#whole body is tense. His heart stopped. Chest barely breathing… Until he listens:

[saturnsorbits]

Bakugo 100% teaches you some kind of code; so he can always check in - just in case anything ever happens to either of you.

It doesn’t matter if it’s a hushed word whispered into his ringing ears after he winds up in the hospital. His body bruised and broken, nerves too frayed to feel the warmth of your palm on his.

An awkward hand gesture he flashes during a TV interview as he makes his way home from a no-contact overseas mission.

Or a giggled ‘…’ as he calls you, checking in because his patrol has run a little long.

He just wants to know you’re okay… And that wherever he is, he’s thinking about you.

[viviswtings]

Alcohol wet.

So I've just been drawing Neteyam like the simp I am, and it's going great. He's inspiring me so much I got to write a whole thing for him.

Words: 2627.

Warnings: suggestive fluff? Is that a thing? Also not proof-read. Just finished and posted. English isn't my first language and there are words I'm iffy about all over. Tell me if something doesn't make sense.

The characters are aged up. Like, in their twenties sort of aged up. Don't come after me. Or do. Idk.

“Shit, you’re beautiful “

He exhaled against her face, his breath smelling of the sweet, fruity liquor he had been sipping all night.

Up until this point he had been slurring his words, letting them fall off his purple stained lips, all buttery and soft- his speech, that is- without seemingly any care for if she could understand them or not.

But this. This he said clearly. Like a cloudless day, after a particularly dark eclipse. She understood every single word, and she was exhilarated when she did.

How sweet his voice came out, how his plushy, swollen lips had caressed every word like he knew exactly what place in her heart they were meant to fit into. Taking that little space she had once made for him and making it bigger and bigger, so all her feelings may fit within her chest.

He was staring at her from up close, his nose almost touching hers. Those big, golden eyes that let her see her own reflection in the dilated pupil. She hoped he meant it, that, in his eyes, she truly was beautiful.

But alcohol did its thing as the warrior pursed hisr lips and got closer. She turned her head as quickly as she realized, for she had reacted too slowly, having been immersed in his gaze and almost gotten lost in it.

The peck on her cheek was wet, and she couldn’t help but laugh at the distressed sound off Neteyam’s chest once he figured he had failed his attempt. Leaning back to look at him, it was impossible not to smile.

His face was turned towards the ground, while his stare remained on her, brow furrowed and lips pouted. His ears, now flushing almost pink, laid tense flat against his braided hair, all the muscles in his body were tense as his tail flicked from side to side behind him. It was comical. The great, mighty warrior Neteyam te Suli was butthurt. Because she had denied him a kiss.

Maybe it was right at this very moment that a part of her mind, in the furthest back off it, has come to understand she had some power over him. But perhaps she didn’t, and it was all the liquor’s fault, for it had made her delusional.

Seconds in silence had passed, which, given the previous circumstances, was unusual. The young warrior had started bragging about all his feats as soon as the alcohol had settled in. Talking nonsense about how his father barely had to teach him anything, how he was a natural, fishing when he was still using a children’s bow, being the youngest hunter to make his first kill and finishing his ikniyama at the ripe age of just thirteen years old. He almost made her ears fall off, but she did have a special soft spot for him and his slurred, rhythmic and almost-purr like nonsense. So, she had listened attentively all the same.

“Do you not want me?” Was the first thing that left his lips after his failed strategy. She did not expect the look of doubt carved into his features. Like his worst nightmare had become true, like he was… afraid.

Her heart skipped various beats that made her throat close, so no words could come out. She couldn’t flat out reject him just because he was drunk, but saying she did-and oh, she did want him- would risk him not remembering the next morning. Even worse, he could regret it, stop talking to her altogether and leave her with the hope of finally fulfilling her one wish.

It could also escalate and she was not about to take advantage of a drunken man twice her size.

“Nete” Her voice came out as an exhale, like she had been holding her breath all along. “You… ask me tomorrow” Was her final answer, hushed, but with a bit more confidence. If he didn’t ask, she could just presume he didn’t remember and not risk her own heart being shattered.

His ears twitched, his tail stopped, and he got closer again, to which she retreated, trying to avert his eyes. What would happen if she even dared to look back at him? It scared her, so she didn’t.

Then the rough skin of his fingertips came in contact with her forearms, making the hairs on the back of her head rise up and her body tense even more.

“I will” He pressed another kiss to her cheek, a little bit further away from the corner of her mouth, much softer and velvety and leaving no trace of wetness. At least, not on her cheek.

“Alright” She muttered, barely above a whisper, much too afraid of the people around them finding out the oloe’ytakan talking in such an intimate way with her. Both of his hands on her, caressing the skin of her knuckles with his thumb while he kept hold of her forearm, as if to keep her close, to not let her distance herself too much.

He had been resting his chin on her shoulder, face almost cradled in the hollow of her neck, when he was rudely interrupted by a deep, guttural grunt he knew all too well. It would’ve had him standing straight and knocking the air off him in any other situation. But Neteyam was way too comfortable, skin all warm, hands busy and mind fuzzy with the sweetest smell.

Then he felt a hand around his neck, the woman almost under him getting impossibly straight and tense when she pulled her arms away from him. Breath tickled his ear, making him uncomfortable. “Up, boy. Don’t make me repeat myself”.

So he did. All his body screamed against it, but Neteyam got up, not looking down, unable to see the flustered girl he had left on the ground, fidgeting with her tail and head low in shame. He would’ve sobered up in a second if he had. Or so he’d most likely want to believe.

But the older man did see her. As a matter of fact, he always saw her, he did see all of the members of the clan, old or young, gatherer or warrior, it was his duty. He took pride in it. He loved his people.

But that girl, ever since she arrived, she had his eldest running around like a headless chicken. He wasn’t blind, nor a fool, the kid was sweet and very pretty indeed. That, and he knew better than to meddle with young passions, given his own record. His son had crossed a line, though. As he himself had witnessed his son make a fool of himself all night.

“C’mere, sweetheart” He offered his hand to the girl, smiling her way when she looked up at him. “How about we walk you home and I’ll take care of this one for the night”.

She smiled back, taking the five-fingered hand with her own, to which Jake pulled her up, ready in case he had to help her with her balance. But she did just fine, maybe a bit wobbly on her feet, but not a major inconvenience.

The walk to her hut was almost silent, with Neteyam’s head hanging low, too immersed in his own thoughts to even mind his step. If he didn’t know the paths of High Camp like the back of his hand, he might have found it really difficult to find his footing.

Jake only ever broke the silence with politeness, asking how they were doing- to which his son only grumbled-, and making small talk with the girl. He knew her just enough to know what to ask and keep the light smile with jokes as long as the small walk lasted. If he could make his girls laugh, this one shouldn’t have been too much different. Thankfully, he was right.

Once they got to their destination, he stepped back, leaving way for his son so he may have his privacy.

Neteyam knew he should thank his father for the chance, but forgot all about it once he had to put two words together.

“I will ask” He repeated, lowering his eyes to meet her own. He had thought about what he should say all the way there, yet he found himself dumbfounded, incapable of remembering a single thing.

“Alright” She answered back, just as she did before, hands clasping in front of her, knuckles a yellowish shade of green as she gripped onto her own fingers, her nails drawing recent shapes on her palm.

