#tricks up my sleeve | patches tag

[hotluncheddie]

Written for the @steddie-spooktober day 29 and 31 prompt : sweater and trick or treat

rated: T | cw: none | tags: Eddie Munson is a tease, getting together, idiot 4 idiot

😳😳😳😳

Eddie finds the short sleeved sweater at the thrift store. It might be from the women’s or even children’s section for all he knows (with how Doris organises the store, it’s all mostly a free for all.) But it’s perfect, he knows that for sure. Hand knitted with a pumpkin on the front. It’s a little too small, a little cropped. Perfect.

It’s pushing 1am when he answers the trailer door to Steve. Leather jacket on, suspense making him giddy.

‘Trick or treat.’ Steve says holding up two six packs and a bag of chips, tape tucked under his arm. He looks half exhausted in his family video vest and little pained on fangs, faded fake blood trickling down his chin. The store stays open until midnight on Fridays and this Friday night happens to also be Halloween. Eddie had seen Steve there earlier when he’d been to rent something to watch at Jeff’s. The deep red plum of Steves v neck sweater made Eddie certain tonight was perfect for his plan. So he invited him to the trailer once the store had closed.

Eddie takes the beer and Steve slumps over to the couch, falling into it with a groan. ‘God, I don’t know how many more time I can explain age ratings to parents who should know better.’ He says, arm slung over his eyes. ‘Why’re you wearing your jacket?’ He asks.

Eddie puts the beer in the fridge. ‘Oh, got cold.’ He slips it off and tosses it over a chair. Bending to retrieve cans for each of them.

Steve coughs behind him. Eddie smirks, but manages to school his face before he turns around.

‘You bring it?’ He asks, handing Steve a beer and opening his own, leaning on one hip and taking a long drink.

Steve doesn’t say anything. Eddie looks down and raises his eyebrows. ‘Well?’

Steve snaps out of it, sitting up and clearing his throat. ‘Yeah, uh, here.’ He hands over the tape of Rosemary’s baby, opening his own beer. (It’s Eddie favourite, Steve’s never seen it.)

Eddie smiles as he takes it, feeling giddy again, maybe he should be a tease more often.

He takes the tape over to their new VCR, bought with the government payout, which was the least they could do, really.

He squats as he puts it in, knows that his lower back and underwear waistband are showing.

‘Eddie.’ Steve’s shaky voice calls to him. ‘What the fuck are you wearing man?’

He stands, turning to Steve and putting his hands on his hips, fingers digging into the exposed skin, slotting against his slight v of muscle. ‘It’s my festive sweater.’ He says, like it’s obvious.

‘But it’s, so. I can.’ Steve splutters, cheeks red and Eddie can’t believe his plan worked.

He stalks closer, pointing a finger at Steve, finally feeling like he’s won. ‘See, now you know how it feels Steve Harrington, you walk around in your little low cut sweaters, chest hair and cleavage all out and on display.’ Steve leans forward slightly, muscles shifting under his clothes, puppy dog eyes staring up at Eddie. ‘I mean you’re doing it right now, and it’s been driving me insane okay?!’ Eddie bursts, pent up energy finally getting released. ‘I had to fight fire with fire dude!’ Motioning defensively his own little patch of happy trail and crossing his arms.

Steve gapes up at him, at Eddie standing between his knees. ‘You’re so weird.’ He says and grabs Eddie’s hips, pulling him into his lap.

Eddie gasps, falling into Steve willingly.

‘You’re a trick and a treat Munson.’ Steve murmurs, bringing his hand to Eddie’s neck and pulling him down for a kiss.

😳😳😳😳

Tag list : @scoops-aboy86 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @pearynice @marvel-ous-m @thecatkingsthrone

@cheesedoctor @chickensinrainboots @chameleonhair @wheneverfeasible @hbyrde36

@bookworm0690

[strawberry-eden]

violence solves (most) problems — danny johnson x reader

↪ summary — you're relatively new in the fog, having been here just long enough to get a hold on the working order of this place when you catch the unfortunate eye of the most obsessive man on the planet, who decides that you're going to be his newest plaything.

or, your first encounter with the notorious ghostface killer goes very poorly.

↪ tags — canon typical violence, swearing, crack treated seriously, blood & injury, obsession at first sight, gender neutral pronouns/description for reader, no use of y/n, and danny's weird way of flirting

↪ word count — 2.4k

a/n: i wrote this originally way back in february but i found it again and figured i would share with the class. inspired by a cool piece of art i saw on twitter that ended up spiraling from there. enjoy!

The cold air of Mount Ormond ski resort bites angrily at your bare face, your shallow breaths manifesting in puffs of white fog as you fight to keep giant spidery talons from spearing through your torso. A low, guttural growl sounds from all around you and nowhere all at once, your arms shaking from effort as a particularly hard shove from the entity forces your hooked shoulder to shift, sending a ripple of white-hot agony through your body. “Fuck!”

This is your first match of the day. Not a single generator has been done and none of your teammates have been hooked yet. If anybody is coming for you, you can’t see through the cage the entity’s talons have created around you, itching to close in and take you back the campfire. You’re half tempted to let her do it.

You barely register the second pair of hands that appears and bats her away until they’re gently pulling you down from the hook by your armpits, holding you up until you’re steady on your feet. You blink away a few stray tears to look up at the face of your savior. “No offense, kiddo, but you look like shit,” says Bill.

You almost shrug instinctively but stop yourself last second. “A little bit taken. I feel like shit,” you mutter. He shoots a cautious glance over his shoulder, then takes you by the arm and leads you away from the hook towards a safer spot to patch you up. You can’t help but flit your gaze all around the area, searching for that haunting white mask or floating strips of leather, wondering if you’re being watched from somewhere.

Bill catches your paranoid expression and frowns. “Christ, what’d you do to him?”

Unable to hide your frustration, you round on Bill with an exasperated cry, “I don’t know! He just—” You make a vague gesture. “Set his eyes on me and decided he wanted me dead! I haven’t even touched a gen yet, for fuck’s sake.”

Bill pulls you behind a boulder secluded somewhere in a corner of the resort. You squint at the shape of the killer shack some ways away, trying to get your bearings. Bill whistles lowly. “Maybe he’s just trying to get an easy win, then. Lord knows it’s working. The rest of us are struggling to keep up.”

You collapse into a bloody pile into the snow, leaning against the rock and pressing a hand against your wounded shoulder while he pops open his medkit. “Yeah, well. I’m still pissed about it.”

“Oh, we all are,” he replies. “Nobody likes being down a teammate this early on. You got anything to help you out?”

Your face scrunches in confusion. “What?”

He raises a grayed eyebrow. “You know, like that trick David pulls to endure pain, or how that girl Laurie hides glass in her sleeves. They teach you any of that?”

“Uhh… No?”

Bill curses under his breath. “You’re kidding, right?” He curses again, louder this time when you shake your head. He digs into one of his many pockets, pulling out something that he clutches tightly in his palm, then motions for you to extend your hand. He places something smooth and warm into it, closing your fingers around the object. “Hide it well, okay? If he sees it, it’s game over. And make sure you don’t. Miss. That was my second chance, and I’m giving it up so you a better shot. If you end up fumbling, I’m never gonna let you live it down.”

Bill holds your gaze until you give a slow nod, retracting his hands as he returns to rustling around the supplies in his medkit. When you open up your fingers, you are greeted by your own reflection looking back at you from a small, sharp piece of glass. It’s almost shaped like a knife if you turn it right. “What do I do with it?” You ask curiously.

Bill wheezes out a laugh. “Stab him with it, obviously.” You bite back a painful hiss when he begins stitching your wounds back together, which he apologizes for under his breath. “But don’t just swing it around all willy-nilly, you gotta wait until he isn’t expecting it—like when he’s got you slung over his shoulder like a sack of meat thinking you’re gonna be an easy kill. Then, you take your opportunity to prove him wrong and stab it right into his shoulder. Always shocks ‘em so bad they drop you then and there. Gives 'em a taste of their own medicine, which they don’t like too much, y’know?”

You stare thoughtfully at the shard. If it’s such an effective tactic, then why in the world hasn’t anybody told you about it? You can’t help but feel a bit betrayed.

“Doesn’t always work, though,” he says, pulling the question straight from your mind. “After a while, they start to expect it, which means you gotta change it up. Start playing stealthier, like Zarina or Jake—the guy’s got an iron will. Real impressive. I have no idea he’s even hurt until I realize he’s left a streak of blood halfway across the map.”

This is all too much information to ingest when you feel about five seconds away from dying via blood loss. “Got it,” you mumble breathlessly.

Bill blanks at you. “You didn’t retain a thing I just said.”

"I got all the important parts."

“Sure you did,” he huffs. He starts opening up some gauze, when all of a sudden, his head shoots up and his whole body goes rigid. Bill’s wide eyes find your alarmed ones, and all that he’s able to get out before all hell breaks loose is, “Run.”

There’s an almost imperceptible rustle of clothing that doesn’t reach your ears. You’re frozen in place, barely given enough time to register the command as you watch him jump to his feet. “What?”

“God damnit, kid, I said run—!”

“There you are,” a third voice purrs, and you barely get a glimpse of the knife that glints maliciously at you just before it’s buried in Bill’s back. The hoarse scream that’s torn from the older man’s throat echoes hauntingly in your ears as it digs in deeper, forcing him against the ground. Dark red splatters across the snow when Ghostface violently wrenches it out of him.

Your shoulder cries out as you feebly scramble backwards, every little cut and bruise on your body flaring in pain as you awkwardly clamber back to your feet. Ghostface steps clean over Bill, who groans in pain on the ground, and the shard in your sweaty hand suddenly feels a thousand times heavier.

You can hear the simper in his voice when he says, “You didn’t forget about little old me, did you?” He wraps his gloved fingers around the bloody knife, wiping it clean with one swipe. “Oh, darling, I’m hurt.”

You’re running before you even know it. The cold air stings your lungs with each intake, your muscles burning with every step. You don't have a clue where you’re headed until you’re tearing through the killer shack, narrowly avoiding crashing into the generator that sits in the middle. You don’t need to look to know that he’s right behind you if the sounds of crunching snow and throaty laughter are anything to go by, and when your bare fingers find the splintered slab of wood sitting against the doorway, you waste no time throwing it down behind you.

You stop and turn to shout obscenities towards your assailant, but he’s nowhere to be found. You blink, and a knife is suddenly jammed between your ribs. “You should really look behind you sometimes,” Ghostface says coolly, pressing the blade deeper in emphasis and relishing in the way you whimper in pain. “Maybe you would have actually seen me go around the side of shack. Kind of embarrassing to fall for that, you know.”

“Fuck you.”

He tsks, ripping the knife out of your side and effectively taking away the only thing keeping you upright, letting you fall to the ground in a bloody heap. You look up at him through hazy eyes, looking like a dark mist against the pale gray sky, the screaming white mask being the only thing to come into focus. “You know, I don’t usually do this—”

You watch as one of his hands dives underneath his cloak, searching around for something for a solid five seconds until he pulls out a small handheld camera with a muted A-ha!

“—but I like you, so I’m willing to make an exception.”

“An exception?" You spit out a wad of blood and saliva. "What the hell are you—”

The air is unceremoniously knocked out of your lungs when he plops himself down on your stomach, knees caging you in and pinning your hands against the snow. You flinch when the glass shard hidden in your sleeve pinches the skin of your wrist.

Gloved fingers firmly grip your jaw and force you to turn toward the camera lens as he leans in close, the scent of cheap cologne assaulting your senses and filling up your head. You swear the smell alone would kill you before he ever could.

“Smile,” he breathes into your ear, and you’re blinded by the flash that goes off when he clicks the camera. You’re busy recoiling in the aftermath while he gazes quietly at the picture in the viewfinder, blinking away the green and purple splotches in your vision. Still gripping your jaw, he forcefully turns your head to show it to you.

The picture looks about exactly how you’d expect it to turn out. You're staring wide-eyed at the camera in shock and fear, blood seeping from your various wounds and soaking into your clothes. His mask takes up the entire left side of the photo, but if you look hard enough, you think you can spot a pair of dark eyes staring into the lens—they’re squinted at the edges, like he’s actually smiling underneath it as he casually holds up a peace sign.

"Say, you weren't a model or anything before this, were you? 'Cause damn." He lets out a low whistle. "This one’s definitely going in my collection.”

He takes one last, long look at the picture before tucking the camera back into his coat and stands, allowing the blood to resume flowing through the veins in both of your arms again as they’re overcome by that numb, prickly feeling. Too hurt and exhausted to resist, you limply allow him to maneuver you into a sitting position, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist as he effortlessly hauls you up onto his shoulder.

"Alright, playtime's over," he huffs. "Duty calls, blah blah blah, you know how it is. Ain't no rest for the wicked."

Something smooth and sharp slides into your palm from the depths of your sleeve. Catching a glimpse of your reflection in it’s surface, you let out a gasp that Ghostface assumes must be from the sight of the giant meat hook that appears at the corner of the shack, because he gently pats the backs of your thighs in what you assume is meant to be reassurance.

"Now, don't you worry, sweet-pea," he says, “the next time you and I get matched up, I promise I’ll play nice. Maybe if you’re good, I’ll even let you escape, yeah?” He laughs, and you can feel it vibrating through your ribcage. “After I kill your friends, of course.”

You grip the glass so tight in your palm, it digs into your fingers, drawing blood. You see your own eyes staring back at you through a thin stream of red, wild and angry and terrified, Bill’s words bouncing around in your skull as you raise the shard and slam it hard into the back of his shoulder, digging in viciously and twisting.

He inhales sharply, hands immediately losing their grip on you as he drops down to one knee, letting you slide off of his shoulder and land face-first in the snow. You push yourself up to your hands and knees, then to your feet, and glance nervously over your shoulder.

You meet those same eyes that had peered gleefully at you in the picture, no longer hiding behind that wretched mask as it lays by your feet in the snow, but they’re not squinting like they were before. They’re wide, pupils shrunken into tiny pinpricks as they bore into you, nostrils flaring and lips curling into a grimace as he reaches behind him and rips out the glass. Blood sprays from the wound in an arc, a fury so deep and animalistic roiling in his guttural tone as he ...

... Laughs.

Something dangerous glitters within his irises as he turns to face you. What catches you most off-guard, though, is that he's actually handsome underneath the mask—he's younger than you thought, with long lashes and full lips. A tiny scar marks the corner of his mouth, and it stretches slightly as he bares his teeth in a wide, manic grin.

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" He drops the glass shard and stands, and you're screaming at your body to move, but you can't. You just watch as he slowly reaches out to collect his mask and knife, refusing to take his eyes off of you even once. It's like it's just his gaze keeping you pinned. "The gift that keeps on giving?"

A loud buzzer sounds from somewhere in the distance. You flick your gaze away for just a moment to check which direction it came from, and by the time you look back, he's already secured the mask back in place.

"I'll tell you what," he begins, tilting his head at you curiously. "Let's make a bet. If you can last until your friends get alll the gens done, I'll let you go."

You swallow thickly. "And if I can't?"

Silence. You don't need to see his face to know that he's smiling. "You wanna find out?"

Strangely enough, a part of you almost does.

He lunges then, but you’re already on the move, adrenaline as well as an odd cocktail blend of terror and exhilaration pushing your body past its limits in a last-ditch effort at escaping this trial with your life.

You probably won’t, but you’re definitely gonna give him a run for his money—you figure that you've earned at least that much.

[o-sachi]

Busted Lip ‧₊˚ ⋅ One Shot (Request)

ଳ an ice pack should be enough to heal a busted lip, but you have another trick up your sleeve

ଳ character; hiragi toma (wind breaker)

ଳ tags; fluff, soft toma, gn reader, no y/n, ume silliness

[🐟]: To anon who requested a hiragi fic... thank you from the bottom of my hiragi-loving heart.

This was far from an unusual sight—Hiragi coming back from a scuffle and requiring you to patch up any injuries he sustained. But, as often as it happened, he would still insist that he was "a grown man" and that he could handle first aid on his own.

Too bad for Hiragi but you were more stubborn than he was. Despite his protests, it would always end up with him yielding to your commands.

He'd try to look annoyed and displeased with that grumpy look on his face, but the slight tint of red on his cheeks would betray him each time. At the very least, you'd spare the poor man of your teasing.

The Vaisravana unit came back to the school grounds a little later than expected. You were sure that if it were anyone else dating Hiragi—they'd already be shaking in their boots. But not you. You trusted Hiragi and his strength that no one would be able to take him down. Besides, you were also being pep talked by Ume as the two of you waited for them on the Furin rooftop.

"Ume-san, which part of town did they even go to? It's taking so long and I miss Toma already."

A booming laughter erupts from his chest. "They probably took a detour—buying us some food or something. Don't worry."

Oh well, it was always food with Ume. But if he isn't worried then, why should you be? You sat back in your seat, marveling at the setting sun before you while Ume continued taking photographs of his plants.

You sigh, longingly—and as if on cue—the doors to the rooftop swing open abruptly. A smile stretches on your face upon seeing Hiragi and all the other members on his unit. But your smile quickly turned lopsided once you noticed his busted lip. Hiragi thought he was being smart, trying to turn his head sideways and hoping that you wouldn't notice the glaring injury on his face.

Ume, on the other hand, was frowning for totally different reason and it had something to do with them coming back emptyhanded.

"You guys took so long and here I thought you were bringing back food..." With the way he pouted, it was almost impossible to tell that he was the top dog of Furin.

"Who said we were bringing ya back food?" Hiragi retorts, scratching the back of his neck.

Suo steps in with the usual calm expression. "It took us a while to come back because we encountered a couple of townspeople who requested our help."

Ume nodded. "How about we go get some food then and enjoy it up here? Hm? How does that sound?"

Nirei and Suo were on board as they always were with Ume's plans. Sakura insisted that he'd be heading home already, but that wasn't allowed on their watch. And Sugishita would go just about anywhere Ume wanted them to.

You already knew how Hiragi would respond, but would you felt being a little cheeky today in exchange for him making you miss him too much. Standing up from your seat, the grainy sound of the wooden chair against the concrete floor prompted the boys to look at you.

"Toma, you stay here with me," you say, firmly.

The others started snickering and teasing Hiragi who had the biggest scowl on his face—a scowl which was directed at them, of course. God forbid that he look at you with such a nasty expression.

They bicker a little more, wishing Hiragi good luck before he faces your "wrath". Exasperated, he shakes his head while everyone else filtered out of the rooftop. Once it was the two of you left, Hiragi glanced over at you.

"Ya thought that was funny hm?" he asks as he made his way over to you.

You watch as he pulls a chair closer to yours and you smile sweetly at his question. "They did laugh though, didn't they?"

He plops down on the chair with an exaggerated huff. Walking all afternoon was tiring enough and here you were—being brazen as ever. In front of the others too no less.

"You're a real piece of work," he murmurs. Normally, that sentence would have you raising your brow, but it came from Hiragi. He had a strange way of showing affection—not like you minded it.

You point a finger at his face, more specifically, the lip that was swelling up. "That. That's the real piece of work here. What happened to you huh?"

Hiragi clicks his tongue. It was naive of him to think that you'd let him get away with it without so much as an explanation. Seems pretty easy to do, but the fussing that would occur thereafter was the one thing he wanted to prevent.

Looking off to the side, he muttered beneath his breath. "Sakura hit me with a sign..." He spoke so softly as if the less you heard, the less you'd care about his busted lip.

Your brows furrow in confusion. You understood what he said, but at the same time you didn't.

"A sign? What sign? What were you guys up to?"

"We were helping an elderly couple put up a new sign on their store. So all of us hoisted up the sign and we were supposed to do it on my count of 3. But that damn kid doesn't know how to listen and hoisted too early."

His gaze wandered down to his feet, perching his elbows on his knees. "...Hence the busted lip."

A sigh of relief left your lips. Thankfully it wasn't a result of a fight this time. You could already imagine the kind of back-and-forth they had earlier with that sign. It made you giggle a bit—thinking about Hiragi and Sakura pointing fingers while everyone else stood awkwardly.

As soon as you stood up, his eyes were on you. "Where are ya going?"

"To the infirmary, duh. I'm getting you an icepack for that lip."

You were already a few steps ahead when he stopped you. A firm grasp was on your wrist as he held you in place. "Ya don't have to. Just stay here. It'll get better on its own."

You turn to look back at him. His gaze was firm, telling you that he was absolutely adamant that you stay put. Not wanting to be that overbearing partner, you give up on it.

Instead, you looked back at him with the same intensity. You two did this quite often which resulted in the others calling this little thing of yours as "flirting". Your own brand of flirting that is.

But a cheeky grin broke out on your face again at a silly thought that had crossed your mind.

"If you don't want an icepack and if you don't want me to move... well, I thought of a remedy that doesn't require any icepacks or me leaving here."

His interest... or trepidation, rather—was piqued.

Whatever "remedy" you have up your sleeve, he knew it was just another way of saying, "Oh I have another way to tease you and make you look like a fool in love."

Great. Just great, knowing that he had to indulge you as the good boyfriend that he is.

"What is it th-"

His sentence cuts off once you had your hands cupping his face and your lips on his. For someone weaker than him, you sure were strong enough when it came down to it. You pulled him down to your height while keeping your lips locked.

For a moment, you let him pull away. You wondered what kind of expression he'd make after this stunt that you pulled.

"Seriously?"

Once again, he tries to convince you about how disgruntled he was. But with the way his lips bent, it was clear he was trying to suppress a smile. How adorable, you thought.

The only attacks Hiragi couldn't defend against were the flurry of kisses you planted all over his face. His lips, cheeks, the tip of his nose, forehead—none of those were safe from your affections.

Before you knew it, the smile he had fought hard to subdue had made its way on his face. His own hands cupped your face, finally reciprocating the fondness you so kindly showered him with.

Your little moment, however, was interrupted by a squealing Ume.

"Hey, Nirei, get this on camera!"

... to which everyone else face palmed.

Not only did he ruin your fun, but he gave away their presence. So nothing was caught on camera that day.

Hiragi let go of you, giving you one last gentle gaze before scowling at the idiots that interrupted the two of you.

Well, he had to teach them a lesson before they could tease him, right?

ε( ε ˙³˙)ɜ ｡° ⚬ ｡ likes and reblogs are appreciated

pls do not translate/copy/reupload my work on other platforms.

o-sachi © 2024

[simping-overload]

ᴀ ᴛɪᴇꜰʟɪɴɢꜱ ᴛᴀɪʟ - ᴄʟᴏᴛʜꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴀɪʟ (ᴀꜱᴛᴀʀɪᴏɴ)

a/n: a tieflings tail is a 10+ chapter series involving bg3 men and a variety of scenarios with tiefling tavs tail

tags: gn tav, tailor astarion, fluff, 531 words

synopsis: Astarion makes you a sleeve for your tail to keep it warm during the winter months.

『read on ao3』

ヾthis is a multi-fandom blog that is designed for mlm/nbmlm identifying readers! so if you're female or fem please do not follow or interact with my mlm related post!! you will be blocked if you do not heed this warning ゛

Over the course of your adventures with your ever-growing group, Astarion appointed himself as the tailor. Stitching together any holes and tears, he’d find in someone’s clothing.

According to him, he refuses to allow himself to be seen with people who look like disgusting hobos.

He’s mainly self-taught, but after Halsin joined the party, he’s learning from him as well. Halsin himself was taught by his mother and, along the way, picked up more unconventional tricks when he looked after the children of the Emerald Grove.

You are his test dummy to try his newly found tricks on. Though, not only because you’re his lover, but because you’re usually the one who ends up with the most tears and holes in your clothes.

Just as you were now, standing in Astarions’ tent as he patches up your clothing. Some are from old tears, and others are from completely new ones in different places.

Astarion, per usual, grumbles out his disappointments. “By the gods’ love, can you ever just not rip your clothes to shreds anytime you leave camp?”

You suppress your shrug, wanting to avoid getting jabbed with a needle again. “Sorry, Star, we both know that isn’t possible.”

Astarion scoffs, rolling his eyes as he completes the last stitch. Stepping back, he tugs on the fabric, making sure his stitches are secure, and hopefully won’t be teared for at least another few weeks.

It doesn’t seem he’s done as when he stepped away to rummage through his belongings. You stay in your spot, tail curling in curiosity. He turns back around with a long piece of cloth in his hand.

