. Jieun chuckled, linking her arm with yours as the two of you walked towards her room.

"Hey, I don't mind. You guys don't have a huge age gap anyway, just a year," Jieun pointed out. It seemed like she had another fact about Heeseung to share. "And plus, he seems to take an interest in you, so I won't stop him or you. Just know I'm your number one."

You smiled at her and nodded, saying, "Always."

With Jieun's approval, maybe there was a chance for something between you and Heeseung. However, you couldn't help but wonder if it was too early to get your hopes up. Still, you decided to believe in your best friend's words and, perhaps, in Heeseung's intentions too.

[prisonhannibal]

those shelves are so unfair louis must be feeling how I feel when my tall coworkers organized the shelves at work and I can’t reach anything. armand can just hide anything there and louis would have to get a ladder

[tsukimara]

── FRIENDS? ──

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Chapter 2 ࿐ྂ

✎ Summary: You've lost most of your memory, and the world looks different than you remember. While looking for a new safe place, you come across an android which is the only one that doesn't want to attack you. Will he help you or will he prefer to work alone? [Cyberpunk AU]

✎ Warnings: Violence, swearing ⚠

✎ Art: thijikoy (On Twitter/X)

✎ Playlist :D

✎ || PREVIOUS || *ೃ༄ || NEXT || — MASTERLIST

You didn't move an inch, after all, you didn't want to be shot in the head. The silence was unpleasant, you felt cold as the wind blew and the rain started to fall harder. You would have run away except for the fact that you didn't even know where to go and the person behind you certainly knew the area better than you. Before you could think of anything, the person behind you started talking.

"Turn around." Not wanting to piss off the person, you turned around. He was a very tall boy with blue eyes, his ginger hair was wet from the rain and freckles dotted his face. His outfit was rather unusual, a large collar, a long red scarf with a galactic tip and a top jacket revealing his bodysuit (His appearance is shown at the bottom). You completely forgot that he was holding a gun in front of you.

You raised your hands automatically "Hey, hey, hey, can't we talk uhh calmly? If you put your gun away, it would be great." You noticed the confusion on his face as he put his gun back away. You didn't know he would listen.

"Who are you? I can't find your personal information anywhere." Now it was you who looked at him confused. How did he even check it? You tensed a little as he came closer to you and grabbed your arm, but he quickly withdrew his hand as he looked at you in shock.

"You are a human...?" You raised an eyebrow when he asked about it "Umm yeah?" When you said this, he started laughing. Poor guy must have gone crazy seeing all these machines.

"Scara won't believe me if I tell him this." He shook his head with a smile as he stopped laughing and looked at you. "My name is Tartaglia or Childe, call me whatever you want." He offered you his hand to shake, which you looked at a little suspiciously because he had recently held a gun in front of your face, but you sighed and shook his hand. "Y/N..."

Childe crossed his arms and glanced at the place you came from. "I'm surprised you made it out alive." When he understood what he said, he awkwardly combed his ginger hair, which was dripping with water. "It wasn't supposed to sound like that... but there's no time for that, we need to get going." He grabbed your wrist and started pulling you towards the lower stairs behind him. You stumbled slightly, his hand was as cold as ice, making you shiver. No normal person has such cold hands, so you immediately become suspicious again.

"Where are you taking me?" You asked as he let go of you to crouch down and open the hatch. You looked down only to see darkness, even if you sharpened your vision you wouldn't have seen anything. "There's no way I'm going down there."

"Believe me, it's much safer there than here. At least you won't be massacred there by those stupid machines." He said as he pulled a small flashlight from his pocket and started to climb down the ladder, not wanting to be left alone you followed him down. You had so many questions and so few answers, you wanted to deal with this yourself, but seeing how many robots were on the surface, you preferred not to risk your life. You didn't trust this guy, unfortunately there were no other options but to follow him, he would probably force you to go with him anyway.

There was a long tunnel at the bottom, it wasn't very big, but the darkness added to the atmosphere. Childe took something out of his pocket again, it was a small red glowing cube. He threw it on the ground and it formed into a flying skateboard? Noticing your shocked expression, Childe smiled and stood on the skateboard, offering his hand for you to get on.

"What? Is this the first time you've seen something like this?" You felt like he was teasing you, and you frowned as you looked at the skateboard again. Childe noticed your uncertainty so he grabbed you like a cat and set you in front of him. You stood stiffly, not wanting to fall on the cold concrete, you slowly turned your head towards him with an expression of "what the hell, man?" and he just chuckled.

"It would take forever for you to stand on that skateboard." After these words, the skateboard started moving and you reluctantly grabbed his jacket. If you could, you would punch him now, but you preferred not to smash your head on the concrete, so you sat quietly with a dissatisfied face.

"So what were you doing there?" Childe asked after a moment of silence to lighten the mood a bit and you scoffed. "I'd like to know too." You saw him raise an eyebrow but you just shook your head to let him know you didn't want to talk about it. You didn't know how long the ride would take because all you could see was the light from the flashlight and the skateboard.

The silence was slightly awkward so you decided that you would ask the question now. "So where are you taking me? You didn't answer me earlier." He glanced at you and then looked back at the road. "Ah yes, sorry, we're going to the city of Nexor, there's a hidden place where it's safe. The only problem is that we have to get there and it's not that easy." I nodded, showing that I was listening.

"Those androids you've probably seen are also guarding this city, but they look a little different. Let's just say they don't like us."

"Us?" I asked curiously. "Yes, me and my friends. We are a "Friendship team." You wanted to say something but you didn't want to hurt his feelings so you just stared at the road as if you hadn't heard a weird name of their group.

"They are nice... Most of them. We may be androids, but we have feelings." Your eyes widened when you heard this, that's why his hand was so cold but it felt like a human hand. You finally found yourself at the end of the tunnel, as you stepped off the skateboard you felt like your legs were shaking like jelly and your hair was definitely a mess. The skateboard turned back into a cube which Childe put in his pocket and climbed up the ladder.

When you both left, your eyes lit up with excitement as you looked at the city full of colors and new technology. There were no lamps, only neon LEDs that beautifully illuminated the city. While you were still admiring, suddenly your view was blocked by some cloth that landed on your head. As you took it off you noticed it was the scarf Childe was wearing so you turned to him to ask why he gave it to you.

"Why did you give this to me?" He also started taking off his jacket, leaving his arms completely exposed, and then he handed it to you. Is he making a hanger out of you? "If these androids see you, they will shoot you, so you need to cover yourself up a bit. We won't go to crowded places so that we won't be detected." He explained to you. You put on a jacket and a scarf so that it covered at least half of your face. His jacket was pleasant to wear and his soft scarf kept you warm in the process. Childe gave you a small smile and patted your head lightly. "Let's go."

You followed him to the alley, as always, the alleys were not very clean and there was garbage strewn everywhere. You noticed how the ginger-haired man walks carefully, looks around and checks to see if anyone is coming. You wonder why he helps you. You shook your head to stop thinking about it, you'd probably find out later.

Suddenly Childe pushed you against the brick wall, you looked sideways at him and he just put his finger to his lips to show you to be quiet. A robot about 218 cm (7.15 ft?) tall passed by the alley, it looks a bit similar to the ones you met in the hospital, but this one looked like it had more upgrades. It was black and white with some parts glowing blue, its head was a helmet with a screen in the middle and some black chains were hanging from it. Long arms on which you could probably see guns that were hidden. Its torso was quite small and the legs were thin from above and became a bit larger lower down. You also saw "3X0R 2371 - D" written on the back. Once it was gone, Childe let go of you and peered over the wall, looking around.

"Are these the robots you were talking about?"

"Yes, they are called Exors... Listen, we have a little problem." He announced and you looked where he was. There was another alley on the other side, but to get to it you would have to get past a crowd of androids. "We have to get there, unfortunately as you can see there are a lot of androids so stay close to me."

Walking quickly, you adjusted your scarf so that it covered your face at least a little, and you kept your head down so as not to stare at the androids. You were nervous so you squeezed your hands to calm yourself down a bit. You noticed how Childe tensed as one of the Exors passed by you, before you could even react you heard a gunshot behind you and you were pushed to the side. He was in front of you and quickly pulled out his gun, shooting at the screen of Exor who shot towards you.

Some androids started to panic and run away, you could barely see what was happening. Out of the corner of your eye you could see Childe wearing some strange mask, he kicked one of the Exors and shot the other one behind him. You would help him, but you didn't have any weapons on you and you didn't want to disturb him. While you were lost in your thoughts, you didn't notice one of these machines approaching you from behind, sticking out its hand to shoot at you.

Childe's eyes widened when he saw this and loudly shouted your name to warn you. You looked behind you and when you were about to run away, it was hit perfectly in the hand, but what you didn't expect was that after a while, half of it exploded and it fell down, unable to move anymore. Did Childe have any other weapons?

You wanted to look to the side to see who he shot when suddenly a motorbike passed by you. You squealed as at the same moment you felt one arm wrap around your torso and lift you up, making you land on the motorbike. You were fed up with everyone picking you up like a doll. You couldn't see what the person looked like because they were wearing a helmet and Childe was still fighting the Exors so it wasn't him. Are you about to get kidnapped? The unknown person made a sudden turn and crashed into the rest of the robots, helping Childe. Maybe you weren't kidnapped after all..

"Quick!" Childe quickly shot down the last one and jumped on the motorbike behind the person. As you set off, you looked out and saw the rest of the Exors gathering, but they couldn't catch you anymore. You sighed with relief, it was a stressful action but luckily everything went quite smoothly.

"You're blocking my view." You heard this person talking to you so you went back to your previous pose so as not to disturb them. "Sorry.."

You turned into different places to avoid being detected until you finally reached a dead end when suddenly the wall moved, opening a passage. You swear you'll go crazy soon. Once you were inside, the bright light blinded you slightly, so you narrowed your eyes slightly. The person got off their motorbike and immediately went to Childe to hit him in the back of the head.

"Hey! What was that for?" He started rubbing the back of his head "What for? WHAT FOR?! Are you fucking crazy?! First of all, you left without telling anyone, secondly, you exposed yourself and thirdly, you brought a fucking human! How fucking stupid are you?!" You were still sitting awkwardly on the motorbike, listening to them argue.