“You will accept” He sounded far more confident than his beating heart would’ve ever let her know. But this surge of confidence lasted long enough for him to hold her hands in his, so she wouldn’t hurt herself anymore. “Then I’ll have you, as you have me”.

She was choking on thin air. The way he was staring her down, brow stern and lips sealed tightly into a line, while making those statements as if he already knew. As if he was laying his head against her chest and hearing her breath catch and her heart beating furiously against her ribs. Like it was the only possible, reasonable outcome.

She had him? Never in her life had she dared to bluff such nonsense. While every young woman almost paraded around him: the nicest singers, the prettiest dancers, the most skilled healers… Every single woman with the least bit of status within High Camp took the slightest chance to be near him. She simply existed, not particularly away from him, but afraid to get so close it would end up hurting her.

Why wouldn’t they? She may laugh at her “mighty warrior” comments, but she knew they were true. He was mighty, and as tall as he was slim, agile and strong. His hair was thick and his hands looked almost heavenly when he put it up for hunting parties, his long neck and the line of his shoulders in display while the muscles in his back flexed, almost knocking the air out of her lungs.

Just as he did now. Luminous freckles making a soft path around his features, down his nose and over his cupid’s bow. He felt so soft pressed to her skin it made her tail move behind her nervously and her loins burn.

“Can I kiss you?”

He had gotten closer to her face once against, big eyes open in question, as he now held her by her arms, pulling her just a tad bit closer as he waited for an answer. If his father had heard him, he didn’t show. He cut her short before she could attempt to answer. “Not your lips”. The remark caught her off guard, but she didn’t know how to mind while he kept his beautiful, gleaming irises on her, like an expecting child asking to go play.

So, she nodded, in fear her words would fail her. Pushing far the thought of the man’s father being mere feet away. How could she deny him? Was she even supposed to? She did want him to kiss her, even though it felt wrong, knowing he was under the effects of the drink he had been having. A kiss it’s just a kiss, isn’t it? It only has the meaning you want to grant it.

All her facade fell precariously as Neteyam’s hands caressed her arms, heavy and warm, up to her shoulders, making her shiver as they made their home on her neck and held her jaw with his thumbs. Keeping her right where he wanted.

He kissed her left cheek, slowly, without making a noise, and she felt his eyelashes against her burning skin. When he went to the other cheek, she saw his eyes closing softly, as he pulled her closer by her neck. She let herself go, closing her own while his lips kissed her. As he looked at her again, she found her own hands clasping around his arms and a smile on his face. He kissed the bridge of her nose, letting out an amused huff.

His fingers made way into her hair, massaging her scalp, when she felt them lightly touch the base of her queue. Her whole body arched involuntarily into his, making her eyes close with her lips parted as he kissed her one last time in the middle of her forehead.

She looked delectable and Neteyam felt famished. Like a starved man, just torturing himself with the meal he could not have, as it wasn’t his for the taking.

He hadn’t meant to hold her like that, but the hazy look on her face had him in a chokehold and he couldn’t help himself. By the time he felt her queue against his fingers he knew he was utterly fucked. The way she molded against him, throwing her head back while she held onto him like a lifeline, her tail caressing his thigh absent-mindedly, just letting herself go in his arms like that. How was he to keep himself away from her, his father here or not. It was only her word holding him back from devouring her whole, just as she was right now.

He knew better than to approach a woman when she had drunk, but he also knew better than to drink himself stupid and there he was. If it wasn’t because he was holding onto her as much as she was onto him, he’d probably be face first on the dirt.

“Neteyam.” What a damn beautiful sound she had just made. He opened his eyes, pulling himself with all his might so he could look at her. “You should head home”. Home? Where was that place again? He’d rather not remember the way back and stay the night. But she wouldn’t have him, not then. “Your father is waiting”.

“Damn him.”  He thought out loud. “He can wait”.

She let out the giddiest of laughs and his heart could explode for all he cared.

“We can talk tomorrow”. He already knew. But right in that moment he felt nauseous at the thought of parting. Might as well hold onto her like a child so she’d coo him to sleep and calm all his worries.

“We will.” He remarked, kissing her forehead again.

“I know”. She ushered. “So go and sleep, so tomorrow may come sooner.”

Neteyam looked at her, like he had done so many times. At her pleasing features and her dimpled smile that reached her eyes. The Great Mother had made her all for him, he had no doubt. She couldn’t have made the most precious creature just to rip it away from him. She’d accept him, take him for herself and he’d be the happiest man.

But, of course, he couldn’t drag the whole affair forever. His father was, indeed, waiting for him and his patience was running thin. “Kid, c’mon. You need a nap.”

So, he hugged her, tightly, so close to him she would feel his heart against hers. He needed a home for it inside her, he reasoned, that’s why it yearned for her so much.

When he let go, she felt shaky. Her pupils inspected his face, but she let go rather easily. Her parted mouth was screaming for him, but he couldn’t drag the affair any longer, so he let her go. His hands fell on his sides in fists and he turned around, with a willpower only years under his father’s stern stare could accomplish.

He felt the man’s hand on his back, cold and somehow soothing against the burning skin of his shoulders. Like a kid, he let his father’s presence reassure him, he’d be fine. Even if it meant another night tossing and turning thinking of her, and now the very real prospect of her skin against his and her lips on his, her legs around his waist…

“Let’s get you home, kid”.

He definitely had to get home.

[3d-wifey]

And They'd Find Us In A Week - Chapter 9

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 5.7k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! Tag list: @melancholicmelanin , @yvy1s, @honethatty12 A/N: Thank you for waiting so patiently, Finnick girls! I was able to post this one in its entirety. SMUTTTTT, and then angst. I give y'all a lil kiss and then I shoot ya. 🥲🥲🥲

Past (x) - You 

[19 & 20] - THE CAPITOL; ELEVENTH FLOOR

How your body looked had never truly been important to you. Growing up, the only thing that mattered was whether or not your arms and legs were strong enough to heft you up a tree, whether or not you had the stamina to climb up and down wooden giants with sacks of fruit on your back, whether or not your malnourished muscles could endure the strain of the games.

You know you’re attractive. Not because it’s something you thought of yourself, but because you wouldn’t be in your position if you weren’t. That fact doesn’t stop the nerves from bubbling up as Finnick unzips the back of your dress. 

In the garden, under the open sky, each kiss became more searching and desperate. It was unspoken, the step the two of you were taking—the two of you laughing and shushing each other as you snuck into your room like teenagers, still riding the high of your drinks. 

The zipper stops at the base of your spine, warm breath on your neck. He moves one strap down and then the other, placing a kiss on your bare shoulder. 

His fingers brush the bare skin of your back, and you turn around to face him. He holds your face between two big palms, grinning big and happy at you before kissing you. Finnick kisses like his lips against yours are the sum of his whole being. Like he’s trying to rob you of your last breath and replace it with his own. Like there’s nothing else he’d rather be doing for the rest of his life. Your hands go to his waist, and you pull him closer until your chest presses against his. He’s warm, even through his shirt, and you feel that heat rubbing off on you. If you grip him any tighter, will your fingerprints sear into him? Will they become a permanent fixture on his body like the ghost of his touch is on yours?

You move one scalding palm to his chest, where his shirt cuts open. In your mind, you leave your handprint over his heart. You graze blunted nails over bare skin, making a red trail of five from his clavicle to his Adonis belt. He tenses and then leans into the drag. You unbuckle his belt and untuck his shirt from his pants. He licks at the seam of your mouth, and you welcome him graciously. He groans deep in his chest as you suck on his tongue, and you can stay here languishing in his affections until the sun gives out.