“What’s that?”

“I’m not sure what to name it but, it’s for your tail. Since winter is nearing, I wanted to make you something for your tail. Just to keep you warm.”

You don’t have the heart to tell him that you don’t need one. Since you're a Tiefling, your body heat was more than enough to keep you warm during the winter months.

“Thank you, Star.”

He hummed in response, pulling the long sleeve up your tail and fastens so it won’t fall off. He left a small hole in the end for the tip of your tail to poke out, since you’ve told him before you don’t like that part of your tail being surrounded by anything since it’s the most sensitive there.

You looked at yourself in the mirror. It didn’t look bad at all. The color compliments your skin tone. Twirling and moving your tail around, you get a feel for it. It’s quite comfortable against your skin and were you more susceptible to the cold, you’d for sure be able to keep warm with this.

You hop down from the stool, turning to Astarion. “I like this a lot, love and rest assured I will keep it intact.”

Astarion snorts, grabbing your hand and pulls you to him. “You better, or I’ll make sure you wake up bloodless the next morning, hm?” He teases.

You fake an offended gasp. “You wouldn’t dare.” Leaning down, you press your forehead against his.

“Oh, love, but I would.” He giggles and places a soft kiss on your lips.

[ladykailitha]

Well Met By Moonlight Part 6

Hey, this story is back too! I know I was supposed to be working on it all of October, but that kinda went to hell as October was an unusually busy month for me.

So have a long chapter as an apology.

Here we have Wayne rocking Jason and Patrick's world and Josh just casually dropping a bomb on Steve.

Also I was noticing that engagement to my stories have dropped off again. I'mma gonna blame Tumblr and the holidays. In all seriousness if my tags aren't tag you let me know. I'll try to find a different way to tag again.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

****

Jason and Patrick showed up at Wayne’s trailer at dawn. The old vampire sat on the porch with a large sun hat and every other part of his skin covered.

Both boys came to an abrupt stop.

“I didn’t know vampires could walk in daylight,” Patrick said, getting his voice back sooner than Jason.

Wayne was on them in an instant. Not as fast as he was at night, but still quicker than a human. He grabbed Patrick’s wrist and yanked it to eye level. A patch of skin showed between Wayne’s sleeve and his weathered work glove. The skin reddened but didn’t blister or catch fire.

Wayne dropped Patrick’s hand. “Our skin is merely more sensitive than yours. I moved slower to make sure none of my skin became exposed.”

Both boys gulped. They thought they were going to have an easier time during the day, but Wayne had put that to bed right quick.

“Get in the truck,” Wayne growled and the boys hurried to obey.

He got into the driver’s seat and drove out past city limits. They pulled up to an old church.

“I’m about to blow another stupid superstition out of the water,” he chuckled. “Follow me.”

He hopped out the truck and they scrambled to follow him. He walked right up to a big wrought iron gate that read: HAWKINS CITY CEMETERY and pulled out a set of keys. After he rifled through them a moment, he unlocked the gate.

He stepped onto hallowed ground and Jason and Patrick gulped audibly as they watched him cross himself.

“Follow me,” Wayne said gruffly.

The two boys hurried to obey.

They strolled through the cemetery to a relatively new part of the grounds. It had roughly ten or so headstones all about the same age, dirty and overgrown.

“You’ll start with scrubbing each of these headstones,” he told them. “I will teach you how to clean them properly and that is what you will do until I say otherwise.”

“Sir?” Patrick asked, raising his hand timidly.

Wayne huffed and cocked an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Why are they like that?” he asked a little more sure. “Doesn’t anyone come to mourn them?”

Wayne licked his lip slowly. “This is the old Harrington pack. These are all those that sided with alpha Jack Sullivan when he chose to hunt humans in my town.”

“So they are monsters,” Jason sneered.

Wayne was on him in a second, hand wrapped around his throat. “Let me make it clear, boy. Ted Bundy was human. H.H. Holmes was human. Adolf Hitler was human. Fucking Caligula was human. Nasty people do all sorts of nasty ass shit. Monsters don’t exist. Just bad people doing horrible things to others.”

Jason’s eyes were wide. He could feel Wayne’s hand on his throat but it was so feather light he could almost trick his mind that it wasn’t there. That he could escape.

But that part of his brain that lit up when there was a predator nearby wouldn’t let him. It would take all of a single heartbeat for Wayne Munson to crush his windpipe. He would be dead before he even hit the ground.

“Steve Harrington could call you two monsters, after all,” Wayne growled. “Do you think he’d be right for it?”

Patrick refused to look at Jason or Wayne, just stared at the ground, worrying his bottom lip.

Jason’s eyes went wide as he looked into dark pools of Wayne’s eyes. What he found there weren’t the eyes of a beast or a monster, but of man granted the abilities to protect those he loved better than most.

If death was a suitable punishment for hunting and then attempted rape and murder of a woman, than why were they granted a boon when those laying there in the dirt did not.

“Why spare us?” Jason breathed. “Why not do us like you did them?”

“The mayor wanted me to,” Wayne explained. “Tearing you two apart would be as easy as ripping up a newspaper for kindling.”

“So why didn’t you?” Patrick asked, looking up at them.

“Because to me you are but infants in the grand scheme of things,” he said. “Killing you would have sent a message to the town, to the nation that hunting people like animals is not to be tolerated.”

He let go of Jason’s neck. “But do you want to know what else it would have done?”

The two boys shared a glance.

“It would have galvanized all the hunters in the country,” Wayne informed them. “They would have turned you two into martyrs. You would become their rallying cry. Hunters would have invaded our small town, killed anyone they thought was a vampire or werewolf. They wouldn’t have stopped to check either. No trials. No tests with silver. Anyone they thought was a supe, they’d be dead. This place would be in ruins in days.”

Jason and Patrick’s jaws dropped.

“And before you get any bright ideas,” he warned them, “all I have to do is turn you over to the law. Two months of a trial plus the automatic death sentence for hunting and you two are dead without the fuss.”

Patrick had started to believe him, but he knew Jason was going to a hard sell. But he had time.

“Now that’s all been cleared up,” Wayne said. “Let me show you how to clean these headstones and then you’ll be doing it all yourselves.”

They nodded and Wayne got to work. Once he was sure they had it, he perched on a nearby tree stump and watched.

*

“That boy shouldn’t be here,” Murray growled.

Steve sighed heavily. “So you have several times since sun up. The point of this is to teach him that werewolves aren’t the monsters from their fiction.”

They were standing in front of the compound entrance for Josh Bentley to arrive. Josh would work his first six weeks with the pack and his second six weeks with the coven. Chance would do the reverse.

Josh showed up on time, his parents trailing behind like frightened deer in the headlights.

Steve stepped forward. “Hey, Josh. Mr and Mrs Bentley. It’s nice to see you.”

Mr Bentley gripped Josh’s shoulders from behind tightly as Mrs Bentley held Josh’s hand tightly. They nodded mutely.

“So here’s how it’s going to go,” Steve continued as if they had greeted him back. “On the weekends he is here from sun up to sun down and then every day after school. He can tell you what he does here. Nothing he’ll see is a secret. However there will be areas that are off limits for his protection…” He cocked his head to side. “Mainly due to not having the strength to get there.”

They stared at him blankly and he laughed. “He’ll see what I mean later.” He held out his hand. “Come on, it’s time to show you around.”

Josh looked back at his dad, who nodded. He let go of his mom’s hand and walked toward Steve.

“This is Murray Bauman,” Steve explained. “He’s the sentry right now.”

“Why do you need a sentry if it’s not secret?” Josh asked.

Murray’s grin was slimy. “Yes, Steve, why do you need a sentry if it isn’t secret?”

“It not a secret what’s in a museum or art gallery either,” Steve said with a shrug, “but they still have people protecting it.”

“So it’s valuable?” Josh asked, eyes wide.

He ruffled the kid’s hair. “Not in the way you mean. It’s valuable because all life is valuable. One of our pups was a test subject of the last Dominus and we don’t want our own taken like that again.”

Josh nodded. They started walking through the woods, leaving a disgruntled Murray behind.

“That makes sense,” Josh said. “If someone hurt my family like that, I’m not sure I wouldn’t want to lock them to keep them safe, too.”

Steve nodded back. “Right. All the wolves are free to come and go as they will, but we screen outsiders now because it’s been scary for us.”

Josh ducked his head. “Like what we did.”

Steve stopped their trek through the woods and turned to him. “Very like. But that’s why you’re here and not Andy or Patrick or Jason. Because you realized on some level what they were doing was wrong, but went along with it because you wanted to be cool like you thought they were.”

Josh nodded. “I like basketball. It’s fun and Jason was the captain, you know. I thought it was going to be a little hazing thing. Because you were on the team, too. They made it sound like you knew it was coming and was in on it.”

Steve felt a cold sliver of dread down slip his spine. “What?”

Josh bit his lip.

“Yeah, they told us that the trap was fake and that it wasn’t real silver. Things started to get bad when they kept taking it farther and farther. The cross, the beatings...I don’t know what would have happened if that vampire had come and chased us off.”

Steve grabbed the boy’s shoulders. “Their plan was to kill me. The only reason Andy got off so lightly is that he ran when Eddie...” Josh frowned in confusion, “the vampire, swooped in to rescue me.”

Josh’s eyes went wide. “Shit, man! I swear I had no idea.”

“That’s what Sheriff Powell reported to Mayor Roberts,” Steve said. “That you and Chase had no idea what was going on. Both of you seemed to think it was a prank gone wrong.”

Josh nodded. “Honest, we did! We thought the hunter thing was just pretend. A macho club. I thought that it was a way to air out grievances. Talk about how wrong it was for them to be ruling our town.”

Steve cocked his head to the side. “But Powell and Roberts are both human. Until the attempt on my life this town was run by humans.”

Josh’s eyes went wider than Steve thought was possible on a human. “But I thought werewolves were traditionally the sheriff and vampires were the mayor!”

Steve stepped back. “Who told you that?”

Josh furrowed his brow. “It’s what they taught us in history, man.”

Steve raised his chin and heaved out a heavy sigh. “And this history lesson it wouldn’t happen to take place on a day most supernatural beings were out of class, say...the day after a full moon?”

Josh frowned as he thought back to all the times in history he heard about vampires and werewolves taking over the running of the town. “I don’t really remember, but I guess so.”

Steve’s second sigh was no less heavy. It looked like he was going to have to join the PTA.

“Come on,” he said. “Let me introduce you to the rest of the pack.”

Hopper and Joyce stayed back, but the rest rushed to meet Josh. Well, everyone but Lucas.

Lucas he already knew from basketball. The young man stood off to the side. Not hanging back like Joyce and Hopper, but not rushing to meet him either.

Lucas didn’t know how to act so he was waiting for a signal from his alpha. From his friend. From Steve.

Steve introduced the pack. The Wheelers, the Byers brothers, the Hendersons, the rest of the Sinclairs, and even Jane.

The remaining three, Joyce, Hopper, and Lucas waited to see what their alpha would do.

“In an unprecedented turn of events,” Steve said with a lopsided smile, “we have the previous alpha male and female, Jim Hopper, you know, and Joyce Byers.”

Josh cocked his head to the side. “Awk-ward.”

Steve laughed. And even Joyce couldn’t quite hide her smile.

Josh looked around. “I don’t see anything that I could do for you guys,” he said honestly.

Steve turned to three members of the pack that he hadn’t introduced yet. “This Tommy Hagen, Carol Perkins, and Robin Buckley. They’re keepers. What they do for the pack is what you’ll be learning how to do the time you’re here.”

Josh looked at the three older teenagers skeptically. “What can they do?”

Steve grinned. “Mortal families looking for prestige will send their sons or daughters to the pack to become keepers. They aren’t werewolves, they can’t change at will or in the light of the full moon, but they are stronger, faster, and more agile then your average human.”

“More durable too!” Robin said excitedly. “I haven’t broken a single bone since I became a keeper. It’s so cool!”

Josh frowned. “Do you guys remain keepers until you die or what happens?”

Tommy and Carol shared a glance, before Carol said, “You can stay a keeper all your life, you live longer than the average human, but not as long as a werewolf. Or you can go back to being human when you leave the pack to go to college or whatever. It looks killer on any resumé or application.”

“Or...” Tommy said, “you can ask to be made a werewolf. The alpha can always say no, but you can always ask. And even if the alpha does say yes, it doesn’t mean that it’ll take. But it’s not as though you’ll be maimed or killed if it doesn’t. So some people take the risk.”

“Today,” Steve said, gently steering the conversation away from transformations, “you’ll help Carol get supplies and she’ll show you where they’re put.”

“Shopping run?” Josh asked. Carol nodded. “Hell yeah. Count me in.”

Steve laughed at his enthusiasm. “Don’t say that or you’ll become her shopping buddy for life.”

Carol grinned wolfishly, but Josh just grinned back.

Josh ran off with Carol and they were chatting like old friends.

Nancy came up behind Steve and put her arm around his waist. “This was a really good idea. He gets to see how much we are the same and how special we are without all the negative mind dump the general public feeds him.”

Steve hummed. “I’m concerned about some of the things he was telling me on the way in about how negative the portrayal of us is. I need to talk to Wayne, but since he’s busy with Jason and Patrick, Eddie will have to do.”

Nancy poked his ribs and he squirmed.

“You just want to see your boyfriend,” she teased.

Steve kissed the top of her head. “Guilty as charged. But it is important I talk to him and Wayne about what Josh said. Hold down the fort for me?”

“Always.”

He gave her a hug and shifted, running for the direction of Forest Hills Trailer Park.

****

Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @goodolefashionedloverboi @bookbinderbitch @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @itsall-taken @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @littlewildflowerkitten @vecnuthy @redfreckledwolf @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @just-a-tiny-void @potato-of-the-lord @goosesister @tinyplanet95 @anaibis @she-collects-smut @irregular-child

[bryan360]

Here’s my note before I’ll get started….

(NO COPYING OR PLAGIARIZING FROM ME AND ONE OF MY CLOSEST FRIEND’S WORK! THAT INCLUDES OUR CHARACTERS, DESIGNS, STUFF, ETC. IMPOSTERS AND SEXBOTS ARE NOT WELCOME TO FOLLOW MY BLOG WHATSOEVER! 😡 That will be all….I mean it.)

“Day 1: Looney 🐰🔨”

Welcome to my next chapter of 🎃Inktober 2023! Sorry for keeping you waiting that I’m still working through some of them left before the next day comes. Let’s just say not everything is perfect, but as long I’m still in the game without losing tracks. At least I still got plenty of few completed Inktober artworks from past months. That sure keep it busy while hoping to get though others before this month ends.

Anyways, here’s the first one for this squirrel boy’s Inktober appearance. Despite being a “shyful” bushy tailed friend who won’t hurt a fly, but why not letting him doing some slapstick tricks in his sleeves? Make that wearing his rabbit-like sleeves and went hammering this pumpkin at night.

🥜Brown: Just wanted to have this as a tribute for CN’s 31st birthday/anniversary moments. I’m supposed to be like Bugs Bunny and ran with it. At least I didn’t get to hurt no one, but at the pumpkin patch said otherwise. Priceless? Yeah. Ruining someone’s patch? Yikes. 😬 Do hope no one caught me after this.

BTW, I also had my list written and a new themed logo ready. Though through 20th to 30th remains a mystery due to not decision yet. I tried my best as we’re going forward til October is over. Wish me luck for this year if I’m having “other tasks” to cover up as well.

Brown (in his rabbit suit) (not the only one) created by me: BryanVelasquez87 (Bryan360)

Tagged: @murumokirby360 @carmenramcat @alexander1301 @rafacaz4lisam2k4 @paektu

[noforkingclue]

Pls do some gabriel x god!reader where reader is one of the pagan god at the meeting by kali and baldur. Whether reader is good friend of gabriel or former lover like kali is up to u. But whatever happen ur last meet gabriel didnt end well now reunion will they patch up? Thanks in advance.

Of course anon! Hope you like the fic :)

Title: One Last Warning

Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary, @byebyebreezywrites, @spngingerbread21, @layazul, @lov3vivian, @simonsbluee

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you hissed when you realised who pulled you into the room, “And get your hands off of me.”

“Relax, sweetheart-“

“Don’t you ‘sweetheart’ me, Loki,” you jabbed him on the chest, “Or have you stopped going by that now, Gabriel?”

“You know me,” Gabriel smirked but did let go, “Always got a trick or five up my sleeve.”

You gave him one last glare and turned to leave the room. Your last meeting with the archangel turned trickster didn’t end well and you didn’t fancy reuniting with him any time soon. It didn’t matter that your argument happened almost five hundred years ago, you were still pissed at him. Gabriel sighed and with a click of his fingers you found yourself sitting on the bed.

“What the fuck?”

Before you could get up Gabriel was in front of you. He sat down next to you and after a moment’s hesitation, put a hand on your knee. You raised an eyebrow at how uncharacteristically serious he was being and a feeling on uneasiness settled in the pit of your stomach.

“What’s wrong?” you asked

“Oh the usual,” Gabriel grinned at you, “Just the apocalypse. My brothers. Nothing new.”

“Don’t bullshit me.”

“I want you to leave.”

“Excuse me?”

You tried to stand up but Gabriel was stronger and he grabbed your arm. You let out a string of ancient curse words as you were yanked back down onto the mattress. You had forgotten just how strong Gabriel actually was. Even before you knew he was an archangel he had always been unusually strong, even for a God.

“It isn’t safe for you here.”

“Shouldn’t you be telling Kali that?”

“Is that jealousy I detect?” Gabriel asked with a smirk as he leant closer, “I didn’t think you were the Goddess of Jealousy.”

“Be serious Gabe.”

“About this, so am I.”

Gabriel grabbed your hands and gave them a squeeze.

“I’m going to try and stop this,” he said, “But if I can’t,” he took a deep breath, “I don’t want you here.”

“Why.”

“Trust me, darling.”

“No nicknames.”

“You started it.”

“No I didn’t! You called me ‘sweetheart’.”

“Fine,” Gabriel rolled his eyes, “You continued it. Happy?”

“How?”

“You called me ‘Gabe’.”

You opened and closed your mouth a couple of times as you realised your slip up. Gabriel had that same smug look on his face that made you want to slap him all over again. You clenched your fist tightly.

“Tell me why I should leave,” you said firmly, “And I might consider it.”

Gabriel sighed and for a second you thought he wasn’t going to tell you. Then he said,

“My brother. He will kill you.”

“We-“

“No, you won’t be able to stop him. Just for once, will you listen to me?”

“Once,” you stood up, your anger now returned in full blast, “I listened to you once, Gabriel. You remember how that turned out? So no, you will not be telling me what to do anymore. Sorry but you had your chance once and you blew it. Goodbye Gabriel.”

You walked towards the door and paused before leaving. You gave Gabriel one last look before shaking your head a disappearing. You could only hope that for once he was wrong about something.

[alfredosauce50]

Welcome to Wolfs Rock [Werewolf! America x reader]

Wordcount: 4, 913 Synopsis: It’s only the first day of your trip to Wolfs Rock, and Alfred is already getting on your nerves. You’re both eager to make things work, but the arrival of a handsome third-wheeler jeopardizes the efforts. Mathias Densen, the camp coordinator. Strangely enough, he ends up being a bigger help to your relationship than expected. When Alfred goes missing, he helps you find him. It’s a nightmare on your end, but it’s more of a mystical daydream to Alfred. The reader is referred to as she/her.

It all started on the camping trip in September.

Being not too cold and not too hot, it was meant to be the best month of the year to go and explore the wilderness. Alfred couldn't shut up about a resort inner state. He was always an outdoorsy person, and this place practically knocked his socks off.

Because rather than going old school and pitching up a tent, you were both staying in a picturesque wooden lodge.

He booked a spot overlooking a lake. Surrounding that was a thick forest of pine trees, making for the perfect hiking trail. You haven't even had a chance to admire the scenery yet, having been stuck being the bellboy, towing around his things.

Racing up the stairs to the porch, he spun around and gleamed at you. "Hurry up, already! I'm dying to see the inside of this lodge!" He exclaimed eagerly, turning back to slot the key into the door. "Man, this place already looks better than the pictures."

You hauled up both of your suitcases with a heavy huff. "You know you can go inside first, right? You've always been ahead of me." He shot you a funny look at what you said before taking your hand. The trip had barely started, and you were giving him attitude. Well, pre-attitude. But he wasn't having any of it.

"And you know I'd never go inside without you, babe. Now cheer up, okay? I'm sorry I dragged you around," Alfred sighed, catching a small smile stretch your lips. "That's my girl." The guy had a way with words, so you found yourself forgiving him faster than you wanted. That didn’t mean you couldn’t be mad during the moment, though.

The excitable goof kept running off and leaving you behind. With his things. His fishing gear.

"Ditch me again and I’m taking the car home, Al."

He laughed nervously. "Wouldn’t be the first time."

"That’s how you know I’m serious."

"So I'll chase you down the road. Works eventually," He added, catching a light glare from you. "And we won't be doing that today." He whispered. Taking your cheek in one hand, he leaned in and pressed a warm kiss to your mouth. It was slow and heated, as always. When you returned it, which was hard enough already, Alfred couldn’t help noticing how gentle you were being.

And he didn’t do well with gentle.

"It’s like you hate being around me sometimes," He mumbled over your lips. "What is your problem?" Your attitude transferred to him through the kiss, but he had another way of expressing it. He was leaning in for seconds, and you weren't too thrilled.

Before he could even graze his tongue on you, you clamped a hand over his mouth. "My problem is that you can't take me seriously," You murmured. He blinked, taken aback by your as-a-matter-of-factly tone. "So it’s just as much of a you problem." Releasing him at that, you made your way up the stairs with your things.

Alfred usually would've offered to take your stuff up for you, but it didn't look like you wanted the help.

"But whatever. I don't wanna fight with you."

He hung his head, feeling a hard frown work into his features. So much had changed since you first got together with him. You two weren't always going back and forth at each other. Disagreeing over anything and everything. The chemistry changed for the worse, but one thing remained constant.

He was still crazy about you. Whether you felt the same was a question that needed answering. Once Alfred got his things upstairs, he sat on the bed and watched you change. With his legs sprawled and hands behind his back, he kept a lazy, dazed stare on your form as you took your shirt off. This was the best part. Until he got caught, that is.

Spinning to him with your face flushed red, you tore him a new one. "What're you doing here? Get out!" His eyes widened as a prominent blush took over. Looks like he just made a huge mistake. So he stood up, moved away, and backed up slowly. "Are you dense? Go!" You gave him a strong shove back. He stopped abruptly by the stairs to keep his footing.

"Aye, ooh—" He threw his hands up defensively. "I’m sorry! I just thought you’d be okay with it."

"No, you peeping Tom! If you had your glasses on, you’d be at the bottom of the stairs by now." You finished, walking to the other side of the room.

Alfred covered his eyes. "So, do I go downstairs?"

He couldn’t understand why you were so mad, so maybe he was dense. It went without saying that he’d seen you in less, and none of those times ended with him getting pushed down the stairs.

"Just turn around. I need your help with sunscreen."

The two of you hiked around the mountains for the rest of the day. You only managed a few bad photos of chipmunks, but that didn’t matter when you took great ones with Alfred. He certainly talked enough to be one. By the time you returned to camp for dinner, you'd forgotten what you were so annoyed at him for. Maybe him getting hurt had something to do with it.

"Only kids trip over their own feet," You laughed, pushing him to the side to get him staggering all over again. "Some track star you are."

Alfred shot you a heated glare. "I'm not a kid. I just couldn't see the weird shrubs an' stuff!" He kicked at a stray pebble on the path, but missed it completely. "If you had eyesight as bad as me, you'd get it."

"Nobody could have eyesight as bad as you."

That comment alone got him chasing you around in circles. "Big deal, I got my glasses!" Being starved half to death and tired out of your mind, you let him catch you with ease. While he panted over your face, he pressed breathy kisses all over it. "My foot's getting worse and it's all your fault."

"Stop!" But he kept going, and you never pulled away. Instead, you returned the affection and wrapped your arms around his neck. While your lips met again and again, the only thing you could think about was this—it felt good to be on the same page as him again.

