#wanted to draw something chill and low effort and i really like how it turned out | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

munson-blurbs · 2 years ago

Note

hey! Could you do something where reader and eddie are doing... it and wayne walks in. Just kinda smutty and funny

Poor Wayne :( this was really fun to write, though!

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), fingering, p in v, kinda public sex?

WC: 2.5k

A/N: This was a collab with @hxllfired! Please go and show her all the love.

You’re roused from your slumber when the sheets rustle, and the comforter is pulled off a few times too many. It isn’t hard to do, as you’re typically a very light sleeper, and Eddie really did try in his best efforts to not wake you up, but his restlessness really got the better of him this morning.

As more melodramatic protests from behind you continue, you speak in a short tone, "Eds."

After a brief pause followed by a rueful “Sorry,” Eddie turned once more to face your back. He feels warm, contrasting perfectly with the spring chill filtering through the open window — of course you’d both forgotten to shut it last night after sharing a joint.

Despite your best efforts to drift off again, you were unable to block out the persistent, nagging birdsong from outside; Instead you surrendered yourself to Saturday morning, disappointed you didn’t get to sleep in on your day off.

There's more subtle movement, the springs protesting under his weight before he is pressing against you now, reaching a calloused hand to rub your arm, slipping up the sleeve of your shirt to reach your shoulder with every pass. Eddie leaves sleepy kisses over your shoulder, and you feel as if he'd dispelled your frustration like magic.

“Do you hear that?” Those same comforting hands now wander down the curve of your waist as you let out a quizzical hum in response.

“Even the birds are fucking,” his voice is hushed; the comment makes you suppress a laugh at the obvious direction he’s headed with you, and it’s confirmed when his hands start moving underneath your shirt to feel you skin-to-skin just how you needed it.

“Who else is fucking?” you ask, but you know just based on how he touches your hips and the way he bends your waist.

You feel his morning wood press against the curve of your ass. Despite knowing that it’s involuntary, Eddie insists that he’s only this hard when you sleep beside him. And who are you to correct him?

You grind on him instinctively, smirking as a breathy moan slips past his plush lips. His hand tugs at the waistband of your panties, and you wriggle until you feel the damp lace pool around your ankles, leaving you in nothing but his oversized Dio tee.

“Jesus Christ, how are you already so wet for me?,” Eddie muses, running a thick finger along your folds. “Were you havin’ a good dream?”

“Maaaaybe,” you giggle, inhaling sharply as he finds your clit and rubs it in slow, agonizing counterclockwise motions.

“Mind if I make it come true?” His lips dance across the nape of your neck, exposed by the messy bun you use to keep your hair out of your face while you sleep. It also gives Eddie easy access to one of your favorite spots to be kissed.

You nod excitedly. “I’d love that,” you tell him, humming as he increases his speed slightly. “But can you really get Rob Lowe here that fast?”

Eddie audibly gasps, moving his hand from your wanting pussy to tickle your sides. You laugh at the sensation, even through the shirt. “How dare you!” he growls teasingly. He smacks noisy kisses to your cheek as he slings a leg over yours, hooking it around your calf and drawing you closer. “Bet Rob Lowe couldn’t make you feel this good,” he murmurs as he broaches your hole with his middle finger. “Bet he couldn’t fill up this tight pussy with just one finger.”

The stretch feels too good; you couldn’t tease him anymore even if you wanted to. You whine pathetically as you involuntarily clench around his stagnant digit. “Please, don’t tease me.”

Although you can’t see his face, you know that there’s a smirk on it. “‘Not too sure if I should give you what you want, sweetheart. Not after that ‘Rob Lowe’ comment of yours.” But he can’t deny you for long; he’s a sucker for the moans that escape you at his touch. He’s gentle as he adds in a second finger, curling them perfectly — by now he knew exactly how to touch you, and he loved to show you he did.

“Can you keep kissing me?” There’s an innocence in your tone that drives him absolutely wild. But that’s not why you asked; you crave the intimacy that the feeling of his lips on your skin brings. If you can’t gaze into his beautiful brown eyes while he’s inside you, his tender kisses are the next best thing.

Eddie slightly shifts himself up, giving himself more comfortable access to your neck. Your whole body shivers as his breath tickles your skin, and your nipples harden when his lips leave open mouth kisses to the back of your neck. You can’t help but to pull your shirt up, tilting your head back with a sigh when your hand kneads your breast.

“There you go,” he praises in your ear, fingers still curling firmly into you. Your cheeks are flushed, lips parted as Eddie stimulates you in every way he knows how.

Eddie shushes into your ear as soon as your moans increase in volume. “That’s it,” he cooes, between kisses. “What else do you need, baby?” He’s serious, no longer taunting you. He’s completely focused on pleasing you.

You reach back and run your palm over his tented boxers that he wears in lieu of pajamas. Eddie hisses at the brief contact. “Just your fingers until you’re ready to give me this.” You’ve been together long enough to know that he’s ready—been ready—but you know better than to tell him what to do. He has no problem snapping right back into teasing you again.

Eddie pulls his fingers out of you, and you mewl at the sudden emptiness, and lack of pleasure while he reaches his hand up, and you can hear him sucking your slick off of his hand.

“You always taste as good as you look, baby,”

One more kiss onto your neck, then Eddie leans up onto his elbow to spit on his hand, letting it disappear into the covers; the soft schlick sound tells you that he’s stroking his cock, preparing himself to be inside you with ease.

“I swear, there’s nothing better than having you first thing in the morning, y/n,” he whispers behind your head as he settles back down. You can’t be bothered to point out that 9 AM is not exactly the crack of dawn, because he’s pushing into you from behind. The mushroom tip of his dick nudges against your velvety walls as he slides in.

Your mouth hangs open beautifully and your hand reaches out to grab the edge of the mattress. You’re quiet at first, and Eddie listens for that-

“Fuck,” your voice shivers, finally breaking into a small moan. His moves are slow, but the way your legs are pressed together makes it feel so good for both of you. You continue to hold onto the bed, knuckles white as he bottoms out into you, the sensation already so fucking much.

When he reaches a hand to your breast to pinch your nipple you whisper his name, full of desperation and need.

“Thassit, baby,” he presses firmly into you with each thrust, and the pleasure builds up faster than a quick fuck.

“Say my name, just like that.” But you don’t have time to chant his name like a prayer before there’s a light knock on the door.

“Ed? Y/N? Are you guys awake in there?” Wayne’s gruff voice travels from the other side. He’s the kind of guy who speaks at one volume; he doesn’t yell, nor does he whisper.

“Shit, shit,” Eddie panics, and you’re quick to adjust yourself into a more believable sleeping position.

“Pretend to be asleep!” you instruct Eddie, pulling the covers up as high as they can go, and tugging your shirt back down. You expect him to pull himself from you, maybe tuck his dick back into his boxers, but he just holds you impossibly close by your hips, his grip leaving an ache on your bones. Eddie continues to press into you firmly, occasionally rutting his hips.

“What are you doing?” You hiss.

“Shut up — You can come in!” Eddie calls back. You kick him in his shin with your heel, earning an oof from him, but he covers it well as Wayne pushes open his nephew’s door with an obnoxious creak.

“She still sleepin’?” he asks, presumably talking about you. “I can come back when she wakes up. Just had the morning off and wanted to see if you lovebirds wanted to go to Benny’s for breakfast with me.”

You silently will Eddie to take Wayne up on his offer to return later, but he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. “Yeah, that sounds great!” he replies enthusiastically, still thrusting his hips ever so slightly. You try your best to inconspicuously stifle a moan. And then, to your chagrin, Eddie says, “something on your mind?”

Wayne sighs as though he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Can’t hide anything from you, boy.” He gives a small chuckle. “Mind if I…” he trails off before sitting down on the bed—the very bed where Eddie is buried to the hilt inside your pussy. You feel the old mattress cave in where he plops down.

“So,” he begins, exhaling again, “you two are really serious, huh?” Eddie nods behind you, keeping his very discrete, but rhythmic pace. You feel every damn inch of him as your orgasm slowly draws near. “How long’ve you been together?”

“A year the end of this month,” Eddie says proudly.

The older man lets out a soft whistle. “Y’picked a good one, son.” You bite back a smile at Wayne’s approval. He meant everything to Eddie, and Eddie to him, so knowing that he likes you is a huge deal. Though you’re not sure how he would feel if he knew what was currently going on underneath the sheets. There’s a long pause before Wayne speaks again. “You’re, uh, you’re bein’ safe? Using the, uh, things I bought you?”

Eddie chokes on his own spit, and the sudden movement has him reaching even deeper within you. The truth is, the box of things has remained mostly untouched, since you’re on the pill. But Eddie isn’t about to divulge those details. “Yup, all good. No baby Munsons runnin’ around.”

“Good,” Wayne says briskly, placing his palms on his knees before starting to stand up with a loud groan. “At least, no babies yet. Maybe in a few years, once you get your own place, put a ring on her finger,” he suggests as his voice trails. Wayne finally laughs at what must be a very bemused expression on Eddie’s face. “Now, don’t give me that look, Ed. Just the other day you were goin’ on and on, ‘I’m gonna marry that girl, Uncle Wayne. She’s the one!’”

“Okay, thank you for the breakfast invitation,” Eddie blurts out, desperate to end the conversation. You feel his body heat up against you with embarrassment. “I’ll let Y/N know once she wakes up.”

As soon as the door shuts, you burst out into a fit of giggles. “Eddie Munson, did your poor uncle buy you those condoms?” you ask between peals of laughter. “I feel like we have to use them now!”

“That was brutal,” Eddie groans, pressing his face into the back of your neck. His messy curls tickle your collarbones.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting shy around the girl you wanna marry!” you throw his own words back at him, frowning when you realize he’s no longer teasing you. His movements have stilled, though he’s still inside you. “Eddie? You okay?”

He shakes his head, forehead still nestled against you. “I didn’t know he was gonna say all that,” you can’t read the tone of his voice. “Did it, like, scare you?”

You crinkle your nose. “Not at all, actually,” you admit. “I really want to marry you someday. I mean, if you wanna marry me, and Wayne wasn’t just joking—”

“He wasn’t.” Eddie is quick, but firm in his response. “I told him that you’re it for me; you’re the love of my life.” He clears his throat. “And while we’re being honest, the thought of a couple of baby Munsons with you—in the very distant future—is somethin’ I’ve thought about, too.”

“Oh, really?” you say salaciously while you begin to sway your hips against his pelvis. His cock twitches as he grows harder inside you. “Well, why don’t we practice now so we’re professionals when it’s time to try for real?”

“Shit, sweetheart,” his breathing picks up, as he pulls the comforter up to watch you. He’s trying very hard to keep it together, but after Wayne’s interruption, and Eddie’s teasing, you both just want to cum already.

“You’d better make this quick, Eddie. I don’t want any more interruptions, I just want you to make me cum.”

Eddie makes a feral noise, and you feel his hand hook under your thigh, lifting your leg roughly. This new angle allows him better access to fuck into you roughly, while hitting that delicious spot inside you that makes you fall apart every time.

“Of course, gorgeous. We can work up an appetite for that breakfast with Wayne.”

You weren’t sure how Wayne didn’t hear this time, but it helped Eddie’s other hand wrapped around you to cover your mouth, and the comforter muffled the slap your bodies made together.

You’re clinging to anything, eyes squeezed shut as you say his name into the hand that silences you, he understood you loud and clear, and it was so fucking hot.

“That’s it, good girl.” He continues fucking into you, his hand squeezing your leg so tight you are sure you’re going to bruise.

You couldn’t help but to envision Eddie fucking you like this in the future, the goal to get you pregnant, and you let out another desperate moan.

Eddie tells you he’s going to cum, and that’s what has you teetering on the edge, the second you start rhythmically squeezing against his cock, and your legs shake, he’s right after you, filling you with a drawn out moan into your neck.

Your hip aches as he releases your leg, and he doesn’t pull out just yet as you come down from your high. It takes a few moments before he finally speaks,

“So excited for uncle Wayne to bring us for breakfast.”

You turn your head to look at him, your lip curled in distaste, and when he notices his smile fades. “What?” He asks.

“Don’t ever mention your uncle with your dick inside me again.”

You can’t help but to laugh when he does, and Eddie pulls out of you before pulling your face to meet his with a smooch.

“Come on, I know my future wife must be hungry.”

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #requests

501 notes · View notes

newtthetranswriter · 9 months ago

Note

Hello!

How are you doing?

Can I request a matchup for Haikyuu!, Tokyo Revengers and JJK, please? (Male characters)

I'm an introvert and I prefer staying in my room to draw and listen to music. My hobbies are mostly in the domain of arts and crafts! I'd like to do something related to arts in the future. I'm good at analyzing texts and I enjoy writing. I also like doing improvisation because it requires quick thinking. Other than that I love rhythm games! I also pick up languages pretty quick.

I'm tall but I like wearing heels! Sometimes I have anxiety problems but overall I am confident in my abilities and looks. Not in an arrogant type of way, more like ''not taking unwanted opinions'' about my style or the art I make. Because of that I also like to encourage people around me to follow their own way of life (as long as it doesn't harm anyone!). I dislike when somebody is bossy and dictates how somebody else should live their life, it really doesn't affect the outsider that comments. I believe that unique styles are what makes the world prettier.

I have a short temper but I prefer ''forgiving and forgetting'' solely because:

I am too tired to argue, it takes too much effort to talk

I would rather not allow myself to yell because I really dislike that

I am sensitive to loud sounds and I might get a panic attack mid argument and that would be VERY embarrassing for me. I'd think about it for years.

I'm absolutely bad with expressing my emotions so I show love through giving gifts or writing what I feel. I get shy mid-sentence when I try telling someone I care for them, even if they are my family.

I like to learn! Trying out new things or food is very cool to me and recently I got into drawing whatever I can't draw so I can improve, I like challenges. I tend to push myself to test my limits. I also eat a lot. Which is bad.

I love seeing sunrises/sunsets, snow, flowers in bloom and I adore when it rains! Walking during rain helps me relax. I also like shiny things and all animals!

I am so sorry that it turned out this long!

I hope you'll have a great day 😊🧡

A/n: Hello, thank you so much for being patient. I hope you enjoy and have a great day. And as always remember to hydrate or diedrate

Haikyuu: Kenma Kozume

Dating Kenma is relaxing

Date nights can be going out to eat or just relaxing together with music playing while you draw and he games

He loves that you encourage him to do what he wants and don’t pressure him to put down his video games

He may be on the short side but he doesn't care if you want to go around in high heels, he thinks you’re beautiful no matter what

Kenma also isn’t a big fan of fights or loud noises so if you guys do get in a disagreement it’s going to be a day or two of silent treatment and then cuddles

He will also try out rhythm games for you so you guys have another thing to do together

All around just a chill time with the beautiful gamer

Tokyo Revengers: Takashi Mitsuya

Takashi is supportive in what ever you want to do

Loves that you are confident and don’t focus on what others think of you

Enjoys having dates that are just the two of you being creative and enjoying each other’s presence

He definitely already plays rhythm games so if you want to do that with him, he’s more than happy to make it a date

Taka understands that even with your short temper you prefer to just move on, so in disagreements he tries to just talk it out and if it looks like talking isn’t working will suggest taking a step back

He doesn't like to leave things unresolved so if something he did upset you just let him know and he will work on it

Now if you get upset with a member of Toman, he will deal with them for you. Just tell him who and he will pull them away and have a chat, tries to keep it on the down low so it doesn’t cause a seen

He’s all about respect, so he will do whatever he can to make sure you feel respected and welcome

Jujutsu Kaisen: Yuji Itadori

While Yuji is very outgoing and loud I feel that you guys would balance each other out

You encourage him to take breaks and relax, while he works to bring you out of your comfort zone

He loves Improve because it lets him just be him, so make that a date, go have fun being silly

Yuji will always be down for walks in the rain

He will bring you random little things he sees that makes him think of you, basically he also has crow brain so lots of ‘oooo shiny s/o would love that’

#jjk x reader #x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #haikyu x reader #match ups

7 notes · View notes

cometcalloway · 2 years ago

Note

💄🎈 (( any of ur muses, one for a different one)

[ 💄 ] does your muse have an aesthetic? do they adhere strictly to it?

Comet has this sort of showman energy he can turn on when he's trying to persuade people or do public speaking or embody a role or something like that. And when he's in a role like that, he likes to dress up expressively, kind of like a more subtle Ms. Frizzle. I still need to draw him as like the mayor of mars, but he definitely brings his own sense of style to his appearance. Like maybe wearing an orange or red suit instead of a plain black or gray one, for a subtly Mars-themed outfit. When Comet isn't trying to be larger than life, he will happily be ultra chill and casual & walk around the house in pajama pants and a hoodie doing introvert stuff.

I write Piter as pretty ace, but he likes to wear, hmmm, slutty outfits. Even when he's not putting in effort (or shouldn't bc he has to go to work), he likes wearing low v-necks. And slutty isn't the right word for it (bc of the implied shame over how many sexual partners someone has), but it gets the description most of the way there. If I said he likes to wear sexy outfits, that would come with an implication that he's dressing for confidence and fun and expects reciprocation. What he's doing is baring a feminine side like teeth. If there's shame, it's anything he has left over that's internalized, like an unscratchable itch. That, and anything a viewer might feel on his behalf, and might try to put on him, which is it's fully expected but not wanted or accepted. It's not that he just wants to look good and nothing more, and it's not that he's trying to attract romantic partners, but a secret third thing, and it has to do with anger and power and being genderqueer.

[ 🎈 ] does your muse have many regrets? what are they?

Comet loves space, but he never pursued a career in a related field because his family was deeply involved in political spheres and pushed him into that. He has regrets around not being wise enough or assertive enough in his younger years to really actively chart the course of his own life before someone else got there first. But in just about every verse I have for him, he's figured out how to get involved with projects related to space anyway.

Piter is a creepy guy who talks too much, so he's organized his entire life and job security around being so goddamn smart that he's too useful to let go. So just about all of the regrets that really spook him are related to times he had unavoidable human lapses in his mission to only ever be smart and competent, and to never be not smart or make mistakes. Maybe in a setting where he lives long enough to unlock the deep wisdom that comes with extensive life experience, he'll even regret killing all those people.

2 notes · View notes

theeroticahub · 3 years ago

Text

A Picture With Sis

Hey

The short text message had popped onto my phone screen unexpectedly. It was from my baby sister, Noah. I had recently had to move back in with our parents after a few personal disasters in my own life, so I was suddenly seeing a lot more of her. Which was very strange, as I had left home for school and then work on the opposite side of the country when she was all of twelve. Now she was nineteen and...honestly still as much of a brat as when I left. While she had grown, she remained short and flat as a washboard. The real draw--not for me, her older brother, of course--was her ass. Noah ran track in high school and still found time to jog almost every morning. This gave her a bubble butt that she constantly kept in shape and loved to show off.

What's up I texted back

I waited as those three unholy "still typing dots" danced on screen.

R u gonna be home tonight?

Yeah, probably.

Do u want to watch a movie or something.

Now, this was very odd. As long as I had been back, Noah had wanted nothing to do with me. Like I said, she was still a bit of a brat, even as an adult. I didn't take it too personally. Honestly, before I was forced to come home, I never made much of an effort to visit. I talked to my parents on the phone, but Noah always seemed busy with her own life and her own friends. I was far away and she was busy growing up. Maybe that's all it was: a little sister wanting to reconnect with a sibling she hadn't seen hide or tail in seven years.

I'd be down for a movie.

She "heart" reacted and texted back: ok, what should we watch?

Hey, isn't this your idea???

I know, but I never know what to pick :( That's why I never watch movies alone.

You're on Netflix all the time?

Uh, watching tv? like a normal person???

Okay, I'll pick something out that we'll both like.

She heart reacted again and replied: it's a date.

The conversation wrapped up after that, but it was still all so strange. It's a date. That seemed so out of character for Noah to say, especially to me of all people.

I decided I was overthinking it and got back to my day. After all, part of me was looking forward to getting a chance to just hang out with my sister. The only hurdle now was picking a good movie.

(- - -)

Evening rolled around and I made my way to the living room. I had to pass by the kitchen to get there and found Noah by the oven.

"Are you cooking something?" I asked her.

Noah turned to me and for a second, I was struck by how much she'd grown up while I was gone. I gave her a hard time, but she really had become a beautiful woman. She had on a blue dress that complimented the runner's body she had given herself. After wearing her hair short for years, she had grown out her dark curls to perfectly frame her face. When her eyes caught mine, I froze in place.

"Yeah," she said, "I'm making us some pizza for our movie."

"You didn't want to just

order out?"

Noah made a mock offended expression, "Are you scared to try my cooking?"

I laughed and replied, "No, I'm sure it'll be great. I guess I'm just used to movie nights being low threshold events. Order out, stream something, pass out on a couch..."

"Oh, like all your movie nights end on a couch," she said, rolling her eyes. Again, it was a strange comment. I was talking about watching movies in general, and suddenly she's accusing me of Netflix and Chilling...not that she was off base. Don't get me wrong, I was definitely one of those kids who used "cinephile" as a personality description for a couple years, but I wasn't above using the storied medium of film as a pretense to invite a girl over and hopefully get a piece of ass.

Which made the whole situation stranger because Noah was obviously not a piece of ass. I wouldn't deny that I thought she was very attractive, but that was an objective aesthetic response. I already had no idea where this night was going.

(- - -)

Noah pulled her pizza out of the oven --- diced chicken, banana peppers, black olives, and a creamy alfredo sauce for toppings--- and we settled on our parents' couch to stuff our faces and watch something.

"Are Mom and Dad going to join us?" I asked.

Noah gave me a funny look and then said, "Nah, they've got a thing?"

"A thing?"

"Yeah," she said, and I didn't press further. Like I said, this night was getting weird.

I clicked through the myriad of apps on our parents' smart tv to my desired choice. It was a sort of fantasy-western mash-up movie that was a few decades old but I had been wanting to see for a long time. I was about to hit play when Noah stopped me.

"So, I was thinking..." she started to say.

"Yeah?"

"Did you maybe wanna drink while we're watching?"

Alcohol. In my experience, alcohol was not a good way to make it through the full runtime of a movie, especially when a cute girl was involved. What was going on? What was Noah thinking?

Of course, I had an obvious justification: she still couldn't buy alcohol herself. Our parents weren't super-conservative, but I imagine Noah wasn't getting quite as much booze in her living in their house as she had been during the school year.

"Sure, I could use a drink," I said, deciding not to argue the point, "I hope vodka's okay?"

"Vodka's my favorite!" Noah practically shouted. It was almost cute, "What do you have for mixers?"

"Uh, I don't know, check the kitchen."

"What you don't mix your drinks?"

"Straight vodka, baby," I told her, "I'm sure we can find you something. Maybe a screwdriver?"

"No," she said, her hand grabbing at my wrist, "I'll drink it straight."

The touch was unexpected. It rattled me a little. The whole night already had an off vibe and now this. Should I really be drinking with

my little sister? She was family.

It would be fine.

"Okay, I'll be right back," I said. Noah squealed in delight and gave me a peck on the cheek. I just smiled and averted my eyes, quickly making my way to my room for my secret stash. While Noah had only asked for vodka, I had paraphernalia for a few "other things" we could do, but I didn't want to push it. The last thing I needed was my kid sister trying to press me for weed and Adderall at odd hours of the night.

I made my way back to the kitchen with the bottle. Noah had already put out some glasses with ice.

"Oh, you used coasters, even," I said as I poured us each a drink.

"Well, of course," she said, "I'm not an animal."

We laughed and settled in to finally start the movie.

(- - -)

An hour later, I was seriously questioning my thought process over the course of the day.

We still had an hour of the film to go and had put a serious dent in the vodka. I was feeling pretty loose, so I could only imagine how Noah was holding up. Even after I had stopped pouring drinks for her, she just started to help herself. Tiny as the girl was, she drank like a monster.

None of this was the upsetting part, but it definitely enabled it: Noah and I were cuddled up like horny freshmen on a first date. We had been sitting close together at the beginning, but by this point in the movie she was basically on top of me. My little sister was sitting in my lap in a dress that I was suddenly very aware of being much, much too short. It had all happened pretty imperceptibly. It seem like she shifted herself a little closer to me every few minutes, but the more we drank, the less I thought of it. It was only in a brief moment of clarity that I realized we looked like that couple at a house show whose age difference you cringe at a little but don't say anything about. Sure, I lusted after eighteen year-olds the same as anyone, but once I left college and hit the real world, I gave up on hitting the high of that brand of fresh, young...you get the idea.

So that it was happening now, with my little sister of all people, was a little upsetting. Not that she seemed to mind: she was the one who had devoted the past hour to slowly planting herself in my lap. The weight of her ass pressed down on my crotch and it was honestly driving me insane.

At this point, I still had no idea what her game was, and I was so inebriated I couldn't think straight enough to make sense of what was going on, much less stop it.

