#the tears took me totally by surprise and they did not cease | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

veronicaphoenix · 6 months ago

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Author's note: It's finally rewritten. The first time I wrote this 5k words I had no idea I'd be writing a novel-length fanfiction about Noah Sebastian, but here we are. Thank you for sticking with me through this wild ride that it's been me posting chapters with no order whatsoever. We're finally on track and ready to move onto Zutto. <3

Chapter tags & trigger warnings: best friends to lovers, alcohol consumption, sexual content, p in v (protected), dubious consent (they're both drunk), references to bondage. | Word count: 4.9k | Cross posted on AO3. | Series masterpost. ✧.*

General trigger warnings: This work addresses and depicts issues related to addiction and violence, contains explicit sexual content, and explores themes of childhood trauma. Reader discretion is advised. +18

This shouldn’t have happened, but it did.

The movie playing on the TV had taken a backseat as all my attention was captivated by Lia and the way her smile illuminated her entire face with each laugh. For the past ten minutes, her laughter had not ceased, and the overwhelming warmth in my heart made me wish to freeze time, to remain forever in that moment with Lia beside me, her hand intertwined with mine resting on my thigh, sharing in the joy of a joke I had cracked in my drunken state.

Despite the strong wind stirring outside, inside the house, Lia and I were totally oblivious to it, unconcerned aboutthe storm brewing from the west, unaware of the different tempest awaiting us the next morning.

Lia’s contagious laughter showed no signs of abating, and eventually, I found myself unable to contain my own laugh. I was swept up in her contagious happiness, in the glow of her flushed cheeks, in the way her hair danced around her as she moved.

As she caught her breath and opened her eyes, I noticed them glistening with tears of laughter, and there was nothing more beautiful than witnessing her drowning in that happiness.

In the middle of our laughing fit, I spotted two glasses on the small table next to the couch, each with a splash of whiskey and a melting ice cube. When did those get there?

When I asked Lia, she leaned forward to see what I meant. She shrugged, but her breath exuded the unmistakable smell of the same drink. She suggested, between funny gestures, that she would take them back to the kitchen, as if that would get the drink out of our system.

But as soon as she stood up on the thin mattress of the pull-out sofa, she stumbled. I grabbed her calf, pressing my fingers into her skin. Lia, by inertia, grabbed onto my shoulders to stabilize herself, unsuccessfully. Her hair fell over my face as she giggled. And finally, she plopped right back down where she’d been sitting.

Two seconds later, her laughter flooded the studio. It took me a while to react. The part of me that still had the voice of common sense was telling me that I should be concerned and do something before Lia got worse. Before we got worse.

Since I had brought her home weeks before and she had started therapy, she’d been medicating herself practically every day to calm her restlessness and keep her nights from breaking down with nightmares of her being back at Mitch’s house and of her mother, a figure in the distance that still chased her.

I let go of her leg. Lia said something about how hard I’d grabbed her and looked down at her calf, where there were now red marks where my fingers had been. Her hair was loose and tousled, but even through her locks you could see her smile fall, and for a moment I thought Lia would look at me with terror in her eyes and run away.

While the bruises on her arms and face had faded days ago, the permanent scars were elsewhere on her body.

“What are you made of?” She asked then, taking me slightly by surprise.

I frowned and then raised my hands, acknowledging that she hadn’t had any dark thoughts running through her mind.

“I just wanted to keep you from taking a nosedive,” I replied.

“That wasn’t going to happen,” she replied, a half-smile reappearing on her face.

“Of course it was.”

Offended, she picked up the nearest cushion and threw it at me somewhat clumsily. It didn’t hurt me, but I threw her an amused warning anyway.

“Hey!”

“I wouldn’t have taken a nosedive! I’m...!” She paused for a second, her eyes on mine, as if she had suddenly forgotten what she wanted to say. On the TV, where the movie was still playing, someone had just died, although the truth was that neither Lia nor I had been paying attention to the story for a while, and the sound was just background music. “I’m fine!”

“Oh, yeah? If you’re so sure, prove it,” I challenged her. I leaned back against the cushions, head back, and was tempted to cross one ankle over the other, but I didn’t because I knew Lia was going to fall.

Grumbling, she braced herself with her hands on the mattress and made an effort to stand up. When I raised a hand to ready myself in case I had to catch her again, Lia pointed at me and told me not to even think about it.

Stubborn girl.

She struggled, and wobbled a few times, but managed to get to her feet and as she stood up there, she looked down at me with her chin raised and brought her hands to her hips, wrinkling the fabric of the t-shirt and making it ride up a tad, revealing more skin from her thighs. My eyes wandered there for less than a second. I couldn’t stop smiling.

“See?” She muttered proudly.

“Good, Captain” I replied. “Now get down from here and take those glasses to the kitchen. I don’t want to keep seeing your underwear.”

A flicker of confusion passed through her eyes. She blinked repeatedly.

“What’s wrong with my underwear?” She asked, simultaneously tugging the hem of her —mine— t-shirt upward, revealing her panties and navel.

My thoughts jumbled in my mind.

“Lia,” I struggled to say, feeling an unexpected pang of hunger.

What was wrong with me?

“Be a good girl and take those glasses back to the kitchen,” I insisted, seizing her wrist to coax the t-shirt back into place, albeit only halfway. “And if you can’t manage, I’ll do it myself.”

“You underestimate me, comrade,” she retorted haughtily, lifting her hand to point skyward. “I can do that and much more.”

I would’ve been lost in the sight of her looking all adorable if it weren’t for the fact that she was drunk, and drunk Lia was not the healthy, happy Lia I wanted to see.

“Which philosopher said that thing about balance...?”

She was beginning to ramble. Absentmindedly, she scratched her chin.

I squinted at her from my position. Lia was looking around, as if the sentence she was trying to find in her brain was etched in some corner on the walls around us, in the room where the guys and I had so much stuff piled up, from various computer screens to guitars to countless wires and plastic vines that crossed from one end of a wall to another.

“The balance…” she began in a whisper. “The balance is perfect, I think. Or maybe... Wait.”

“Lia, you’re making no sense.”

“No!” she exclaimed, raising a finger again, this time to stop me. She was off balance again, as the softness of the mattress and her inebriated state didn’t match, and she made a couple of clumsy, automatic jumps to the end of the sofa, inadvertently stomping on the TV remote and causing the TV to turn off.

My body immediately rose up. I grabbed her arm and pulled her up to keep her from finally going face-first onto the floor, and in doing so, I was the one who fell backwards. I took Lia with me, who let out a squeal as her body met mine.

She fell on top of me, her chest against mine, and her legs over mine. She shifted until she was prostrate with her forearms resting on my chest. My hands found hold on her hips.

“I remember!” She exclaimed. Her eyes were wide open. Her breath fell on my face. Any other time I would have rejoiced in it, but tonight it was pure alcohol. Not much different from mine.

I couldn’t remember what the hell we were doing, or what the plan had been for that night. I felt dizzy and out of place. Lia’s alcohol breath whipped over me, and it mingled with the vanilla scent of the shampoo she was using and that had found a place in my bathroom since she was living with us.

“Perfectly baaaaaalanced, as all things should be. It was Thanos who said it! We went to see the movie together at the cinema, remember?!"

She smiled. She looked pretty comfortable on top of me.

I didn’t know how she was able to remember those things given her state.

I didn’t give a damn who said what. I had long since stopped watching Marvel movies. The only thing I could focus on now was the light brown color of Lia’s big eyes, a lighter brown than mine and sometimes, depending on the angle of the light, turning the shade of sand at sunset on the beach. It was not only that that enchanted me. The closeness made me lose myself in the universe that was in her orbs, in the grandeur of them, the long, thick lashes that framed them and the flicker of them like the wings of a butterfly, the little wrinkle at the side corner that was pronounced every time she laughed, and the way Lia’s gaze itself was softening.

Until I realized that she was looking at me as if she was feeling the same thing I was feeling.

A minute before, we had been looking at each other with the confidence we had always looked at each other with. Two friends enjoying an evening together. A good movie and a bowl of popcorn. Nothing more.

Now, there was something else that hadn’t been there before, (or maybe it had been... but I had tried to keep hidden for both our sakes).

Whatever we had been discussing had been forgotten. It had been lost in some corner of the room until it had managed to escape through some slot leading to the outside and had mingled with the wind increasing in the streets.

That amusement and yet confusion that had been present in Lia’s eyes had dissipated. What was in them was now unfamiliar to me, but at the same time almost well-known.

Her gaze had always been my shelter, although this time, what seemed different was that Lia looked at me as if....

She looked at me as if she had had me in front of her all her life but hadn’t noticed; as if she had just found something she had been looking for for years; as if she had been given her breath back even though for a few moments we both held our breath when our faces met mere centimeters from each other.

As the maddening beat of her heart softened, her light breathing intertwined with mine. I could feel against my chest the rise and fall of her own; how it slowed as our smiles fell and our gazes met in an instant that hung in time.

Lia’s eyes dropped for an imperceptible second.

They looked at my lips.

Her lips parted.

It didn’t go unnoticed to my gaze because my eyes also went to her mouth.

My hands were resting on her hips, her hair falling on the sides of my face, and the thought that crossed my mind at that instant was that I wanted to have her lying under me, her hair spread out on the sheets like a pile of silk, and my fingers itched as I wanted to reach out and touch her face, her cheeks that were burning from the alcohol and the commotion we had formed in the room minutes prior.

I sensed her hands seeking support on my chest, her fingers wanting to cling to the fabric of my black t-shirt, which clung to my skin as her fingers began to press gently. It was as if she wanted to pull me closer to her without giving it all away, as if she wanted to make me believe that maybe it was just my imagination.

The more daring part of me was the part that made me roll on top of her to have her where and how I wanted her. Lia held her breath. It was only two seconds.

One of my legs was between hers, and my knee was very close to the spot between her legs. I was reminded that Lia was only wearing my T-shirt, which was huge on her, but in that position, and having fallen on the couch and now having me on top of her, the fabric had slipped up her stomach and the only thing separating the wettest part of her body from my knee was the fabric of her panties and the fabric of my sweatpants.

The thought nearly made me lose my mind. I felt dazed and weak-willed, (at least in regards to the kind of will that made me make sound decisions), and I cursed myself for allowing myself to drink so much; for allowing her to drink so many beers that night and not even have the memory of watching her pour us two glasses of whiskey up to the top.

My vision blurred momentarily. As it cleared again, I saw a gleam in Lia’s eyes that hadn’t been there before. Outside, the wind howled, whipping tree branches and sending objects flying around the yard and down the street. It was as if the chaos we had created between the two of us inside the house had replicated outside, and the exhilaration I felt inside me was also a reflection of what was going on outside the house walls. The sky had been shrouded in clouds for hours, and rain was imminent.

I didn’t care, because at that moment, all I wanted was to be frozen in time, with Lia beneath me, her huge eyes locked on me, her breath attuned to mine, her vanilla scent flooding every one of my senses, enveloping me, and the slight flicker of her eyelashes making me lose the last ounce of sanity I had left.

Lia slightly flexed one of her legs. Her whole body reacted. I didn’t know if it was on purpose or if it was unconscious. My knee brushed against her core. The next thing I saw was her tongue moistening her lower lip. I felt her hands press hard against my back, pressing me to her, and then she raised her head a little and her mouth caught mine.

The flare of fire she ignited shot through me from head to toe, and before I could reconcile how dangerous that was, what we were doing and under what conditions, my hands were already on her face, on her cheeks, in her hair, and my mouth devouring hers as if outside there was a hurricane and we didn’t know if we would ever see the sun again.

I was acutely aware that without Lia there was no sun, and after that night, I was certain that without her, there wouldn’t be any sun at all. I needed her beneath me, captive, surrendering herself to me.

Her kisses were desperate, as if she had just emerged from the depths of a drowning sea. I met her urgency with equal fervor, kissing her hard, tasting the intensity coursing through her veins. It was likely that the alcohol was fueling our passion, but rationality eluded me. I convinced myself that Lia was the one in control, that she craved my presence as much as I craved hers even as the wind outside intensified, mirroring the aggressiveness of her mouth on mine.

I slid one hand up to the back of her head, to the nape of her neck, and angled her face upward so that I could kiss her deeper, cocking my head to the side at the same time. My tongue brushed against hers, and once they touched, there was no turning back. Our breathing became ragged and labored. Little exhales began to escape from her mouth, tiny noises in which her body begged for air but to which she refused to pay attention, and as the seconds, or minutes, passed, the exhales turned to moans, and the choked sound of them almost had me there and then.

Despite the alcohol, Lia had to be aware of what she was doing. She had to be aware of how much she was turning me on, of the hardness that was crescendoing in my pants and would soon press hard between her legs.

Fuck.

Her hands moved desperately up and down my body. They went from my back to my neck, to the chain around it,to my face, to my hair. Then they sought the warmth under my shirt, and an electric current coursed through me as her fingers stroked the skin of my back and rib area. I shivered, and almost jerked as her body pressed tighter against mine. This time I was sure it had been on purpose. My erection slapped the spot between her legs and Lia gasped over my mouth, eyes closed. I grunted as I saw her expression. A surge of pleasure had just swept across her face, and I could hardly believe it.

If the intensity of it all continued, I feared it would overwhelm me to the point of losing consciousness. I resisted succumbing to that primal version of myself, the one that more often than not emerged when I was on stage and captivated the audience with its raw energy. I didn’t want to be that person with Lia despite the number of images that began to fill my head.

Lia naked on my bed.

Lia tied up to the headboard.

Lia taking me hard and deep.

Lia screaming my name, screaming for more.

Lia letting herself come undone around my cock.

She started pulling my t-shirt up, and I let her take it off me, shaking it off to get rid of it as it went over my head and down my arms. The two seconds our mouths spent apart felt like forever, and when I was naked from the waist up, I descended on Lia again vehemently, holding her face, my fingers tangling in her hair. I moved my body so that I was completely over her. My erection throbbed in my sweats, and it was beginning to ache from being held under the fabric.

Unable to restrain myself despite the voice telling me to stop and get away from Lia, I slipped a hand under Lia’s t-shirt, my own t-shirt, the one she had appropriated days before and had been torturing me with day and night, every time she walked around the house showing off her legs and revealing the curve of her ass every time she stood on her tiptoes to reach the cups and the tea boxes in the kitchen cabinets.

Damn you, Lia.

Her skin was soft, and I sensed it bristle under the touch of my fingers. When I reached for her bra, I slipped my fingers under the seam until I reached her breast and felt under my fingertips the feel of her pierced nipple, which became hard as a pebble. Lia let out a moan into my mouth, and when I pinched her, her nails dug into the skin of my lower back, making me feel a pain that pleased me.

Lia’s body was tiny under mine, and I didn’t want it any other way. I could lie to myself all I wanted in the daylight and tell myself the opposite over and over again… but Lia was made for me.

And I was made for her.

The next morning her lips would be dry and sore, but I had no intention of stopping kissing her as long as her lips sought me out.

I played with her nipple between my fingers, enraptured by the little noises coming from her mouth. When she pulled her head back and rubbed against my erection, I attacked her neck, nibbling at the sensitive skin there. There were so many things I wanted to say to her... The voice in my head wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her, tell her that I was losing it and that we should stop, that we were each other’s best friend, that we had made a promise…

As I kissed her on the neck and branded her, I considered the semantics of our promise. We had promised we wouldn’t fall in love with each other, but we had never talked about sex, and people had sex all the time without being in love.

Keep hiding it as much as you want, Noah....

I shifted my hips toward Lia to quiet the voice drilling me, and let myself go.

I thought I heard my name on her lips. A whisper. A moan. Her hands dug into the band of my sweatpants, and pressed the skin of my ass, drawing me to her.

We would only stop under one circumstance, and that was if Lia decided she didn’t want to go forward.

Because I definitely did want to.

One of Lia’s hands slid down the side of my hip and groped the front of my waist. She hastily unbuttoned the knot of my sweats, and probably would have slipped her hand inside without preamble had I not neglected her nipple and grabbed instead her wrist, stopping her.

I lifted my head. Lia opened her eyes, and what I saw in them did not please me.

I was afraid that wasn’t my Lia there.

“Lia,” my voice escaped hoarse and raspy from my throat. I was trying to catch my breath, my sanity and my willpower. It was too much, and Lia’s body was still under mine, clinging to mine, soft and warm. Lia’s eyes darkened, her lips moist, and her cheeks flushed.

She was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen, scars and all.

I could have told her anything, reminded her that we were two friends about to cross a line from which there was no return, that she was drunk, that I was a little way too tipsy if not totally drunk as well, and that my head was spinning and I was scared.

Instead, I asked her if she was sure, and her answer was my undoing.

“I’ve been waiting for this my whole life,” she whispered.

I kissed her fiercely, as if I couldn’t breathe without her. I told her to give me a minute. I stood up and walked out of the studio, stumbling over my own feet and bumping into the wall on the way to the bedroom. Everything seemed different around me, and as soon as I entered my room I had to stop for a few seconds and lean against a piece of furniture to remember what I was doing there. I walked over to the nightstand on my side of the bed. The fact that I already saw my bed as a shared place with Lia should have set off alarm bells days ago, but I hadn’t wanted to assume that, because I liked that one side was hers, that her things were on the other nightstand, her smell on the pillow.

The boys were right. How long it would take for me to acknowledge it in front of them, I didn’t know.

I opened the bottom drawer and rummaged through the shit I’d stored there until I found what I was looking for. Just before I left the room, I heard Lia grow impatient. Her voice carried down the hallway and reaching my ears, almost making me laugh despite my state.

“Noowaaah!”

There it was, that stupid and adorable way of calling me since she was six.

“I’m here,” I replied as I returned to the studio, trying to keep my balance. I had to put on a fucking condom and I had to do it right. At least that had to be done right.

Lia was propped up on her elbows, and looked at me with eyes full of impatience and lust. There was, at the same time, something like childish anger in them, as if by leaving for those thirty seconds I had taken a toy away from her.

I glanced at her from under my eyelashes. Seeing her there, waiting for me, rubbing her thighs because there was no other way to satiate the heat she felt between them, had me on the verge of bursting.

I got rid of my sweats and boxers, and when my cock jumped into Lia’s view I saw her eyes widen even more if possible, darken, and her lips part. I opened the condom wrapper and put the rubber on, and it didn’t take two seconds before I was back on the mattress. Lia dropped down, submitting, her hair creating a halo around her. She let out a little cry of surprise when I grabbed her below the knees.

“Come here,” I said.

I pulled her a little towards me, and hooked my fingers into the sides of her panties to pull them off.

Lia was fucking gorgeous, and I don’t know what I’d expected, or what I’d imagined in my dreams, but she was a gift I’d held in my hands forever and hadn’t dared to unwrap.

I lay on top of her. Her hands went to my shoulders, to my hair, and she pulled at me by the nape of my neck.

“Need you,” she said.

And kissed me again.

My cock brushed against her entrance. She was wet. I rubbed against her repeatedly, slowly, feeling her, reveling in the heat emanating from her and how slippery she was. If only the latex barrier hadn’t been there... I needed to find out if her insides were just as slippery in the next sixty seconds or I would die right there.

“You’ll be the death of me,” I whispered over her mouth, the words a barely audible breath.

She spread her legs further apart, giving me access, and I moved my hips slightly away to position myself at her entrance. I held my cock with one hand and stopped kissing her to direct my gaze to the point where our bodies were about to merge. Lia clung to one of my shoulders. I pushed. She held her breath, her chest swelling against mine. I looked at her again, and as I sank into her, I wordlessly begged her not to look away from me. I wanted to be a bystander in how her pupils dilated, how her lips parted, how she held back the first moan of our union and then let it escape as she relaxed and settled into my length, into the sensation of having me inside her. Her muscles molded to mine so quickly that I considered whether everything we had been through boiled down to the fact that we were meant for each other.

From the time I had found her that spring morning sitting on the sidewalk in front of her ramshackle house to the time I had saved her from that bastard Mitch while I was battling an unknown disease, —every single twist and turn, every moment in between— had inexorably led us to this moment, to Lia and I lying on the sofa bed in the house I shared with Jolly and Jesse, naked, drunk, and lost in our own and each others’ pleasure.

In my delirium, I refused to think about any other possibility. I didn’t want to think about tomorrow, the inevitable moment when Lia would wake up, the alcohol dissipating from our veins like morning mist. The moment when realization would dawn upon her, the awareness that she had given herself to me, that she had allowed me to sink into her,and that we had both touched heaven when we came. First her when I traced feather-light circles upon her clit with two fingers, and then me, following her to a peak from which I never wanted to descend.

When I started to move, I was sure I had found Paradise. I remember Lia’s body under mine, trying to move in sync with mine, the moans escaping her mouth and sneaking into my ears as her hands caressed my arms and back. I remember my name on her lips, and how that was a drug I knew I wouldn’t be able to live without if I didn’t take it again soon.

Although a part of Lia was far from there, Lia, my Lia, was everything I’d ever dreamed of. Those dreams where I had crossed the line and imagined what it would be like to feel Lia naked under my hands, trembling with my fingers inside her, with my tongue caressing her most erogenous parts, had been just that, dreams, but this was so much better. This was real.

When she asked me to go faster, I replied with a ‘shh’ in her ear. I pulled her hand away from my back and moved her arm until I held it above her head. I intertwined the fingers of our hands and continued to torture her in a leisurely, delicious rhythm, my face sinking into her neck, feeling the caress of her hair on the side of my face.

We didn’t last long. Or maybe we did.

The last thing I remember was lying on top of Lia, in her arms, both of us trying to catch our breath. I heard her little laugh sneaking under my skin.

Her fingers touched my hair, moving it away from my face and trying to tuck it behind my ear. I fell asleep a while later to the tender touch of her digits tracing delicate shapes on my cheek and a kiss to my sweat-layered forehead.