Getting him to sit down had never been so difficult. So you promised you'd get him a little bit of everything, and that did the trick. While you ran off in the cafeteria, you had your head turned to the guy, watching him beam at you with two thumbs up. What an idiot, you thought, but you weren't so much better yourself when you ran right into someone.

The collision was hard, almost as if you ran into a pole. When you glanced up at them, it became clear why—he was huge. "I'm so sorry! I wasn't looking where I was going," You apologized. Your uneasiness, however, melted away when you heard him laugh. When he fell quiet, his energy never left his toothy grin. Something about him reminded you of Alfred.

Blonde, blue eyes, and oozing with charisma. But rather than having his bangs swept to one side, his hair stuck up in all sorts of directions.

He hadn't even opened his mouth yet, and you could tell his personality was just as big as he was. "Don't worry about it! Didn't feel a thing," He piped, turning to the side to hand you a tray. "Here you go. Oh, and don't get the coleslaw. It tastes like soggy newspaper shavings."

"Thank y—" Before you could manage another word, the stranger pulled out a plate from nowhere and plopped a few potatoes on it. "—ou." He set the plate on your tray and gleamed at you.

"Try this. It’s the best thing in the cafeteria. I'd know cuz' I made it myself."

"Wow, um—" Your gaze traveled down to his dress shirt, and over his breast pocket was a name tag. That explained a lot. "—thanks, Mathias," He gave his name tag a playful tap as if to say, that's me. You gave a firm smile as you leaned down to take another tray. "You work here as one of the chefs?"

The man followed you down the aisle. "Eh, a little bit of this, a little bit of that. I'm the camp coordinator,"

"And they let you in the kitchen?" Mathias shrugged. "Huh. Sounds like fun." You mused, filling up two cups with ice-cold water.

"That's why I work here," He hummed, extending a hand to point at your trays. If the second one wasn't for you, then—"Is this your way of asking me out?"

Alfred suddenly felt a sharp pain shoot through his leg. "Agh. Stupid foot," Kicking it up onto a chair, he pulled up his pant leg and inspected it. His foot was cramping, and the bandages around his leg were loosening by the second. "Dammit. Some camping trip this is." While he tightened up the rings of white, he caught sight of two figures in his peripherals. One of them he recognized to be you, but the other was a complete stranger. "...?"

You were walking in his direction, and so was he.

"Making friends already, are we?" Alfred mused. You took a seat opposite him while the stranger slid a plate his way. He eyed his food for a moment before catching sight of the name tag. "Oh. Never mind," He would’ve left it at that if it weren’t for your newest pal pulling out a chair. "... Uh... Who’s this?" He tried to be friendly, but his face wasn’t having it.

"Just some dude I bumped into," You explained eagerly. Mathias beamed at Alfred, whose brows were raised in an unimpressed look. "Turns out he organizes everything here. And I was kinda hoping he’d help you with your bandages."

"Right," Alfred tensed up. Great, now he felt bad. The Dane leaned forward and set a first aid kit on the table, making the cutlery rattle. "Wait, wait, wait. You don’t have to do that! I’m totally good. See?" He pulled his pant leg up to reveal a sloppy job of patching himself up. "It’s drying up."

Mathias craned his head to the side. "I dunno about that, friend. You don’t wanna get an infection," He rolled his sleeves up and started rummaging through the trauma kit. And damn, was he ripped. "Alcohol is best for stuff like this."

Alfred wrinkled his nose. "Alcohol? But—agh, fuck!"

"Dude," You whispered-shouted, darting your eyes to the table beside. A couple of kids were staring and cackling at the man who just dropped an F-bomb.

"Fudge! Hey, can you chill with the rubbing?"

The act of kindness turned into something else. It used to be just you and him, but Mr. Camp Coordinator here decided he didn’t have a job to work anymore. Alfred even brought that up disguised as a harmless joke, but Mathias was too unassuming. "But I am doing my job! I’m making sure everybody’s having a good time. Trust me, you’ll have a better day with your leg all fixed up," He grinned, giving his back a few hard slaps to make his torso bounce.

"Yeah, okay, haha. Enough about the leg. I can’t even feel anything anymore," Alfred stared at him through his eyebrows. His reaction was more than enough to get you to slow your movements. What was his deal? Whatever it was, you figured that Mathias had overstayed his welcome. So you did what anybody would’ve done. You lied.

"So, Mat..." Mathias lit up while Alfred’s frown deepened. Mat? Really? "... Alfred and I were just gonna wrap up for the night. We were planning to get up early and go... Fishing,"

"Fishing? Awesome! You know, I’ll be around for the first info sesh. I’ll see you there!" The other chimed. While Alfred shot you an angry look, you shrugged in defeat. Just when he thought things couldn’t get any worse, Mathias got out of his chair and appeared behind you. There, he draped an arm over your shoulder. "So, what’s about that date? Yay or nay?"

Immediately after you gave him a no, Alfred pulled you out of the place. Needless to say, neither of you was joining Mathias for fishing in the morning.

"You said I was dense, but that’s what I call dense!" He hissed, pointing at the cafeteria accusingly. He gave his head a frustrated shake as he continued down the path. You followed after, feeling your chest tighten as he walked off without you. After a few suffocating seconds of silence, he marched back and pulled you into a tight hug. Thank God.

"I’m sorry. This is kinda my fault," He screwed his eyes shut while you squeezed him back. You were way past being upset at anybody, being drained in all manners someone could be drained. All you wanted was to curl up under the covers with him and forget what happened tonight. But fate had something else in store for you both.

"I need to cool off. I really want tonight to work," Alfred pulled away, showing you a small, albeit sweet smile that got you weak at the knees. Handing you the keys at that, he gave one final wave before disappearing into the dark in a brisk jog. "I'm gonna take a walk. A quick one. I'll be back before you know it! So, put on a movie or something!"

"Okay! Don't take too long!" You called back. "And watch the leg!" When you stood up straight again, you found yourself smiling in excitement. Aside from what went down earlier in the day, you were hopeful everything would pan out the way you wanted. He would’ve agreed if he heard you say it.

The walk back to your lodge was short. While you made your way back, you'd glance up at the night sky to watch nature's fireworks. The full moon was huge. There was something ethereal about its ghostly white glow, so it was too bad Alfred wasn't here to see it with you. Without warning, your train of thought was interrupted by a wolf’s howl.

"... Oh God." Letting him run off by himself didn't seem so good of an idea anymore. But you trusted him to be smart. So long as he stayed on the main street lit up by street lamps, the chances of him getting eaten were pretty low.

"Oh, cool! A secret trail!" Alfred mused. Diverging off the path he was on, he wandered into a darker area of the camp. It looked like a field they used to pitch up tents in. The edges were lined with tall pines, so he figured not to get any closer to them. "I guess this is where everything stops,"

He pulled out his phone to turn on the flashlight. The second he turned on the beam, he was met with a wolf sitting several yards away on the grass. Turning its head to the source of the light, it bared its fangs and let out a low growl. "Oh, shit—" He breathed, taking a few steps back. He needed to get the hell out of here before he had his face ripped off.

The animal began to rise, never tearing its reflective yellow eyes off the man before him. That was when Alfred entered panic mode.

While sweat ran down his temple like bullets, he stumbled out a few words. "Uh... Nice doggy?" The creature managed to stand, but not on all fours. Instead, it stood on two legs like a humanoid.

"Wait. What?"

It lunged forward and pounced on him, head-first.

"Pick up, pick up, pick up..." After several failed attempts at calling Alfred, you were really starting to freak out about the idea of finding his dead body somewhere in the woods. When he said he’d make it quick, you never thought it meant over an hour! That warranted an explanation over the phone, but he couldn’t do you the least of giving you that. So what did you do? You called for help.

"Yello? This is the camp coordinator of Wolfs Rock Camp. What may I assist you with that you need assisting with tonigh—"

"Mathias! Hey! Is this Mathias?" You spoke frantically, hearing a thoughtful hum from the other side.

"Yep, this is me. What can I help you with? Could you tell me your cabin number?"

"Alfred’s missing."

Two strong torch beams scanned around a spot on the wide asphalt road. Even after an hour of relentless searching, neither of you found any sign of him. You even returned to your lodge a few times, hoping to see him outside the door, waiting for you. But he never showed. Exhausted and worried sick, you collapsed onto a bench and hung your head.

Your companion took a seat next to you. "Here," Mathias held out a water bottle under your line of vision. "Clears up the mind. He’s gonna be okay, don’t worry."

Taking it with little hesitation, you downed a couple of generous gulps. "Thanks," You breathed, casting a wary gaze his way. "I don’t know, Mat. We disagree on a lot of things, but I think we’d both know that a few hours is way too long for a walk."

He shook his head with a sigh, then stared out into the distance. The street lamps were going out, one by one, indicating that it was well past ten. Once the last one went out, the whole campsite was plunged into darkness. To say it was eerie was an understatement. "This campsite has been around for longer than I have, and we’ve never had any missing person cases. Ever." Your frown deepened.

He rolled his head to you and showed an apologetic look. "I have to say that you guys are pretty unlucky."

"Very." You scoffed, returning the gesture with a tired smile of your own. "It doesn’t make sense how bad things can get. We’re either at each other’s throats, or something else messes things up for us. It’s almost as if... We’re not meant to be." Your expression saddened, capturing the strong ache in your chest.

Admitting a piece of reality never hurt more.

Mathias reflected that by making another compassionate face. "Hey, chin up. You guys are still together in the end, so I think that’s pretty amazing." He patted your shoulder encouragingly. "Count the lovers’ quarrels an’ stuff as a test. You guys must be crazy for each other to still be good, ya know?"

You lit up just a touch. "You really think so?"

"I know so," He stood up and offered a hand for you to take, and you did. "So, what do you say we save this boyfriend of yours? I know a few spots I haven’t checked yet. I have a good feeling he’d be there."

While he led you around, he’d turn around occasionally to check up on you. Are you okay? He’d ask. Wanna stop for a second? Running around with the guy was like riding the wind. Not only was he fast, but he was also strong enough to pull you around until you became weightless. It was one thing you missed about Alfred, and something you really liked about Mathias. "Alright. Let’s check around this area. If he’s not here, then we’ll have to get the police involved."

You nodded eagerly and ran off. "Thanks again for doing this. I couldn’t have asked for a better person for help." This field looked like an odd place to get lost in, but you had to leave no stone unturned.

He lifted a bush. "No worries! Just doing my job."

"And sorry about what happened at dinner. I didn’t mean to cause any misunderstandings." You continued, bending down to look under a deck.

"Nah, I’m way past that. People tell me I can’t read the room." Mathias called back, watching you walk off to another corner of the field. He turned around to keep looking. "But if things don’t work out with Alfred, I’m free on the weekend." You tripped over something on the ground, but it felt more like a someone than a something. He spun back around. "You know, if he turns out dead or someth—"

"Ahh!"

Mathias carried Alfred all the way back to your lodge. While the Dane cleaned and disinfected his wounds for the second time that night, you stuck around and asked how he was feeling. He’d given you the scare of a lifetime, laying on the ground like that. Not that disappearing for a few hours didn’t do it already. "Are you sure you’re okay? I was convinced I tripped over a dead body—" He gave you a floaty smile. "—I mean, you weren’t moving at all! Maybe we should call an ambulance or something."

"It’s fine, (F/N), I promise. I was just... Really tired," He explained, reaching out to nudge your face with his fingers. Alfred made a face as he laid on the couch. "That fight took a lot out of me, so I took a nap on the grass. But now that I’ve woken up, I feel... Better." His brows came together. "A lot better."

"Wait, you fought the wolf?"

"Well, I guess! He was even standing on two feet, so he had to use his arms to get me... It was like boxing a kangaroo, except not a kangaroo."

"Mathias, is it possible to get a concussion without hitting your head?" You turned to the said man, and he responded by inspecting Alfred’s head.

"Well, you technically could if someone shook you really hard," Mathias murmured, leaning over to examine his face this time. "But I doubt that happened. Maybe he had a nightmare,"

You breathed out a soft sigh. "That won’t happen again, at least. I’ll be sleeping with this idiot," Alfred closed his eyes and practically melted into the pillow. His smile was the biggest you’ve ever seen—you couldn’t bite back a small laugh when you caught it. "Okay, thunder thighs. If you’re so comfortable on the couch, I’ll let you sleep down here for the night."

He shot up and grabbed your hand, catching you completely off guard by his speed. "—?"

"No, I’m sleeping with you."

Your cheeks lit up as you averted his steely gaze. Mathias was still here. As if Mathias read your mind, his movements faltered while he worked with the bandages. He had a deep claw mark down his leg, but it was completely covered once he was finished. So as important as he was, he felt like he wasn’t supposed to be here. "..."

"I was just kidding, you dummy. Of course you are," Standing up from the couch at that, you gave him another look of concern. "I was really worried, you know. I’m never letting you run off by yourself ever again," Making your way around to his head, you leaned down and pecked his forehead. If you lingered your lips on him for any longer, you would’ve felt him heat up in a blush. This whole exchange wasn’t exactly private, after all.

"But if Mat says you’re gonna be okay, I’ll have to believe him." You walked off to the kitchen. "I’ll get you guys some water."

"Thanks! I’m parched!" Mathias glanced down at his patient, then shot him a wink. "Your girlfriend’s crazy about you, dude."

Alfred turned redder than a tomato. "What the hell, man? Just because she turned you down—"

"I’m serious! She couldn’t stop talking about you."

"Yeah, cuz’ I disappeared!"

"Trust me, friend. She’s more in love with you than you think." Mathias grinned. "You’ll see."

Alfred slept like a log that night. When he woke up, the first thing he did was go to the bathroom. After moving you carefully off his chest, he leaned over and put on his glasses. Was it just the morning rust, or was this thing super blurry? Seeing through the lenses made his vision worse than without them. "Huh." Setting them down on the bedside table, he decided he didn’t need them for now.

What he saw in the bathroom mirror, however, had him wondering if he needed his glasses after all.

His reflection showed him with a long, thick beard along with a head of messy, overgrown hair. A few seconds later, he let out the loudest scream.

Alfred’s eyes flew open, but he never stopped screaming. "Ahh!" When he quietened down, he quickly came to realize he was in the same spot as he was last night. The strange field where he met the strange wolfman. Was that all a dream? But that was beside the point. Something was on his legs. He assumed the worst as he scrambled up his feet, but he overreacted. Instead of an animal that was with him, it was a person. And it wasn’t just any person.

"(F/N)?!"

You rolled onto your back so you could better see him. "Alfred?!" You spluttered. The body you tripped over ended up being your boyfriend!

"Oh my God, Alfred!"

Jumping up so you could throw yourself on him, you wrapped your arms around his neck for a bone-crushing hug. "I was so worried! What the hell were you doing here? Why were you sleeping in a place like this? Was that why you never answered my calls?" While you examined his face frantically, he blinked furiously in shock. Only now did it hit him that everything in the last ten hours was a dream.

Getting carried back by Mathias, getting treated by Mathias, falling asleep, then waking up to a face full of hair. As he lingered on the fleeting memory, he grew distracted enough to lost his footing. Falling onto his ass with a grunt, he never managed to tell you off for it when you hugged him on his lap.

And there on his lap you remained.

He returned the embrace, making sure to pin your head down with his chin while he was at it. "Did you miss me?" He murmured, pressing a stretched out kiss to your cheek. It was a question easily answered by your tight hold on him.

How could he have ever doubted you?

"Your girlfriend’s crazy about you, dude!"

Whatever all that was about, he was slowly forgetting it already. The weird dream was vivid enough to give him the heebie-jeebies, but for some reason, he was glad he had it. But never mind that. What mattered was now, and having you forever. "I’m sorry I ran off."

You squeezed him desperately. It had only been a few hours, but it felt like forever since you’d seen him. "Nothing’s ever normal about you. You can’t even take a walk without getting a search party for you!"

Mathias jogged up to you both. "Looks like the gang’s all here! Good to have you back, dude."

Alfred let out a few breathy chuckles. Nothing was ever normal about you and him, was it? "Hey, let’s be nice. If you mean that as a compliment, I’ll take it," He closed his eyes and sighed contentedly. You were back to kissing him, but the affection translated to something tenfold of what he gave you. It didn’t look like you gave a damn about an audience, so he had to stop you before you got too carried away. "Hey, woah—save some for the bedroom—Ow, ow, ow!"

After giving him a hard pinch on the cheek, you stood up to thank Mathias again. Pulling him in for a hug, he spun you around a few circles before setting you down on your feet. "Maybe next time, eskler." He hummed, giving your head a gentle pat. "If something like this happens again and he doesn’t make it, the date’s still on the table!"

Alfred stood up again. "Could you leave my girlfriend alone?!" He picked up a pebble and threw it right into his head. "I’m not going anywhere anytime soon!"

"Ouch!"

You broke out into a laughing fit when you watched Mathias stumble forward a few steps. When you quietened down, it was just you and Alfred standing in the field. "You really aren’t," You murmured, glancing up at the man with a tender gaze. "But I’m not either." He was already staring, and those love-laden eyes were something you could barely stomach. Because whenever he looked at you like this, you couldn’t resist him. "Let’s go back to the lodge."

Alfred took your hand in his. "You read my mind," He grinned. While the two of you walked off, he noticed that his leg wasn’t hurting anymore. Getting clawed there never happened, but that hiking incident did. It was strange how fast he’d recovered.

"Well, I’ll be damned," He whispered under his breath. The cherry on top was the feeling of you grasping at his arm, a sure-fire sign that you were more than content with him. And the thought got him smiling from ear to ear.

"Maybe we aren’t as unlucky as we thought."

Once the field was empty again, something appeared by one of the pines. A wolf with a beautiful coat of grey fur. It was nothing like the mangy creature Alfred encountered, but there was one feature they shared. When it opened its eyes, a pair of brilliant golden irises were revealed.

I hope you guys enjoyed this. Here's a great photo I found of Alfred: https://i.pinimg.com/originals/00/a9/ec/00a9ec9e3d5952038c89b1c9fda38158.jpgwith

[comfortandfluff]

tagging key!

this is just my tagging key for all my reblogs, since i like making fancy tags, lol

tw: minor flashing lights under the cut!

irls!

(these characters are me irl! i dont mind you interacting if you kin/are also an irl, but i likely won't interact back)

spamton g. spamton // #number 1 rated salesman | spamton tag

scp-3817 // #art is pain | 3817 tag

roger retinz // #the ratings rajah | roger tag

topher // #the topher experience | topher tag

scp-662 // #i aim to please. | deeds tag

hubris d'obscene // #my dear sweet idiot! | hubris tag

william "maxwell" carter // #you don't look so good | maxwell tag

slappy // #not a dummy! | slappy tag

leonardo fortunato // #your avid worshipper | leon tag

sundrop // #keep the lights on | sundrop tag

guzma // #it's ya boy! | guzma tag

b.e.n-j.a.m.i.n // #bio-electronic navigator | b.e.n tag

claus // #let's play eye-spy... | claus tag

benjamin // #my greatest invention! | benjamin tag

oliver // #the power of mornstar | oliver tag

the projectionist // #was it worth it? | projectionist tag

synpaths!

(i just relate or connect strongly with these characters!!!)

giratina // #forgotten by god | giratina tag

spiritomb // #entrenched in shadow | spiritomb tag

enderman in a suit // #i can see you | enderman tag

f/os!

(these are my fictional crushes <3<3<3 i love them so bad. please don't interact if you openly bash any of these characters or mock those who like them!)

zote the mighty // #the greatest warrior! | zote tag

swaine // #the art of pickpocketing | swaine tag

zip vector // #i'm a genius! | zip tag

patches // #tricks up my sleeve | patches tag

reddington rousseau // #a method actor | reddington tag

snatcher // #your contract has expired | snatcher tag

the conductor // #pecking idiots! | conductor tag

king dice // #hi-de-ho! | king dice tag

mortimer freeze // #our world of ice | mortimer tag

chef saltbaker // #two cups' souls | saltbaker tag

jevil // #chaos! | jevil tag

mike // #turn on the tv! | mike tag

rouxls kaard // #thoust have courage! | rouxls tag

swatch // #cozy up | swatch tag

wilson higgsbury // #the gentleman scientist | wilson tag

robert wagstaff // #a scientist's blight | wagstaff tag

wes // #people-pleaser's balloons | wes tag

pale king // #no cost too great | pale king tag

chairman rockwell // #halcyon's ruler | rockwell tag

karloff mennis // #fear got me here. | karloff tag

dwayne pipe // #the brighter the bug | dwayne tag

manov mistree // #mr. reus... 2! | manov tag

bill cipher // #buy gold! | bill tag

paulo ravinski // #i'll sacrifice anything! | paulo tag

orin scrivello // #i am your dentist! | orin tag

[cal-kestis]

You Mean More | Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

(Part III of The Aftermath of Losing Everything)

moodboard/sketch/gifs made by me, please don’t repost :)

Summary: The plan goes as follows: Send the Mandalorian to the Imperial base under the guise of full cooperation and stall the holoprojector Imp for as long as possible. This will give you enough time to sneak in through an air vent, find a terminal, and hack the system, wiping every Imperial archive of Din Djarin's face. It should work, right? As long as no one gets hurt. (Set after S2) Rating: M    Word Count: 8023 Warnings/Tags: Soft!Din, Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, no use of ‘Y/N’, non-explicit smut, canon-typical violence, blood A/N: This is what they call: the climax.

[PART I] // [PART II] // [Read on AO3] // [Series Masterlist]

xi.

As Din flies to the Imperial base, the only sounds filling the cockpit are the low beeps of the control board and the tense quiet of your voice repeating the plan for the twenty-third time. When you finally land on an icy planet, you see the base outside the viewport blending in with its snowy surroundings — white, cold, frozen in time — and two stormtroopers flanking either side of the sealed entrance.

“Check your comlink,” Din says, voice gentle and authoritative. 

“Testing, testing. Cuyan to Shiny Head, do you copy?” You whisper-shout into the device, watching as his gloved hand reaches for the side of his helmet, listening to your words spoken directly into his ear. He nods.

“You’re not calling me ‘Shiny Head’ by the way.”

You want to laugh. Normally, you would. But anxiety drops low in your stomach again as you peer out to the base. 

“This is going to work,” you whisper and he wonders whether you’re saying that for his sake or to convince yourself.

“Don’t leave the ship until I give you the signal,” he says, his hands grasping both of your shoulders, thumbs brushing your upper arms in gentle circles. You only nod in response, your eyes boring into the visor of his helmet, biting your lip hard enough to draw blood. When he pulls you against his chest and tightens his grip, your body sinks into his, trying to memorize how you fit together in case it’s all you have left. Too soon, he’s letting go, leaving only the crown of his helmet connected to your forehead when he echoes your words, “This is going to work.”

The moment he exits the ship, you sprint to the engine bay and pull the ship’s electro-periscope from the ceiling. Through the red-tinted binoc lens, you have a magnified view of the Mandalorian as he saunters up to the base’s entrance, not even flinching as the stormtroopers draw their blasters.

You watch his helmet turn wide to the left and swing slowly to the right, scanning the base as the troopers check his person and confiscate his blaster. The stormtroopers step back to their posts, leaving Din standing in the middle of the snow outside of a round, closed door. Waiting.

“Cuyan Two to Cuyan One,” you mutter into the comlink. “What are you seeing?”

You’re met with a long gap of static and you panic, thinking the coms are jammed, before he finally answers.

“You were right, Cuyan One,” he whispers, the hint of a smile in his voice despite the circumstances. “There’s a small duct to the left of the entrance. You’ll have to distract the guard troopers.”

“I can manage.”

“I know you can,” he says, steadfast as ever. Din believes in you without an ounce of hesitation and it makes you feel like you could command stars into existence and the galaxy would obey. “After I give the signal, go to my weapons locker. There’s a locked box at the bottom. Punch in my code and take the bag inside it with you."

“What’s in it?” You ask, watching as the doors to the base finally open, revealing another pair of stormtroopers, one with red markings on their armor. A Burner, more infamously known as an Incinerator Trooper.

“Things to keep you safe,” he answers quickly.

One of the guards gives Din’s blaster to the troopers now leading him into the base. And before the doors close, you see Din’s fingers interlock behind his back: the signal.

Focusing the periscope on the two guard troopers, you scan the area again, looking for a way to distract them without causing a scene. Aside from a patch of bushes to the right of the base, the area is blanketed in pure white snow with nothing to give you cover. Great.