He backs you up until your calves bump into the foot of your bed.

He pauses, not to take a much-needed breath like you do, but to pull his shirt over his head and throw it in the general direction of where he left your shoes. In the back of your mind, you imagine how upset your stylists would be to see the two of you treat your clothes with so little respect. And with that thought, you let your dress drop to the ground.

You sit on the edge of your bed, heart in your stomach. In the past four years, you’ve seen each other in various states of undress but never with any intent behind it. This is different.

Finnick stands before you, and you laugh at his expression. The look of astonishment certainly makes you feel more confident. His eyes don’t move from you as you lounge back. 

His face twists up in apprehension like he’s psyching himself up to say something.

"I've never done this before. I mean, I've done this before, obviously. I just," he runs a hand through already messy hair, "I've never been with someone I care about." You sigh, and your shoulders relax. Relief washes over you. You have experience, sure, but everything you’ve done has been for the pleasure of someone else.  

"Me neither… But I wanna learn how." Your tongue is quick to add clarification that isn’t needed. “With you.”

“I’d hope so.” He chuckles, and a realization crosses his face. “I guess this is both of our first times, then, huh?” He pulls his belt from the loops before toeing out of his shoes at a leisurely pace, in no real rush. You lay back onto your elbows and watch him undress, probably smiling like an idiot.

"I don't want this to feel like it usually does. I want this to feel real." You want him to feel real. You point your toes to brush his clothed thigh as he undoes his pants.

“Always.” He promises. This will be something special for the two of you to share, a kind of loophole. Something no one else can take away from you.

“If we…” You trail off as he finally hooks his thumbs into his waistband and pulls it down, leaving him in his tight, black briefs, “Um.” You finish rather unintelligently. The corner of his mouth twitches up.

“Sorry, am I distracting you?” He gestures to himself, eyebrows lifted in a disingenuous apology. You shake your head dumbly as you watch his lips move, and he stalks towards you. What a novel thing, you decide, to actually feel attraction towards your partner without the aid of any aphrodisiacs. You had honestly doubted that it was possible, but Finnick had always been in the business of proving you wrong.

He straddles one of your legs, knee settled high between your thighs, and he leans in for a kiss that already belongs to him. Finnick urges you further up the bed with a nod of his head; kisses pressed to the underside of your jaw as you settle in the mountain of plush pillows. 

His mouth is pretty and pink. You give in to the impulse and bite his bottom lip, tugging it with your teeth. He moans into your mouth when you soothe it over with your tongue, and when he pulls away, his shark-tooth necklace dangles in your face.

You bite the bullet and go to unhook your strapless bra, but he stops you.

“Let me.” He murmurs against your lips long after you’ve forgotten what he’s asking you. You nod anyway, leaning up, and he moves to fully settle between your legs. His fingers brush your back as he unhooks it and pulls it off. The air nips at you, tightening the skin around your nipples. 

You’ve been naked before, plenty of times. But never in front of Finnick—never fully. You’re half tempted to do something childish, like cover yourself, but you’re stopped. Not by his hands but by the sheer adoration in his eyes as he looks his fill.

“You’re ravishing.” He grins down at you and says it like a fact. “Somehow, more than I imagined.”

“You’ve thought about me before, Odair?” You aim for cockiness, but you can’t keep the smile off your face for long.

“I always think about you. Whenever I’m in bed with a client, I'm picturing you instead.” You blink. And then blink again. While you’re a little surprised at the admission, you understand. You do the same thing yourself. You feel warmth spreading throughout your chest. Fortunately, he doesn't seem to expect a response from you, so he continues talking.

“I thought about how you’d feel, how you’d look. The sounds you’d make when I did this,” You gasp when he licks a strip up the valley of your breasts. “And this.” Your thighs clench around his slim waist as he blows cool air on the trail of spit he left. Your chest arches towards his mouth, a mind of its own.

“You always manage to exceed my expectations.” The muscles in your abdomen twitch with each syllable as he kisses his way down, light shining flattering on his bare back. “You’re beautiful.”

“So you’ve sai—said.” You say, too distracted by the drag of his lips on your skin and too flustered under the weight of his devotion to think clearly.

There's a sanctity in the way Finnick looks at you that confuses you at the best of times and overwhelms you at the worst. You never strain under the weight of just how in awe of you he is, but your knees get the urge to buckle and yield. 

You want to ask how. How can someone love another person so much? But there's no point in voicing it; you'd just be a hypocrite since you end up answering your own question whenever you look at him. You look at him now and feel that same certainty. You're two zealots, worshiping at each other's altars. A religion of reverence.

“And I’ll keep saying it until you believe it,” he kisses where your thigh meets your hip, “I’ll keep saying it until my lungs give out and even after that.” 

"And how are you gonna manage that, huh?" You snort at the conviction in his voice. 

"I'll figure it out,” he shrugs, smiling against your skin. “For you, I'll find a way." You snort again, shaking your head. Always so confident when it comes to you.

“What’s so funny?” He grins up at you. And the fact that he keeps moving further down doesn’t escape you. 

“I can’t say anyone’s ever waxed poetics while going down on me before.” You laugh, stretching your arms above you and settling deeper into the soft bed. Finnick follows the movement like a hawk.

“A shame.” He grabs a handful of your thighs in each hand. “These alone deserve sonnets written about ‘em.” You sigh in a put-upon way to hide how flattered you actually are. You’ve had people go down on you before, though it was never for your own satisfaction. You’ve faked so many orgasms that you can’t recall the last time you had a real one.

Familiar fingers push the crotch of your panties to the side, and it all feels so natural. You’re breathless. He runs his knuckles over where you’re soft and warm for him, and you flinch into the feeling. It would’ve been mortifying just how wet you are if you were with anyone other than Finnick.

“This all for me?” He laughs, still giggly from the wine. Scratch that thought. Still mortifying with Finnick—maybe even more so. 

“Oh my—please, shut up.” You groan into the safety of your hands, and you yelp when he nips at your leg in retaliation, skin made sensitive from his proximity.

“You gonna shut me up?” He smirks against your thigh, eyebrow lifted in a silent challenge and you clench around nothing at the gleam of indulgence in his eyes. 

“Maybe.” You take the unsaid request for what it is and thread your fingers through his hair, leading to where you’re aching for him.

“Pinch my arm if it’s too much.” You nod, but it seems he’s waiting for verbal confirmation. As soon as you give it, your only warning is a hot puff of air before soft lips descend on you with no preamble. Your back arches off the bed at the hot drag of his tongue.

Finnick wastes no time, so much so that it makes you wonder if he’s more eager than you are. He’s enthusiastic in his approach, licking at you almost greedily. His scruff rubs against you as he moves his head. 

He groans as you clench around his tongue, fingers jerking in his hair as your body tries to decide whether it’s too much or not enough. You could’ve come from that alone, his hands nailing your hips to the bed as he builds the heat in your abdomen with just his tongue. 

“Fuck me.” Either the alcohol has left your muscles loose and uncompromising, or you’ve seriously underestimated Finnick’s strength. Most likely both. Your attempts to buck away from the onslaught of pleasure are useless, with the arms wrapped under your thighs and the hands on your hips rendering you immobile. It’s like he’s made from stone, moving only when he wants to—not that he needs any guidance. 