"Look, I couldn't leave them there. They would die there!" Childe gave you an apologetic look and you shook your head to show him you didn't mind. "Yeah? Great! Now they will take your place because I will fucking push you into the shredder!" Wow, this person sure had a little aggression problem. "You always say that and you've never pushed me in there before." This seemed to piss the person off more and they grabbed Childe by the collar to get him down to their level.

"You'll end up there soon because your bullshit is starting to overheat my circuits!" You heard a light chuckle behind you, which scared you a little, next to you was a boy with platinum blond and a orange-red streak. He had a gentle smile as he looked at the two.

"Don't worry about them, Childe and Scara are always arguing like this." He looked at you "My name is Kazuha, welcome to our group "Antares."

✎ || PREVIOUS || *ೃ༄ || NEXT || — MASTERLIST

✎ Childe has no colors, but I will probably show him in full one day (There will also be a drawing of Scaramouche soon :D)

✎ I made a playlist, I hope you like it! I also put the link in the masterlist.

✎ Have a good night/day!

(⁠つ⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)⁠つ TAGLIST — @sl-vega , @veekoko , @magica-ren , @averagehuman-notsuspicious , @theyluvkatt , @himariilove

[superprincesspea]

Courted by the Dragon

Chapter 13 - Issa Jorrāelagon

Aemond Targaryen is both the cause and witness to the greatest humiliation of your life. You would rather die than see him again. Yet summer at court and the precipice of civil war have other ideas.

Masterlist

You’re not sure Aemond will be in the library so early in the day but there's a familiar face waiting by the door. 

“Lady Baratheon,” Aemond’s guard says and, though part of you is relieved, you almost turn back. 

Last night, when you’d received the invite to meet him here, you hadn’t intended to take him up on the offer. But that had been easy to say when your anger had been fresh, and your clothes were not drenched with rainwater.  

“You never told me your name, Ser,” you say, teeth chattering as the cold of the storm seeps into your bones. 

The guard looks you up and down, no doubt thinking you look more like a stray dragged in from the street than a high-born lady of house Baratheon, but he answers you just the same.  

“Ser Willis Fell, if it pleases you, My Lady,” he says, opening the door to permit your entry despite the state of your appearance.

“Thank you, Ser Willis,” you smile, and before the door shuts behind you, you’re struck by the sheer majesty of the room, and gasp, your head tilting to take it all in.  

The vaulted ceiling is so high, it's impossible to imagine how anyone could have painted the giant dragons which command its dome, and they are so striking. One black, one bronze, one silver.  

From their colouring alone you know they must be the dragons of Aegon the Conqueror and his sister wives. Which means one of them is Vhagar, the bronze one, ridden by Visenya and so fierce it was hard to imagine a small boy could ever dare to tame her. Then again, that boy had been Aemond, and he was nothing if not extraordinarily arrogant.  

You laugh softly at the thought, your gaze slipping down the dark oak walls to where the panels merge with the bookcases. There are so many, all so tall they need a ladder to reach their highest shelves, and stretching so far back you can’t even count the rows. 

It's hard to believe there could be so many books. But there must be thousands, and you can smell the comforting scent of musk and leather which seeps from all the bindings while the warmth of a fire crackles somewhere out of sight. 

Inching into the candlelight offered by the brass sconces which flank the first row, you hear distant footsteps quickening on the stone floor.

"I was wondering when you might arrive,” Aemond says, appearing five rows down, with a book in each hand. 

Sighing, you scrape your fingers across your forehead to push the wet tendrils of hair from your eyes. “Even your company cannot dissuade me from books."

“Then I shall carry them with me always,” he says solemnly, his hand reaching to push back a piece of hair which you have missed, and you’d be annoyed by the intrusion, if his fingers were not so deliriously warm compared to your skin.  

“I trust my lady did not take a dip in any bodies of water before she arrived?” he says, eyeing you with both intrigue and delight.  

Now you do push his hand away, “it's raining.” Though you cannot hear the downpour from within these sturdy walls, “ and... if you must know, I was trying to escape from Tyland Lannister.” 

“Hmm , ” his eyebrow raises with amusement instead of surprise, confirming a suspicion which had begun to fester in your mind as you walked in the rain.  

The letter to Maris and your conversation with Tyland Lannister could be no coincidence. They were both related to things you had complained of last night. But did Aemond really think he could rectify all his mistakes in a single morning? 

"You said something to him,” you say, wanting to be certain. 

A smile plays at his lips, “you are not pleased by his renewed interest?” 

“I was never pleased by his interest to begin with,” you scoff, annoyed that Aemond could hold so much sway over another man, “now I also think him weak and a little pathetic, which I'm sure you will find amusing.” 

He doesn’t hide his delight, “ good , now you see him as I do... but does that make me even more repugnant to my lady?” 

“No ,” you pause, narrowing your eyes, “the smug look on your face does that all by itself.” 

Aemond bites back his smile, and you begin to wring out your hair though the water has nowhere to go but the skirts of your dress.  

Still, it's better than nothing and Aemond watches you with some strange fascination, his books clutched in front of him with the long fingers on a single hand enough to support both volumes.  

“Did your sister get my letter?” he says after a time.  

“Yes ,” you glare at him, still annoyed, “and she thinks I’ve been hatching some ridiculous plot to win your favour!” 

His smug look returns, his eye so animated as he teases, “have you?”  

“Be sensible!” you say tartly, pushing past him towards the fire. 

“There was no mention of your name in my letter,” he calls from behind, as though it occurs to him that you might think he’s placed all the blame for his actions squarely on your shoulders. 

“I know,” you admit, standing close enough to the flames to feel the heat seeping into the fabric of your dress. “She was upset that we played Cyvasse,” you tilt your head to meet his eye, “though if she knew what a loathsome player you were, she would not be quite so jealous.” 

He moves closer, the gold buttons on his doublet glinting in the firelight. 

“I'd say Cyvasse should be the least of her worries... and I promise my lady will find me far less loathsome in our next game.” 

"Then I am lucky we are here to read,” you retort, deciding you will never play another game with him so long as you live, “though I wish I had not walked so long in the rain first.” 

“You could take off your clothes and let them dry by the fire?” he suggests, his eye gleaming wickedly. 

You glare at him yet again, but you don't find nearly as much embarrassment in his words as you would have done a few weeks ago. “And if your mother joins us, as she is so apt to do whenever we are in conversation? What will she think then?” you counter, brow raised. 

Aemond snorts out an unexpected laugh, bracing his ribs, “that I am finally submitting to giving her a grandchild?” 

You laugh too, but your laughter is made up entirely of nerves, “in that case, I shall be certain I allow my clothes to dry on.”  

He tuts, disapproving of your choice and you turn away, your cheeks flushed.  

“You seem to be feeling much better today,” you say as though it is an accusation, before you move towards the bookcase which is stacked with the thickest books you’ve ever seen.  

"It’s merely a bruise,” he replies but you know he's downplaying the truth, not that you say anything more. You're not a Maester or his mother, so he can do as he pleases as far as you’re concerned. 

Pulling one of the volumes from the middle of the shelf, the dust threatens a sneeze as you inspect its sturdy black cover without any understanding of the words printed on the front. 

“It’s High Valyrian,” Aemond says, standing beside you. “Do you read it?”  

You huff softly, “in Storms End we are lucky we learn to read at all, anything more would be considered a complete waste of time, especially for a girl.”  

“Udrizi Valyrio ȳdrā?” he says, the strange words rolling like silk from his tongue.  

Your eyes snap to meet his, surprised. Though you knew he must speak High Valyrian, you’d never really imagined what it would sound like or how it would elicit a tickle of warmth right into the centre of your chest. 

“What did you say?” you ask, curiosity peaking beyond any dislike you want to harbour for the one-eyed dragon.   

A slow smile inches into his cheeks, as though he relishes every drop of your undivided attention. “I asked if you spoke Valyrian and I’m surmising your answer should be ‘daor’ .”  

“Daor ,” you repeat, liking the way it feels on the tongue even if it doesn't spark the same sensation in your chest as when Aemond says it. “And how do I say ‘yes’?”  

“Kessa.”  

“Kessa ,” you slide the book back onto the shelf, repeating the words again, committing them to memory. “Kessa, Doar.” Yes, No.    

“I can teach you more if you like, issa jorrāelagon? ” he suggests, gesturing to the chaise by the fire. 

“Issa jorr... a-”  

“Jorrāelagon.” 

“What does that mean?” 

He considers you for a moment, his finger tapping on his book, “it means... my lady .” 

“Issa jorrāelagon,” you say, and his expression, though it had never been hard, still softens like ice in the sun. Leaving you to wonder how much more difficult he would be to hate, if he had two eyes looking at you with such devotion.  

You turn away, heart pounding as you force your attention back to the shelf, but all the books are the same. Thick, black, unreadable.  

“As much as I would enjoy learning a new language, what use have I with High Valyrian when you are the only one I know who speaks it?”  

“You know Helaena.” 

“Barely ,” you reach for a book on a different shelf, brushing your finger across the ribbed edge of its dark green spine, “but I’ve wanted to explore this library since I arrived in Kings Landing, and I may never get another chance.”  

Aemond leans in, and you don’t just smell the scent of the books, you smell the soap on his skin. Cedar and sage, so clean and masculine, as the heat of his words caress your ear with an unexpected whisper. 

“Skori ao issi issa ābrazȳrys , ao shall māzigon se jikagon hae ao kostilus, issa jorrāelagon .”  

You have no idea what he’s saying but you cannot ignore the tone, sensuous, commanding. As though he’s making you a promise, yet you dare not know it, and couldn’t ask even if you wanted to.  

Words seem to have fled your brain. Your breath hitching in your throat while your fingers grip tightly onto the shelf as though it is the only thing keeping you upright. But Aemond doesn’t seem to notice any of those things, and how could he? 

He does not feel that same spark of warmth which begins in your chest before flickering outwards, its progress licking through your veins until it lands in the pit of your stomach and a thousand butterflies spark into life. 

Instead, he turns back towards the fire as though nothing is amiss, when everything feels wrong .  

You're still holding your breath and the swirl of butterflies are beginning to make you feel as though you might burst at the seams. But the worst part is, though you have never found anyone more infuriating in your entire life, you seem to have forgotten all Aemond’s previous misdeeds and almost trail after him. 

In fact, the only thing stopping you, is how tightly you’re holding onto the shelf, as you watch him settle into the chaise with the company of his books, his eye sliding to meet yours as though he’s wondering why you’re still standing there.  

It’s a good question. Why aren't you moving?  