As you think over your next move, you run to Din’s weapons cabinet and rummage through his arsenal, finding the locked box under an old cloak. You punch his code into the number pad — 47648, ‘GROGU’ on a 10-key pad you remember with a bittersweet smile — and the box opens with a quiet click. As promised, there’s a small tan-colored pouch with a shoulder strap and, inside it, you find a blaster that fits perfectly in your hand and what looks like a silver sword hilt, its blade completely missing. You run your fingers across the angular handle, confused as to how a bladeless weapon could “keep you safe.” But when your finger presses over a smooth panel on the hilt, a high-pitched sound emits from its chamber and a black blade glows in front of your face. 

A lightsaber, you think, like the ones Din had told you about what feels like a lifetime ago. But this one isn’t green like the one he’d described Grogu’s master used or white like Ahsoka Tano’s twin sabers. It's dark and blinding, laced with an energy you’re far too frightened to wield. You retract the blade almost immediately, heart racing as you stuff both weapons into the worn bag and sling it over your shoulder.

Taking a long, steadying breath, you slowly step onto the boarding ramp — thanking the Maker Din had the sense to leave it down so it wouldn’t make a noise and blow your cover. He hadn’t parked the ship too far from the entrance and you can clearly see the duct he’d mentioned a few yards away. If you can just get the stormtroopers to turn in the other direction, you could sprint and be in the clear.

The plan is dumb, you know it. But it’s already the day of dumb plans and it’s all you have. Kneeling, you gather a mass of powdery snow in your gloved hands and press it together until it clumps into a dense ball. With your arms outstretched in front of you, you close your eyes and reach out with your mind, focusing your thoughts on the ball of snow in your palms.

The snow levitates high above you, high above even the Imperial base, and toward the trooper standing on the right side of the entry. You lower the ball just to his head-level and out of his eyesight, flick your wrist slowly to the right to gain some momentum, then snap it quickly to the left, smacking the stormtrooper hard against his helmet.

“What the hell?” You hear the stormtrooper shout, shuffling back on his feet.

“What happened?” The other asks.

“I just got hit with a snowball?” He answers with his own question, rubbing the side of his helmet.

You focus your thoughts again, this time, reaching out toward the bushes to the right of the base, causing the branches to wiggle and rustle. 

The two troopers snap their heads in the direction of the mysterious sound, walking slowly with their blasters aimed and ready. And when they reach the bushes, aimlessly kicking at the shrubs with their boots, you run for it.

Your lungs are on fire when you reach the duct, fingers trembling as you quietly jiggle off the vent’s cover to give yourself an opening. You crawl in the chamber and quickly replace the cover before the stormtroopers return to their posts.

Once you’re safe inside the duct, you turn Din’s line back on so you can hear his side of the mission.

“I’m in,” you whisper.

On his end, you hear him grunt quietly in acknowledgment before the line is filled with only the faint sound of marching boots. 

You have no idea where you’re going — probably the dumbest part of your entire plan — but you hope to stumble upon a terminal or control room sooner rather than later so you and Din can leave this nightmare in the past.

The base’s air vent system proves to be an endless maze, however, with forks and crossroads at every turn. Your knees start to ache as they press and slide across the metal ducting, your hands leaving trails of water as the thin layer of ice on your gloves melts away. You freeze when you hear footsteps below the air duct, holding your breath as you peer through the slits of a vent to see a platoon of stormtroopers marching through the corridor.

After what feels like hours, you finally find a small, surprisingly empty room filled with computer terminals and open a vent panel before quietly dropping down from the ceiling.

By no means would you call yourself a hacking wizard, but you had some tricks up your sleeve. Years of scraping by on your own will teach you a host of odd skills. Within seconds, you bypass the facial scanners and begin combing through the archives before you hear some static crackle in your earpiece once again.

“Please, no need for formalities," you hear a faint voice taunt through Din’s com. “We already know what you look like.”

It’s the holoprojector Imp, the familiar sound of her throaty voice floods your ears. Din doesn’t respond, and you imagine him standing like a statue, calculating the odds and armed with nothing but beskar and silence.

“Very well,” the Imp says. “Leave the helmet on. We have more important matters to discuss.”

“I almost have it,” you whisper to Din, hoping your encouraging progress can serve as another weapon.

“Now, Din Djarin,” the Imp calls, his name dripping out of her mouth like venom. “Don’t think we’d be so foolish to believe you’d assist us willingly. Assume that we know everything.”

A shiver runs down your spine from the thinly concealed threat, and your fingers fly faster over the controls as time slips through the cracks. 

Finally, you find it, a record labeled: ‘Din Djarin.’ And you erase every trace of him.

“Got it, Cuyan One,” you sigh a breath of relief into the comlink.

“For example,” the Imp is still talking, and you roll your eyes knowing you’ve already won. “We know you did not come here alone.”

Suddenly, the blast doors of the terminal room open with a whoosh, and you back up against the machines as two stormtroopers corner you in. With a blessed shred of forethought, you blindly pull one of the weapons out of Din’s bag behind your back and sneak it into the back waistband of your pants, covered by your thick cloak. Just as you thought, one stormtrooper tears the bag from your shoulder, looking inside to find the other weapon without searching you further.

They push you down the corridor, jabbing you in the middle of your back with the barrel of their blasters, and you count each step before stopping in front of a heavy-looking door on the shadowy end of the hall.

Din’s voice enters your ears at the same moment. 

“If you even think about hurting her, you’re already dead.”

The door opens, revealing a dark room bathed in ominous red light. In the middle, the holoprojector Imp stands with her legs spread and her hands behind her back, flanked by two stormtroopers. Somehow, the Imp looks even paler without the blue tint of holo coloring her skin. It makes her eyes appear pitch black in comparison, piercing as they slant at you in unmasked scrutiny. She wears the same darkness in her hair which is cut blunt and short, severe against her skeletal pallor. In front of her, Din kneels on the ground, the Burner standing only a few steps behind him, flamethrower at the ready.

With your two captors holding you by the arms in a room filled with enemies, the odds feel slim to none. Din’s helmet turns to you, his beskar shrouded in red, and you do your best to send him a reassuring smile.

The Imp suddenly says your full name, a grin splitting her face in half when you turn to her in shock. “So nice of you to join us.”

“You already lost,” you spit at the Imp, grinning wider than her. “I erased the archives. You have nothing.”

“Oh, such a pretty, foolish girl,” the Imp sings and you hear the teasing, grating noise from both her true voice and its distortion through your comlink. With your arms trapped, you can’t even turn off the device, and you cringe each time the dissonance scratches its way into your ears. “You may have wiped the systems but I have a backup drive,” she smirks, patting the badge-decorated pocket on her uniform. “In fact, I’ve also collected some interesting records on you, my dear. About your family, your… history.”

She’s bluffing, she has to be.

“Assume that we know everything,” the Imp repeats. 

“Who are you?” You grit through bared teeth.

She laughs and you wipe your ear on your shoulder in disgust.

“Surely you both understand if I choose to withhold certain information. One's identity can be so very…” the Imp pretends to consider her words, glancing at Din and then sneering back at you as she taps a gloved finger against her pale, pointed chin. “Valuable.”

You lunge at her, a snarl ripping from your throat, but a trooper holds you back with a painful grip, his blaster digging into your side.

“Now, Din Djarin,” the Imp says, turning her attention back to the kneeling warrior. “If you don’t want to watch me kill your partner, you’ll do as I wish. Help me retrieve Gideon. Otherwise, you both shall die here.” Her blaster clicks as she points the barrel between his eyes with horrifying gracefulness. 

“No!” You scream, turning every weapon in the room on you.

“Let her go,” Din practically growls.

“Ah,” the Imp says, walking to where you stand on the other side of the room, her weapon dangling like a child's toy from her fingers. “Or perhaps the girl can be of better help? With the proper motivation, of course. Tell me, where are they keeping the Moff? I wouldn’t want to be forced to make a roast out of your Mandalorian.”

With a snap of the Imp’s fingers, the Burner points his flamethrower at Din’s head. But somehow, in that same instant, you manage to rip yourself out of the troopers’ holds, making them stumble backward. And your hand flies forward, lifting the Imperial officer from the ground.

The troopers seem dumbfounded by the magic they’re witnessing, blasters pointed at the ground in their stupor. You can almost see their slack-jawed expressions through their helmets as the Imp clutches her hands around her throat, gasping for air and hovering a foot above the floor.

“A Jedi?” She croaks.

Assume that we know everything. You knew it. A bluff.

“Wrong again,” you grin, pushing your hand forward and sending the Imp soaring across the room. Her head hits metal with a heavy crash, falling unconscious, and at the same time, a loud alarm sounds throughout the base. Somehow, the red of the room grows darker and more saturated as lights flash on the ceiling.

Blaster fire ricochets off the red-tinted walls when the troopers come back to reality, the blasts deafening as you dodge them, thankful it’s just a group of bad-shot stormtroopers and not an elite unit.

One stormtrooper charges toward you, raising the butt of his blaster to strike, but you kick him hard in the stomach, plowing him into the floor. In the corner of your eye, you see Din twist in a circle, his wrists still bound behind him as he sweeps his leg under the Burner, making the trooper fall backward with a thud.

You rush over to Din, pulling the saber from your waistband and igniting the blade to cut his binders off. You wordlessly hand him the sword but he pushes it back toward you.

“Use it,” he says, squeezing your wrist before turning back to knock the flamethrower out of the Burner’s grasp.

You’ve been in your fair share of scuffles back on Tatooine, even some while working with the Mandalorian — but you’ve never fought with a sword before. Clumsily, you swing the blade in front of you, brandishing it toward the troopers without skill.

“How do I use this thing?” You shout at Din who is busy punching a stormtrooper and taking back his blaster.

“It’s a sword,” he yells over the alarm, shooting a third clueless trooper. “Stab something!”

With both hands gripping the hilt, you send the blade slicing through the air, a loud humming sound echoing in your ears with each swing. And when you hit the side of one final stormtrooper, the strike punctuated by a roaring crackle, he’s on the ground, his white armor sizzling as it melts.

But while the chaos in the red room settles, a larger battle brews outside its doors.

“I erased it, they have nothing,” you explain breathlessly, retracting the saber as Din surveys your body for injuries. You pull Din’s bag off the fallen trooper and replace the sword inside. “The Imp was bluffing.”

You run over to the unconscious woman regardless, checking her pockets. Empty.

“Are you sure?” He asks when you return to him, holding your trembling shoulders.

“Positive. It’s like I could sense it.”

A loud crash echoes in the corridors, making you jump away from him.

“Let’s get out of here,” Din says, at the same moment you scream, “Watch out!”

It happens in slow motion. The Incinerator Trooper pushes himself on his feet and reaches for his flamethrower. Din’s gaze is focused on you when you see the trooper take aim, a small fire beginning to bloom from the barrel.

Your arms wrap around Din instinctively, attempting to shield his body with your own. You wait for the burning heat, for the scorch of flames to lick at your skin. You wait to hear both your agonizing screams before you and Din leave the universe together. But as bright orange and red tendrils flash behind your closed eyelids, you only feel cool beskar.

Opening your eyes, you see a dome of fire just inches away from your bodies. Din pulls away slowly, taking in the sight of the inferno around him, dancing flames reflecting off his armor.

“Are you doing this?” He asks, a hazy memory creeping into his mind of the stand-off on Nevarro.

You squint through the fire, only finding the Burner with his thrower still aimed forward. You are doing this. Closing your eyes again, you reach out and focus your thoughts harder on the protective shield blocking the flames. Your mind pushes forward and deflects the fire backward, hurling the blaze and embers into the trooper. When the flames dissipate, the Burner collapses to the ground, his suit scorched and blackened.

Standing in the middle of the destruction, you stare at your hands in shock before yellow-tipped gloves grab them and pull you out of the room. 

“We have to go,” Din says.

The halls flash with red lights, sirens soaring through the narrow corridors as trooper footsteps drum closer and closer.

Din leads you quickly through the base and out where he first entered. But you’re met by a rain of blaster fire as you both attempt to sprint back to the ship in one piece. Din pushes you in front of him, running backward as he shoots and blocks the blasters with the armor on his chest.

“Hang on,” he shouts, and before you can question it, he’s scooping you into his arms and launching off the ground.

He flies to the parked ship in record timing. But before he can make his landing, a blast hits his jetpack. It combusts with a deafening boom, right next to your ear, and it sends both of you hurdling into the ice. For a moment, you can’t hear a thing except for the echo of the explosion as you fall to the pillowy snow. Then, beside you, you hear a dull crack of beskar on thick, hardened ice and Din groaning aloud in agony.

“No!” You shout, coming to your senses when you see his leg bent at a strange angle, blood seeping onto the ice from his helmet.

“Get us out of here,” he grits out.

It feels frighteningly familiar pulling his body into the ship, danger looming from all sides as blasts continue to ding off the freighter or melt into the snow. You close the ramp, leave Din in the hold, and get the ship high above the ground.

But you hesitate, hovering in the air for a long moment, before making a choice.

Charging the gunners, you aim at the Imperial base and release a shockwave of vengeful blasts. And as the facility and everything inside and around it disintegrates into ash and rubble, you launch into hyperspace, leaving nothing behind.

The next moments pass by in a blur, Din’s cries ringing loudly in your ears as you try to figure out what to do. He gives you strained instructions but you can barely understand him.

“Reset the bone,” he grunts with just enough clarity, all while writhing in pain.

“Reset the bone,” you echo. “Right. I can do this. I’ll need to cut your pants.”

You find a small blade, remove his boot and armor, and slice a line from the bottom of his pant leg to just above his knee. With one hand gripping below his knee and the other pressing down on his thigh, you pull and hear the bone snap back into place as Din screams. You run to the storage closet for the medpac and return with bacta gel in hand, smoothing it over the purple, splotchy skin around Din’s leg before delicately wrapping it with the cut fabric of his pants and a makeshift splint.

“Your head,” you remember, searching for the wound under his cowl, and he wheezes as if to confirm. “No. No, no, no, no, no. Oh, stars, Din. This is bad,” you sputter, your palm painted in his blood.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, breath slowing as he brushes his fingers through your hair. “You did so good back there, cuyan. My survivor.”

“Hey, don’t talk like that,” you cry, tears rolling in waves down your cheeks. “You’re Cuyan One, remember? You’re going to be alright. I’m gonna fix this.”

“You’re so brave, so clever, so strong,” he continues, coughing between words. “Kotep, mirdala, kotyc. Ner kar’ta,” he croaks, voice fading out.

“Stay with me, Din!” You shout.

“I want to see your face,” he mumbles as if in a trance.

“I’m here, Din,” you tell him, taking his hand and placing it on your cheek. “I’m here.”

“No,” he coughs. “I want to see your face with my own eyes.”

You stare at him, waiting for him to retract his words. When he doesn’t, he pulls your joined hands to his helmet. You’re shaking when your other hand finds the opposite side of the beskar, releasing the lock and lifting it from his head.

His face is covered in blood and cuts, his brown eyes drooping with fatigue, dark hair plastered to his forehead. 

“Oh, Din,” you cry, unable to even process him without a helmet for the first time as you take in the damage. You can’t even see him behind the wounds that mar his features. But he sees you. His hand comes back to your cheek, thumb sliding back and forth in a half-moon shape.

“Mesh’la,” he whispers. “Means beautiful. You are so beautiful, ner kar’ta.”

You blink hard, heavy tears landing on his armor drop after drop even as he tries to brush them away. Your hand covers his own on your cheek, fiercely pressing his palm into your skin like you’re afraid he’ll let go. Kissing the exposed skin of his wrist, you taste a tragic mixture of blaster residue and wet salt on your lips.

“I can’t remember what ner kar’ta means,” you sob. “Please tell me.”

One corner of his lips twitches upward, a strained, painful effort to smile, but he does everything in his power to let you see it.

“It means,” he gasps. “My heart.”

His hand falls from your cheek, limp in your lap and your body shakes at the loss of his touch. You can still hear his shallow breaths but you’re not sure how much longer he can go in this state. You close your eyes, holding his hand as your fingers brush over his glove. The inside of the ship is silent — peaceful and still as if unaware that your entire universe is crumbling in front of you. There’s not enough bacta in the galaxy to treat the trauma he’s sustaining in his head. You can hardly see his skin under the layers of blood and scrapes.

His warm, honeyed voice echoes in your mind, stories he’s told you over and over when you’d make any excuse to hear his voice, stories about him and Grogu. You think of his little green son, how you’re failing him right now. Please take care of my father.

Din always sounded so wistful when he talked about Grogu, so in awe of his power.

He could do things I couldn’t even imagine… 

He saved me, in more ways than one… 

Grogu is a special kid… 

He could heal people.

“He could heal people!” You shout out loud, eyes bulging from their sockets.

In all your years of walking a tightrope when it came to your strange wizard-like powers, you’d never imagined you could heal. All those times you’d tried to fall asleep covered in bruises or cuts, you could have prevented so many nights of excruciating physical pain. But now is not the time to dwell on the past when your future is slipping through your fingers.

You close your eyes again — slowly resting one hand on Din’s cheek, the other still clutching his limp hand — and try to relax, reach out with your mind, reach inside, and focus your thoughts, emotions, energy, everything you have on the man in front of you.

It flows out of you in waves, sinking into him, and you feel it: your body growing more tired each second, only hoping your vitality is transferring into him. Just when you’re about to pass out, you hear him gasp for air, his body shooting up like a fish out of water.

“Din?” You blearily wonder. But his face blurs out of focus before you fall to the floor.

 —

x.

In the face of pain, the body has natural defenses to harden itself, like the calluses that develop on your fingertips and heels for armor. You can build a tolerance, a certain degree of numbness until pain regresses to a dull ache at the back of your mind. And sometimes, the skin gets so thick, the body so paralyzed, that you start to believe nothing could ever hurt you. Not coarse sand crystals or alleyway scum or sharp-clawed rancors or stormtrooper blasts.

But it’s funny how protection covering the outside does nothing to shield what lies underneath — merely a shattered fortress with cracks that let pain seep into the bloodstream and petrify the heart.

When Din’s hand had dropped limp in yours, you hadn’t felt the pain of his wounds or scars shrouding your body. Instead, you’d felt a unique kind of suffering, torture that hadn’t left your skin bruised but had rather sunken into your pores and gnawed at your insides: fear, loss, mourning.

The agonizing ache lingers in your muscles when you finally awaken.

The mattress beneath you envelopes your senses in a familiar fragrance of warmth and safety. Brightness filters in through the open door across the room and a sliver of light glares in one of your eyes, making you rub your fist against your eyelids to regain focus.

As your vision sharpens, you quickly realize you’re not in your own sleeping quarters.

These sheets are dark, the opposite of the crisp white color you’ve been used to for nearly a year. Knickknacks don’t litter the metal floors and socks aren’t piled up in the corner as you remember. The room is mostly bare, stripped down to the necessities, organized and empty to an almost alarming degree.

Then, a splash of color catches your eye on the durasteel wall near the door. It’s difficult to see with the glare spotlighting your face, leaving your surroundings in the shadows. Deciding to investigate, you wrap Din’s blanket tight around your shoulders, keeping his comforting scent around you like a cocoon. When your sock-covered feet finally carry you across his room to the wall in question, you gasp.

Tacked onto Din’s wall are at least a dozen small pages of parchment depicting lively landscapes of planets you’ve visited and picturesque portraits of creatures you’ve encountered together. Your drawings. You remember the times he’d come back from an easy mission, a charming swagger in his gait, and had asked to see what you’d drawn. He’d always held your booklet in his hands so delicately, taking the time he didn’t have to study and praise your work. When he’d hand it back, you’d tear the page from its binding and whisper, “You can keep it.” You’d never thought much of it, except that you’d wanted to share the beauty you’d captured with him. After all, he’d given you all these beautiful colors to do so. But more than that, you’d wanted to let him see the galaxy through your eyes since his own stayed shadowed by his visor. Whenever he’d allowed himself to indulge in removing his helmet in private, you’d hoped he could see what you saw through the pages. You’d never once thought he’d keep your drawings so sacredly displayed in his quarters, assuming the doodles would eventually pile up in some forgotten corner on the ship. But he’d kept each one.

And right in the center, you see the first picture you’d ever drawn for him: a portrait of Grogu sketched according to Din’s affectionate descriptions. It’s slightly folded in on itself from the way he’d tucked it neatly into his shoulder pouch for safekeeping. When you’d drawn it for him, you’d just wanted to do him a simple kindness, the same way he’d been so kind to help you leave Tatooine behind and travel the galaxies with him. You’d only had your pencil at the time, none of Din’s thoughtfully gifted pigments at your disposal, leaving the portrait of the child monochromatic. But now, vibrant color adorns the sketch, bringing Grogu to life in beautiful tones of green, pink, and brown.

Din had borrowed your chalk pigments and colored it in himself. You imagine him with vivid hues dusting his fingertips and green smudges on his beskar, and you smile.

But when you pull back the folded edge of the paper, you’re surprised to see another figure has been drawn next to Grogu, an image you don’t recognize as work of your own. 

It’s… you.

Water blurs your vision but you quickly wipe the tears away so they don’t somehow fly onto the pages and ruin his picture. He’d colored you in your favorite garments, a familiar pink flower tucked behind your ear along with your pencil. Careful, reverent strokes define each of your features. You can’t help but think it looks like you and a stranger at the same time, and you wonder if this radiant image he’s drawn is truly who you are or just how he sees you. And what if those two ideas are one and the same?

You don’t notice Din leaning against the doorframe until you hear your name in a deep, dulcet tone. He whispers it, uninhibited by his helmet, and suddenly your name has a thousand more meanings than just some arbitrary label for the girl who used to be alone. When he says it, your name means survivor, brave, clever, strong, beautiful, his entire heart — and all you want is to dive headfirst into the sweet nectar of his voice.

But then you remember what happened, how you let him get hurt, how you failed to take care of him as Grogu had asked. You don't realize you’re crying until his bare finger swipes away a single tear.

And even though you technically already saw his face — albeit bloodied and distorted — you dare not look at him. You keep your eyes trained low, noticing his unbandaged leg, as his hands caress your skin.

“Are you feeling better?” He asks, voice so heavy with concern it weighs down against your heart.

You nod. “How long was I out?”

“About 16 hours,” he answers, crooking his finger below your chin to pull your eyes to his.

“What about your Creed?” You ask, closing your eyes tight. 

“You mean more.” 

You expected to hear something more along the lines of ‘you already saw my face’ or ‘I’ve broken it before.’ But no, he says, ‘You. Mean. More.’ They’re three simple words that carry mountains of blissful promises, an echo of a sentiment you’d heard him say about his child, a different time that feels so far away now.

So, you open your eyes, look up, and one of your hands cradles the side of his face. He’s fully healed and the blood from the nightmare before is washed away, the red stain only living in your mind, allowing you to finally see him clearly.

You’ve always had some sense of his face. He’d given you so many pieces, letting your fingers map out his features and answering your questions so you could sketch them onto paper. Some things you can know without seeing. But having him in front of you — stripped of his armor and helmet, a soft errant curl brushing over his forehead, warm tan skin on display just aching for your fingers to explore them the way they did before you’d ever seen him — it feels like setting down the last piece of a puzzle. 

He’s beautiful in the way that broken stones and crystal fragments are when they form a mosaic, each piece jagged yet fitting together into a purposeful masterpiece.

And the way he looks at you, like you’re home when all he’s ever known is running… you’ll do anything to keep him looking at you like this.

He enters his quarters fully, extending his arms to hold you closer. When he leans his forehead against your own, you close your eyes. His warm breath tickles your skin, the slope of his nose slowly nuzzling against yours, and when you let yourself peek at him again from under your lashes, you see his eyes are softly shut, the smallest of smiles on his lips.

“When did you draw this one?” You ask, voice but a whisper, nodding at the papers on his wall.

“While you were resting... I’m not much of an artist,” he says sheepishly, watching your fingers delicately trace the lines of his drawing. “But I wanted to keep a piece of you with me too.”

You merely exhale, mind reeling. Any word you think of seems to evaporate each time you open your mouth.

“Maybe, when you finish it, we can hang the portrait you drew of me next to this one,” he muses. “So, at least on paper, we can be a clan of three.”

You nod fervently, your foreheads rubbing together from the rapid motion as you stroke the soft peaks of his cheekbones.