In this haze of alcoholic and sexual confusion, I was ill prepared for Noah to turn to me with half-lidded eyes and a little smile on her face.

"This is a really, really good movie," she said, her words slurring a little, "You always pick such good movies."

She gave me a kiss on the lips and then added, "I love you."

"I love you too," I said back. It was all I could think to say. Events and feelings were piling up that I suddenly had no tools to make sense of. I was completely ill-equipped to understand what was going on.

"Really?" she asked, "because I love you lots and lots."

Noah had turned around and was now straddling my hips with her bare legs. Her hands found my shoulders and then the back of my neck. This was completely out of control. Her eyes still had that sexy half-lidded look. What was happening?

"Do you love me, lots and lots?" she asked.

This was when I started to lose control. My hands found Noah's hips and grasped them firmly, trying to hold her in place, afraid whatever illusion we were indulging in might collapse. I stared at her face. She really did have a beautiful face.

"Do I need to show you how much love you?" I asked her. I had no idea what I was doing. I was putting the moves on my sister, feeding her the kind of line I would feed some indie bimbo I met at a party or on tinder.

But Noah just bit her lip and nodded her head.

So I kissed her.

This wasn't a quick kiss like the last couple she had given me. We were making out. Her little pink tongue wrestling with mine. I started to laugh.

"What's so funny?" she asked, laughing too but also a bit indignant.

"You taste like pizza," I said. She started laughing harder and started kissing me again. We went at it like that for a while until I realized we had missed a sizable chunk of the movie and I had no idea what was happening. Noah noticed me glancing at the screen.

"I'm sorry," she said, between planting little kisses all over my face, "I know you were excited to watch that."

"I'll finish it another night," I told her.

"I'm tired," she said, suddenly pouty.

"You want me to take you to bed?" I asked and she nodded, "Ok, let's go."

Her dreamy little smile came back and we went back to making out. Without any warning, I moved my hands from her hips to the bottoms of her thighs and stood, lifting us both up. Noah yelped, but kept kissing me.

"Your room or mine?" I asked.

"Your room," she said, "I used to sleep in there all the time after you left."

"Because it's bigger?"

"Because it was yours."

Again, I was struck by confusion. I hadn't realized Noah had missed me at all, much less this much. She had been a pretty quiet kid and I had left, a surly preteen with a chip on her shoulder about her goofy parents. Then her big brother ran off to college on the opposite side of the country and left her alone. Was that why all of this was happening right now?

"My room it is," I said. Noah squealed and hugged herself close to me as I made our way through the house and up to my room. When we got there, we fell back onto my bed, Noah's body pressed between me and my mattress. This was out of control. I knew I should stop, but in the vodka haze, it just made sense to keep going.

"We need to get ready for bed," I told you, breaking the kiss again, "Unless you want us to wear our clothes to bed."

She nodded no this time and I got off her. I took off my pants on reflex, since I usually just slept in my t-shirt and underwear, but Isuddenly felt embarrassed at being exposed like this in front of my little sister. I shouldn't have been, as when I turned around, Noah had stripped off her dress to reveal she was almost completely naked underneath except for ankle socks and a flimsy pair of tiny panties that barely hid the dark happy trail that descended from her navel to the waistband and inevitably to a hairy little teen pussy I was suddenly in very close proximity to.

Part of me was screaming that I shouldn't be ogling my little sister, but another part of me was completely lost in what was happening. Her tits were a couple of perfect handfuls of female flesh. She was the most perfect girl I had ever seen. Better than any of my exes. Better than classic artwork. Better than porn.

Noah extended her arms out to me like a child demanding affection.

"Love me."

(- - -)

The rising sun and a ding from my phone woke me up in my now empty room. I rubbed my head, suffering from an intense vodka hangover, and took stock of the state of myself and my room. I had apparently fallen asleep naked and my bed was in total disarray: sheets on the floor, pillows thrown around, and blue dress and a pair of panties in a pile in the corner.

"So that did happen," I said to myself, "Why did she leave her clothes?"

I had to search around for my phone, which I finally found on the floor on the other side of the room, a message from Noah waiting for me

Hey Perv ;P

Where'd u go?

Miss me already?

I started to type out my reply when another message pinged on the screen:

Here's something to tide u over followed by a little heart.

The message came attached with a series of images. The first couple were just nudes of Noah--not distasteful, but a little weird for a brother to have--but the next few got increasingly obscene, ending in my little sister covered in cum.

wtf??

Instead of replying, she sent me a video, this time of her on her knees, sucking a cock I soon recognized as my own. From the angle of the shot, it was clear I had taken the video myself, and presumably the other pics Noah sent me.

Fuck, how drunk was I last night?

lol was all she said in reply.

This can't happen again, I told her. She went quiet after that. For the rest of the day, I wandered around and tried to process what had happened. I could recall almost all of the night before and while Noah certainly hadn't raped me, I blacked out right before the actual sex, which made my stomach turn. Had she just sucked me off and had me video it for her, or had we gone further? Why would my sister even want to get me drunk and have me violate her? My head was spinning and none of this made any sense to me. I was totally twisted up over it all.

Curiosity finally got the better of me and I made my way to Noah's room. Knocking on her door, part of me was hoping she wouldn't answer, that I could go on ignoring this whole bizarre situationInstead, the door slowly cracked open, revealing Noah standing there in an old t-shirt of mine and some pajama pants.

"Why didn't you text me?" Noah asked, clinging to the door, "I don't look cute, I don't even have make-up on."

"I just wanted to talk," I told her. Noah pulled me into her room and shut the door behind her. Without so much as another word, she pulled me into a sloppy kiss, her arms around my neck.

"Are you mad at me?" she asked, planting little kisses all over my face and neck as I just stood there, completely perplexed, my hands instinctively moving to hold her hips. Even with all the feelings boiling in me, I couldn't ignore how sexy Noah actually was.

"I'm not mad," I told her, "I'm just confused. Why are you doing all of this? We weren't that close when I left."

Noah just bit her lip and cuddled up close to me.

"I'll explain, but can we move to the bed first?"

A little suspicious, I agreed anyway and crawled into my sister's bed with me. She stripped off her pajama pants to reveal her bare ass and pussy and cuddled up with me again. I almost said something, but I just sighed and put my arm around her.

"It started after you left," she started to explain, "I didn't realize how much I was going to miss you until you were gone, but then something happened. All the guys I tried to date, everyone who was interested in me, I always found myself comparing them to you. For whatever reason, you were my measure for what a boy should be. You were my high watermark. When I started to get good at masturbating, it was your face I saw when I came for the first and every time after. I've been sexually obsessed with you the entire time you were gone."

I just looked at her silently as she told me all of this, unsure how to even begin to respond.

"When you came back, I just completely lost it. I didn't want to hang out with my friends, I didn't want to go to work or do my school work, all I could think about was fucking you. I was up in this room rubbing out orgasm after orgasm the entire time you've been back and you didn't even know. It was so frustrating I thought I'd go crazy. You were my brother and I knew you'd never touch me or even make a pass at me, so I hatched a plan."

"To get me drunk and record it?"

"Yeah," she said, pulling out of my embrace to take her shirt off. She settled back into my arm completely naked except for a little gold Star of David necklace, her pale, little face framed by her long black hair the way her black pubic hair framed her perfect young pussy.

"I definitely would have never thought to do any of this on my own," I told her, moving my hand to her tit, "but the blackmail was a nice touch."

Noah moaned as I groped her, "Blackmail? Those were for me. The only thing that gets me off more than thinking about fucking you is watching myself get fucked by you."

"I didn't realized I had such a pervert little sister," I said as I moved to cup her mons, penetrating her pussy lips with my middle finger. She gasped at the feeling of my hands inside her.

"Keeping doing that," she said, "Your pervert little sister loves when her big brother touches her."

I kept working her clit. Surprisingly, it wasn't long until she was moaning and shaking, the throes of orgasm taking over her body. She really must havebeen wound up. Leaving her splayed across the sheets as she hit her come down, I quickly shucked off my clothes, my cock standing at ready to penetrate her once again. It seemed as if she had only just caught her breath as I mounted her. She let out another cute little moan as my cockhead penetrated her body. Hearing her squeak and moan in surprise at the intensity of the sensations sent me flying over the edge. I drove my cock home.

Balls deep in my little sister's pussy, I just lost all control. I'd been with a fair share of partners, but this was different. This was absolute, raw animal fucking. I wanted to possess her body and make my sister into my personal human sex toy. The intensity was unlike anything I had ever experience before.

Of course, with all that build up--and her hands clawing at my neck and back, thrashing under me in pleasure--it wasn't long until I felt the semen churning inside of me, read to burst.

"I'm gonna..." I started to say. Noah interrupted by pulling me into a kiss, locking her legs around me at the same time, so I had no escape. I shot my full load up into her waiting, cum-hungry womb. I was...in heaven.

"Fuck," Noah whimpered under me, "It feels so hot inside me. It feels so good."

"I love you," I told her, surprisingly myself.

She just smiled and kissed me again, "I love you too, big brother."

I collapsed onto the bed as Noah bounced up and ran off to use the bathroom. It was only then, when it was too late to do anything, that the immensity of what we had done really hit me. We had committed a crime. We had committed a sin. We were no longer sibling but lovers.

65 notes · View notes

mrs-gucci · 3 years ago

Text

Spousal Privilege {Henry McHenry x Reader}

author’s notes: hello, hello! I deleted the original request accidentally, but essentially, it was the prompt written below, but instead of getting married for tax benefits, you get married because he needs you to help keep him out of jail/the courtroom for Ann’s murder.

**just because I write it doesn’t mean I condone it. writing a fictional piece and condoning are two very different things. this is fanFICTION.**

original prompt (from @dailyau): “we got married for tax benefits, but you aren’t in love with me and I didn’t develop feelings for you until after we got married. in practice, we’re just roommates. However, we’re staying over with someone who knows that we’re married but not why we’re married so we were only provided with one bed for our stay.” (slightly modified) prompt: “we got married for [the benefit of spousal privilege], but but you aren’t in love with me and I didn’t develop feelings for you until after we got married. in practice, we’re just roommates. however, we’re staying over with someone who knows that we’re married but not why we’re married so we were only provided with one bed for our stay.”

warnings: angst & smut. not-so-mutual feelings. non-con elements (but they’re not unwelcomed). taking advantage of someone else’s feelings for you to benefit sexually. masturbation. (kind of) mutual masturbation.

tw’s: consumption/use of alcohol (briefly mentioned). !!non-con somnophilia. !!non-con voyerism.

word count: 2.4k

“Spousal Privilege”: if you’re married, your spouse cannot be forced to testify against you in a court of law.

my taglist peeps (slashed through means that the username didn’t tag): @frank-and-honey @shygirl268 @icarusinthesea @gildedstarlight @mrs-zimmerman @soldmysoulagain @roseepossee @pascalisfairyy @I-can’t-draw-faces (if you’d like to be added to or removed from my taglist, the link to the google form is HERE or on the top of my masterlist.)

“It’s just one weekend, Henry. One weekend. We have to at least pretend to be married.”

He sighs, reclining on the large lounger on the back deck, rolling an unlit cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. “Y/N...you know that I can’t come with you. I’ve got a show this weekend; I can’t just skip my own show to be your plus-one at a wedding.”

It feels like you’re the only one actually trying to appear as a couple, since your union is a sham. You made the grave mistake of visiting the McHenry residence on the night of Ann’s murder, finding a blood-spattered and disheveled Henry with his hand on the butchers knife impaling her chest.

And then, a few weeks later, your friendship became a marriage. You knew Henry was a good guy, and you’ve been friends with him a very long time, so...you helped him out by becoming the second Mrs. McHenry in order to protect him in case of a criminal trial. Spousal privilege is a powerful weapon in the judicial system, one that Henry successfully secured.

Almost a year has passed since that fateful night, and the police investigation has all but stopped due to lack of evidence. The only living people who know what happened are you and him.

The worst part of it, though? You’ve fallen for him, hard. Sure, he’s been your friend since high school, but you never thought of him as partner material before. But, now that you live with him and spend lots of time together, you realize that he’s an amazing guy that you really feel connected to.

Unfortunately, he’s not in love with you, and probably never will be. But, you soldier on, putting your feelings on the backburner for the sake of the false union.

Henry sticks the cigarette between his teeth, the familiar flick of the lighter slicing the tension between you. He takes a long drag, exhaling loudly.

“Fine. But at least I’m actually trying to make this whole arrangement seem real. At this point, I’m the only one trying at all.” You huff, shaking your head as you walk back into the house.

You arrive at the large rented house for the bridal party, greeted by several of your closest friends as you walk through the door. Immediately, they ask about Henry, and you tell them that he won’t be joining you this weekend, that he has a show that he just can’t miss.

They’re understanding, of course, knowing of Henry’s blossoming career as a comedian. You spend the rest of the afternoon catching up with your friends, who seemed to be acting a bit strangely. They’re looking towards the lobby religiously, seemingly waiting for someone to arrive.

Probably just one of their boyfriends or husbands, you think, dismissing it with little thought as the waiter comes over with a tray of cocktails.

It’s nearly midnight when you finally head back up to your room, eyelids heavy as you fumble with the key and open the door. You’re startled when you see a large shadowy figure sitting on the queen bed.

You quickly flip the lights on to reveal the mysterious figure’s identity.

“Henry? What are you doing here?”

He stands, grabbing a small bouquet of flowers before bringing them over to you.

“I’m sorry for being so unreasonable about this trip, Y/N. You’re right, I haven’t been trying as hard as I can to spend ‘couple’ time with you lately. And I know how important this trip is, so...I postponed my show to next weekend in order to be here with you.”

You’re unable to stop the grin that spreads across your face at this genuinely kind gesture that he’s done for you. You take the flowers from his outstretched hand.

“Wow, this is...thank you, Henry.” You meet his eyes. “I mean it, thank you. I’m, uh, I’m glad you’re here.”

His cheeks are dusted pink as he looks down at the carpeted floor, running a hand through his hair. “It’ll be nice to spend some time together, I think. We’ve been a bit disconnected lately, off doing our own stuff without really connecting all that often.”

You nod in agreement, filling one of the hotel glasses with lukewarm water for the flowers. You set them on the desk, then look over at the bed.

Bed, not beds.

“I...I can ask for a different room. She just put us in here because she knows we’re married...”

He shakes his head. “No, no, it’s alright. We’ll make do.”

You’re a bit surprised by his mellow, chilled reaction to the situation. You thought surely he’d want to change rooms, since the two of you have never shared a bed before.

Really, at home, you’re just roommates; each having your own separate living spaces. But of course, your friend Jen doesn’t know of the...unique aspects of your outwardly loving union, like the fact that it’s not genuine.

Both of you quietly unpack your things into the shared dresser. You keep your pajamas out and after you place your emptied duffle in the closet, you shed your top and bottoms, leaving you in just your undergarments.

When you turn around to grab your pajamas, you catch Henry looking at you, a fact that brings a sheepish warmth to your cheeks. He was shirtless, standing in only his black jeans, which has you quite flustered. Henry’s very much in shape, you’re painfully aware of that in the moment, and you can’t help but let your gaze fall to his chiseled abdomen.

His eyes quickly dart away from you, as yours do from him, and his cheeks turn pink. He continues folding his clothes, putting them in the top two drawers of the dresser. You bite your lip as you grab your pajamas and head into the bathroom, locking the door behind you.

The mirror blurs with steam from the hot water as it emerges from the shower head. You’re quick to peel the panties from your hips and the bra from your chest, tossing both on the tiled floor before stepping under the steaming stream.

You groan softly as the hot water massages your tired muscles. The ache between your thighs is anything but soothed by the water, though, and your mind is playing the sight of Henry’s sculpted body on a loop, only intensifying your arousal.

It’s gotten to the point where the need for a bit of relief is inevitable, despite your efforts to prevent it.

Your hand trails down and dips between your legs, fingertips sliding around your slickened folds, attempting to locate the special bundle of nerves nestled beneath.

Breath hitching, you sigh softly as you begin rubbing it in small, lazy circles. Small gasps and moans escape your lips as the flames of your arousal are flamed with each swipe of your fingertips.

Unbeknownst to you, Henry has abandoned his putting-away efforts in favor of standing outside the bathroom door. He’s heard a few soft, muffled noises coming from the room, so he decided to approach and make sure that nothing’s wrong.

His length twitches to life beneath his jeans as he realizes what exactly it is those noises mean, what you're likely doing in there. He wonders, as he reaches down to cup his swelling arousal, if this was brought on by the sight of his naked torso.

You exhale shakily, lining up and pushing two fingers into your wet heat, biting your lip to try and suppress the gasp that escapes your throat.

Henry grunts softly upon hearing this slip-up, shaky hands fiddling with his belt buckle, then with the button and zipper on his pants. He pulls his cock out in a rushed manner, ear pressing against the door while his hand starts to move up and down his shaft.

He hears something come from behind the door, but it’s too muffled by the wood that he can’t make out exactly what you said, which is probably a good thing.

“F-Fuck...Henry.” You breathe quietly, moving your digits in and out of your entrance swiftly, curling them up sporadically in order to tease your g-spot. “Shit.”

A low growl slips out as his length hardens further with his hand’s movements, slit starting to drool semi-transparent beads of liquid. He slicks them down his shaft, allowing his calloused palm to glide easier.

Your release quickly builds up inside you, hips jerking and twitching instinctively each time your fingers stimulate the special spot on your inner walls. It’s not long before you’re cumming all over your fingers with a series of soft moans and whines.

These small noises meet his ears and, within a minute, Henry reaches his own climax. He covers his mouth, a long groan muffled by the skin of his palm as ropes of seed spill out all over his palm and some onto the doorframe.

He rushes to wipe the evidence of his release from the scene, scrambling to grab his dirty t-shirt in order to do so. He hears you stepping out of the shower and quickly tucks himself back into his pants, running over to sit on his bed.

You emerge from the bathroom a minute or so later with only a towel on. He avoids eye contact, gathering his own clothes and heading into the bathroom for a quick shower.

You’re already tucked into bed and reading when Henry comes out of the bathroom in his boxers, ruffling his hair with the towel once more time before hanging it back up on the bathroom hook.

After finishing a chapter, you tuck your bookmark back between the pages before setting it down on your bedside table, turning the lamp off. You doze off soon after.

Henry waits patiently, very patiently, until he’s absolutely sure you’re fast asleep. His cock twitches and stirs in his boxers as he thinks about his plan of attack, how he’ll do this without waking you.

He knows this is wrong, but he just can’t help himself; it’s been too long and his hand simply isn’t doing this trick anymore. And you are his wife, after all.

His fingers reach under the covers, experimentally dragging his hand up your exposed thigh. You don’t seem to really mind, but an innocent-enough thigh touch and his cock inside you are two very different things.

So, he figures that he should probably try his fingers first. At least that’d be easier to explain in the event that you wake up and find him knuckle-deep in your cunt.

Sure, he thinks you’re physically attractive, objectively, but he doesn’t have any more than sexual feelings for you. You’re his best friend and he wants to keep it that way.

But...all that can wait until tomorrow. For now, he needs this from you; he desperately needs this.

You’re laying on your front, so he’s careful as he mounts you from behind, gently encouraging your legs apart with his knee. Once you’re spread apart enough, he slips his hand down to cup your crotch, biting his lip when he feels the natural heat already present.

He smirks, slipping his fingers between your pussy lips, searching for the spot that’ll get you nice and wet for him. Your hips naturally surge upwards when he finds it, a small grunt escaping your lips, but you remain asleep.

A breath of relief slips through the gaps of his perfectly crooked teeth as he continues rubbing you. It’s not long before you become slick, providing the natural lubricant for his fingers to glide easier.

His fingers begin to tease your puckered entrance, and he slowly slides one of the thick digits in, groaning under his breath as you clench so tightly around him.

“Little slut. Wants it even in her sleep.” He muses with a devious smirk, beginning to move his finger in and out with great care and caution.

You moan softly, subconsciously spreading your legs wider for him. He shudders with arousal at this simple movement, palming his hardened cock over the thin material of his boxers while a second finger joins the first inside of you.

He’s so hard, he almost can’t see straight, absolutely loving the way you react to his touch. You’re fast asleep, unaware of his touch; and yet, you’re still soaked and squirming for him. There’s something so deliciously wrong about this that makes him throb.

Soon, he can’t hold himself back anymore. He pulls his cock from beneath the airy fabric, stroking himself as he allows his hand to run over your backside. His jaw clenches, suppressing the moans that so desperately want to come out.

Finally, the moment of truth. Will you wake up when he slides in?

The buzz, the adrenaline rush he’s getting from this is practically unmatched by anything in his day-to-day life. Not even his shows, his performances bring him this much of a rush.

He lines himself up with your entrance, pushing in slowly, biting down on his lip hard as a soft groan slips out. You’re so tight, so wet, so hot, so perfect.

You moan loudly, body and hips wriggling as your insides adjust to his length and thickness. It takes every ounce of his willpower to stay still, to let you adjust to the sudden intrusion. He wants nothing more than to pound you into the mattress and cum deep inside you, but he can’t do either of those things.

His hips roll softly, gently, cock dragging against your walls at an almost painfully slow pace. Your walls clench so tightly around him and he has to white-knuckle the headboard in order to keep himself centered and restrained.

You’re stirring a bit, but you’re still asleep, and Henry feels his climax already starting to build. Normally he’d be ashamed of this fact, but it’s probably best if he doesn’t drag this out.

The little noises escaping your lips only spur Henry on, each of your little grunts, groans, whimpers and moans are like music to his ears.

With only a few more thrusts, combined with the sight of your ass jiggling each time his skin collides with yours, Henry’s cumming. He pulls out in the knick of time, shooting his seed all over your little pajama shorts, secretly hoping his cum stains them.

He strokes himself through orgasm, riding out his high to its fullest before re-adjusting your shorts and tucking himself back into his boxers, laying down next to you.

A soft sigh leaves his lips as he catches his breath, flipping over and sitting to grab the pack of cigarettes from the bedside table, heading out to the small balcony.

Plumes of gray smoke linger in the still summer night as Henry looks out onto the lake, admiring the soft moonlight reflecting off the bouncing water. He comes back in after a few minutes and climbs back into bed, eyes fluttering shut.

Maybe being married to you wasn’t so bad, after all.

83 notes · View notes

zawasdarkcirclez · 4 years ago

Text

How Bakusquad Asks You to Prom

Mina Ashido:

-Mina’s definitely got something really pretty planned

-She’s most likely a little dressed up with a cute little dress on

-This is all taking place in the common area

-Everybody besides you knew what was happening and were hiding in the corners of the room and against the wall

-Aizawa was even there claiming that he felt most comfortable if there was a teacher and adult present with all of these candles burning Mina, Denki, and Sero filled him in one day when he was trying to grade papers

-In reality though, he just wanted to be there to see how it would play out after hearing all the talk about it

-Y’all do be his kids after all

-You keep getting texts from Mina and everyone telling you Aizawa is calling everybody to the commons right now and that you’re late as hell

-You’re out of breath running to the room and realize you don’t see the lights on from where you stand

- Walking in however, you’re greeted with soft jazz music

-Mina standing in the middle of the room with a bouquet of flowers

-In front of her on the floor are candles spelling out “Prom?”

-Not gonna lie she’s a little nervous

-Fingers fiddling for sure

“HEY-uh Y/n.. PROM??“

-You said yes no doubt. Sorry I don’t make the rules

-You were literally stunned, she looked amazing, everything looked so cute, the effort was there. CONGRATULATIONS you won

-Everybody of course had to then hop out from the darkness of the room cheering and recording as you and Mina hug

-Queue Denki + Sero dapping each other up

-Midoriya tearing up

-Mineta full on crying because Mina is now taken

-Todoroki still standing by the wall 🧍‍♂️

-You and Mina definetly had some of the best prom fits

Katsuki Bakugo:

-You were already dating Katsuki, leading him to believe you were well aware that you were going to prom with him

-So when he overheard Momo ask you about plans for prom and you responded saying

-”Oh, prom? ...I’m not really sure I’m doing all that.”

-He was STOMP.ING over and Momo was tiptoeing away not wanting to get caught in another one of his outbursts

-”What the hell do you mean you’re not doing that?!”

-”You don’t want to go with me or what?!”

-”Did I do something? If I made you upset, you should have said something, Dumbass!!”

-”Actually, you know what, I don’t care! You’re going.”

-”With me!”

-You rolled your eyes jokingly

-”Well that sure is one way to ask.” you chuckled and patted his side walking away to go back to your desk

-You were not complaining by any means, but with the intensity of Katsuki’s ability to read behind your words, he knew he was picking up on something else

-Thinking back, he did notice the little way your eyes would glow as your friends were getting asked left and right

-Even when Bakugo mumbles beside you about “Why the hell’s he doing all this like she’s not already his girlfriend.”