“I plan to.” He pulls away for a second, and you think that’s the end of it. But then he spits, and your eyelids flutter as he lets it drip down before licking it up. The sounds, wet and sloppy, make your ears burn, and your toes curl. It’s embarrassing to hear just how much you’re enjoying it, just how much you want him. Almost as embarrassing as seeing and hearing how much Finnick is enjoying it. Moaning into you, hips jolting into the bed. The champagne teams up with the pleasure in a mission to make you light-headed and unsteady.

One of his hands travels up the expanse of your stomach. He holds the weight of your breast in his hand before he pinches your nipple. He twists the hard peak between his calloused thumb and forefinger, and it sparks down your back to the base of your spine. You say his name on each exhale and grab his wrist, just to have something to anchor to, or you’ll float away.

You throw your head back, a moan trapped in your throat. You claw at the pillow by your head and push on his head, though it’s futile. It only accomplishes him pulling you further down into his grasp. The more you squirm, the tighter he holds you, to the point that you’re practically riding his face.

“C’mon, Star,” he murmurs against you, and you’re left throbbing at the vibrations. You bite your lip hard enough to sting, “I know you can take it.” It’s more than you’ve felt before, the pleasure. It’s overpowering, drugging your senses. It’s never felt like this, like walking on a tightrope—one good push and you’re plunging over the edge head first. Finnick does something with his tongue that drains all the fight from you. You give in and grind down. And then you are riding his face.

You’ve never really focused on Finnick’s hands before. A grave oversight, you realize, because your first real exposure to just how big his hands are is when he slips his middle and ring finger in all the way to the knuckle. They’re thicker than yours, longer, and far more skilled than you’re used to—reaching places you weren’t prepared for and stretching you out more than you were expecting.

The tip of his tongue makes quick work of your clit, circling the bud once, twice, three times before he purses his lips around it—fingers working in tandem, keeping unforgiving pressure to a spot you’ve only ever had touched in passing. The hand you have on his head threads through his hair again.

"Stick your tongue out," he does as you ask and you buck against his mouth, "Fuck, Finn." You pull his head side to side, using the drag of his tongue to get off, and he goes along willingly. The sound of him pistoning his fingers inside of you is loud to your own ears, but the way he moans as he licks into you—in the gaps his fingers leave—is louder. 

Your toes curl, and you glance down. His lids are lowered, barely open, as he smiles up at you. Not with his mouth but with his eyes. Tiny crow's feet and dimples, probably proud to watch you wither on the bed. You grip the sheets with your free hand as you whine. You throw your right leg over his shoulder and use your foot to press his hips into the bed; he shudders. 

“Please.” You don’t even know what you’re begging for, mind muddled with thoughts of Finnick’s hands on you and Finnick’s mouth on you and Finnick, but he does. Of course, he knows what you want. 

He’s relentless. Long digits curl along your walls before stretching you out in a scissoring motion that has you seeing stars. But he always seems to know just when to switch back to periodically slurping at your clit before redirecting his attention to lapping at your leaking hole. It’s messy in a way you never associate with Finnick, yet strategic in a way you do.

All it takes is for his nose to rub against your clit, and the knot in your stomach unravels so suddenly that it takes you under like a wave. You come with a buck of your hips and his name on your tongue like it’s something holy, nails scratching uselessly at the sheets. And through it all, you can feel him watching you carefully as he fingers you through it; his gaze is heavier than any metal.

He leans back on his knees, and you both catch your breath. You stare up at him, breast heaving with each inhale. He stares back with your wetness coating his chin and mouth, light eyes made dark with lust as they trail over your body, and suddenly, you decide he’s too far away.

You pull him close with the foot that’s still hooked behind his back. Close enough to see the light smattering of freckles on his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. His eyes flicker over your face in anticipation and you kiss him chastely before going in for another. And another. You grab his chin, licking your way into his mouth and you can taste your pussy on his tongue.

“Thank you.” You whisper in between kisses, bringing your knees up to cage his hips and you flip him on his back.

You always knew he had a candid sort of beauty, in an offhanded way. Something so rich and straightforward that it can’t be argued against. The sky is blue, the grass is green, and Finnick Odair is beautiful. 

Though it’s an irrefutable fact, under you, he doesn’t hold himself with the arrogance of someone who knows they’re attractive. He never has, never genuienly. 

Every feature works in tandem to paint his picture. Golden blond hair, bleached from being in the sun so much, is made even messier as you run your fingers through it. Long stretches of tanned skin jump under your touch as you trail a hand down his chest. His eyes shine under the hotel lights. As green as the sea glass he’s sent you and just as soft as he watches you map out his body in your mind. 

He smiles up at you, beaming—sunny in the truest sense of the word. Like if you looked at him any longer, your eyes wouldn’t be able to handle it. He turns and his lips, kiss-swollen and pouty, drag up one of the hands you've propped beside his head. He stops at your bracelet, holding eye contact and kissing the shell much like he did on the roof. Though, it’s far from an innocent peck. 

You settle your hips and grind against the hard line of his dick. You jerk into each other as the fabric drags against where you’re bare, his briefs being the only thing separating you. A blush spreads down the apples of his high cheekbones and becomes a backdrop to the freckles on his nose. It creeps down his long neck and you’re half tempted to follow its trail down his chest.

So, you do. 

His pec flexes under the bruising attention of your mouth. You take it a step further, scraping your teeth against the mark you’ve made and kissing it as an apology. You do it again a few inches down on the edge of his nipple and you feel the moan in his chest more than you hear it.

As you come back up, you trail your fingers down his happy trail. The smattering of hair is coarse against the fingers you dip into his waistband. You watch his reaction as you take him in hand. Soft lips slick with spit fall open between pants and his eyes fight to flutter shut. He hisses as you pull him out of his boxers and he’s warm and heavy in your hand. You glance down and you can say with utmost certainty that Finnick is pretty everywhere.

When you look to him for permission, he gives a laugh that’s on the verge of a moan. “‘M followin’ your lead here.” He pants, bucking into your hand. You rise to your knees. You know where you want to lead him.

You lower yourself down slowly, then all at once, moaning at the stretch. Finnick lets out a punched-out breath and his hands hold onto your thighs. Blunted nails dig into your skin as you rise up and drop back down with a gasp. A fire, starting low in your belly, gradually grows with each drag of him against your walls.

"Fuck, Star." He swears as you ride him, sitting up to hold you closer. Your thighs already burn, but you don’t even think about stopping. You push through it and Finnick is in your ear muttering incoherent half-sentences about how good you feel. How he’s even able to form words with how much he’s trembling is beyond you. You nip at the skin around his collarbone and stop yourself. You’re attempting to be mindful of how hard you’re biting, how hard you’re pressing dull nails into his skin.

“Don’t. Please.” He begs and reaches up, moving your right hand from his shoulder to lace with his left, “If I’m gonna have marks, I want ‘em to be yours, please.” He says it as a confession, or like a wish only you can grant. You’re used to vulnerability from Finnick, he gives it away like rain from a cloud. And, as usual, you suck it up like the droughted roots of a tree.

You lean forward, sucking at the skin where his neck meets his jaw—keeping your grip on his shoulder and hand. You let out a breathy whine when he instinctively bucks into you, your eyes almost rolling into the back of your head. He meets your thrusts with upward strokes of his own, each one knocking a gasp out of you.