Cheeks flushing again, you kick your legs into action as you disappear into the safety of the giant stacks.  

What was wrong with you?  You wonder, squeezing your eyes shut and taking a deep breath, but you don’t really want to know the answer to that .  

So, you push the question away, thankful the library is large enough for you to avoid Aemond for the rest of the morning.  

Yet that doesn’t stop you feeling his presence in the room as you walk along the rows, trying to ignore him, and focusing all your attention on devouring as many first pages as possible.  

Some good, some terrible, some intriguing, but nothing singing to your soul in the way Queen Nymeria had from the first instance. You’re desperate to find a book you can love as much as that, but the choice is overwhelming, and it would take years to work through even the tiniest corner of the library. 

Still, you’re determined and you're not sure how much time passes, but it must be quite a while, before Aemond finds you sitting on the stone floor between the rows, with books by your side, books resting on your knee, and one in your hand. 

“Are you lost, or do you always do your reading on the floor?” he says, leaning against the shelves with his arms crossed and a small huff of laughter rolling from his chest. 

“I simply cannot decide what to read first, there’s too much choice,” you reply with some urgency, as though it might be the worst problem in the entire world, and he laughs again before stalking towards you and offering his hand.  

Sliding the book from your knee, you know you really shouldn’t accept his help, you can stand on your own. Yet you take it anyway, surprised by his strength as he pulls you to your feet. Then surprised again when he does not let go. 

He holds you securely, pulling you through the stacks and picking up books here and there, which you carry in the crook of your arm before he deposits you on his chaise, though there are plenty of other seats dotted around the fire. Seats which would not have his knee pressed with yours. 

“Read this first,” he says, and you look at the cover, realising it's the second volume to the book of songs you’d enjoyed so much. 

Already you know this is an excellent choice, and you’re annoyed to think you should have asked him to pick for you all along.  

“Have you a favourite in this one?” you say, flicking lightly through the pages and regretting your question the moment you said it. 

Aemond smiles when he steals the book back from your hands and returns it opened a third of the way through. 

“A Song of Storms,” you read out loud, meeting the teasing look in his eye before your gaze returns to the page.  

Then you recite the rest, and Aemond is a captive audience as much as the song is very beautiful. Too beautiful, and far too melancholy to be chosen by a dragon prince. 

In fact, his love of songs almost lulls you into thinking he might not be entirely repugnant after all. Yet he is. He must be.  

“What is the word for storm?” you say, deciding you would have been far safer with a book on history or science. Safer still if you were sitting on your own chair. 

“Jelmāzma.” 

“Jelmāzma,” you repeat atrociously enough to make him laugh, but you laugh too and then your stomach growls so loudly you both laugh again. 

Him out of amusement, you out of embarrassment.  

“If you must know, I was forced to abandon my breakfast this morning after your scroll arrived for Maris,” you say, ensuring he’s aware of the part he’s played in yet another humiliation. 

“How repugnant of me,” Aemond says with the twitch of another smile as he stands, his hand bracing against his rib. 

He moves to a cord by the fire, pulling it three times before a servant arrives at a door hidden in the panelling.  

You cannot hear the whispered list of instructions and pretend not to be watching his every movement. But you are watching.  

The way he saunters, so cocky. The way he looks back at you, half teasing smile, half breathtaking intensity. The way his leg stretches out as he sits down, so it just touches yours. 

Fresh nerves flutter in your stomach where the butterflies had lived, and you swallow, staring down at your book but finding you can only pretend to read.  

Luckily, it does not take very long before the food arrives and there’s tea, wine and delicate little pastries, but it's the fruit which catches your eye. So colourful and perfectly prepared into bitesize pieces.  

There was hardly any fruit at Storms End. Only apples at harvest time and blackberries in the summer.  

Your stomach threatens to growl again as you pick up a strawberry, careful not to let the juice drip onto the pages of the book before popping it in your mouth.  

Aemond reaches for a piece of fruit you've never seen before, telling you its name in High Valyrian before he throws it up and catches it in his mouth.  

Such an unbelievable show off, yet you can’t help but smile, because the only person he’s trying to impress is you, and though it makes you nervous, its intoxicating too.  

You both reach for more fruit and he tells you the High Valyrian for all the items on the tray. Cup, plate, wine and, though you know you’ll never remember them, you let him teach you anyway, melting a little with every word, until you’ve had your fill, and return your attention to the book. 

You recite another song, this one about a lark, then you find yourself asking him about the book he’s reading, then about his trips to Dorne, if he as ever seen The Wall, if he has ever sailed on one of the ships bobbing in the bay, and just about a thousand other things. 

Talk comes easy and Aemond is a natural storyteller. His stories all seem to contain so much excitement and vibrancy, and you consume them as though they are more delectable than the fruit on the tray. Barely noticing your clothes have long since dried, or the three times the maid arrives to add more logs to the fire. 

You certainly don’t have as many exciting stories as Aemond, since your entire life has been contained to Storms End. But the subject doesn’t seem to matter as much as the sharing. 

You’re telling him about the time when you were eleven, and had fallen from a tree, fracturing your arm. You still have a scar, its faded path hidden beneath the sleeve of your gown. But Aemond has your arm in his hand as though he can see it, and you’re laughing as you admit how pleased you were that the injury meant you didn’t have to practice embroidery for several months.  

He laughs too, and you imagine he’s thinking of those wonky cornflowers when Ser Willis walks in, his entrance masked by the laughter which has been echoing around the giant room all afternoon.  

"I’m sorry to disturb you, Prince Aemond,” he bows, “but there is a Ser Maurin Selmy at the door, looking for your lady.” 

Only now, under Ser Willis’ gaze, do you realise that, on this chaise made for two, you’ve crept close enough to Aemond to allow room for a third, a little fortress of books surrounding you, the fire ready for another log. 

You jump up, snatching your arm from his grasp, and feeling a little flustered at the way Ser Willis’ head is bowed, as though the scene is far too intimate for prying eyes.  

“Excuse me,” you say, hurrying towards the door with Aemond’s long legs catching your escape but not blocking it.  

Outside of the library, Ser Maurin gives you a shake of his head, his eyes filled with the concern of a man who’s known you all his life. Not a father, but close enough. 

"We’ve had all the men scouring the keep for you, my Lady,” he says, and you glance to a nearby window to see that the afternoon sun has faded towards dusk. 

When had that happened?  

How had you spent all day with Aemond?  

Past lunch, past tea, and well past the realms of propriety. 

You swallow hard, heart drumming in your chest in anticipation of your father's fury, while Ser Maurin looks to the prince. 

His old eyes are fierce with warning, but he doesn’t offer a word to his grace before turning on his heel, his arm held out to escort you home. 

“Your books,” Aemond says, handing you the three he had selected as though he had not a concern in the world for anyone's disapproval. 

“Thank you,” you say stiffly, careful not to meet his eye. 

“You will return tomorrow?” he asks, hopeful .  

Tightening your arms around the books, you hold them to your chest as though they are a shield, “these books shall keep me busy until I leave in three days time, and I shall return them then, your grace.” 

At that, you turn, taking Ser Maurin’s arm, your mind racing with a hundred different thoughts before it lands on one . 

“Please don’t tell them you found me with the prince.” 

“May I ask why?” his old stare fixes on the side of your face, and your cheeks begin to heat before you pause, remembering how upset Maris had been this morning. 

“They will get the wrong idea.”  

He gives you a pointed look, “and what is the right idea?” 

You turn to him, eyes wide, words like dust on your tongue. Honestly, you didn’t know. You could hardly even comprehend how you’d spent the entire day in Aemond’s company without feeling the need to kill him or run away. 

“Just tell them I was alone, ” you decide. 