#the inevitability of love at second sight #noah sebastian x ofc #noah x lia #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fic #bad omens #bad omens fanfic #bad omens cult

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rootytootypie · 4 months ago

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Super curious about Batman- 😳💨🫘❤️(ships could be with anyone or people he's close to working with-ex: Superman)

💨: Bruce isn’t a gassy guy, by all means. Probably a 3/10. He only gets gas at charity galas and if truly forced to eat on the run; otherwise, his diet is extremely refined. But what he lacks in quantity, he more than makes up for in quality. If he fully lets it out, it’s loud as hell and smells like death. He can make them silent, but the stink almost gets stronger. He definitely resorts to any and all means of muffling the sound and smell, and generally takes it to the bathroom, spreads his cheeks, and muffles it with toilet paper. He totally has charcoal lined underwear, regularly takes mints for more than just breath problems, and even has a soundproof room in his mansion for total privacy.

🫘: Hoo boy…do NOT let this man around fattening foods. Other than beef and poultry, Bruce’s stomach is unprepared. Anything rich, filling, creamy, sugary, or generally having empty calories is gonna cause some rumbles. Salad dressing other than vinaigrette gets to this man. And fast food? The other reason other than poison gas the Batmobile has a high-tech automated air filter. It’s also programmed to filter human gas, something other Justice League members are thankful for for their own reasons.

😳: 12/10 on the embarrassment scale. He’s mortified if he farts in front of Alfred, much less anyone else. He has to emotionally decompress after every time he’s forced to let a silent one go, even though he almost always gets away with it.

His most embarrassing moment? Hands down, it was during an at-home interview with Vicki Vale. He had given her a tour of Wayne Manor (at least the parts on the dummy schematics used to ward off nonexistent suspicion). He made jokes. Charmed her and the photographer she brought along. Told a funny story or two about his antics in Europe (that he had invented after rereading The Sun Also Rises). Then it happened (in slo-mo, as Bruce remembers it): she dropped her pen. He went to pick it up. *BWWWWAAARRRRRRTTT!* And his rear decided to play the salvo of last night’s charity dinner - particularly the stuffed mushrooms.

He jerked back into a rigid stance, cleared his throat, and said, “Excuse me.” This took a gargantuan amount of effort, as the last time he’d undeniably passed gas in public had been in his nursery years at a Montessori school, and as soon as eyes went toward him, he’d run out of the room in tears, which he vaguely felt the urge to do now.

To her credit, noticing Bruce’s tomato red face, Vicki said, “We’ll leave that off the record” and changed the subject to the first edition Dickens novels in the study.

❤️: Bruce never intends to let anyone get too close. He never plans to let his guard down. Flatulence is his definition of too close. Especially when, despite his intentions, he starts romanticizing his boyfriend, then having breakfast in bed with him, and then telling stories about his childhood. Damn it, his emotional walls should be too strong for even Superman to break through, and yet the guy has sprinted through them like they were made of foam bricks.

Why in God’s name did Clark have to find out from Alfred that Bruce’s secret favorite dish is escargot, and then surprise him with it for dinner on his birthday? Did Alfred want him to embarrass himself? Because he was definitely close. Especially after Clark decided to gave him a deep tissue massage as part two of his birthday celebration.

Why were Clark’s hands moving towards his butt? Why wasn’t he yelling out stop, knowing Clark would immediately cease? Why hadn’t he begged off the massage and invented a reason to go on patrol?

All this went through Bruce’s mind as, with his active stomach gurgling and his back yielding to Clark like a pie crust, he relaxed too much and so did his hold on his gas.

*Prrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrt!*

“Good boy,” Clark said. “Now I’m sure you’re relaxed, Bruce.”

“Ha ha,” Bruce said joylessly. “Please forget that.”

“No, I’m serious,” Clark said. “I’m not teasing you. I’m just glad the massage is working. I’m sorry, Bruce. Please don’t be embarrassed.”

“I literally just farted in my boyfriend’s face,” Bruce said. “How can I not be embarrassed?”

“Because I love you, and would never hold something so natural against you,” Clark replied. “Also…”

And then Bruce’s sweet, doe eyed Midwestern boyfriend did something truly shocking.

*BBBBBRRRRRRRRFFFFFFFFFRRRRT!*

“Excuse me,” Clark said, blushing. “I think the garlic sauce made me a little gassy too. I didn’t mean to let out such a monster. I only wanted to make you feel better about your little slip. Less…alone in your mortification.”

Bruce sat up, turned over, and gave Clark a passionate kiss. “You’re the greatest love I’ve ever known,” Bruce said. “Thank you for being you.”

And that night, Bruce didn’t feel claustrophobic as the two men passed gas throughout the night, but instead an incredible sense of warmth and comfort he’d never imagined.

#eprocto #eproctophilia #dc comics eprocto #gassy guy #farts #brap

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agilneanrose · 2 months ago

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Dalaran House Sunshield Townhouse

He looked thin. He looked scruffy. His armor must have been left somewhere else in the manor for what he wore now was a ragged mix of leather and cloth pieces. Everywhere she looked she was greeted with desperate mending. His leathers showed the punishment that came from time, wear and perhaps a lack of funds and the bits of cloth she could see… possessed many stitches - some delicate and some just haphazardly crisscrossed but each style did a good enough job holding the tunic together. The sleeve itself was almost seethrough and she scowled. He looked homeless.

“Rose?” Jaxson tipped his head, the stare that met her own was warm and amused.

She hated that nickname, but not from his mouth. Her stare flicked from his threadbare sleeve to his face. “You look homeless..” She blurted without much thought or grace and watched his face flicker from concern, to surprise and finally settled on amusement.

“I suppose I do.” He rumbled, his grin welling with mischief. “The clothes are borrowed.”

“Borrowed?” At some point, just past the laughter and the tears that came with their reunion, she had stolen him from the kitchen staff and the sweets that kept appearing to distract him. Now, seated in the quiet of the rarely used back parlor, tucked into a seat made for two, she gripped his hand as if he would vanish should she loosen her hold.

“Long story…” That mischief bled from his mouth to his eyes and she squinted at him. “And ah.. It might not be appropriate..”

“You have all of my attention and time, Jaxson. I just - where have you been?Your mother – your mother..” She gasped softly. “You have a new sister, that makes three in total. Did you ever imagine such a thing? No, do not answer - tell me! Where have you been and why are your clothes borrowed? I.. I have made sure you have funds, and sent runners to remind you that you are not poor unless you wish to be as some sort of piety pledge..”

Jaxson didn’t shake off her hand but instead allowed her to cling - her skirts bullying the space around his legs and he used his free hand to pat down the silken fluff.

“Well.. Midsummer, I can’t remember the town just off the top of my head but it was a big festival, dancing and drinking and.. uh..” He flicked a quick look her way. “… eating.” At the press of her lips he hurried on. “There was this pretty blond with huge.. eyes.. huge eyes and her uh.. pie was perfect.”

“Jaxson Sunshield… are you married?” “Wha… no.. no- no ..” He choked and ceased patting at the invading skirt. “Your dress is nice, fancy.”

“Jaxsssson..” His name was a breathless sigh.

“She kept me company for a few hours but her father wasn’t pleased when he found out. Turns out he was the lord of –”

“No..” Rosemarri gasped.

“Yea…” Jaxson’s hand left her skirt and he rubbed at his scruffy beard thoughtfully “.. had me arrested and kept me a guest for a bit.”

“A guest in his tower?”

“No, some dungeon that also served as a canning storage. It smelled good.” He chuckled. “She snuck me --"

Rosemarri interrupted. “No!” That seemed to be the word of the evening. “How dare he… your father is going to burn his keep to the ground. It is not your fault his daughter has loose morals and just rolls in the hay with any knight.” She was ranting, she knew she was ranting but the audacity, did they not know who Jaxson Sunshield is? He was a knight of the realm, he was a savior of the people. He was –..

“Rose. Rose. Rosemarri..” His laughter grew in volume each time he said her name and the hand that kept them linked was brought to his chest, squishing it there. “She is a fine girl, a good heart. It was her mother that let me go, finally.”

“Mother?”

“Another long and rather inappropriate story..” He coughed, clearing his throat loudly as he took interest in the parlor now. “I like what was done to the place, being Dalaran and all it’s not decorated in purple..”

She stared at him in stunned silence, breath held until he looked back her way. At once they both dissolved. “I cannot breathe..” She croaked as she laughed, both hands pressing against her corseted ribs. “You are out of control. One of these days you are going to find yourself in a lot of trouble..”

“I know..” He grinned, reclining on the couch. “But it isn’t today.”

“Terrible..” She sniffled, dragging a knuckle beneath her eye to remove the tears that kept pooling. “You have been missed, the coalition is not the same without it’s Marshall. It will never be again, I fear. Much has changed and there is so much to talk about and show you but I think we should start with your parents. I have an idea if you permit..”

“Let’s hear it.” “Let us send a messenger to them, I will sign it and make it vague… have them come here so your mother gets … time. It will be a wonderful surprise!” Her voice trailed off as his grin faded and something she couldn’t recognize darkened his features. No, she didn’t want his laughter banished. “What is it..” She coaxed.

“She died, Rose.. I heard it..” He ventured, attempting to put thought into words.

Her hands moved to collect a single one of his. The contrast was stark, her fingers delicate and sickly pale compared to his callused and tan skin.

“The wars and the exposure of what is past the veil of death took and gave many things - a price of servitude was paid but I think your father would pay it a thousand times over to have your mother at his side for all of his life. Wrongs have been rightened, Jaxson. Have faith in that. They have had their time, this is for you and her to heal each other before you get swarmed with siblings that did not exist when you left. Allow them to share their love and tell you their story. Yes?”

He stared at her for a quiet moment longer before he’d nod.

In a bid to get his smile back, she scowled at him. “And for titan's sake.. why do you have to seduce everyone? You are going to send a horde of bastards my way, I know it.”

“Gosh, Rose. Not -everyone-..just the ones with big.. uh eyes..”

There it was.

OOC Note: All Jaxson parts/letter/images have been approved by Jaxson OOC prior to posting

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syngigeim · 2 months ago

Text

Day 5 - Stamp

“You have returned once more, brave Monk!”

Elly only gave a nod to the spectre of Ivon Coeurlfist, as the two came to blows once more. The first time she came to face him, it was with a band of her companions. Now she came in regularly. When she felt like she needed the training. When she yearned for a challenge.

But...even now, she could feel his strikes becoming more and more predictable. He was but a mere spectre, clinging to his last lingering will, ever training, never ceasing or stopping and-

Elly was broken out of her reverie by a sudden strike. She felt all of the wind go out of her and felt weak. Ah, she thought. It would be that technique. The Touch of Slaughter, the one that could drop any warrior to near-death. She took a breath and muttered, “Rhalgr, guide my hand. Rhalgr, guide my hand. Rhalgr, guide my hand.” She took a second breath and welled up aether around her, restoring a slight bit of vitality, enough to stand. She pondered the ground, so fragile, and yet from it, the source of all foundations of life. Enough to harden her heart, if just for a moment.

And then, she glanced at Ivon, with a certain glint in her eye, a smirk crawling across her face. It was time for him to pay in blood.

----

She sighed in relief as she stepped back out of the Temple. She was sore, she was tired, but it was a good tired. And her worries did feel at least a little lighter as she stepped out into the afternoon sun.

It was then that her linkpearl rang out. She answered. “Hey Elly!” It was Q’hara, “Aubinaux’s asking after you!”

“Aubinaux?” Well he was striving to check in more on the members of Wanderer’s League since that business in Limsa Lominsa but she was still surprised to see him actually do it. And also, he was asking about her. “What for?”

“You know the Rising is happening right?”

She took in a sharp intake of breath. The Rising! She near forgot. That explained the jubilant mood around her. Shite. “Completely slipped my mind. I need to take a trip somewhere.”

“Oh, okay but, Aubinaux hopes you and Mariko and him can hang out. Give him a call!”

“Across the ocean? ‘Hara, he’s going to have to call me at some point.”

“I mean, yeah, he should but he thought it’d be weird and- you know what I’m just going to tell him to call ya. And- I hope you’re doing well over there in Ala Mhigo.”

“I’m doing fine.” She’d been doing some odd jobs here and there, and helping the Resistance with whatever they needed help with and training! She was fine! Totally fine!

A silence stretched out over the line. She didn’t like that silence, but- “Okay. Talk to you another time, yeah?”

“Of course ‘Hara. Bye!” She ended the line. Right, time to do her Rising tradition. Take a trip down to the U’ tribe. And that crystal formation in Western Thanalan. She needed to pay her respects to someone dear. She touched her fang necklace, and tears welled up. Miss you, ‘Laka.

#ffxivwrite2024 #elly browne #q'hara tia #ivon coeurlfist #hey hey this gal finally gets a post again #way to go elly way to go

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dbzebra · 2 years ago

Note

“i’ve been worried sick! where the hell were you!?”

With uhhh honestly I feel like it suits bulma so bulma and literally anyone (platonic or otherwise) ?!? If it inspires you to do so no pressure 👉👈

A/N: sorry this took a little bit! As soon as I saw this prompt I knew I wanted to do something with King Piccolo saga but wasn’t sure exactly what. It’s kinda the same as the canon scene but my own little additions to it. Hope you like it :D

The last few days were a complete roller coaster of emotions. Ever since they found Krillin dead in the Tournament hall, things weren’t the same since.

Bulma couldn’t do anything but watch as Goku flew off on Nimbus in a blind rage after his best friend’s murderer. It broke her heart, not only to see the young boy dead but the one she considered a little brother so consumed by rage and grief.

It only got worse from there. Chiaotzu and Master Roshi perished. Goku was presumed dead too. And worse of all, the cause of it all had literally taken over the world.

Bulma felt helpless. She’d get obliterated if she even got close to where Piccolo was. All she could do is watch television at Master Roshi’s island and fight back the urge to cry.

When the television broadcast mentioned a lone boy challenged Piccolo, she finally had some hope again. The broadcast had been cut off shortly after, so they were left totally in the dark.

They thought it was all over when suddenly Goku burst through the door on Roshi’s island, searching frantically for something. His gi was torn to shreds, but he looked totally fine otherwise.

“Goku?!”

“Hi, everyone!” Goku said without stopping his search. “Have you seen my Power Pole?”

Oolong perked up as if he remembered something. He quickly ran into the kitchen area and grabbed it. “Here you go, kid. We found it in what was left of Central City.”

“Thanks!!” Goku smiled and was about to run off again but Bulma got in his way. “Hey Bulma!”

“Don’t ‘hey Bulma’ me, kid! I’ve been worried sick! Where the hell were you?!” Bulma screamed, fighting back tears before throwing her arms around Goku and giving him a tight hug.

“Alotta stuff happened, I met this guy Yajirobe and he helped me!” Goku squirmed a bit but laughed anyway. That silly laugh of his always comforted her.

“What’re you in such a rush for, kiddo?” Launch asked.

“Yeah, stay with us for a bit. Just relax. We didn’t really have time since the Tournament ended!

“I cant, I’m goin’ back to Master Korin’s place! He said I can go visit Kami and he’ll bring back Shenron! Byee!!” Goku said and just like that, he was off again on the Nimbus and was gone in a matter of seconds.

“Did he say… Kami?” Yamcha said, still in shock at how casually Goku said that.

“Ya know, that kid never ceases to surprise me…” Launch said.

“You can say that again…” Oolong replied.

Bulma simply smiled. “Be careful, Goku…” she knew if there was anyone who could bring Krillin and everyone else back, it would be him.

#dragon ball #goku #Bulma #my writing #prompts

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mercy-burning · 4 years ago

Text

Pretty Please

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader hears something surprising from her next door neighbor, and it throws her off. Category: Smut 18+ (masturbation, thigh riding, penetrative sex, oral sex-male and female receiving, semi-rough sex, dom!Spencer) Word Count: 6.9k Warnings: Nothing except the smut listed above and strong language. As always, if there’s anything I missed, let me know what I should include in the warnings! I want to be as mindful as I can about what I post. Thank you!

PART 2 / PART 3 / PART 4 / EPILOGUE

***

There's no way she heard that right.

In fact, she was pretty sure she'd made it up. She was tired, delirious, and she'd only imagined hearing what she heard.

Right?

Just to be sure, Y/N sat up in bed, put her ear against the wall just above the headboard, and listened, concentrating as hard as she could to confirm or deny.

And sure enough, the next thing she heard was, "Fuck, yes!"

It was muffled, definitely not as loud as it could have been, but if things continued the way she thought they would, it was going to get louder. Unless, of course, her neighbor was mindful, knowing that someone could probably hear what was going on. Though, for some reason Y/N doubted that.

Just to be extra sure what was happening, she stayed glued to the wall, listening carefully.

There was some muffled movement, but it could have been just about anything. Nonetheless, her heart was beating so fast, and it beat even faster when she heard what came next.

A loud female moan, unmistakable and utterly pornographic, made Y/N close her eyes immediately, her heart practically jumping out of her chest. Her first thought was Okay, he's watching porn. Everyone does that. Not without headphones, but it's completely normal and I should stop eavesdropping and go about my own life because this is an invasion of privacy.

Her second thought was ...Oh.

Because she was dead wrong.

The next thing that sounded through the walls was, "Yes, Spencer, just like that!"

Y/N's eyes shot open and she almost had a heart attack.

Her next thought was Good for him...

She and her neighbor hadn't really gotten to know each other that well. All she knew was that he had a job that kept him away from home quite a bit, either from travel or just late nights. He was shy and rarely talked to her when they met in the halls or in the parking garage, or even in the laundry room. Which is why it was so surprising to Y/N that he was having sex—and decent sex at that, from what she could hear—right next door.

Not that it would have been impossible for him to get it, of course. He was hot as hell, and it shouldn't have surprised Y/N as much as it did that she was hearing what she was hearing. It had just never happened before.

She was about to let it be, glad that her neighbor seemed to be having some fun, and it truly wasn't any of her business what he decided to do in his spare time. Though, the next thing she heard sent her into a tailspin.

"You like that, baby? You like when I hold you down and fuck you?"

Y/N almost hit her head against the wall. Instinctually her legs crossed, as if it would prevent her from being turned on. Which was stupid, considering every nerve in her body was on fire hearing those words come from Spencer Reid's mouth.

No fucking way, Y/N thought, slowly shifting her position on the bed.

It was a stupid idea. Probably one of the dumbest things she's ever done. But she closed her eyes, and as the woman's moans became louder through the walls, every slap of skin on skin getting louder with them, Y/N's right hand drifted under the waistband of her panties and got to work.

She couldn't help imagining what was going on. And it was rare that she could get off on just imagination alone, but this time she had the helpful addition of sound to aid her. Every time the woman moaned Spencer's name, she moved her fingers faster, alternating between rubbing her clit and completely fingering herself. And sometimes Y/N would make inevitable tiny whimpers of her own, careful not to give herself away.

She was almost to her climax when she heard it. The thing that pushed her over the edge.

"Fuck, you take it so well, pretty girl."

That one sentence, added to the impending orgasm Y/N was experiencing and the fact that she was picturing Spencer's face so clearly in her head, caused her to let out a loud moan and throw her head back against the wall with a loud thud.

So many feelings happened at once. Pain, because fuck, hitting her head on the wall without expecting it hurt like hell. Pleasure immediately after, because despite everything, her fingers stayed working, instinctively nursing herself through her orgasm. And finally embarrassment, because she definitely shouldn't have been eavesdropping on her neighbor's sexual encounters and she's positive they'd heard her intrusion.

All noises ceased for a total of two seconds before Y/N came down from her high and the sex next door resumed like nothing had happened.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck, no, Y/N thought as she scrambled out of bed and ran to the bathroom. Her head still hurt from hitting it against the wall, but that was the least of her concerns. More than anything she wanted to crawl in a hole and never return. And sure, maybe there was a small chance Spencer and his.. friend hadn't heard you, but it was practically impossible. There was no way they hadn't heard it.

Y/N peed and washed her hands, tapping her foot nervously against the cool tile the whole time. Eventually she calmed her breathing and decided that she'd just have to live with it. I mean, it's not like I'm friends with him anyway, she thought. I barely see him enough as it is, and I can ignore him like there's no tomorrow and nothing will change. Right?

And so she washed her face and got ready for bed, trying desperately not to think about how badly she'd embarrassed herself.

And then as she curled under the covers (with earbuds in just in case) she thought, Maybe I'll make him some muffins tomorrow and say I'm sorry.

The last thing she saw before she closed her eyes was Spencer's face.

***

"What's wrong? Can't take it?"

She practically burned with pleasure, every inch of her body overly sensitive and completely fucked out. But she'd let him have whatever he wanted.

She cried. She tried to tell him that yes, she could take it. But tears and strangled moans were all she could manage as he continued to fuck her into the mattress.

"You gonna cum?" He asked, like she could form words.

She cried out again in answer.

He leaned forward, wiping tears from her face, and whispered, "Go ahead, pretty girl."

That was the last thing Y/N heard before she woke up, eyes shooting open and hands clutching the sheets so tightly her fingers ached. She let them go and tried to wiggle them back to life, squeezing her eyes shut and taking a deep breath.

"Oh, dear Lord," she muttered, stretching out and realizing that the past 10 hours of her life were going to haunt her for a long time.

I'm gonna have to move, aren't I, she thought sarcastically, sitting up slowly and rubbing her eyes. Though, right now it sounded like a good idea.

Y/N gathered some clothes and went to the shower, refusing to think about last night or the dream she'd woken up from. Instead she lasered all her attention to thoroughly washing her hair, body, and face. By the time the water was running cold, she stepped out, dried off and got dressed, brushing her teeth and then leaving the bathroom to turn on the coffee pot.

Before she could, there was a knock on the door.

Oh no, was her first thought, because naturally the first thing you do at any minor event after severely embarrassing yourself is panic. What if that's him? He's going to get mad at me for eavesdropping. The first thing I'm going to do when I see him is blush and panic. Fuck.

Y/N thought about ignoring it for a second. For all Spencer knew, she could still be sleeping. She could have fled the country immediately after giving herself away. She could have died from a heart attack, literally embarrassing herself to death. She could ha—

Knock knock knock.