Sweat drips down your back from the exertion and from being on top of Finnick’s warm body that grows even warmer with every clench of your walls. He’s hot and throbbing inside of you, and you buck down to chase that warmth every time it leaves your body. You meet each other in an open mouth kiss, barely pulling away to breathe.

His blurry eyes are heavy, routinely flickering from your face to where the two of you are connected and back again. You look down at the circle of white you’re leaving at the base of Finnick’s dick. The blond hair of his crotch is slick with it, wetting his happy trail. You grab at the wide expanse of his back, nails dragging red lines on his tan skin, hoping to be closer somehow, closer than two naked bodies rubbing against each other. He hisses and leans into it.

Distantly, you’re aware of the headboard hitting the wall with a resounding thud with your movement and you pray to anything listening that everyone on floor Eleven is asleep. Neither of you would ever be able to live it down if you woke up Chaff.

“We have–,” Finnick sucks a bruise onto the top of your breast, moving down to catch your nipple in his mouth, and you can feel him in your marrow, “-have to stay quiet." He nods into your neck, arms wrapped tight around your back. You both grind against each other and he grabs your hips so tight his fingerprints will be ingrained in your bones. 

“I love you.” He breathes into your neck, then pulls back. Thin, identical rings of green surround black. He stares up at you, pupils blown with love and lust in equal measure. “God, I love you.” He whispers it like it’s a secret that can do harm. In the wrong hands, it just might. 

Right now, all that you care about is this. This atomic moment in time that you and Finnick have carved out for yourselves, a space that’s only big enough for two hearts to beat as one.

-

“Finnick, you’re clearly tired. It’s okay. I mean, you’re practically asleep already.”

“No, ‘m not,” he mumbles under his breath, turning slightly to nuzzle his nose into the side of your thigh, “just restin’ my eyes. Keep goin’.” You sigh at his stubbornness.

You had been trying, and failing, to describe different crops to him. It’s very hard to point out the differences in trees using words alone, you’re not the poet between the two of you for a reason, and that’s when he came up with the grand idea of just showing him the plants using the projector on the far wall. 

You’ve been telling him stories of your youth, the good ones as few as they may be, of the shacktowns, the different family businesses, which farm had your favorite cow; things he wouldn’t have learned about Eleven in a textbook. And it was all going well until he started nodding off. To be fair to him, you have been going on for at least an hour and a half. You think you lost him somewhere in between miming how to use a hoe and explaining what an eggplant is. 

“If you insist.” You shrug, picking up the remote. 

“I do insist.” 

You trail your fingers up and down his spine, looping over freckles and moles as you change the hologram until a mango orchard appears. You worked on one just like this for most of your life, but the picture is off—it’s wrong. It’s too bright, too picturesque. The grass isn’t as high as it should be and the mangoes hang overly ripe on the branches.

“Mango trees were my favorite to work on. The branches spread high and far, so when it’s time to harvest, the leaves act as an umbrella to the heat. My only problem is how sticky they are. They’re such juicy fruit so they’re almost always sticky. Now, imagine having to collect hundreds of them and climb up and down these giant trees. Oh! Not to mention the sap. When there’s too much fluid built up, the mango will squirt sap that’s practically acid that burns your hands. You get burnt, you slow the work day down—” You’re cut off by snoring. 

The arm that was previously wrapped around your waist like a snake has fallen to drape over your legs, warm and heavy. You comb his hair back, running your nails over his scalp. You freeze as he shuffles around and he makes a discontented noise after you stop. He moves around until his entire cheek rests on your thigh, nose nudging your stomach and you feel the puff of air heat up your skin even through the sheet. He settles back down once you start moving your fingers through his silky strands again. You shake your head, smiling down at him. Demanding even in his sleep.

Not tired your ass.

-

My love,

You deserve the stars. And if I could reach up and pluck each one from the night sky to give you, I would. For now, I offer you my soul—though it’s a poor substitute. It’s all I have. That and my heart, which is more yours than it was ever mine. 

You’ve left your trace so that I can carry a piece of you on my skin. When I’m alone, I’ll press on bruises in the shape of your lips so that the pain will remind me I’m alive with your heart beating in my chest.

There are many people I envy. But that can’t outweigh the pity I feel for them. Because they’ll never have the chance to feel your warmth. 

What a privilege it is to love and be loved by you. 

-Yours, and only yours,

Finnick O.

Present (IX) - Finnick 

[23 & 24] - TRAINING CENTER

Victors young and old chatter amongst themselves as they wait to give their solo performances. Predictably, no one seems particularly nervous. They’ve all done this before.

He catches the woman from Nine rubbing the back of her district mate who’s looking a little green around the gills. Correction, Finnick’s not nervous. What number they’ll rate him is the last thing on his mind. It won’t dictate his likelihood of survival and it’s not like he needs a high score to garner sponsors if and when he’ll need them.

Mags presses her hand to his cheek and he leans into the contact. She’s always been able to make good of a shitty situation, but since that special night with Haymitch, she’s been especially content—serene even. Normally, her optimism would rub off on him. There’s plenty of pressure to succeed in the arena, but, if all goes well, everyone he cares about will be safe. It’s a notion that should have made him ecstatic. His eyes sweep to the right towards the back of the room where you sit between Chaff and Peeta.

Nothing’s ever that easy.

What are you thinking? 

If everything was as it should be, Finnick would just know. The two of you would’ve spoken extensively about the entire situation together. What was it that Haymitch said to sway you? What part do you play in the plan? He’d kill to hear your thoughts on something this important, no matter how pessimistic. He’s been dying to speak to you. But, clearly, the feeling isn’t mutual.

He’s only spoken to you twice in the past three days, if that even counts as talking. Not for a lack of trying, and it’s a daunting task. It would be one thing if you were angry at him—if you were blowing up at him. He could endure your, rightful, rage. He could handle that because at least you’d be acknowledging him. No, you’ve resorted to ignoring him. Not only that, but you’ve gone out of your way to avoid him. 

Whenever he tries to spark up any conversation, you regard him with a level of detachment you didn’t even give him when you were strangers. But his will is as strong as yours. He keeps trying. He keeps coming back like a kicked dog that won’t learn its lesson. It must be a spectacle to watch for those who don’t know him well. And for those who do, it must be pitiful—he must be pitiful. Finnick is a good actor, but it slips through the cracks. It can’t be helped. When it comes to you, he’s always been laid bare. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Now he’s acting like one of those yearning protagonists in those victor romance novels they sell in the Capitol. But his feelings can’t be expressed with ink on paper. He’s tried turning to writing as a means of escape instead of any substances, but it hurts too much never being able to send anything to you. To know someone inside and out and to be known in turn, just to be little more than strained strangers? It’s something out of Finnick’s worst nightmares. So much so that he has to fight the urge to pinch himself whenever you walk away from him. 

But who is he to complain? He’s living in a hell of his own creation. You could tell him to jump off of a bridge and he'd be so happy you talked to him that he’d ask if you preferred a swan dive or a backflip.

Your arms are crossed loosely under your chest while Chaff speaks to you animatedly. To anyone else, you must look annoyed. Brows furrowed and mouth twisted to the side. But Finnick knows better, knows you better. Your eyes are fond and engaged with whatever he's talking to you about.