Alone was easy to explain and even easier to believe than the alternative. But you knew the truth. That you’d spent an entire day with a dragon and enjoyed every moment.

~~~

Thank you for reading! Let me know if you're enjoying this story :)

[wintervalewritersecond]

tears to shed - simon 'ghost' riley

masterlist // masterlist call of duty

requested: no, but requests are OPEN! request: x

A/N: i have been thinking of this AU for a while now! i dont know why or how, maybe because of the skull mask he has on, or maybe just because i love both media, but alas, here it is! going to be multiple parts i think...

part one // part two // part three // part four

wordcount: 2,366 warnings: ooc simon, corpse bride au, she/her reader

An arranged marriage to unite two worlds. But no one would have expected that it would bring together the living and the dead.

"I do not want to see that pout again! We have gone over this, you are to wed mister MacTavish, whether you like it or not!"

Yes. Yes, we have gone over this. Quite frankly, it is all that you have heard about for the last few weeks. Your family finally had the chance to climb the social ladder, claiming their spot that 'is rightfully theirs'. The MacTavish family is one of the highest ranking families with a son that your parents deem perfect for you.

Perfect, as in, for them. A high rank, society looking up to you, and all that for the small price of marrying out their only daughter.

"Besides, with a face like yours, who else would marry you? Anne, tighten her corset! I can nearly hear her breathe."

Anne, your maid, looks at you as she furrows her eyebrows, slightly tightening the corset as you breathe in. God, can this already be over?

A carriage is driven in front of your doorstep, ready to bring you to the huge MacTavish mansion. Your mother seems like she could not be happier as your father only trails behind her.

"Oh, I can not wait for our daughter to be married! We will finally be where we should have been from the very start!"

"This is only a rehearsal, my dear."

"Oh, nonsense! This wedding will happen, whether you like it or not! This time tomorrow, we will be the talk of the town!"

In an attempt to ignore them, you already enter the carriage, pulling on your gloves as you lean your head on the small window. Your mother huffs, climbing into the carriage as well before your father comes in, closing the door behind him.

"Now, come on! We don't have all day. Shepherd!"

The old man grunts, pulling the reigns as the horses taking off. It takes only a few seconds before your mother taps you with her fan.

"I can see you thinking! Whatever plan of escaping you have, you better forget. Everything has to go according to plan, Y/N! This life we have lived up till now is something not fit for us. We are rich, and this marriage will only mean good for us. Oh, can't you just see it?" She looks over at your father, "We will have balls! Oh, can you just imagine? Dancing, and goodness, people will be coming over for tea!"

You wonder how it was going in the MacTavish home now. Were his parents also lecturing him on everything? Were they tying his tie so tightly so that he can barely breathe? Or maybe his parents were actually quite sweet.

Before you knew it, the carriage already comes to a stop, the huge mansion in front of you. It is even more terrifying as you remember. Sure, you knew their home would be bigger than yours, but this is nearly a castle. You breathe in deeply - well, as deep as you can with the tight corset - before exiting the carriage after your parents.

Your mother pulls you behind her and up the stairs that lead to the tall doors. How will these even be opened? They are five times as tall as you and they must be so heavy. Your mother roughly turns you around, tugging on your dress and hair to make sure it looks absolutely perfect before the door opens.

"Oh, goodness! What an impeccable taste," your mother mumbles to herself, looking around as you just trail behind, "So grand!"

In front of you stand two tall figures.

"Lord and Lady MacTavish," the butler gives your family a side-eye before stepping back.

"Ah, you must be mister John MacTavish. I have to say, you do not look a day over twenty!"

Can your mother be more idiotic? Your father tugs her arm, shaking his head before coughing.

"Well," Lady MacTavish raises one eyebrow, "We will be taking tea in the drawing room. Follow me."

The Lord and Lady already walk off, your parents trailing behind them as your mom keeps muttering random compliments. Something else catches your eye though.

A piano.

A grand piano at that. It is cleaned so well that it seems to reflect anything in its path. You wish you were allowed to play piano at home, but your mother always insisted that it was simply not fit for you. There is more important stuff to do, such as pushing yourself into the smallest corset just to appeal to others.

Your fingers float over the keys as you slowly sit down. The door to the drawing room was already shut, they wouldn't hear you, right? You slowly press the different keys. Gosh, it feels good to finally play the piano again. It was a small secret between you and your father - only playing the instrument if your mother was not home.

Johnny was running late. His parents will kill him. They had warned him so many times that he should have been on time, yet here he is, still trying to tie his tie. After multiple tries, he finally gets it, rushing out of his room and down the stairs. But, before he can even get out of his hallway, he is met with the soft notes of a piano. The piano actually being played in this house?

He is met with you as you still softly play, not even noticing the man at the top of the stairs. Were you Miss Y/L/N? He walks down the steps, slowly making his way over to the piano. You are still sat on the little stool, not even noticing the figure behind you until you see a shadow towering over you. You yelp, quickly standing up before pushing the seat back in its original place.

"I am so sorry! Please, excuse me."

The man shakes his head, laughing.

"Hey, no need for that. You play beautifully. I wish I possessed that talent."

"Oh, it is nothing," you let out a deep breath, smiling at him. "My mother does not quite like my playing. Says it is improper for a lady."

"Nonsense," Johnny sits down on the little stool, gesturing for you to sit down as well. "If anything, you should never stop playing. You truly have a talent for it, miss Y/L/N."

It is quiet for a bit, just the two of you sitting together, both not knowing what to say.

"So... We are to be wed tomorrow."

"So it is, mister MacTavish."

"Oh, no, call me John. Or Johnny, both is okay. Considering the circumstances, I think it will do."

"All right, that is, if you call me Y/N."

He does not have time to respond as his mother comes rushing out of the drawing room, visibly mad.

"What is this?! How improper. You shouldn't be alone together! The rehearsal starts in one minute! Come, at once!"

Time goes as slow as it could. In front of the group stands a tall man, trying to guide everyone through the rehearsal as you fight to not fall asleep. His voice is almost as boring as his appearance, and nothing about this entire situation makes you feel happy. You are not even allowed to sit directly next to Johnny, not to mention that both of you just could not keep to the script.

"Okay... Again," the old man groans, nearly wanting to rip the book that he is holding apart, "Your cup will never be empty, for I will be your wine."

"With this candle," Johnny begins, but quickly gets cut off.

"Mister MacTavish, first repeat the other sentence," the old man shakes his head, dropping the book on the table. "First the cup, then the wine, then the candle. Let's try it again..."

You quickly glance back, seeing multiple disappointed faces looking back at you. The doorbell rings, Lord MacTavish quickly waving the butler away to open up the door.

"How about you, miss Y/N?"

"Yeah," you quietly mumble, taking hold of the candle. All that you have to do is make it lit up and make sure the flame stays on the entirety of the speech. "I, uh... I use this candle..."

"With this candle, miss Y/N."

"Oh, it seems that I am early."

Both you and Johnny turn around, seeing the visitor that knocked on the door earlier. A woman, one dressed in a neat and fashionable gown, stands in the middle of the aisle.

"Is she from our family?" Your mother whispers to your father, but he only shrugs in response.

"A seat for Miss Graves, please."

What an odd name.

"Oh, please. Do carry on."

"Right... Let us try this. Again."

"With this hand," Mister MacTavish takes hold of your hand, holding the candlestick in his other. "I will..."

He bumps into the table in front of him, everything on it shaking and nearly falling over as the old man starts yelling yet again.

"Three steps! Can you not count?"

You look over at Johnny before looking back at the man.

"I am sure that he can, sir."

The man mumbles something under his breath, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Did he even remember to bring the rings?"

"Oh, yes, of course."

Johnny fumbles with his pocket, trying to fish out the small bands, but while doing so, he accidentally elbows you, making you drop the candle. Oh, no.

The candle rolls away from you, much too fast for you to catch it, the dress of Lady MacTavish slowly catching fire.

"Lady MacTavish!"

You quickly hurry over, stomping on her dress in a weak attempt to get rid of the flames. It does not take long for the butler to return with a bucket of water, emptying the contents over the fire and you.

"Enough!"

The tall man stands up even straighter, towering over everyone in the room.

"This wedding can not take place until both of them are properly prepared. Both of you, learn your vows."

He nearly pushes his pointer finger in your eye as you nervously look from him, to your parents, to Johnny's parents. The young man quickly pushes open the door, hurrying out as you follow behind him. He is, however, much too fast, almost running up the stairs, but not before accidentally dropping something from his pocket.

His ring.

You quickly scoop it up, holding it close before rushing out of the house. You need to be away from this place, if even just for a moment. The ring will be safe in your possession, so hopefully Johnny will not get in any more trouble if he fully loses it. The band is much too big to fit your fingers, it has to be the one belonging to Johnny. Either that, or they were really bad at measuring your rings.

"They must think I am a fool," you groan, slowly walking up to the bridge, shaking your head. "I mean, what did I even think? I set her dress on fire!"

You twirl the ring around in your fingers, crossing the bridge, the woods in front of you.

"Not only that, but I can not even seem to remember the stupid vows. It is just a couple of sentences!"

The next fifteen minutes are spent trying to go over the same vows again and again. At one point, you weren't even sure anymore if the words you were speaking even existed. You decided to sit down on a fallen tree, leaning against it as you twirled the ring in between your fingers again.

"With this hand, I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never be empty, for I will be your wine," you whisper, looking at one of the branches right next to you. "With this candle I will light your way into the darkness. With this ring, I ask you to be mine."

You slip the ring onto the branch, huffing as you lean back even more. Mud and sand are staining your dress now, but as you look over at the ring again to take if off of the stick, something grabs your wrist.

A yelp leaves your lips as you try and pull your arm back, but it seems like the branches have wrapped themselves around your wrists. It nearly pulls you down into the ground before you fall backwards.

"Ouch!"

You shake your head, looking up, but you still feel the grip around your arm. On it are bones, a hand, still gripping you.

"Oh my God!"

A figure rises from the sand, clawing at the dirt as it slowly stands up, dirt and leaves falling from its shoulders. On their face, a skull, though quite obviously a mask. He is missing his left arm - is that what gripped you?

"I do."

He does? What does he do? You glance down, the ring that you put onto the branch now around its bony finger. No.

No.

Another scream leaves your body as you hurry to scramble up, running as fast as you can with the dress you are wearing. The ground is uneven and it is dark, but the figure does not seem fazed. You rush, leaves and branches hitting you in the face and hooking onto your clothing. Do you dare to look back? Once you do, you see the figure catching up to you, its arm now attached to its body again.

You reach the bridge, your breathing heavy as you almost rip the corset off of your body. Why did your mother insist on tightlacing it? Well, you had not expected on having to run through the woods. Is it gone? You look back to the woods, the figure seemingly gone as you let out a relieved sigh. You take a few steps back, but immediately stop when you feel that you bump into something. Slowly turning around, you are met with someone's chest.