-You’ve seen posters, candies, gifts etc.

-But all you truly wanted was for Bakugo to possibly let down a wall of his and utter the same words to you

-But you would never ever push him to do it, in fear of overstepping a boundary

-This in mind though, and with Bakugo being as invested and in love with you as he is, and not willing to admit, he plans something little so you can have a little moment to blab to your friends about too or whatever 🙄

-He’ll be damned if its in public though

-For sure expect to be woken up late at night, leaving you surprised considering yk his bedtime and all

-He’s shaking your shoulder and grumbling to you to “Wake your ass up, or I’ll leave.”

-You turn seeing Bakugo with a candle he over burnt a little bit with his quirk, your favorite snack, a teddy bear, and a little jewelry box

-“Will you uhh..” his eyes dart away from you and he hears you giggle

-”Shut up!! ... ”

-”Will you go to prom with me, Y/n?” he asks shoving the snacks and bear a little in your direction

-”Of course Katsu.”

-He smirked, opening the jewelry box

-”And you make sure to wear this little beauty around that neck of yours at this damn dance, okay?”

Denki Kaminari:

-I’m sorry but you completely spoiled Denki’s surprise

-Well it was a team effort

-He had already accidentally said too much one day without realizing so you knew he most definitely had “Something exciting to ask you”

-But bbbbruh

-The panic everyone screamed in when you randomly walked into Denki’s room while him and the rest of the Bakusquad decorated

-He jumped off the little ladder he was standing on in the corner and turned you around by your shoulders ushering you out

-”ahHa ha...”

-It’s silent for a couple second while you both plan what to say now

Simultaneously:

-“Denki I am SOOO sorry“

and

-”A little earlier than planned”

-Everyone has an ear pressed against the door at this point to listen

-”Well..surprise! I’ll tell you what though,”

-His hands reached for yours

-”I’m a liiittle busy right now.. You know what for, but let’s pretend you don’t.”

-He turns speed walking and dragging you with him

-”So you go relax for a little bit, do some studying or something. Put on one of your cute little outfits, and I’ll be by later to come get you because you’ve got a hot date in my room say around..8:30?”

-You nod, catching your breath and realized he has delivered you all the way back to your own dorm

-Before you could turn and ask any other questions, that boy is booking it around the corner to get back to his room

-Upon walking in he is greeted with bunches of “what happened?”s from his friends and a slap to the back of his head from Bakugo

-Yes they somehow got Bakugo to help

-”Guys! Guys! We’re good, why did nobody keep decorating? Come on people we have until 8:25 and then you all have got to go!”

-Fast forward to 8:30, he’s opening the door for you and guiding you inside with a hand on your back

-He’s cheesing like a fool I promise you

-Sure you already saw part of it but not nearly the end result

-”So, will you go to prom with me?”

-”Uhm, YES!”

-Y’all can hear Sero and Kiri hooting and cheering from Bakugo’s room across the hall followed by a

-”Shut up or get out you idiots!!”

-You and Denki definitely won the top spots in the Prom Court

Eijiro Kirishima:

-Kiri definitely has a little cliche possibly cringe idea he saw online

-But it’s still cute as hell because I mean hello it’s Kirishima

-All his friends were struggling planning things while he was sitting there CHILLEN

-Denki turned like “Uhhh..Bro, you all set or something? You’re looking mighty not-busy over here.”

-”Yeah man. This was eeasyy. I found exactly what I wanted to do. They’ll love it.”

-By this point everyone had been listening, and then he was bombarded with several voices asking for ideas and inspiration from him

-All voices went silent though when he whipped out his phone to show them

-”Dude.”

-”You’re joking.”

-”Tch. Dumbass..”

-He’s not even a little worried about their reactions

-If there’s one thing he knows it’s YOU

-And YOU love anything Kirishima does

-Let’s not lie we’re all whipped

-And y’all are just some chill ass individuals and cornballs with the same humor

-He spends the entire evening that day drawing out his sign and gathering things he needs and whatnot

-When you walk into class greeted with some yummy food and cheesy saying on your desk, you smirked knowing it was the one and only

-”Surprisee!” he would sing wrapping an arm around your waist and kissing your cheek

-”Pretty manly, huh?”

-When the rest of the class sees how it actually turned out in comparison to the picture he showed, they kinda regretted trying to get on him

-Especially since you were right in front of them enjoying it

-Shit was kinda sweet

-Ya know, seeing y’all be all perfect for each other and all

-”Ah, you’re so cute. It’s great!” your face was lighting up as you plopped down in your seat

-The rest of class everyone was still stressing between lessons about their own prom situations

-And cutting their eyes at you and Kiri

-The two of you are now sitting side by side, his arm around you shoulders and both of your mouths full of sushi

-Prom is literally a dream with this man

-I feel like he would dress with the most casually classy look

-Velcro shoes acquired 😎

-Y’all are so in love you don’t even realize how visible it is

-The whole night is you two soo lost in each other uhghh

Hanta Sero:

-Sero is cool as fuck

-I just had to say that first sorreh

-He’d definitely do something real low-key and cute

-It’s not anything public or in front of everybody and their mother

-The two of you hang out by yourselves and have little ~dates~ and what not kind of often

-So him knocking at your dorm door telling you to get ready to go in 30 minutes was nothing suspicious

-After a light walk from campus y’all reached a point where he told you to close your eyes and let him guide you

-Considers covering your eyes with his tape but doesn't want to end up literally yanking off your eyebrows when he takes it off

-You settle for one hand over your eyes, and one hand in his

-Sero almost knocks you into stuff on purpose and you know it

-But eventually he’s telling you to open your eyes and

- 🥲

-A literal gasp

-”Ohh my gosh! Sero!? What is this!?”

-You’re literally bouncin up and down

-A whole little picnic has been set up in the middle of some random park by the school just for the two of you

-He’s just smiling and rubbing at the back of his neck

-He’s cool, but he can’t lie, especially when it comes to you, he’s a liiittle bit of a uhh wreck?

-Just hides it like an expert

-”Have a seat”

-He’ll take your hand as you sit to help you wibudfverkfcj;e

-Y’all are snacking and chatting, snacking and chatting

-Everything is literally perfect with him, genuinely so nice to be around

-Around when the sun is almost getting ready to set and the two of you are thinking about heading back to the dorms he stops you for a second

-”Uhm, Y/n. I’m just gonna cut straight to it.”

-”You wanna go to prom with me?”

-He’s looking straight into your soul I swear

-You tell him you’d love too and boooy oh boy the weight off this man’s shoulders

-Everyone wonders what went down when the two of you walk back into the building hand in hand and giggling and smiling with each other

-Of course the two of you nonchalantly fill them in when they ask, but the best details stayed between the two of you

293 notes · View notes

mehbzz · 3 years ago

Text

I dreamt about Avery. Well I dreamt about having an argument with Avery. Which inspired this. F!reader x Avery 18+ Daddy Kink, gaslighting, possessive/controlling behaviour, blowjob. Dialogue heavy

“It could be better.” You tease but Avery doesn't look amused and your smile falters slightly.

“Sorry.”

You look back down at your plate and half heartedly jab at the salad he'd ordered for you. Conserving your figure he'd said. You're pretty sure if he wants to conserve your figure you'd have been off with the steak he was currently eating.

Between the stress of school and having to find money to pay Bailey every week you were hardly eating, barely having enough money to even buy food. In fact your school skirt had felt a little looser than normal that morning.

“Eat your food don't play with it, you're embarrassing me.”

He's voice is quiet and cold, and you aware he's close to being angry with you.

You take a reluctant bite and give him a small smile. He still doesn't look happy but he relaxes a little.

“I was disappointed not to see you this afternoon, after school.”

“Sorry I had plans. I didn't know you were waiting for me.” You try to keep your voice light, casual, but you can feel the disappointment radiating off him.

“It's Wednesday. I told you I could be free on Wednesday and Fridays to take you home.”

Could be free not would be free. You mutter in your head, taking another bite of salad to stop yourself from answering out loud.

“You were with your friend?” He says friend like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth and takes another sip of his wine.

“Robin.”

“What?”

“His name is Robin.”

He doesn't look happy with your explanation. “You spend a lot of time with… Robin.”

His lip curls in obvious distaste and it sends a chill down your spine. You think you've misjudged his mood; he's not disappointed, he's angry.

“Well he's my friend,” You say weakly, “and we live together. It's hard to avoid each other.” You try to joke but he doesn’t smile.

“I think you should spend less time together.”

“What? He’s my friend.”

He glances around and then leans forward, reaching across the table to grasp your hand. “And what am I?”

“I, you’re-” His low tone flusters you and you stutter over your words.

“I'm what?”

“You’re my daddy.” You whisper.

His lips twitch in an almost smile. “Yes I am. And when daddy tells you to do something, you do it.”

You nod.

“I didn't hear you princess.”

“Yes daddy.” You don’t raise your voice from your quiet whisper but you look up at him. He enjoys teasing you but if someone overheard he would not be happy.

He sits back, pleased at your submission. “You will need a new dress for the party,” His eyes swoop over your evening gown with a hint of disapproval. “You’re taste is-” “Party?” He looks annoyed at your interruption. “On Saturday.” “I don’t remember you mentioning that.” He frowns, “If you paid attention when I talked you would.” “I’m sorry. I’ve just been busy with school.” Had he really told you about it? Whitney had made you promise to keep the weekend free and you felt your stress rise. You did not want to risk his or Avery’s ire. He’s quiet as he watches you. “How are your grades?” The quick change of topic surprises you. “They’re good.” He raises an eyebrow and you take that as permission to continue. “I passed my tests this week with A's,” He smiles and you feel a little calmer at his obvious approval. “And I’m working on a solution for the maths competition. I think I have a pretty good chance of winning.” “Wonderful,” His smile widens. “I’m proud of you.” Oh. The praise makes you warm and you feel your face heat in a blush. You’re not sure when this relationship started becoming more than a money maker to you but his praise and affection made you feel good and you found yourself craving it more and more. He looked after you; sometimes you even thought he cared about you more than he let on. It was something you’d never felt before and you couldn’t help latching on to it. “So um, the party?” He sighs, his irritation evident and it stings. “We just talked about this.” You shift awkwardly. “I already have plans this weekend.” You can’t bring yourself to look him in the eye. He’s going to be mad. “No you don’t.” it’s a warning. “I really can’t I’m-” “You’re being difficult.” He waves his hand dismissively. “You have plans with me. Just because you say you don’t remember them doesn’t mean they weren’t made. I will pick you up at eight.” You stay silent and focus on finishing your food. Arguing now was only got to get you in more trouble.

You see the waiter approaching out the corner of your eye but Avery waves him away, placing a pile of bills on the table and stands up. “I'll take you home. Your behaviour has been disappointing tonight.” His words stab at your heart and you feel a lump in your throat. You were not going to cry. It would only disappoint him more.

The ride back to the orphanage was quiet and tense. His displeasure was clear and you chewed your tongue in an effort to stop yourself crying. He pulls up opposite the orphanage, under the broken street lamp and you both just sit there silently. Are you dismissed? Does he not want anything from you tonight?

“Here.” It’s curt, cold, as he holds out some cash. It’s less than he normally gives you and with no request for a kiss your heart sinks a little. He is really upset with you. You’re heart was aching and all you wanted was to hear him tell you how good you were, how proud he was of your behaviour.

You bite you lip, unsure before leaning forward and pressing your lips tentatively to his, if he’s going to reject you. He doesn’t pull back but he doesn’t respond either. You kiss him again, chaste fluttery brushes of your lips over his. “I’m sorry daddy.” He relaxes at your whisper, finally responding to your efforts and kissing you back. “Say it again princess.” “I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad at me daddy.” Avery sighs, tucking your head into the nape of his neck and running his hand down your spine “Such a sweet girl, I can’t stay mad at you.” You melt into his touch, and between his body heat and the calming motion of his hand down your back you feel yourself starting to nod off.

The stern murmur of your name draws you back from your sleepy state, and he brushes a loose strand of your hair back behind your ear as you sit up. "You can make it up to me.” You nod, hands already reaching for his zipper but he catches your wrists with an amused huff. “No. You do as I say in the future. Am I clear?” “Yes daddy.” You smile, not really registering what you’re agreeing too; just glad he seems happy with you again. “Good girl.” He pulls you back into his arms, hand resuming the comforting touch down your back. The two of you stay pressed together for a long while until your muscles start to ache at the awkward angle and he eventually lets you go. “For a dress,” He hands you some more money, pulling it out of your reach when you try to take it. “I want you to show me before you buy it.” You nod. It was by far the least embarrassing thing he’d asked you to send him pictures of. Avery shifts in his seat, spreading his legs a little wider and looks at you expectantly. “Now, why don’t you show daddy how grateful you are?”

You nod and quickly undo his trousers, wasting no time in taking his hard cock into your hand lest his good mood turn sour again. You give the head of his cock a gentle kiss, and his immediate sigh of pleasure encourages you to lick a long, slow stripe from base to tip. “I’m not in the mood for teasing, princess.” You hum in response eager to please and suck the entire head of his cock into your mouth, the satisfied grunt from above making your cunt clench in response. He always sounds so good when he moans, the sounds of his enjoyment nearly always turning you on. You swirl your tongue round the head of his cock a couple of times before taking it down your throat as far as you can. Tears are starting to gather at the corner of your eyes but Avery’s moans and gasps of pleasure make you persevere. Retreating and going down again, not stopping until your nose is buried in the dark pubic hairs at the base. As Avery’s hand tightens in your hair, stopping you from withdrawing you try not to choke, relaxing your throat and trying to breathe through your nose. Tears are running freely down your face and drool runs down your chin, and you hope he’s not going to punish you for making a mess. Just as you’re reaching your limit he relaxes his hold, allowing you to pull back just a little. “Be a good girl and swallow.” his voice is strained; you hum in agreement, you wouldn’t dare do anything else. You’d learnt the hard way that getting stains on his expensive suits earned you pretty harsh punishments.

It doesn’t take long, only a couple more swirls of your tongue before he cums with a loud moan. It’s thick and slightly bitter and more than you expected but you swallow greedily, determined not to spill a drop. He holds you close, the head of his cock just resting on your tongue until he manages to catch his breath. Once he lets go of your hair you tuck him back in his trousers and sit up, giving him a pleased smile. Hand cradling your jaw and his thumb stroking down your cheekbone he smiles in return. “I want you to think about me when you touch yourself tonight.” It wasn’t what you were expecting him to say and your face heats fiercely as he chuckles. “You don’t want to disappoint daddy now do you?” His smile turns wicked as your embarrassment increases but he has mercy on you and pulls away to just rest a hand on your knee. "Don't I get a reward for bringing you home safe and sound?" He taps a finger to his lips. You lean in and press a chaste kiss on Avery's lips. His fingers flex on your knee and you think he’s going to deepen the kiss, maybe ask you to stay, but he doesn’t and you climb from the car, happy but a little disappointed. He watches you for a moment, making sure you reach the door of the orphanage before driving away.

#degrees of lewdity #Avery #degrees of lewdity Avery #dol

75 notes · View notes

duskholland · 4 years ago

Text

One Million | Tom Holland Smut

summary ↠ you’re not one to shy away from competition, so when your co-star Tom approaches you with an opportunity to secure the ultimate bragging rights, you aren’t afraid to play a little dirty... ↠ famous!y/n x tom.

word count ↠ 4.3k

warnings ↠ mxf protected sex, oral (fem receiving), fingering, swearing, fluffy feels.

a/n ↠ this took a very soft turn, but I’m not mad about it tbh. it’s definitely inspired by that thirst trap photo that Tom posted the other day. does that man ever chill??? for frame of reference, Tom currently has 35.4 million followers on Instagram, which is...insane lmao. I guess this is kind of similar to my last Tom fic, but I’m really digging famous!y/n, so I wrote it anyway and I’m really happy with how it turned out! I hope you enjoyyyy :)

18+ !!!! this contains NSFW material, so do not read if you are a minor.

“Y’know, Y/N, I think my fans love me more than yours love you.”

Your eyes widen as you take in the bold statement. With a grin rising on your face, you glance up and across the sofa, your gaze drawn immediately to Tom. Your co-star has a cocky smirk fixed to his lips, and he raises an eyebrow defiantly as he meets your eyes.

“As if,” you scoff. You sit up straighter and stretch out your back, glaring slightly at him. “My fans love me. That’s why I’ve got more followers than you on Instagram.”

“Low blow.” Tom isn’t looking so cocky now, as he draws his arms across his chest and pouts at you. You try not to stare at the way his tight black t-shirt clings to the bulge of his arms, but it’s quite difficult: Tom is incredibly attractive. “Plus, that’s barely even true. What are you at? Like, 37 million?”

You delight as you tilt your phone screen towards him, his brown eyes widening in shock as you exclaim, triumphantly, “40!”

Never one to accept defeat so easily, Tom reaches up and wraps his hand around your wrist, his touch keeping your phone in place as he brings his index finger up and begins to scroll through your feed, greedy eyes skimming over the numbers. You stay still, trying not to think about how nice it feels to have him gripping at your skin so tightly.

“Well, I get more likes than you,” he finally resolves, his words significantly weaker than they’d been previously. When you raise an eyebrow at him, he shrugs. “I do!”

“No, you don’t.” Disliking the way he seems cocky now, you shuffle up the sofa. The cushions are firm and slightly uncomfortable, but that’s what you get when you’re crammed inside a trailer on a film set. You’re just glad Tom had suggested you spend your lunch break together in his trailer rather than yours -- his, at least, has a working lock on the door and a functioning mini-fridge. “Give me that.”

He passes you his phone, and you fall to a stop when you’re sitting right beside him, your thighs now pressing together. Your teeth catch at your lower lip as you begin to scroll through Tom’s profile, your irritation slowly rising as you realise that he’s right: he does tend to gather more likes on his posts than you do.

“Shit,” you mutter defeatedly. You pass him back his phone and lean back, stretching your arms above your head as you groan softly. You can feel him, looking at you with those warm, brown eyes, his stare taking in the curves of your chest and the way you know your nipples strain against the fabric of your white t-shirt, so you make a poised effort to jut your front out just a little further than is truly necessary. When you bring your arms back down to your sides, his eyes find yours, and the way his pupils are blown a little wider brings a smirk to your face. You’d be lying if you said you viewed Tom only as a co-star, or even as just a friend: really, there’s been this palpable, will-they-won’t-they air surrounding the two of you ever since that first day on set. The timing’s never quite been right, but as your gaze shifts between his handsome, seductive grin and his phone, you have a feeling that things may change sooner than you’d imagined.

“How about we settle this, once and for all,” Tom suggests, his words slow as he thinks. His eyebrows pull together as he picks his phone up and presses the small plus button at the bottom of the app, creating a new post. “We have a little competition, right here, right now. Whoever wins gets supreme bragging rights.”

“And what exactly do you have in mind?”

Tom’s tongue slips across his lower lip, wettening it torturously slowly and his firm gaze settles on your mouth for a quick moment, his lips pulling into a slow smirk as he takes in the way you fluster beneath his gaze. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“We both post something, together, at the same time. Whoever gets to a million likes first, wins,” he explains.

“And I can post anything?”

“Anything you’d like, love.”

Your eyes narrow as the cogs begin the twirl in your mind. “And when I win..?”

“If you win, darling, I’ll let you rub it in my face as much as you’d like.”

You hum slowly, letting one of your hands fall to Tom’s covered thigh. You feel his muscles flex beneath your touch, and it makes your thoughts darken. “Let’s raise the stakes,” you suggest, “If you really believe in your popularity, that shouldn’t be an issue, right?”

A semblance of hesitation twitches out across his face, but Tom nods nonetheless. “What do you want?”

You let your hand go for a little wander, the tips of your fingers circling up to his knee. You tap a small rhythm over his jeans as you string your words together, doing your best to sound as innocent as possible as you say, “Winner takes all.”

“Winner...takes all?”

“If you win, I’ll let you do anything you want to me.”

Tom’s quiet for a moment, and the silence that envelopes you is charged with the past few weeks of lingering touches, suggestive stares, and building sexual tension. When you drag your eyes from Tom’s knee to his face, you find his cheeks tinted a light rosy red and his forehead pulled tight. His eyes narrow as he looks at you, but then one of his arms moves and wraps around your back, and he’s bringing you in closer. You lean into the touch and find yourself swinging a leg over his thighs, your body shifting in closer as you straddle him. He’s hot and firm beneath you, and you find yourself sinking into his thighs easily.

“And if you win?” Tom continues, both of his hands now resting on the curve of your waist. His fingers are light, teasing, and you try not to think about them as he drags his touch down to toy with the hem of your shirt.

You let your lips brush up against the shell of his ear as you move closer, feeling the heat radiating from his skin. His cologne is strong and distracting and a sense of lust pushes aside all other logical emotions. “If I win,” you say, whispering into his ear, “I get to do whatever I want to you.” You brush your mouth, feather-light, across the column of his neck, barely leaving a kiss to his skin.

When you move back, Tom’s face is flushed significantly darker. He tilts his head to the side, his loose curls flopping over his forehead, and he looks so fucking attractive that it’s hard to keep your mind focused when all you can think about is how lovely his head would look, buried between your thighs, or how nice it would sound to hear his deep grunts as he fucks you.

“You’re on.”

You sit back in his lap as you force your attention back to your phone, ignoring the way your body is slowly rising in temperature. You know exactly what you need to post in order to win, and luckily, you already have the shots edited and saved as a draft; you’d been prepared to post them last night but something had told you to hold back, and now that’s going to play to your advantage.

“I’m gonna win,” you tell him confidently. “There’s no way you’ll be able to beat me. May as well just throw in the towel now, Holland.”

Tom just hums in response, his eyes fixed firmly to his screen. “We’ll see about that,” he counters. “Are you ready?”

“Not gonna let me see?” You ask, taking stock of the way he’s purposefully angling his phone so you can’t get a sneaky peek.

“Nope.” His tone is infuriating and the way his eyes twinkle mischievously makes you doubt, for the first time, your ability to win this bet. “Don’t want you getting any big ideas and beating me.”

“Fine,” you grumble. You move your thumb to hover over the post button, eyeing him sceptically. “3.”

“2.”

“1.”

In sync, you press post, watching as Tom does the same. You watch as it takes a moment to load, and then it pops up into the top of your feed. You grin as you refresh, and you see Tom’s post slip up. You can’t help but sigh wistfully as your eyes take in his photo.

It’s so obviously a thirst trap, but fucking hell, you don’t care. He looks glorious. You forget for a moment that you’re straddling the man as you pinch your fingers together and zoom in on the photo, your eager eyes taking in the lines of Tom's sweaty, post-workout body. He’s posing in a mirror, the lighting all dark and mysterious, but the lines of his hard, exercised abs are clear, and his face looks so goddamn sexy pulled into an intense smirk that it makes your panties wet.

“Holy shit,” Tom says. You shake yourself out of your blissed-out thoughts and look up to him, finding him staring at his phone, looking at your post. Your lips quirk into a small smirk as you watch him swallow deeply, his lower lip pulling into his mouth as his eyes examine your photo unabashedly. “When did you become a Calvin Klein model?”

You shrug lightly. “Had a shoot a few weeks back,” you say. “I think the photos turned out quite well, don’t you?”

You know the photos are bomb. The air on set had been electric, the photographer had been a creative visionary, and you’d felt unbelievably alive the entire time you’d been posing. The branded underwear and bralette clung to your body in just the right way, and for the first time in a long time, you'd felt radiant. The photos capture that completely, and you know that you've probably played dirty - because who can resist a thirst trap? - but you can't bring yourself to feel guilty because Tom's done the same thing.

He doesn’t give you an answer verbally. Rather, Tom takes one final look at the screen, curses beneath his breath, then tosses his phone aside and pulls you closer. Your centre settles over his crotch and you find yourself raising an eyebrow as you feel his hard cock straining up against his jeans. His hand finds your face, fingers grasping at your chin, and you let him tilt your head towards him, eyes dark and heady. His mouth is close now, his breath warm and smelling of peppermint and lavender, and the temptation to dive right into kissing him is almost overwhelming, but instead, you decide to tease him a little bit.

With a slight smirk on your face, you move in, allowing yourself to grind against his covered crotch as you let your lips kiss at the corner of his mouth. Tom groans softly, the noise rattling straight through your chest and sending excitement rushing between your legs, but you reach up and curl your fingers through his hair, and delight as you continue to kiss around his face, your pecks light, always avoiding where you know he aches to feel you. He lasts a few minutes, his eyes fluttering shut as he allows you to tease him, but as you drop your mouth to his jaw and start to nibble at the sensitive skin there, Tom pushes you away.

“Such a fucking tease, love,” he murmurs, voice dark. One of his hands slips up beneath your t-shirt, skating over the curve of your back. “No bra?”