"Shit," Y/N muttered to herself, adjusting her freshly-washed hair and praying she looked okay. If it really was Spencer at her door, she wanted to at least look like she was moving on with her life and not thinking about last night every waking second.

She ran to the door, took a deep breath and opened it, sure enough revealing Spencer Reid in her doorway, wearing a kind smile and holding a small something in his hand.

"Oh... Spencer, hi," Y/N said, pretending to be happy. Not that she wasn't ever happy to see him, but today of all days was most definitely not a good time. She only prayed he wouldn't get mad at her for eavesdropping.

"Hi, Y/N. Sorry for being here so early, but I, uh... thought you might need this."

He handed her what was in his hand, and it rattled, confusing her. She took it and flipped it over in her hands, studying the bottle.

"Advil?"

"Yeah. Seems like you hit your head on the wall pretty hard last night, I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

Her stomach dropped. "No."

"No... You're not okay, or no, you don't need it?"

Heat rushed to Y/N's cheeks and all she could manage was another, "No."

She only sounded slightly terrified.

But before Spencer could say anything else, Y/N looked up at him and almost started to cry. "I'm so so so sorry, Spencer, I didn't mean to hear, it just happened, and I couldn't help it, and I tried to be quiet, I really did, but it just slipped, and I feel really bad, I'm so sorry, I—"

"Whoa, whoa, Y/N, slow down. It's okay, really," he laughed. "I'm not upset or anything, I just... Truthfully I feel kind of bad for not thinking of anyone hearing. I didn't realize the walls were so thin, and had I known I probably would have... Gone about things differently. I didn't mean to embarrass you."

Y/N's heart raced, but she was even more shocked by the fact that he was apologizing. "Spencer, don't be sorry. I embarrassed myself, really. I shouldn't have been listening anyway�� what you do in your apartment isn't any of my business, and I messed up."

He smiled and shuffled on his feet, trying to avoid looking at you but failing. In the end he shrugged and leaned against the doorframe. "Well, in any case, I really do hope your head doesn't hurt too bad. That was a loud thump."

Y/N laughed nervously, turning the bottle over in her hands while looking at the floor. "It doesn't hurt anymore. Feels better now that I've slept it off... Thank you, though. I... I appreciate it."

"You're welcome."

She looked up at him and almost started crying again, still completely embarrassed over the whole ordeal. In an attempt to not cry, she cleared her throat. "Um, I was just going put on some coffee if you... wanted to come in? I can make some eggs or something too, if you're hungry. Y'know, to say I'm sorry?"

Spencer looked like he was about to tell her not to be sorry again, but she gave him a look that said don't you dare, and he settled on nodding instead. "Sure, I'd like that."

***

"Wow. These are great."

Y/N smiled, watching Spencer eat a bite of the eggs she'd made him. "Thank you. It's a family recipe. Nothing too special, but my mom always made them for my brother and I before our first day of school every year."

He smiled. "That's nice. Really, they're great. Thank you."

"Yeah, no problem... Look, again, I really am so—"

"Y/N, stop. It's okay, really. It... happens. You don't have to be sorry."

She nodded before taking a sip of her coffee. Spencer ate some more of his eggs and the two of them sat in silence for a few minutes, before it got completely unbearable.

She didn't want to keep bringing it up, but something forced the words out of her mouth. "So, your... guest... Is she your girlfriend?"

It took Spencer a minute to realize what she said, but eventually he cleared his throat, some color forming on his cheeks. "Oh, uh... no. No, I'm single. She and I had just met at a bar downtown. I don't usually do that. Go to bars, I mean. Though I suppose I don't really have one night stands all that often, either, but my co-workers and I were out last night after a... pretty rough day at work, and... before I left we met at the bar and it just kind of went on from there."

"Oh... Well, I... I'm sorry work was rough. Seems like you... handled it, though. Got over it... I mean, like, you knew how to take your mind off of it, or make it better or whatever."

Y/N froze after she said it. Immediately after, she shook her head. "God, I'm sorry. That was dumb. I shouldn't have said that."

"No, I get what you mean, it's okay, really," Spencer said quickly, seemingly amused. "It, uh... It really did help. You know, sex is a good stress reliever. The endorphins it releases puts you in a better mood and calms you down, and studies show that regular sexual activity can aid in decreasing high blood pressure during stressful situations."

"I... didn't know that. Sounds helpful. Especially with your job, I imagine."

He nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. "What about you? Is your job stressful?"

Y/N shrugged, kind of glad that the conversation moved away from sexual nature. Though, she supposed the reason it was there in the first place was kind of her fault. In any case, she told Spencer about her job. "It's not as stressful as other jobs can be, but I just got a promotion so all the responsibility is a little daunting, I guess."

"I'm sure you're fine," he complimented, setting his mug down. "Though... If you do ever find yourself beginning to buckle under the stress of your job, sex is a good way to keep your spirits up."

It was a joke. A reference to their conversation, the whole reason they were in this moment in the first place. So why did Y/N respond with, "What, is that your way of offering?"

I'm just full of stupid shit lately, aren't I, she thought, immediately hating herself for saying it. Things were going well, and Spencer didn't seem mad or annoyed after the whole incident, and now she was positive she'd made everything worse.

But nothing could have prepared her for what came out of his mouth next.

"Maybe it is."

She looked up at him and saw that he was completely serious. His eyes bore into her, staring her down like he was trying to compel her to say something, to do something, to put her under his spell. Y/N swallowed, trying to speak, but nothing would come out.

Oh, now you have nothing to say? Good going, Y/N...

Nevertheless, he waited. His eyes remained glued on her, tilting his head to the side and raising his eyebrows as if to ask her, well?

Eventually, she settled on, "You mean it?"

Spencer nodded slowly, staring at her with an intensity she hadn't experienced in forever. "Only if you want to."

Immediately Y/N thought back to last night. His nasty words replayed in her ears over and over again, repeating themselves like a mantra— You like that, baby? You like when I hold you down and fuck you?

And under his burning gaze, Y/N felt like she was on fire. Her lower stomach bubbled over with desire and she imagined him fucking her like he had in her dream.

It's almost like he knew what she was thinking about. Because right before she could tell him she wanted him, he laughed softly to himself. "What are you thinking about, Y/N?"

Her name on his lips sent shivers down her spine. "W... What?"

"Tell me. You're thinking about having sex with me right now, aren't you?"

She could barely breathe. But she managed to get out a strangled, "Yes."

Spencer smirked and stood up, walking around the table but never taking his eyes off Y/N. She swallowed and stood up too, meeting his eyes and tilting her head up to look at him— really look at him. His pupils were full-blown, his lips formed into an amused smile as he reached out to touch her face. She fluttered her eyes closed and leaned into his touch, a small sigh involuntarily escaping her lips.

"How long have you been thinking about me?" Spencer asked quietly, yet the tone in his voice rather demanded an answer more than asked for one.

Y/N opened her eyes to meet his, and almost crumbled under the weight of their intensity. "S-since last night."

He hummed in response, running his thumb over her chin and up to her lips, just barely touching them. "Have you ever thought about it before then?"

She couldn't lie to him. "A few times."

That got a full smile out of him, but it disappeared rather quickly as he stepped even closer and gripped the side of Y/N's face in his right hand, his fingers barely weaving through the hair behind her ear. She gasped and looked up at him, silently begging for him to kiss her. To push her onto the table, or choke her, or something.

"Tell me what you want," he demanded, keeping that even, soft tone. It sent another chill through Y/N's body.

She could hardly breathe. Could hardly form words.

Spencer slipped his hand behind her head and gripped the underside of her damp hair, tugging slightly as she whimpered. "What do you want?"

"I want you to fuck me," Y/N gasped out, completely and utterly entranced by his looming presence.

"Now?" he asked, his own way of really making sure she wanted to go through with this.

"Yes," she breathed. "Yes, please, fuck me. Please."

The look he gave her after she said it was purely dirty and unlike any thing she'd ever experienced. She decided then and there that if that was the reaction she'd get from him for begging, she would beg him for anything any time.

Not to mention, the way he kissed her was enough to make any man or woman fly into the sun. Both of his hands found themselves lost in her hair, pulling her head to his and practically massaging her scalp as he glided his lips across hers with a slow burning fever that made Y/N's body completely succumb to him. She melted into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer, reaching up to twist her fingers through the ends of his hair, admiring how soft and perfect it felt on her skin. Once Spencer's tongue swiped over her bottom lip and softly pushed into her mouth, it was well and truly over. Y/N was done for. He could do anything he wanted and she wouldn't turn him away.

He pulled away for a moment, taking her bottom lip between his teeth before moving back in and angling his head in the other direction, kissing her deeper and causing a groan to slip from her throat.

Y/N desperately clung to his neck, wishing he could do this to her forever, but then he took one of his hands away from her head and brought it to her lower back. He completely pulled her against him, one of his legs slipping between hers and putting the slightest bit of pressure to her crotch.

She whimpered, causing Spencer to push himself against her harder, the two of them completely attached. He brought his knee up just a little, and Y/N instinctively ground against it, desperately wanting to feel any type of friction she could manage. It warmed her whole body to the core, being completely embraced by him, and in a matter of seconds she was more desperate than she'd ever been.

She pulled her face away from his reluctantly, breathing heavily and still grinding against his leg. "Please," was all the could think to say.

"Such a needy little thing, aren't you?" Spencer whispered, peppering her neck with wet kisses as he brought his leg up higher, giving her more access. He leaned his butt against the table for support, until eventually he gave in and sat down on it, bringing her down to sit on his thigh.

Y/N hesitated, halting her movements for a second before he gripped her hips and moved them forward. "Go ahead, pretty girl. Ride my thigh."

She groaned at the nickname and obliged happily, grinding down and rocking her hips against him. He continued to kiss her neck, occasionally biting down and sucking at different spots, sure to leave marks.

He hadn't even really touched her yet, and Y/N was absolutely dizzy, high on kisses and his hands burning into her hips. She felt her stomach start to coil as an orgasm came to the surface, her legs clenching tighter around him.

"You close, baby?" Spencer muttered against her neck, right under her ear. He took her earlobe between his teeth for just a moment before rocking her hips faster, bringing his leg up just a bit higher to aid her. She shoved her head into his neck and cried out his name, somewhere between a whine and a moan.

Within a matter of seconds Y/N was shaking around him, panting his name over and over while he brought his leg just a tad higher, bringing her over the edge. Her mind raced, coming to terms with what just happened and what was about to happen, and it made her tremble again, sending one more shockwave through her lower body before her hips slowed to a stop.

Spencer slid his hands back up to her head, bringing her face to his once more and kissing her. As if she wasn't already so out of breath. But it didn't matter. She only cared about his mouth and the way it captured hers like it belonged there, like it knew she was his for the taking. And she really believed that was true.

Y/N still straddled his leg, but she wanted to give him the same release he'd given her, so she attempted to climb away and moved one of her hands down to his belt.

Spencer stopped her hand and pulled his face away from hers. For a moment she thought she'd done something wrong, and she was about to apologize, but he pulled her close and stroked her hair with his hand, tilting his head to meet her gaze. "Not yet, pretty girl. I want to taste you first."

And without another second passing by, he moved the hand that grabbed her wrist between them and snuck it into her shorts and panties. Y/N jumped a little, but only because it felt too good for her own good. Her eyes fluttered shut when his middle finger grazed her clit, but his other hand gripped her chin and forced her to look at him. "No. I want you to look at me, okay?"

She nodded, and then whimpered when he slipped a finger inside of her. She lifted herself up just a little so he had more access, and sure enough his finger slipped in and out with ease.

She wanted more, but he took his hand away, and the glimmer in his eye when she pouted, visibly frustrated, sent her into another small fit of tremors.

"So antsy, pretty girl," Spencer laughed, slightly amused. Y/N would have said something, but all words escaped her when he brought his fingers to his mouth. His tongue poked out to taste-test before he completely took them in, holding eye contact with her the whole time. As he sucked his fingers clean, Y/N felt herself growing desperate again, and she ground against his leg once more.

Spencer laughed and brought his fingers out of his mouth, resting them on her hips. "You're being awfully quiet, Y/N."

"I... I don't... Is that a bad thing?"

"Not necessarily. But you didn't have a problem being loud last night."

It brought color to her cheeks. Her first instinct was to apologize but she knew he'd chastise her for it, so she didn't. Rather, she embraced the opportunity and pulled herself closer to him. "Is that what you want, Spencer? You want me to be loud for you?" Her voice was soft, somewhat contradicting what she was saying, but she looked at him through her eyelashes, biting her lip as if asking for permission.

And now it seemed like it was his turn to groan, though it came out as more of a growl as he pushed her away from him, grabbing her arm and leading her through the apartment. All the rooms were built the same so he knew where to go. He didn't take the time to scan her room, though if he did it was fast. Y/N barely had any time to react before he pulled her to him again and kissed her roughly.

As his fingers weaved through her hair again, Y/N decided to take a chance, snaking her hands down to his belt. This time he didn't stop her, his lips opening and granting her access to his tongue as she unbuckled the belt. She unzipped his pants and pushed them down his hips, but they only got about an inch down before he pulled away from her completely, leaving her empty again.

She whined, and he smirked.

"What is it, Y/N?" he asked. "What do you want?" His tone was almost condescending, like he knew exactly what she wanted.

She didn't like being teased. "I just want you," she stated, whining a bit to prove her point.

He seemed to contemplate his words for a moment before he spoke. "And... you think I should just give you what you want? After I caught you eavesdropping on me last night?"

He was only saying it to see her flushed. To embarrass her and make her shy so he could make it better in the end. She knew that, knew better, and yet it still worked. "I'm sorry," she pleaded, getting down on her knees in front of him and looking up at him with just as much desperation as she could manage. "You know I feel really really bad about it, just please let me make it up to you. Please, Spencer."

When all he did was look down at her, amused and still, Y/N batted her eyelashes and grabbed the waistband of his pants and underwear. She waited to pull them down until he did or said something, but all he did was stare. She couldn't tell if he was making her wait or if he was waiting for her, and she was afraid of making the wrong decision. But, deciding that she'd been in enough trouble in the past 10 hours to last a lifetime, Y/N took a chance yet again and pulled Spencer's pants all the way down.

Still unsure of what would happen if she continued, Y/N scooted closer, but kept her eyes locked on his. She batted her eyelashes and ran her hands up his thighs, eventually wrapping around to his ass. She brought them up his lower back and around to feel his stomach before sliding down to the front of his hips. She stopped them there, gliding her thumbs over his skin in small circles as she pleaded once more for good measure.

"Pretty please."

Spencer gave in, bringing his hands to her hair and pulling her close. "It's all yours, baby."

The words sent heat straight to her lower half as she flicked her tongue out to taste the head of his cock. His eyes fluttered shut at the contact, and Y/N took that as her opening. She looked down and marveled at him as she took him completely in her mouth, slowly but surely, getting herself acquainted with his size.

Once she set a steady pace, she looked up at him and found that he was absolutely wonderstruck. His eyes practically sparkled as they fixed on her, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth in pure adoration and fascination. Y/N took this as encouragement, bobbing her head faster and slacking her jaw as she let him hit the back of her throat with each thrust forward. She gagged once and pulled herself off, bringing her hand up to jerk him for a few seconds before using her mouth again. This was a cycle that continued until tears were streaming down her cheeks and spit was leaking down her chin, and every time she looked up at him, Spencer would groan and tighten his grip in her hair.

Eventually he stopped her, pulling her off of him and panting. "Come here," he whispered, and Y/N got up off her knees, standing up and wiping some of the spit from her face. It didn't feel all that sexy as she was doing it, though the way he looked at her made her feel like she was the only thing in the entire world that could bring him joy.

He reached forward and wiped some of the tears from her cheek before kissing her, groaning into her mouth as he did so. His still hard cock pressed against her leg, and she groaned, too, before he pulled away.

That dark glimmer returned in his eye when he spoke. "Take your clothes off."

Y/N didn't have to be told twice. Immediately she threw her shirt off over her head and tossed it to the ground as Spencer stepped out of his pants. His eyes travelled down to her breasts and she noticed him swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing a few times before he looked back up at her face. Keeping eye contact and softly biting her lip, Y/N hooked her fingers around her shorts and underwear and slid them down her legs until they reached the other clothes on the floor. She kicked them to the side and tilted her head up.

She thought he might kiss her again, but instead he nodded his head towards her bed. "Lay down on your back."

As Y/N had learned pretty early on, she was quick and eager to obey, and so she did as she was told, laying down in the middle of the bed, her head resting on her pillows and the rest of her body laying flat, eagerly awaiting Spencer's next move.

She watched him as he took his shirt off, leaving him completely bare, and before she had time to admire him, he bent down and grabbed something from his pants.

A condom, Y/N realized as he made his way to her.

"You really came over with the intent to fuck me, didn't you?" she mused, unable to stop herself.

He laughed at her words, climbing over her and leaning down to press his lips to her neck in a soft kiss. "Wasn't it obvious?"

No, she thought to herself, but she didn't say anything. Though even if she wanted to, she couldn't have, because Spencer's mouth moved down her neck and to her chest. He licked a small circle over her right nipple before enclosing it entirely in his mouth, and Y/N arched her back off the bed, running her fingers through his hair.

He laughed again, taking her nipple in between his teeth before releasing it and saying, "I love how fucking responsive you are, pretty girl."

Everything about what he was saying and doing to her sent Y/N into a tailspin. Before she had time to respond, he moved his mouth to her other breast and got right to work, repeating the process.

One of his hands trailed down her body, just light enough to leave goosebumps it its wake, until it reached where she really wanted him. As if to prove his last statement, Y/N's hips bucked upwards to feel more of him, and Spencer laughed against her chest, removing his mouth from her and using both of his hands to steady her hips, pushing them into the mattress. "Can you be still for me? Use your words."

Y/N sighs and bites her lip before answering. "Yes. I can be still."

"Louder, Y/N. You promised you'd be loud for me, remember?"

If she wasn't wet before, she definitely was now. And she thought about just repeating her words louder, like she was expected to, but then something in that stupid part of her brain said to push her luck. And so she laughed back at him.

"No, I didn't."

Spencer seemed shocked. This was the first time she'd blatantly disagreed with something he said. "What?"

He seemed a little mad, but Y/N acted innocent. "Well, I asked you if you'd like me to be loud for you, and you just pulled me in here. You didn't answer me, and I didn't promise anything."

She was scared of what he would do or say, but that turned her on even more.

And without warning, Spencer jammed two of his fingers into her mouth, forcing it open and pressing them down on her tongue. "Well, sweetheart, this is me telling you. You're gonna scream my name until the whole city can hear how needy you are for me."

She almost choked on his fingers, but he took them out and slid them down her chin and neck, leaving her completely breathless. He waited a beat before laughing to himself. "Aw, see? Look what I do to you, pretty girl," he mused. "You're so submissive."

Y/N wanted to argue, but she wanted him more, so she whined and tried to move him closer, to which he laughed again and caressed her face. "That's what I thought. Now be a good girl and wait a second while I put this on, okay?"

For fear of disappointing him, Y/N replied with, "Okay," loud and clear.

He smirked, unwrapping the condom and starting to slide it over himself. "Fast learner."

And in an attempt to patch things over even more, she batted her eyes like she knew he liked, acting patient and innocent though she was pretty sure they both knew she was the exact opposite.

It paid off in the end though, because Spencer rewarded her with a sweet kiss as he ran the tip of his cock over her pussy, just barely entering. He teased her like that for about a minute before she started to get antsy, and yet he didn't let up. He raised an eyebrow at her, and catching on she reached up, grabbing the sides of his face and blinking once before talking. "Please, Spencer. Fuck me."

"Atta girl," he praised before moving forward and entering her. Immediately Y/N moaned, her mouth open and eyes just about rolling to the back of her head. Her hands slid up his face and through his hair, weaving her fingers through the soft waves as he set a steady pace, letting themselves get used to the feeling of being wrapped up in each other like this. For a moment it seemed like he forgot his promise to fuck her so hard the whole city would hear her screaming his name, but after a while, he apparently decided that she wasn't being loud enough.

"Come on, Y/N. You can do better than that."

She wanted more than anything to tell him that if he fucked her harder then maybe she would be louder, but infinitely realized that A) that was a surefire way to get chastised, and B) if she was louder, he would fuck her harder. He was going to make her work for it, and in the end she didn't mind that at all.

So she told the truth. "Fuck, Spencer, you feel so goo— ahh!"

Almost as soon as the words left her mouth, he quickly adjusted and fucked her faster, and aside from the overstimulation, it was starting to feel reminiscent of the dream she'd had last night. She wasn't crying but she felt like she could, every fiber of her being burning alive with pleasure. She felt her orgasm rising to the surface, but she didn't want this to end yet. Maybe if she was lucky Spencer would keep going after she'd finished, though at this point she was just happy to let him fuck her for any period of time.

That being said, he slowed his movements, making each stroke harder and more deliberate, and Y/N yelled out his name, hoping to get more.

"You close, pretty girl? Hmm? You wanna cum?"

The strain in his voice sent another wave of pleasure coursing through her body. He was close too, she just knew it.

"Yes," she breathed, before repeating it louder and louder. "Yes, yes, yes!"

She was just about to fall over the edge when Spencer laughed and pulled out of her, leaving her unsatisfied, empty, and confused.

"What?" she breathed, looking up at him.

He slid the condom off and tossed it aside before jerking himself off over her stomach. "Only good girls get to cum. You should have thought of that before you eavesdropped on me."

And then he came all over her stomach and chest. She would have been more angry, but the whole sight in front of her was hot as hell. Who was she to complain? She watched as his face scrunched up in pleasure, his mouth agape and eyes squeezed shut. His hair faintly stuck to his face, and his hips jerked into his hand until eventually he was spent.

Y/N whined at the sight, completely turned on feeling his warm cum coating her skin and also utterly frustrated for not getting off.

Spencer opened his eyes to look at her, and she thought in that moment it looked like he would burst into flames. As his gaze raked over her body, covered in his cum and so obviously desperate for release, he licked his lips and got down, spreading her legs wider and opening her up to him.