“I can’t believe you kept all of these,” you chuckle, gesturing to his wall of art. 

“Of course I did,” he says, fully grinning now, his nose playfully bumping against yours. “They’re beautiful and… they’re from you.”

A sweet sigh escapes your lips, your breath hovering in the small space between your bodies, and you see a flash of pink when his tongue pokes out to swipe a quick line between his mouth. You bite your lip, trying to force your mind to stay silent and not ruin this moment, but knowing you need to address the guilt in your heart.

“You almost died,” you say quietly, the words falling from your lips in broken pieces and shattering on the floor.

“But I didn’t,” he responds, his brown eyes staring directly into yours. “You healed me.”

“I should have...” you start, not knowing how to finish the statement because, even now, you’re clueless as to what you could have done differently. “I should have been more careful. Maybe if I hadn’t gotten caught, you wouldn’t have been hurt.”

“I’m used to it,” he sighs.

“Well, you shouldn’t be,” you whisper. “Neither should you.”

It stuns you, causing you to pull your face away just slightly, ignoring the way your skin screams to touch his again.

Pain is universal except to those who harden themselves to it and let calluses develop. This is a natural defense. You know this. But the thing is, pain is protection too, another security the body uses to protect itself. From harm. It’s ironic how the ones who feel the least amount of pain carry the largest amount of suffering.

“You shouldn’t have gotten hurt,” you continue, walking over to his bed to sit on the edge. “I promised I’d take care of you.”

This time, he’s stunned. Take care of him?  

“You almost died, Din. You shouldn’t have even gotten hurt. I don’t know what I would do…”

“I’m right here, ner kar’ta,” he whispers, moving towards the bed and kneeling between your legs. He cradles your jaw, lifting your gaze to meet his eyes. “I’m right here.”

“You almost weren’t,” you say, your lip trembling below his thumb.

“I’m here. With you,” he says, confident. “I always will be, I promise.”

“Din, you can’t promise—”

“I just did.”

As you look into his eyes, you see a fire that tells you this is more than a promise. It’s more than a tenet of the Mandalorians’ honor and you feel it in your bones. He would traverse every system, tear apart the galaxy, fall to his knees to keep it. This is more than a promise. It’s a vow.

It feels like entering a new atmosphere, gravity pulling you into his orbit until your lips meet his, the same way the horizon of Tatooine meets twin suns each evening. He’s soft — so soft — and solid and still, allowing you to release the worry and trauma you’ve been shouldering on your own against his eager lips. You capture his upper lip, press a chaste peck there, exhale, kiss his lower lip, then breathe him in.

When you pull back by an inch, his body sways toward yours like a pendulum, his eyes closed dreamily as he waits for your lips to return to his.

“Din,” you whisper, a single tear rolling down your cheek as you cup his face between your hands like he’s delicate and holy. “Ner kar’ta,” you call him.

He opens his eyes, finding yours glazed with something he’s never seen before but knows is mirrored in his own irises.

“How do you say ‘I love you’ in Mando’a?” 

This time, it’s his lips crashing into yours first, capturing your gasp on his tongue. His fingers card through your hair and find a resting place at the base of your head, nails scratching lightly and pulling sweet songs from your mouth. His other hand settles on the crook of your neck, his thumb drawing circles over your clavicle before gliding over your shoulder, then along the side of your waist, finally falling to the small of your back. A gentle pressure pulls you closer to the edge of the mattress where Din still kneels between your thighs, making you gasp again. But he swallows the sound with his mouth, his tongue eagerly licking past your lips. You dig your fingers into his hair and wrap your legs around his torso to stay balanced, though your mind is drunk on his taste and dizzy on his scent filling your lungs. 

All you know is him. 

The hand on your back grazes across your hip, drags a slow line over the top of your thigh, and squeezes once. Then, you feel fingers tickle behind your knee. In one swift motion, Din pulls your leg higher around him and gently pushes you backward, the hand on your head guiding you as you fall onto the pillow.

He pulls away panting, letting you catch your breath as he takes the opportunity to rake his eyes over your body spread out beneath him. 

You do the same, letting your fingers follow the same path as your eyes. He looks positively wrecked, hair sticking up from where you’d pulled it, pupils dilated, his lips pink and perfectly swollen. His breaths seem to come out more labored — but whether from your touch or the shameless way your eyes drink him in, you don’t know. All you know is the flushed skin below his jaw, how it draws your attention to the strong cords of muscle that run up the length of his neck, how his Adam’s apple bobs slowly below your featherlight finger when he swallows.

As your hands continue their exploration, Din’s thumb tickles your cheek with a tenderness that matches the look in his eyes. The shimmering dust of stars glistens in his irises as he gazes upon you like you’re… 

“Mesh’la,” he whispers, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I could say the same about you,” you grin, drawing him back toward you and feeling his smile against your lips.

He settles his weight between your legs, moaning into your mouth when you raise your hips to grind against him. He gives you beautiful, desperate noises and you greedily capture each one with your lips. As he kisses you, your nails scrape down his back, his muscles tensing and rippling under your touch until you find the hem of his shirt. You tug on it once, twice, before he’s finally sitting back and pulling it over his head. Not wanting to have to separate yourself from him again, you remove your top at the same time, leaving you both exposed from the waist up. When his face emerges from the neck of his shirt, he looks down and stills, and somehow, you feel infinitely more beautiful under his lustful gaze.

He attaches your lips again, craving your taste like a famine-starved man, ravenous hands exploring new skin as yours leave crescent moons across his back. He kisses your lips, your cheeks, licks below your ear, sucks under your jaw, down your neck, above your breasts — tasting every soft plane with a hunter’s diligence until you’re soft and pliant below him, bending while he bows.

He rocks into you, eliciting gasps from both your lips. Desperately, you scratch impatiently at the skin above his waistband, your hands attempting to push the material down to no avail. 

“What do you want?” He asks, pleads against your mouth, moaning when you hold his lower lip between your teeth and release it with a slow scrape.

“Want these off,” you mutter against his cheek, his scruff scratching over your lips deliciously. “Want you.”

That’s all he needs before he unbuttons his trousers, kissing you deeper as he bares himself completely to you. 

“Now you,” he whispers, his lips dragging down your body and hovering over your belly, pressing languid kisses to each hip, and biting the skin lower down as he removes your clothes. His breath ghosts over your heat and sends a shudder up your spine, making you arch toward him. His lips roam the soft skin of your thigh, tantalizingly tracing his tongue up toward where you throb for him, and then moving back down leaving you writhing with desire. He gives the same treatment to the other thigh, teasing you with his soft lips until you’re groaning and desperate beneath him.

A surprisingly deft finger opens you to him and your mouth drops agape without a word, pleasure lodged in your throat until he curls his finger just so, pulling the wanton sounds from your lips. As you become more vocal, he strokes you more eagerly, his other hand massaging the plush skin of your body wherever he can reach, watching your face with fascination as he stokes a fire in your belly.

Just as he’s about to put his mouth on you, he feels your fingers tugging his hair, pulling him upward until your lips meld together once more.

“Need you.” The words come out as a growl into his mouth and you lift your hips pointedly to meet his. He hisses at the friction, nodding in understanding when you say, “Now.”

He enters slowly, feeling you stretch around him and engulf him in a heat he never wants to escape. It feels like a release of pressure even as pressure begins to build between your legs. It’s pain and pleasure and perfection all at once. He fills you so completely and he can’t help but think:

“Meant for me.” 

He breathes the words out loud into your skin, lips trailing a burning path down your throat as he moves inside you, wicked sounds falling from your tongue when he hits a spot that has you seeing stars.

“What?” You gasp, but he doesn’t seem to hear.

Din kisses you everywhere he can reach, one hand interlocked with yours next to your head while the other pulls your leg higher and tighter around his back, giving him access to parts of you he gets to explore for the first time. It makes him think about the galaxies that always reflect in your eyes and how he’s getting to discover each one of them with you now. 

“Or maybe,” he continues his previous thought, a sweet, gentle kiss placed over your heart. “Meant for you.”

His pace quickens and you dig your nails into his shoulders as an invisible coil tightens in your belly. He continues speaking low in your ear, some of the words foreign and others in Basic, though you still can’t understand for the life of you when he’s right there. As his thrusts become more erratic, your core ignites, and intense heat blossoms over your entire body like a flower. And it’s Din plucking each petal until all that’s left in your mind is one singular truth: he loves me. Your eyes screw shut and your toes curl and you’re out of breath and you feel heavy and light at the same time. He moans a ragged sound when he feels you reach your peak, squeezing him until he’s falling over the precipice right after you.

The room is awash in heavy breathing, a fiery warmth scorching every inch of your naked skin as you both pant to catch your breath. You’d like to stay like this forever, you think. No clothes, simply covered in Din. But eventually, he slowly pulls himself out of you and an aching, empty feeling settles in your stomach that screams for him to come back. 

He hovers above you, not wanting to crush you with the immense weight he feels. But he can’t fight you when your hands wrap around his neck and mold his smile against yours, lips moving together like you can’t get enough.

You hold each other in silence, heated kisses cooling off into chaste pecks only when it feels too long since the last. Your breaths slow to a peaceful rhythm, hearts beating in time with each other to a secret song only you two know.

“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum,” he breathes, the flight of his words spinning around the shell of your ear raises goosebumps on your skin. 

“What does that mean?” You ask, your hand cupping his warm cheek.

When he looks at you, he sees ferocity, forgiveness, a future, a family. For so long, he never thought he could feel anything close to this. Then, he met Grogu and, just as quickly, had to say goodbye. But when you look at him with such goodness and grace — all he can think of is how he hopes you’ll stay looking at him like this until he dies.

“‘I love you,’” he answers. "Forever."

[READ EPILOGUE HERE]

End Note: We're almost at the end! I just have an epilogue planned. But hey, if you have any headcanons you'd like to see happen in this series, please send them my way! Maybe some blurbs could be arranged :) Mando’a Glossary: Cuyan = survivor [koo-YAHN] Kotep = brave [KOH-tehp] Mirdala = clever [MEER-dah-lah] Kotyc = strong [koh-TEESH] Ner kar’ta = My heart (kar’ta = heart [kah-ROH-ta]; ner = my [nair]) Mesh'la = beautiful [MAYSH`lah] Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum. = I know you forever [nee kar-TILE garh dah-RAH-soom] ⎿ “It's the same word as 'to know,' 'to hold in the heart,' kar'taylir. But you add darasuum, ‘forever,’ and it becomes something rather different.” — Republic Commando: Triple Zero

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Taglist: @sarahjkl82-blog @pedro-pastel @mavendeb @tailormotelkamzoil @unexistant @karkii​ @hwjdykqueillmjwkqu​ Want to be tagged next time? Interact with this post.

[bluejayblueskies]

flour, sugar, salt

Words: 3.6k

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Relationship: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan Sims

Additional Tags: Domestic Fluff, Baking, Gentle Kissing, Light Angst, Safehouse Period, No Apocalypse, cooking and baking as love languages

Summary:

It had gone like this:

They’d been sitting on the couch, the flames of the fire licking at the brick edges of the fireplace as it eagerly consumed the new wood Martin had topped it off with just minutes earlier. The moment Martin had settled back onto the couch, Jon had resumed his position curled into his side, breathing a small sigh of satisfaction as warmth began to radiate throughout his body once again.

“Tell me something,” Jon said, leaning his head against the curve of Martin’s shoulder.

 After a moment, Martin laced their fingers together and gave a gentle squeeze. “I’ve never had a birthday cake.”

----

Jon’s never baked before, but how much harder than cooking can it possibly be?

Things do not go well.

Read on Ao3

Or read below:

The cake is awful. There’s no getting around that, Jon thinks as he scowls at the misshapen lump of frosting in front of him, adorned with little yellow and blue candles that he’d found tucked in the meagre baking section of the village’s shop, right next to the boxed cake mix that Jon had hesitated in front of, his hand stalled halfway to the candles. Just add water! it had proclaimed cheerily, which in no way assured Jon that the resulting product would be anything close to edible. So, he’d retrieved the candles and moved on, collecting flour, sugar, baking powder, and the rest of the ingredients for the recipe. For beginners, it had said, and Jon had felt like a child, but he’d followed the steps anyway, doing everything exactly right.

 Perhaps he should have just gone with the boxed mix. At least then the final product would have at least looked edible and not like something one would immediately toss into the bin, like Jon has half a mind to do. But the idea of not having a cake makes Jon’s stomach twist into knots, because he needs the cake. This whole thing is- is pointless without the cake, but the cake looks horrible, and—

 And he’s completely forgotten to put the gołąbki in the oven. He does so now, trying to calm the shaking of his hands that is born more of frustration than anything. It really wouldn’t do to drop the main dish all over the lino, after all. Best not to ruin it more than he already has.

 It had gone like this:

 They’d been sitting on the couch, the flames of the fire licking at the brick edges of the fireplace as it eagerly consumed the new wood Martin had topped it off with just minutes earlier. The moment Martin had settled back onto the couch, Jon had resumed his position curled into his side, breathing a small sigh of satisfaction as warmth began to radiate throughout his body once again. Martin ran hot—hotter than Jon, anyway, whose fingers had a tendency to get so cold they burned when warmed between Martin’s hands—and the slight guilt at using Martin as his personal space heater had dissipated entirely at the small, contented noise Martin had made as he’d wrapped his arm around Jon’s shoulders and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of his head.

 It had been months since the Lonely, since those first few awkward weeks in the safehouse tucked away in the Scottish highlands where Jon hadn’t been sure if loved was to be taken at face value and Martin wasn’t sure if the little touches Jon gave him were just to stave off that creeping fog that still lingered in the blue-grey of his eyes and the white-streaked curls that mirrored Jon’s own. It had been even less time since Martin had opened the front door, an excuse about needing ‘a much thicker coat, it’s bloody freezing out there’ on his tongue, to find Jon gripping a sheet of official Institute paper in a white-knuckled grip. The words calmly spilling free from his lips were silenced only once he’d slumped bonelessly in Martin’s arms, Martin’s hand still clamped firmly over his mouth and twin tear tracks streaking down both of their faces.

 The statement had gone up in flames easily and without fanfare, the small strands of smoke tickling the still-blue sky that, to Jon, seemed like the second most beautiful thing in the world.

 Now, there’s just this: sitting curled next to the fire, and taking long walks even as the cold of February nips at the tips of their ears, and getting to know each other through fragments of stories and brushes of pinkies and whispered confessions.

 “Tell me something,” Jon said, leaning his head against the curve of Martin’s shoulder and letting his eyes fall on Martin’s hands where they gripped the edges of a notebook, curling script decorating the pages in starts and stops and marred in places with crossed-out lines. They’d established a routine after Jon had admitted one night as they lay in bed, knees curled into his chest protectively, that sometimes what Peter Lukas had said in the Lonely still played on his mind. That they barely knew each other, and that the love Jon felt so potently in his chest and his lungs and his bones was based on nothing more than a construct, something he’d tricked himself into believing was real. It had been hard to think, even harder to say; Jon had squeezed his eyes tightly shut and had held his breath.

 Martin’s hand had found his and squeezed it tight. “Tell me something, then,” Martin had said, a tentative smile on his lips. And so, Jon had.

 Now, Jon’s hands were relaxed as he played absently with the cuff of Martin’s jumper sleeve. It was one of his favourites, a mustard-yellow one that was slightly oversized on Martin and consumed Jon entirely every time he managed to steal it from Martin’s side of the closet. Martin hummed and closed the notebook, turning his hand over and letting Jon’s hand rest against his palm; after a moment, he laced their fingers together and gave a gentle squeeze.

 “I’ve never had a birthday cake,” Martin said, sounding a bit wistful as he said it, and Jon leaned back slightly so he could see his face. Martin’s eyes were trained on the fire, and though his lips were still curled into a hint of a smile, his eyebrows folded inward in that way they did when an old wound itched just below the surface, stitched messily shut and stubbornly ignored even as it healed crooked and wrong. “At- at least not one of my own, that is, or- or that I can remember. I don’t know why I didn’t when I was younger, not really, but after Mum got sick, and my dad… well, birthdays just never really seemed all that important anymore, I guess? At least, Mum never seemed to want to celebrate.”

 Martin let out a small laugh, the kind born from reflecting on a memory that was quite the opposite of humorous. “And by the time I was old enough to make one for myself, it all just seemed so… pointless, I suppose. You know, that time we went out for ice cream was the first time I’d even celebrated my birthday since I turned 21?” Under his breath, Martin said, “Though I’m not sure you could call buying myself a bottle of Moscato and drinking alone in my flat celebrating.” He drew in a shaky breath before giving Jon a small, embarrassed smile. Not too long ago, he probably would have stuttered out some sort of apology, like it was shameful for him to show the vulnerable parts of himself. Now, he simply said, “It was nice, I suppose. To have people who cared, even if it didn’t seem like it meant all that much at the time.”

 Martin had that quietly sad look on his face, the one they both shared when thinking of the easy comfort of those first months in the archives, with Tim bright-eyed and smiling and telling jokes that Jon only understood half of the time and Sasha looking the way she had in the Polaroid Jon had found tucked away in the box of statements and cassette tapes Basira had delivered, clearly meant to be more salt in a wound that had been stitched closed before it had the chance to bleed. Jon squeezed Martin’s hand tighter, and when that didn’t seem enough, brought it to his lips and laid a soft kiss across the knuckles. “Yes,” Jon said softly, feeling that same sadness curling within his stomach and mingling with the beginnings of determination, a plan half-forming in his mind. “It suppose it was.”

 It was going to be perfect. Martin had left some time ago to make the longer trip into Inverness to pick up the supplies they couldn’t get in the village, forehead creasing slightly at Jon’s fabricated excuse of ‘not feeling well’ and Jon’s subsequent refusal of Martin’s offer to stay behind and reschedule their trip to a time when Jon was feeling more up to it. Jon had practically pushed Martin out the front door, letting out a small breath of relief when he saw Daisy’s car—now ostensibly their car—trundle down the cratered dirt road and out of sight. He’d had all of the ingredients; he’d followed all of the instructions. It was supposed to be perfect.

 At least the gołąbki turned out well, he thinks with a resigned sigh as he extracts the glass dish from the oven, setting it atop one of the electric hobs to cool. The cake sits in his periphery, almost mockingly; some of the frosting has sloughed off the top, leaving the chocolate pastry underneath starkly exposed.

 It… it wouldn’t hurt to try to fix it, right? Just a little more frosting to patch up the hole.

 Somehow, the middle of the cake ends up collapsing inward, taking a good portion of the candles with it. Christ, Jon can just picture his grandmother’s expression, the stern tilt of her eyebrows and the press of her mouth into a thin line that, thinking back on it, was really more amused than anything as she told him that no, five minutes was not long enough to properly cook chicken breasts in the oven, and no, he could not set the temperature to 260 degrees just to speed things along. She’d taught him how to mince garlic and to make Desi Ghee and to spice dishes without the need for measuring spoons, saying that he may as well put some of his anxious, restless energy to use and that the kitchen was as good a place as any.

 The first time he’d cooked in the safehouse, a few days after they’d arrived, when Martin had sat shivering on the couch with his eyes iced over with fog, his stomach had knotted in worry that he wouldn’t remember how—that he’d neglected it for so long, subsisting off of ready meals and tea in the beginning and then mostly statements after a while, and that this knowledge was the kind of nice, wonderful thing he wouldn’t be allowed to keep. But the knife strokes had come easily, almost mindlessly, and he’d filled the kitchen with mindless chatter as he’d worked in the hopes that it would give Martin something to cling to until he could press a bowl of chicken dumpling soup into his hands and gently coax him to eat.

 After that, Jon had taken to cooking most of their meals while Martin sat at the table and wrote with his tongue stuck out between his lips in concentration, or stood behind Jon and wrapped his arms around his waist and rested his chin against Jon’s shoulder as he watched him work, or formed a pile of flour and sugar and spices into a bread or a pastry or some other lovely, doughy concoction that Jon just couldn’t understand. Because Martin could cook, yes, but he’d never really liked it, he’d mumbled into his pillow one night after Jon had whispered, “Tell me something.”

 “It just reminds me of my Mum,” he’d said, voice small and quiet, and Jon had understood.

 But baking seemed to come so easily to Martin, lighting up his face with a radiant joy that captivated Jon to the point where he’d burned several meals just staring at Martin while he worked, transforming the same ingredients into a myriad of different desserts that all tasted light and lovely on Jon’s tongue, even though he’d never been a fan of sweets. At least, not until Martin had pressed a raspberry-filled Paczki into his hand with a tentative smile. He’d made it seem so easy, and Jon had been sure that, at the very least, he could manage a birthday cake.

 Clearly, he’d been wrong.

 He’s halfway to the bin, having decided that having no cake at all is distinctly better than having the monstrosity of a cake that’s currently balanced precariously in his hands, when the front door swings open, bringing with it a rush of winter air that prickles goosebumps onto Jon’s skin and sends a flush to his cheeks. Though that may be only partly due to the chill.

 “Hey,” Martin says, kicking the door closed behind him. His arms are laden with canvas bags of various patterns and designs, collected from a myriad of different shops over the past months, and he’s looking at the floor as he kicks off his boots so he doesn’t see the way Jon freezes halfway to the bin, the offending cake still suspended in front of him in the way one might hold a particularly offensive-smelling bag of rubbish. His muscles lock in indecision, and his mind is a mess of do I throw it away do I hide it oh Christ what do I do he’s going to hate it I have to get rid of it, and then Martin’s looking up from the floor and saying, “Are you feeling any—?”

 His eyes alight on the cake, on the stricken expression on Jon’s face, and his sentence trails off into a small, “Oh.” He takes in the kitchen, which is still in a state of disarray because Jon thought he had more time, surely Martin said he’d be out until six. He says as much, because he’s really not sure what else to do.

 “It’s quarter past,” Martin says, still staring at Jon with an unreadable expression that’s sending Jon’s stomach into a chaotic mess of nervous butterflies, and Jon’s eyes flick over to the clock above the oven. It does, in fact, read 18:14, and Jon feels his cheeks heat further.

 “Ah.” He’s still holding the cake awkwardly in front of him, he realizes, so he pulls it closer to his chest, almost protectively. Martin’s eyes track its movement, and on reflex, Jon says, “I- ah, I made dinner? And, er. A cake as well.”

 “Oh,” Martin says again, and Jon still can’t tell what he’s feeling. Not that he’s ever been good at that, but Martin has a tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve, which usually makes it easier.

 Nerves loosen his tongue, and he begins to ramble. “I- I know we hadn’t really discussed it, and I- I didn’t want you to think that I forgot about your birthday—which is, ah, tomorrow, I know, but I- I suppose I thought it would be more of a surprise today, and we did make plans for tomorrow already, and you- you said you’d never had a birthday cake of your own, and you’re always baking for me, so I- I thought it might be nice to make something for you, and you always make it seem so easy, but it, ah, it didn’t quite—”

 He shrugs helplessly and nods down at the cake, which is looking significantly more pathetic now that it’s under Martin’s scrutiny. “It’s a bit ruined,” he says, trying to convey within his words the entirety of the apologetic mess that’s been tying his stomach into knots. He stares at the floor, eyes fixating on Martin’s boots and the small puddle of water accumulating beneath them as the snow caked on the sides of them melts. The hot embarrassment that’s rapidly consuming him keeps his eyes cast firmly downward.

 “Oh,” Martin says once more, and it’s a soft, tender noise that makes Jon’s gaze twitch upward. His breath catches in his throat when he sees the wet shine to Martin’s eyes, the open, vulnerable look on his face where the stunned mask has finally cracked. “Oh, Jon.”

 Martin sets the bags on the floor and quickly crosses the room to where Jon’s stood. He takes the cake carefully out of Jon’s hands, despite Jon’s protests, and sets it on the counter like it’s something precious instead of the worst baking monstrosity Jon’s ever laid eyes on.

 “Martin, what—?”

 One of Martin’s hands is on Jon’s shoulder, the other carefully cupping his face. He pauses there for a moment, like he always does, giving Jon a chance to pull back. When Jon doesn’t, Martin leans in and kisses him.