You give him a slight shrug. “No need,” you say. “You know, you’ve probably just made a million people horny, just from that one picture.” You pause as Tom’s hand skims around to the front of your body, gently, delicately shifting up to cup one of your boobs. A soft hiss passes through your lips as he drags his thumb across your nipple, his touch firm. “You’re quite the specimen, Holland.”

“Could say the same about you, love,” he returns, bringing his second hand beneath your top. He explores your front, and your body responds naturally as you push nearer to him, craving more of his touch. “Better check the likes.”

“Don’t move,” you ask him, ignoring the way his smirk drips with confidence at the words as he continues to play with your breasts. You reach down and pluck up your phone, opening up Instagram and moving to your profile. A loose chuckle falls past your lips. “I’m at 1.2 million,” you brag.

Tom growls. “What about mine?”

Your smirk is quickly wiped from your face as you find your way to Tom’s profile. “It also has 1.2 million.” You keep refreshing each post, but the numbers are moving too quickly for an outright winner to emerge. “I think we’ve tied,” you’re forced to admit.

Tom’s mouth finds your neck, and he delights in dragging his lips up and over your sensitive skin, kissing softly, deeply, tenderly, letting his teeth occasionally drag over you as you whimper. He makes his way up to your ear, his tongue swirling around your ear lobe, and you have to stifle a moan as he whispers, “guess that means we’re both winners,” in that delicious, husky voice. “C’mere.”

He finally catches your lips in his, his mouth moving fiercely against yours as you return your fingers to his hair. He groans as you pull on his strands, bringing him nearer, kissing him back just as hungrily. Your mind lingers on that image he’d posted, of himself all hot and defined and sweaty, and it brings the heat between your legs to the forefront of your mind as you start to imagine what it’ll be like to see the thing in real life.

His kisses are needy and messy - a collision of teeth and tongue, but you part your lips and you let him push his tongue into your mouth, his hands clinging to your front. As his thumbs skim around your nipples, you grind down against him, every part of you on fire as you let Tom consume you.

“Is the door locked?” You ask between hot kisses.

“Fuck,” he says as he breaks away, angling his head back to look at the rickety trailer door. “No.”

With a reluctant sigh, you catch his lips in a long, hard kiss, and then break away. You’re a little unsteady on your feet as you stagger up, your chest feeling a chill as Tom’s large hands fall away from your skin. You can feel his eyes on your ass as you quickly go to the door and turn the lock, breathing out a sigh of relief as you realise that’s it: no more distractions, only Tom, and you, and hopefully, a fuck so good it rocks your world.

When you turn around, you see that Tom’s moved. He’s ditched the squeaky old sofa in exchange for the small double bed that’s hidden in the corner of the trailer, and he’s laying across it, waggling his eyebrows seductively. You giggle as you approach him, your eyes skating over his bare chest, and you appreciate that he’s taken the time to pull off his top and jeans, and you scramble to do the same.

“If it’s a tie,” Tom mumbles, as he wraps you in his arms and presses you down into the mattress. His arms go either side of your head, his eyes skating across your naked chest. “I think it’s only fair we each get something that we want.”

You let your hand wander down his body, your fingers curving over his abs before grasping at his length over his boxers. The groan that rumbles up his throat makes you catch your lower lip between your teeth. “Seems fair,” you concede, a smirk lilting at your lips as he grinds down against your hand, pushing his aching member further into your touch.

“What do you want me to do?” He asks you.

You kiss him a few times as you ponder his question. There are about a thousand things you’d like Tom to do to you.

“Might be nice if you ate me out,” you say finally. The man raises a ruffled eyebrow as he slides down your body, grinning. His fingers push into the soft flesh of your inner thighs as he spreads them apart, face level with your hot core. A shy smile on his face, he maintains eye contact with you as he presses a gentle, dry kiss to your covered clit. “Fuck, Tom.”

He’s a tease. For a while, he seems to enjoy kissing everywhere but your centre, always lingering just over or beside your silk panties. By the time he hooks his fingers beneath the waistband and tugs them down your legs, you’re throbbing and wet, and you’re so sensitive that you’re thrusting down to meet him the second you feel his tongue dragging through your slit.

“Taste so good,” he coos, voice muffled by your heat. He wraps his arms around your thighs and holds you in place as the wide, flat expanse of his tongue leaves bold stripes up your centre, exploring and poking at your slick folds. He’s attentive — keeps an eye on you and notes the way you respond as he does certain things, and within no time at all, he’s got you moaning and squirming. The sensation of his tongue as it firms and slips into your aching hole, or as it sucks and flicks around your clit is sensational, and the fact that it’s Tom makes it a thousand times better.

“Shit, Tom, you- fuck, you feel so good.” Your hands twist around his curls, finding relief as you tug at his strands whenever his tongue caresses you particularly strongly. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

Your words seem to spur him on, and as you make brief eye contact with him and see your juices soaking his chin, you realise that’s exactly what he wants. Tom slips two fingers into your flushed entrance and coaxes up against your back wall, fucking you roughly as his tongue continues to twist around your clit.

“Cum for me, love,” he urges, speaking against your slit. “Want to watch you fall apart for me, gorgeous girl.”

You’re seeing stars before you know it, your legs tensing and your mouth falling open as you cry out, Tom’s fingers and tongue working you through it. He makes out with your heat like there’s no tomorrow, the obscene sounds mixing with the way his fingers twist and thrust, and it’s got to be one of the best orgasms of your life because you’re still shaking from the aftershocks even as he’s pulled his fingers from your cunt and pushed them into his mouth. His eye contact is unwavering as he licks his fingers clean, a dirty twinkle dancing in his eye.

“Fuck,” is all you can muster, your chest still heaving. Tom falls to rest beside you, and you’re quick to turn and move up to straddle him, enjoying the view of his flushed body as you grind your soaked centre over his boxers. “I guess it’s time that I return the favour, Tom. What would you like me to do?”

You run your fingers over the grooves of Tom’s muscular abdomen, admiring the lines of his abs as his hands wander your sides, drawing up to find your boobs again. You raise an eyebrow and draw a lovely, rattling chuckle from his mouth.

“Sorry, love, can't help myself.” He rolls your nipples between his fingers teasingly, smirking as you whimper. “There are so many things I’d like you to do…” One hand moves and he cups the back of your head to pull you in. Your lips connect in a deep kiss and you shift against him, his muffled moan sinking into your mouth as he bucks up against you. “I think I’d like you to ride me.”

“You think?”

Tom moves his hands to the curve of your bare ass and he squeezes softly over your skin, nudging the line of his strong cock further into your slit. “Y/N,” he says, eyes flooding with heat as you teasingly rock down against him, “I need to feel you. Been waiting- fuck, been thinking about you on top of me for months.”

You reach down and pull his boxers down his legs, returning to settle in his lap with a smirk on your face. “Who am I to deny that?” You ask, voice sultry. “Condom?”

Tom reaches out and rummages through a nearby drawer, procuring a silver packet with a grin.

“You fuck a lot of people in this bed, Tom?”

He splutters, and you feel bad for a moment, until he says boldly, “Not been with anyone since I met you.”

You raise an eyebrow, ignoring the way it makes your heart beat a little faster in your chest to hear those words. “Me neither,” you admit. Then you take the condom wrapper from his hand and rip it open, and the mood shifts as you wrap your hand around his length and give him a few pumps, Tom groaning deliciously in response. Once he’s full and hard, you pinch the tip of the condom and roll it down his length, settling yourself over him a moment later. You grind down for a few moments, enjoying the feeling of his rock hard tip rubbing over your clit.

“Please, love.”

You see the desperation on Tom’s face and quell it with a long kiss. Your hand guides his length between your legs and you sit back on him slowly, moaning into his mouth as he fills you up completely. Your lips separate, and for an aching moment, your foreheads are pressed together, and there’s an air of unspoken silence hanging between you as you get a little lost in his deep brown eyes. You swallow deeply, the emotions stirring in your heart making you nervous, so you quickly kiss him again, and then his hands are on your waist and he’s guiding you along.

It’s electric. As your bodies connect and you gradually begin to move faster together, you find yourself getting lost in it. You drag your lips over Tom’s necks and collarbones, kissing him and sucking lightly, and enjoying the quiet whimpers that fall from his pink lips. His hands explore you, grabbing at your ass, or your boobs, before one of them settles permanently between your legs and toys with your clit. His fingers work magic as his hips jut up to meet yours, the combination of your movements allowing his cock to hit nice and deep inside you.

You wonder why it’s taken you so long to do this with him. Tom’s eyes watch you intently, notes of adoration mixing with his obvious arousal. At some point, his free hand stretches out and tangles with yours, and then your intertwined fingers fall to the mattress and you find his lips with yours as you begin to build towards your high. His grip on your hand keeps you anchored, even as you begin to get lost in the hazy pleasure of it all, his body twitching slightly as your walls start to squeeze him.

“G’nna cum,” you manage, voice thick. Your clit pulses beneath his fingers. “Fuck, Tom, you feel so good in me. Love your cock.”

He kisses you harshly, but it fades to a softer kiss as you hold your mouth against him. “Let go, baby,” he urges, “‘m close too. Want to feel you, darling.”

It’s the way he grinds down to meet your bounce as his fingers rub your slick clit that has your breath hitching and your orgasm rippling across you. You don’t even try to stay quiet as you rock against him, his length brushing over your walls perfectly, and his face screws into a picture of orgasmic bliss as he cums with a splutter, his grip on your hand tightening as a string of curses fall past his lips.

A deep breath escapes you when you collapse beside Tom, your body blissed out and tingling warmly. A smile springs across your face as he brings your joined hands to his mouth, kissing over your knuckles softly. It’s so gentle and loving that you find yourself looking at Tom a little differently, his lips now appearing alluring and inviting, and the shaggy curls resting across his forehead endearing. You inch closer to him subconsciously, and one of his arms wraps around your shoulders to keep you against him.

“So,” he says, voice a little uncertain, lacking that normal charismatic charm. “That was…”

“Life-changing,” you suggest, punctuating it with a light laugh.

Tom nods, large hand shifting over your bare back. “You could say that.” His eyes focus on your lips for a moment, before he moves in and lets his mouth press across your forehead. “Would you want to… go on a date with me, sometime?”

You draw your lower lip between your teeth as you nod bashfully, finally allowing yourself to feel the butterflies that twinkle in your heart every time you see him.

“I’d really like that,” you admit. You press a kiss to the top of his shoulder before snuggling down, wrapping your arms around his warm chest as he holds you near. “I’d say this was a pretty good outcome to our bet, wouldn’t you?”

Tom chuckles. “Yeah,” he says. “I’d say we’re both winners.”

He kisses your temple, lips soft, and you know that he’s right: you feel like the luckiest woman in the world, to be held in his arms like this, to have felt him so intimately, to have his heart held in your hands, even if you don’t quite know it yet.

“Definitely,” you agree. “I couldn’t think of a better prize.”

And he kisses you then, mouth meeting yours in a slow burn of new love, and you know that he agrees with you wholeheartedly.

#tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland oneshot #i...would like to be tom’s co star thanks #y/n #y/n use #self insert #self-insert #famous!reader #costar!reader #smut

2K notes · View notes

starlightsearches · 3 years ago

Text

His Pilot Ch. 6 (NSFW)

Masterlist

Armitage Hux x Pilot! Reader (f)

SFW Version of the chapter can be found here.

Warnings: 18+ only! Minors will be blocked. Guided masturbation, fingering, dry humping, language, angst, religious imagery. Let me know if I missed anything, and please let me know what you think 🥰

The fire paints with dim, golden streaks on the ceiling above your bed—not bright enough to keep you awake, if you could manage to close your eyes.

You should be tired, exhausted. You should have fallen into the deepest sleep of your life before you even managed to crawl between the sheets. But you can’t. And you’re not.

Rest stays elusive, no matter how hard you try. After everything that’s happened, every promise and commitment you made in the blazing heat of the moment, it would be wise to take this time alone to think about what’s been done, and what cannot be undone.

And instead you're thinking about how it would feel to have Armitage's lips against your neck.

You huff at yourself, turning once again, the sheets in a tangle around your legs from your restless movements.

The knock at the door is so quiet, you’re sure you’ve imagined it. You want him to be there, but finding the hallway empty would be unbearable. The sound comes again, slightly louder, and you close your eyes, offer your hopes to the universe, and slip from between the sheets.

It takes effort to keep from running—even on your sore and tired legs—your footsteps marking an even beat against the floor, not loud enough to drown out the rapid strike of your heartbeat as your fingers curl around the cool metal of the door handle.

It could be Day, checking to make sure that you’re alright. Or Alida with fresh clothes for tomorrow or more wood for the fireplace.

The door opens; all your fears go quiet. It’s him.

“I . . .” Armitage hesitates, eyes gone wide when he sees you, shoulders positioned away from the door, like he's ready to run, “I couldn’t sleep, and I thought . . .”

Thank gods. You manage to keep your excitement to yourself, stepping out of the way so that he can enter.

The fire burns low in the hearth, casting more shadows than light at this point, bringing the walls in closer and shrinking the room, small enough that you can’t help but stand close to him.

He’s still in his clothes from before, except for the jacket—the fabric stiff with rain. His hair has lost any of the gel he had put in it that morning, and it falls across his forehead in soft waves—longer than you expected it to be—before he brushes it back with one ungloved hand.

“I— I didn’t mean to bother you,” he says, his throat jumping slightly when he swallows, eyes on the mess of sheets and blankets on your bed. He clasps his hands tighter behind his back when you rest your hand on his arm, the skin of his knuckles turning white.

“You’re not bothering me, I couldn’t sleep either.”

His eyebrows raise, the breath he was holding brushing your skin when he finally releases it. “Really?”

“Yes." You continue to shrink the space between you, looking up at him through your lashes.

He frowns, confused. “Why not?”

“I was thinking about you.” He can't not know what you're waiting for at this point, standing so close you can feel the heat from his skin through his clothes, staring pointedly at his lips.

He holds your hand to his face, and you think you've finally gotten through to him, letting your eyes flutter closed, but he doesn't come any closer, and when you meet his eyes again, they're full of pain.

“I’m— I’ll never be able to express how sorry I am for all of this. I’ve ruined—”

You kiss him with an exasperated sigh—kiss him to shut him up, kiss him because you can’t wait any longer. It stuns him, but he kisses you back, his hand at your jaw, lips moving seamlessly against yours.

It’s exactly what you wanted—uncomplicated, pure connection. He won’t listen to you when his own insecurities are so loud, but he can feel this: the urgency of your mouth against his, the sincere desire in your sighs.

There’s no forethought, no planning, just need—every movement motivated only by desire. He stumbles back on the bed, sinking into the plush mattress, pulling you down against him with his arm at your waist until you’re a mess of shifting legs and desperate, roaming hands.

It’s need that presses your hips against his thigh, warm and solid between your legs, need that has you sliding your core against the firm press of his body, sighing into his open mouth.

You reach for his shirt collar, pulling him closer, the buttons slipping easily from their hold under the strength of your hands until you can grip at the skin beneath—his neck, his collarbone, each valley and ridge mapping itself beneath your touch, searching lower, deeper, for more.

You’re left staring at the ceiling with wide eyes and empty hands.

Armitage turns to you, half his face in shadow as he sits on the edge of the bed, running his palms over the silk covers methodically, as if he’s trying to make sure that there's something real beneath him.

“Is everything . . . alright?” you whisper, apprehensive. There’s a sinking pit in your stomach, a terrible strain between your need to touch him and your fear of pushing him away.

He waits a moment before answering with an unconvincing nod.

“Yes, of course. I’m— I apologize.”

He looks so broken, defeated, and you don’t even know what you’ve done to make him this way. With no other options, you shift closer, stroke your fingers over the back of his neck in what you hope is a soothing gesture. His shoulders relax minutely, pressing closer against your hand, and even this little sliver of contact makes your stomach soar.

“There’s nothing for you to apologize for. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

He scoffs, turning away from you, and it's only then that you realize the anger in his eyes is directed inward.

Your chest collapses, folding in on itself in shame.

“Armitage,” you hook one finger under his chin, forcing him to look you in the eyes, “it’s alright. I’m not upset, or angry. We don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to do.”

His jaw tightens, eyes heavy with an unspoken pain. “Please, don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not. You don’t have to worry about me, Armitage. I can take care of myself.”

You’re not even sure what made you say it. As soon as the words are out of your mouth, regret creeps through your stomach, your neck growing warm with embarrassment, the heat intensifying when, with only a little hesitation, he places his hand on your thigh.

“Take care . . . of yourself?”

You don’t miss the breathlessness in his voice, or the weight behind his palm as he kneads the aching muscles beneath.

“Yes,” you whisper, shifting against the sheets, no longer able to sit still when he looks at you like that. His grip tightens, a nice, dull ache blooming under the pressure.

“Show me.”

You grip the hem of your pajama pants with both hands, eyes wide, shivering as the silky material gives way to chill air. As soon as they’re past your knees, you press your thighs together tighter—whether to relieve some of the ache at your core, or because of a sudden surge of shyness, you don’t know.

“Show me,” he whispers the words this time—a plea instead of a demand. His hand covers your knee, long fingers brushing goosebumps over your skin as he strokes them shyly, like he’s asking for something he’s sure he doesn’t deserve, and knows he’ll be refused.

You take a deep breath and shut your eyes tight—you can’t bear to look at him when he’s looking at you—and then lay back, letting the plush bed support your weight before your legs fall open.

The silence is oppressive, weighing on your lungs like a stone, and then it’s pierced by a sigh, the back of his hand brushing over the inside of your knee, up your thigh, so close to where you want to feel him, just not close enough.

“Please,” he rasps, “show me how.”

Stars. You won’t survive this. You’re sure of it.

You let your hand travel down your chest, over your stomach, sweat-slicked palm sticking weakly to the fabric of your top. At last you reach between your thighs, your skin against burning skin as you part your lips, stroking one finger between them.

Your hand shakes, stomach tensing; you’re wetter than you expected, the tip of your finger dipping easily into your entrance and coming back slick and shiny. You trace a soft circle over your clit, coating it with your spend.

Your back leaves the bed at the touch, arching a little when you apply more pressure, a second finger sliding in easily beside the first as you rub quick, tight circles against your clit, clenching your teeth together to keep from whimpering.

“Slower.”

His hand is at your wrist, thumb pressed firmly at the junction where your palm meets your arm, limiting your range of motion, reducing the pressure.

Your cunt clenches around nothing, muscles taut as you bite back a moan. You never made much of a spectacle out of touching yourself—it was just another part of your nightly routine, something you did as quickly as you could manage before falling asleep in between shifts. Nobody bothers to draw out the process of brushing their teeth, and coaxing out an orgasm before drifting off has always felt the same.

Until now.

Because now he’s got your legs shaking, the back of your neck slick with sweat and sticking to the covers. You don’t even have to see it; just knowing he’s watching with those analytical eyes—studying the pleasured map of your body without missing a single moment, determined to memorize every gasp and moan—has your chest heaving, lungs on the edge of collapse.

He’s still holding you when you slip your hand down to your entrance again, sliding two fingers into your warm, wet cunt. You thrust, using slow, methodical movements, letting the pads of your fingers brush against your swollen front wall, tightening the waiting coil in your stomach.

When he stops you again, delicate fingers squeezing on either side of your wrist, you expect more instruction—your glossy, pleasure-stained eyes meeting his intense ones.

He doesn’t offer any, eyes drifting down your chest to the place where your hands meet, tongue wetting his dry lips when they part with a shallow breath.

You feel every movement of his fingers, stroking down the back of your hand, tracing along until he brushes the tips of his fingers against your knuckles, positioned right below your own.

You can’t help but cry out at the added pressure against your entrance, his fingers joining yours with a wet sound so lewd you're embarrassed. His fingers curl against your own, pressed up against the swollen spot that cuts off the air in your lungs.

He shifts, so very slowly, watching for every minute response you give him—your clenched jaw, the fluttering of your eyelids. His fingers are longer than your own, and wider; it’s a greater stretch than you’re used to—the combination of your touch and his—but the burn fades quickly, and what’s left is absolutely irresistible.

“Is this right?” he whispers, continuing his diligent movements, eyes on your face searching for some sign of approval, but you lost the ability to speak long ago, left with only the memory of the way it feels to fill your lungs completely and a few tears in your eyes. You grip his wrist with your other hand instead, urging him to move again, your hips rocking desperately against his fingers.

He pins you in place with his free hand, holding down your hips with a much stronger grip than you'd expect, silencing your cries with a whisper.

“It’s alright, darling. It’s alright,” he says, and you’re sure you must be imagining the gentle reverence in his voice, “let me take care of you.”

He peels your hand from his wrist, intertwining his fingers with yours. His palm is warm, wet from the heat and the nerves. It’s the first time you’ve felt his skin like this, his palm against your own. He’s got two fingers inside of you right now, but it's his hand in yours that seems truly intimate.

You shift your other hand from between your thighs, taking him by the back of the neck—unable to stand it any longer—spreading your spend across his searing skin as you pull him against you for a desperate and messy kiss.

His hesitation lasts only a moment before he’s drawn in by the shift of your hips and the determined press of your tongue, and then he’s lost himself, grunting low and deep in your ear. His own hips drag against your thigh, and you can feel the weight of his need for you, the desperate whimpers interspersed with his moans. His thumb finds your clit, stroking back and forth, the movements perfectly timed with the thrusts of his fingers.

You’re unraveling, coming undone with the feeling of his lips at your neck, the sweet, restrained kisses he marks against your skin so at odds with hysterical sounds you’re making, the cries that bubble up from your throat.

And then you’re tumbling on the other side, baptized in the pleasure he's given you, remade new with each wave of light that floods from his touch. Your cunt grips his fingers, loathe to be parted from him.

You come back to yourself when his hand strokes its way to your waist, turning to face him, kissing his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, letting your own hand trail down the front of his shirt, stopping right at the waistline of his pants.

“Do you need me to . . . oh.” Your cheeks grow hot when you feel it, the sticky damp spot blooming on the front of his trousers. He flushes up to his forehead, skin gone rosy with embarrassment.

You didn’t know you could have that kind of effect on someone.

“I should return to my room.” He shifts, until you stop him, holding him in place with a hand on his chest.

“Don’t, please, stay with me.”

His neck turns red, too; embarrassment only just overpowered by desire. “I’d need a change of clothes.”

You press your lips together, biting away a smile, “I think I can help with that.”

The trip to his room and back is uneventful, thankfully. The hallways are dim and empty, and the house is large enough that you don’t have to worry about waking anyone, or having to explain your trip to Armitage's quarters in the middle of the night.

The refresher is off when you get back, the room swallowed by silence, and you knock on the door to let him know that you’ve returned from your little mission.

“Come in.”

He speaks quietly but you still manage to hear him, bracing yourself before you enter the refresher, greeted by a wall of steam that clings to your skin and collects in your lashes like tears. Armitage stands, bare from the waist up, staring at his hazy reflection in the fogged glass.

His back is to you, pale white skin pulled tight over sharp shoulder blades, dotted with freckles and occasionally marred by the white stripe of a long-healed scar. There’s another mark, an unexpected one on his left shoulder, just below the junction of his neck.

He watches your approach through the glass, no longer covered in mist now that you’ve let the cold air in, the leftover condensation dripping down its surface like rain before pooling at the edge of the counter.

It’s not a very large tattoo, about the length and width of your thumb: a small sprig of flowers, like the ones you saw on your trip to the market. You trace the lines with the tip of your finger—the dark green of the stem and where it fades into the soft, white petals—memorizing the pattern.

“It’s Halia,” he says with a cough, “they’re the flowers that grow on the mountains along the shoreline. She was named after them. It was the first thing I did after leaving the academy, in her memory when—” he pauses, voice thick with emotion, “—when I thought she was dead.”

You nod, stroking your thumb over his shoulder, unwilling to speak just yet, in case it breaks whatever spell has overcome him.

“It scared me, for most of my childhood. I’d wake up in the middle of the night and for a few moments I’d be terrified, thinking I’d forgotten her name. My father, he told me the truth when I was very young. Maybe he thought I’d be ashamed, but I couldn’t be. She was the only thing that separated me from that man, and I worried that if I forgot her, like he had, I’d end up like him, too.”

It’s the most he’s ever said to you in a single sitting, bared to you not just physically, but emotionally as well. It's the moment you've been waiting for.

“If she knew the truth,” you whisper, kissing the bend right above the tattoo, “she would be proud of you.”

His hand covers yours, pressed tighter against his skin. “I hope you’re right.”

You crawl between the sheets beside him, eyes straining to stay open and vision blurring with exhaustion, but you can't bare the idea of falling asleep just yet.

He glows in the darkness beside you, skin bright and reflective as a moon, his eyes wide and vulnerable you brush the dark, still-damp hair from his eyes, your other hand firmly held in his own.

You rest your head against the pillow, laying on your side. He'll be the last thing you see before you drift off tonight, and the first you'll see when you wake up.