Its the figure.

He looks down at you, his eyes peeking out from the mask. He is wearing a clean suit, a white flower in his pocket, and the ring around his fingers.

"I have to say, that is one hell of a way to ask me to marry you, love."

[ladybirdswritings]

Silken Webs & Pirouettes - Miguel O’Hara x Reader

TW - PTSD, mentions of abuse.

Summary - You realize that maybe working with a man as intimidating as Miguel O’Hara just isn’t for you… Ballerina!Reader & CEO!Miguel. Alternate Universe with most of the characters included as seen in "Across the Spiderverse." Many cameos ahead. Miguel is a successful business owner but personality is canon. This is a steamy reader insert, Miguel x You! Enjoy and pls leave me lots of love and comments as it keeps me motivated <333

next chapter

six

You feel out of place. Stuffy, anxious, like a walking corpse with heavy eyes and an empty stomach. You’ve convinced yourself that once you waltz up those stairs, everyone is going to turn to you. Point and laugh as Mr. O’Hara rips you to tiny, pretty pieces with those awfully sharp teeth of his.

You took the stairs today because the glass elevator seems too dreadful. Each floor rising just getting you closer and closer to your demise, out in the open for the world to see.

You only have one flight left before you know it, though. The bittersweet stamina your body remembers from the times you used to twirl upon a silvered stage. You frown, maybe definitely purposely going slower up the final steps.

Your morning has been hectic. Your curls were in a battle with your hands and the straightener, reflecting the heat away like they were made of ice. Your hair is frizzy, and your ribbon has a tear in it. The sole of your boot is mere threads away from ripping apart and you’re terribly hungry. You had no time to eat, though.

The air constricts you as you reach the tip of the castle where the fanged creature with dark, unforgiving eyes dwells. Your body is overtaken with soft trembles yet you do your best to keep composed. Through the glass door and onto the shiny tiles.

The ambush doesn’t come… you ease.

Your eyes scan through the cold air that greets you. To your complete surprise, your Christmas tree still stands, covered in its pink bows and golden lights. You doubt you’ll ever be as confused as you are right now again at any other moment in your life.

Your eyes wander to the front desk where Cindy is seated, she smiles and nods and you swiftly make your way to her. Mary Jane wears glasses far too big for her petite face, clicking and clacking on her ivory keyboard.

“Hey!” She greets, handing you your bag of ribbons immediately.

It hasn’t been lit up to ash, it shocks you.

“Hey… is um…” thankfully she understands and you don’t have to say much more.

Christ, you’re treating him like he’s a monster tucked underneath your bed.

“Nope, he’s been out all morning… super weird between you and I, he’s never late!”

You believe her, but that doesn’t matter… all the tension in your body floats away like a cloud returning itself to the sky. The breath you’ve been holding since you conquered each step leaves you, and you finally feel as though you can breathe again.

“Uh oh, what’d you do?” Mary Jane inquires as she takes a sip of her peppermint tea.

You can only manage to shake your head, mumbling your gratitude softly and dragging the bag to the tree. The ladder still stands tall, taunting you with rusty screws.

“Hi pretty.” You whisper to the giant thing, hand burying itself in the tote to pluck out yet another pink ribbon. Knowing he’s gone, you work with ease. Gentle on the ladder, the ballerina in your heart still dances even though you cannot. Your balance is impeccable as you blanket the back of the tree now. It doesn’t take long.

Without him here, the office is alive. It’s happy. The women chat as they would while getting manicures at a salon. They giggle and swoon over Mr. O’Hara which is to be nothing more than expected. It makes you giggle. He must feel so high and mighty being surrounded by people bowing at the beck of his hand. Yet when his thumb doesn’t suffocate them, they blossom like roses.

They’re lovely, fun to listen to while you tinker with the tree. This is nice.

This is nice and the laughter and joy and “Santa, Baby” purring on the radio lasts all but an hour before dead silence and gasps soon flood your ears.

You chill, freezing up with your hand in the bag of bows. Your body is kneeling before the tree, the gold shining like starlight on your pretty features. Someone lowers the music quickly, and the man who simultaneously suffocates all the fun with just his presence alone walks through his elevator door.

You hear it ring, you hear the heavy clicks of his shoes and the adjust of his tie. Everyone is dead silent, now. Tense. Back to the normal that is known here.

You? You’re frozen, your head still bowed. You’re afraid of him, maybe. It is rare for you, you’re afraid of no one. Not anymore. Not after… well, it’s a promise you made to yourself.

Closer…

Closer..

Closer his boots near, until?

They stop.

They stop right beside you and god, it is right then in that moment that you’d rather run out and lay in the snow as you’re certain it would keep you warmer than you are in this moment, beneath him.

“You, come with me.” Is all he offers before marching forward on his path.

You gulp, maybe you misheard? A cautious glance at Cindy’s wide, sympathetic eyes and you know all you need to. This cruel, cruel man. He let you blanket his stupid, limp tree in ribbons, he let you get comfortable like a mouse under a warm lamp— not knowing there’s a serpent hiding away… ready to strike. Ready to tell you he’s letting you go.

Cindy raises her brows, as if rushing you to do something. To unfreeze. You dig your nails into your palm, hard enough to snap you back and you’re soon up on your feet. Each step you take, you look at nothing but your worn shoes.

The oak door is held open by him. They’re all staring, eyes like daggers stuck in your back.

“Time to actually do your work, ladies.” He commands, they comply immediately. Does he have a spy? Perhaps a meter that starts ringing when there’s too much fun…

The oak door slams, trapping you— the little mouse into his warm den. The sound startles you, making your eyes fall shut.

Keep it together…

He walks past you swiftly, scent of rich firewood and coffee intoxicating your body so much so that if you weren’t so horrified right now, your mouth would water.

“Sit.” He commands as he takes his place upon his leather throne.

You let out a shaky breath, making your way forward with all the force you have left within you. Maybe you should just blurt out an apology and book it straight for the highest hills you can find…

The zombie you are, dressed in clothes you used to wear for rehearsal as it’s all you have. Ivory tights and pom pom boots, a pink skirt and wrapped shirt. You rehearse the moves of walking and sitting like a dance you’ve danced before. The leather is cold when it engulfs you, unpleasant.

You clasp your hands in your lap, picking at the remnants of the French manicure Rio gave you last week. Waiting for it, expecting, remembering. Your head is hung in shame, in submission.

“You look nervous.” He observes.

You stay silent, reluctant to admit how true that really is.

You feel him, you feel him like fire on your skin. His eyes demanding your attention, but you can’t. You won’t. It isn’t good enough for him. He leans forward,

“You’re new here, but if you cared to ask my girls what my first rule is? You’d know that you look at me when I talk to you, do you understand?” He commands, and like a ballerina does, you mend and comply. Heated as your face as becomes, rapid as your heart flutters, and nervous as your being is… your eyes follow the order and shoot up to face his own.

They are dark, scorching into you like hellfire, an incomparable inferno. You want to shrink, but you won’t. You can’t give him the satisfaction.

“Rule two. Answer me.” He commands.

“Yes…” you whisper.

He’s satisfied, at least you hope. It certainly seems that way. He leans back in his leather chair and keeps his eyes locked on you. It is then you’re certain he’s a sadist. It’s obvious, obvious by the way you press your knees together and pick at your polish that you’re uncomfortable. He doesn’t care.

The silence is dreadful, heavy and suffocating. You try your best to hold it, stare into his eyes and ignore the fire burning your skin from the bone but god— it’s too much.

“I didn’t know!” You blurt out, half hoping he is deaf yet also half hoping he understands what you mean.

His eyes narrow and you’re certain you’ve made a fool of yourself again. You let your gaze fall and the subtle sound you hear under his breath makes you snap them right back up.

“I know. Keep it that way.” He forces through clenched, sharp teeth.

If he wasn’t so horrifying, so cruel, you’d feel sorry for him. His words, the subject, it’s painful for him to utter— to think of. You can tell.

The silence blankets the room again, and your eyes beg him to let you glance anywhere but at him. You’re desperate though, the bigger part of you. Desperate to suffer here, instead of home. Maybe he knows just how desperate you are, maybe he’s using it. Maybe he’s delaying the inevitable, maybe there’s nothing you can do to avoid it.

It seems like forever, but he eventually speaks.

“I want you to do something for me.”

Pack your shit and leave…

You finish his words within the confines of your mind, prepared for them. They never come, no… what follows only shocks you.

“I want a tree. A small one for my office. Red and blue ribbons, and soccer ornaments.”

What?

This man, this enigma of a man seems to be the most capable creature alive and able to make your head spin like a record. You shake your head, confused…

“What?” It’s a soft whisper, weak.

“Rule three, I don’t repeat myself. You heard me.”

You did. You did and you still don’t slightly believe it. You’re dreaming, that must be it. You fell on the stairs on the way up and you’ve been tucked away in a coma.

No. It can’t be true. Sure, if anyone on this earth would be intimidating enough to make you truly feel their gaze in a coma, it would be him… but it’s far too real, too intense to simply exist within your imagination.

“I— can do that, sir.”

He only nods, once. Voice louder now, commanding the room, commanding you.

“I want it done by tonight, on my desk before you leave.”

You nod, mind still jogging to keep up with this conversation, to understand it. Your brows are furrowed, eyes searching for an invisible answer around the room. They land back on him and it’s as if he was waiting for them to do just that. A raise of his brow and he gives you an expression you can’t quite understand.

“You’re dismissed.”

Oh.

He talks to you like you’re just a dull-brained creature, incapable of understanding a word he says, an idiot. You stand on your feet and then swiftly turn your back on him, which is somehow more frightening than looking him in the eyes.

That must be it, you suppose. You’re grateful. Baffled but, grateful. You won’t test your luck, you won’t question it. Perhaps Cindy was onto something with her analysis of him. He’s just not— soft.

No, he’s in control and commanding and intimidating and far far easier to deal with than the cavalry at home. Okay… okay, you can manage this.

Even so? You can’t walk quicker to the door, it seems— hurrying out like the inferno from his eyes is just behind you. It is. The oak creaks softly behind you, and you huff as you make it out to the other side, surviving to tell the story of how you evaded the beast. Mary Jane and Cindy’s eyes are wide and waiting.

You only offer a thumbs up and nod, then get straight to work.

You’re happy for the excuse to waltz the city during this lovely time of year. Especially when you’re not paying for the things you buy. The streets are lined with snowfall surrounding cobble pavement, brick roads and sparkling trees that reach the sky. There are smiling St. Nick’s on every street corner and employees dressed as elves in every small shop. It smells of coffee and chocolate chips.

You’re not at all dressed for December. Your check hasn’t come in just yet, you’ll buy warm clothes when it does. Jack Frost is a bite on your shoulder, cheeks and nose pink and chilled from the snow. You’re trembling.

That doesn’t matter though because you’re also dancing, right now. Dancing like you did as a ballerina; that equates to simply following orders. It isn’t until the warmth of the small gift shop nearby embraces you that you ease. Warmth crawls up your spine and burns Jack off of it. You can think, now. You can stop following orders, stop dancing.

Your trembling fingertips are numb, grazing over the snow globes, ribbons and ornaments. Hmm…

Soccer…

Perhaps he’s a fan…

Blue and red ribbon…

Your teeth chatter as you grab a wicker basket and collect each color. You find lights to compliment them and a dark, lonely little tree by the windowsill. Fitting. Ornaments, then. Soccer balls and goals, flags and tennis shoes. It becomes more apparent as you fill your basket that this is not for him.