 It’s more insistent than usual, both of Martin’s hands coming up to rest on Jon’s face and thumbs running soft circles over the tops of his cheeks as he presses into him, swallowing Jon’s soft gasp as he pushes him back against the kitchen counter, narrowly avoiding the cake as he kisses him soundly. Jon’s arms come up to loop around Martin’s neck loosely, his fingers brushing against the curls at the nape of Martin’s neck, and the tension he’s been holding in his body for the last hour melts away under the gentle, rhythmic motion of Martin’s thumbs against his face and the little noises Martin’s making against his mouth.

 When Martin pulls back some time later, his face is flushed a lovely shade of pink, and Jon realizes with a start that there are tear tracks running down his cheeks. He brings a hand to Martin’s face and rubs gently at the tears, his stomach twisting again ever so slightly in concern. “What’s wrong?” he says quietly, still breathless from the kissing.

 Martin hiccups a laugh, small and disbelieving. “Nothing’s wrong, Jon. I- Christ, I’m just so- so happy.” He brings a hand up to grasp at the one Jon has on his face, squeezing it tightly before bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss to the inside of Jon’s palm. “You made this for me?”

 Jon blinks, once, before remembering the cake. His forehead creases in disappointment, directed entirely at himself. “Ah. Yes, that.” He glances at the cake, which looks just as appalling as it did before—possibly more so due to the fact that Jon’s elbow seems to have, at some point, jostled the cake after all, dislodging another section of frosting and quite a few candles along with it. “It was meant to look significantly more… edible.”

 Martin lets out another laugh, this one with a bit more substance. “Jon, did you try it?”

 Jon’s frown deepens. “I don’t follow.”

 Martin disentangles himself from Jon, despite Jon’s small noise of protest, opens the cutlery drawer, and retrieves a fork. “How will we know if it’s edible or not until we try it?” he says with a smile that’s entirely too wide and excited at the prospect of eating a cake that looks like it was run over by a car.

 “I really don’t think that’s—Martin!”

 Martin carves off a section of cake, ignoring Jon’s protests to, “At least wait until after we eat.” He puts it in his mouth, and Jon braces himself for the inevitable disgust.

 Martin hums, his eyes still crinkled with a hint of a smile even as he swallows and says, “It’s really not that bad, Jon.”

 “Not that bad,” Jon echoes, glaring at the offending pastry and pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Christ, this- this was supposed to be romantic.”

 Martin’s hand finds Jon’s face again, turning his head gently until Jon meets his eyes. “It is,” Martin says softly, eyes full of something so tender it makes Jon melt. “It’s- Christ, I’m going to start crying again. In a good way,” he adds quickly, at Jon’s stricken expression. “You- you just—”

 Martin pinches his bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes shining again with unshed tears, and he says in a small voice, “I love you so much, Jon. And I love that you did this for me. I know you hate it when people say that it’s the thought that counts, but—no, don’t give me that look, it really is. I’m not using it as an excuse to- to soften a criticism or anything, or to subtly say that I hate it. I love the cake, Jon, because I love you, and so it really doesn’t matter that it kind of looks like somebody stepped on it.”

 That pulls a small giggle from Jon, entirely against his will and born mostly from the release of the knot of nerves that had reformed in the pit of his stomach. “God, it really does, doesn’t it?” He laughs again, more intentionally this time, and takes Martin’s hand in his, squeezing it tightly. “Well, I promise that the main course is significantly more palatable. It’s from that little recipe book you gave me—the one you picked up at the bookstore?”

 “Oh!” Martin’s eyes brighten as they alight upon the glass dish still sitting on the hob. “You made gołąbki! Christ, I haven’t had that since I was a kid. My grandmother used to make it for holidays before she passed.” When Martin’s eyes meet Jon’s again, they’re full of such fondness that the Jon of a few months ago would have squirmed under the weight of it. Instead, he lets himself lean into it, feeling the flutter of his heart against his ribcage as Martin places another warm, achingly soft kiss against his lips. “Thank you, Jon,” he says, pulling back just enough that the words tickle against Jon’s skin. “I… just, thank you.”

 Jon’s I love you is interrupted by the rumbling of Martin’s stomach, loud and insistent. Laughter splits Martin’s face into a wide smile, and he says, “I suppose we should eat, then.”

 “I suppose so,” Jon says, feeling his own smile grow softer as Martin turns to the glass dish and begins to portion out the gołąbki.

 Maybe they could bake together, he thinks as he sits across from Martin at the table, Martin’s foot reaching underneath and hooking around Jon’s ankle. Yes, that… that might be nice.

 The cake ends up going into the bin after all. Though neither of them really seem to mind.

[ickle-ronniekins]

my absolute favorite person, III

A/N: hi everybody! (i’m going to put my longer a/n at the bottom because i've a lot to say!) i want to thank you all so much for all of the incredibly kind feedback on MAFP, parts one and two. the banter in italics at the end are a flashback to the scene of them at the lake during their sixth year, which you can find in part one. if i may make a suggestion: whilst reading this, listen to “we keep in touch, okay?” from the love, rosie soundtrack to evoke ALL of the emotions. if you’re new here and need the other parts, you can read part one here and part two here, loves x

pairing: george x reader

word count: 2k something

tag list: tag list: @mintlibri @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @laneygthememequeen @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @waschbiber @dreamer821 @feffffffy @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @62442-am @wtfweasleyy @obsessedwithrandomthings @thoseofgreatambition @harrysweasleys @sleep-i-ness @shadowsinger11 @haphazardhufflepuff @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @hood-and-horan @letsfightsomeorcs @theweasleysredhair @purpleskiesstorm @hxfflxpxffs @wand3ringr0s3 @finecole @angelinathebook @highly-acidic @purplefragile @90shermione @zreads @susceptible-but-siriusexual @hollands-weasley @andromedaa-tonks @bbstrawberry0421 @princessof-theuniverse @cappsikle

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You were worried that returning to the place where you’d fallen in love all those long years ago would be a painful reminder of everything you’d lost. You were surprised that instead, it brought to you an inordinate feeling of comfort, and of home.

The golden leaves on the trees were reflecting beautifully off of the very still water in the Black Lake. You heard an excited yelp come from the forest -- surely due to Hagrid’s first Care of Magical Creatures lesson of the year. You were certain. You grinned to yourself.

You shoved your hands into your pockets, half expecting to feel the very worn parchment you knew all too well inside. Except, it wasn’t there. You’d lost it somewhere a few months ago. You’d panicked when you’d first noticed, because how could you have misplaced something that was seemingly attached at your hip? It was just another thing you’d lost, another reminder of what you couldn’t have back. Not that it mattered, not really. You’d memorized every word of it. You could recite it in your sleep. Everyone at his engagement party had heard everything on it, anyway. Well, everything except for what was written on the other side.

You’d fallen into a very deep type of misery following his wedding. Following your divorce. You’d ignored George’s constant letters asking you to grab lunch or dinner, to come stop by the shop. You’d pretend to not be at your flat whenever he’d stopped by and knocked on your door; you’d hide behind your curtains or underneath the covers of your bed. You’d begun to pick fights with Fred for no reason at all, except to evoke some emotion other than despondency. You’d wanted to feel anything other than discouragement. You’d yelled at him one day in your flat, If you knew how I felt all those years ago, why didn’t you tell me you knew? Why didn’t you do anything about it? Why didn’t you bloody tell him? And he’d yelled right back, I tried! I tried telling him, Y/N, and I tried telling you, but it was pretty bloody difficult to break the promise you’d forced me to make when we were young, to never reveal the very best of you to anyone. Did you really expect me to betray you like that, even when it came to my own brother?

The arguments were pointless, you’d found, because Fred wasn’t to blame. Neither was George. They weren’t mind-readers, no matter how much you wished they could be. The only person to blame was yourself, and yourself alone. You’d made this awful mess; now you had to live in it.

And yet, even through your brokenness, somehow, you still found yourself going back to to your story at the party -- when you’d said all you could say, you swore there had been a type of glimmer in his eye you’d never seen before. But were you being daft? Was it your eyes and mind playing tricks on you? He was in love with her, not with you. You were just seeing what you’d wanted to see.

There was one particularly horrid day, when you’d hadn’t moved from your bed and it was nearing four p.m.; you weren’t exactly sure what number sleeve of jaffa cakes you were on but you’d certainly eaten enough of them. Your hair was greasily plastered to the side of your face, and you desperately needed to change your socks. Actually, you’d desperately needed to change your entire life.

And so you’d taken up your prior Deputy Headmistresses’ offer, packed your bags, and moved to Scotland. Which is how you ended up here, now, on the Hogwarts grounds near the lake, having just finished your first ever Charms lesson with a rather exuberant class of second years.

The sound of students calling you ‘Professor’ hadn’t really given you the same warm feeling that one of George’s sparkling grins had always given you. But it would do. It would more than do. It was a new beginning, wasn’t it? One you’d never asked for, but didn’t know how much you needed.

And then a crunch of a leaf came, pulling you from your thoughts, and you whirled around, expecting to find a young, measly student skipping out on their lesson, or a fellow Professor coming in to check on you and how your first day had been. Except it was neither of those things. It was him.

His red hair was shorter than it was from the last time you’d seen him; it looked like he’d just gotten it freshly cut. He was clean-shaven with perfect posture. He was dressed in a pair of dark-wash jeans and a grey sweater, one that had most definitely been sewn with love and care by Molly -- it nothing compared to his dragonskin suits. There were slight bags underneath his eyes, and yet, he was still the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

Years ago, if this had happened, you’d have run into his arms, and he would’ve lifted you completely off of the ground and spun you in circles until you both fell to the ground, dizzy, and laughing. But now, you didn’t even know exactly what to say to him.

He started.

“Hi,”

You had to clear your throat a few times before any words were able to come from your mouth. “Hi,” you echoed him.

He placed his hands inside his pockets and glanced around the grounds, and you noticed a small grin lift his cheeks a bit. “Bloody hell -- Charms professor, eh? Who’d have thought?”

“Who’d have thought,” you echoed him again, carefully choosing every word to escape your lips. There was a considerable amount of distance between you both, and it felt strangely uneasy.

He met your gaze and furrowed his brow, as if to keep himself from crying. His lips were a thin, firm line. “Been a while, hasn’t it? I’ve missed you.”

The truth was, you didn’t know exactly how long it had been. Days had melted into weeks, weeks into months...you’re not entirely sure when the last time you’d spoken to him was. Not for lack of trying on his part, though. You knew this was all your own doing. You felt a sharp twang in your heart at the thought. “I -- I know. I’m sorry. Been really busy, as you can see --”

God, you were so daft. That sounded so bloody pretentious in your own ears, and you shook your head in hopes of erasing your words as they hung in the air between you both. No such luck. He walked toward you now, and stopped a few inches from you. You were certain that your feet were frozen solid into the soil and the leaves of the Earth. You were about to apologize again, when he beat you to it.

“Found something of yours,” he started, and you furrowed your brow in confusion. “Well, actually, Fred did. Somewhere in his flat. But he gave it to me.” George looked down and pulled from his pocket that piece of parchment you knew all too well, and you were certain your heart had skipped a beat. Maybe two. It looked strangely at home in his hands, as your eyes scanned the words that were engraved in your mind.

He fiddled with it delicately in his fingers, and your breath hitched in your throat as he gently turned the parchment over to the other side, to reveal those other words you’d written, but never, ever dare spoke aloud.

You swore you saw his lip wobble as you sucked in a breath. “Is -- is this how you’ve always felt?”

He handed you the parchment, and you traced your pointer finger gingerly across the words you could hardly see. The words you’d wanted so desperately to say that day, and other times, too, but couldn’t. Shouldn’t. But even so, you could still make them out, faded as they were:

I truly love you.

How utterly and painfully embarrassing. Here you were, life still somewhat in shambles, divorced, patching together the broken pieces of your mistakes, confronted by the man you’d been in love with for years about your own feelings you’d bloody written down on a bit of scrap parchment, and all you could bring yourself to do was trace your fingers over the words. You couldn’t even look at him. Ridiculous. But you shut your eyes tight, gritted your teeth, then looked up into his light brown eyes, and nodded.

You seemed to have lost your voice; but it was no matter, because George was fiddling with something else in his pocket. “Can’t believe you’ve kept it all this time,” he said, more-so to himself than to you, and he laughed lightly. He shook his head slowly, and then pulled out another bit of parchment. It was a bit yellowed, and more faded than yours, but he held it out to you. “I’ve kept mine, too.”

Of course. The speech he’d written for your wedding. An involuntary laugh escaped you, for you were immediately brought back to exactly that night, when he’d stood up and told one of the most embarrassing stories of your entire life, drunk on whiskey and friendship and fondness.

You chuckled lightly to yourself and sniffled a bit. “I remember,” you said softly, running your fingers across his handwriting. “How could I possibly forget when my best mate had embarrassed me in front of my entire family?”

A bright smile split your face for the first time in.. you didn’t even know how long, but when you looked up into George’s eyes, he wasn’t sharing that same brightness in his own grin. His was soft, and tired, and tears were glistening, glazing over his eyes. He took a deep breath and stood -- patient -- waiting for you to realize. He glanced down toward the parchment, and back up at you.

Something came over you in that moment; something from the look in his eye told you there was more you needed to know. And so you gingerly turned the delicate piece of parchment over in your hands, half expecting to see the same four words you’d written on your own, and half expecting to see nothing at all. What you didn’t expect, though, were the four words he’d written down:

Will you marry me?

Your heart stopped. You couldn’t feel your toes. Your tears froze in place and you looked quickly from the parchment to him, and back again. The ink was so beyond faded, so it’s not like he’d just scratched it down. Had he really written it down all that time ago? Had that truly been what he’d wanted to say to you before your own wedding? What he’d wanted to ask?

He took your hands in his then, your lip quivering more than you would have liked. His voice was a bit wobbly as he spoke, “It was true then,” he breathed, interlacing his fingers with yours, “and it’s true now. How I feel, I mean. And the question, I -- I wanted to ask you, after we’d finished school, even though we hadn’t ever really..” his voice drifted off, and he was swallowing down his own vulnerability. He took another deep breath before continuing, “And then the war happened and life got in the way and other people came and went and.. time got away from us, I’m afraid.”

And then he gingerly got down on one knee, and your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him kneeling in front of you, with his bright red hair and freckled nose and boyish charm that would never, ever fade. You noticed the tears in his eyes as he traced small circles onto your hands with his thumbs. “I shouldn’t have let you go that first time, and I’ll be damned if I let myself do it again,” you both began to laugh a bit, and you noticed his bare finger, void of his own wedding ring. You couldn’t believe this, you couldn’t possibly believe it. His voice was so beautifully broken and soft, “Marry me, and I promise to always bother you, always embarrass you, and to only ever help you with your work if you truly need it.”

A hearty laugh broke through your tears, and somehow you managed to say yes, and he placed a sparkling ring on your finger. And when, for the first time in all these years, his lips touched yours, it was a perfect piano piece resolving it’s melody, it was the quintessential blend of colours in a rainbow after a rainstorm, it was the incredibly nerve-wracking and freeing feeling of flying on a broomstick for the very first time and absolutely everything in between; there was nothing in this entire world that felt better, or more needed, or more right than the feeling of his lips moving slowly against yours.

You both parted, but you found it incredibly difficult to remove your hands from him. The colours of the leaves reflecting off of the water transported you back immediately to that day during your sixth year, when you’d realized how you felt..

“And to think,” you began to tease, sniffling slightly and pulling gently on the sleeves of his sweater, “all these years later, and somehow I still let myself hang around with the likes of you.”

He threw his head back in a laugh. He wiggled his eyebrows jokingly and said, “It’s because you love me.” He peered into your eyes now, and again around at the gorgeous autumnal grounds of Hogwarts, and shook his head. “I couldn’t live my life without you, no matter how bloody long it took us both,” he placed a piece of hair behind your ear before pressing his forehead gently to yours. He breathed, “I never stopped loving you,” and closed the gap between you both once again.

“Hey, George?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you always go around bothering people and distracting them from the work they’ve got to complete?”

“Almost exclusively.”

“Then promise me something.”

“For my absolute favorite person? Anything.”

“Promise to always bother me, for the rest of our lives. Take me away from my work and my thoughts and tell me stories and jokes like you did that night at the Yule Ball a few months ago, and make me laugh for as long as you’ll have me. Okay? Promise me.”

“Okay, darling. I promise.”

-- -

A/N (cont’d): aayyyyy my peeps! so idk how y’all feel but i like to imagine that after the ending, she and george stay at the lake, reminisce over all of their memories together, laughing and joking about all of these moments how many times the stars just hadn’t aligned for them both.

thanks again for reading, guys! i hope you feel completed and whole by the ending like i do. i didn’t realize just how much i was going to put into this -- i really came up with the idea on a whim and didn’t really expect to make it so emotional or even make it three parts, but hearing your incredibly kind words and responses to each part of this mini series has reminded me of why i ADORE writing for this fandom. I ADORE IT.

anywhoooo, please leave feedback, comments, reblog and share with your friends if you enjoy, and i'll be sure to link all of the pieces together :) thanks so much! x

[justleaf]

Summary

Ciaran starts the process of becoming a sub.

Ficlet Series

Elves & Leather

Pairing

Ciaran x Iorveth

Tags

Dialogue-heavy, might be boring? It's kind of like a prologue.

Length

1,000 words

____________________

He felt like a fool, sitting in the booth of a cafe and waiting restlessly for a man his friend had told him about a week ago. Ciaran fiddled with his phone for the hundredth time, discovering that a substantial zero minutes had passed since he last checked. Without little else to do, he quietly sipped on his iced mocha and cast wary glances at the door, wondering if he would be shown up despite the fact that he was still 10 minutes early.

Maybe he would be catfished. Maybe Cedric had pulled a prank on him. Maybe he should just go home.

No. He would stay.

But what if he was having his leg pulled.

No no, he'd already made it this far.

The ring of an opening door startled him out of his internal discourse. One glance at the elf was all it took to erase the doubt he had in his mind. He felt his mouth go dry and he wondered, for a very different reason, if he would be able to do this after all.

The elf who walked in felt so similar and different from the one he had been conversing with for the past four days. The same one who told him that he hadn't earned the right to call him Sir, and the one who refused his offer to send more pictures. He looked like a teacher's vision of a stern and distant parent - tall and sharp, with a constant frown that told of a thousand thoughts running through his mind. But Ciaran certainly didn't share that vision. Past his tailored pants, the broad gold watch, and the silky-looking patch over his right eye, he had this air of assurance and care. He knew in an instant that there would be trouble ahead, but he couldn't help but throw himself headlong into the waiting jaws.

"Nice to finally meet you in person. Crevan," the dom introduced with a vulpine smile that made Ciaran's head spin. The elf extended hand out and he took it, expecting but nonetheless surprised by the firmness and strength of the shake.

"Nice to meet you too," he managed, "My name's Ciaran."

"Is that your real name?"

"Yes?"

Crevan's smile twitched and Ciaran unconsciously bit down on his bottom lip. He felt woefully under-dressed in his modest hoodie and jeans. The other had rolled up the sleeves of his crisp alabaster shirt, but the price of the outfit was hard to hide even under the guise of casual treatment.

"It's your first time trying this out right?"

Ciaran nodded, and then realised he was still standing. Flustered, he sank down into the wooden booth and grabbed his coffee, searching for something to do with his hands.

"Yes."

"What made you curious about this lifestyle?"

"I… I watched a few videos. And I thought that maybe it would be something I'd want to try out."

Crevan was just watching him with a steady smile, his expression unchanging and his posture proper. Ciaran couldn't take the intensity nor the silence, so he blurted out more.

"And then I researched it more. Read online about being a sub. But it's all so different. Then I picked up a book about BDSM and tried to read it, but there's a lot I still don't understand. But I was never that good at studying. So I…"

He trailed off, realising that he was making up excuses and unsure if it was what the dom wanted to hear.

"What was the name of the book?"

"BDSM Basics for Beginners," he mumbled, realising how stupid it sounded when he said it out loud. It must've been the equivalent of that yellow For Dummies series, but he couldn't tell. Crevan wasn't giving him any clues and it was making him antsy.

"And do you feel that the amount of research you did was adequate?"

"I don't know."

"There's no right or wrong answer, Ciaran. It's not a trick question."

The way his name rolled off the other's tongue sent a flush of heat to his groin. He swallowed.

"No, I don't think I did. I feel like there's so much information out there and I don't know where to start."

"I found it difficult getting into the scene at first too. It's true that it's very confusing for someone who doesn't know where to begin."

Ciaran blinked stupidly and his blank mind couldn't conjure up a single reasonable thing to say. But Crevan was patient and though he was still difficult to read, he felt…safe.

"So… what happens now," he sputtered out, "Do you just, take me?"

And that was the first time he saw the elf break out into a genuine laugh.

"Someone's eager," Crevan observed and a hint of heat in his eye. And gods damn it all, it made him feel dirty for all the right reasons.

"I'm- It's just you look better in person."

"That's very flattering, thank you. And you're just as handsome in real life," came the compliment, genuine and direct, "But not quite yet. We have some groundwork to do."

He rummaged around in his bag and pulled out a stack of paper and two pens. And when he cringed visibly, Crevan just chuckled.

"Right. You're going to start by selecting a pseudonym. I don't know how much you've heard, but anonymity is of utmost importance in the Scoia'tael. Then you're going to tick off your fetishes, set your boundaries, and then…"

He paused and Ciaran felt his mind implode with a thousand possibilities.

"...then we're going to go through some rules and paperwork."

And Ciaran couldn't hold back his loud groan or manage the grimace on his features. Crevan just smirked at him and he sunk into his seat, feeling quite like a petulant child.

"Patience, young thing. The more we rush in times of peace, the lesser we bleed in battle," the elf answered cryptically and he pretended to understand.

And that was how Ciaran found himself drowning in paperwork on a warm Saturday afternoon, with the occasional heated glance from Crevan to keep him going.

[ka-za-ri]

Descent Pt. 8

Buckle in! We’re getting kinky!  Also, this is one hella long chapter, lol.

°˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°  Thanks for all your encouragement. I may hate everything I write, but y’all seem to enjoy it! Please enjoy this giant bin full of sin. I’m so, so, sorry for uh... ... well I’m sorry. That’s all I can say. (シ_ _)シ

Comments and reblogs always appreciated.

Chapter Index and Obey Me! Masterlist: here Ao3 Mirror: Here Part [1] Part [2] Part [3] Part 4: [4] Part [5] Part [6] Part [7] Part [8] Part [9] Part [10] 

Pairing: Simeon x Lucifer x Reader, Lucifer x Simeon (if you squint really hard) Genre: Really dirty smut Wordcount: 8,900 ish   Tags: References to self-harm, body worship, multiple orgasms, sex toys, so many sex toys. Threesome F/M/M,  Voyeurism, Overstimulation, Light sex magic, Chastity device,   Summary: After a busy holiday season, Lucifer wants to celebrate a successful book launch with you and Simeon.

Dive

To no one’s surprise, Simeon’s new title made it to all the bestsellers’ lists. The timing of his novel with holiday season meant that book couldn’t stay on shelves. Everyone clamored to get a copy for themselves as well as a loved one who was a fan of his work. The stress associated with a book launch was vastly different from the process of writing. There was no rest for Simeon as he went immediately on a book tour to help with promotions once the title was released to the masses. It meant that most of your winter was spent following him across the country, helping set up displays and assisting with interviews while he was surrounded by fans.

You were exhausted, you wanted to sleep in your own bed for a change and you swore if you heard one more marriage proposal to Simeon from a fan, you were going to lose the last bits of your sanity. Spending weeks on the road were hellish and you were more than glad that the tour was over just in time for the year to turn over. Even if you weren’t able to spend the holidays at home, you at least got the new year to yourself. During the whole tour, neither you nor Simeon really had a chance to be close. Your professional lives took priority and keeping it cordial was paramount in maintaining his spotless image.

When you finally had time to yourself at home, you finally let your mind wander and tried to sort out your feelings for him. You couldn’t deny you still had an intense crush on the man. With all you went through to get his book written, you started to doubt your feelings. You couldn’t tell if you liked him for who he was or if it was out of obligation you were attached to him. All the intimate moments and all the times he called you his Little Lamb made your heart flutter, sure. It was hard to tell when everything you did with him was under the pretense of work. Did he say those things to get a reaction or did he actually mean them?