"Wha—"

Y/N didn't get to finish her thought, because Spencer was immediately eating her out like a man starved, running his tongue through her pussy, occasionally flicking it over her clit. As expected, the louder she got the more he gave her, and at one point he started fingering her at a relentless pace, curling his fingers up against her g-spot while circling her clit with his tongue.

He brought his head up and looked at her through his eyelashes as best as he could, barely catching a glimpse of her face, completely contorted in pleasure.

"You wanna cum, pretty girl?" he teased, slowing his fingers torturously.

She whined and then threw her head back, pleading. "Spencer, please!"

He only got a little faster and then gently flicked his tongue over her clit again, to which she yelped and fisted the sheets.

In turn he moved faster. And she got louder. Faster and louder, faster and louder, until finally he gave her what she wanted.

"That's it, pretty girl. Cum for me."

Right after he said it, Y/N arched her back off the bed and fisted the sheets even harder, actually screaming his name until it came out as incoherent sobs, eventually dwindling down to whimpering and panting as he aided her down from her high.

Spencer's movements slowed to a stop, pulling his fingers out of her and pressing one final kiss to her clit before removing himself from her completely and coming up to lay down beside her.

She stayed there on her back, arms clutched at her sides, breathing deep and eyes almost heavy like she was about to fall asleep. He brushed her hair away from her face and pressed a kiss to her lips. She could taste herself on him, and it excited her. When he pulled away, she turned her head to look at him and smiled.

"I'm definitely going to have to invade your privacy more often if this is what the end result is."

Spencer laughed, his hand brushing lightly through her hair. "So that was okay? I'm sorry if I was kind of mean, I—"

"I'm gonna stop you right there. If I was really truly mad about anything you did, I would have screamed at you, not for you. Trust me. You're just fine. That was... perfect."

"Good... And you know I was just teasing you about eavesdropping, right? I'm not actually upset about it."

"No, I know. I still feel kinda bad about it though."

"Well, you shouldn't. If anything... something good came out of it, right?"

Y/N laughed, scrunching her nose as he looked at her. "Right."

After a moment, Spencer sat up and looked down at her stomach, a smirk on his face. "I'm gonna go get you a washcloth."

"Good thinking. And while you're at it could you also grab the Advil?"

He was on his way out the bedroom door, slipping on his underwear before stopping in his tracks. "Oh no... I- I didn't hurt you did I?"

"Oh! No, you didn't. I just know that I'm going to be sore, and walking will most definitely be a problem. And I am not getting out of this bed for the rest of the day, so Advil will definitely help. Thank you for that, by the way."

Spencer laughed, leaving Y/N to admire him as he walked away.

#spencer reid smut #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfiction

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gaiuswrites · 3 years ago

Text

King of Cups || Chapter 7

Chapter 7: The Fool

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | six

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: It all spills over.

Word count: 8.8k~

Rating: Explicit

Warnings/tags: SMUT (WE MADE IT FOLKS), thigh riding, fingering/hand job, very brief breathplay/choking, cum eating¿? Angst/emo shit (I'm so sorry i have no self control)

Notes: HI FRIENDS, wow it's been a minute. Sorry for the massive delay. For anyone wishing to start KOC, now would be the perfectly spicy chapter to do so! This chapter was Herculean. idk why. Love you guys, enjoy! x (gif credit : @djarinsgf)

“Maker,” you bemoan, shielding your face from the heavy beat of the suns.

You’ve known warmth—you were raised in warmth. This is beyond it.

It’s not just warm, it’s sweltering. The heat is oppressive, congealing the air to mist; you can barely see through it what with the sweat running into your eyes. Tall, craggy dunes line the valley of desert, trapping the planet’s hot pulse within their walls. Your steps crunch along the dry, pebbled earth as you swat at the gnats buzzing in ribbons around your head.

A muffled gurgle sounds from behind you and you slow to a halt, boots gritting into the cracked top soil.

“You doing alright back there, Munch?” you ask, craning your head to the child nestled into the carrier fashioned onto your back. A green ear pokes free from the top, and you can see the jewel of his black eyes peering at you through the gauzy cloth you draped over it. He grunts, and you give a small shrug—shifting the pack by the straps, eliciting a giggle out of him. “We can always turn back, okay? I’m not going to be mad.” Another noise, a happy coo this time, and you shimmy your shoulders again, jostling the bag playfully.

“Well, you just let me know.”

Your conversations usually unfold this way. They leave much to be desired, but you’d like to think you understand one another—in fact, you probably understand the kid more than you understand his dad.

You’ve grown close with him, you’ll be the first to admit it. You’re attached to each other. The little one has been your constant companion for these months and in some ways, you suppose he takes care of you just the same as you take care of him. The chamber of space can be lonely; it’s cold and unkindly reflective, stranding you to the echoed chain of your thoughts—but when he tugs at your hair or slobbers spittle down the front of him or crawls up into your lap to nestle into your tunic, it feels like you belong there—there on the Crest, streaming through the galaxy.

And maybe, simply, it feels good to do right by a child—as if you could make up for it somehow, within yourself. To do better than you were given.

Squinting, you raise your wrist to check the coordinates on your comm and shade a hand over the screen, blocking the glare cast onto the display. “Almost there,” you mumble, resuming your stride as you begin the last leg of the trek to the settlement you and Mando discussed that morning.

“What?” he asked, planted some paces away from you.

You hummed a curious note, glancing to him.

“What is it?”

You were trying to be small all morning—shrunken and shy, avoiding the thought and avoiding him all together. You quieted yourself, as if to not take up space, but the attempt was fruitless; of course he picked up on it – you get good at reading people on the job, he’d said – and of course he called you out on your behavior. You took a big gulp of your caf, gaze flickering down—increasingly more and more invested in the scuffs marked into the table you sat at.

“Dala,” he said pointedly, arms folding over the breadth of his chest.

Shit. Who did you think you were fooling? Playing possum with a Mandalorian?

Worrying your lip, you stood. You couldn’t bear to look up at him, just looming there across the table from you, so you paced around the deck as you rambled. “Okay, so you know how I’m still connected to the RRM channels? Well, I’ve been checking the message boards and I—there’s a settlement here out in the Wastes. It’s small and new and they’re looking for volunteers and—”

You whistled in a breath. Fuck it.

“And I want to help.”

Like the toggle of a switch, you went from having a career—having a purpose—to having nothing. And all your gratitude for the transport he’s offering couldn’t fill that empty lull that’s settled inside you.

“Would you be comfortable with letting me take the kid? I know I’m probably asking a lot—and I will fully respect whatever you decide—but I can keep him by me the whole time, I swear, I just—” You shook your head, pinching your eyes shut before sighing, “I need to be doing something. Anything.”

There was a long pause. You scratched at the torn skin around your cuticle, nervously searching the pitch of his wordless visor. He didn’t move a muscle. He didn’t even twitch.

“That’s fine,” he finally remarked, graveled.

You blinked, taken aback at his agreement, and all at once your fidgeting ceased and a bright grin broke out over your features in its place.

It nearly brought him to his knees.

“Wait, seriously?” you asked, bouncing on the balls of your feet and he nodded, a subtle tilt to his helm. “Maker, thank you,” you exclaimed, and without thinking you flew towards him, flinging your arms around his neck and sealing yourself to his armored frame. His arms escaped out from his chest in surprise, suspended and stiff, before falling measuredly to his sides. You could’ve been imagining it, but you swore you heard the distinct grit of his teeth grinding together under his helmet.

“Really Mando,” you beamed, pulling back to lay your eyes on him, to let him see the earnest there: you have no idea how much this means to me. “Thank you.”

You gave his shoulders a squeeze, thumbs brushing along the scratchy fabric of his cape before tearing yourself away. Swiping up your mug of caf, you wound down the corridor - airy, buoyant - back to your makeshift quarters to prepare for your outing. It took him another minute just to get his damn feet to move from the spot on the durasteel you welded him to.

Din told you to be safe.

You smiled, and promised you would.

You left the Crest before him and it was strange, surreal. For the first time, you stood in each other’s shoes, leaving Din there on his own while you set off into the world. He watched you go—you and his boy—watched you walk away into some great unknown without him.

And he didn’t like it.

He soured, somewhere in the deep of him—within that pit he called a gut, he twisted sick.

Your feet hit the ramp, dull and tinny, and it sounded like goodbye—it sounded like you leaving. It’s what it will look like when time and fate touch, and inevitability catches up with him. It’s what it will look like when he takes you home. You’ll walk out of his life, down that same ramp, and your steps will echo those same beats. You won’t look back.

And Din, with all his strength, all his unshakeable resolve—Din will let you go.

///

The encampment is settled into the shadow of a cliffside, seeking respite there from the blazing suns, the taupe of the canvas shanties camouflaging into the arid landscape. Some crawl their gaze up as you enter the village, and you offer them smiles they do not return. Others do not acknowledge your presence at all— unstirred as your footsteps sound past, their heads bound heavy towards the earth. It’s not long before a decisive voice cuts through the hush that’s claimed the settlement.

“Are you with the RRM?”

You turn and are greeted by a woman ducking out of a tent—the grey of her woven tunic browned with sand, heat collecting in her black, coiled hair.

“Yes, I’m with the Movement.” It’s not a total lie. Sure, you’re on leave, but that doesn’t discount you completely. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

With a sharp exhale like a prayer of relief, she makes her way towards you. “Where’s the rest of your division?” Her eyes narrow discerningly, flitting behind you as if expecting to spot the rear of your party trickling in.

“It’s, uh—it’s just me,” you confess, pressing your lips together in a thin smile.

She rakes a hand over her hair, over her face. The skin around her knuckles is split, the beds of her nails chalked with days of unwashed grime. “Alright,” she concedes begrudgingly, without any better option presented. “And who is this?” She nods to the child, emerging from the pack and staring curiously at her.

“This is—” You take a moment to consider it—consider the secrecy around the child, the bounties, the life on the lam. Less is more, you decide. Again, it’s not a total lie. “I’m babysitting.”

The kid grunts an emphatic patu.

You both share a look—a quirk of her dark brow, an apologetic heft of your shoulder—and she sighs. “Well, I’ll take all the help I can get,” she quips dryly with a wave of her hand, leading you into the settlement.

///

She’s coarse, this woman—Arlaani, she told you—matronly and effective. She has a calculating gaze and powerful shoulders that she holds steady as she shows you through the camp. There are lines around her eyes, carved into the curves of her mouth. She knows what you know—what all women learn: sometimes you must be hard in order to keep others soft.

You walk shoulder to shoulder, matching her long strides with your own.

“The Black Sun has taken the southern hemisphere; their numbers have only grown since the Battle of Yavin. Pirates, mercenaries, spice runners—they’ve ransacked one half of the planet and have the officials of the other half in their pocket,” she scowls. “They have stolen our land, our homes—we’re moisture farmers, mechanics, mothers and fathers. We are simple people and we have been forgotten by our government—by those who vowed to represent us, protect us.” Arlaani draws in a long breath. “We’re on our own out here in the Wastes.”

You survey the area; the lifeless ocean of rock and sand, the few scattered trees that have died on their feet—roots withering bone dry in the suns. “Why settle here if it’s so uninhabitable?”

She huffs a humorless laugh. “Because, it’s uninhabitable,” Arlaani explains. “No one robs a beggar. There is nothing in the Wastes the Black Sun wants.”

There are no buildings, no structures; the whole area is undeveloped and raw. Tents are dotted sporadically in clusters, crates of supplies and water canteens stationed every other one. Children dawdle idly, tired and overheated, leaning against boxes and posts—their bellies distended and skin parched taut. Flies land on their shins, on their cheeks. They do not go to shoo them away.

“The Movement supplied those for us when we landed,” she comments, nodding to the crates. “That was two months ago.”

“No one has come back to check on you since?” you ask, brows notching together.

She shakes her head solemnly, jaw set rigid. “Our little ones go hungry, our elders are sick with red fever. We will run out of water before the week is through,” Arlaani says before she turns to you, holding your gaze—the seriousness evident in the stone of her eyes. “I thank the gods you are here.” She presses a palm to your shoulder. You feel the weight of it, the weight of her—of the lives she carries on her back.

“I thank the gods.”

///

You stop by each tent delivering what little food and medicine you brought with you from the Crest, and after each encounter—the people so grateful, so weary—your mind strays further and further to Mando.

Din, you scold yourself. Not Mando, Din. Din Djarin.

You still can’t bring yourself to say it.

He spent that whole fateful day nearly two weeks ago bristling at the very sight of you, going out of his way to limp to the other side of the ship just to ignore you better, only to do you in for one final head spin and give you his name.

Two weeks, and you still haven’t said it. There’s no other excuse: plainly - pitifully - you’re scared. You’re scared he regrets it.

Because how horrible of a truth would it be? To be offered something out of carelessness or guilt; to be the product of pity, or even worse, a mistake that cannot be unmade, cannot be rectified. He can’t take his name back, can’t unspeak it any more than you can unhear it, and this fear, picking at you like an old scab—it’s so painfully human, so terribly universal:

what if I’m not worth it?

And isn’t it easier to neglect the answer, then it is to ask the question.

So you’ve buried his name for both of your sakes, keeping it somewhere secret and private, there to garner dust in the quiet of your mind.

You’re brushing through the draped entrance of a tent when you spot him: a small boy hiding behind a supply crate, the top of his dusted head poking out over the ledge. You catch him peering at you, and he ducks down shyly. A honeyed grin blooms across your face.

“I think we’re being watched Munch,” you coo. The little ball of robes blinks up at you from your arms, earning his nickname tenfold as he crams his mouth with a flakey cracker. “You want to say hi?” He hums in response and you crouch, letting him wiggle free from you to toddle over to the other child. With small steps, he eventually makes it over to the other and immediately, without hesitation or provocation, extends one of his crackers to him.

Your heart swells until it bursts, proud and beautiful in your chest.

Munch leads him out from behind the box, the two boys shuffling slowly through the dirt back to you. He can’t quite meet your eyes—his gaze lands somewhere around your chin, your collarbone, and you fold forward, bent at the knees to meet his height.

“Do you have a name, sweetheart?” you ask kindly.

He nods, nibbling quietly on the cracker, and you breathe out a chuckle. “Not much of a talker, huh? I can respect that,” you say, eyes crinkling fondly with a smile. “Well if you want to tell me, you can—or not. That’s okay, too.”

He nods again, and you fish out more salty treats from the sleeve in your pack, gently handing them to the other—a gesture he nervously accepts, dirty fingers trembling as he plucks them from your open palm. This boy is precious—sweet faced and cherubic, he must not be a cycle over the age of seven.

And the realization comes so suddenly that it blindsides you—struck by it, there between your lungs: Din was his age when it happened—when life happened to him. When this could have happened to him.

You can’t help but think of it—think of him and everything he told you that night he came bleeding through the Razor Crest. You can’t stop imagining him; Din as a little boy tucked away, his people—his parents—decimated overhead. He is a Mandalorian by proxy. Displaced from his home, from his past, saved by a sect with an affinity for orphans—to protect those who cannot protect themselves. The irony of it all is not lost on you:

Din is a refugee too.

You see him in this boy, and in all the faces here—in every set of eyes, young and old alike. Each are individual - idiosyncratic - but they each wear the same qualifiers. The same exhaustion. They each fight the same tired battle, leaving them with identical sets of marks.

Does Din? If you were to see him, truly see him, would you find them there? You’ve seen the scars he’s earned from being a Mandalorian.

You wonder if he has any from simply being a man.

Pushing yourself to stand upright, you cradle Munch back into your chest, his teensy claws riddling your shirt, and offer the boy your hand—outstretched in front of you.

He’s cautious. Too cautious for a boy so young, for a child who should know nothing but abundant love and fearless imagination. He shouldn’t have had to learn this lesson: that some hands should not be taken, that some people should not be trusted. He studies you, hesitant but hopeful, and you smile softly—cycles of hard-won patience and empathy curving the corners of your lips.

He lays his small hand in your own. You walk on together.

///

The day blows by like hot desert wind, chafing at your skin. Minutes have ripened to hours—morning has crawled to midday.

The three of you finish your rounds— distributing rations throughout the camp, pitching tents, taking stock of the dwindling supplies for you to relay to the Movement once you return to the Crest and have access to your holopad.

It’s then that you notice Arlaani again. She’s speaking in hushed tones with another man, the both of them hunched over a large carton. You see the concern ticked clearly along the man’s jaw, the dread grooved into her brow, her crossed arms. With a frown, you plop the child down onto a nearby petrified log and the other boy joins, hopping up next to him, all too happy to get off his feet. You tell them not to wander off— a kiss to Munch’s forehead, a ruffle of the boy’s hair— before making your way to the couple.

“Hey,” you call, jogging over. “Is everything alright?”

Arlaani wheels around as you approach. It hasn’t been long since you’ve seen her, but somehow she looks older. Hollowed, drained— like there’s less and less in her. “It’s the water,” she grits out, “sand mites have gotten to the crates, to the canteens.” She tosses you one of the flasks. It’s littered with holes, porous and leaking— the remnants of water splashing out of the orifices bitten into the sides.

Arlaani dives through the crate, rifling through the supplies. She’s tense, upset, her voice is rife with it. “They’re all like this. Ruined, fucking—” She heaves out a hissed exhale and props herself up on the edge of the box, neck bowed between her shoulder blades. “This was the last of it, and now—now…”

The man tries his best - how do you comfort marble? - as he places an arm around her, his thumb drawing patterns there, reassuring and calm but she wants nothing of it; she gruffly shrugs it off as if stung, weaseling out of his hold. “I can’t— I need to think,” Arlaani bristles, as she paces away from the settlement, receding deeper into the Wastes.

“I’m sorry,” he stutters, “I have- I have to—” His eyes follow her shrinking form, worry apparent in the shape of them. It’s so obvious. He’s terrified of that woman—probably loves her, too.

“Go,” you say, and with a knowing expression, he turns and trots after her.

Heavy footed, heavy hearted, you trudge back to find the children exactly where you left them. Once there, you collapse to the hard ground, dust and dirt puffing up as you recline onto the log. Your palms run over the earth—scooping up sand and rock and letting it slip through the cracks of your fingers, gaze trained out onto the encampment—the people milling about, the miasma of helplessness stifling the air.

This isn’t enough. You’re not doing enough— these impermanent little nothings, your measly good deeds. It’s not going to matter. They’ll be bones by the time the next wave of volunteers rolls through. They’ll be grain.

You need to do something that lasts, that outlives you when you leave.

You glance over to the kid and his new friend, their little legs swinging off the edge of the trunk, heels thumping against the old wood. They look to you, two pairs of big eyes—crackers in their tiny fists.

“You boys ever dig a well?”

///|||///

The suns roast into his beskar, blistering him from the inside out.

The day has been long and it’s only half over. It took him longer than it should have to gather himself— his fob, his rifle, his fucking head—and depart the Crest. Longer than it should have to hunt the bounty here—some marauder scum who’s number is up and luck has run out. Longer than it should have to set up his sniper’s nest, sculpted into the mountainside.

Din is distracted, has been all day— has been since you left.

He can’t stop feeling you. Your warmth pushing against his chest, your arms looping around his neck, the heat of your palms searing through his flight suit. Din can smell you on him still— like citrus and moss, you cling to his cowl from where you buried your head.

It’s intolerable. It feels like an infection with how it’s been building, how this has spread— slowly but surely rearing to an unignorable head. Serpentine and insidious as it crept through him, this growing affliction— this morbid curiosity that spoiled like rotting stonefruit into infatuation— slipping along his bones and organs, blemishing Din in faint little licks— imperceptible to the naked eye but there all the same.

How did this happen? How did he become this?

You’ve been more relaxed now, bolder in some ways. Transparent. Sometimes, you’ll touch his arm as you walk by him or sweep your hair from your neck when you sit by his side in the cockpit, star shine on your jaw. You’re quick with a laugh, lips pulling back into a pretty grin. He’s even caught you staring at him, there out of the corner of his eye—from where he steals those same glances under the safety of his helm.

He spied you once, just a glimpse of your backside, padding quietly away from the shower with only your underwear on, drops of water tracking down your spine. It was brief, you were fast—you must have forgotten your shirt in your bunk—but he had to lock himself in his quarters and fuck his hand before he could even think about piloting the Crest into the stratosphere.

Din is a lot of things, but he isn’t daft. A part of him knows. A part of him is aware that you are two very human people with very human needs—and that you’ve been ignoring these primal aches with premeditated dereliction for months now.

And you can only dance around each other so long before one of you snaps.

And Maker, he’s so desperate to be rid of you—to get you out of his fucking system; to let him sleep without dreaming of you, to let him wake without plunging into his briefs and jerking himself off. You are everywhere. In his ship, in his galley, in his thoughts. He has no privacy, he has no sanctity— he has no idea how you have managed to worm yourself so deep into every living part of him. Others have tried and they have failed, and you— you did it in your sleep. From that very first fucking night, curled up in his chair, gore and ash stained tunic rising with your slumbered breathing. You snored.

You fucking snored.

And now you’re killing him— just as the suns above, you are blistering him from the inside out.

His level-headedness has all but evaporated. He’s peeved. Not only is Din distracted, but he's angry— has been since he plodded up this damn hill, waiting for his quarry to pass through the ravine between the valley of mountains—because instead of performing his job, he’s consumed with you. All of you.

He kneels, flattening himself against the rocky sand— your hands, so small and soft against him— and unclips the rifle from the strap on his back—how good you’d feel on his skin—he aligns his sights— the weight of your breasts in his palms—

His helmeted head clunks to the ground and he loses his aim, a frustrated growl emanating out from him. Focus, Mando. Fucking focus.

Din reorients his crosshair, training it on the gang of pirates in the gorge below. They lean haphazardly over their speeders, their cargo nets packed full with different wares and spices, jeering loudly and chugging from the jugs of spotchka they undoubtedly looted earlier that afternoon. He inspects the rabble, searching for his target and—those pretty lips that smile so easy for him, stretched around his length.