Cautiously, you grab your cracked phone and find your watch history. The thumbnail, the picture from last night. Where the grinning ghost sits on his shoulders, she’s adorned in a socccer jersey. No, the tree is not for him at all…

It’s for her.

Sadness swells at the base of your throat but you force it down with a gulp. Gentle thing you are, always so empathetic with the world around you. Even the cruelest parts.

Yet, his words from earlier only echo in your mind.

Keep it that way.

Maybe you’re stupid or maybe you’ve just never been good at following orders when there’s not a wire hanger involved… but you just can’t.

Your eyes glaze over the wooden ornaments stand and land upon a dark oak frame with a vacant place for a picture. You know just what you’ll do…

Time passes quickly and you are back at the office soon. The tree is small, but you handle it with care and adoration. You tie the ribbons by hand and place them snugly upon the blossomed branches. The lights are a mixture of red, gold and blue. The star is gold too and it compliments the rest nicely. The ornaments are small, hanging like icicles from the tips of each branch. Overall? It’s perfect. Missing one, final touch though.

Everyone has left, the office lights dim. It’s just you and the grinch who’s steadily growing a heart. Maybe not three sizes bigger just yet, but you’ll take even a quarter. It’s big enough for him to keep you at least… for now.

You hurry over to the front desk where you print the picture, ink staining the colors vivid and bright.

Her smile was so pretty…

You cut the excess paper and grab the photo frame ornament, adorning it with the heart warming picture of him and his little girl. After you clean your mess, you place the final touch upon his tiny tree and revel in your masterpiece. Perfection, all you ever strive for.

But now? Back into the devil’s den.

You would be lying if you said your heart isn’t pounding as you approach the oak door, but as soon as you make it there— you steady yourself.

You remember who you are, what you have survived.

One cold man who you won’t know in a few months can’t take that. Your fire.

The tree is stable in your hands, but it needs both of them to balance upright. With your foot, you knock.

No answer.

You knock again…

And, no answer.

With a huff, you risk the possibility of angering the beast more than he usually is and use your bum to push the large thing open. You’re very much annoyed to find him alert and well, glasses resting on his face as he types away at a document on his laptop. The square thing looks like a toy compared to his hands.

Christ.

He doesn’t regard you, he doesn’t need to. He already gave his orders. You’re careful to maintain balance as you gently bring the tree to his desk and place it to the corner of him. A switch of a button and it glows. You catch him then, glancing just once at it before continuing his work. The lights reflect in his glasses.

You tidy up a few spots and ribbons that shifted from transfer and then step back to admire. You’re satisfied. You don’t bother saying goodbye, he’s immersed enough as is and you’d rather refrain from unnecessary interaction with the heatmiser.

You smooth your skirt as you make your way out, ribbons bouncing on your locks. The door shuts behind you, you’re safe again.

The tiles squeak as your boots kiss them, gathering your bag and phone— you get ready to leave. Near the stairs and then— oh, right. You forgot to unplug the tree.

You know well how much of a disaster it would be if you set the floor on fire. With a huff, you make your way back and check the moisture with two fingers. All is well. You bend over and unplug the golden shimmer to make the top floor even darker, hearing the oak door shut swiftly as you do. It makes you jump.

Just when you almost missed him.

His steps are heavy… heavier than usual. Quicker too.

He must be tired, anxious for his bed. He’s filthy rich. He probably has the biggest bed with dozens of pillows and the softest of sheets. You wish your bed was like that…

You turn.

Maybe one day you’ll have a bed just as— oh!

Two hands case you up against the wall beside your ribbon tree, and all you see in front of you is that look.

That. Look.

It’s back.

Monstrous, horrifying, furious with you.

The darkness, the redness in his eyes is clearer now. The veins in his neck and the tension in his shoulders and jaw.

He raises his hand, you flinch by habit. Grasped tightly in it is the picture, except now— the glass has been shattered and it’s cutting into his palms. Your eyes widen, hands reaching out to help him. He pulls his palm back before you can, moving his head so that his eyes are staring directly into yours.

That look.

You chill.

“¿Qué carajo es esto!? Huh!? Tell me!” He growls, voice guttural, loud, horrifying— and it is then that you realize now more than ever that you truly are the mouse. And he? He’s the serpent.

With a grunt, he throws the glass ornament with his smiling, pretty girl across the room. It shatters even more once the wall finds it. He cases you in again, and you know now just how trapped you truly are. Just you and him on this lonely floor. He’s angry. You’re shaking.

You’ve seen this anger before. In her… in Katerina.

A gulp, maybe you’re a fish because your mouth bobs open far too many times to explain and yet you can’t. speak. The words catch themselves on the tip of your tongue. Your eyes can’t take it, they fall shut as you slow your breathing. There’s panic on the horizon. Memories so familiar to this flood back like an ocean of poison in your mind.

His index and thumb move to grip your chin, so angry and yet his grip is only firm, not painful. He tugs your face enough so that your eyes shoot open again.

“Did I tell you to do this?” His voice, perhaps it’s scarier now. It’s dark, low, composed like a cap on shaken pop.

“You knew better, girl! You knew better!” Her voice now… Katerina’s. Echoing in your head.

You’re suffocating, the air around you is too thin. You can’t breathe, you can’t look at those eyes.

No, no no. You’re panicking. His features blur as tears pool in your sight. He tugs your chin again, they fall onto his fingertips.

“You already forgot my rules, huh? You stupid, stupid girl…” he spits.

“You ungrateful, stupid girl.” She screams against your skull.

“I told you to keep it that way, didn’t I? Díos mio! What’s the matter with you?” He’s exasperated. He’s asking, eyes commanding an answer from you. You don’t know.

What is the matter with you?

Like the mythology of Rogue, it��s like everything you touch withers by your hand.

After everything Katerina gave you… after he took a chance letting you work here.

Your throat constricts as you gaze into the serpent’s eyes. Your heart is a hummingbird’s then, fighting so hard to fill that clouded brain with oxygen. You’re dizzy. You’re remembering.

You can’t. You need to move you need—

You can’t stop yourself, hand shooting up to dig your nails into the skin of his wrist. His eyes shoot toward the spot and he hisses, pulling it back. You take the chance to escape.

Under his arm and you stumble forward, hugging your midsection with a gasp, desperate for a lick of oxygen to bless your burning lungs.

A sob takes over you, but a close of your eyes and a quick inhale of the firewood and coffee that intoxicates you and you remember just where you are. You’re in his office. You’re not with her. You’re here. You’re here and you don’t want to be, anymore.

No, no not with him. Not after this. All of it, all of him. It’s too much, it’s too far. You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve home either but at least there you can save up and flee…

You’re so panicked, all your mind can do is run over the many ways you’re going to call home through the flashing images of her. Images of Katerina bloom like ivy in your mind as you plan out your next steps. You feel glued in place yet so desperate to leave.

You glance at the broken glass and jagged smile of the ghost girl, jumping when the warmth of his palm greets your shoulder.

“Mirame, look at me.” He commands, but softly. Rather, softer than usual.

You feel pathetic yet still, your hand shoots up to push his own away from behind you.

You’ve had enough.

You buried the devil in your past. Your life is far too valuable to dance with another one.

You’d rather be cased up at home forever, working a job around family that think of you as nothing more than scum than be around him for a day longer.

You know, now…

“I quit.” You force out through another sob, not daring to turn and face him. You’re hunched over, shaky and weak. On the verge of suffocating completely. You wipe at your eyes and don’t hear another sound from him before you snatch your bag and phone and practically run to the stairwell.

Two steps at a time, maybe three before December’s chill kisses you in icy greeting. You don’t need to whistle for a cab to brake. In you go, familiar as you’ve done this twice now because of him.

Only this time? You’ll never come back again…

🏷️ ‘s @reirain @needybitez @migueloharastruelove @laysmt @maomaimao @daisy-artfield | chap 6 song 🎧:

[lokidjarin-7567]

TTPD Contents

Fortnight

Din Djarin x Reader After being employed by Greef to transport you back to your home planet, Mando comes back from one of his bounty hunts beaten and bloody, and you’re forced to get closer than you expected to the man made from metal. fem!reader, 18+ MDNI 5,539 words

He had been gone for a long time. Too long.

It had been a few weeks now that you had been travelling with the Mandalorian. Greef had arranged for you to travel with him - something that the bounty hunter did not seem happy about, only muttering a gruff, reluctant affirmative when he heard the price, and that there was a bounty on your home planet to make the trip worth it, along with a few on the way.

He barely talked. When it was time for meals, he would place the plate in front of you. When you asked a question, he didn’t respond with more than one word. He was stoic and silent and alone, and he probably preferred it that way. But regardless of all of that, you felt a warmth towards him. An intrigue. There was something about the way he carried himself, authoritative but respectful, never aggressive or outright rude even though you knew he didn’t want you there. He was job focussed and not fussed about home comforts considering the small, metal alcove with one blanket that was his bed. You had opted to sleep in the cockpit most of the time; the co-pilot’s chair was much more comfortable than anywhere else on the ship. 

It had so far been a grim journey to say the least, and without a whole lot of interesting conversation, so, naturally, you had started to make up a few things about him. What he was like under all that armour. You began to imagine what he looked like. Taking his voice into account, he must be attractive. No one who sounded that good had a face that didn’t match. He was tall, you knew that, and strong. You had seen him wrestle bounties on board with little effort, and you couldn’t help but watch as he did. But under all of that, you thought he was caring. He always made sure you were fed, comfortable and safe. He made you feel safe, which was weird considering he was a relative stranger.

You were sure your imagination was running away with you, boredom and necessity projecting a person that didn’t exist onto the shell of a man who happened to always be in front of you, but you couldn’t help it. The person you had created was addictive, even if the illusion was shattered every time he ignored you, or even actively avoided you. And then it changed.

He finally spoke more than one syllable on the sixth day. You were getting close to his third bounty’s last known location: a small planet you had never heard of. You left hyperspace, watching as he slowly piloted you down to the surface. The planet was beautiful, with luscious forests and long rivers, sun sitting low in the horizon even though it was the middle of the day, a wash of orange painting the tips of each tree’s branches. You had never seen anything like it before, and you had to stop yourself physically gasping. Your awe didn’t last for long, though.

“Follow me.” The Mandalorian muttered, heading down the ladder as soon as the ship had landed, and you scrambled to keep up with him like a lost loth cat. By the time you were at the bottom of the ladder, he was shoving something into your hands and you looked down to see… a blaster?

“Do you know how to use this?”

“Yes.. I….” You couldn’t quite compose yourself, flustered.

“Good. If anything other than me comes through that door, shoot it.” You stood in shock for a few seconds as he gathered his things.

“What do you mean? What’s going to come through the door?”

“I mean I don’t know this planet well, and if you die I won’t get paid.”

“Stars, thanks for the sentiment.”

“I won’t be long.” And with that he was gone, and you closed the door behind him.