Ever since the book was published, Simeon barely interacted with you outside of what was necessary with work. Even if he did want to say something to you about your relationship with him, he was too swamped with his on obligations that there was no way to discuss anything with you in private. Despite working so closely with him, the two of you drifted apart further and further. By the time the new year rolled over and you both finally had some time to unwind, Simeon felt like a stranger to you.

You found yourself spending hours staring at the ceiling mulling over too many thoughts all at once. You could feel the last vestiges of your sanity slipping away as you tried to decipher everything. Simeon was so good at never voicing what he truly wanted, it was impossible to read his thoughts. With how distant he had become with work, it was even harder to predict what he would do next. With the massive success of his new book, the publishing house was already discussing the possibility of a whole series of smutty novels under his name. Just the thought of being used again for his book made you weary. It had been an arduous journey to just get one final product, you didn’t want to think about having to do it again anytime soon. Luckily, Simeon requested some additional time to go over the new contracts before signing them.

It was both a relief and a curse to have time to think over the offer. On one hand, the two of you would have continuous work. On the other hand, you would be once again used for his gain while his feelings remained ambiguous for you. You had enough of him toying with you and you truly wished for an opportunity to get him to open up to you somehow.

You were in yet another round of beating yourself up over falling for someone who was so enigmatic when your phone rang. Checking the number, it wasn’t one that you recognized. Though it was your normal policy to ignore unknown numbers, something compelled you to answer the call this time around.

“Hello?”

“Good afternoon. It’s lovely to hear your voice again after so long.”

“L-Lucifer?” You squeaked, sitting straight up as if he was right in front of you. “How did you get this number?”

“Oh, I have my ways.” He said nonchalantly after a brief chuckle. “Congratulations on the successful book launch and follow up tour, by the way.”

“Ah… Thank you.” You didn’t know why you were so flustered. He wasn’t actually physically there, but the closeness of his voice reminded you of how amazing it was the last time the two of you were in the same room together. “But you should really be giving the thanks to Simeon, he did all the hard work.”

“He did. But you did have a heavy hand in… helping him, did you not?”

Your whole body warmed in embarrassment. Of all people to know the dark secret behind Simeon’s book, it had to be one of the most powerful people in the country. Inwardly, you prayed he wouldn’t hold that information as blackmail against the two of you. “I… I helped a little...”

“So humble.” Lucifer chuckled again, rather amused at the exchange you were having with him. “I’ve been keeping track of the book sales and I have to say, I’m rather impressed. Thanks to him, and by proxy you, stocks in my company have risen quite dramatically. If you have some time, I’d like to thank you personally with a small private party.”

“I… Eh? What?” You were left speechless by the offer.

“Simeon is my friend, I know he’s probably overworked from writing a book and then going on a tour. If I remember correctly, neither of you got to spend the holidays at home. Why not make it up now when you have time?”

Lucifer was awfully persuasive, his tone was made of velvet and you felt yourself relaxing from just listening to his voice. “I… I can free up my schedule.”

“Excellent. Now, I have a few ideas on what we can do for Simeon.” You couldn’t see it, but you could feel the excitement Lucifer had in his voice as you fell into what felt like a trap with him. “I think you know as well as I do that he doesn’t ever voice what he wants. I’m thinking this would be a good time to get him to open up, don’t you?”

You felt a heat rising up your neck and pooling at your cheeks. He didn’t say it explicitly, but you had an idea about where the conversation was going. Still, it was rude to assume anything. “What do you have in mind?”

“I do hope your evening is free, I’ve got quite a bit to discuss.”

“The night is all yours.”

~~

Simeon didn’t know how he was convinced to go to this celebration Lucifer set up. The fact that his friend went to you first made it feel like there were ulterior motives to this little get together. Even if he’d only met you once before, Lucifer had already figured out how much sway you had over Simeon and that was the most frightening thing to realize. He knew the demon had a slew of tricks up his sleeve; despite the innocent grounds of the celebration, Simeon felt an anxiety he hadn’t before. Whenever Lucifer was involved, things were always more than they seemed.

The long ride up to his friend’s penthouse perched atop his high rise corporate building gave him too much time to ponder what was going to happen. His mind ran away with too many dark scenarios, by the time he was halfway through the floors, Simeon was visibly shaking. What if it was a trap? What if you were coerced to invite him? Would you even be there? What was the point of the celebration? He had already gone through all the ceremonies and parties he needed, why did he need to go to this one in particular?

“Lucifer invited us to a party to celebrate your new book, can we go?” Ah, there it was. The only reason why he agreed to arrive at all. Your voice had been so sweet and excited when you broke the news to him. You had no idea what kind of person Lucifer was and he was helpless to protect you from the demon’s schemes. The least he could do was accompany you whenever you were in his presence.

The last few floors to the top and Simeon was having doubts about going. He nearly stopped the elevator’s ascent before he remembered the favor he owed Lucifer. Being in debt to the demon was never something he wanted. It was only out of obligation that he was attending. Once it was all over, he would figure out a way to patch things up with you that didn’t involve Lucifer. The distance that developed between you had become unbearable and he needed to do something about it before he chased you away forever.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’ve finally decided to grace us with your presence.” Lucifer’s called from the other side of the room. “Took you long enough, I was starting to think that the elevator had broken down.”

Simeon looked around at the luxurious abode, taking in the beautiful sunset that shone through the floor to ceiling windows. A small table was already set with food, bottles of champagne sat chilling in ice. A single paltry mylar balloon set at the middle of the table had “Congratulations!” printed across it, the only thing that really even denoted that the gathering was any sort of celebration. He never was good at decorating…

He took a tentative step towards where the festivities were to take place. It was rather impressive just how much Lucifer amassed during his time in the human realm. More importantly, he took the time to take in his surroundings and look for you. Any sign that you were safe was all he needed to be put at ease.

He found you lounging on a sofa, looking out to the city, admiring the landscape from such a height. Seeing you dressed in a lovely cocktail dress made him feel rather out of place with his usual over-sized sweater and jeans. He had thought it was a casual affair, not anything that he would need to dress for. “I guess I didn’t get the memo about the dress code.” he joked to get your attention.

He didn’t want to think about how your skin glowed in the warm light of the sunset. Avert his eyes as he might, it was hard not to admire how the fabric clung to you in the most flattering way. It was hard to look away. His daze only broke when Lucifer just happened to pop open a bottle of champagne.

The attention didn’t go unnoticed. The plan you had concocted with Lucifer was going just swimmingly. It had been a trial to keep all the delicious details away from him, but seeing his bewildered expression was worth it. You got up from your seat and took a flute of the bubbly Lucifer was offering to bring over to Simeon. “Well, you’re the guest of honor, so you’re free to wear whatever you want.”

Simeon laughed softly, trying not to let his gaze linger on your collarbone. Your fingers brushed against his own when he took the flute from your hand. Just from that little contact, he was acutely aware of Lucifer watching your every action. Something was afoot, and he couldn’t discern if you were in on the plan as well. For what it was worth, you looked absolutely enchanting in that dress. He would have to at least thank Lucifer later for letting such a beautiful sight grace his eyes. Perhaps, the party wouldn’t be all too bad after all. “Just the three of us?”

“Well, my assistant would have been here too, but a sister company needed to borrow her for a business trip.” Lucifer shrugged. “She was so looking forward to seeing her favorite author in person too.”

Simeon raised a brow, taking a sip of the champagne. He could tell where the conversation was going. The copy of his book on a side table confirmed his suspicions. “Ah, let me guess. You want to give her a signed copy of the book when she gets back?”

“How’d you guess?”

“Not the first time I’ve had this talk.”

Lucifer laughed softly. “Well, you do owe me a favor.”

“That I do. Are you cashing it in now?”

“Not right now. Just relax and enjoy yourself, I called you here to celebrate your success, not make you do any more work.” He raised his glass for a toast and Simeon obliged.

The conversation subtly changed to other mundane topics. With the help of the alcohol, Simeon was able to relax and be less paranoid about his friend’s intentions. Still trying to be as respectable as he could be, he sat next to you while the three of you chatted. The small bites at the table slowly dwindled as you all partook in nibbling on them at intervals. You barely noticed the sun disappearing past the horizon until the lights came on.

At that point, Simeon was finally lax enough to speak freely. He had gone off on a tangent about the difficulties in cooking a proper fillet of fish. The rant lasted much longer than anticipated, and though you were invested in what he was saying, there were other plans that needed to be put into motion. His lips were too loose and you needed to shut him up somehow.

“Hey, Simeon?”

“Hm? What is i-- Mmph!” He never finished his sentence as you had pulled him into a torrid kiss. The libations and the lax company had made it so easy to fantasize about him, the plan Lucifer concocted with you only fueled your desires. As soon as you had him where you wanted, you straddled him on the sofa, deepening the kiss. He tasted like champagne and spices. The cologne he had on seemed stronger than usual, or perhaps that was also because of the alcohol? Regardless, he was delicious and better than anything else you had that evening.

“Wait. You can’t. You’re drunk… Lucifer is...” Simeon stuttered and you placed a finger on his kiss swollen lips.

“I’m not drunk. Lucifer knows exactly what’s going on.” You reassured. “Let us treat you right. You’ve worked so hard lately. Relax...”

He bit at his lower lip, staring into your eyes in hopes of finding some fault in your confidence only to see that there was none. You had days to prepare yourself for this moment. There was no going back and you were absolutely living. He looked so sweet and unassuming with that bewildered look of his. It was almost a shame to hide his beautiful eyes when Lucifer came up from behind the sofa and draped the blindfold over his face. “Relax...” he said softly into the angel’s ear, slipping a little bit of magic into his voice. “It’s been a long time since you’ve had release, I know… Let us take care of you.”

He could feel the magic seep into him, unwinding his tense muscles and his mind drifted into an odd state of hyperawareness as his senses were taken away from him. A part of him wanted to fight against the magic, resist the pull of calmness that crept through his veins. Whatever powers he had to contest against the charm working its way through his limbs were quickly dashed away as you went back into him for another kiss. You took your time, savoring the softness of his lips and the heat of his breath as he succumbed to the two of you.

You glanced up at Lucifer after breaking the kiss and he raised an amused brow. It had been much easier to get Simeon to comply than he had anticipated. He would have thought the angel would have used at least some of his celestial powers to combat the little spell he wove into his words. His hand gently pat Simeon’s hair like a beloved pet while your fingers played at the hem of his sweater.

Simeon tensed up again when he felt his shirt being lifted and pulled it back down, shying away from your touches. “Please, let me see all of you.” you asked with a pout that he fortunately couldn’t see.

“I… I don’t...” he protested.

“It’s okay…” Lucifer’s low, silky voice cut through his doubts and forced his mind back into that blank calm it was in before. “Relax. It will be all right.”

Simeon let out a stuttering breath, slowly removing his hands away from his sweater to let take it off him. He shivered as cooler air hit his heated skin. He turned away from you again, acutely aware of all the stares he was getting from you. His whole body tingled in anticipation of what might happen next. Not being able to see your expression or where Lucifer was prowling was putting him on edge, but the spell over his mind had him oddly calm at the same time.

Ultimately, you just wanted Simeon to voice what he really wanted. You wanted to hear what he really thought about you. You were tired of guessing and when Lucifer offered to set something up to get him to talk, it was impossible for you to turn such a chance down. If you couldn’t get him to say anything after today, well, there were plans in place for that as well. Getting his sweater off was a good start, but you wanted to see him beg as he had done before.

“Hands and knees.” You commanded, guiding him off the couch and onto the plush carpet of the floor onto his knees. Lucifer, ever being the gracious host pushed the table with the last of the food and drinks to the side to give you more room to work with. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught your reaction to the self-inflicted scars that marred Simeon’s back and shoulders.

“Oh… Oh, Simeon...” You breathed when you saw the long scars across his body. Some of the marks were clearly newer than others; but all of them seemed recent enough for you to gather when he had made them. Your fingers slowly traced each one of them, planting soft kisses on the freshly healed skin. Some of the marks still had the trace edges of a scab that only recently fell off and you spent a few extra moments to caress the tender skin in those spots. You lost count of just how many kisses you had showered onto his back and shoulders, each one of them reverent and apologetic in nature. “Why did you do this to yourself?”

“I… I deserve punishment for what I did to you.” He replied. Oddly enough, he was glad for the blindfold across his eyes. It meant he didn’t have to look at your tear filled eyes and worried expression while he explained himself. Having Lucifer witness the exchange only made him feel all the more vulnerable and he curled up on himself, hunching over to hide his face. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

Your fingers idly outlined the myriad of marks across his back. It was hard to say anything in those moments. He was visibly shaken by what happened the one time he let the darkness in him consume him. He was able to at least beat into something more manageable with the self-imposed punishment he put himself through. Simeon let out an earth shattering sigh before straightening back up. He needed to accept that even if you said you forgave him, you were more than welcome to never want to be with him again.

After all, you had a taste of what it felt like to be with someone like Lucifer who didn’t have the same limitations as he did. Nothing was stopping you from going to the other man in the room for your needs. If there was something he deserved, it would be your scorn and your hatred towards him. Yet, to his surprise, you showed him none of that. All you did was gently rub your back while he stewed in his misery.

“Are you done with wallowing yet?” Lucifer spoke up, his tone clearly denoting just how bored he was with Simeon’s dramatic self-deprecating moment. “Neither of us have left you yet, so what makes you think we’re going to anytime soon?”

“I… I’ve sinned too much.”

Lucifer scoffed. “You’ve sinned too much? Shall we make you repent then?”

“...Yes”

It was all the permission the two of you needed. Lucifer drew Simeon’s hands together in front of him, palms together in the position of prayer. A thin black ribbon wound between his fingers and his hands to keep them bound in the position. You rubbed comforting circles on his back while Lucifer worked magic with the ribbon until Simeon’s forearms were completely wrapped. You had to admire the handiwork, it was an intricate web of knots and loops that was absolutely mesmerizing to look at. “Good boy.” you praised once Lucifer tied the last knot to secure everything in place.

Simeon’s mind went blank at your words, the feelings welling up within him weren’t unfamiliar, but with his hands bound, he couldn’t act up on them. He wanted to kiss you, hold you, make you his without Lucifer’s presence and influence on you. The time he spent with you outside of work was precious and treasured, he didn’t want anyone interfering with the purity of his feelings for you. The way you touched him set his nerves on fire, the barely healed scars tingled in response to your fingers brushing past them.

“You’ve worked so hard, let’s make sure you get an appropriate reward.” You murmured, kissing the shell of his ear and trailing your lips down to his neck. He twitched any time your lips skimmed over a sensitive spot. You took notice of his reactions and made sure to spend a little extra time sucking at his skin, coaxing out soft, breathy moans. You pulled him toward you, resting his back against your chest, giving Lucifer full access to take off the rest of his clothes.

Exposed to the two of you, he felt like a lamb caught between two wolves. He couldn’t see where Lucifer was, but he could feel the other man’s presence circling around him. Your warm body against his back at least gave him some semblance of calm and he focused on that while anticipating the next thing that would happen. “You deserve to feel so good… Right?” you purred, reaching between his legs and giving his half hard cock an experimental stroke.

You were rewarded with a guttural grunt, his hips flexed and jerked up to meet your touch. His arms strained against their bindings, his fingers trembled against the ribbon, itching to return everything you were doing tenfold. You shushed him, noticing how tense he was and kissed his temple to relax him again. “Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of you.” You reassured.

Lucifer loved every bit of the scene that was unfolding on his floor. While Simeon was drowning in the security you gave him, he quietly pulled out a few choice items and placed them within reach for you. You looked up at him with a knowing smile and nodded in encouragement. “We’re going to need you to last all night long...” Lucifer’s said, his voice seemed to echo in Simeon’s head, close and everywhere all at once.

He bit his lip, turning his head about as if to look around. He felt something cool join your hand at his cock. The ring easily slipped down his half hard length and rested at the base of his cock. You continued to languidly stroke him to full mast, marveling at just how quickly he got hard once he was at your mercy. “Good job.” You planted kisses on his temple before maneuvering him onto his elbows and knees.

With his ass in the air like that, you couldn’t help but give it a resounding slap. The sharp sound echoed throughout the room and Simeon yelped at the sudden pain. The sting made his eyes water, but the soft caresses that came after made up for it. He let out a stuttering breath, concentrating on how the carpet underneath him felt and not on your hands spreading his ass cheeks apart, revealing the tightly puckered hole of his anus. “Lucifer, if you’ll do the honors...”

“With pleasure.”

He knew what was coming, but not being able to see anything made it all the more intense for him. The coldness of the lube mingling with Lucifer’s long, slender fingers made his mind reel. Your hands firmly keeping his spread for the other man to finger and prepare him made a mixture of embarrassment and arousal spread through him. The wet sounds of his asshole being slowly stretched mingled with the breathy moans coming from his lips. You watched, rather entranced at how skillfully Lucifer slid his fingers in and out of Simeon. It seemed like he knew every sweet spot within, curling his fingers just so to get the best reaction out of the trembling man beneath you. “Amazing...”

“Isn’t he?” Lucifer concurred, adding a third finger into Simeon and chuckling darkly at the strangled gasp that came out of the angel. “He’s beautiful, isn’t he?”

“Mm, like an angel.”

He shouldn’t have found your analogy so amusing, but it was so charming how you called him an angel while doing such sinful things. And in the presence of a demon of all things. The irony of it all only made the scenario he created with you all the more entertaining to him. He gave Simeon a few more long, unhurried thrusts with his fingers before deeming his hole prepared enough. Hearing Simeon whimper when he was no longer filled sent a thrill through his body. He was sure his friend had struggled so hard to not fall from the grace of the Celestial realm. But, with how debauched Simeon became from just a little teasing; he was sure human temptations had blackened the once pure soul of his friend.

He could tell with just how Simeon looked at you how enamored he was with you. He could literally feel the tendrils of desire seeping out of him and the heated gazes he left on all of your assets whenever you weren’t looking. He might still be an angel in the eyes of the gods above, but it was a matter of time before he fell. All he needed was a little push over the edge.

Even if he had been properly prepared and the lube Lucifer used had been liberal enough to drip down his thighs, it didn’t prepare him for the stretch and girth of the toy being inserted into him. The swell of its widest part made Simeon see stars as he was pushed to his limits before accepting the whole plug into him. His breathing came out in labored pants, drool dribbled down the corner of his mouth as he struggled to ground himself.

“Good boy.” You praised, placing chaste kisses on his lips and positioning his body just the way you wanted it. Laid out on his back, Lucifer raised his hands above his head and secured it against a sturdy pole. Seeing Simeon splayed out and exposed on the ground was a captivating sight, to say the least. He had no idea just how much fun you were about to have with him.

“Want to hear an angel sing?” Lucifer asked, helping you up from the ground and settling you into his lap on the sofa.

“I think that would be lovely.”

Simeon heard a soft lick coming from where your voice came from. Before he could comprehend what was going on, he let out the most beautiful wail of pleasure as his whole body was taken over with stimulation. The sizable plug in him started to vibrate, the intensity of the sensations short circuited his brain. There was nothing to keep him from blocking out the onslaught of pleasure thrust upon him. He thrashed against his bindings, trying to get away from what you and Lucifer had orchestrated. It was an excruciating experience to be overcome with so much pleasure all at once. He wanted to cum, wanted it to all be over; but he knew it was just the beginning. His cock throbbed against the ring at the base, aching for release or stimulation but getting none.

“It’s a lovely sound, isn’t it?” Lucifer asked, kissing your jawline and your neck. His hands cupped your breasts, massaging them and making you arch your back against him. He could feel your body get warmer as you watched Simeon squirm on the floor. The sight was undoubtedly arousing, even for him. There really wasn’t anything more titullating than having such a powerful creature at their mercy.

“Beautiful.” You agreed, turning your head to capture Lucifer’s lips in a ferverent kiss. You ground against his lap while his hands explored and played with your body. The two of you made sure to be vocal enough for Simeon to hear. The wet sounds of your kisses and your lewd moans mixed with his desperate cries to create a beautiful, perverse symphony.

Lucifer’s hand slid under the skirt of your dress, his thighs shifted so that your legs naturally spread for him. His fingers deftly found your panties and pushed them aside to plunge into your hot core. For a moment both you and Simeon screamed in tandem. Lucifer rest his head at the crook of your neck as his fingers worked their magic on you. You could understand now why Simeon sounded so needy earlier. There was a confidence in the way he worked your folds and how he shoved his fingers into you that made you want more.

“Oh fuck.” you moaned, rolling your hips to meet his his fingers. You reached back to play with his hair, your vision became blurry from just how much he was able to elicit out of you with just his fingers. “I want your cock so bad.” You moaned, pressing your ass against his bulge.

“In due time, Little Lamb...” he reassured, pushing his fingers into you until he was knuckle deep. The motion of which made you gasp and cry for him. “The night is still young. You have to be patient.”

“Y-yes...” You breathed. You had nearly forgotten that in the end, the focus was supposed to be Simeon’s pleasure and not your own. You sighed, feeling a bit guilty that you had been so quick to neglect the man on the floor.

Lucifer had a way of directing the evening, commanding everything to fit right into his plans. He had you writing and aroused beyond all belief in his lap. Simeon was on the ground, screaming in desperation for relief. Everything was going just the way he had planned it, even the parts that he didn’t disclose to you. It was so gratifying to see how easily you had played into his hand. He reluctantly pulled his fingers out of your tight heat and coaxed you out of his lap. “We have a lot to do still.”

“Ah… right.” You said, reminded of everything else you had planned.

The vibrations in Simeon’s ass subsided a bit, giving him a brief moment to catch his breath. That didn’t last long though as Lucifer walked over to slide his fingers coated in your slick down his mouth. Instinctively, Simeon sucked and lapped, greedily tasting you. The sounds you made earlier only served to make him painfully hard and the need for release was growing unbearable. He groaned against the digits, hoping the pleading tone in his noises would allow him some mercy.

“You always sound so pretty when you beg.” You purred, crawling next Simeon and licking his nipple. He choked against the fingers in his mouth, gagging as he tried to accommodate the new sensation of your tongue on his oversensitive skin. “You look like you’re just about to lose it...” Your hand traveled down his abs to grab his cock, giving it a few hard strokes which made him gag once again on Lucifer’s fingers.

His body betrayed all of his internal protests. He should have tried to curb his desires more, but his body had other ideas. It moved in your favor, his hips jerked violently against your hand and his back arched to meet your lips on his nipple. The vibrations in his ass once again intensified and he was sinking into the depths of pleasure with no way out.

He cursed, screaming your name and Lucifer’s while you pampered his body with attention. Despite the ring restricting his intense oncoming climax, cum leaked freely from the tip, coating your hand in a slick, sticky mess. “Won’t you let go for me?” You asked sweetly before you grazed his nipple with your teeth, biting down gently and eliciting yet another delightfully garbled moan from him.

Lucifer withdrew his fingers once he felt Simeon had done a sufficient job of cleaning them. He almost felt pity at the man on the ground. The pleasure he was receiving seemed to be almost too much. But, Lucifer knew it would take much more to break Simeon down to his most basic needs. If he wanted to hear Simeon beg to fall, then he would need to do much more.

You were doing a wonderful job of keeping Simeon just on the edge of his climax. Your hands stilled anytime his hips bucked wildly. Your mouth focused solely on teasing his nipples until they were sore from being licked and nipped at. You were doing your part perfectly, which meant Lucifer needed to match your pace and up the ante a bit more.

His hand replaced yours at Simeon’s cock. He stroked the ring at the base of his shaft. “You want to release?”

Simeon nodded, choking back a sob and he twitched against his bindings. Lucifer smirked and started to slide the ring off. He watched as Simeon’s plush lips were stuck in perfect “O”, he barely dared to breathe until you bit on his nipple again and made him gasp loudly. It was just the perfect distraction to slide the ring off the last few inches of his aching cock. Simeon heaved deep breaths as he felt the pressure on his dick finally abate. Surely that meant he had come to the end of the torture he was being put through.

It was only the beginning of the fun for Lucifer. There was a rustling noise from the corner of the room as Lucifer reached for something. He couldn’t quite make out what it was, but he didn’t have to wonder for long as Lucifer pressed cold, wet ice against the heated flesh his thighs and trailed it up to his cock. The sounds that came from his lips almost didn’t sound human as he choked out a cry, squirming away from the cold.