Fuck. He pinches his eyes shut.

You whispering husky into his ear as you ride him, you bent over the pilot’s chair begging for his cock, you sprawled out over the deck while he laps at your sweet cunt.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck— he can’t do this. He can’t fucking do this. You’re everywhere everywhere everywhere— you buffer his vision, his senses, his sight. He’s blinded with you. You’re blinding him.

With an infuriated heave he shoves himself off the ridge of the dune, bounty-less, and reverses his course back to the Crest—heart beating furious and bloody against his ribs.

///

The settlers surround the trench, peering down at you as you work. Hours ago, when you originally proposed this idea to Arlaani, they insisted on helping— to which of course, you insisted they didn’t. And so they watch— the refugees, Din’s foundling, the nameless boy— mangling their hands restlessly, animated with an inkling of that all too lethal substance long sought after by those of all species and creeds: hope.

You sink the shovel into the dry earth and your muscles burn with the effort—the skin on your palms stings from the rough grate of the wooden dowel and the yawn of your back strains as you pitch forward.

You’ve missed this.

You’ve been so distracted. You’ve grown comfortable in your routines, you’ve let yourself go listless—living in blissful ignorance—all because of a metal man in his metal ship with the most impossible and darling child you’ve ever known. All because your body reacts at the very sight of him, all because your belly flips when he speaks, that modulated purr rumbling loose from his beskar, all because, because—

You like him.

You wish you didn’t—you hardly know why you do—but you’ve soaked your fingers enough times in your rack to realize that this thing residing within you burns.

You can’t even see his face, and you don’t have to. His presence alone— that raw, vacuous energy that surges from him—it’s addicting. It's engulfing. It makes you whimper into the night, massaging your pearled clit as your other hand muffles your moans and you come over and over and over again, chasing after the fantasy you so dangerously harbor for this man. The man who’s piloting you back to Coruscant—the man who sleeps just down the hall.

But that isn’t real. That’s not real life— that’s not your life. This is real—the fuchsia of the setting suns blazing through the horizon, the sweat on your brow. You’ve missed this— Maker, you need this. Working with your hands, making an impact. You’re wanted here and kriff, does that not feel so unabashedly right. To be wanted. To be important.

Your back groans, the sinew woven over your spine aching in protest and you know, without a doubt, you’ll feel this for the next week. Half of you dreads it—being cooped up and sore, lactic acid compacting your joints— while the other excites at the prospect; the memory of a good deed lasting long after it’s finished. That reminder always there, always present: see, there’s still hope in the galaxy. We can still do good. There’s goodness where you look for it.

You fling dirt over your shoulder as you burrow lower and lower. With each shove, the soil changes hue, changes density—the striations darker, more definitive. It’s less dry now, thicker too—turning from sand to clay the deeper you dig. Again, you drive the spade into the sod with a taxed grunt, when you hear a distinct, wet squish.

You pause, stilling your shovel in the dirt. Everything - everyone - freezes.

Adrenaline thrums through you as you drop to your knees, using your hands to brush away loose silt piled atop the loamy floor, excavating what lies beneath.

Prayers and hollers erupt above you and you lurch your focus up to the sound, a feverish grin plastered to your face. The little boy jostles the child excitedly, and his green talons rumple the other’s tattered tunic. Your head falls back, cushioned by the dirt wall and you laugh - gargled, relieved - as water begins to seep through the tired ground.

Bubbling up, bubbling up—unearthing.

///

The promise of ridding yourself of your soiled clothes was the singular thought that fueled your trek back to the Crest. Every inch of you was filthy, caked in dried mud and gritty sand and you wanted nothing more than to strip from those dirty layers and melt into your bedroll. The kid, that lucky little bugger, had passed right out; sun drunk from his long day, he’d slept the entirety of the return trip—stirring only once when you placed him in the hover pram and sealed it shut.

Your bones are worn. Your tissue, your tendons— every little scrap that keeps you stitched together craves sleep. You reckon you should feel miserable, what with the tell-tale stiffness already burdening your spine and the fresh callus from the shovel’s handle reddening your palm.

But you’re not miserable, not even close. No, you’re happy—you’re glowing; fulfilled and serene, humming as you wash your pants in the basin, kneading at the sopping fabric. You wring out the article, shaking free the excess droplets before draping it on a metal rung overhead. You peel off your shirt and bra band next, leaving you only in your underwear as you plop them into the bowl and begin to scrub at the stains, concentrating on a particularly dirty patch at the sleeve.

The grating mechanics of the Crest’s great jaw unhinging sends your stomach bounding frantic to your lungs.

Kriff—shit shit shit, he’s back early.

Clutching onto your modesty, you cover your breasts and scramble to your quarters, quickly shimming a loose tunic over your head. Its hem barely covers the curve of your ass and you tug long at the cloth before peeking cautiously from the doorway and tiptoeing out of your room.

“Hey,” you warble, rounding a corner as solid feet pound up the ramp—you can feel their reverberations in the floor under your own. You pad into the galley, pulling at your shirt as you go, to tidy up the washing you left unattended. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you so—”

You falter.

He’s there at the mouth of the ship, the ramp drawing slowly up behind him and he’s fuming; you can practically see the steam lifting from his armor and his breathing is labored—chest rising, plummeting violently. You both stand immobilized on opposite sides of the hull—you, bare-legged and exposed and Din, all but anonymous under the steeled fury of his armor. Finally, the sound dampens, ship shuddering as she seals shut—sealing you in—and the leather of his fist creaks in the silence hanging dense like smoke around you.

“Mando...?”

He doesn’t grace you with a response. Instead he begins to stalk forward, stripping weapon after weapon from himself with every thundering step—rifle, blaster, vibroblade—he sloughs it all, metal clanging against metal as they clatter to the deck.

“Hey, what’s wrong-”

He’s not stopping. Fuck, he’s getting closer and closer and instinctually you back up—staggering until you’re pressed against the bulkhead—his broad frame crowding you until all you see is the silver polish of his beskar. You jolt when his hands fly up and slam into the wall behind you, framing either side of your head, fencing you between his forearms. Your lips part, wide-eyed and confused, and you gulp around the nervous lump threatening your voice.

“Do you have any idea,” he seethes, “what you do to me?”

“W-What-” Your stammering is cut short as he slots his thigh between your legs and you have to tilt your chin to meet his visor, a gasp finding itself on your tongue.

“Strutting around my ship, putting your hands on me, that kriffing smile…” Din ruts his knee into your heat, and you’re practically hoisted onto your toes. Your core pulses against the blunt pressure, blood racing to the throb at your center.

Maker, you could fucking faint.

“Do you know how long I’ve thought about this—about you?” His voice is tar black—smooth like obsidian—and you succumb to it. You can’t speak; any and all language evaporating from the forefront of your mind, because he’s everywhere. He’s inescapable and smothering and his scent floods over you, intoxicatingly wild—like iron and sand and something dangerous. Something heady, carnal.

“Is this what you want?” he hisses.

You’ve gone dumb. You’ve imagined this, you’ve dreamt of this, but now it’s actually happening—here, in the flesh, it’s finally happening and you’re trembling with the reality of it. All you can muster is a shaky nod, tongue darting out over your lip.

“Tell me,” he orders, scanning your face behind the guise of his helm. You feel his gaze rove over your eyes, your cheek—fanning across your lips.

Your breath hitches.

“Yes,” you whisper, “yes I want this.“

It’s all it takes.

Din is rougher than he means to be. He wears this as he wears his armor, plating the soft parts of himself he doesn’t want anyone touching. He doesn’t know anything else. He doesn’t know how to be anyone else but this.

He grabs a handful of your waist, rooting you still as he rolls his thigh against you. You inhale an airy noise, grappling onto his other arm stationed by your head and you bite your lip, sucking it into your mouth. Your cunt spasms for him as he presses up into your mound, fightless against the groan that seeps through you.

“You like that?” he pants. ”You like fucking my thigh?”

Din manhandles your hips, his hold on you vicious as he rocks you back and forth on his plated leg, your clit catching on the cold edge of his thigh guard with each motion. It sends hot sparks down your spine and you trap a moan behind your teeth, letting the sound rumble there before you swallow it. His hand weaves up from your waist, the drag of his glove setting fire to your skin as he passes over the swell of your clothed breast, and you arch into his palm as he swipes a thumb over a nipple. “You want more?”

He splays his large hand, groping at your plump flesh, and pinches your nipple hard until it pebbles through your shirt. With each sharp twist, his intention becomes clearer: it won’t be enough to skate by on moans alone.

“I asked you a question.”

Din slides his other hand to the small of your back, drawing you flush to his front, and you can feel him— the outline of his firm length twitching under his flight suit against your hip. He cranes over you, intimidating and menacing and achingly devious. The panel of his visor has never looked darker.

“Use your words, dala,” he husks.

You should be embarrassed by this—by your need made evident through the soaked lining of your underwear—but you aren’t. The heat that stipples your cheeks isn’t born from shame, it’s sprung from lust—pure and primal—and you can’t afford to give it any further consideration because all there is is this man wrenching sounds from you like an animal— and he’s scarcely even touched you yet.

“Your fingers,” you whimper, “I want your hands."

He learned this lesson within those first weeks—relearns it every fucking day. You could ask him for anything - everything - and he would oblige.

He can’t say no to you.

He shifts out from between you, hooking into the elastic of your panties and tears them down your thighs to rest just above your knees, the spread of your legs keeping them from dropping to your ankles.

Patiently - tortuously - he scrapes up your legs, leaving embers in his wake as he trails higher higher higher to where you need him most. You’re shivering—nerve endings fried and frayed—and every atom inside you hums with anticipation, with unbridled impulse.

The orange tips of his gloves dimple your inner thighs - squeezing, massaging - before he tilts his helmet, angling himself to see you better, and paws your swollen lips apart.

Your pussy is drooling for him.

He moans something indecipherable— a curse in Mando’a—at the sight of you glistening for him under the dimmed lights like this, and immediately you buck your pelvis to him, hungry for his touch—and the pathetic noises babbling out of you prove too much for him to bear.

“Fuck this,” he snarls, ripping a glove off and tossing it aside, “I need to feel you.”

Your eyes have dilated with want, blackened as you watch Din retrace his bare hand—that gorgeous thing you’ve never seen, only ever fantasized about—back to your heat and slowly - so fucking slowly - pass a finger through your slit.

You throw your head back, knocking against the durasteel. The mewl that escapes you is inhuman.

He’s so warm. His tan skin is molten—it’s like he brought the sun in with him, as if he’s burning that star straight into your sex. You’re slippery with arousal; you can feel how glossed you are, you don’t have to look. You can hear it—hear the obscene squelches he’s stroking from your seam.

“Maker, you’re - shit - you’re wet,” he groans loudly, reveling in the way you pitch your hips—seeking his warmth, his friction. He’s been toying with you, drawing patterns along your pussy and playing with your puffy folds, but he hasn’t even come close to your clit. You know it’s no accident. Din is methodical in all things, he doesn’t make mistakes. This is a decision—it’s intentional. You think, perhaps, he’s looking to break you—some sort of retribution for these months you’ve spent swimming in circles around each other—and you think, perhaps, you’d let him.

That you’d like it.

When Din grants you mercy, finally gliding his index along your neglected bundle of nerves, reflexively you fist into his cowl, knuckles going pale.

“Stars-” you exclaim—just like that.

He handles your body like he does one of his pistols - practiced, unparalleled - encircling your clit with precision, his finger on your trigger—blinding, perfect agony swiveled into your sweet cleft.

When he pushes himself inside you, all the oxygen gets punched out of your lungs.

“Fuck, and so tight,” Din growls, bending at the knuckle to curl over that spongy spot of your walls that makes you gape, makes your brain go slack. Your arms scamper around his pauldrons, nails scraping sharp over beskar. The heel of his hand presses into your clit and you grind against him, each roll of your hips pleading a filthy please please please as you chase after the orgasm he’s baiting you with.

He responds to that, bourboned praise dripping smug from his smirk. “Fuck, look at you, so desperate—gonna cum for me already?”

You don’t have the wherewithal to formulate a response. He’s fit another finger into you, fucking up into you hard—fucking you exactly how you need him to. It feels like you are about to shatter right there on your feet. It’s almost unbearable, this mounting tension that’s climbing within you. You’ve been so starved for this, so deprived of a kind touch and a good fuck, and within no time at all he’s coaxing you to the ledge of your release.

“Mando,” you sob, entwining your fingers into his cape, grinding grinding grinding into his palm when suddenly, without warning, his ministrations cease—that burning coil abating to a simmer. You let out a rasped pant, collapsing forward onto his shoulder— your climax ripped away from you at the last, pivotal second.

Your eyes are screwed shut, you don’t see the movement—you can only feel it once it’s already there: the bounty hunter’s glove grating over your neck. You sputter out a gasp as he forces your jaw up to align with the chill of his visor, trapped in the unrelenting strength of his grasp. Your eyes clamber around the chrome boxing you in, gulping back the fear coalescing in your mouth.

“You say my name,” he gravels. “You say my name when I’m inside you.”

Your cunt spasms around the fingers still seated within you—aching for movement, aching to cum—and your lower lip quivers as he leers. “I gave it to you—say it,” he commands.

For a fleeting moment, in the remaining rational corner of your brain, it occurs to you that you’re terrified—that there may be no going back once you speak it. There’s no unmaking this choice. Like a door—a door that swings both ways—once it is cracked ajar, it cannot be closed again. Because you know yourself, you loathe to admit it, but you know his name will crumble you; that you will bend—that you will want to give and give and give to him— and still, despite, you lay onto the handle and fling that door wide open.

“Din.”

“Fuck,” he seethes. His reaction is visceral—the whole of him stiffens, leathered pads of his fingertips searing into your throat. “Again.”

“Din,” you whine as he rocks his fingers into your walls.

He moans, wanton and guttural, at the way his name tumbles from you like velvet. “Good girl—fuck, that’s good.”

He vanishes from your neck, bringing his hand down to cup his cock bulging painfully against the fabric there and your gaze snaps to it, saliva pooling in the well of your mouth. You slither your hand down his breast plate, over the paneling of his flight suit, trailing south until it lands on the hide of his glove. You stop, waiting there - breathless - until he nods curtly.

His hand falls away. You mold your palm to his length.

“Din,” you give freely, high-pitched and girly, and his cock brays under your hand. Fuck, he’s big—you can feel his mass through his pants and your pussy flutters around his fingers moving deliciously lazy inside you. Your eyes latch onto his, the brown of them hidden somewhere under the helm, and you can feel his own bore into you, weighing leaden there—

before you both simultaneously rupture.

Din’s fingers slip out of you to fiddle with the hem of his pants, unbuttoning in a clumsy flourish until he springs free with a groan of relief.

Maker.

He’s fucking divine—long and veined, with a patch of dark curls padding around the base of him. Din weeps for you already, frustrated and pent up from the confines of his restraints, beads of arousal dappling his head. He hisses as you swipe a digit over his cock, smearing his precum down the silken slope of him. You’re transfixed—the both of you staring as you wrap your hand around his shaft and he shudders, keening in to your touch.

“Mm, fuck you’re soft- kriff-”

Din dwarfs you—you barely fit around his girth—and he can’t help but buck into your palm as you begin to move in tandem. Din flicks at your clit, mirroring your pace as you get each other off. It’s awkward and lewd and perfect—both of you, a tapestry of woven limbs and sweat and you pump him harder and harder, choking his cock with your fist. You fuck him raw, the dry drag of your satin hand ripping curses from his mouth.

“Fuck, dala,” he pants, “I-I’m not—” I’m not gonna last. His words are snuffed out as you circle your wrist and brush a thumb over his leaking tip, forcing him to shiver. He doesn’t have to finish his thought, you understand plenty well. You’re dancing along that same precipice, flirting with the fall.

“Stars, yes,” you plead. Fuck, you want him to cum— you need him to. You need to make him feel good, to let him know that you’re here - you’re right here - and that he means more to you than you care to admit; that you want him—have since you first laid eyes on him, since he rescued you, since he took you back to the Crest and gave you the last of his bacta to heal all your splintered bits. That he deserves this—with all that he’s done for you, all that he’s doing for you—

with all that he his.

“Din—please.” Fuck, you don’t even know what you’re asking for—more of him, all of him—and a groan tears through his modulator at the sound of you begging his name—like he’s wounded, like it pains him to hear you say it.

It’s a race now—the two of you hurdling headlong towards this terrible, messy collision. You’re both sloppy—wet sounds and slaps of skin—as you stumble closer to the brink of release. He’s been rendered incoherent, chiseled down to the basest of grunts and broken words you don’t recognize. His thumb finds a devastating pressure on your swollen nub and your legs begin to vibrate, nearly unable to stand on your own two feet with how fucking perfectly he’s working your pussy.

This thing inside you feels giant - monstrous - and that slow wave that’s been building and building and cresting is here, upon you. You’re trapped in the barrel of it, and it’s going to crash at any moment and sweep you out to sea. Drown you—happily, gladly. “I’m - oh fuck—"

“That’s it, good girl,” he praises, tightening his circles on your clit. “Cum for me, cum on my hand-”

A crack of lightening streaks up your middle, the whole of you shaking as your orgasm rushes through, a sputtering cry let loose into the ship. You feel yourself gush, dripping past his thickness stuffing you full, dripping down your inner thighs. Din pulls out from you and you whimper at the loss—his absence leaving you gaping, leaving you bereft. You’re siphoning down air, dizzy from your release, when he raises his hand, glistening with your fluids, and traces your bottom lip—asking for entrance.

Fuck.

You part for him, eager and pliant, and he snakes two fingers inside—tasting your own tang and the leather residue left there, stamped into the whirls of his fingerprints. Your tongue swirls around them, laving him clean, and you drag over the ridges of his shaft— still hard and throbbing and waiting in your grasp. He bobs his fingers in your mouth, matching you thrust for thrust, and you let out a depraved little moan, humming around him, and all Din can do is watch.

Watch as he disappears between your lips—his skin pulling and catching on your plush flesh— watch as you suck on them, watch as he practically fucks your throat. And Maker, you take him so fucking well, letting him do what he pleases with your all too supple body.

He can’t even begin to imagine what his cock would look like—what it would feel like nestled in the hot cavern of your mouth, hollowing your cheeks to suck him like hard candy. Din doesn’t let himself—can’t. If he did, fuck, that’d be it. He’d be done for. He knows he’d cum in a flash and he wants to make this last—to hold on to this - onto you - for as long as he can, allow himself this singular concession. The only time, he convinces himself, the last time.

He won’t think about you again.

You quicken your rhythm and Din bucks wildly into your palm, his seizing and twitching alerting you to how close he is. He slides from your mouth, a string of saliva trailing along after as he clasps onto the back of your neck.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m—” Din knots into your hair, gripping you rough, panting frantic. “Fuck. Fuck, dala— cyare-”

With a hoarse shout, he slams his gloved fist into the durasteel and spills over himself in hot, thick pumps, spurts shooting out to splatter on your tunic, on his flight suit, on your knuckles. You ease him through it, his cum glazing down his cock before you slow to a languid stroke, his seed sticky under your palm. You’re panting, the both of you, spent noises reverberating ugly and loud against the metal sidings.

Din sinks his helmet to your forehead while you catch your breath, his cold beskar kissing your flushed skin—the density of it comforting, grounding. Your eyes teeter shut and you let yourself lean into him, a dazed grin tugging at your wet lips. This is— nice; so much gentler than the pace he drove not minutes before. Head to head, his hand buried in your hair, your arm slung over his hulking shoulders; your fingers thread into the askew fabric behind his neck to discover a sliver of skin treasured away underneath. You trace there - lightly, whispered - earning a fizzle of static sent whirring through his vocoder.

“Fuck,” Din mumbles, before unweaving himself and separating from you. Your legs have gone useless and rubbery—you almost face plant forward without him there— and by the time you blink open, he’s already tucked himself into his pants and picked up his glove, slotting it over those skilled fingers that had just filled you to the brim. He turns back round to find you staring at him through the haze of your afterglow, eyes glassy and fucked out; your fluids dribbling down towards your underwear still bunched above your knees, hair tangled with sweat and saliva and cum—his and yours.

You look wrecked—disheveled. You’re so fucking pretty it makes Din want to scream.

He picks up a stray rag from a crate and offers it to you, before silently sliding your panties back up to your hips in one dexterous swipe. He lingers there but for a moment, savoring the touch of you—grazing a digit into the crease of your hip. You’re rendered mute— your brain can hardly string a sentence together— but finally you manage, your voice weak when you find it again.

“Thank you,” you croak, wiping away the traces of him off your knuckles, and you smile coquettish, delirious. “That was… that was, uhm—I really enjoyed that.”

A quiet beat slogs by.

And then, everything shifts.

Din’s hand descends from your waist, holstering it to his side, and he moves away. He moves away from you.

You can feel it immediately—like a gust of chilled wind, the change in the air nips at you. Din’s armor is anything but warm—his presence, his aura, anything but inviting—but now, he seems farther from you than ever before, his visor tempered and steely.

You know him. You know this man. You’ve travelled with him, you’ve mended his ills, you’ve taken care of his son, you’ve spoken his name, you’ve laid prints on his skin and deeper still—

And here, before you, Din is white noise. Indiscernible. Unreadable.

Nervously, you twiddle with the frayed edge of the stained cloth, worrying your cheek. You swear, just for a second, that you see him inch towards you— you think you sense him, some part of him, breaching the chasm that’s formed between you. But it’s only a trick of the lowlight—a trick of your cruel heart, winged and errant beneath your ribs, misconstruing your thoughts to fancy.

Because he doesn’t. He doesn’t come to you like you want. He doesn’t touch you again, he doesn’t hold you like you need.

It feels like you’re withering—your legs too bare, your tunic too short, hair too mussed, eyes too bleary—everything feels wrong now, misplaced. “Din,” you start, you try—you try to keep attached to this tether, to this thin strand you’ve sewn between your bodies, but he shrinks back. He severs it. He is as you first met him. Rigid. Distant. A Mandalorian bounty hunter— the best in the parsec. He is as he was months ago, when you were strangers.