You fall asleep knowing that you made the right choice.

18+ Hux Tag List: @thembohux, @writingletterstothefire, @missmadwoman, @evarinaandlat, @sitherin-mxschief, @imafatassmess, @toasterking, @rosevon7975, @pradahux, @armitages-galaxy, @dark-lord-of-the-simps, @daughterofaries, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @theold-ultraviolence, @mrs-ghuleh, @lemongingerart, @isthisheaven5, @trash-queen-af, @generalthirst, @tobealostwanderer, @huxxoxo, @theoriginalannoyingbird, @liceforlunch, @g3n3ralhux, @mylifeisactuallyamess, @superunkn0wn, @therealnoex, @luna-is-on-mars

Join my tag list here!

#armitage hux x reader #armitage hux x you #general hux x reader #general hux x you #armitage hux/reader #armitage hux/you #general hux/reader #general hux/you #armitage hux fanfic #armitage hux fanfiction #general hux fanfic #general hux fanfiction #armitage hux smut #general hux smut #my writing #his pilot #minors dni

64 notes · View notes

spvce-cowboy · 4 years ago

Text

gentle things

ch. 2 of i’ll be here in the morning (the mandalorian x fem!reader)

previous- ch.1: “a strange beauty”

next- ch.3: “reunion”

rating: mature

8.5k words

warnings: mutual pining, masturbation (f), alcohol, descriptions of gore

summary: after a few months on the Crest, you find yourself growing closer to your new companions.

a/n: the gay agenda is finding a way to slip a dolly parton song into a star wars fanfic, i rest my case.

Most mornings you wake to the child’s soft cooing. Occasionally, the sound is met with a low, modulated voice, that murmurs incoherent phrases in response. It somehow puts your heart to rest before you even remember where you are.

It’s strange, you’ve been a resident of the Crest for a handful of months now and it sometimes still takes you a few moments each morning to reorient yourself. You blame it on the strange limbo of hyperspace—it always throws you off for at least a day or two, and you swear your dreams are more vivid after. Sometimes you wake up panting for no reason at all.

You’re adjusting pretty well. A bit strange having a roommate/boss who doesn’t acknowledge your presence beyond the occasional but respectful nod. But it’s way better than you could have possibly imagined when you first started turning the idea over in your head. Granted, that was when you were about elbow-deep in his chest cavity, trying to fish out pieces of the shoddily constructed weapon that broke off inside him. You needed the first way out that presented itself to you, something you and Am’ile both agreed with, and well, when opportunity strikes or whatever.

Your first evening on the Crest, you asked the Mandalorian where you should sleep and he just shrugged, handing you a single, scratchy blanket with a “this is all I have.” Later, when you pass his bunk as he’s taking a nap, he’s curled in on himself on a bare cot and you realize that threadbare piece of fabric was literally all he had. You don’t bring it up, but something in your chest softens towards him after that. There’s a new quilt folded neatly on his bunk by the time he returns from his first mission.

Your second day onboard, you found a metal table in a junk heap and pushed it against one of the walls in the engineering bay. You spent the better part of an afternoon figuring out how to weld it to the floor. The medical supplies went on top, then you pushed your pillow and your rolled-up mattress underneath. Sure, there was technically a second cot in the Crew’s quarters, but you wanted to give the Mandalorian his privacy whenever possible. Besides, as long as there wasn’t too much turbulence, your set-up was pretty great.

After a few missions, you’ve visited enough markets to buy an ample supply of blankets, sweaters, and pillows to keep you comfortable on the floor of the ship. It’s freezing most nights, especially in hyperspace, and cocooning yourself in as many warm things as you could manage helps stave off both the chill as well as the occasional home sickness. The collection you’ve amassed thus far is in a various mis-match of pale jewel tones that remind you of Am’ile’s house. You didn’t realize that until you’d piled them all together on your bed and you couldn’t help but laugh at yourself a bit.

The child loves your soft things, happily snuggling up with you for naps while waiting for the Mandalorian’s return—though you suspect he’s just grateful for the new company. A consistent presence while dad’s away. You’re happy to give that to him.

The new routine is comfortable, the company is nice, the work is relatively easy. And, stars, the things you get to see. It’s honestly more than you could have ever asked for.

When your eyes blink open it’s already around eight in the morning. You’ve landed on Nevarro where the Mandalorian has already been gone for a day, attending some kind of “extended business meeting,” as he put it. Yawning, you eventually roll out of bed and stumble into the fresher, blearily rubbing the sleep out of your eyes with the spray’s cold water. Stepping out, you wrap your towel around yourself. In the tiny metal mirror suspended over the sink you pat on some lotion onto your face, eyes still heavy.

Reaching for your toothbrush, your knuckle grazes one of the Mandalorian’s facial razors. You wince, flicking your hand before examining it. A tiny nick. Sucking on it for a second to stop the blood flow, you glance at the Mandalorian’s side of the cabinet.

It’s strange to see the most banal traces evidence of what he is, who he is, behind the all that beskar. Like the facial razors—to think he’s in here, maskless, shaving his face, while you’re playing with his kid or whatever just a few steps away. To think he takes a shower every day—er, well, you’re not sure about that one, but at least when he’s on the Crest—stepping out and wrapping a towel around his waist in order goes about his little tasks.

You swallow, removing your hand from your mouth and grabbing your toothbrush before your mind can wander anywhere else. You brush your teeth particularly well that morning.

The day is pretty typical from there. After feeding both yourself and the child breakfast, you settle on the floor of the hull with the small metal ball he’s obsessed with. You place him a few feet in front of you, he sways slightly on both feet before plopping down to mirror you, hands stretched forward in an demand to be put in your lap.

“Let’s do some of the exercises, yeah?” You know you’re essentially just talking to yourself as you hold the ball in the air, but you might as well make the effort anyway. Am’ile was no stranger to kids like him, or at least that’s how she put it—something about her people and some other group, the specifics completely slipped your mind. She didn’t really elaborate and you knew not to press.

Even though you don’t know much, you do try to mimic Am’ile’s drills-disguised-as-play at least a few times a day. He only seemed to do what you asked during those sessions when you weren’t looking, distracted by cleaning or studying whatever book you’d picked up hours later. You would always find the little ball in strange places, definitely not where you’d last placed it, and certainly out of the child’s reach.

At least it was good to know he was partially pretending to not listen to you. You could work with partially.

The kid has been fussy since waking, refusing to focus on any of the things you were trying to prompt him to do. Yesterday, you spent a bit too much time at the markets with him—growing sick of protein bars, you initially set out trying to find something closer to tasting like home. Really, you just liked getting out of the Crest so you could see all those people.

You’ve amassed a collection of language dictionaries, trying to do some fast learning and even faster practicing to get your way around. Sometimes the vendors are kind and help you stutter your way through disjointed sentences in their native tongue, others just huff and immediately switch to Basic as soon as you start talking. You don’t mind either way.

The marketplace as a whole is new and exciting, the clatter and clamor of movement, laughing and snarling, voices raised in argument and lowered in the smallest exchange of intimacy. So far removed from the quiet slopes of Am’ile’s home and—

You don’t let the rest of that thought happen, quickly scooping the kid up and wrapping him to your chest with a long swath of fabric.

“I’m goin’ a little crazy in here too, little guy,” you mumble, pulling your satchel over your shoulder. “Your dad should be back in a while—let’s try to find a contact for supplies until then, yeah? Shouldn’t be too hard.” A total lie, it was way more difficult to find what you are looking for than you initially thought. You were particularly looking for a cauterizing instrument that was a bit more sturdy than the glorified cigar lighter the Mandalorian was currently using. Besides basic med-kit stock, it was nearly impossible to find anything more advance under the radar.

Yesterday was half-heartedly spent searching the markets in search of someone who might be tapped into Republic supply runs, which rendered you, predictably, empty-handed. Now you were on to your second best option, asking around the closest cantina where you could find the instruments you were looking for for without raising too much attention.

Okay, so maybe the Mandalorian specifically told you to keep out of the bars when you’re traveling without him. But you managed just fine on your own yesterday in an arguably more crowded environment. You’ve also dealt with… far worse than that hunk of metal could ever possibly imagine. You’re more than capable on your own. Still, you make sure to strap a dagger and a blaster to your belt before heading out.

You make quick work hurrying to the cantina, making sure to cover your head with the hood of your tunic and conceal the little one as much as possible. Basic survival instincts usually warrant drawing as little attention to yourself as possible, being a young human woman traveling alongside a small green wizard creature is pretty much the opposite of that.

He, predictably, doesn’t take very well to the concealed swaddle you’ve confined him to, and the two of you are in a constant back-and-forth of you attempting to wrap him up and him making quick work of wriggling out of any cover tactic you try. If it weren’t for those damn ears your life would be so much easier.

The bar has the quiet hum of activity, occasionally interspersed with a loud chatter of conversations rising to some kind of boiling point. You maneuver yourself to the counter and try to get the attention of the bartender, holding the kid to your chest until he squirms his way upwards and settles with his chin on your shoulder, one of his ears slipping out of the head covering you’d fashioned and thwapping you in the neck. You’ll deal with that in a second.

You’ve only just caught the bartender’s attention when the doors slam open. The clamor of the cantina quiets momentarily, and you see everyone shift slightly to eye whoever just entered. The two new patrons seem to be in the middle of an argument, voices low in secrecy but tense with frustration.

“I’d know that green mug anywhere.” With that you finally turn, heart dropping with anxiety. It’s the Mandalorian and a companion, a human man. The man’s voice, a deep bellow, is warm and inviting in a way that shouldn’t make you freeze completely as he addresses the kid. He then looks you up and down, pausing as the Mandalorian continues stomping forwards. You freeze anyway. “Ah—this is that girl you mentioned? Your caretaker?”

“She’s a medic,” the Mandalorian sharply corrects the man without moving to look at you. He quickly returns back to whatever conversation was initially at hand as the man continues his brisk stride towards a table at the back. There are three people already seated there, but by the time the Mandalorian arrives they have all left in a scuffling hurry. Neither of the men acknowledge it, just immediately slide into opposing sides of the booth. “Karga, this is ridiculous--I’m not a Republic spy, why would there be this many hoops on a bounty you’re just handing out?”

“I’m not just ‘handing it out,’ Mando, I’m giving it to you because I know you’re the most capable,” the man, Karga, addresses the Mandalorian then directs his attention towards you. “Come here, girl. Let me get a good look at you, I’m curious.” Turning to the bartender, he barks out an order for spotchka. You walk towards the table. There’s too much attention on the three of you to resist, you wouldn’t want to make things more complicated for the Mandalorian anyway. The bounty hunter’s voice almost immediately overrides his, low but gritty with anger as you slide into the booth beside him.

“I can’t—Karga you know I’ve never done something like this. This high-profile. Going deep-cover for a job isn’t something I can do.”

You feel Karga’s eyes on you, it’s brief but piercing. You busy yourself by looking up at the woman who serves you a small glass of the bright blue liquid, quietly thanking her.

“It’s all the fobs or nothing. The signal will be broadcast in a few hours’ time—they won’t expect something like this to be conducted semi-publicly. Keep monitoring the broadcast, but save that fob for last,” Karga places three fobs in the center of the table, then slides a forth a few inches removed from the rest. He can tell the Mandalorian isn’t convinced—stars, even you can tell he isn’t convinced. Karga heaves a sigh and makes a stab at reassurance. “You can figure it out. You’re the only one I can trust to get this done. The most capable.”

The Mandalorian’s hand slams down on the table, you jump, quickly looking between the intense but even staring contest going on between Karga and the infuriated bounty hunter. Slowly, and with more than a bit of melodrama, the Mandalorian drags the fobs under his hand towards him, slipping it into his pocket without breaking eyes from Karga’s.

He turns heel so quickly his cape whips behind him. You scurry after him as fast as you can manage.

You can still feel the frustration steaming off of the Mandalorian the whole walk back to the Crest. You keep quiet, trailing behind him by a few steps—you desperately want to ask what was wrong. Your mouth stays firmly shut.

Boarding the Crest, the Mandalorian immediately scales the ladder into the cockpit. After a few minutes you feel the Crest shutter into the air, quickly shooting into the empty sky and then hyperspace. You sigh and grab a book, turning the kettle on to make some caf and settling in your bed to an eye on the kid as he toddles around the expanse of the hull.

Hours later, when the child has exhausted all possible forms of entertainment, usually consisting of live wires and exposed paneling that you tug him away from, he begins to get fussy in a way that means he’s tired but refuses to sleep. It starts with the occasional whimper that quickly crescendos into a full-blown fit. You know all the warning signs at this point.

The little terror had a bit of a habit of doing this—once the Mandalorian and you are in the ship he refuses to fall asleep unless you two are in the same room. A part of you knows this is a symptom of separation anxiety—which you in no way can blame him for, given the circumstances of their bond—but the cockpit is just about the last place you want to be.

It’s not that you’re scared of the Mandalorian, or anything. It would just be… incredibly awkward with the mood he’s in right now to attempt to lull his kid to sleep in his presence.

“Listen, buddy, your dad is super grumpy right now so—" The child just starts crying even louder, little fists balled up to pound futilely against your chest, trying to push you away. “Okay okay okay! I get it. I get it.” You sigh, biting your lip and looking down at the kid, then up at the ladder. The kid starts screaming. “Yeah, yeah. Alright.” You begin the climb up.

“Hey, sorry he’s being a little sensitive again,” you say as your head pops up onto the pilot’s deck, miraculously managing to pull yourself into the room with one arm holding the squirming kid against you. The floor seals shut behind you once you haul yourself over the edge.

The Mandalorian just grunts in response and continues flipping through radio channels, seemingly growing more frustrated with himself the longer it takes for him to find the frequency Karga directed him to. He’s in the pilot’s chair, back turned to you, shoulders hunched in concentration.

You settle into the copilot’s seat, resting the kid on his back on top of your legs. He settles almost instantly, big eyes no longer filled with tears.

Rolling your eyes with a small smile, you tickle him lightly until he starts giggling, then scoop him back up into your arms, allowing yourself to slide back in the chair a bit. You stare out into the bright darkness of space, blinking back at the stars as the child coos gently in your lap.

“A coded civilian station, is he fucking crazy?” The Mandalorian mumbles to himself in his continued litany of abuses he’s slung Karga and the greater universe’s way since returning to the Crest.

The longer you’ve been here the more he’s started to do things like that, just talking into the air without the expectation of a response. You begin to think that that’s just the way he acts when it was just him and the kid. Though you’ve noticed that he has been cursing way more than he did when you first met. That might be a little bit your fault. Oops.

You look down at the child and rub one of his ears, leaning down to press a kiss at the crown of his head. His little three-fingered hand catches your hair and pulls. Wincing, you resist the urge to jerk your head back. Instead, you extend the pad of your index finger and lightly wiggle it against his button nose. He sneezes and lets go almost immediately.

You let out a triumphant “ha!” then shake your head slightly and twist your face in a playful scowl. The kid resumes his giggling, batting at your hands when you try to tickle his tummy.

Glancing over at the angry hunk of beskar seated beside you, you notice he’s paused with his hand hovering over the radio’s controls, his head turned slightly towards his right shoulder to silently regard you and the child.

You quickly divert your gaze back down to the kid, resuming rubbing his ears as his eyes slowly, devastatingly slowly, ease shut. Only to snap open again with a playful babble, hands reaching up again for the free entertainment of the hair still attached to your head. Shit. You sigh. The Mandalorian goes back to flipping through the channels.

More static and garbled languages you’ve never encountered before. You try to ignore the pounding of your heart—that was probably the longest you’d ever seen him grant you any kind of attention—and keep trying to lull the child to sleep. As quietly as possible you try to stand, scooting around the copilot’s seat to gently bounce the kid in the limited space to the back of the cockpit. He’s quieted significantly, just enough that you could probably get him to sleep on your own, as long as you don’t jostle him too much on the descent back into the hull. You’re about to head down the ladder when—

The Mandalorian pauses momentarily on a channel that’s playing music. The opening swell of the first verse is unmistakable. Your chest fills with a certain warm feeling, pounding with memories you had long since tucked away.

“Wait,” you say it without thinking. Without even processing that the words left your mouth. “Wait, could you go back? That… that song…”

Wordlessly, he clicks back to the previous station. The cabin is filled with the music, a warm and bright voiced female vocalist smoothly intertwined with her male partner. The melody is plucky, something you could dance to—and have, more than once—and it’s overly saccharine in its pure, absolute joy in itself. But you suppose the cheesiness is part of the charm. You relish in it regardless.

You do something to me that I can’t explain. There is a memory that surfaces just as quickly as it disappears. You couldn’t have been more than four. Your father, spinning you around by your pudgy forearm. It’s his laugh you remember most of all, something boisterous and full-bodied. You are dancing around the kitchen of a home you can’t remember, the floor dappled with light from the pieces of stained glass your mother had dangling from the windows. Hold me closer and I feel no pain. You smile to yourself, bowing your head down at the little one, quietly murmuring what lyrics you remember, rocking your hips in a gentle little dance. It works, the kid is fast asleep by the last chord.

The song ends, the disc jockey begins speaking in yet another language you don’t recognize. The Mandalorian quickly turns the volume down, lest it wake the child. He has reflexes fast enough to startle you, luckily your jolt does nothing to bother the baby in your arms. You gently place him in the pram, hovering beside the pilot’s seat. You slide the shield doors shut to keep out the noise and step back.

“Thank you, Mandalorian,” you say it softly, but you can see his helm bob slightly in a nod of acknowledgement. You take a deep breath and begin to head towards the ladder as he resumes flicking through the stations.

“Hey,” the Mandalorian says your name. You pause for a moment, then turn. He clears his throat—the sound comes out as a rough crackle over the modulator. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he sounds a bit nervous. “You can uh… you can just call me Mando, you know. The full thing is a bit of a mouthful.”

You blink once, then nod. Turning heel you, mercifully, scale back down the ladder with as much grace as could be mustered, despite your shaking hands.

That night, when you touch yourself, you shove the blanket he gave you against your nose and mouth. To keep quiet, you tell yourself. It smells like his soap.

Days after the radio incident, you can’t help but occasionally find that you’re singing the song to yourself as you go about your chores. It just seems to pop in your head as soon as you open your eyes, and it’s just stuck there, but you’re not very mad about that.

Mando has landed on some bitterly cold planet that was made up of little more than ash and a thick red fog. He had left late last night/early this morning to start his hunt, telling you in a little scribbled note to expect him back in two days’ time. He has really bad handwriting, it’s strangely amusing.

You decide to deep clean the hull: washing the floors, doing laundry, organizing what meager new supplies you were able to gather from Nevarro. As you did, you sang to yourself. Out loud. Just for the pleasure of it.

Your mother taught you kulning, as was tradition for the young girls on your home planet. Your father taught you the low-bellied croon of the casino singers. When things were still good, you would sing for your parents friends at the parties they would throw and your father would play the piano. You wish you had more memories like that. It’s hard to recall anything through the foggy barriers of the past fifteen years, it makes something in your chest ache to even try.

Am’ile’s radio was for emergencies only, not wanting to draw unwanted attention with the signal. It has been ages since you’ve had access to one, ages since you’ve heard music that didn’t come from your own mouth. That was why you’d started the nightly calls at Am’ile’s because before that grassy little planet… well, speaking was barely an option. You’d seen too many girls hurt for things far less than murmuring a tune.

To sing in the way your mother taught you, with the whole of your body. To make yourself so boldly known. It was all you had ever wanted.

You start putting together dinner for you and the kid as the day winds down. Mando had a barely functioning hotplate that you were able to make the best of, having bought some fresh produce at the far more hospitable planet the three of you were stationed at the previous day.

The stew cooks while you finish up the rest of your work, slicing bread and setting up a little dining area for your and the kid because, frankly, why not go all-out? It’s good to treat yourself to the small, gentle things. Even when on an unforgiving rock hurtling through space. Especially then.

You hop in the fresher while you wait for the meat to get to the proper temperature, twisting your body to keep your hair out of the water’s blast. In the enclosed space, you feel a less self-conscious and allow yourself sing a little louder than the under-the-breath, partial-hum you’d managed throughout the rest of the day.

You don’t hear the hull opening between that and the fresher’s spray.

When you turn the water off, you recognize the sound of the last few mechanisms of the hull door stealing itself back in place. Anxiety settles in quickly as you dry off. God, please let it just be Mando please. There’s the sound of something heavy being thrown against a wall. You wince.

A low voice. “Pretty little bird you’ve got singing in here, just for me?” Then a wet crack. “Mother fuck—"

Your heart lurches in your chest as you quickly pull your clothes on, cracking open the fresher door to peer out into the hull. Mando is standing over the body of a target, now crumpled to the ground, holding a bleeding headwound with two long, thin hands. He nudges the bounty with the butt of the weapon he had presumably just used against the man’s skull. The man gives a choked moan, completely incapacitated.

“Do you…” your voice sounds far too small. You blink, inhaling and starting over. “Do you need to bring him in alive or do you need my—"

“The carbonite will stop the bleeding,” Mando’s voice is gruff. You nod, even though his back is turned to you, watching from the safety of the doorway as he leans down and lugs the whining body into the chamber. Once the bounty is sealed away, you step back out into the open.

Mando pushes past you almost without recognition, limping heavily.

“Hey—hey!” You trail behind him, reaching out to touch his arm. He flinches. “Could you at least let me do my job?”

He regards you for an extended beat, then readily sits. It’s more of a controlled collapse.

“Is it your leg?” You ask, kneeling beside him and helping him peel off what armor you can. He shakes his head.

“It’s just more of a bruise I—my side, my hip. Onto the top of my leg.”

You nod slowly. “Okay, can you get to the fresher yourself or do you think you’ll need help? You have to rinse off before I treat you.” There’s an almost clay-like layer of red dust on his clothes and armor. It would be impossible to treat him properly without getting most of it off.

He wordlessly extends a gloved hand for you to help him up, you oblige—albeit struggling a bit with his weight. Once standing, you hover beside him on his limping walk to the fresher until he gives you a short: “I’ve got it.” You back off, returning to tend to your dinner while you wait.

When he emerges again he’s only wearing a sleep shirt, his mask, and a towel, the fabric held at the hip by his clenched fist to expose an already bruising thigh. He sits on a crate with an audible wince, easing himself back to lean against the wall slightly.

Your throat constricts as you move to his exposed side, but you try to breathe evenly enough to maintain an air of professionalism. Which gets increasingly difficult when he, with another sound of sharp pain, pulls up his shirt to reveal a series of small, shallow punctures traveling up his flank and over his hip that slightly weep with a mixture of blood and the cold water on his skin. He holds the shirt, just below his pectorals with his opposing hand, allowing the towel to drape over his lap while still revealing the side you need to work on. You can see the faint cut of his abdominal muscles, tracing south alongside a thin trail of dark hair leading--

“Shotgun pellets,” his voice stops your thoughts before they can get any worse. You’re partially thankful. Glancing up, you furrow your brow in confusion. He clarifies, “they’re a uh… a projectile type weapon. He was fighting dirty and desperate.” You nod, looking back down. The worst of the spray was able to score the skin right above his hip, but most of it had just bounced off his quad, leaving a series of raised, purpling welts. It was superficial at worst, but still not the best to look at. He seemed to read your mind. “Beskar was able to deflect them for the most part. I’ll be fine, just cauterize the worst of it.”

“The more you use the cauterizer the more of a chance you have of the scar tissue getting infected, you know. That’s some business you want no part of,” you say, digging through your kit for a pain ointment and the bacta you were able to refill on Nevarro. The more you looked at it, the more foolish of a blow for him to have taken it becomes. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re doing this on purpose,” you’re muttering it to yourself before you can fulling think through the implications. When he doesn’t say anything, you glance up at him. “That was a joke.”

“You need to work on your material, then.”

You laugh, shaking your head to yourself as you get to work. It’s easier to feel more confident around him the longer you’ve acclimated on the Crest. You have a bad habit of using snark as a defense mechanism. The more you work with Mando, the less you’re able to keep that up. It feels nice, you can relax slightly when you’re given the reassurance of him reciprocating the conversation.

You finish pressing the last of the bandages against his side. “The pain stuff I used should start sinking in soon, it might burn for a bit beforehand but it’ll get better after a few minutes.” He nods, pulling the towel tightly around his waist before standing and limping back into his quarters. He returns, fully dressed, putting a little more pressure on his leg than he did before he left. You quickly, desperately, find a way to conceal your staring.

“Hey—I have a surprise for you,” you turn to the kitchenette, busying yourself by testing the stock with a messy sip. It’s not… the best thing you’ve ever made in your whole life, but it’s the closest thing to the meals you made with Am’ile that you’ve had since you left your old home. It smells lovely, enough to have filled the hull with the smell of the herbs you used. “I thought it was just gonna be me and the womp rat so I made dinner, if you wanna eat with us that is.” You pull out the bottle of wine you bought from one of the storage drawers, a slight heat rising to your cheeks. You hold it up triumphantly anyway. “I really just needed an excuse to buy this for myself. But I totally understand if you’d rather eat upstairs by yourself.”