Look at me, he wants to tell you, look at me and see me. You glance up and he panics at the thought that he might’ve been thinking out loud. He almost looks around him to check if anyone heard him, but he’s scared that if he so much as blinks, you’ll look away. You glance up and, just for a second, that fondness in your eyes is directed at him. It’s a moment that stretches for only a nanosecond before you look away again, but it feels like years.

He’s been staring too long, staring long enough for Katniss to notice. She catches his eye with thinly veiled confusion. She doesn’t understand and he doesn’t want her to. He doesn’t need a seventeen-year-old’s pity. He’s quick to turn back to Mags and her sympathetic stare. He used to find it grating, how much Mags can see. But he appreciates it now. 

Something Chaff said must’ve been funny to you, because he hears a sound he hasn’t heard in years. His heartbeat jumps in the tempo of your laughter. Mags threads her fingers through his hair. Though it offers little comfort, he’s thankful for the attempt.

When it’s finally Finnick’s turn, he doesn’t go in with a plan. He partially ignores whatever Plutarch is saying to him in favor of trying to see the resistance leader hidden in the shell of a Capitol elite. If everything Haymitch says about him is true, then he just might be a better actor than anyone he’s ever seen. Because try as he might, Finnick can’t see the connection.

He looks at everything laid out before him and makes up something simple. There's no need to show off. 

He picks up a length of rope and ties it into the knot he taught Katniss, a noose. He puts it around the neck of one of the training dummies, hoisting it over a metal bar and tying the end to one of the sturdy metal table legs. He glances over the array of weapons and considers the dummy. It’s plastic, a hardened casing that should be impervious to damage. 

It should be. 

He picks up the sharpest knife he can find, testing the point, before grabbing a spear from the display. He takes a few steps back and then a few more. He flips the knife in his non-dominant hand one time before aiming for the spot in the rope that’s holding the most tension. He throws the blade, sniping the rope, and dropping the dummy. But before it can touch the ground, he brings the spear back and throws it forward. It pierces the dummy’s head, sending it back a few feet.

He walks out to the sound of applause behind him.

Much, much later in the day when scores are released, Finnick isn’t surprised by your eight or his eleven. However, after seeing Peeta and Katniss’s matching twelves, he has to wonder how organic any of that scoring was. 

-

A/N: Star, rolling a nat 20 in intelligence and charisma, but a 7 in wisdom: Fuck Finnick, he obviously pities me that's the only reason he'd ever want to talk to me Finnick, literally on his knees: pLEASE 🥺🥺🥺 Pussy put his ass to sleep, buenas noches🤭🤭🤭. I went to a different plane of existence making this smut. I hope y'all are picking up all the water and earth imagery I've been implementing. At first, it was accidental, but then my beta READER said it was cool so I pushed into it. Also, doing Finnick's interview was my clever way of avoiding making one for Star heehee

[aziraphales-library]

Hi!

I was wondering if there are any fics where the ending is still the same (aziraphale goes to heaven, crowley stays on earth) but they properly discuss it and understand each other’s choice? This may be a bit too specific so no worries if you don’t know any.

Thank you 💕

Hey! Here are some fics where the ending is the same, but they take some time to talk a little more first...

The Other Side of Forgiveness by JazzRazzberry (NR)

Crowley should leave. He should really go now, before he does anything worse than what he’s already said and done. Before he gets forgiven again. He should go, the Bentley is outside, he can drive and drink until he forgets. Before he does something stupid. Before he kisses Aziraphale again. He should just go. Although. Might as well bare everything to his angel before he’s gotta leave forever, right? Aziraphale is still looking at him with those eyes, those damned eyes.

A tight embrace to say goodbye by yellowdaisy2023 (G)

Aziraphale can feel the lump forming in the back of his throat. His eyes sting with unshed tears as he turns, looking away from Crowley. His whole body is turned away from him, almost as if he’s closing himself off. It breaks Crowley’s heart. In all the years they’ve known each other, after all the fights, they’ve never done that. They’ve never closed each other off. Crowley takes a step back, ready to leave his angel forever, when he sees the slightest shudder in Aziraphale’s shoulders. Crowley pauses, watching carefully. It happens again, a small shake in the usually tense shoulders. He’s crying. Or Someone on TikTok pointed out that Aziraphale was about to sob before Crowley kissed him and I ran with it

This is Not an Apology (This is Not a Goodbye) by ThisIsWhyILoveReading (T)

After watching Aziraphale leave for Heaven, Crowley drives to his newly-reacquired flat and decides to sleep his pain away for the next few centuries, at least. Unfortunately, a certain angel shows up at his bedside and they are forced to try and Talk Things Out.

the choiceless hope in grief by Addicted2Demons (T)

"Don't go." The words are ripped from him involuntarily, a swelling need rising behind his breastbone and expanding like a balloon at a rapid pace, terrifying him in its intensity. He wasn't going to say that; it hadn't been a conscious thought, but there the words are anyway, writhing in the air between them, screaming out. Crowley stops, but doesn't turn, hand poised to turn the knob of the bookshop door, shoulders pulled up to his ears. Guarded. Hurt. Tender, inside, Aziraphale knows. He's always been so tender. A heart he was never supposed to have torn and bleeding in his ragged chest for centuries, possibly millennia. -- or -- Aziraphale has just been kissed by his demon for the first time. He suddenly, desperately, can't let him leave the bookshop without doing it again.

Things Left Unsaid by very_normal_abt_this (G)

S2 finale compliant fix it fic. Aziraphale decides that the first conversation with Crowley about going to Heaven was terrible, and that there are other things he needs to say to the Demon. Before he leaves.

one last nightingale by blackeyedblonde (E)

“Listen,” Crowley says abruptly from where he’s standing by the door, pointing above their heads. “Hear that?” They’re running out of options, he’s running out of time to make Crowley listen, and in his mounting panic somehow all the angel can do is bluff. “I don’t hear anything!” he says in huffed exasperation. The true weight of that silence wedged between them slugs Aziraphale somewhere beneath the breastbone when he realizes, dazedly, that the grandfather clock behind him has stopped ticking for the very first time in more than three centuries. “Nothing…at all,” Aziraphale breathes out, eyes widening as he whips his head around to gape at the forestalled clock. Upon turning again he searches Crowley’s face for some sort of affirmation, for any kind of clue that this is the trapdoor he’d been haplessly hoping for. “My word. Did you just—?” “Sure did,” Crowley retorts, lowering his arm so it slaps against his side like a limp fish. Outside the world continues, Soho going about its business as usual, but even the old metronome across the room on the angel’s desk has stopped its waving arm mid-air. “Now start explaining, we haven’t got all day.”

- Mod D

[nunyabhiznus]

Chapter 5

Chapter 4

Chapter 6

Word Count: 9K

Warnings: Cursing, violence, blood, torture, death, some sexual harassment. Lmk if I missed anything

When the guards finally came, you went willingly. Your sense of self-preservation demanded it.

What am I gonna do? What am I gonna do? What am I gonna do?

That question incessantly replays in your mind as you’re escorted by the guards. What were you going to do? Back in your cell you couldn’t come up with a concrete plan, your body too weak and too shaken to devote extra energy into anything other than keeping it together.

Now as you walk, you try to remember each twist and turn along the corridors. But the guards quick pace makes it hard for your memory to keep up, and it doesn’t help that your mind is already preoccupied worrying about where they could be taking you.

The guards stop in front of large double doors. As they punch a code in a keypad, you look back behind you, feeling almost nauseous. You couldn’t remember a single direction you had taken.