When you were nothing.

“I—” He silences himself, teeth clenching shut around the unspoken sentiment you so long to hear, and instead takes another step backwards. Farther away. Farther from you.

He stands straighter, impossibly taller, and you feel

small.

“Goodnight,” Din gives, his voice shrouded and cloaked by his modulator. He pivots on his heel, retreating into the depths of the Crest and leaves you there, the ghost of his hands on your neck, on your breasts, in your heat— still tingling from where they haunt you. Exhausted, you thud back into the bulkhead, unfocused and unseeing.

“Goodnight Din,” you murmur, but it falls upon deaf ears. He’s gone, and the empty hull swallows your words—burying them.

taggies:

@girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @pedros-mustache @miranhas-art @djarrex @bookloverfilmoholic @keeper0fthestars @misguidedandbeguiled @bookishofalder @helmet-comes-off @grumpymuffinmama @niiight-dreamerrrr @spideysimpossiblegirl @janebby @greatcircle79 @djarinsbeskar @sammysdaisy @whataperfectwasteoftime @mandobloggin @silver-streaked-wings

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x fem!reader #mando x reader #mando x you #mando x fem!reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #pedro pascal #star wars fanfic #the mandalorian fanfic #king of cups #mandalorian smut

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mcheang · 4 years ago

Text

In another’s eyes

Inspired by https://m.fanfiction.net/s/13849241/1/Signed-Gifts

Basically Adrien finds Marinette’s signature on his blue scarf and connects the dots.

Adrien is hurt that Marinette let him believe his father gave him the scarf. He understands why but it hurts worse after all this time thinking his father finally gave him something new. It’s having new hopes crushed

He visits Marinette and gently confronts her over it, chiding her to tell him the truth next time instead of letting him believe a lie.

Frantic, Marinette wildly points out that he lets their classmates believe in Lila’s wild promises. How is she any different from him?

Pause.

Adrien never really thought about it that way. He just wanted his classmates to be happy. But if he told them the truth, they would be sad and Lila would also be angry at him and probably akumatized.

If he kept the truth from them, then wasn’t he being a hypocrite?

Marinette worried she said something she could never take back. “Adrien...”

He held up a hand, needing to think.

What was the Chinese saying again? “Do not do unto others what you don’t want others do unto you.”-Confucius

Well, Adrien wasn’t one to deny an ancient philosopher’s wisdom.

Adrien: no, you’re right, Marinette. I’m a hypocrite for scolding you for something I’ve done as well

Marinette: you haven’t-

Adrien: but i have. Please don’t sugarcoat this, Marinette. Don’t try to spare my feelings when the truth is more important.

Marinette was nervous and predictably, she rambled. “Well, if you are planning to expose Lila, you would also be in trouble because while i constantly doubted her trip to Achu, you were aware of her playing truant.”

Adrien paused and took a breath. “I know. And I’ll accept my due punishment. But what matters is making things right. We need to tell everyone that Lila is a liar.”

Marinette: but how? They don’t believe me. And who knows if they’ll believe you!”

Adrien frowned, thinking again. “Don’t you have Jagged’s number?”

Marinette: Yup. I barely got him to cease suing Alya’s Ladyblog for Lila’s interview. He doesn’t really follow her anymore.

Adrien: do you think he’ll help us expose Lila?

Marinette: we can ask. But I think it’s a safe bet. The only reason he didn’t go after Lila herself was because she up and vanished after turning into Volpina.

Jagged was thrilled to sic Fang on Lila

Marinette: we said expose! Not kill

Jagged: I never feed Fang rotten food. He’ll just sit on her or chase her up a tree

Adrien: thank you. I’m just worried Lila will be akumatized again, though. The last time, Ladybug chewed her out for claiming to be BFFs; though after hearing Lila pronounce herself a better self-proclaimed heroine, it’s not that hard to see why Ladybug was angry (Adrien may have been upset with Ladybug but I imagine he would try to justify her behavior later. seriously, who wouldn’t be angry after hearing Lila insult her like that? He’s not very sensitive to others’ emotions)

Jagged: you can’t keep everybody happy. And sometimes you shouldn’t. Some people don’t deserve to be coddled. And besides, once the witch is exposed, who is to say the others won’t be akumatized?

Adrien paled. He didn’t consider that.

Marinette: well, we could try to keep an eye out for akumas. And maybe even get the heroes to stand guard?

Adrien: good idea. But how to contact them?

Marinette: leave it to me. I’ve seen the heroes jump on rooftops plenty from my balcony.

Jagged: just say the word and set the date, and your uncle Jagged will be there faster than you can say “Croc”

Marinette soon called Adrien and Jagged to tell them that Ladybug would be happy to stand by and even offer her own testimony that she is so not friends with Lila.

However, after hearing how Lila framed Marinette, Ladybug wanted Marinette absent in case Lila blamed her for Jagged exposing her.

Jagged: well, she’s not totally wrong.

Marinette: uncle Jagged!

Jagged: what, you did call me for this.

On the day of Lila’s downfall, school had just ended and students started heading home. Marinette was one of the first, having to work at the bakery. Chloé and Sabrina also left, not bothering to stay around and chat with the peasants.

To the lingering students’ surprise, a popular and familiar rock song began blasting into the air as a tour bus drove up to the school.

Jagged: hello Dupont College! Are you ready to rock!

Students crowded up and screamed.

Lila paled and could not escape the gravity of the crowd.

Jagged: now where’s my guitar? Fang, if you don’t mind?

Fang waddled up, guitar on his back.

Jagged: now Fang’s been with me since he hatched from an egg. And he’s the best pet a rocker could ask for.

Alya: what about your cat?

Jagged: cat? Since when did I own a cat?

Alya: but Lila said-

Jagged: who? Sorry miss, but I think you must have confused me with someone else.

A pause for the class as Jagged started playing a guitar riff.

While the crowd cheered, the class stared at Lila.

Lila: he doesn’t like his kitten to be brought up

Ivan: he doesn’t even know you

Lila: he does! Right, Adrien?

Lila glared at him meaningfully. But Adrien ignored her and just sang along. He promised to maintain a guise of friendship, but no more lies. Though if Lila was exposed, maybe their deal could be considered pointless now. Still...better not to antagonise her so openly.

Nino: you’re asking the wrong person. The only other people in class who can get close to Jagged are Chloé (same hotel) and...Marinette. That’s how she knew you were a liar!

Jagged: hey, what’s going on over there?

The student body turned to stare, annoyed at the interruption.

Aware of unwanted scrutiny, Alya quickly said, “oh, we were just having a priority one class meeting. Sorry! We’ll keep it down.”

The class dragged Lila off, and Ladybug secretly followed. Adrien reluctantly did so too.

Surrounded, Lila could not run away, so she burst into fake tears.

Lila: why are you being so mean?

Mylène: do you think her tears are real?

Kim snorted. “Doubtful. But I don’t think she’s worth bothering about anymore.”

Alya: what? She lied!

Kim: and we believed a con artist. But unless we lost a lot of money or whatever, what’s the point of doing this?

True. While Lila had promised favors, that didn’t mean the class had stop working hard on their own. And Alya’s credibility was also her fault for not checking her sources and getting more proof.

Alya huffed. “Fine! But she just gets away scot free?”

Max: unlikely. There is the matter of forging doctor’s letter and skipping school.

Lila: you can’t prove that!

Alya: I can just call your mother right now.

Lila: and tell her that you’re bullying me?

Alya: no, we are just going to ask her some questions. And if she was duped by you, too, I don’t think she can deny the truth if we walk up to her office and make a scene.

Adrien: is that really necessary?

Alya: Mrs Rossi must really believe her daughter. She may think us all bullies if we expose Lila but the presence of her colleagues will influence her. Besides, our questions are simple. Was Lila really sick? Was she at Achu?

The class dragged Lila to the embassy and made such a ruckus that Mrs Rossi came out, especially when she saw her daughter in the center of it all, yelling at them to be quiet.

Mrs Rossi was angry but answered their questions that Lila had never been sick or to Achu while Alya filmed her. But there was the akuma plague. At this, the class told her the truth and even her observing colleagues backed them up.

Lila was distraught. Where was the freaking akuma?

Ladybug was lounging on the roof, her yo-yo stuffed with butterflies. As long as she didn’t use her lucky charm, she was in no danger of detransforming.

When Adrien didn’t back Lila, she told everyone he knew she was a liar.

Adrien admits his faults and realized his lesson now. The class knew why Marinette kept the scarf secret so they could sort of understand why he wanted to keep everybody happy. He also was the one who got Marinette back into school, so they forgave him.

Lila was expelled once Damocles saw the footage and Mrs Rossi confirmed it.

Lila was sent to boarding school instead where everyone knew she was a compulsive liar. Nobody took her seriously there.

As for Adrien, he was always determined to hear the blunt truth, tired of being sheltered.

#miraculous ladybug fanfic #miraculous ladybug fic #ml fanfic #ml fanfiction #ml fic #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #Lila is exposed #Adrien learns his lesson #Lila gets exposed #post ladybug episode #post episode ladybug

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bakusquad-assemble · 4 years ago

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hiya lol could you write a bakugou x reader and (they're dating already) and he's just being soft for her and cuddling in his dorm and he starts tickling her and she's screaming n stuff so the class rush in and are totally not expecting to see bakugou practically sat on reader and tickling her, lol no pressure obvs lol

Ahhhh thank you so so much for the request,lovely!! I really enjoyed writing this one so I hope you like it! Soft boy Bakugou has my whole heart! I’m very slowly making my way through my request inbox, but feel free to send me more prompts to get the creative juices flowin!

Bakugou Katsuki was never one to show affection so openly like his other classmates would with their significant others. He was a reserved person, and the idea of PDA had always embarrassed him. So when the two of you had started dating, you were very aware of how he reacted to being touched, and respected him enough to never poke or prod in public. What took you by surprise though, was how different he was in your private company. The once prickly and standoffish boy couldn’t keep his hands off of you. At first it was jarring, his warm arms around you feeling so foreign and new, but you couldn’t help but relish in it. Sometimes you even found yourself teasing the poor touch deprived boy to see how much he needed your body against his. It was cruel, sure, but also incredibly validating to have Bakugou huff and puff until you paid attention to him. Today was one of those days.

Bakugou made his way to your dorm room after class as he did everyday, his textbooks from class slung over his shoulder in his book bag, fully intent to study and spend some quality time with you. Just being in your presence always had a calming effect on the explosive boy, so he found himself drawn to you every chance he got. He knocked once on your door before letting himself in, tossing his bag to the floor and locking his crimson eyes onto your form. You were already sitting at your desk, head buried in your book and head nestled in the palm of your hand. You made no movement in his direction, instead keeping your eyes glued to the pages before you.

“Hey, Suki.” You smiled softly at his presence, earning a grunt in return. He threw himself onto your bed, looking over at you longingly but still said nothing as he pulled out his own papers and got to work. The two of you sat in silence for a bit, a smirk ever present on your face. You could feel the boy's frustration radiating off his body and knew that it would only be a matter of time before he got sick of the lack of contact. Bakugou cleared his throat and you lifted your head ever so slightly.

“You okay? You need some water or something?” You teased, finally turning to look at him over your shoulder. He was looking at you with furrowed brows, a light flush spread across his cheeks.

“why the fuck are you still sitting over there?” He asked, trying his best not to sound desperate, but a little seeped through. You could’ve melted on the spot from his tone.

“I’m doing my work.” You stated plainly, turning your back to him once more to hide your smile. You could hear him growl at your response.

“Yeah no shit dumbass, but why are you doing it over there? You don’t want to spend time with me or somethin?” He tried his best to look anywhere but you, feeling the embarrassment overtake him. You could hear the distress in his voice and you couldn’t help but let out the laugh you’ve been stifling. He was so needy and you loved it. You put down your pen on the desk and turned completely in your chair, finally facing your red faced boyfriend.

“the fuck you laughing at?” He looked confused, trying to flesh out the meaning of your behavior.

“Aw what’s the matter, Katsuki? Does someone need attention?” You teased again, your head cocked to the side toyingly. You saw his demeanor change immediately. The once confused expression was replaced with a devious grin as realization hit him like a ton of bricks. You were fucking with him.

“Oh, you little shit!” Bakugou jumped off of his place on the bed and rushed at you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you from the chair roughly. You couldn’t stop the loud scream that escaped your mouth, echoing throughout the room and cascading down the hallway of the dorms.

“Tryin to mess with me, huh?” He snickered into your ear, holding you against his body tightly as you tried to fight against his hold. Laughter bubbled out of your throat as Bakugou picked you up with ease, slinging you over his shoulder and making his way back to his previous spot in the room. Despite your kicking and playful fighting, Bakugou’s grip on you barely wavered. He slammed your body down onto the bed and climbed on top of you, a shit eating grin plastered on his face.

“Well now I’m gonna make you pay for that.” His voice was sinister, dangerous, and you had no doubt that he meant business. Panic washed over you, and your fighting against the blondes grip got more frantic.

“No no no!” You laughed nervously, the sound mimicking that of a person in immediate danger, a scream of terror, but you were smiling and so was your boyfriend.

“Too late, you made me mad and now you’ve got to pay for it.” He let his hands live on your hips for a second, relishing in the feeling of your presence, before digging his calloused fingers into the sides of your body. Bakugou’s tickles were vicious, but there was still a certain softness to his hands. He let them roam your body, feeling every curve and smooth expanse of skin. His laugh cascaded around you like snow flurries, beautiful but bitting. To everyone but you, the sound was devious, Filled with malicious intent, but you knew better. So you laughed too. You laughed so hard that you could barely breathe.

“S-stop! Stop please, it hurts!” You felt your lungs burning, your chest tightening uncomfortably as Bakugou’s tickles only got more intense. You let out another scream, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you tried to fight off the strong blonde boy on top of you. It was no use though, he easily overpowered you in your current state. You thought about using your quirk to get him off of you, but honestly you didn’t really want him to stop. You loved feeling his hands wander your body, feeling his hot breath against the crook of your neck. It was intoxicating.

“In your dreams, y/n! You’re fucking dead!” You screamed once again, this time much louder, cowering from the anticipation of his punishment, but it never came. Instead you heard your door swing open, hitting the wall with some force. Both of you jumped at the sudden noise, and the sudden appearance of some familiar faces standing on high alert in your doorway. Bakugou made no motion to move from on top of you, instead shooting a dangerous glare towards the four idiots that had just made their appearance, their voices ringing in his ears like gunfire.

“Y/n?? Are you okay?” Mina’s voice echoed throughout the room immediately

“We heard screaming! Is everyone alright?” Kirishima spoke up next, his voice laced with obvious concern. The four figures froze in the doorway as they took in the actuality of the scene, a blush fighting its way fervently up Bakugou’s neck. Kaminari and Sero attempted to stifle their laughter, but to no avail.

“Oh ho ho, shit!” Looks like we had the wrong idea!” Kaminari snickered, bumping Sero in the side with his elbow.

“Damn, you two sure do have a weird way of gettin it on!” Sero chuckled, causing Kaminari to laugh even harder.

“Come on man, don’t kink shame them!” Kaminari’s stupid voice had Bakugou seething with rage.

“DON'T YOU FUCKERS KNOW HOW TO KNOCK?” Bakugou’s voice bellowed throughout the room, causing you to wince just from sheer proximity. Your face was a light shade of pink from being found in a compromising position, but Bakugou’s was fire engine red. Kirishima shifted awkwardly in his spot, bumping Kaminari hard in an attempt to get him to stop laughing.

“We’re sorry, Bro! It just...sounded like Y/n needed help! that’s all! We were all chilling in Mina’s room down the hall and heard her screaming!” Kirishima pleaded apologetically, clearly shaken that he had overstepped in such a personal way for the angry blonde. The last thing he ever wanted to do was make his best friend angry or uncomfortable.

“JUST GET OUT BEFORE I KILL EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU!” Bakugou yelled again, this time effectively stifling the laughter coming from Kaminari and Sero. Mina let out a soft giggle, ushering the terrified boys out of the room in one swift motion, feigning confidence to hide her own fear of being blown to bits.

“Alright guys, nothin’ to see here! I think we should give these two love birds their privacy.” You could feel Bakugou growl softly at her words, causing you to chuckle into your hand. Mina gave you a wink and a flirty little wave as she closed the door behind her, leaving you and Bakugou alone once more. Bakugou quickly took a pillow from your bed and chucked it at the door as it closed as hard as he could, making contact with a loud thud and earning a screech of terror from the other side of the door.

There was a moment of silence between the two of you before laughter cascaded from your lips. Bakugou looked back at you with wild eyes, clearly confused by the sudden noise of happiness.

“The fuck are you laughing about now?” You shook your head and wiped your eyes before looking back at him, a smile ever present on your face.

“It’s just...of course they had to barge in like that! They never cease to amaze me. ” You let your smile fade slightly as your hand reached out to caress his cheek. He hesitated for a second before allowing his form to melt into your touch.

“I’m sorry, Katsuki. Are you okay? I know you don’t like letting people see you like that. ” Your soft voice enveloped him, causing him to nod ever so slightly into your hand.

“M’fine. Those dumbasses just get under my fucking skin.” You let out a soft laugh, nodding with him.

“I mean, at least we know they’d come save me if I was ever being murdered.” Bakugou let an exhale of breath from his nose, the corners of his lips upturning ever so slightly.

“I’d get there first.” His confident tone was masked with warmth, a tone you recognized all too well. It was the same tone he talked in when he talked about your future together. It was filled with love. You rolled your eyes, but you still let the smile rest on your lips. You pulled Bakugou down next to you, keeping your eyes locked onto his crimson ones.

“ I know you would.” You whispered before bringing your lips to meet his in a loving kiss. It was short-lived contact, but still sent a shiver up Bakugou’s spine. He never expected to fall in love, never once imagined he’d let himself be so vulnerable in front of another human, but there was something about you that broke him down. Every single wall he had made that he believed to be impenetrable, you demolished with a single kind and understanding smile. And while Bakugou never imagined himself falling in love, he had unequivocally and irrevocably, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He pulled you in close to his chest, letting you rest your head there as he let himself savour the gentle sounds of your breath. He ran his hands through your hair gently as he felt you speak up once more, the words escaping your mouth causing a surge of pride to rush through the blonde boy's body.

“you’re my hero, after all.”

#bakugou #katsuki bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou imagines #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x fem!reader #bnha imagines #bnha #mha imagines #mha #bakusquad imagines #bakusquad

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pure-kirarin · 3 years ago

Text

Slow & Steady [P6] [Sabo x f!reader] (+18)

A/N : Hello ! I wanted to start by thanking you guys for the AMAZING responses on chapter 5. This makes me want to continue investing in this story !! I read all of your messages and I cherish them, they make me want to continue. I'd also like to thank my beta reader for her hard work. I hope that you will enjoy this chapter as much as the others.

Please always tell me your opinion as it’s my kryptonite ! Also feel free to ask to get tagged.

Synopsis : Isn’t love a matter of timing after all ? That’s what Sabo has always thought. It was about finding the right tempo, making the right moves and hitting the right spot. Patience is a virtue after all, and he had a lot of it. It all started when your ex cheated on you. You were heartbroken, you needed someone and he was there. Was he always that hot ? You didn’t know. But after that night you have never seen him in the same way. Chapter Warning : Smoking (cigarettes) - mention of ex relationships AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/31877203/chapters/81748033

P I - P2 - P3 - P4 - P5 - P6

I made a playlist for this chapter but I suggest you listen to it after ! https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3posJHlUg1XFJzQbPkjF0J

------

The crimson-haired man ceased to look at you, as if it hurt to do so. Your lack of response discouraged him. How could it be otherwise? You had created a narrative where he was a cheater, believed in it, ended the relationship - all of this without him knowing; without him even doubting it. It was ironic enough that he who saw so clearly in the future, he who knew how to read people’s moves so easily was totally blind when it came to love. Or maybe had he tried to blind himself? To overlook the fact that you weren’t answering your phone anymore? To find excuses upon excuses for you? He had always been that type of person after all. As a big brother, as a “responsible” person, it was second nature to him to bottle up his feelings and to never lose composure. And even in this moment, he couldn’t tell you how much your actions hurt him.

But for once, he accepted the fact that he saw a future that you weren’t a part of. Deep down, he knew that by overlooking the signs and hints, he has also played a role in the downfall of your relationship.

He saw it too clearly: you weren’t his anymore. Just like when you excluded him from the decision making, choosing to put an end to your relationship on your own - you didn’t even have the courage to tell him that yourself. He had to do the same: fill in the gaps and read between the lines. He remained silent for a moment. He got up from his seat when he gave up on you saying anything.

He moved towards the door, ready to leave all your shared memories behind his back.

People don’t always get the closure they need in order to move on, he knew that too well.

“Katakuri,” you called for his name weakly. He didn’t know if it was his imagination or if you had really pronounced his name. He turned his head towards you, unimpressed.

Your heart was pounding hard in your chest. You knew that if you let him go now you would regret it forever. You knew that you had to tell him about everything. He deserved it, after all. It was hard to be the bad guy of the story. But you had been a bitch and you had to face the consequences of your behavior. Wasn’t that what being an adult meant?

“There is something else that I think you need to know,” He seemed interested now. He was listening to you without turning your way.

“I apologize for everything that I have done and I know that you will probably not forgive me and honestly, if I were in your shoes, I wouldn't either.” You took a deep breath before going on. “What I am going to say might be hard to hear, but I feel like you need to know it.”

You don’t know exactly how the rest followed, nor how you found the courage to tell him about everything. You didn’t get to any details, it would have been too cruel, but you told him what he needed to know.

“I am really sorry, but I think that it’s best for us to split up. My feelings have changed, I have caused enough damage as it is. I think that it’s better for both of us. I am really sorry I hurt you.”

You looked down and from this angle you couldn’t see his smile. It was bitter, the smile of someone that had seen all of this coming. And yet, he was relieved that you confided in him. It was the closure he needed after all. At least now, he could move on.