That was two weeks ago. You hadn’t seen him since. You had sat in the corner staring at the door most of the time, paranoid, only moving to eat and use the bathroom, barely sleeping. Did he know he was going to be gone this long before he left? Did he know what he said would freak you out this much? Maybe it was all a big joke…

You must’ve nodded off again, because you woke to the sound of banging on the door of the ship.

“It’s me, open up.” You heard his familiar voice shout outside, and you lunged to press the right button, blaster still clutched tightly in your hand. As the door was let down, you couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief when he stepped inside. He was dragging an unconscious bounty, grimacing ever so slightly as he lifted and froze them in carbonate before turning to look at you, head cocked to one side.

“What happened to you?” What in the stars did he mean? You must’ve looked a little disheveled, but…

“You freaked me out! Do I really look that bad?” You moved to smooth your hair, tucking stray strand behind your ears as he paused, his helmet moving noticeably down, then back up to meet your eyes. If he wasn’t wearing a helmet, the eye contact would’ve made you blush.

“No, you look…” he paused again, but this time it was different. He swayed a little, barely noticeable, but you glanced down to see blood dripping down the shiny beskar that covered his thigh.

“Are you ok?” You asked, quickly moving towards him, and just in time, because he was suddenly reaching out towards you, something you were sure he wouldn’t do unless he was really in trouble, his whole body weight falling onto you. “Hey?” You asked again, starting to get seriously worried.

“Sorry, just…” he groaned, and leaned on you a little more.

“Just sit down..”. You muttered, guiding his body to the floor.

“Just… a leg wound.” He practically whispered it, pointing to a metal box mounted to the wall. “Bacta… shot.” You got up, grabbing the box as fast as possible before returning to his side. You rummaged through the medical supplies while he tried to take off the piece of armour just below the now obvious knife wound. It was jagged and dirty, and unbelievably deep, way beyond just a surface wound. It almost looked like someone had stabbed him first, then tried to slash him, pulling the blade through his flesh. It looked painful. You didn’t know how he was even walking. You would definitely have to clean it out for him, but Bacta was more important right now. You found the shot, grabbing it with one hand and helping him with the other. You managed to undo the thigh guard single-handedly, discarding the piece of metal with a loud clang.

“You’ve done this before.” He chuckled through his moderator, clearly delirious from pain because you had never heard him laugh.

“Surprisingly, this is the first time I’ve undressed a Mandalorian.” Without warning, you plunged the syringe into his thigh, figuring it was best while he was distracted, pressing the bacta into his bloodstream as he groaned, his hand clenching into a tight ball as he laid on his side on the floor.

“Stars, girl, what are you doing to me?” He grunted out, exhaling harshly through his teeth as you pulled out the needle. It stopped your breath in your throat.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Without thinking, you touched his thigh, just the small strip of tan skin where the knife had broken his clothes, lightly circling your fingers around where you had injected him. He just hummed, a shuddering breath falling from his modulator as his helmet leant back onto the hard metal floor. “Do you want me to help you up? Or get more comfortable at least.” He shook his head, or more accurately, his helmet.

“Need to… stay here for a second.” You just nodded, planning to stay with him until he would let you clean him up, but he had other ideas. “Here…” he handed you a fob, pressing it into your hand and lingering for a moment, his glove the only thing between you. “Coordinates.” You had been watching him in the cockpit just long enough to know what to do.

“I’ve got it.” You stood up, legs shaky from adrenaline and exhaustion, climbing the ladder and punching to coordinates into the control board. You took a second to fix your appearance in the metallic fixings. You looked a mess, dark bags under your eyes evidence that you hadn’t slept, hair completely disheveled and clothes wrinkled. Not a lot you could do about most of that now. You just tried to tidy your hair, heading back downstairs quietly.

He was still lying on the floor, on his back now, hands over his face. He groaned quietly - in pain or relief you weren’t sure - his hips moving up and his body twisting slightly to stretch his bad leg out, letting out a soft sigh as he did. Something that felt a lot like arousal shot through you, and you cursed your own body at its involuntary response. You had barely shared a conversation in the three weeks you had known him, and for two of them he hadn’t even been on the ship, and yet, something was still there. It was just because you were lonely. It wasn’t something you could deny. You had gone to Nevarro to work, the occasional fling maybe once every few months when you had a night off but nothing more, and that’s all you’d had time for. And your home planet - Arvala-7 - was full of moisture farmers and Blurrgs and not much more than that.

He moved his hands from his helmet, uncovering his visor, and he seemed to freeze, finally noticing you. You swallowed hard, ignoring the thoughts racing through your mind.

“How are you feeling?” You asked cautiously, and he groaned.

“I’ve been better.”

“Can I help at all?” He paused, a silence you were sure was charged hanging in the air.

“I…” Not for the first time, the Mandalorian said nothing. He moved again, shifting on the cold floor.

“What? Come on, what can I help with?” You silently hoped he would say what you were thinking, but he stayed quiet. “Ok at least let me clean it up…”

“You don’t have to…”

“I want to.” You said it forcefully, with enough finality to stop him from arguing. He just sighed, groaning as he worked himself to a seated position. You moved to kneel down next to him, noticing that the cut had stopped bleeding now. You found the right supplies in the box, grabbing some sterilising wipes, bandages and gauze, and moving to a position where you could reach him, cross legged with one leg up, allowing you to easily bend down so he didn’t have to move the wound at all. The silence you had previously found unnerving proved soothing suddenly, now you were close enough to hear the quiet, filtered breaths through his helmet, it was almost hypnotic. You felt reluctant to break it, so you whispered as you opened the small plastic case that sealed the wipe.

“This is going to hurt…” You started at the edge of the wound, just wiping away some of the blood that had dried there, before folding it up and gently pressed onto the cut, trying to clear some of the dirt there, but he hissed in pain, his hand shooting up to the back of your thigh and gripping in a way that made your heart stop beating for a moment. You forced a breath in, composing yourself so you could talk.

“I’m sorry, I know, I won’t be long.”

“You keep hurting me today, girl..” he grumbled, his hand maintaining its vicelike hold on your leg.

“Well, a few weeks of silence is enough to make me do anything to get you to talk to me...” He scoffed as you continued to work, your other hand absentmindedly tracing softly up and down the skin next to it.

“Anything, huh?” Oh. You blushed at the insinuation coupled with his gravelly tone, continuing to work with a small smile. You finished with the wipe, placing it down next to you and grabbing some gauze, pressing it gently against the cut and taping the outside to keep it in place. It wasn’t until you were certain it was secure that you realised his hand was still gripping your leg. You just looked at his gloved hand for a minute, stunned and not wanting to move for fear of scaring him off, but apparently that wasn’t a problem as he loosened his grip, tracing his fingers around and laying his palm flat on the top of your thigh, spreading his fingers almost possessively and squeezing, leaving no room for misinterpretation. Well, you hoped not.

He just stayed there, still as a statue. He was hard to read, and you felt the doubt creep up on you. You finally snapped out of the trance his movement had put you in, moving to get the roll of bandage, then quickly realising the problem. His trousers were filthy. You couldn’t exactly bandage his leg while they were on. You felt yourself getting nervous in his presence again, chewing on your lip subconsciously.

“You might have to do this yourself, I can’t… um…” You fiddled with the edge of the bandage as he sat silently, helmet cocked to one side.

“You can take them off.” His voice was low and serious, a slow drawl that sent shivers down your spine.

“I can…” You whispered, shocked, in a questioning tone, but he cut you off quickly.

“You can take them off…” He repeated. “If you want to.” Kriffing stars, he was serious. Your heart was almost beating out of you chest at the prospect. You were sitting here on the floor of his ship, inches away from a man you barely knew, whose face you had never even seen, and you wanted it more than anything. Maybe it was something about being cooped up with just him in hyperspace, or being paranoid and trapped for two weeks wanting nothing more than to see him walk through the ship doors, or maybe it was just the adrenaline. Regardless, you needed him.

“Ok.”

You started with the shin plate. Then the other. Then the thigh plate you hadn’t already removed. You were still worried that somehow you had misconstrued the situation, that you had made a mistake. That he just wanted you to patch him up and move on. You had seen yourself in the metal of the cockpit, there was no way he was after you.

Then his hand found the back of yours. At some point, while you had been carefully removing his armour, he had taken off his gloves. Your breath caught as his bare skin touched yours, the electricity of it taking you by surprise. He was warm, dry, hands calloused and fingers dipping between yours and gripping on with a soft sigh. You were practically shaking but he wasn’t, his grip strong as he guided you up his leg, all the way up to his codpiece. He let go, and you sighed, instantly missing the feel of his skin. There was no doubt left as you unbuckled the hard piece of armour, and you saw the bulge in his trousers. You almost forgot that you were supposed to be bandaging him up, so transfixed by the sight, and trying to still your shaking hands as you moved up to his waistband. He finally let go of your leg, using both his arms to briefly lift himself off the floor as you slid off his trousers, a small groan escaping his lips as they moved past the cut.

“Kriff, sorry.” It was the first time the silence had been broken in the last few minutes, and you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, the first cut through the tension somehow making it thicker. He lifted his leg a tiny bit and sat up, foot on the floor so you could reach all the way around him. You knelt to give yourself better access, and he draped his arm over your lap, the other one lazily undoing his chest piece. You gulped, trying to focus as you wrapped the first piece of fabric around his bare leg, but your fingers were running across the warm expanse of his thighs, so solid and strong, and you couldn’t help but look in the direction of his under-shorts, the thin fabric straining as he continued to remove armour pieces while you worked, the beskar periodically clanging against the hard metal floor. You couldn’t help but wonder if he would remove his helmet too. Mandalorians weren’t exactly a subject you knew much about, and you’d heard that they didn’t take their headwear off, but you had always assume that was something to do with safety and security, but here he was, half naked in front of you, letting you touch him. Maybe there was another reason.

You finally finished, the soft shake in your hand still very much present as you tightly knotted the white fabric, triple checking it was secure.

“There. It shouldn’t take too long to heal.” You muttered, nervous, and he hummed in response. You looked up at him, seeing him in just his undershirt, a thin brown material that wrapped around his body, secured with a tie and a small button, and the helmet. You could practically feel your heart beating, hyper-vigilant of your hand still resting on his thigh.

“It’s a shame you’re not going to be sticking around longer…” he muttered, his hand trailing up your arm and towards your face, fingers drifting across your jaw, “…you’re good at fixing me up.” You just about managed to hum as your head started to spin. He muttered your name, sitting up quickly in a groan of pain and you tried to say you were fine, but nothing came out, and you saw the world twist around you as everything went black.