“Thank you,” he says hesitantly. “I’ll… I’ll stay while you eat. I can take mine to the cockpit once you’ve finished.”

“Would you want to have a glass with me, at least?” You hold the wine bottle by the neck at your side. He’s grumpy. Part of you wants to find some way to fix that, knowing it would be hard for you to let yourself enjoy the rest of the night with him fuming over something just upstairs. “I’ll cover my eyes. It’ll be like when I brought you your meals, while you were fixing the ship. No peaking. I promise.”

He takes a moment, before nodding slowly, for some reason you’re kind of surprised he agrees. Maybe that’s why your smile is so big. Maybe it was the fact you’d already cracked the bottle open for a few sips before taking your shower, the warmth of it at the bottom of your stomach making it much easier to playfully prod at the bounty hunter. Probably a mix of both.

You kneel beside your bed to gather another pillow, placing it across the makeshift table you’ve fashioned out of two crate and one of your blankets. You turn to bring the rest of the food to the table, three wooden bowls and a plate for the kid. You’re in the middle of separating the meat from the broth for him when you glance up at Mando, who is still standing exactly where you last saw him. He points to the tuft of fabric you had placed on the floor for him.

“What’s that for?”

You’re not sure if he’s serious or not. “Um, comfort?”

He doesn’t say anything, just cocks his helmet slightly to the left.

“Alright, old man,” you roll your eyes, refilling your cup . “Suit yourself.”

Mando pauses for a second longer before easing himself onto the pillow. He says your name softly, almost to himself. “This looks… really great. Thank you.”

“Well I wouldn’t take it to heart too much, chrome bucket. I was planning on hoarding all this for me and the kid. You just came back at quite the opportune moment,” you grin cheekily up at him before tearing your piece of bread and dipping it into the broth.

He reaches across the makeshift table and picks up his cup. You’ve repurposed the tops of two of his thermoses to make them. He examines it in his hand for a moment before speaking.

“Were you singing that song that was on the radio, yesterday? When I came in?”

“Yeah,” you laugh, shaking your head to yourself as you reach over the table and grab the cup in his hand to fill it with the wine. “I haven’t heard it in ages, you know? Any music at all, honestly, but especially that song. It was one of my dad’s favorites,” you detract before either of you could linger on that last statement. “It’s been in my head all day. I was meaning to ask you, when it comes to the radio—it probably wouldn’t be a good idea for me to listen while you’re on the job, yeah? Tracing signals and all that?”

Mando mulls it over for a second, accepting his cup from you and staring down at it. “I’m not sure. Better safe than sorry, but I could ask around about getting a uh… one of those new portable ones.” You don’t want to tell him that those newfangled portable radios have been a thing since you were in the cradle—something about his technological obliviousness was oddly endearing. “I’ll ask around and see if there’s some kind of blocking signal we could install. If you’d like one, that is. I’d like to take a sip, now, if that’s okay?”

You nod, immediately putting your hands over your face. You know you could just squeeze your eyes shut like oh, maybe a normal person might? But to be honest, it was a little funny to do. To act this silly in front of one of the most effective killing machines in the galaxy, who you have somehow convinced to attend a quaint family dinner. Might as well mess around a bit with it, yeah?

You hear the hiss of the mask resealing but you don’t remove your hands from your eyes. “It’s good wine,” he remarks. “You can look now.”

Removing your palms from your face, you blink your vision back to clarity, reaching for your cup again. Your mouth is already growing warm in the way that let you know that when Mando meant good he also meant strong. You have to agree.

“The people on Am’ile’s planet would make this crazy strong liquor out of these peaches that only grew in the valley where we lived. The village that was closest to us got super wealthy off of the stuff--honestly I can’t stomach anything too sweet anymore after it, spent an equal amount of time coming up as it did going down, if you get what I’m saying.” You screw up your face at even the thought of the syrup-like drink. “The orchards were super beautiful, though. The tallest foliage in the valley and they were maybe only a few heads taller than you. All types of critters living in the roots—that little one loved it.” You gesture to the child, who was grabbing as much of the dish’s meat as he could in his stubby three-fingered hands. The rest of his plate remained untouched. “Am’ile and I used to take walks through it all the time, especially when I first got there. It was too dangerous to go into the forests by yourself so I would spend ages in the orchards if she wasn’t putting me to work, just for a change of scenery.” Your mouth kind of just keeps running. It just feels so… nice, to talk to someone without having to try and stutter your way through a new language. That and the liquid courage in your cup made you unapologetically chatty. “She had so many little trinkets and things from her travels as a Republic medic, but only like ten books tops, all on medicine. I literally have the things memorized at this point, they were the only things to read.”

“You could go back at some point, if you want. When there’s a lull in jobs I could probably drop you and the kid off, spend a few weeks with her while I keep hunting,” Mando casually picks up his glass again, and you automatically cover your eyes with your hands. You’re still smiling, just with a little weight behind it.

“No, no that’s okay. Am’ile would get in too much trouble with the locals, for good reason. It isn’t safe for them and—to be honest, Mando, I don’t think the kid could take being separated from you for that long,” you pause for a moment. “But that’s incredibly kind of you to offer, thank you. I mean that.”

His mask hisses back in place. You ease the index and middle finger of your right hand to peer at him playfully before lowering your hands again. It’s a gentle spar between the two of you, an easy rhythm to settle into.

“Your med-station,” he nods towards your table/bed set up, looking particularly messy in comparison to the hull you’d spent the day cleaning. “It’s…”

Your heart drops, ready for the scolding. “Ah—uh, I’m sorry.” You look down at your plate—even if he couldn’t see the heat rising to your face, you try to hide your embarrassment by stabbing at another bite of food. You glance up at him sheepishly. “It’s the only place on the Crest that’s tucked away enough, I didn’t want to get underfoot.”

“No, no.” He shakes his head. You swallow. “I like it. A good idea. It’s like a reminder whenever I leave, not to do anything too stupid.”

“Oh, well,” you’re not sure why that catches you off guard so much. You honestly had no idea he even processed your presence since you’d first moved in besides the occasional medical assistance you provided. “I’ll make sure to put the more intimidating syringes front-and-center the next time I organize it.”

And he laughs.

Well—so, okay. It’s not a full laugh, more like a few low releases of air, but there’s a clear smile behind it that you can definitely hear. It’s enough to have you slightly grinning to yourself the rest of the meal.

By the time you’re finished, you’re a bit hazy off the wine and incredibly sleepy. You lean back slightly and yawn, looking at where Mando has settled the kid on his lap. “Sometimes I wish I could just snap my fingers and he’d just go to sleep. There’s too much energy in that little guy.”

“I can take him for the night,” Mando is currently engaged in a gentle dance of keeping the little one’s hands away from the food you’ve portioned for the bounty hunter. It’s more amusing than it should be. “If you could just help me take this upstairs I’d be more than happy to.”

You nod, clamoring to your feet and grabbing his bowl as he climbs up into the cockpit with the kid. You follow and place his dinner on a clear spot on the console.

“Where are we going next?” You ask, glancing over the control panel as if you had any idea what all those flashing lights and strange looking scanners meant. You should really pick up a flight manual at some point, just for the basics.

“The last fob,” Mando sighs. “Canto Bight. This—this is going to take a while, just warning you now. I still have no idea how I’m going to pull this off.”

You nod, yawning. You’re still a bit tipsy. “Okay, well, I think I’m gonna go to bed. Good luck brainstorming.” The food sits warm and heavy in your stomach. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt this full. It’s nice.

He gives a small nod acknowledging what you said, then goes back to grumbling down at the control panel, pushing buttons and examining scanners. You lean down to kiss the kid goodnight from where he’s babbling in the co-pilot’s seat, then climb down the ladder and change into your night clothes, setting the lights in the hull to night-mode as the Crest rumbles into the sky. Climbing into bed, you wrap your biggest blanket around yourself, the chill of hyperspace already settling in the air.

You have a dream. A bad one. One you’ve never had before and don’t know if you’d survive again if you did. It starts with you already crying. It’s one of those full-body, hiccuping sobs that usually rouses you from your sleep before things gets too bad.

Mando is gone, so far gone not even the comlink your finger is hovering over would be an option. You know this because the dream starts with him calling you. When you answer, there is only the sound of a hard, driving rain.

You’re holding the child against your chest and he’s screaming into your ear but you know if you actually lift him away to look at him he’ll disappear into the rain, too, so you drop the communicator and turn and there’s blood all over the floor and you have to clean it, you do. You have to so maybe he’ll come back and so you’re here, mopping up the blood on the hull’s floor as the child wails the loudest you’ve ever heard him cry and you try to choke out reassurances through your own crying because.

Because the gore is on your hands and your elbows and on you and on the floor once its gone it’ll be okay it’s so dark but it’ll be okay and streaking across the front of you and your face where you’ve tried to wipe it away please go away because it looks just like when.

Looks just like when.

You wake up in the middle of screaming, gasping for breath, one hand pressed against the top of the table above you and the other curled into the mattress. It’s the first time that’s happened, waking up like that at least. The dreams are different each time and occur at different frequencies, but they always crescendo at the same point. Usually you just wake up, eyes slowly sliding open and fixing to whatever is directly in front of you as your vision slightly blurs. How banal it usually is, how banal it feels, adds to the cruelty. You’re mostly still able to go to sleep after, at least there was that.

Not this, though. This is that hand-scratching-at-your-own-throat kind of terror, the kind you’ve usually only seen in the holo-dramas. You haven’t had a nightmare like that for so long, so maybe the surprise of it is what made it so much worse—that it wasn’t just you. Maker, you can still hear the child’s squalling in your ears. That sound of raw, primal terror that—

You feel your stomach lurch. You scramble to the fresher, emptying the contents of your stomach into the toilet.

Half anxiety, half afraid to close your own eyes, the dull thrum of raw energy does little to calm itself once you manage to shove the door of the fresher close. You let the metal rim of the toilet cool your face as you sniff, scooting back to lean your back against the wall, pulling the sleeve of the sleepshirt you’re wearing up your palm to wipe your eyes.

A low voice says your name urgently. You look up, dazed for a moment, before the door is cracked open by four broad-knuckled fingers. Your hand flies out, catching the handle before Mando is able to pull it the rest of the way open. He barely has time to get his hand out of the way before you slam it shut again.

“I--sorry,” you croak. “Please um… please don’t come in here.”

“Are you okay?” His voice is rough with sleep. You cup your hands over your knees and lean your forehead down to rest against them. When you don’t answer, he speaks again. “Was it, was it about before? Before Am’ile?”

“I—I haven’t, for so—I haven’t… Before… It was…”

“I know. She told me, it’s alright, I wouldn’t have asked I just… I thought it was something you didn’t want to talk about but I--”

“I’m not a charity case,” it sounds snappier than you intended it to and has absolutely nothing to do with anything he’d just said. At this point you’re just talking to yourself, it seems like he knows that. “That’s not why Am’ile pawned me off on you. I’m okay, I didn’t need her supervision anymore. I’m, I’m okay. It’s taken a long time but I am now so I don’t know why--”

“No,” and he says your name forcefully, cutting you off before you can continue. He repeats himself, this time softly, before: “It’s alright.” Does his voice sound… warmer? Even through a layer of reinforced steel? “I want you to feel safe, here. Comfortable. I don’t care, it’s okay. I just thought you were hurt.” He clears his throat. “I have them too, the dreams. So you, you don’t have to worry about hiding it. Them.” You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing at all. Closing your eyes, you lean the side of your face into the door separating the two of you. It’s so silent on the other side you think he’s left, so when he speaks again it’s all the more surprising. “And she didn’t pawn you off. I need you. Here.”

Something in your chest does a complete backflip. Your stomach is fluttering so ferociously you have to clear your throat before continuing. “Okay. Yeah, um. Thank you,” you wince. “I’m gonna freshen up and then get the little one out of your hair—er, beskar.” Idiot idiot idiot.

“It’s alright, you didn’t wake him. If you want I can… I can sit with you, until you fall asleep.”

“Okay.” You say it softly. “That would be really nice, actually. Thank you.”

You quickly brush your teeth, then open the door the door slowly. Stepping into the hull and closing it behind you, you pad back to your mattress. He follows a few feet behind you quietly—it’s moments like these you’re grateful for his reserved nature. You don’t have the energy to try and brush things off by filling the silence with mindless chatter.

Kneeling beside your mattress, you wordlessly offering him an armful of your pillows. In the low light of the Crest’s night mode, the beskar helmet looks nearly featureless, save for the gleam of light that arcs up its surface as he looks down at what you’ve offered him.

“Could you—” your voice breaks. Heat rises to your face as you clear your throat again. “Is it okay if the kid um… slept with me? It was… some of it was about—”

“Yeah, of course,” Mando takes one of the pillows from the top of what you’ve offered him, tossing it at the ground of the opposing wall and then slipping out of sight as he goes into his bunk. He returns with a the child, standing above you as you crawl into bed, wrapping you blanket around yourself, setting up the pillows as you normally do for the naps you take together, preventing any accidental rolling-over. Mando crouches to place the kid beside you, then stands and settles where he’d dropped the pillow previously. You take a moment to look down at the child, running a thumb over the edge of his ear, before kissing his soft forehead where you normally do. He wrinkles his nose in his sleep, making a soft sound and twitching his ears before wiggling slightly to resettle. You rest your head back on your pillow. The specifics of the dream are already starting to drift away. It’s a small mercy, but it’s enough.

“Hey, Mando?” You lift your head, the low light reducing the man to a dark, featureless outline.

“Hm?”

“Would you mind if… um… would you mind if I just touched your hand? Just so uh… if I wake up I can know you’re there?” As the words spill out of your mouth, an unbearable heat rises to your face.

There’s the sound of him shifting, getting to his feet with a grunt. Then he’s right there, sitting with his back to the wall, just a few inches from the top of your head. Tentatively, you reach out your hand, resting your index and middle fingers against his palm. And it’s his palm, His palm, warm but rough with callouses, resting on the floor beside his extended leg just for you to be able to close your eyes, even for a little bit.

It takes a while but it works. Right as you drift back to sleep you think you feel his hand gently wrap around the fingers you’ve offered him. You really think you do.

a/n: thank you all for the engagement thus far !! it really means so much to me.

that said i am .,..... beyond excited about the next chapter for two reasons of equal importance: fancy parties and Very Jealous Mando. my favorite things 😌

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din and grogu #mando and grogu #grogu #reader insert #i'll be here in the morning #i'll be here in the morning ch.2 #fanfic #star wars fanfiction

294 notes · View notes

sarahwroteathing · 3 years ago

Text

JOK Epilogue Piece: Better or Worse

Word Count: 1795

Warnings: None

Just One Kiss Masterlist

For a while, Bucky thought his nightmares were finally over, left behind as a relic of his old life when he married you. It was an attractive idea, a hopelessly romantic one. And for weeks, it seemed to fit. The happiness of his waking life, the love you gave him, the peace he found in your arms each night left no room for ugly memories and past trauma.

But the dreams caught up to him, as he should have expected, and sent him lurching out of bed in the small hours of a Tuesday morning. The sensation of wood against his knees - hardwood, not concrete, metal, or mud - jerked him back to awareness, and he drew in a shaky breath. The room was dark and still, a little drafty despite the best efforts of the radiator in the corner. He stayed there a little longer, kneeling beside the bed. As he calmed his breathing, his eyes traced over your shape, softened by layers of sheets and blankets but still beautifully familiar, even in the dark. You were on your side, facing him, but your face rested in shadow.

Unsure whether the sound and movement of his abrupt awakening had pulled you from sleep too, Bucky stayed quiet, fingers uncurling from their tight grip on the bed frame to smooth reverently over still-warm sheets instead.

Home.

Safe.

Loved, he added as your hand reached out to collect his.

“Are you alright?” you whispered.

Bucky pressed his lips together, gave a stiff nod before remembering you probably couldn’t see it.

“I’m fine. Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

There was a pause, a rustle of sheets, a voice made delicate by interrupted sleep.

“Did the dreams come back?”

Bucky squeezed your hand in silent affirmation before letting go. He turned, settling more comfortably on the floor with his back against the bed, staring towards the covered window. There was more rustling behind him as you moved, shifting to lie sideways across the bed, your chin resting on your folded arms on the edge of the mattress.

“Tell me how to help,” you requested in a much clearer voice than you’d managed before.

His heart gave a faint flutter at the gesture, but he could only offer a helpless shrug. Was there any help for this? He’d thought so before and been wrong.

“What did you do before? To help you feel better?”

Bucky’s brows furrowed as he thought back. The apartment he’d shared with Steve when they got back. How smug they’d felt about finally being able to afford separate bedrooms, even if they did sleep on the living room floor more often than not in the beginning. It had been a relief to have Steve nearby. They’d limped their way through their first months home together.

And though Bucky was reluctant to let you see the rough edges war had scraped into him, he’d found himself more and more willing to open up to you as time went on. Still, there were some truths he’d do anything to protect you from, and to your credit, you always seemed to know when to ask questions and when to offer distractions.

Like now, with your fingertips tracing a feather-light pattern on his bare shoulder, drawing him gently back to you.

“Coffee,” he finally answered with another shrug, lopsided to avoid disrupting your touch. “Going for a walk. Or sometimes Steve would be awake too, so we’d - ” He gestured vaguely. “- talk about things.”

You have a decisive little nod and sat up.

“I can do coffee. Can I turn the lamp on?”

“Yes.”

Bucky blinked harshly a few times as the lamp clicked on, filling the room with a warm glow and tracing your silhouette onto the wall in front of him. He watched your shadow don your robe with a flourish and adjust your hair before melting away into the black mass of the quilts you pulled from the bed.

Moments later, the warm weight of them draped around his shoulders, and he peeked up at you as you patted them into place with affectionate precision. You met his eyes with a soothing smile.

“It’s a little cold for a walk, but I’ll open the window for you. Let in some fresh air.”

Knowing how easily you caught a chill, he was quick to protest.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know,” you said, smoothing back his hair and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “But if it helped you before, then I want to try. I’ll be at the stove anyway. I doubt I’ll feel it out there.”

You crossed to the window, pulling the curtains aside before pushing the window open in one smooth motion. Your fingers brushed through Bucky’s hair again as you retreated from the sudden influx of winter air.

“I’ll bring you some coffee as soon as it’s ready. And I can call Steve too if you want? He might be awake.”

“Don’t call Steve,” he answered quietly. “I’ll be alright.”

You nodded, flashing another small smile before leaving the room. The door clicked shut behind you.

Bucky sighed, gathering the blankets more securely around his shoulders as he moved to the window, bracing his arms on the sill. As the night air bathed his face, damp and cold driving away the last lingering shreds of his nightmare, he fixed his gaze on the floral fabric covering his arms.

Soft ivory adorned with tiny blue flowers and sprays of pale ivy. The quilting stitches were tiny and precise, made by a hand stubbornly focused on a bright future during times that promised no such happy ending. Your hand. The same that had dripped ink onto one of the corners while writing him a letter, a dark splotch you still rub your fingers over ruefully every time it catches your eye. Bucky adored it.

He dropped his head onto his arms, burying his face in the soft fabric and breathing in the faint scent of your soap. He didn’t know how long he’d been that way by the time the door creaked quietly behind him, signalling your return. When he raised his head to look at you, your free hand reached for his cheek, cradling it sweetly as you knelt beside him.

“You’re sure about the coffee? Don’t want to try sleeping some more?”

“Not tonight.”

You handed him his mug, hovering anxiously as he took a sip. Your eyes looked a bit lost, flitting about the room for something to do, some way to be helpful.

“When…” you trailed off uncertainly before trying again. “Did you sit up with anyone? Before? Or…?”

“Usually just found a spot to be alone.”

You nodded quickly, pushing up to stand again.

“I’ll just be in the other room then. Let me know if you need anything. I…”

You hesitated again before abruptly dropping to your knees. Your hands found his face, sweeping your thumbs along his cheekbones before drawing him in for a kiss. Unlike your other touches tonight, this was neither delicate nor fleeting. Your lips, though warm and soft, met his with firmness, with a fierce and loyal love that you always felt but rarely channeled this way. When you pulled away, Bucky’s lips tingled faintly, warmth blooming in his chest when you dipped back in for a final, tender brush.

“I love you,” you said quietly, looking intently into his eyes for a few moments as if willing the message to sink in before rising to your feet and turning to leave.

Bucky caught your wrist.

“I love you,” he whispered back. “You can stay, you know. You don’t have to leave.”

“You’re allowed to need time alone, Bucky. I promise, it doesn’t hurt my feelings.”

His hand slid down to grasp yours, tugging you to his side again.

“Maybe it’ll be better with you,” he murmured, leaning his head against your hip with a sigh. “Most things are. Being with you was never an option before.”

Your fingers combed gently though his sleep-ruffled hair, and his eyes fell closed at your touch.

“I just don’t want you to feel obligated to say I’m helping to appease my pride. I’ll stay if you really want me to, but you have to promise you’ll send me away if that’s what’s best for you.”

“Promise,” Bucky said with a nod, opening his eyes again to look up at you. “Stay with me? Please?”

Your eyes softened, and Bucky set the coffee down on the window sill as you settled on the floor beside him. He reached out for you, folding you against him with blanket-draped arms and fussing with the quilts until you were both adequately bundled in the warm, soft cotton.

You sit in silence for a long time, cuddled together, staring at the small patch of sky visible through the window. The coffee steaming on the window sill left a small patch of fog on the upper pane. You braved the cold air outside the blankets long enough to draw a small heart there while it lasted, and Bucky kissed warmth back into your fingertips when you leaned back into him again.

When his eyelids started to feel heavy, he took up the coffee again. It’s nearly cold by then, but that only let him drink it faster, allowed his hand to retreat back under the blankets more quickly.

The click of ceramic on wood pulled you from your light doze against his shoulder, and you tilted your head up to meet his eyes.

“How are you feeling?”

Bucky offered a soft smile.

“Better,” he said, kissing the tip of your nose before guiding your head back down to his shoulder. “Get some more rest, honey. I’ll be alright.”

“You’ll wake me if you need anything?” you asked, sleep already smoothing a slur into your words.

Bucky let out a low hum, rubbing his hand over your legs soothingly as you went soft and still against him.

And it wasn’t a comforting lie. He did feel better.

There was a warmth glowing gently in his chest that did not draw its strength from the coffee or blankets. It was in the way you touched him, kindly but not cautiously. In your determination to help, to learn how to help, without making him feel damaged or self-conscious. In the way you’d kissed him, steadfast, permanent. And when you’d told him you loved him, it didn’t feel like a pretty thing to say or a sweet consolation. It was a simple, honest statement, a resolute fact of life that welcomed no arguments or second opinions.

You loved him. Full stop. For better or worse, no matter how bad “worse” could be.

And that, Bucky thought, was something to smile about. That warmth was something to bask in.

-----------------------

I got really in my feelings writing this. Wow.

If you enjoyed it, please do let me know. Replies, reblogs, and asks make the world go round!

And if you have any questions about their life together, kindly drop it in my inbox to be answered in a bonus drabble or oneshot like this one.

Thank you for reading!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine #40s bucky x reader #bucky barnes fic

143 notes · View notes

kingofkingdom-archive · 4 years ago

Text

1979

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x Fem!Reader

Part ONE (Read part 2 HERE)

Rating: T (Teen) - part 2 will be E

Summary: The year is 1979. You need a ride to anywhere that’s far away from where you are. When a handsome stranger in a rustbucket pickup gives you that ride, neither of you could predict any of the events that follow.

Warnings: Smoking (and lots of it), mild violence (a punch is thrown), brief harassment of reader, food, mention of a gun (one is encountered but not used), mention of homelessness, brief mention/description of war (Vietnam), child abandonment, mention of abusive/dangerous father figure, passing mention of serial killers, vague description of non-specific events leading up to reader resorting to hitchhiking, very meta mention of a certain beloved space opera

Word count: 5.7k

A/N: Whew! This one has been in the shop for a LONG while. Originally I meant for this to be a single work, but I’ve hit a bit of a slump with the last bit. I decided to post this to see how y’all feel about it! The second part will be much longer :) Also: I know there has been some discourse recently about Din’s characterization in certain fics, so I hope this does him justice for you! I’m always open to comments, and like I said I’m very interested in hearing what you think! As per usual, no use of Y/N and please heed the tags/warnings.

8:47

You lean against the streetlight, glancing down at your watch and then back up to the motel across the street. You told yourself you'd wait until 8:30 and then you'd go back and reserve a room for another night. As you watch the second hand wind its way around the small, plain face of your 2-dollar timepiece, you've convinced yourself that maybe staying out until 9 is the ticket.

Your ticket, out of this shithole town.