The doors barely slide open all the way before they force you inside. Taking it all in, you don’t know if the sight in front of you makes you feel better or worse. There are at least 20 other women in the room, and while most are of different species, all of them are dressed in similar garments as yourself. That you aren’t completely alone in this helps you breath easier. But recognizing how this place manages to keep more than a dozen women at a time captive adds another weight to your chest.

They’re being lined up against the wall, and soon enough you’re shoved alongside them too. Ahead in the line, you see how one by one each woman’s collar is checked before they’re escorted to the next room. The line is moving fast, and you still have no idea what’s going on.

None of the women speak, and the mechanical nature of this whole process is unsettling. You don’t listen to the voice in your head telling you that all of these women are being quiet for a reason, and you tap the shoulder of the girl ahead of you. She tenses up, but otherwise ignores you.

The line keeps moving, and you grow more desperate for an explanation. You tap her again. “Psst,” you whisper. “Where are they taking us?”

She turns her head over her shoulder slightly, but it’s enough for you to see the nasty glare she sends your way. “Be quiet, or you’ll make things worse!” She hisses.

You don’t push her for more, sharply exhaling your irritation. You are out of time, anyway. There’s another green man standing next to the inspection guard that tugs roughly on your collar.

The green man looks down at his charts and says something to the guard in a language you don’t understand. While they talk, you can’t help eyeing the blaster that the green man has strapped to his side. Your fingers twitch. Could you be fast enough to grab it?

Before you can even answer that, a long chain is attached to your collar. Snapped back into reality, you gape at the guard holding your leash.

You feel like screaming. “Excuse me,” you ask politely instead, remembering what happened when you lost your cool before. You hold up a part of the chain, “What is this for? None of the other women are wearing one.”

The green man rolls his eyes and pulls out a small remote - one you’re well acquainted with. You can feel your heart start to beat out of your chest at the sight of it.

“No, no! Wait! Plea-,” you start to beg, but get cut off by a sharp jolt from the collar. It doesn’t last more than two seconds but it leaves your ears ringing and your neck throbbing in pain. Your head is still slightly swimming when the green man starts talking.

“No talking unless spoken to,” he instructs. “You are a new purchase and have yet to be broken in. Until you are, a guard will remain with a chain to monitor you during events.”

With a dismissal given, the guard begins to pull you away, essentially “walking” you to the next room. You think back to when Mando first caught you, and how you thought walking around with handcuffs was as low as you’d get. Now, every sharp tug from the guard only proves how wrong you were. This was much more humiliating.

The thought of Mando helps replace your self pity with burning rage, refocusing your attention on the task at hand. Determination rekindled; you brace yourself for what would lie in the next room.

Seeing it instantly sparks up another memory - this time, from your college days on Earth. It was a Saturday, and your roommate just spent the better half of the day convincing you to go to a party with her that night. You remember how dark the place was, barely lit up by a few colored lights with booming music that made the walls shake and your bones rattle. More than once that night you ran into couples that were seconds away from jumping each other’s bones on different pieces of furniture around the house. You hated saying it because of how cliché is sounded, but parties were really not your thing. So after you made sure that your roommate had plenty of friends to keep her company, you gladly left, shaking off all of the heavy drunken stares that uncomfortably clung to your side all evening.

Unlike that night, you have no way of running back home.

The room you are led into is the outer space equivalent of a strip club. Tables and tables of men, both alien and human, are gathered together to drink and enjoy the “entertainment”. On a nearby stage, a similarly dressed woman in a shock collar is performing an erotic dance for eager viewers. All around you, more slave women are serving drinks, and some provide more intimate services that force you to look away. If this was what was expected of you, you were going to be sick.

Your heels automatically try to dig into the floor as guard starts walking further into the room, but one hard yank from him is enough to get you moving. You can’t even imagine how bruised your neck must be under the collar by now. He stops by the bar and barks an order at the bartender who starts to stack a tray of different colorful drinks in front of you.

“You’re serving drinks tonight,” the guard says, more at you than to you, shoving the tray in your hands before walking away again. With each table he makes you pass, your hands tremble more and more, causing the entire tray to shake as he leads you around the room.

Two loud snaps from a man a table ahead make you grip the tray tightly. In the second that followed, you felt everything still except for your terrified heartbeat. You’re walked to his side before you can even fully process it.

Hazy eyes peer over the tray of drinks slowly and there’s a thick enough fog in your head for you to not care about how he spills half of a drink on the floor when he finally takes one. You remember to breath again when he waves you away, getting that lightheaded sense of relief that he cared more about staying drunk to even look at you.

The next few times you’re called over go in a similar manner. Some men whistle and leer as you bend down to serve them, while others comment things that you’re thankful you can’t understand, but overall, they’re too preoccupied with whatever card game or table conversation they’re having to bother you.

It’s hard to come up with an escape plan from your position. You can’t make a run for it – and even if you wanted to, you’d, A) never make it farther than the 9ft your chain is without getting shocked, and B) you had no idea how to get out of the building if you somehow did make it out of the room. You bite down on your tongue to keep your frustration in check. You’d think you’d be used to feeling powerless by now, but you hate how until an opportunity to break out presents itself, you’re stuck here. Trapped.

The Mandalorian involuntarily creeps into your thoughts again like a fly buzzing around your room at night when you’re trying to sleep. Try as you might, you can’t ignore it or swat it away fast enough to leave you alone. You serve another drink and wonder if Mando knew what he was leaving you to. If this was all justified in his mind when he accepted the case full of credits. But behind the hurt that comes with Mando, you remember his baby and all of the care and protection that went into his safety.

Making an excuse for Mando was practically easy now. Of course, the well-being of his son would always come first, and what better way to do that than to trade a complete stranger for the money that would make his life easier. If you thought about it like that, it was almost hard to stay mad at him.

Almost.

You had reached your limit of being tricked and scammed throughout the galaxy. One that up until a couple weeks ago was nothing more than a bunch of blurry stars in a science textbook. Running around space thinking the best in people had gotten you nowhere, and you weren’t going to keep apologizing for someone who would leave you for dead in this disgusting place.

Your blood boils. If I ever see him again, I swear to God I’ll -

A hand slithers up your thigh, making you jump away in alarm and revolt. The men at the table laugh while the one closest to you, a three-eyed goat looking creature, tries to touch you again, saying something you don’t understand in a slur of drunken gibberish. You take a step back again, only for the goat man to take a hold of you chain and tug you closer.  

“Hey! Stop that!” You yell, balancing the tray in your hands that he nearly causes you to drop. You look over to your guard, hoping he’ll put a stop to this, but it’s clear he doesn’t see a problem with any of what’s happening from the way he stands motionless a few feet away.

The more you pull back, the more the man pulls you forward and his table-mates cheer. You start to panic, needing to think fast before you end up as a plaything for this animal testing mishap. Your neck strains painfully as you keep pulling away, grabbing the largest drink on your tray and throwing it in the goats face.

The man lets go of your chain, and you fall back as you hear him let out what you assume to be a string of profanities. From your sticky spot on the ground next to the shattered glass from the spilled drinks, you see your guard angrily make his way to you. Ignoring your earlier reasoning, you start to run away from him. When he pulls at you, you get the desperate idea to grab the chain yourself and try to free yourself from his grip. With one hard yank you’re brought to your knees. You’re unable to think straight, all of your self composure ignored as you resist being dragged back to the guard. Only the nearby tables quiet down to look at you like you’re some new form of entertainment. The rest don’t care that you’re kicking and screaming.  