* * *

The cigarette trembled between your index and middle finger. Your head was clouded. It took too much effort to try and empty your head, to try not to think of what was going to happen. You had lost so much already and what you were going to lose was beyond repair. With every breath you took, you felt your stomach contract and your legs get weaker. It was one of those days when you wished you hadn't woken up. Despite all of this, a feeling of peace submerged you. Peace? Maybe because you had been honest to your ex, maybe because you were trying to be honest to yourself. What got you into this situation was your indecision after all. You didn’t want to hide anymore.

If you can’t see it, then it doesn’t exist. This mentality of yours had to change and you were going to change it tonight. It was the best opportunity, it had to happen, you had to grow. Maybe to some extent, your “romantic” failures weren’t all to blame on others, maybe you also played a role, maybe you weren’t ready yet. Didn’t Sabo say the same thing?

“I thought that you stopped a long time ago.”

A firm voice broke your trance. His hand snitched the cigarette from your lips before putting it out with the sole of his shoe.

“Hey!” You whined in protest, features softening when you were met with his dark eyes.

“I did quit. But I was stressed,” you tried to justify yourself. “I needed it.” You mumbled.

“Bullshit. You always have the choice.” He shrugged and took place next to you on the sidewalk.

Choices, decisions, you were already done with all of this. An awkward silence swallowed the atmosphere, but it seemed as if it was only awkward for you.

Now that you had nothing to do with your fingers and mouth, you started scratching at your wrist slightly - a nervous tic.

The ambience of the park offered you, however, a feeling of safety. The darkness hid your embarrassment. He was now sitting next to you and it was as if words deserted your mind. He didn’t want to pressure you, he didn’t say anything. Under the moonlight, his blond hair took on a silvery shade. He kept looking in front of him, hands in his pockets. Silence didn’t bother him, he knew that something was wrong, otherwise you wouldn’t have texted him to come to the park at around midnight.

Truth is, you couldn’t calm down, you felt like you had to come clear about this whole situation, you felt like you had to make a decision. You felt that if you let today pass, then you would find one hundred excuses and hide again.

It was now or never.

“Sabo,” you started.

“Y/N,” he mirrored your answer.

“I’m going to tell you something... But please don’t judge me, alright?”

“Have I ever judged you?” He arched an eyebrow, his eyes meeting yours, making you switch your gaze almost instantly.

“Well... You have... Like that time I used the microwave at your place…”

“Y/N, you microwaved a fork…” You fake pouted as you playfully punched his arm.

“Well, the fork was in the bowl and Ace was there and he didn’t say anything! Not my fault.”

“And you trusted Ace?” he smiled and held your wrist to stop you. “He’s a living disaster. You guys can’t do anything without me, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah. What would I do without my Mr. know-it-all of a best friend?” you laughed it off.

Best friend. That word reminded you of the reason why you contacted him so late. You coughed two times, trying to switch his attention to you. Laughing things off helped ease the atmosphere. You twirled a hair strand around your finger then started as if you were going to give a speech.

“Hey, I’m gonna try to... be decisive…”

“That’s some character development.”

“Sabo!”

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself,” he said with a sweet smile. You sighed and started bouncing your leg nervously.

“So If I called you tonight it’s not to have the pleasure of your company… and it’s not to rip you off your precious hours of sleep... It’s also not to... ”

Noticing that you were starting to diverge from the topic, he held your hand in his softly and gave you an encouraging look. Honestly speaking, he didn’t have much patience around others but he had loads of it with you.

“I called you for something else. And don’t you dare hang up on me next time! I want to have a serious conversation about…everything, about us, and most importantly about…” you sighed before continuing “About my ex situation.”

He took his hand off yours now that you seemed calmer. He was surprised by your willingness to talk about such matters. It was a pleasant surprise to him, it meant that you wanted to take things in hand, that you were growing.

“I’m listening to you.”

“I thought that it was only fair for you to know as well... that I fucked up pretty badly. I assumed that my ex cheated on me and as it turns out, he didn’t. I just learned it this evening so I feel very confused and bad. It’s a long story. It was just me, assuming things because I was scared and because I feared confrontation. Then everything happened so fast between you and me... I shouldn’t have... I feel very ashamed. For him, for you, for acting so immature.”

Your voice cracked and you couldn’t hold your tears any more. You looked down and started wiping your tears with both hands on your face. You didn’t want to cry in front of him because you had caused him pain as well. Sometimes not taking action is also an action and it has consequences.

You didn’t dare look at him, did he look disappointed? Did he stop loving you? After all, you didn’t even know the reason behind his love. Maybe he was “playing games” too as that anon suggested on Reddit. No, you couldn’t afford to assume things again now. You had to be honest, raw, vulnerable. You couldn’t see his reaction through your tears, but you felt his hand on the top of your head, gently bringing you towards him, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Wow, this really sucks.” You were surprised by his reaction, but the fact that it wasn’t one of disappointment as well as his easy-going demeanour released your stress. You started sobbing, shoulders shaking. He didn’t know how to react at first, but one thing he knew for sure: you came first, and he hated to see you cry.

“Shh... Here, here... It’s okay to cry... Let it all out...” He then continued “It’s going to turn out just fine. You can count on me, okay?”

“I was a really bad person. I should’ve acted differently. I should’ve at least told you... or Nami or someone... but I just... assumed things... I was so scared that you’d stop... that you’d stop being my... friend... And stop loving me…”

His grip tightened around your shoulder as he pressed you a bit closer to him. He offered you a warm smile as he spoke in the same light note.

“Well, whatever happened, happened. I don’t think that you are a bad person. You’re human and you made a mistake that you’re now aware of. I know that you had no ill intentions. At least you learned something, hm? And about me... Aren’t you underestimating me a bit?” He smiled in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Did you forget that I’m Luffy and Ace’s brother? I’m tough, you know.”

You were overwhelmed by his kindness, and this just made you realize that it wasn’t only about your feelings, you couldn’t count on everyone else to put up with you and clear up your mess.

“Sabo, you’re so kind.” Despite your mascara running under your eyes and you looking like a total mess, he found you incredibly beautiful. He felt proud, he knew how hard it was for you to go through all of this. He felt like it was worth it that he had loved you for this long, you were honest and strong, even if you weren’t aware of that strength, you had proven it in this moment.

“I’m not being kind.” He meant it; after all, his intentions weren’t all that innocent towards you, he had wanted you from the start. “I’m just being truthful, as your best friend.”

Maybe he wanted more, but he was content being your friend as well. Since for him everything needed time, he had no right to rush you.

Love is a matter of timing after all. Too fast and all of his subtle efforts would go to waste.

“About that... I mean... The “best friends” part...” He could easily see your chest heaving with your breath. Your heartbeat raising little by little until it was unbearable, your lower lip slightly trembling as you dreaded the weight of the words you were going to pronounce. He looked at you with genuine interest and curiosity; he laid off a bit, turning your way.

“I don’t think that we could act this way anymore...” You dug your nails into the palm of your hand nervously.

“I... told Katakuri about everything. I told him that I couldn’t be with him anymore because of how things have changed. I can’t be here and pretend that nothing happened when so much did…”

“Nothing has changed for me.” He said in a stable voice, trying to anticipate your reaction. Despite being sure of himself, of every step he had taken till now, he felt a hint of uncertainty, for this was a variable that he hadn’t taken into consideration.

“But everything changed for me, and I can’t ignore it. I can’t continue to play pretend... Of course it was convenient for me... And I didn’t wanna lose... Whatever it is that we have. But I didn’t realize that it had already changed. I can’t be your friend anymore, Sabo. Not like this. Not with these thoughts in mind. Not after…” Y our eyes flicked from his lips to his eyes and back. “After... everything we did.”

You didn’t give more reasons, but your eyes gave one hundred more.

We can’t be friends because I touched myself to the thought of you. Because I can’t help but think about being with you. Because I don’t stand the thought of you being with someone else. Because I love the way your arms fit around me. Because I love everything about you, from the way you say my name to these stupid blond eyelashes that reflect the light everytime you blink. And most importantly... because I love your way of loving me unconditionally.

As much as I want you...

As much as you want me back...

I can’t be with you, not now, because it would hurt me and hurt you even more, because I have to make a decision, because I can’t draw the line between love and lust and because I am afraid to wrong you in the way I was wronged.

But just for a moment, just for this time, you wanted to kiss him just one last time. You wanted to get intoxicated by that mint smell that you have grown addicted to. He looked at you as he drank your words, eyes reflecting the darkness of the sky. His piercing gaze seemed to understand your dilemma. Suddenly, the emptiness of the park felt too weighty and the air too heavy.

“Say something,” you pleaded, almost begging him to break the silence.

To words, he preferred actions. Before you even realized, he captured your lips into the kiss you were longing for. His hand was fast to encircle your back, pressing your upper body against his. Your fingers instinctively reached for the fabric of his shirt, tugging on it as to pull him closer. For him to kiss you so passionately, it only made you realize his burning desire for you. The more you kissed in an attempt to ease your craving, the hungrier you got for his lips, for his stupid minty taste. But it wasn’t nearly enough for you, the growing warmth and tingles created a desire that you were unable to appease yet. You pressed your legs together when his free hand gently rubbed your thigh. He kissed you deeply, almost willing you into giving up on your decision to give in to his embrace. He was indeed that good of a kisser, making you want to shift into his lap and have him inside of you. You whined at this thought growing more eager, tongue chasing his, teeth nibbling on his lips. But you eventually had to break the kiss, even when you prayed for the seconds to last for hours, it was bound to end. You took a moment to collect your breath again. His eyes were demanding, pupils dilated and greedy, yours were more modest, shifty.

“Looked like you were dying for it.”

He broke the silence, finger tracing your neck before lifting up your chin, making you lose composure as you looked into his deep gaze. It was too late to deny it, you were indeed dying for it. But instead of satiating you, that kiss felt like the promise of something forbidden. You only groaned meekly as an answer, feeling too weak to actively protest. You indulged in his embrace, resting your head in the crease of his neck. You breathed in his scent, even his hair smelled fresh like mint. As you took in a bigger gulp of air, you could inhale the subtleties of a thyme or violet underlying smell. What shampoo did he use? Another diverging thought that you discarded.

You closed your eyes. “Can we stay like this for a little longer?” you asked, and who was he to deny you so little? He revelled in your desperate need for his touch. He felt needed, wanted, but he knew that he shouldn’t get carried away, he knew that it wasn’t the right timing yet. So he just let you sink into his warmth. For now.

You peeled yourself off of him reluctantly. Your eyes avoided his. Nice progress ,he thought, but there was still need for improvement.

“I can’t be selfish, not anymore. I have to make a decision. I am sorry I can’t make up my mind yet.” Your voice cut through the silence, firm, yet not devoid of sensitivity.

You needed time, it was clear, but he was nothing if not patient with you. He was ready to settle for your friendship for now while he worked for your love, but he liked your idea more. He wasn’t one to push his emotions onto you, he was there to lead the dance, to toss a bottle into the sea. If good news came then good for him, if nothing came out then he had gambled and lost. But he wasn’t as detached and passive as things might have seemed, as he took multiple variables into consideration to place his best bet.

“Take all the time you need.” Not an ounce of annoyance was to be detected in his voice. It was steady, a rock that couldn’t be moved. He had what it took, he knew what he wanted and he was ready to wait for it because he had the deep belief that you were worth the wait.

“Why are you so patient? Don’t you think you’re too confident? Aren’t you scared? ” It was genuine curiosity, but you bit your tongue realizing that your words might’ve seemed cocky or doubting. His lips stretched into a roguish smile, making him devastatingly handsome. And here he was, a Sabo that you had encountered a few times between two eyelash beats. It was so destabilizing, the way he morphed into a totally different person from one second to another, giving you a strange feeling. It was something that you couldn’t fully place yet. He kept escaping from your grip while being totally still. He was like sand between your fingers and you were fascinated by the prospect of catching him.

“I thought that it was obvious, doll.” Here he goes again, calling you sweet names and raising the rhythm of your heartbeats. How did he make everything sound good? You would’ve scoffed at anyone else calling you ‘doll’, but that voice of his made it sound oh so appealing. Or maybe it was the seed of desire that he had planted in your core, that was now growing and blossoming, vines intertwining with your lungs.

He got closer again, black eyes scrutinizing yours.

“You can have all the time you need. What I want is simple, non-negotiable, immutable.”

At first he was startled; your ex appearing out of nowhere seemed like an inconvenience, but after giving it some thought, he realized that he was in luck. He didn’t have to make you choose, the choice was there for you to make.

“And what is it that you want?”

“You. But all of you.” He looked you up and down as he said this then got up. He wasn’t the type to settle for less. He wanted no compromises, no half-open doors, no half assed answers. If he wanted something then it was all of it, out of respect for you and for himself. Another reason was probably that he knew: the longer the chase, the bigger the prize.

He got up since he considered that the conversation was over now and it was also getting late. You looked at him, eyes wide open, cheeks aflame. His voice trailed off, cutting through the silence.

“No rush, I think that it’s better for you to focus on your exams for now. Will you manage without my help?” Another charming smile, shifting back to that playful Sabo you have always known. The mood felt less serious now.

“I think I’ll do just fine this time…” you smiled gently, following his lead.

“Good, then. Good night.” He put his hand on your head, softly ruffling your hair before turning back. He seemed a bit more distant now, like he was plunged into some deep reverie. You instinctively got up, looking intensely at his back slowly fading into the darkness. Before his silhouette got completely enveloped, you shouted.

“Sabo!”

He turned back instantly and you threw something in the air towards him. He was quick to catch it.

“I don’t think I need these anymore. Take them!”

He opened his hands, looking at the packet of menthol cigarettes and a blue lighter. He put it into his back pocket prior to giving you a proud smile. He then continued his way back home, leaving you behind. You felt both relieved because things had gotten a bit clearer, yet apprehensive since your feelings were still very much unclear. But maybe what you felt above all was exhaustion. You looked for a moment at your empty hands. Did you make the right choice? Whether it was good or bad, you couldn’t care less. At least you had acted true to yourself.

tag list : @chloenanami @mwls-garden @soanywaysistartedsimping @portgaslari @lofi-coffee @donvampiro @fishandfuck @vemuabhi @gabrielasalazar18 @kiriechanx

#slow and steady #sabo x reader #sabo the revolutionary #one piece x reader #one piece sabo #sabo #one piece imagines #one piece scenario #one piece fanfiction #sabo x you #sabo imagines #revolutionary sabo #charlotte katakuri #katakuri x reader

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andraaste · 3 years ago

Text

I am not your enemy - Lance fanfiction Part 11

I wish you a very good reading 💕

Chapter 11 : Let me take care of you

Facing the ocean stretching out as far as the eye could see right in front of me, I inhaled several long gulps of air, noticing inattention that night began to slowly fall across the sky. Many sounds of wings beating the sky reached my ears and very soon, several draflayels began to flutter all around me. Passing close to my head, I felt my hair fly with each passage of one of the animals on my blanks. Nearly twenty of them gathered at the edge of the cliff, flying in harmony, creating dance-like forms of which only they had the secret. The spectacle that the familiars offered me was perfectly bewitching, I could not take my eyes off this almost intimate moment that they let me share with them.

Some then approached me and began to push me slightly in the direction of their circle. Feeling their pressure on my back increase, I decided to let myself be carried away and enter their twirling cocoon. Their songs, akin to small melodious sounds, mingled together with the regular movement of their wings, thus forming a perfectly studied pattern. It was as if they were trying to tell me something.

Closing my eyes, I let my dangling arms let themselves be carried away by their foreign yet soothing sounds. Probably feeling my fears fly away and my soul calm down, they slowed their pace until they came to focus in mine. My hair flew gently all around my face as I could feel their movements hugging mine. I didn't know how long had passed before their dancing ceased. Opening my eyelids, I watched them resume a more anarchic position to finally move away from the ledge, until I flew over the bluish expanse that adorned the horizon. Eyes lost in the dark, I with a dreamy hand withdrew a lock whose course had been stopped by my lips.

I took a few steps back when I crashed into a large figure standing directly behind me, making me jump in amazement. I turned my head to observe my interlocutor, his white hair contrasting with the surrounding darkness.

Lance gently put his hands on each of my arms, his chest hugging my back.

- It’s only me...

The softness of his voice, at that moment, troubled me, and so positioned against him, I felt strangely good, almost safe. His gaze was deep, no trace of the fog that usually darkened him was present. The blush rose to my cheeks without my being able to control it. I turned my eyes away from his, piercing like blades of ice, to focus again on the horizon.

- You are probably not the Chosen of the Oracle for nothing, he said in a tone so low that no one else could have heard but me, of which I did not discern the slightest trace of irony. The draflayels seemed to be trying to communicate with you.

His jaws clenched slightly at the utterance of those familiars the dragon harbored such hatred for, but for once he remained perfectly calm all the same. His hands caressed my arms for a few seconds before sliding down to let go, letting me turn to observe him.

Without my understanding why, no fear was hovering in my heart at that moment despite the presence of my executioner. It was insane, but yet I felt that something strange was happening between us. His gaze ogled me, troubled me. Our bodies were shown to be improbably drawn to each other. My heart pounded as he slid a lazy hand down my cheek, stroking me with his fingertips.

Lance then leaned towards me with suffocating slowness, bringing his full lips intimately to the edge of mine. Totally hypnotized by each of his gestures, I couldn’t take my gaze from the source of my desire, it inexorably approaching me. So, no longer aware of anything, only letting myself be guided by this attraction for too long silent, I closed my eyes as his mouth almost brushed mine, caressing me with his fresh breath.

His hand moved down the slope of my neck until it stopped just above my chest. I felt a smile cut his face as he put more pressure against my rib cage. Unexpectedly violent, the ground suddenly disappeared from under my feet and my body fell into the void. The fear came over me with such force that all my muscles contracted at the same time, causing a sharp pain to explode in my back, causing my head to spin at full speed. With anguish in my stomach, I watched the tar-black water stretch out its deadly arms to me.

My cry stuck in my throat.

Under the amused gaze of my predator.

I jumped up, this time managing to scream so loudly my dry throat burned. Not being able to breathe properly, I grabbed my head frantically and thrust my hands through my hair, pulling out the handles. Cold sweat beaded all over my body, pressing my t-shirt against my skin as my breathing panicked dangerously. Each of my breaths gave me a sly pain in the middle of my back, accentuating the panic that gradually took over me.

I started to cry, maybe loudly, I didn't know anything about it, thus preventing myself a little more from regaining my air. I relived my fall, over and over, until the force of the water hit me next. I felt it all around me, entering my lungs, dragging me into its abysmal depths. I saw his cold gaze penetrate me again, savoring with relish the spectacle before him, of which he alone was responsible. I felt the fear. The treason. My memories mingled with my nightmare, rendering me unable to disentangle the present moment from my subconscious.

How could Lance have done this to me ?

The door to my room swung open, letting in a large familiar figure before closing the door behind it with a thud. Only a few long strides brought it to the foot of my bed but I didn't pay attention, far too lost in the panic that took hold of my thoughts. Forcing into my field of vision, two hands grabbed mine and pulled them gently from my abused scalp, forcing me to lift my head. My tears increased tenfold at the sight of the traitor of my dreams. I tried to push him away in vain, his fingers tightening around my feverish wrists.

- Leave me, Lance ! I tried to cry, drowned in my flood of tears.

His blue eyes, alert and filled with concern, never left me for a second.

- Stop saying bullshit, he said calmly, not moving a millimeter despite my protests.

Releasing one of my wrists, he slipped a hand against my neck and kept my head firmly pointed towards him, preventing me from looking away from his.

- Calm down Andraste, you had a bad dream.

My tears continued to flow down my cheeks, wetting his thumb in their path.

- Why did you do that ? I asked him, my tone heavy with reproach. Why did you hurt me so much ? Why...

I couldn't continue my sentence, my mouth was shaking so badly that I almost made my lip bleed. For several nights, I had been assailed by the nightmares of my past life, waking up more and more often in these states of madness. I felt like I was losing my mind.

Realizing that I was referring to his actions of seven years ago, the dragon clenched his jaws tightly, his gaze fixed on mine and his hands still holding me firmly.

- Listen to me Andraste and let me speak until the end, he began. I can never redeem myself for everything I have done to you and the Guard, you will never forget it and you must not. But know one thing, whether you like it or not, I will do anything to protect you and try to heal your pain. My actions are unforgivable and I don't want anyone to do it, especially not you. So okay, you'll probably always continue to hate me, but that's the price I have to pay for everything I've done to you.

Lance paused briefly, never diminishing his attention from my face. I was so focused on his words that I forgot everything else, my breathing slowly settling on its own.

- You cannot know how much I dreaded your waking up. Hear your voice again, meet your gaze again after everything I've done to you...

His voice broke slightly over the last few sentences. Guilt was gnawing at him more than I could have imagined, even several years later. My throat tightened again but this time not just because of my dream. His words upset me deep inside me.

- So please Andraste, let me take care of you, he said imploringly, his hand sliding up to my wet cheek, creating a slight tingling on my skin.

Looking through his usually frozen gaze, I saw nothing but guilt. It was one of those remorse that never leaves you, of those that wake you up in the middle of the night, hold you so tight, until you never let go.

Lance dragged his past and his actions like a ball hanging from his ankle.

Letting my gaze still wet on him, despite the darkness I discerned a thick white mark that marked his neck. Seeming to come from the back of his neck, it contrasted sharply against his dark skin, drawing my eyes without discretion.

I realized that it was the first time that I had seen him without a piece of clothing that hid the back of his neck, his simple black top no longer camouflaging it.

Looking up, I caught his gaze on me. The dragon had obviously understood what my attention had drifted onto, but he said nothing about it. He seemed apprehensive for any response from me.

But what could I say to him ? I was angry with him down to the smallest part of my soul ! I wanted him to pay for his actions, and yet...

Still, I wished much more vigorously that he hugged me until everything disappeared. Let him kiss me until nothing more reaches us.