The summer air is hot and thick around you. It's especially unbearable both between your legs and at the band of your bra, the elastic stretched around your middle doing its best to make you feel as sweaty and uncomfortable as possible. At least you're wearing your cutoffs, giving your legs the chance to breathe. You've also got a loose tank on, which flutters in the sticky wind as cars pass you by.

8:51

Your thumb has been stuck out for passerby to see for the past three days. No one has picked you up. You suppose you should be more wary of taking lifts from complete strangers with all the murder and kidnapping that's been in the news recently, but you're more than a little headstrong with a dash of stupid to go along. That's what your mother always told you, anyway.

Some Cadillac speeds past you, blaring what you think is a Donna Summer song, and you watch as the music and taillights fade into the night.

You shouldn't be surprised, you figure, as the minutes continue to tick on by. There's a gas shortage, you reason with yourself as you bend down to pick up your bag, thumb still stuck out, elbow resting on your waist. People don't do this anymore. Afraid of getting picked up by a pervert or a killer. Afraid of picking one up, and then a streetlight just like the one you're under is the last thing they see.

8:58

You sigh, ready to head in for the night. Marvin, dude who sits at the motel's front desk, is sure to give you shit about it again.

You're preparing to cross the street when you hear the low growl of a pickup truck approach. Not looking to get creamed by some fuckin' rusted-out GMC, you step back onto the curb where you'd been posted.

Except the truck slows up, and the window rolls down as it crawls to a stop in front of you.

Your heart races. Finally.

You walk up to the passenger side window and look in, expecting some fat old putz looking to get some tail in exchange for a ride.

That's not what you see.

"Need a lift, young lady?"

The truck's driver is older than you, sure, but you were wrong about pretty much everything else. He's got short dark hair and a 'stache, with some stubble across his chin. He's wearing a leather jacket over a plain gray tee, with a pair of sunglasses hung on the collar. One hand is on the wheel while the other is laid across the back of the bench seat, a cigarette perched in between his first two fingers.

You lean forward on your tiptoes as best you can, forearms resting on the door's open window. Pretending to survey the interior, you look around and take the opportunity to check the man out. God, you think. I wouldn't mind giving him whatever he wants in exchange for this ride. Maybe another kinda ride. Ha!

"As it turns out, I do. You offering?"

You rest your chin on your arms and give him the sweetest smile you can muster. The man eyes you up and takes a drag from his cigarette. You watch with rapt attention as he inhales deeply and then exhales the smoke out through his nose.

This guy's got you all hot and bothered and you haven't even gotten in the truck.

He gestures with his hand. "Come on, kid. I gotta make the state line by midnight."

You definitely like the sound of that. Eager and supremely stoked to finally have a way out of this dump, you pull on the handle, jump in, and swing the door closed behind you. Your backpack finds its place between your feet, and the stranger starts driving again as you pull your seatbelt across your shoulders.

"Where're you headed?" the man asks, glancing over to you and then looking back at the road. The asphalt seems to stretch into infinity, flanked by trees and fields and the occasional watering hole.

"Away from here," you chuckle as you fidget with your fingers. Black nail polish decorates your trimmed nails. It's chipped and uneven in some spots; you never were great at painting your nails, especially your right hand.

"I got that," the man drawls, voice deep and smooth like honey. "Any particular destination in mind?"

You shrug. To be honest, you hadn't exactly thought that far ahead. Your first and only priority was a way out, and anything after that was a problem to be handled when it came to it.

"Nope. Just as far as you're willing to take me."

The guy nods and takes a drag. The smell of cigarettes never bothered you like it does some other people; you find it relaxing, calming, especially when it's fresh and all-consuming like it is in this guy's truck. The vehicle itself is old, maybe 10 or 15 years, and a glance into the bed behind you tells you he's traveling with a couple boxes and nothing more.

It's certainly not state-of-the-art, but that's all the better for staying under the radar.

The silence looms over you like a cloud. The stranger seems content to just listen to the engine and the tires on the road, but you're prone to fill silences unprompted.

"What's your name?" you ask, and look over at him. He glances at you and raises a brow.

He clears his throat, eyes moving back to the road. "You can call me Mando."

"Mando?" you retort before you can stop yourself. "What kinda bogus name is that? Like, what... you got a thing for mandolins or some shit?"

The man huffs. "It is what is, kid. Get used to it."

You sigh, crossing your arms. "Alright, alright... Mando."

He doesn't try to continue the conversation, so you don't either. Minutes pass, and then hours, and you find yourself drifting off not too long after the clock reads 10:00. You shake yourself awake, wanting to stave off sleep until he pulls over to rest for the night.

But the engine is like a lullaby, the soft swaying of the truck a gentle rocking motion, and your eyes fall closed despite your best efforts.

When you wake up again, the truck is no longer moving, and the clock reads 12:30.

You must have been woken up by Mando putting the truck into park. The darkness outside does not give any clues as to where you are, but as your eyes adjust you can just make out some picnic tables, garbage cans, and signs.

A rest area. Makes sense.

Mando is fumbling with something beside you. It's a map, you realize when you look over.

"Where are we?" you ask with a yawn.

"Just over the border. Made it a bit later than I would've liked, but that's not a big deal. You can sleep here in the cab. I'll take the bed, since I sleep there anyway."

You nod, though you find it odd the way he's... not asking you for anything. He hasn't mentioned payment, monetary or otherwise. You watch as he folds the map back up, and catch his gaze as he stashes it in the glove box.

"I gotta repay you somehow, mister," you mutter. "For how nice you're bein' to me. 'Specially since I made fun of your name and all."

At your words, Mando gives you a stern look from under one of his furrowed brows. "No, you don't. Blanket's under the seat. Get some rest."

He turns away, grabs the keys, and is out the door before you can reply.

It's just so unusual for a guy to pick up a girl like you and refuse payment, much less not ask for or take it outright. It's a shame, really. Any other guy, you'd give him what he wanted sure, but with less than enthusiastic participation. The one man to whom you'd gladly deliver anything he asked... and he seems not to want it.

You suppose you shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Better a prude than a murderer, that's for sure.

As you reach under the seat for the blanket, your hand brushes against some sort of canvas bag, long and zippered. You lean over to look in at it upside-down, hair brushing against the dusty floor mats.

It's a rifle bag. You reach in to feel at where the barrel would be, and sure enough, there's something distinctly rifle-shaped inside.

Huh. It's not a surprise that a guy like him's traveling armed, but it makes you wonder. A hunter, maybe? Probably. There's a lot of those around.

You spot the blanket and pull it out. It's gray, scratchy wool, but as you pull it over yourself, you find it keeps the nighttime chill away quite well.

You wake up to Mando swatting at your feet.

"Time to get up, sunshine. Gotta get going."

His deep voice pierces through the fog of sleep still hanging thick over your mind. You groan and push yourself up onto your elbows, drawing your feet in to give him space to slide into the drivers' seat.

It's still dark out. You see a hint of light on the horizon, the beginning of the sunrise peeking over hills and fields.

"What time is it?" you ask, rubbing at your eyes. You're a chronic over-sleeper, so seeing the sunrise is a rarity. It seems Mando has no such problem.

"A bit after six. We'll stop at a diner for something to eat in about an hour. You're welcome to go back to sleep until then." He turns the key in the ignition and the truck rumbles to life, a blast of lukewarm air hitting you in the face.

"No, no. I'm up," you assure him, shrugging the blanket off your shoulders. As you fold it, you look over at the man beside you. He's wearing the same faded jeans and leather jacket as yesterday, but the shirt underneath has changed. The sunglasses are still hung on the collar, but now it's some faded band tee from like 8 years ago.

You set the folded-up blanket on the seat between you and him, watching as he puts the truck into drive and starts off. Before you know it, you're watching the early-morning world pass by outside your window. You kick off your sandals and tuck your feet up under yourself, sitting crosslegged on the seat.

About 15 minutes later, you've grown tired of watching farmhouses and cornfields fly by in the dark.

"So, uh..." you start, not really knowing where you intend to finish your sentence, "you like music?"

Stupid. That was stupid.

Mando chuckles. "Yeah."

"Yeah?" you reply, hopeful that he might have more to say.

"Yes. I do like music."

You roll your eyes. "What kind of music? Jazz? Opera? Country-western? Who's your favorite artist? Got any favorite records?"

He glances over at you, a hint of a smile tugging at the edge of his lips. "You sure do ask a lot of questions."

"Well, I figure if I'm gonna be traveling with you for a good while, I might as well know a bit about you. And vice versa."

Mando just hums.

"I'll tell you mine, then," you inform him, grinning widely now. "My favorite record right now is Parallel Lines. By Blondie, you know? I really like them. This time last year I woulda told you my favorite album was something by Wire or the Sex Pistols - I was real into punk, if you know anything about it. Now I'm more into poppy stuff. I just think it's fun, to be honest."

You continue to ramble to Mando well into the drive. The sky grows lighter and the road grows more crowded, but he does not stop you. At the end of a tangent about Bowie, you turn to look at him, and he's sitting there like you haven't just talked his ear off for the past twenty minutes.

"Sorry. I jus-"

"Don't apologize. It's... I don't mind," he interrupts, not taking his eyes off the road.

You stretch your legs out in front of you, looking at the sandal-shaped marks on the tops of your feet. "Don't you have any particular songs you like?"

Mando's quiet for a minute. You wait, looking up out the window. The sky is a pale pink and blue, with a hint of orange off to the east. A field of cows comes up on your left - your eyes track them as they pass by, wondering what it's like to pet one.

You bet they're soft. Soft and cuddly and so dumb they're cute.

"You have to promise not to laugh."

The words come as a surprise. You look over to Mando, eyes wide and interested.

"Never. Favorite music is sacred."

He sighs. His grip tightens on the wheel, like sharing even a small part of himself causes him distress.

"Tapestry. Carole King," he says, though the words are quiet and guarded.

That wasn't the answer you were expecting. "Really?" you ask, smiling brightly.

He just nods, though he spares a glance towards you, like he's gauging your reaction. You lean back against the seat, turning towards him more fully.

"I wouldn't have guessed. Color me surprised, Mando. You have good taste." It's true. The album's a classic, though more so with girls your age, not guys who pick up hitchhikers and keep rifles in their trucks. "What do you like about it?"

Mando shifts, bringing his left arm up to rest on the door, elbow propped so his head can rest on his hand. "Not sure. She writes a good song, that's all I know."

You're not satisfied with that answer. You'll get to know Mando, even if it's like pulling teeth. "Bull-shit. Pink Floyd writes a good song. Paul Simon writes a good song. Why her? Why that record? It came out like ten years ago, there's gotta be a reason - a real reason - you still like it."

The drone of the engine and the road is like a soundtrack in itself to the silences that loom heavy before every sentence he speaks. You wonder when the last time he really got to talk to someone was - talk like this, not small conversation with the waiter or grocer.

You're no psychiatrist, but it doesn't take a genius to spot someone who's been alone for a while.

Mando hums. "I guess I relate to her songs... in a way I didn't expect to when I first heard her music."

You smile at that, pleased as punch that he trusts you with that information. It's like cupping cool water in your hands on a hot summer's day, fleeting and precious. "What's your favorite song on the record?"

He turns his gaze to your for a moment, dark brown eyes staring at your dirty feet and day-old shirt and messy hair. You're not sure what exactly he sees as he takes you in, but you sit there and allow it regardless.

Mando looks back to the road, watching the small town approaching slowly on the horizon. "I Feel the Earth Move."

You nod. "A classic."

He just hums in response, and you expect the truck to fill with silence once again.

Except it doesn't.

Mando reaches out and presses the button to turn on the radio. Blondie's Heart of Glass flows out through the speakers - and you laugh.

The glowing neon sign advertising Lindy's Diner, with her promise of pancakes and eggs and bacon and coffee, gets you more excited than you care to admit. Mando pulls into a parking spot along the street, and you're out the door before the wheels have stopped turning.

Admittedly, you do also have to pee.

You rush into the diner to take care of your business, also using the provided sinks to brush your teeth and the mirror to comb through your hair with your fingers.

It's not much, but you do feel better. Hopefully tonight you can stay in a motel at least, maybe take a shower.

You exit the restroom and look around the diner. Mando's sitting in a booth, smoking a cigarette and looking out the window. You head over, tossing your backpack into your side first and sliding in after it.

"I'll be right back," he says, and leaves. You watch him walk over to the men's restroom, the door swinging shut behind him.

Whatever. Kinda rude. Not like you care, anyway.

You lean back in the booth and take a menu from the stand at the end of the table. The classic breakfast platter is looking particularly tempting, with its hash browns and bacon and eggs-however-you-like. You're contemplating scrambled versus over-easy when you hear a pair of footsteps walk up to your table.

Two strange men stand over you, looking at you like they know exactly how homeless you really are.

"You here alone, baby?" the shorter one asks, putting a grimy hand on the back of your booth, right behind your head. You open your mouth to say no, in fact, I am not, but the other guy speaks for you.

"It looks like you are, honey. Just our luck, a girl like you all on her -"

"Is there a problem?"

Mando's deep voice cuts through whatever it was the creep was planning to say. The low timbre of his voice, normally soft and kind, is uniquely dark - almost menacing - when it hides a threat.

You slowly cross your legs, hoping no one notices the movement under the table.

The two guys turn, and behind them you see Mando, looking extremely pissed. He puts a hand on the back of the taller man's neck, cig still perched between his fingers, and yanks him away from where he'd been standing in front of Mando's side of the booth.

"Jesus, man! We didn't know you were -"

Mando puts his hands on his hips, eyeing them up like a lion might size up its prey. "What? You didn't know what?"

The guy gulps. "Uh..."

"Come on," Mando taunts, something dark glinting in his eyes. "Don't get nervous on me, now."

"We didn't know you were with her, man. Sorry."

Mando shakes his head. "No. Don't say that to me. Say it to her." He nods hid head towards you, subtly positioning his body in between yours and theirs.

You're frozen in your seat, torn between fear and arousal.

The tall guy glances at you. "Sorry," he mutters. The shorter one's still looking at you funny, though.

Your companion jerks his head towards the door. "It's best you both leave, now."

You realize the diner's gone quiet, customers and employees alike watching the exchange with bated breath. The taller guy glances around and turns, heading straight for the door. His buddy hesitates, gaze shifting from Mando to you and back again. Eventually he also turns to leave, following the other one out.

Mando slides into his seat, though he won't quite meet your gaze when you look at him. Noise picks up in the diner once again and you let out a shaky breath.

You're about to say something when the two guys pass by the window. The shorter one peers in, works his jaw, and spits on the ground on the other side of the window from you. You see him mouth the word 'bitch!'.

Rolling your eyes, you turn to Mando to try and joke about it, attempting to brush off the uncomfortable encounter. But he's not there, and you realize belatedly that he's now storming outside.

Mouth agape, you watch as Mando stalks up to the short guy. Jesus, you think, if looks could kill...

The creep whirls around, throwing a fist at Mando before he even gets a good look at him. Mando dodges it easily with a step back, looking simultaneously murderous and annoyed. He winds his arm back and sends his fist flying at the creep's face. The guy stumbles and falls, clutching at what is now a bloody and broken nose, landing on his back on the sidewalk. His friend has long run off.

Mando puts a boot on the guy's sternum, pressing down so he can't get up no matter how much he struggles.

You see him lean down, elbow on his knee, and say something. The guy's eyes widen and he nods frantically. Mando then removes his foot and, without sparing the guy a second glance, re-enters the diner.

He slides into the booth again and takes the menu from you. There's blood on the knuckles of his right hand, but he makes no move to wipe it off. He flips through the pages as if nothing happened. You stare at him.

"You didn't have to do that," you mutter, voice soft and wavering.

Without looking from the menu, he responds. "Yes, I did."

"But, you coulda just... just let him go..."

"I could have," he replies, and turns a page. "But I didn't."

"But -"

For the first time since you both entered the diner, he looks up at you, and you're taken aback the intensity of his eyes. "He deserved worse, kid. Far worse."

He sounds so sure of it that you can't bring yourself to say otherwise. You sigh and clasp your hands together on the table, unsure of where to go from here.

Just then, the waitress comes up to your table, notepad and pen in hand.

"You two know what ya want?" she asks as Mando puts the menu back in its place.

He gestures for you to go first.

"Uh, yeah. I'll have the classic platter with scrambled eggs and white toast. And black coffee, please."

The woman nods, writing your order on her pad. "And you, sir?"

"I'll have the blueberry flapjacks, please. And coffee, black, for me as well."

The waitress nods and turns away. As you watch her push through the silver kitchen door, you realize that maybe you should be grateful for the way things went. That they didn't get uglier.

That Mando was there at all.

"Thank you," you say softly, doing your best to convey your sincerity to the man sitting across from you.

He simply nods, observing you with a look you can't quite place.

After breakfast, the two of you set off down the highway again. Fleetwood Mac flows out through the speakers and you don't expect to stop until after noon, when Mando will have to refuel (both the truck and your stomachs). Until then you kick off your shoes and put your feet up on the dash, window cracked about an inch so the summer wind can flow through your hair.

Despite the rocky start to the morning, the hours pass by easily, weightlessly. Sometimes you talk with Mando, other times you simply sit and watch the world pass by. You don't think you've ever seen this much land in one go, and it thrills you. The idea that there's so much more.

The topics vary from your time in school to movies to the truck. You're surprised to find out that Mando's never seen Star Wars, a fact nearly unheard of to you. You promise yourself that you'll make him watch it sometime, somehow.

Lunch passes without incident; you insist on paying for your ham and cheese sandwich, because Mando had covered breakfast before you could protest. It hits the spot, along with your ice-cold Coke from the little market's freezer. There's a line to get gas, as there is everywhere, but luckily it isn't too long, since you're in the middle of nowhere. Mando won't be able to fill the truck up again for a few days, meaning you'll have to stop for the night earlier tonight than you did yesterday.

You do find something interesting at the market and you decide to shell out the money for it because it intrigues you. A new style of Kodamatic camera, complete with a pack of instant film - 12 potential photos.

In your mind you see pictures of mountains, and the truck, and Mando, and you stuff the camera in your bag before your mind can wander any further down that road.

You have to admit - traveling with someone who you know can protect you if the need arises is comforting in a way that almost makes you nervous. You keep telling yourself not to get used to it, that this is just a temporary situation for as long as he sees fit to keep you around. After he decides he's had enough, he'll leave you, and you'll be on your own again. You can't get too dependent on him.

Nighttime arrives much too quickly. The sun has just dipped below the horizon when you drive into another small town, not much more than a stoplight and a few bars. You get lucky, though, because the unmistakable neon of a motel glows just ahead.

"Thank god," you groan as Mando pulls into the parking lot. "I need a shower so goddamned bad."

Mando chuckles. His arm rests with his hand out the window, flicking the ash at the end of his cigarette out onto the pavement. The orange glow at the end of it brightens as he takes a drag, and you tear your eyes away from his lips before he can catch you staring.

That's another problem. He's every inch as attractive to you now as he was before, except now you know he's nice. The mustache and the dark curls and the broad expanse of his chest are all only made hotter by the knowledge that he likes Carole King and Elton John (he knew all the words to Tiny Dancer) and blueberry pancakes.

Plus there was that whole punching a guy to defend your honor business.

The guy at the motel's front desk reminds you of Marvin. Greasy blond hair and acne on a kid not much younger than you. You give him a disgusted look when he eyes you up, but he cuts it out when Mando walks in behind you. It gives you a small sense of satisfaction to see him so meek before your companion.

"We need a double for the night," Mando drawls, counting cash on the counter, cig perched between his lips. The sign advertised a night's stay for $22. You'd tried to pay Mando your share, but he'd refused your money.

The kid shakes his head. "Only got singles available."

Mando raises his brows. "Really."

The kid, whose name is Matt according to his name tag, nods. It takes Mando a moment to think on it, and then he looks to you.

You shrug. "I'm fine with it if you are, Mando."

He nods once and pays for the room. 12. You take the key and head over to get a head start on your shower while Mando parks the truck and gets his stuff.

The hot water feels divine. Even the towel feels great, because as threadbare and shitty as it is, it's clean and warm from sitting under the vent. You finish up in the bathroom and emerge in a pair of old track shorts and a loose-fitting tee.

Mando's sitting on the bed, back against the headboard. His jacket's draped across the table and he's kicked off his boots, so he sits with the remote in hand, barefoot. It's the most casual you've seen him thus far, and it makes your heart race.

"Shower's all yours," you tell him.

Mando looks at you from the corner of his eye. It's hard to tell what he's thinking at any given moment, so you fidget with the hem of your shirt as he looks at you.

A thought blooms unbidden in your chest. I wish I could kiss him.

You blink, taken aback at the sudden, intense nature of your desire to feel his lips against your own. Not knowing what else to do, you cross your arms and turn to the TV. Bonanza is on.

"Seen this episode before?" you ask. It's an old show, but you still like it.

Mando nods, humming. "Used to watch these every week, right when they came out. Only the first few seasons, though."

"Why'd you stop?"

He turns to sit on the edge of the bed, feet flat on the ground. He gives you a small smile, though his eyes hide something pained.

"I got drafted."

Oh. "Oh. I didn't mean -"

"It's fine," he says and gets up, brushing past you to enter the bathroom. The door clicks shut behind him.

You walk over to sit on the other side of the bed from where he was. Drafted. Jesus. You feel bad for bringing it up, even if it was unintentional. The TV plays though you aren't watching, mind wandering to thoughts of Mando in Vietnam. You picture him in the jungle or in a helicopter, the deafening noise of artillery and gunfire filling the air around him.

Maybe that's where he got the nickname. It certainly explains the rifle.

You reach over for the remote and shut off the TV. The clock on the wall reads about 8:00, still early for you, but you tuck yourself under the sheets and blanket regardless. You face the door, away from where Mando will sleep.

Just as you're drifting off, the lamp on the bedside table clicks off. You feel the weight of Mando crawling in beside you, and he too curls up on his side, back turned.

You fall asleep hoping he's not too upset with you.

The next thing you know, you're awake, though the world is still dark outside. Behind you, Mando snores softly, warm breath fanning out across your neck.

Wait.

You blink a few times and realize the two of you must have shifted in the night. Mando's body is pressed right against yours, chest to your back, arm draped over your middle and hand tucked under your chin. Your legs are intertwined and against the back of your thigh you feel -

You feel him.

Sleep is a powerful drug, however, and the realization is not enough to make you move. Your eyelids flutter shut, and you think maybe this isn't so bad. Your tired brain convinces you to revel in it, to enjoy this position you've found yourself in. Before you can second guess that reasoning, you drift off.

And then you're awake again.

This time it's thanks to a rush of cold wind in your face. You reach back to feel for Mando, but the warm pillow tells you he's not there. You open your eyes to see him standing in the doorway, looking down at something. It's still dark out, but the lights of the motel parking lot put him in silhouette before you.

"What is it?" You lean up on your elbow to get a better look. The nighttime air is cool on your face, smelling faintly of gasoline and rain.

He bends down and picks up whatever it is that's in front of him. You watch as he turns to look left, then right, seemingly in search of something. He turns around and you see what he's holding.

It's a baby's carrycot.

You immediately sit up, heart racing. "Is it -?" you whisper.

Mando nods, closing the door behind him. You get out of bed and rush over to stand next to him, peering into the carrier.

Sure enough, there's a baby asleep inside. It looks to be a boy, about a year old. You bring a hand up to your mouth.

"Why - who would - what?"

Mando shakes his head, staring at the little guy. "I don't know. I heard a knock at the door and there he was - no sign of anyone else."

"We should - what do we do, Mando?"

He brings the carrier over to rest on the table beside his jacket. The boy is out cold - his little hands grip the blue knitted blanket and his mouth is just barely open. He's got dark hair, wispy and soft atop his head. As you observe the sleeping child, you notice the corner of a small piece of paper tucked in between the blanket and the cradle. You reach out and grasp it between your thumb and forefinger, unfolding it carefully.

"What does it say?" Mando whispers. Your voices are low so as to not disturb the child.

"Grogu. Please take him far from here," you read, and feel your blood run cold as the note goes on. "Not safe in this area. His father is dangerous."

It's scrawled in blue ink on half a sheet of lined notebook paper, the fringe from being torn still attached. Your hands shake as it hits you - there's some mother out there so scared for her son that she left him in the care of strangers. That there's a man out there who legitimately threatens this boy's life.

Tears form at the corners of your eyes, rage and sadness simmering in your chest.

"We have to, Mando." Your words are shaky but certain. The man beside you rests a hand on the carrycot, still looking at the sleeping child within.

You turn your eyes to him. He nods, solemn.

"Let's let him rest. We'll leave in the morning, get as far west as we can. Might even be able to make Texas if we leave early enough. We can figure it out from there."