Lucifer was insistent, running the cold ice up and down his heated shaft, the mixture of your hot mouth on his chest and the chill of the ice on his cock made his head swim. He struggled again against his bindings, but they held fast. His fingers and wrists began to feel numb from being held firmly together for so long; but it was nothing compared to the numbness he felt throughout his body. He couldn’t keep track of who was doing what anymore. His body merely a toy for the two of you to play with. It was filthy to be used so thoroughly, but a dark part of his heart absolutely relished in it.

The ice trailed up his hips, past his abdomen and circled one of his pert, sensitive nipples. The sudden cold made his head spin and your hot mouth switched places with ice. Lucifer lazily dragged the melting ice back and forth between his nipples, watching it melt against his hot skin. It brought him so much joy to pinch at those overstimulated buds of flesh whenever the ice left him just numb enough. The yelps of surprise that came from Simeon always melted into a quiet moan and a slight arch of his back.

You trailed kisses down, down to the apex of his thighs and he swore he saw the gates of heaven open when your tongue flitted out and lapped at the tip of his cock. He would have cum then and there if he didn’t know any better. Even if it was unsaid, he didn’t have permission to release unless you or Lucifer explicitly said so. He held back his moans, thinking about the cold ice on his chest instead of what your hot mouth was doing.

“Let go...” Lucifer purred into his ear.

It was all the permission Simeon needed. Your hand stroked him to completion as let out a long moan. His semen came out in long, hot ropes, coating your hand and his abdomen. Lucifer swept in for a hot, sloppy kiss, swallowing all the lewd sounds that came from Simeon while you languidly licked his cum from your hand and off his skin. His whole body trembled from the force of his orgasm; but it wasn’t over yet. The plug in his ass still stimulated him and kept his libido on high. Even if he wanted to catch his breath, he wouldn’t be able to with how Lucifer and you were pushing his limits.

He whined when Lucifer finally broke the kiss. He was needy in a way he had never been before. There was a desperate need for a different kind of release than the one he just had. He knew exactly what it was he wanted; but it wasn’t something he could have. He wanted what Lucifer could do to you, to sink his length into you until he was balls deep. He wanted to feel your inner walls around him and not your hands. He wanted your slick to cover his cock. He wanted to claim you. “Ah.. Please… I… I need...”

You shushed him with a quick peck on his lips. “I know, I know… you want to cum again.” You finished his sentence for him.

He stuttered. It was not what he needed, not in the way you had planned. “N-no. I… I need… Ahhn!~” His pleas were cut short as you tied a vibrator against his softening cock. A length of black ribbon kept the toy flush against his member and you cooed softly, admiring your own handiwork. With a soft click, the toy was turned on at the highest setting and Simeon was thrown right into another round of screaming and fighting against his bindings.

“Feel free to cum as many times as you want, my Angel. This night is about you.” You finally took the blindfold off of him to let him see his surroundings.

He blinked, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the sudden change in light. You were still dressed to the nines in that slinky dress of yours; however there was a distinctive debauched air about it. Your hair was in disarray, there were wrinkles in the fabric that weren’t there before. There was also the fact that your panties were just idly hanging off of your ankle that made the sight all the more debased than he could ever imagine.

Lucifer stood behind you, one hand under your skirt fondling your pussy while his other hand groped your breast. You hummed and rocked against his touches, your knees feeling weak at just how talented he was at getting you riled up. Seeing you squirm and shake, gasping for Lucifer was enough to pull another orgasm out of Simeon. His spent cock being forced into erection over and over again thanks in part to the toy strapped to him and also due in part to the lewd show you were giving him.

“Like what you see?” Lucifer asked, smirking at the exhausted man below him. Simeon’s bright eyes were glazed over in lust, the desire to take you for himself was clear as day. But, denying him the thing he wanted the most was too entertaining. Seeing the torment flit across the man’s face as he was made to watch you come undone was absolutely delicious. “Want to see more?”

He lifted your skirt up and revealed to Simeon how much of a sopping wet mess you were. Simeon’s gaze was affixed to the way Lucifer’s finger stroked your slit up and down with his thumb pressed up against your clit. His digits were absolutely soaked with your essence, sliding in and out of you with ease whenever he felt bored of playing with your labia. He whimpered, his hips twitching in response to your every gasp and moan.

“Can we please?” You pleaded, leaning into Lucifer and desperately kissing his jawline. “You know how much he likes to watch.”

“Oh, I do.” Lucifer chuckled, his free hand moved to undo the zipper of your dress. The fabric fell from your shoulders, pooling at your feet and Simeon’s vision was blessed with your nude form in front of him. It wasn’t the first time he had seen it, but it had been so long since the last time, it felt like a whole new experience all together.  

Lucifer undid his slacks just enough free his own aching penis. He rubbed the shaft between your legs, coating his length with your juices. Simeon watched, barely registering the vibrations on his own cock anymore. He licked his lips, wishing he was in his friend’s place. The needy gaze didn’t go unnoticed, Lucifer saw the desperation build behind Simeon’s gaze and he gave the angel a self-satisfied smirk as he lined himself to your hole and slid into you in one smooth motion.

Even if the initial intentions of the night were to get Simeon to cum until he couldn’t see straight, you would be lying if you didn’t crave a little action of your own. Lucifer’s dick sliding in out of you while Simeon watched was just the stimulation you needed. You couldn’t get enough of being watched hungrily by the man on the ground, unable to do anything except cum over and over again thanks to all the toys. It was the perfect amount of payback for all the times he played with you without giving you what you truly wanted.

“Oh fuck you feel so good.” You gasped, reeling in bliss as your inner walls hugged and squeezed Lucifer’s cock as if they were made for him.

The man behind you was taking quite a bit of enjoyment out of the scenario as well. His usual smooth talking had stopped as he focused on fucking you. He knew Simeon wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from how his dick disappeared into you over and over. Your vocal appreciation for everything he did to you wasn’t helping the envy building up in him. He wanted to be there, he could be there. All it took was a little push over the edge…

Lucifer was relentless in his pace, driving you to cum all over him quickly. He didn’t stop though, he was too fond of pushing the limits of everyone around him. He continued to fuck you until your knees gave out and you fell on all fours. His cock slipped out of you and Simeon could see the length glisten and drip with your juices. He licked his lips again and felt his water. He wanted to have a taste of you, even if it was on another man’s cock. The unique flavor of your essence still lingered at the back of his throat from when Lucifer had made him lick his fingers and he lusted for another sampling.

Lucifer sheathed himself into you once more and you saw stars from the new angle. The moan that came from your lips was all the encouragement Simeon’s hormones needed before he once again climaxed. His cries mingled with yours, filling the room with the lewd sounds of sex. Lucifer eventually joined in, his breathy sighs turned to aggressive grunts as he claimed your cunt in lieu of Simeon. “Gonna cum for me again, Little Lamb?” he asked, slapping your ass hard enough to leave a hand print on it.

You squealed, the pain shot across your body briefly before the fullness of his cock inside of you took all of it away. “Yes, yes sir… very soon, sir.”

“Good girl...” Lucifer growled, pulling your hair and using it as leverage to go deeper into you.

You lost count of how many times you screamed his name as he toed the line between pain and pleasure. He was rough but the rawness of his actions made your body sing praises. You watched as Simeon came again, his eyelids fluttering in exhaustion. His whole being completely spent and used. Yet, none of it was over until Lucifer said so.

“One last time. Cum for me, now.” Lucifer demanded.

You didn’t know how he had you trained so quickly. Your whole body spasmed as you came crumbling around him. “Fuck… Simeon...” You whined, calling for the man you truly wanted to fuck you. Your inner walls clamped around the cock in you, milking it as if it was the one in front of you. If you imagined it enough, you could see yourself riding him until the two of you were absolutely delirious.

Even if it had all been planned beforehand, Lucifer still couldn’t help but feel a bit of a sting when you called out the other man’s name. Your walls tightening around him was enough to send him over the edge with you and he released his load in you. His pace became an erratic stutter as he fucked you until his cock was too sensitive to take any more. He had been saving himself for this moment for quite a few days, the load he let go of was large enough to have his seed dripping out of you even before he pulled out.

Hearing his name come from your lips as you reached your climax with another man sent Simeon spiraling into the most powerful orgasm he had that night. He yelled your name, calling for you, begging for you as the last of his energy went into his release. He wheezed, barely able to keep consciousness as the last vestiges of his stamina went to blocking out the still vibrating toys on and in his body.

Gathering what strength your weary body had, you at least had the decency to undo the ties on his cock, letting the vibrator fall away from the sticky mess his multiple ejaculations had caused. It was a sight, his cum spilled all over his thighs, his stomach and on the rug underneath him. As filthy as it all was, it was still a rather erotic sight. While you removed the plug from his ass, Lucifer worked on finally undoing the bindings on his arms.

Simeon heaved a sigh of relief once he was freed. The first thing he did was attempt to pull you into a kiss, but he was so weak, he could only find the strength to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You got the hint and kissed the tip of his nose, smiling softly at him. You reached for the towels Lucifer had already set aside for clean up and gently cleaned off the worst of the mess from his body and on the rug. “Ahh… looks like you might need to steam clean that spot...”

“Or I can just get a new rug. I’ve been meaning to redecorate.” Lucifer shrugged, massaging Simeon’s hands and wrists, lovingly tracing the deep marks left behind from the ribbon. They wouldn’t last very long, but he did appreciate the crisscross pattern on his friend’s skin.

Simeon sighed in content, his whole body tingling in the aftermath of cumming so many times only to be followed by so care and attention. “I’m guessing that you two planned this beforehand and it wasn’t about celebrating the book release at all.”

“Oh, are you saying we didn’t applaud your deeds enough? Should we go another round?” You teased.

Simeon let out a tired groan and quickly backtracked. “Okay, no. No. This was plenty. The best party I’ve ever had. Promise.”

Lucifer chuckled, his hands still working circulation back into the tips of Simeon’s fingers. He watched the two of you banter and couldn’t help but feel a bond similar to the one he had with assistant forming between you and Simeon. All his friend needed was just a little more encouragement to take that last step to accept all the temptation in front of him. “Well, If you really want to talk about your work some  more, then I’m sure my assistant wouldn’t mind a signed copy of your book… if you have the time to grace us with your autograph.”

“I… I think I can manage that.”

Being pampered so thoroughly was a change of pace for him. Simeon felt like he was drifting off in a warm pool of water. His consciousness drifted away as you and Lucifer cleaned him off and made sure he was comfortable. “Oh… One more present before you fall asleep.” You shook him out of the doze he was in to make sure he was completely conscious for the last gift you had prepared for him.

I really was a shame that Simeon had so many issues with expressing his desires.

He looked at you with confusion, looking around for what else you might have planned. You kissed him deeply, putting every bit of emotion you could into it to keep him distracted. While he languidly returned the kiss, he heard a soft clink and felt something cold surround his flaccid penis. A hefty metal cage enclosed his member and he blinked in shock, pushing you away and frantically looked back and forth between the two of you. “What… what is the meaning of this?”

“Well...” you drawled, snapping the locking mechanism shut and waving the key to the chastity belt in front of his face. “You’re adamant about not fucking me, so I didn’t think you’d need to use your dick any more. Right, Lucifer?”

Lucifer grinned devilishly, he pat your head like the obediant pet you were and nodded in agreement. “We could have avoided this if you just told us what you wanted out of tonight… But you were just too busy screaming, we couldn’t figure anything out.”

“It’s cute, right?” You asked, looking up him expectantly. “Do you like it? It was my idea.”

It was your idea. The fact shocked Simeon to his very core, to say the least.

“I.. I’m not sure if cute is the word you’re looking for.” Lucifer teased. His tender caresses moved away from Simeon’s arm to gently comb through his sex tousled hair. “But, I will admit that it is rather charming.”

You giggled, running your finger across the metallic finish of the cage, watching his cock twitch at the slight contact. “Nope. It’s cute. He’s my cute and precious angel.”

Mine.

Simeon’s arms wrapped around you possessively and held you close to him. Even if he was exhausted, he wouldn’t let Lucifer sway you with any more silly schemes. If he was to be caged for the rest of his life, he could accept his fate as long as he was yours. He sighed, surprisingly content with his life at the moment and he clung to you as he felt himself drifting off to sleep again. You held the key to many aspects of him at this point. At any time, you could choose to free him or entangle him in another intricate game to have him screaming your name.

None of that mattered. He was yours and he was beginning to believe he was willing to give you every part of him just to receive your approval. As long as your eyes were on him. As long as he held your attention. He was ready to give you whatever you asked for.

Except for maybe his divinity. He still foolishly clung to the delusion that he was a pure angel so long as he didn’t defile you.

You had taken him apart, dragging every bit of his heart into the darkness he had resisted for so long. The last traces of his holy resistance fought against the temptation. At this point, he knew was likely in too deep to really care if he did fall. As long as the fall meant he landed in your arms.

[mlm-writer]

Bite, Bit, Bitten (Star Trek Day Special) Pt. 1

Pairing: Implied Spirk and early Leonard H. McCoy x Gender Neutral!Yeoman!Reader    Rating: PG13 Words: 1062 Summary: The USS Enterprise is dealing with a zombie virus. You remain one of the last to be uninfected. With no cure in sight and your back against the wall, you turn towards a classic Enterprise solution.  Note: HAPPY STAR TREK DAY EVERYONE Tags: zombie au, spirk, action, mentions of blood, biting and desperate solutions

You held the phaser in your shaking hands. There was banging on the door of the supply closet you had locked yourself into. Sweaty hands made it hard to keep a firm grip on the weapon. Something fell behind you and you turned, backing up to the wall to keep your back covered. From between the shelves of medical supplies came Dr. McCoy. He looked no different from the other crew members infected with the ‘zombie virus’. One careless security officer brought in on board and you felt like you were the last to go unharmed. You’ve been trying to get to the shuttle bay, but the virus spread faster than you could make it down there. 

“I’m sorry, sir,” you ironically said, before shooting to stun. Your phaser made a noise. “Or not,” you sighed and threw the out-of-charge phaser aside. Dr. McCoy was coming for you, slow in his step, but you had little place to go. “Okay think, think, think,” you muttered to yourself, backing up to give yourself more time, “what would captain Kirk do?” Then the unthinkable came to mind. Well, unthinkable for every normal person, but you have been captain Kirk’s yeoman long enough to have learned the old-Terran phrase ‘make some shit up’. 

Before Dr. McCoy could sink his teeth into you and infect you, you lunged forward and bit as hard as you could into the skin of his exposed neck. He cried out and you felt a bit sorry. When he stopped you let go. He fell down and you spit the blood out of your mouth. “Gross,” you muttered. Your eyes scanned the doctor, widening as his skin returned to his normal tone. He groaned, sounding like he had a hangover from here to the next quadrant. “Doctor… McCoy?” You poked his arm tentatively. He looked up, looking normal aside from the bleeding bite mark in his neck and the bite-shaped scar on his shoulder. 

“Yeoman, what happened?” He groaned. You helped him sit against the wall. He complained of a headache. You were just glad you had someone to talk to. 

“You got infected.”

“You found a cure?”

“I guess?”

He reached for his neck, giving you a ‘what the fuck’ look when his hand returned with blood on the fingertips. “I bit you and you turned back to normal.” It did not help his confusion. “I will need you and commander Spock to help me find out why. I think my saliva might have a counter agent for the virus.” 

Dr. McCoy muttered something about ‘space bullshit’ and got up, feeling better, you presumed. “Where is the captain?” You shrugged. “Well you might need to bite him too… and how the hell did you get it into your head to bite me?” He reached for the wound again, but thought the better of it and kept himself from touching it. 

You laughed and shrugged again. “It seemed like an idea our crazy captain would come up with.” McCoy shook his head. He really had enough of space; that was obvious. You disinfected his wound and got him patched up. His phaser was still functional, making getting to the labs a lot easier. You stole a phaser from an unconscious ensign on the way. The urge to bite everyone you came across was there, but you knew that biting a crew of over 400 was an impossible task. You found Spock, stunned him on sight and dragged him into the empty corridor with you. “Bite him.”

Dr. McCoy frowned at you. “I thought that was supposed to be your task.” 

“Well if we want to know if it is just my bite that does the trick, you should bite someone too.”

He could not argue with the logic and grabbed an arm. He rolled up the sleeve of Spock’s shirt and bit him until he breached the skin. Dr. McCoy spit on the floor, grimacing at the taste of Vulcan in his mouth. Nothing happened. You took Spock’s other arm, biting into it until an unfamiliar taste landed on your tongue. You spit the little bit of blood out as well, immediately noting Spock’s skin changing. He remained unconscious, but he seemed fine, except for the two bleeding bite marks on his arms. “Just you then.”

“Well in a test pool of two, it is hard to tell who exactly is the exception. Maybe it is everyone but you.”

“Who knew? The yeoman is secretly a scientist.”

You chuckled. Your eyes met those of the doctor, lingered there for a little too long. He cleared his throat, making the both of you look away. “Anyway,” he spoke, “we should hide out somewhere safe until Spock gains consciousness.” You agreed and helped him move Spock from the hallway to the medbay. You cleared out the zombies there, placed them outside and sealed the medbay. You slumped in a chair, tired of the day. “We could stay here for the night.”

You looked up, smiling when the doctor walked up with two thermos cans. You took one, assuming it was coffee, but when you took a sip, it was tea. “There are beds and the doors are…” You stopped when you heard a sound coming from the closet. You drew your phaser, approaching the closet. You counted down with your fingers, before unlocking the door and dashing back. The captain tumbled out, falling face first onto the floor. 

“Jim! Dammit,” the doctor cried out. The captain looked normal, uninfected, but you kept your phaser on him as McCoy checked up on him. 

Kirk lifted his face, smiling a little silly. “Oh Bones, I am happy to see you. You got a cure for the zombie virus yet?” McCoy helped him up and you put your phaser away. “What happened to your neck?” McCoy hit his hand away, examining his friend instead. 

“Your yeoman has a possible counter agent, but we still need to test it and find a way to mass-administer it.” The captain nodded with a hum and turned to you, giving you a dashing smile.

“Well I would expect no less from my favourite yeoman,” he mused, before his eyes fell on Spock on the medbed. “Wait what happened to Spock?” In a flash, Kirk freed himself from McCoy to get to the commander’s side. “Are those bitemarks?”

“Yeah… about that.”

[agentwhiskeysdarlin]

12 Days of Christmas with Jack:Day 6

Pairing: Jack Whiskey Daniels x OC (written in second person)

Rating:PG

Warnings: KISSES, yes you read that right and there is A LOT, pretty sure that’s it?  

Word Count:1,377

Author’s Notes: This part was SO MUCH FUN because we finally got them kissing each other!! Thank you all once again for the feedback and all the love it means SO MUCH!! I hope you all enjoy!! Special thanks to @clint-aww-no-barton​ 

Part 5

  Jack had been late getting things at the office wrapped up. When he finally finished he started out the front door of Statesman’s. As he passed by Ryder’s desk he noticed a brightly doodled paper tapped to the desktop. He let out a soft chuckle before realizing it was a list and not just any list but the list they had made of the activities they wanted to do with him. He smiled as an idea popped into his head before he moved closer and glanced over the rest of it. It was all doable for sure so he quickly took a picture on his phone before heading out the door his own ideas starting to spring up in his head.

***

  Jack had called you and told you to be ready by 6. He was coming to get you for a surprise. You had just finished getting ready when the knock on the door made a smile pull to your lips. You went to answer and there stood a very smug cowboy.

  “This is a bit of a change,” you let out a chuckle.

  “Yeah well when someone leaves their list out for the world to see sometimes people decide it’s their turn to show someone a good time,” the look on his face was pure triumph.

  “Jack Daniels you shouldn’t be snooping!!” Your eyes had grown at his words and then you smacked at him playfully.

  “Hey darlin’ you are the one who left that brightly decorated thing tapped to your desktop,” he laughed.

  You rolled your eyes at him before grabbing your jacket and shrugging it on before following him out the door.

  “So lights then?” You asked after climbing into his truck.

  “Yes lights sugar. You have done so much for me alright so I thought it was my turn to pay you back for all of it.”

  “Jack you don’t have to “pay” me back for anything. I wanted to do all of this for you but it’s nice to see you are back somewhat in the Christmas spirit again,” you gave him a side eyed glance with a victorious smile.

  “Well I’m still going to do some stuff for you,” he chuckled before he came up on a park where many other people were gathered.

  It was the town’s annual Christmas lights show. They set up a huge Christmas tree along with lights all throughout the park and everyone gathers around for them to light them. You climbed out and gathered with the crowd with Jack next to you with his hand on the small of your back. You glanced up at him in excitement. Christmas lights was one of your favorite things about this time of year and you had made it a tradition every year to go see some wherever you were. Right on time everyone counted down before they lit the town up and you smiled wide as you looked around. Jack reached out his hand for yours and you took it before the two of you started to look around at the different light displays scattered about.

Jack thought you looked beautiful with the lights shining their colors on your face. Well he thought you always looked beautiful. Your smile was bright and he loved seeing you happy. The two of you had yet to let go of each other’s hands, it felt right. It scared him to death but he knew when this finally happened it would be scary. You looked over at him all bright eyes and he smiled at you.

  All in a rushed minute you slipped on a patch of ice that you never saw coming and Jack was reaching out for you and catching you. It was a mess of a moment and before you knew it Jack had you in his arms as close as you could get against him looking up into his eyes. You searched them for a moment before glancing down at his lips and looking back up to his brown eyes. His eyes seemed to make the same shifting movement before his hand came up to your cheek and his lips crashed against yours. It was everything you ever wanted it to be and more. You melted into him and wrapped your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. You never wanted this to end, you just wanted to stay in this moment with him for forever.

  When the two of you finally pulled away you both started to laugh. You moved your head forward and his lips connected to your forehead.

  “Was that okay?” You asked with hesitation.

  “Oh yes darlin’ it was perfectly okay. I’ve been waiting awhile to do that,” he brushed a piece of hair behind your ear.

  “I have too Jack,” you were beaming so brightly that you pulled a laugh from him.

  The two of stayed in the moment for a few more moments before you pulled him along with you to continue to look at the lights. Jack pulled you closer wrapping one arm around your neck to pull you to his side more and you reached up to hold his hand. When you reached the end of the trail they were giving out hot coco. You were excited and took yours with glee before starting to sip on it.

  “Should we sip on our hot coco, drive around town and look at more lights?” Jack asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “That would be great!”

  The two of you headed for his truck before climbing in and taking off. Jack drove through different neighborhoods slowly looking at all the different homes decked out in lights and other decorations. You were in awe always at all of it and Jack mostly kept looking at your face inside of the lights. The same joy you got from the lights he soaked in from you. All too soon he made it back around to your home and put the truck in park. You both sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments before you looked at him.

  “I had a really good time tonight Jack. And listen we don’t have to call it anything yet if we don’t want to. I’m fine with slow and steady if that’s what you need.”

  “Thank you darlin’. I want this, I do but I do need to be a bit slower with this just because it’s been awhile.”

  “I understand,” you gave him a smile as you finished the coco.

  “That was good hot coco. Best I’ve had in awhile,” Jack comments as he takes your hand.

  “Oh you haven’t had mine yet cowboy,” you smirked.

  “Oh well pardon me ma’am. I sure hope I get to try it soon.”

  “You will. You have seen the list now but I still have tricks up my sleeve no worries.”

  He laughed before your eyes met again.

  “Kiss me again Jack,” the words came off soft and he was pulling your face to him again.

  You would never get over how his lips felt so connected with yours like no one else was meant to fit to you like he did. You pulled away all too soon and let out a sigh.

  “I don’t want to go,” the words were with a hint of sadness.

  “I know darlin’ I don’t want you to either but we will see each other again soon,” he smirked softly.

  “No now mister the next one is mine okay!!” You protested getting a laugh from him.

  “Alright alright,” he threw his hands up.

  He gave you one more quick kiss before getting out and walking around to open your door. He held your hand all the way to the door and you couldn’t help yourself but to get one more last good kiss from him before unlocking the door.

  “Goodnight cowboy.”

  “Goodnight darlin’.”

  You stepped inside knowing he wouldn’t go back to his truck before you were safely inside. The second the door was shut you did what all the people did in the movies and backed against the door and slid down with the biggest smile on your face. You couldn’t believe this was finally happening and you really hoped that it was the beginning of something so new and wonderful.

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