Without worrying about the consequences.

Echoing my dream and my silent impulses, which at first were nothing more than the reminiscence of an old memory, I wrapped my arms around his neck whose skin was much rougher where I had believed to guess a bulky mark, and brought urgently his lips to mine.

My unexpected and unreasonable gesture surprised him at first, my heart skipping several beats in anticipation of his reaction, but quickly, Lance responded to my kiss alarmingly, fiercely responding to the assault of my mouth. His hands suddenly framed my cheeks so that they tilted my face, allowing his tongue to find its way to mine, sickly deepening our shameful embrace. Relieved not to be pushed back, I exhaled against his lips, my breath akin to a moan drowning in the strength of his embrace. Tonight, I felt more than ever the need to cut myself off from the flow of my troubled thoughts. I think we were both aware of the madness of our gesture, but its saving power seemed to be vital to us at this moment.

His hands slid down my sides until he lifted my top. Separating us for a short moment, I raised my arms as he pulled the fabric over my shoulders, sending it flying into a corner of the room. Then putting his arms behind his neck, he tugged at the collar of his and quickly sent it in the direction of the first. Our lips found each other without difficulty, sharing the same uncontrollable thirst. In the adrenaline rush of the moment, I could feel his scales manifesting in places as totally exhilarating currents of energy seemed to run between us.

It was gross. Precipitate.

I thrust my hands casually through his hair as he lifted me up to sit astride him, his feet firmly inked to the floor. Caressing my hips, he meticulously kissed my bare chest, savoring every inch, giving rise to goosebumps on my skin with each trace of his licks. His applied discovery of my body made my head spin, I could feel his desire for me pulsing against the inner thighs. No longer holding it, I pulled his hair with some force to orient his face in the direction of mine. A satisfied smile appeared on his lips as he hugged me tightly.

- Do you know that dragons are impulsive in nature ? he whispered against my ear. You shouldn't be playing the most bossy game between us... although I have to admit that you are really, really sexy like that.

I smile in turn as I let my hand run between us, running down the line of his abs to the waistband of his black pants. A low growl escaped his throat as my fingers slipped under the fabric that separated us.

- I don't know dragons well yet, you might need to explain that to me in more detail...

In response, he clapped his hands under my buttocks and lifted me effortlessly to come and lay me down on the bed. I couldn't help but wince in spite of myself at the contact of the mattress against my back, a throbbing pain suddenly seizing me.

Unfortunately, Lance noticed this and immediately stopped his gestures.

- Are you in pain somewhere?

- It's nothing... I lied, trying to find his lips to silence him, but he stopped my momentum and pulled away from me.

- I can see that something is wrong, show me your back, he said in a tone that left no time to reply, straightening up at the same time.

Lying half naked, I huffed loudly as I sat up on the bed, curling up before deftly hugging the sheets to my chest. With my back to him, I allowed him to turn on the dim light on my nightstand, clenching my fists in apprehension. I waited several long seconds in a leaden silence, doubt starting to rise in me at his sudden silence. The dragon crouched behind me before gently letting his fingers run over the thin skin in the center of my back.

I couldn't help but clench my jaws in pain at his unbelievably soft touch.

- Andraste...

- Is that repulsive ? I cut him off, my voice trembling slightly.

I dared not meet his gaze so much shame consumed me. I knew very well what it was and it was probably not good...

- Since when do your wings try to come out ?

- Approximately since our training, I don’t know exactly... but you didn’t answer my question.

Lance sat down next to me before grabbing his fingers on my chin, forcing me to stop avoiding his icy gaze, my tongue loosening in spite of myself.

- I dream that I fall, I began. Again and again. And when that happens... I think my body is trying to call on my wings to save me. But I can’t.

- Since when does it hurt you ?

- About a week, but the pain is more and more present...

His grave expression made my stomach turn, what was wrong with me ?

- Did you see what your back looked like ? he inquired.

- During the first nightmares, yes. They resolved themselves, there were no traces. But now... I don't dare look anymore, Lance.

The dragon slowly let go of my face, casually resting his hand on my lap.

- My angel, you absolutely have to show this to Eweleïn.

(Chapter 12)

#eldarya #eldarya new era #eldarya lance #lance eldarya #i am not your enemy #ashkore #beemoov #lance #eldarya fanfiction

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candreloup · 3 years ago

Note

Hey! I heard you were looking for asks so I was hoping you could write about a hero with social anxiety who everyone thinks is shy, but in reality they actually have a lot to say and they are super sweet and considerate. And if their nemesis could be a suave villain who knows them better than anyone (and maybe even has a soft spot for them) then that would be amazing. Have a good day!

I am having a good day, thank you!(maybe it's because of your well-wishes :D) Have fun with this one too, this prompt looks super interesting. I'm excited to write it! Also I'm trying to write at least one snippet every day, but I might miss some days(depends on amount of stuff that day, inspiration, etc)- but for the summer I can actually have a consistent schedule! (Ignore the fact that today's is a bit late, haha) But anywho- on to the story!(wow that's like my catchphrase now)

Edit: also i have realized this may not be exactly what the original ask is about... so I think I'm going to do another one mor accurate to the request hehe

Hero gazed out of the window, staring into the rainy drizzle outside. It was a gray day, overcast and chilly with just the right touch of gloomy. The perfect day to sit inside with a cup of tea and listen to music. Instead, Hero was stuck inside, waiting for the rain to abate and sweating in the too-warm room. The temperature was just a touch too high, barely a few degrees over comfortable. It was a nice gesture, but in someone's over-eagerness to please, they had switched the discomfort to the other side. Oh well. Hero thought. At least the rain seems to be stopping soon.

The rain in question was slowing to a drizzle, the sky lightening and the sun beginning to peek out of the dissolving clouds. The inside was beginning to swelter, filling with heat faster than the dripping rain could cool it off.

Hero thought, "Here it comes."

The next few seconds came in flashes, going in and out of Hero's field of perception. The door slams. Flash. Windows shatter. Flash. A sweet smell drifts through the broken windows. Flash. A smooth voice fills Hero's head. Flash.

"Hello, Hero. It's nice to see you again."

It was over before Hero knew it. The sudden storm of sound, sight and smell flooding Hero's senses vanished in an instant, whirlpooling back into the singular figure in the center of the room, sitting languidly on a velvety chair. Villain.

Hero walked forward mechanically, feeling... numb. It had been years since they'd seen Villain, long before they became "Villain" and ceased to be "Friend". Hero could remember, clear as day, when that familiar face had appeared on the TV screen of the cold cafeteria. Along with a headline that read, "Dangerous criminal at large: 9 dead in lethal attack on Organization." And when the alarms started to wail, filling Hero's muddled mind with even more confusion. They'd struggled to process it, at first; it took them longer than it perhaps should have to realize that that smiling young child was no longer so young, and definitely no longer smiling. No. Instead they looked angry, resentful at the world for the cards they'd been dealt. Not like before. Not like before, when despite all the hardship and suffering that had been thrown their way, Friend had still seemed to love life. To cherish it and fill it with as much happiness as they could, as if to make up for the lost joy in other places.

What happened to you, my friend?

That all vanished into nothingness when Hero saw Villain sitting in front of them, fiddling with some small trinket in their fingers. Waiting. Waiting for what? Hero wondered, staring at the different, but still recognizable face. Waiting for... for...

Villain looked up. Hero stopped, waited along with Villain. What are they waiting for? Villain spun the trinket in their fingers and with a deft movement flicked it back into the dark recesses of their jacket.

"Waiting for you, Hero." Hero flinched. That was new. Hero sighed. They hadn't bothered to do research on Villain. Stupid! They'd been so naïve, believing that this clearly changed person sitting in front of them would still act the same, talk the same. But it was too late for that. All that they could do now was grasp at the small thread they had, hope beyond hope that they could figure out a way to bring Villain back. Now all that was left to do was try to understand, try to puzzle out what happened to that little kid they'd played with. And to try to bring that bright soul back.

"I know what you're thinking." The sudden noise startled Hero, jerked them out of their thoughts.

"Oh?" Hero struggled to stay as neutral as possible. Villain chuckled.

"You're so transparent, Hero. Just like I used to be. A dumb little kid. And you're wondering: What happened?" Hero hid their surprise as best they could. It wasn't enough. Hero could tell, could see the glee in Villain's eyes at Hero's confusion. It was a malicious joy, so different from that happiness they used to have.

"Now you're thinking that I've changed. Again. I did change. That's true. But I'm still the same person."

Hero cleared their throat, struggling for the right words to say.

"...No, you're not."

"Oh yes I am. I'm still 'Friend', even if I"-Villain gestured to their face and body-"changed in appearance. And perhaps personality."

Hero shook their head. "No. The friend I knew would never murder someone. You... you aren't my friend. My friend is gone." The bite in those words seemed to sting Villain, the hurt in their eyes barely visible. But it was quickly covered up and replaced with cold humor.

"O sentimental fool! You really believe your little friend was so great, huh! I almost feel bad for you."

"No. I know my friend was a good person."

"Ahhhh, you knew your friend so well! I see. Then tell me this, Hero. How is it that you never knew where your little friend lived? Or chose to ask? And how is it that you never noticed the deadness in their eyes or the tear stains on their cheeks? Tell me, Hero!" Villain spat. The venom in their voice was audible now, cutting through the smooth, smug tone as Villain glared at Hero. "And tell me, little Hero, how you never saw the bruises and scars on your friend's body? Tell me how you never, not once noticed how isolated, how totally alone your friend felt?" Villain was standing now, advancing slowly towards Hero with rage in their eyes. "Tell me how, Hero. TELL ME!" they half-screamed, standing almost nose to nose with Hero.

Hero kept their calm. Strangely enough, this was almost better than before, better than that slick villain sitting elegantly on the chair. Hero preferred unhinged to silence. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, the little Hero is sorry! Ha! What a joke! Well, little Hero with the oh-so-great-friend, explain to me your reasoning when you left me!!"

Hero snapped. They'd been calm, silent, reasonable this whole time. Kept their cool, kept their patience. Remembered- this is a person in pain. They are in pain because of me. I used to love them.

But the last line was the final straw.

"Oh, Villain, you want to know about leaving??" Hero yelled, standing on their toes and staring directly into Villain's wide eyes. "You want to know about loneliness, about feeling betrayed? You know, Villain, JUST BECAUSE YOU FELT ALONE DOESN'T MEAN I DIDN'T!" Hero screamed, filled with an uncharacteristic amount of rage.

"Hero, calm-"

"NO. For every time you hid things, every time you made me feel like I WASN'T THERE FOR YOU despite my CONSTANT PRESENCE, I'm going to tell you. You want to know, Villain? You REALLY WANT TO KNOW? Every SINGLE time I asked, EVERY TIME I BEGGED AND PLEADED WITH YOU TO TELL ME, you know what you did?"

"Hero-"

"TELL ME, VILLAIN. DO YOU REMEMBER?"

"I-"

"YOU RAN AWAY! So don't sit there, with your chair and suit BULLSHIT, and try and tell me that I WASN'T A GOOD FRIEND. Don't. Do you know how many times I tried, Villain? And god damn, COULDN'T YOU SPARE A SINGLE THOUGHT TO TELL ME? But no, you NEVER SAID A WORD. You just pranced around, acting happy until I left. Because APPARENTLY, EVERY SINGLE THING I THOUGHT I KNEW ABOUT MY FRIEND IS A FUCKING LIE."

Hero was breathing hard, still bubbling with anger. How dare they, how dare Villain accuse Hero of not trying. God knew they tried. Every. Single. Day. But even through all of that Hero had faith in Villain. They'd believed Villain was still good. But then that news report had come out. And now, Hero realized that their entire childhood had been a façade.

"I... I'm sorry." The words were almost a whisper, so quiet Hero could barely hear it. But they still heard it.

"Sorry won't cut it."

"I know."

"You know, Villain? Do you really?"

"I thought I knew."

"I loved you, Villain. I almost still do." Hero whispered into the room, feeling their words bounce off the bare walls. "I loved you..."

Villain looked up from their chair, eyes wide. "...You did?"

Hero started crying softly, tears rolling slowly down their face. "You idiot. You lovable fucking idiot." Villain stood slowly, looking ashamed. "Come here." Hero opened their arms to Villain, sobbing when Villain fell into the comforting embrace. "You idiot. I missed you," they whispered, tears falling onto Villain's shoulder.

"I missed you too," Villain murmured softly, quiet tears gently falling onto the floor.

It sounded like rain.

#hero and villain #hero #villain #hero x villain #villain and hero #villain x hero #crying scene #yelling scene #losing it #anger #screaming #rain #eeeeeee i'm proud of this one #should i make extra scenes hehe #i could totally shatter everyone's hearts right now holy moly i have so much power #this had a different ending but you don't want to know what happened in the other ending

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carelesscreativity · 4 years ago

Text

Kreme Love & Trust: Gift for TheLemonHeartLocket

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(SFW, Fluff)

Dream jumped, gripping the blankets tightly in his fists as he heard another loud crackle of thunder. He felt ashamed of himself through his fear. He wasn’t a babybones anymore. He definitely should’ve been over this fear, but he wasn’t. He knew Nightmare could tell, if the sick amusement somewhere else in the castle was anything to go off of. It made him somewhat sad to feel it.

Dream was just visiting, of course. He’d been ready to go back when the storm had suddenly started and the second he’d heard the first clap of thunder, his magic was crippled with fear in an instant. At least Nightmare had seemed to be having a good time. He’d offered Dream a room through his laughter and Dream had accepted, though he was utterly humiliated in the process.

He had the curtains drawn tightly shut, but he couldn’t hold back a jolt as he saw the faint line of light appear in the wall through the tiniest gap in the shades. It was followed by a LARGE clap of thunder. Dream wondered why storms always had to ruin his day for him. He glared at the window weakly, like the hidden panels of glass had personally wronged him.

He suddenly became aware of the soft sound to his right and a faint red glow out of the corner of his eye. He relaxed a little, but wouldn’t stop staring at the window. He heard a soft laugh and he felt his face flush weakly. “It isn’t funny.” He managed. The bed shifted and Dream looked over at Killer, who’d climbed up next to him.

“I know, I know. Sorry... Just had to basically kiss your brother’s ass so I could come see you.” Killer sighed. He had an arm around Dream in a moment, tugging the guardian back against his chest in the next. His other hand came around, presenting his soul for Dream to hold, it having already shifted to its inverted heart shape.

The guardian took it without a second thought, his golden eyes finally being torn from the window to look at the cherry-red glow in his hands. The organ gave a soft buzzing sound, floating above and between Dream’s hands. It had taken so long for Killer to trust him like this. Now, Killer would offer it up, when before, he would’ve stabbed Dream for even looking at it in some form of confusion.

The first time Killer had offered to let him hold it, he’d sounded so nonchalant, but Dream was able to sense that it was important to Killer in every way. Dream had never held something with such delicacy and care as he had with Killer’s soul. It had felt so strange to hold the other’s life in his hands and he felt so honored to be trusted doing it even now. The thought always warmed him and made his own apple soul pound. Of course, he’d let Killer see and hold his soul as well. It was his first ever look at how gentle Killer could be with something. He’d regarded it with such amazement and fascination that Dream didn’t think he would ever be able to get that flustered ever again. Even thinking about it made him blush just a little.

He ALMOST smiled. Dream flinched with a sharp gasp as the next clap of thunder slightly shook the room. He couldn’t help the whimper that left his throat as he screwed his eyes shut. “Hey, hey.” Killer’s voice was soft. “Sunshine, c’mon...” His hand moved around to Dream’s front, rubbing wide circles on his ribcage. Dream trembled, continuing to stare at the window with teary eyes.

The nickname and the motion were both helping him relax a little, though he was sure that Killer could feel his pounding soul. “Boss told me you’ve always been scared of storms...” Killer murmured next to him as he continued to hug Dream from behind. He pressed his teeth to the side of his head. Dream gave a weak, shameful nod.

Killer blinked and shifted, sitting crisscross and turning Dream so he was sideways in his lap, leaning against his chest. Dream continued to cradle Killer’s soul. “It’s alright if you’re afraid. Just know that it can’t hurt you.” He paused for a moment. “I wouldn’t let it, anyway.” Dream blinked.

“You’re not going to have a knifefight with some storm clouds.” He said, managing a soft scoff of amusement as his eyes raised to meet Killer’s. Those white-ringed eyelights burned bright as they stared back at him. Dream loved them and he loved that crooked grin that was spreading across Killer’s face as well.

“Yeah? I totally would. I would fight storm clouds for you. Doesn’t that prove my absolute love and devotion to you? Fighting clouds?” Killer teased lightly. He laughed as Dream softly smacked him, giving him a playful look of disapproval. He almost laughed before there was another loud crash of thunder and he nearly shrieked. His hands were shaking badly now.

He blinked tearfully as he felt one of Killer’s hands raise to rest underneath his own. The other arm wrapped around his shoulders and hugged him close. Dream blushed as he felt Killer’s teeth press against his forehead, where the front of his crown would usually be. He felt so bare without it, glancing over to where he’d placed it on the nightstand. “Dream?” Killer’s voice prompted.

Dream jumped a little and looked up at him. Killer leaned down and pressed their teeth together. Dream immediately and eagerly took the distraction, pressing back against him. Killer, for once, did not deepen the kiss, keeping it soft and sweet. He pulled back, his cheeks having the slightest bit of red. He was staring at Dream, radiating a warmth from both his eyes and his soul. Dream couldn’t help but blush, burying his face against his shoulder. “Don’t look at me like that...” He mumbled. Killer blinked and pressed his teeth to the top of his head.

“Like what? Like you’re an absolute ray of sunshine? Because you are.” Dream began to protest and Killer kept going. “Or maybe like you’re the most perfect monster I’ve ever seen? Because you are.” Dream’s face flushed and he tried to speak once more, Killer pressing a finger to his teeth. “Or maybe you don’t like me looking at you like I’m the luckiest monster in the Multiverse because I have you?” He opened his mouth and Dream quickly put a hand over Killer’s mouth.

“I get it, I get it!” Dream was completely flustered. He jumped with a sharp inhale as he heard the thunder once again, but Killer placed a hand on his cheek, keeping him from looking over at the window. Dream trembled a little, reaching up and holding Killer’s wrist. Killer stared at him quietly, giving a soft sigh as he gently rubbed his thumb over his cheek.

Dream couldn’t help but lean into the touch. Killer’s hand was always so warm. It pulled away and took Dream’s free hand, intertwining their fingers. Killer gave his hand a gentle squeeze, pulling the other close once again and keeping Dream’s head tucked in the crook of his neck. They stayed like that for a few moments. Dream flinched and whimpered as lightening flashed for a second.

“Just a bit of light.” Killer assured him. “Here.” He reached down and pulled up the blanket. He draped it over Dream’s head so the other would be effectively ‘hidden’ from the storm. He was illuminated in the red of Killer’s soul now, though his golden blush was still very obvious. Just for extra assurance, Killer leaned down and pressed his teeth to Dream’s forehead again.

It never ceased to amaze the guardian how affectionate Killer could be. Especially since he’d seen him in battle. He could barely recall how this started. How THEY had started. He was sure that it had been some kind of mutual interest they developed when fighting. Maybe even just by seeing each other. When Dream would come over to hopefully discuss truces (all of which had previously failed), Killer would always be lingering nearby or waiting outside the door to Nightmare’s office.

It had been Killer, hadn’t it? He’d stopped Dream when he was leaving once and made the first move, inviting the guardian out to the garden with him. And who was Dream to say no? He couldn’t. Sure, Killer had later had his ass handed to him by Nightmare, but the black-eyed skeleton always insisted that it had been worth it. They’d continued to have little meetups here and there. Some of them were not so little. Faint inklings of attraction had become something much more by the time an actual truce was established.

Though neither of them had really said anything, it was blatantly obvious to everyone else that they’d been an item for a VERY long time. Dream was momentarily broken out of his thoughts by faint rumbling outside, turning to look. Killer’s hand was felt on his cheek again, immediately stopping him. He relaxed a little, tipping his head into Killer’s palm as the other murmured that the storm sounded like it was moving further away.

“Maybe it heard me talking and was intimidated?” He suggested playfully. Dream blinked before he finally smiled and broke out into a soft bout of laughter. Killer’s crooked grin straightened out and became a genuine one as he watched him. He’d always loved Dream’s laugh. It sounded like the soft chiming of bells and it made his soul warm. “What’s with the laughter?? Clearly the storm got intimidated because it knows I’d win in a knifefight!”

Dream only laughed harder, more tears appearing e corners of his eyesockets. But Killer could tell they were happy tears. His soul pulsed in Dream’s hands, absolutely delighted. Another crack of thunder sounded. It was much fainter and, to Killer’s relief, Dream didn’t even seem to hear it. His laughing finally calmed and he stared up at Killer, smiling wide.

Dream jumped as he felt the heavy beating in his hands and looked down at Killer’s soul in surprise. The organ was glowing brightly, almost slightly pink with each light pulse. Killer watched as Dream hesitated before looking up at him. He raised the soul to his face and pressed his teeth against it. He didn’t break eye contact and, as a reward, he got to witness the red blush as it spread fully across Killer’s face.

“That’s cheating...” The other murmured. Dream gave a little giggle and lowered the soul, turning and nuzzling Killer’s hand as it continued to rest against his cheek. He pressed his teeth to his palm and Killer’s blush deepened. He leaned down and Dream turned his face back to meet Killer’s teeth with his own. He closed his eyes, his own golden soul soaring and pounding in his chest.

The storm was distant now and Killer continued to rub his thumb over his cheek, asking Dream softly if he felt better. Dream stared at him, unable to form words for a moment with how happy Killer made him. He paused for a moment before speaking in a small voice. “Killer, I love you.”

The black-eyed skeleton blinked in surprise. It wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting, but he absolutely was not complaining. He stared at Dream before smiling and pressing his teeth to his head again. He stayed there and murmured quietly, causing the guardian to light up gold to his shoulders.

“I love you too, sunshine.”

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