You woke up, groggy and confused, blinking your eyes open to see the familiar walls of the cockpit, dizzying lights of hyperspace flashing across the ceiling. You were lying on a makeshift bed that he must have put up for you - just spare pillows and blankets, but comfortable - and you could see his outline sitting in the pilot’s chair. Trying to sit upright, you realised your head was pounding, and you groaned, falling back on your elbows. He noticed, spinning around fast in his seat and striding over to your side. You noticed he was back in his armour, which was disappointing, his gloved hand running down the side of your face and tucking your hair behind your ear.

“How’s your… leg?” You muttered, voice croaky.

“Perfectly healed, thanks to you.” You frowned. Surely that’s not right. Bacta accelerated the speeding process, but not to a matter of minutes.

“What? How long have I been out?”

“About 10 hours.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry Mando…” you weren’t sure where the name came from, something you heard Greef say, but you were frazzled and worried and honestly, you had earned the right to a nickname after the last two weeks.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for… are you feeling ok? Hungry? Thirsty?” There was a genuine concern in his voice, a warmth to it you hadn’t heard before.

“Yeah… um… I am a little hungry actually.” He nodded, his helmet bobbing.

“Ok, let me make you something.”

He was back 5 minutes later, bowl of soup in hands that he passed to you. You thanked him gratefully, eating quickly as he busied himself with the console. As simply as that, you were back to the silence you were used to. You were disappointed. You had come so close earlier to something else, something beyond this weird, awkward quiet.

You sat in the corner on your bed, staring at the streaking lights playing across the roof of the cockpit as you sat in hyperdrive. The quiet was almost deafening, just the whirring of space and the beeps of the consoles to keep you sane. You had to get out of the room. It was suffocating.

You moved to stand up, slowly, head still spinning, but it was no use. You fell back down anyway, your ass hitting the floor with a soft thud as you huffed. The Mandalorian’s head snapped around quickly, looking over his shoulder to see you, crumpled on the floor, frustrated look on your face.

“Let me help you.” He stood up, moving over to you but you shook your head, something that only made your head spin more.

“No, I’m ok. I just need to…” you stood again, but this time was just as bad. You swayed, the world going dark for a second as you tried to focus on staying upright. As the spots cleared, you realised you were standing, but only because he was holding you up, his hands gripping your waist. He practically dragged your limp body to the copilot chair, sitting you down unceremoniously and kneeling in front of you.

“Listen to me, you’ve been living off adrenaline for two weeks - you’re exhausted, you’re hungry, you’re probably dehydrated. I…” he paused, shaking his head, “I’m sorry about what I said before I left. I was being genuine, but I didn’t mean for you to… I’m sorry.” It was sweet, the way he was stuttering, genuinely apologetic.

“It’s fine, Mando…”

“No it’s… let me help you now. What can I do? Do you need sleep? Food?” You noticed then that his hands were still on you, thumb running lazy circles across the top of your thigh as he looked at you with what seemed to be earnest. You were getting better at interpreting his emotions based on his helmet, his body language, his tone of voice. He wasn’t as much of a stranger as you thought he was. He was an open book. Like now. He was leaning towards you, helmet tilted up to your face, hands on your thighs in a way that screamed intimacy. That he was comfortable with you. That he wanted you. You had doubted him earlier, but he was so forward, showing you exactly what he wanted. Now it was your turn to take a lead.

“I can think of one thing.” You muttered, shy smile spreading across your face. You moved your hands down to his, gripping and pulling them further up your legs, until they were on your hips and ass.

“You sure, girl? You passed out on me, can barely stand up…”

“I just slept for 10 hours. I think I’ll be ok.” He stayed silent, processing, and but you held firm as your head cleared, any residual aches being replaced with lust for the man on his knees in front of you.

“In that case…” he seemed to spring into life, pulling your hips to the edge of the chair and scooping you up with ease, and moving to the bed. You were grinning as he laid you down gently, hand brushing some hair from your face. He removed his gloves first, and you danced the same dance that you did earlier, removing each piece of his armour with a touch of recklessness. His ungloved hands found the hem of your tee, pulling it over your head as you sat up, finally getting a chance to remove his undershirt. You couldn’t help but run your hands across his expansive chest. His firm muscles, the soft chest hair that curled and swayed as your fingers explored him, the raised edges of scars that littered his torso. And then, all at once, the apprehension from earlier came rushing back, as your hands drifted to his shoulders, intending to run up into his neck and hair and to kiss him, but the helmet…

Your confusion must have been written on your face, as he cautiously grabbed your wrists, thumbs drawing circles on the back of your hands.

“I’m sorry, girl, it has to stay on…” You smiled sweetly, confidence trickling back. At least you knew now.

“I think we can work with that.” You pressed your lips to his chest, a groan escaping him as you continued to plant kisses down his torso until you reached the waistband of his undershorts. You palmed the bulge that was forming, his hips bucking towards you in his kneeling position. You could feel how big he was already, thick and heavy, and you felt a slick growing between your legs at the thought of him inside you, how good he would feel. You pulled down his waistband, letting his length spring free. He was so hard already from just a few touches, precum leaking from his tip. There was something that told you his situation was similar to yours - he was too busy for intimacy, always moving from one place to another, never enough time. Desperate and touch-starved. So you started light.

You backed up a little on the bed to give yourself the best possible access to him, dipping your head and running your tongue lightly up his shaft. That motion alone turned him to jelly, a sigh escaping his lips and a hand instinctively falling to the back of your head, fingers weaving into your hair. You circled around his tip, applying as little pressure as possible, before lifting off him. You slowly lowered your head further, tongue flat, taking his gently into your mouth, but he had other ideas. With a low growl, it was like something in him took over, and his hips were bucking up into your mouth, hand pressing down on your head and sheathing his whole length into you and down your throat. You gagged, gasping around him in shock and he cursed, gripping tighter.

“Stars, girl, I can’t believe how good you feel…” Tears welled in your eyes from the pressure in your throat, but you gripped the sheets, swallowing around him and wanting nothing more than to please him. To make sure he felt good. He finally lifted your head up, and you quickly gulped air into your lungs, but he was pressing you back down again. He knew how to give you just enough air to keep going, and you could almost sense a hint of frustration in his movement, almost resentment at you being here, or maybe for passing out at the crucial moment earlier. That he would’ve carried you upstairs, hard and desperate, laying you down gently but what you had been about to do would have been swirling in his head for hours, pent up need and want bubbling over until this point. The idea was addictive, making you moan around him as he continued to restrict your breathing with his thick cock.

“You know…” he started, every few words punctuated with a grunt or groan as he continued his relentless pace, “I’ve been thing about this… your pretty lips… how they would look wrapped around me… on your knees… Stars you’re perfect…” Every word was like an aphrodisiac, so aroused that you were sure that a single touch would send you over the edge. “Pretty girl… letting me use your mouth…” His hips started to stutter, and you moved one hand from the bedspread to his thigh, letting your nails dig into his thigh and he moaned, truly and unabashedly. That was your warning, and as you opened your throat for him once more, he was emptying into you, hands gripping your hair tighter than ever as you swallowed every last drop.

He was practically a heap on the floor when you were done with him, slumped against the hard metal wall next to him. Your breathing was ragged as you moved to sit down, swinging your legs around and stretching them in front of you. He tucked himself back into his trousers as you smiled sheepishly, listening as his own breaths returned to a normal rhythm.

“Fuck, you take good care of me…” He muttered, hand finding its way to your face to gently brush under your eyes, which were still a little watery.

“Well, I don’t really want you to strand me in hyperspace…” you joked, then frowned. You don’t want him to think you only did that because… “not because I felt like I had to… I mean, I wanted to… really I…”

“I know.” He said, amusement peeking through in his tone. You laughed in nervous relief, suddenly realising you were only half dressed. You reached for your top, intending to redress and help with something on the ship, but he grabbed your wrist just as your fingertips grazed it. “Maybe I should take care of you for a change…”

“Mando, you do, I… oh.” You realised what he meant as his hand found your waistband, tugging on it lightly. You helped him, pulling them over your ass and allowing him to pull them off completely.

“Take it off.” He muttered, gesturing towards your bra, and you blushed at his sultry tone, unclipping and discarding it as per his command. His hand fell to your sternum, pressing you back to the bed until you were lying flat.

“What are you…” you started, wanting to know what he had planned, but before you could finish, he had teased two fingers into your mouth. You hummed around them with a frown, but he didn’t move.

“Trust me.” He spoke quietly, his tone dark, exuding dominance. You just nodded. He released your mouth from his grasp, dragging his thumb across your lip with an intense stare that made you start to pull your legs together, desperate for some relief in your aching core, but he wouldn’t allow it, using his knees to press your legs apart. Your breathing was shallow as his fingertips seemed to swirl across every inch of your body, light, barely there, and you had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from begging. He finally made it to your panties, quickly removing them and grabbing both thighs, spreading you apart even further for him. Your hips instinctively bucked, trying to entice him, but it took an agonisingly long time for him to move. You were practically shaking with desperation, trying not to writhe around too much, but the lack of attention was almost getting painful. Finally, he released one of your legs, his grip on the other only getting tighter, and ran one finger through your folds with a delicious pressure. You whined loudly, body reactive to his touch, and he laughed darkly.

“So wet for me, pretty girl.” Then, he plunged two fingers into you, pressing deep and stretching you out. The sound he pulled from your throat was guttural, and you clenched around him, earning a groan. “Show me how you touch yourself.” What?

“Show you…” you asked shyly, as though he wasn’t already knuckle deep in your cunt.

“Show me.” You let your fingers trace down your body, finding your clit with ease. You set up your usual rhythm - soft, slow circles, gradually increasing in pressure. As you settled into it, moaning as you touched yourself, his fingers started to match your pace, curling into you and hitting that blinding spot. You figured it couldn’t get any better, surely, reaching the edge faster than you ever had, then his other hand found your nipple and gripped hard, pulling as a pathetic whimper fell from your mouth.

“Fuck, Mando… I think I’m going to…” Your breathing grew less regular as an intense pressure rose in your core, and he just continued to work you through it.

“That’s it pretty girl, good job… just come all over my hand, that’s right…” his words of encouragement and praise were enough to send you over, body locking up as white hot pleasure coursed through your body. He continued to talk, but you missed most of it blood rushed between your ears.

He laid next to you as you caught your breath, pulling the blanket over you both and pulling you close to his chest. You sighed, settling into him and listening to his heart beat. His hand found your hair, gently running through it and pushing it from your face.

“I really would like you to stay longer, pretty girl.” You smiled at the new nickname you had picked up, humming contentedly.

“I don’t mind taking a detour…” you muttered. “I have nowhere better to be than right here.”