His other hand brushes against your back, and then he's drawing you into his chest. The embrace is soft, unhurried, and you lean your head against his shoulder, hands tucked against his chest. Letting your eyes slip closed, you think back on the previous day, how you never could have predicted this turn of events. How you've never felt so uncertain of things, even when you'd lost everything.

Together you return to bed, but neither of you gets much sleep.

#din djarin x reader #mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #mandalorian fanfiction #fanfic #din djarin fanfic #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x female reader #mando x fem!reader #female reader #fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction

263 notes · View notes

saphirered · 3 years ago

Text

The Wizard and the Warrior

Boy it’s been busy. Double shifts whenever I’ve been free and uni starting again have really been a hassle but I managed to get in some writing so I hope you enjoy this final instalment of the Eldritch Knight series! Was going to split this one in two parts but didn’t work out so sorry for that. Hope you like it! 😘

You didn’t know what to expect when you were pulled through the world away from the homey Xhorhaus but you definitely didn’t expect the sound of waves in the distance and seagulls, the subtile smell of salt water and sand and an ocean breeze to hit you when you reappeared. Upon your vision taking in the new surroundings you find yourself standing under one of the opal archways looking out over a covered market selling all sorts of goods from street foods and drinks to knickknacks and jewellery, merchants calling for the attention of the people strolling about, negotiating prices or shouting their latest discount to pull in new customers. You’re in Nicodranas.

Essek knew he made the right decision when he sees the joy and excitement on your face. His feet tap the ground and he walks instead of floating, not wanting to draw any more attention that necessary and instead just enjoy these moments with you without the possibility of people finding out who you really are. Today you’d just be normal people without the weight of the world balanced on your shoulders. Today you got to be ordinary tourists exploring a city you otherwise never could. Nobody knows you’d be here.

You stroll about the market arm in arm moving from shop to shop and stand to stand inspecting wares, admiring them and listening to the stories the merchants tried to sell you. Both of you knew better and were able to easily distinguish truth from lies but that didn’t mean you didn’t like playing along every so often.

When you reached near the end of the market square the canopies started leaving gaps and eventually disappeared. Essek did his best to hide his winces whenever the sunlight was particularly bright. The sun was setting but it would still be another hour or so until it was fully set and he might have underestimated the brightness of the light. He didn’t let it bother him and pulled through. The slight discomfort is one-hundred percent worth looking upon your face as you bartered with another merchant.

Essek was partially blinded from where he stood while you browsed the wares of a man selling all sorts of curiosities but he couldn’t really move elsewhere without leaving your side or stepping into the path of walking people so he stuck and stayed relying on his hearing instead. You were bartering with the man as he put prices to the things you showed interest in and you tried to get a better price because you were fully aware you could get something similar if not the same for much cheaper. Essek couldn’t do anything but admire your skill and careful navigation of this encounter showing you had not left your wits with your armour back in Rosohna.

Once you got a good deal you bought your findings; a wide sheer shawl more like a thin blanket to wrap around your shoulders as you knew upon nightfall the breeze could bring a chill, a decorated silver bracelet with an inset purple gem that showed silver specks like stars whenever it caught the light just right and something else… Once done you pulled Essek aside into the full cover of one of the canopies and Essek was thankful for the break.

You’d expected Essek to have broken or admitted to his discomfort before when you noticed him wince every time the canopy lifted upon the wind and allowed the sun to bleed through right where he stood. You knew drow senses are attuned to darker spaces and in turn therefor experience a sensitivity to daylight.

“Will you stop being stubborn and just admit when something bothers you?” You say sternly as Essek rubs his eyes to get rid of the dark spots clouding his vision. When he sees the look you give him he bites his lip in shame. Apparently he hadn’t done such a good job of hiding it after all.

“I may not be able to do anything about the sunlight but I can do this.” You take out a parasol of a dark grey almost black colour with ornate lace designs added to it. It does enough to shield those under from the light and should prevent Essek from experiencing downsides of his drow heritage. Before he can protest you link your arm with his again holding the parasol above the two of you and shield yourselves from the light.

“Don’t worry. You can thank me by providing your company over a meal with me until the sun sets and we can go outside again without you burning off your retinas. I know just the place.” You smile as you begin leading Essek away to a different part of the city. You may not be the most familiar with Nicodranas but you know how to get to most places you’ve been before. You know your way from this market square to the Lavish Chateau so you begin leading Essek in that direction.

“There’s a great fish and chips shop on the way near Tidepeak I don’t think that kind of street food is really your style.” You say as the Tidepeak comes into view.

—————

Meanwhile the Nein and Verin stumble out into the teleportation circle room at the Tidepeak. They cracked the code and figured it out based on the list of places Verin had found among Essek’s notes. They knew exactly where Essek was going so it wouldn’t be much effort to find you two right? What harm has a little spying ever done to anyone? Maybe don’t answer that question. They had come for their own reasons be that to watch an epic romance unravel, dig up some dirt to tease or blackmail either of you with, or simply to keep the others in check.

“Shit. Should we have send a message?” Jester panics looking around for the goblin that usually helps them on their way and informs Yussa of their arrival.

“Not again.” Beau exclaims in exasperation. Yes again. And again they explain to Wensforth this is a matter of the utmost importance and expediency and they couldn’t have sent a message beforehand or lost too much time. Wensforth luckily for them didn’t have it within him to question their strange reasonings as he escorted them out of the tower and left the to their business.

—————

Within the Lavish Chateau you found out Essek had made a reservation and the guards and servers seemed to be extremely welcoming and attentive to the both of you for some reason you raised an eyebrow when a top shelf bottle of wine was brought out and left at your table once your glasses were poured and you awaited your food.

“Do I want to ask how you did all this?” You swirl your finger around gesturing to your surroundings. “Because last I was here, not even the daughter of the Ruby of the Sea and her friends get this kind of attendance.”

“Then perhaps it’s best you don’t ask.” Essek smiles proudly.

“How many of the Nicodranian nobility have cleared their debt with the Dynasty or reminded of their indiscretions then?” You ask giving him a look over your glass as you take a sip of delicious wine. Top shelf really is worth it.

“I thought you weren’t going to ask.” You hook your ankle around his from under the table and pull your leg back, Essek briefly loses balance but not enough to throw him off and fall from his seat. He gives you a disapproving and teasing look as you laugh. Food is served and just like everything, it’s perfect. Essek really put in the work to make this all happen and if the sunlight hadn’t thrown you off his schedule you can’t even fantom what else he had planed for your date. Though, he didn’t seem to mind the change of plans a single bit.

Pleasant conversation about everything and nothing all the same, asking questions so trivial you didn’t think Essek would ever even have been capable of being so relaxed and free of responsibility. When it falls silent for a second and Essek catches you staring at him in thought he studies you closer.

“What?” Essek asks as you hum.

“Just thinking?”

“A copper for your thoughts then?” Essek puts his glass down. He doesn’t want to pry or ask out of turn but he is curious as of what got that dreamy expression on your face when you retreated within your own mind for that moment.

“All of them?” You grin.

“If you are willing to reveal them.” Essek returns to your surprise, fully aware of the meaning behind your words and yet he still plays along. These kind of moments are rare with Essek unless you are completely alone so you’ll revel in the fact that he lets go like he does right now and hope you’d be able to see this side more often.

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want you to get all flustered upon my voicing certain thoughts.” You tease, mischievous look in his eyes as he leans in on his elbows on the table and tilts his head amused.

“Then perhaps keep it limited to your most recent ones? For now at least.” You snort and almost choke on the sip of wine you took bur recover quickly. You definitely didn’t see that one coming.

“Oh so he does play the game in public without shame. You are full of surprises today, aren’t you?” You drop the teasing and turn to your observation. “I was just thinking I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so carefree. I’d love to see this side of you more often if you’ll let me.” The teasing drops from Essek’s face and his expression turns into one of genuine affection.

“I’d love nothing more.” Your glasses are refilled as the crowd begins gathering for the performance of the Ruby of the Sea.

—————

The Mighty Nein and Verin follow Jester leading them from place to place on the list but no matter how much they search they can’t find you. Last they heard you were seen buying some stuff from a merchant and then nothing so they had resorted to going down the list until they’d found you but still nothing. Over an hour had passed and the sun long since set, lanterns lit to lead the ways.

They search high and low following the list Verin had found but don’t find you and Essek anywhere. Nicordanas is a big city and turns out finding a buff pretty person and a hot boi drow are a lot harder to find than they initially thought. So, having given up the search they instead turn to a place to drink and wallow in self pity for not spying on the date. Jester knows just the place… No better place than the Lavish Chateau. Maybe her mom will even perform tonight!

When they reach the Lavish Chateau the crowd’s already gathering but with sheer determination and the threatening of some they make it through and find a table, their drinks served as Jester goes off to say hi to her mom before the performance. Then of course Verin and Beau ask about a couple, describing you and Essek having come through here. Instead they’re pointed to a private table out of the direct sight of the entrance but in full view of what is to be the Ruby’s performance space, and if Beau knows anything, a really really expensive bottle of wine shared between the two of you as you sit around laughing and engaging in happy conversation.

As they watch, Essek and you suddenly being the most interesting thing in the entire room they notice a blush creeping up your face as you twirl one of the flowers in your hair returning an equally daring comment of your own, your fingers dancing over the back of Essek’s hand outstretched towards you until he closes his hand and grasps them. You gasp and giggle as he intwines your fingers with his and you making a comment that sends a deep purple crawling up the wizard’s cheeks. The Nein watch, some swooning at the cuteness, the others in surprise and a hint of disgust akin to that of watching your sibling be sugary sweet romantic with their partner you do not want to witness, and the rest like encouraging friends glad their friends have found happiness within each other.

The performance is about to begin and you spot a blue tiefling running down the stairs as quick as she can darting to one of the tables. You already had the feeling you were being watched for the past fifteen minutes but thought nothing of it as since no action was taken yet and the crowd grew, if it were assassins or the likes again, they’d have come for you before as to not make a scene. Getting confirmation your friends had tracked you to Nicodranas and found you here. You’re not surprised but rather impressed and the addition of what clearly looks like a drow soldier of some repute with features similar to Essek lead you to believe this must be his infamous brother he’d been complaining about plenty of times. You move your chair as if to get a better view of the performance to come and sit right next to Essek. You weren’t the only one who noticed them.

“Do you think they know we know they’re here.” Essek leans into your shoulder as he speaks.

“No. Not this time but if you weren’t so caught up in admiring me you’d have noticed them first.” You lean in closer, whispering into his ear as you speak.

“You are quite distracting.” Essek defends with a laugh.

“I’ve seen Beau and your brother gag and complain twice now. Is this the point where we return the favour and give them a show to remember?” You suggest with a glint of mischief within your eyes.

“How could I refuse?” Essek’s word are enough for you to further provoke the Nein and take it up a notch, or several.

“Tell me if something makes you uncomfortable and I’ll stop.” You halt your teasing and allow your tone to turn more serious. Essek does the same when you do.

“Only if you promise to do the same.” Essek doesn’t know if it’s the wine or your shared desire to make them suffer for interrupting your date like they did. Probably the latter. Most definitely the latter. Let them squirm.

The Ruby comes down the stairs singing and everyone hangs onto her every word, her entire being like she’s a siren from the depths ready to lure in hopeless sailors. As her performance continues you move yourself closer to Essek until your sides are pressed together. Essek’s arm wraps around you pulling you close into his side and to your surprise, onto his lap. You lean your head against his shoulder and whisper sweet nothings, as you play with the fingers of his free hand lovingly. You pay attention to the performance, little attention needed for this display of affection as it comes surprisingly natural and unrestrained to the both of you.

You lift your head and lean towards Essek, but an inch away from his lips, making eye contact as you whisper something to him but the Nein can’t hear over the singing and you’re too far away to lip read for anyone. It’s so frustrating but holy hells, they never knew Essek had a romantic bone in his body, let alone the guts to drop his composed and emotionally constipated side completely around you. They definitely didn’t see this coming and even Beau could relate to Jester’s possible ideas of turning this into some kind of smutty romance novel because that’s what it looked like.

When you leaned back, always teasing and never close enough to actually kiss, you watched the performance more. Both you and Essek admired the show the Ruby was putting on. Her song as beautiful as she is but you might have connected with her a little more than anyone else in the room because when she passed your table and saw you and Essek she gave you a knowing smile. A knowing smile that showed she knew exactly when a performance was being put on, the courtesan’s ability to read people shining through once more when she winked at you before she turned around and found her way to the table of the Nein, distracting them from you and pulling the attention to herself.

Essek was surprised and didn’t really know what to make of what just happened but next he knows he’s being pulled away from his seat by you and dragged to a side exit, abandoning the table mid performance. Out in the street you take off running and then it hits him; a moment of privacy. You played everyone, even him in the end when you appeared to have your attention fully on the Ruby of the Sea but instead you had a nonverbal agreement with the woman. Regardless of his thoughts you kept running towards the eastern edge of the city, through the gates and to the beach. Freedom.

The moon and stars and city lights within the walls as your light source you pulled Essek along to the shoreline, laughing your asses off. You’ll have to remember to give Marion a big thanks next time you see her. Once safely away from the city sure you’re far enough away from the city you slow your pace and walk side by side along the beach.

“As clever as ever.” Essek compliments as you bump your shoulder into his with a grin. You offer Essek a hand as you climb over some rocks blocking your path. Essek takes it but instead of climbing he just hoovers over without any difficulty.

“While, I’d gladly take credit I think you deserve at least half. Did you see the looks on their faces?” Your laughter rings like chimes in reminisce of your friends. It’s music to Essek’s ears.

“I could never forget.” You stop and lower yourself onto the sand, gently pulling Essek’s arm inviting him to join. He does and sits down next to you as stare at him.

“Today was a good day. We should do this more often.” You sigh in content. There’s just something about the drow and the starry night sky behind him that makes him look so ethereal, you could look at him for ages and never get bored.

“Being run out of a city by our friends for a moment of privacy?” Essek deadpans and you playfully shove him.

“While it was certainly eventful I think I could do without uninvited company next time.” In comfortable silence you both watch the view. Moon reflecting on the ocean, sound of gentle push and pull of the water against the shore and the thousands of stars scattered throughout the sky giving the both of you a sense of warmth and comfort.

“You certainly found your courage tonight. I never thought you capable of such intimate displays of affection.” You comment and Essek turns his gaze to you. Despite the low light you notice the slight darkening of his cheeks a he takes in a breath.

“I partially blame the determination to push my brother’s buttons.” You snort.

“And the other part?” Essek decides to humour you with and answer even though you hadn’t expected one.

“You, as my partner in crime as some might say, made it easy to put on such a display. Though, I will admit to not being so open and frivolous in my affection with an audience, I did enjoy them nonetheless.”

“Well then, I’m glad my frivolous affection brings you joy.” You say and Essek is about to correct himself for his words but stops when he notices you holding back your smile. You know exactly what he meant and when Essek notices it’s his turn to gently shove you. You gasp even though you’re physically unmoved.

“Aren’y you all courage tonight? Careful now or I’ll toss you into the ocean.” You jest.

“It seems both of us have not been lacking any courage this night.” Essek comments and he’s right. With the antics of the day, and your grand escape, you might never have had it been any other situation. You really did enjoy it and wouldn’t change a single thing. Well, maybe add something but there’s no time like the present so maybe you’ll just ask.

“Then, in a bout of courage, I will ask you this. May I kiss you?” Essek does a double take in case he heard your words wrong but the expression written all over you confirms he has in fact heard you loud and clear. Still he doesn’t miss a beat in his answer. He’s already made up his min.

“You certainly may.” With that you close your eyes and lean in placing your lips onto Essek’s in a gentle kiss. No pretend, no faked lust or intimacy but honest, clear and unrestrained emotion. When you pull away you’re both smiling like fools.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” You whisper as Essek leans in carefully to kiss you this time, lips moving together in a slightly deeper kiss. His hand finds your cheek holding your face lightly caressing a thumb over your cheekbone.

“I could say the same.” Essek speaks when you pull apart for a moment, foreheads leaning against each other. Many more kisses follow, varying from gentle and sweet to passionate and deep, whatever suits your needs. You have no intention of getting off this beach near Nicodranas any time soon nor do you have anywhere to be so here you’ll stay enjoying each other’s company until the sun rises.

From behind the rocks not too far away, eight people watch the wizard and the warrior finally do what some of them had hoped they would in the months they’ve gotten closer. Others are turning away while maybe peaking through at times, solely to see their friends happy with each other despite the chaos of the world but not without going right back to quieting their gagging noises of ‘not wanting to see the people who they consider their family making out’.

“Oh my god! This is going to be so good, you guys. They’re so cute!” Jester whispers already taking notes and working out the story in her head. It’s going to be an epic love tale of two star-crossed lovers for sure. Maybe she can question you on the more spicier details later, get this book to sell at the Chastity's Nook some day?

“Ugh. Let’s go. I can’t watch this any longer. Drinks?” Verin doesn’t resist and follows Beau, Yasha and Fjord back to Nicodranas. Caduceus has a bit more difficult of a time to drag the cleric and rogue away as the latter enabling her actions instead of giving you some much deserved privacy. He succeeds eventually leaving you and Essek behind to enjoy the rest of your night with a smile. Nothing better than people finding their own happiness.

#critical role x reader #critrole x reader #mighty nein x reader #essek x reader #essek thelyss x reader

41 notes · View notes

ddaengyoonmin · 4 years ago

Text

-Hotel For Demons- (Intro)

Pairing: eventual ot7 x reader; the first few chapters are very Yoongi x reader centric.

Warnings/tags: ��Stripping, teasing, gambling, mentions of some dark/mob activity

( eventual )Smut-angst-fluff

Summary: You work as a stripper at an extremely secretive casino resort that caters to people of a dark nature. You are used to strange and ignoring your fears. Yet one night a man, more scary and more intriguing than any other seems to grow fond of you while you dance. You play a game with him that takes you away from everything you’ve known and into an even darker world than you’d ever known...and now he’s calling you his wife.

a/n: (this is very unedited sry for typos and things if they appear) taken some inspiration from the anime ‘Kakuriyo: Bed & Breakfast for Spirits.’ It starts out a bit dark but it's going to be a lot more lighthearted in some chapters. Once I get the initial set up to the story, this fic will just be a bunch of short episode like stories with y/n having different moments with each member or a few members, not always directly connected to future chapters or the chapter before, just set in the same world. Let me know what you think!!

------

It felt to the men in the crowd like they were hypnotized watching you.

You were the one hypnotized though, by the music, and by the thudding of the bass in rap song you’d picked for your dance vibrating through the club.

You could feel it in your chest, each thump pushing your hips forward as you grinded against the pole, sticking your ass out as you jumped onto the pole and spun. You swore you heard one man in the crowd gasp as you did.

The purple stage lights flashed to blue as the song hit a slower beat. You slid down the pole slowly, your hands gently moving down to the floor with the rest of your body.

As you continued on with your floor work you could practically feel the eyes of one man in particular sitting on you with an almost unblinking stare.

You could only see his eyes, the lower half of his face was covered by a black mask with a pattern that made it look like blood was dripping all over it in a very cartoonish way.

It wasn’t uncommon for people to wear masks like that here, but his was quite an interesting choice.

You could see bits of black hair peeking through his black jacket’s hood, which was also strange. He seemed so secretive with his appearance. Maybe that's what was giving him the confidence to stare at you so obviously.

Most men tended to get shy when you stared them down.

No...maybe he really hadn’t blinked once…

You realized you’d been focusing on him a bit too long and quickly danced your way to facing away from him.

Though you couldn’t escape the powerful gaze that you felt on your backside the entire time.

You knew the ending of your song was coming up and you took to the pole again to finish the dance.

It might have been obvious to everyone in the club that whether it was intentional or subconscious, you had started dancing for him.

When you ended your dance, the last step you took had you facing right at him, chest heaving from putting a bit of extra effort into your moves than usual.

You weren’t sure why, it didn’t make sense. You never usually got this worked up over someone in the audience, but his attention was exciting.

Some men clapped, and a few threw some money on the stage. You gave a twinkle wave to no one in general as you turned to walk back to the dressing rooms behind the stage.

The girl that would come out and collect your money off the stage for you squeezed your shoulder as you walked by and gave you a smile.

“I haven’t seen you perform like that in forever!” she praised loudly over the song that was playing while they set up for the next dancer.

You mouthed a thank you and from the corner of your eye you caught the mysterious man standing up from the table and leaving.

Your heart dropped a little bit. You had a second song still later that a part of you had hoped he’d have stuck around for. He hadn’t even paid you. He paid the entry fee to enter the strip club area of the casino resort, bought one drink, watched just your song, and left.

It was strange.

You were used to odd people. Sometimes even dangerous people. The casino you worked at catered to a very particular crowd of very rich men.

They weren’t the type of rich men you’d see on the news or in magazines. They were all a very secretive type. You were told when you’d been hired two years ago that you weren’t ever to ask the men about what they did for a living.

It always made you wonder, but it never bothered you. The amount of money in their wallets was enough to make you not need to read too deeply into any of it. Why mess up a good thing.

It's not that you only cared about money...but everyone has their amount. Everyone has a number to where they’ll turn their eyes the other way.

At least that's what your boss had told you the first time he’d sat you down in his office and handed you a blank check with his name already signed on it.

The day that you’d seen something that you never want to think about again.

Now you don’t have to.

Aside from the anomaly that was that man today, the diamonds on your wrists that would dance while you did were enough of a distraction from the things you’d seen.

With some of the things you’d witnessed go down in this casino you were glad that your number was as high as it was.

When it was well past 3 in the morning and your shift was done you put on your coat and began to walk towards the main entrance of the building to leave. Almost everyone besides those who worked there had left for the night, either returning to their hotel rooms or getting up to some business you’d rather not think about.

Just before you’d walked past the last of the blackjack tables you heard a voice call out to you.

“y/n right?”

A chill ran down your spine. You never used your real name at the club, it was a rule that you’d never tell customers your real name.

Your head whipped around to see that same man from earlier sat down alone at the table, shuffling through a deck of cards.

On closer look the cards were definitely not ones from your casino, almost as if he’d brought his own with him, another rule broken.

“No…” You lied. “You must be confused.”

You heard a chuckle from behind the mask. “I’m never confused. Sit down.”

He spoke so sternly and with a low gravel that spiked some fear into your body.

But you sat anyway. Maybe it was fear of what he’d do if you said no, but more likely it was that you were still wildly intrigued by this strange man.

“How do you know me?” You spoke as you sat down in the seat across from where he sat in the dealers chair.

“That's not important right now.” He muttered. “Want to play a game?” He spoke those words with such a smooth and beautiful compelling tone.

“Why not.” You decided, shifting in your seat and trying to get a better eye on the cards he was still shuffling through.

You wished you could see behind his mask, but all you could see was a mischievous glint in his eyes.

He laid out three cards in front of you face down. They were black with the images of blood dripping down them, the same as his mask.

“Pick one.” He demanded.

“Shouldn’t I know the rules first?” You cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Rules don’t really matter here do they. Surely you know that better than anyone.” He replied.

“There are some rules that matter.” You debated. “Like you calling me by my real name.”

“Not to me.” He then tapped on the table in front of him with a closed fist. “Pick a card.”

You sighed and figured ‘What's the worst that could happen.’

You stared at the cards in front of you, not sure if it even made a difference which one you’d pick, but still, you studied them before finally pointing to the one in the middle.

He then reached out and flipped the card, revealing a very detailed drawing of two golden rings intertwined together.

He seemed to sigh a big exhale of relief.

“Good.” he muttered.

“That's good? For me, or you? What game are we playing here!” You were starting to get frustrated.

He then flipped over the other two cards, revealing one that was a painting of a gravestone, and one that was a painting of flames.

“Good for both of us.” You could almost hear the smile in his voice, though you were only growing more confused.

“Pick up your card. Don’t touch the other ones.” He ordered.

With a small huff you listened to him, grabbing the card with the rings on it.

“In both hands.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.” he seemed to growl in an almost inhuman way.

Your fear now made your blood run cold, you didn’t want to anger him so you did as he said instantly.

As soon as you did, you felt a rush of wind hit you from behind. It was so strong the other two cards flew off the table. The man stood there with his arms crossed and started laughing a maniacal laugh.

The whole table then seemed to start to spin, you wanted to grip onto something but your hands seemed to be glued to the card you held.

Everything got faster and more blurry, everything except him. Before you could comprehend how, it seemed that the whole place you’d been in was starting to fade away into a bright white light.

As the spinning movements quickened you squeezed your eyes shut tightly and let out a small scream.

It only lasted a few more seconds before you felt everything still.

“Open your eyes.” His voice spoke to you much softer.

Slowly you did, opening up to a sight you were not expecting to see.

You were now in a large room with wooden floors and a wooden ceiling. Lots of art and architecture that seemed to be at least a thousand years before your own. It was very decorative and ornate, it seemed almost like a palace.

“Welcome to your home my wife.”

146 notes · View notes