Red hot eyes are staring down at you when you reach his feet. “That’s enough!” The guard shouts, and even though your knees are scraped, and your throat feels raw from your yelling you still manage to look up at him with just as much contempt.

You brace yourself for the shock, but that doesn’t make the feeling of it any better as it paralyzes you on the dirty floor of the club. The pain makes your vision blur, making the lights and surroundings meld into an uncomfortable sight. In a rush that makes your head throb, the guard throws you over his shoulder and starts walking away with you. You’re exhausted, your body feels like you fell down a flight of stairs, and you can barely tell up from down at this point.

Even so, as the club gets farther and farther away from you and the guard starts taking you back to your cell, a small part of your delirious mind counts this as a victory.

You made it out of that room, after all.

 ***

 “State your business.”

Din takes out the darksaber as he marches towards the guard droid.

Like before, it opens the panel in the wall. “Relinquish your weap-” There’s the sound of metal sizzling against the laser, followed by the robotic voice shutting down, and then finally silence after it hits the ground.

The blood is still pounding in his ears as he steps around it’s metal husk and into the building. There’s little thought put into his actions – his plan is a simple one: anyone who stands in his way to you will die.

Once he put aside his guilt and worry, everything became a lot clearer for him. He hasn’t had this kind of blind focus in a long time. The kind that made it impossible to fail when the prize at the end would make it all worthwhile.

Inside the compound rages a bloodbath. His baser instincts take over, cutting down security droids and blasting anyone who dares to fight him. This is a familiar routine. This is what he does. He’s a bounty hunter. He’s a killer. He finds people. And he’d track you down starting his hunt in this dreadful place.

While there are no signs of any captives or prisoners, it doesn’t take him long to find someone else who can give him the information he wants. The same Black Sun leader from before throws him a look of indignation as he’s cornered in his office. With a blast to the doors control panel, Din is now able to carry out his interrogation undisturbed.

His exterior is calm, controlled, and steady; never mind the raging storm he feels at the sight of this man. It takes every bit of self control he has to not kill him where he stands.

“You have something I want,” Din starts, taking a hold of one of his many blades. The Falleen man’s expression slips at the sight of it. “Where is she?”

When the man refuses to answer, Din snaps. Somewhere in him he rationalizes that his actions are brought about by honor. That it’s his sense of duty to his creed that compel him to feel so strongly about your situation. Anything less than his current reaction would be an insult to everything he stands for as a Mandalorian. So, when specks of blood get on his armor and the man in front of him lies beaten within an inch of his life, Din feels righteous.

Din roughly grabs a hold of the leaders’ hair and pulls his head back, exposing his neck to the knife he presses under it. “I won’t ask again,” he threatens. “Where. Is. She?”

The man coughs and splutters, blood pooling from his mouth.“She’s not here.”

He presses the knife in deeper, enough for a trickle of blood to start running down the man’s neck. The Black Sun leader struggles against his hold, “S-She’s at one of my establishments on Smarab! We shipped her off world the minute you were thrown out!”

Releasing him, Din processes this new lead with his jaw clenched. Smarab was farther away than he had hoped you would be, meaning that it would take even longer to reach you. A renowned sense of urgency courses through him.

The sound of painful shuffling brings his attention back to the beaten man in the room. He takes care of it in less than a second, which is the amount of time it takes for him to pull out his blaster and shoot the man dead where he lays.

Determination pushes him to keep moving, and now that he knows where you are, Din’s not going to stop until he gets you back to safety.

 ***

 In all his impatient fury, your guard dumped you back in your cell, shouting something about withholding your next couple of meal rations after causing such a scene.  

You smile to yourself as you watch him leave. The big brute made a mistake. He left on your metal chain, or as you saw it, he left you a weapon.

Holding it in your hands, you test the weight and feel of it before you try anything. Peering through the bars, you see that the closest guard stands a couple of meters away, too busy watching the entrance to pay you any attention.

You bite your lip, running over ideas and options in your head of how you could get out of here. Instead of a weapon, maybe the chain could be useful as a tool. The door is obviously locked, but with enough force you might be able to bend the lock enough for it to break open. As quietly as you can, you wrap part of the chain along the bar of the door where the lock sits, careful to not make any sudden movements that could alert the guard.

You pull on the chain slowly, as to not make any rattling noises, until it goes taught between your hands and the lock. Taking in a deep breath, you pull back as hard as you can, hoping you are strong enough to break it open. You try this again and again until you’re forced to accept that this idea was a bust. The metal bars stand the same, with the lock in perfect condition despite your sore arms.

“Okay,” you huff. “Plan B.” Which is?

You pace around in your cell, unable to come up with anything new. A last-ditch, reckless idea pops into your head, and you hope that it works as well as it did the last time.

Plan B for Bathroom.

You mumble a prayer as you near the cell bars, sucking in a deep breath before yelling, “Hey, guard! I need to use the bathroom!”

The guard looks over in your direction, rolls his eyes, but stays at his post. “Come on,” you whisper, and stick your hand out through the bars waving it around. “Hello! I can see you! I really need to go! Take me to a bathroom!” His face screws up in annoyance, but he doesn’t move.

You sigh. Two could play at this game. “YOO-HOO! GUARD! I NEED TO GO TO THE BATHROOOOOM!” You start kicking the bars and talking in a sing-song voice, determined to be the most annoying prisoner he’s ever had. “I REALLY, REALLY, REALLY HAVE TO GOOOOOO!”

He stomps his way over to your cell, steam practically coming out of his ears with how angry he looks. His furious face is centimeters away from the bars, “Will you shut the fuck up! Maker, you’re annoying.”

You hold back a grin, “Sir, I really need to go to the bathroom.”

He throws up his arms. “I don’t care!” He yells, “Now, be quiet before I call someone to fry your head off!”

Hope springs in your chest. Whether he meant to or not, this man just revealed that he doesn’t have a remote to your shock collar. If you think about it, that explains why you were able to get away with so much yelling. Your previous guard must still have it on him.

As your current guard continues to berate you from the other side of you cage, you take the time to study him. Unlike the big, boar-like guards from before, this man is pretty humanoid. He’s still big, but your odds of escape are better with him. This guard has a blaster strapped to one side of his hip, and the cell keys clipped to the other.

Your mind instantly replays the classic cartoon and movie bit where a prisoner steals the keys from a sleeping guard and escapes right under his nose. Only problem with that is that your guard is wide awake.

You don’t see a scenario playing out in which this guard agrees to walk you to the bathroom. Your only other option at this point was somehow stealing the keys, and you have to think of something fast before the guard gets tired of yelling at you and you miss your chance at them.

Use the chain!

No time for second guessing, you inch closer to the bars holding the chain steady in one hand. The guard doesn’t see what you’re up to, your closer proximity only driving his further slander. As fast as you can, you throw the chain through the bars, managing to loop it around his neck as you grab the end with your free hand and start to choke him against the bars.

You catch him off guard, and you use those precious seconds to throw your full body weight back into your cell. The guard catches on and tries to pull away. He’s strong, and the metal bites into your skin as you loop the chain around your arms for more leverage. But for all his strength, you have more than enough rage and pour all of your might into breaking his neck. You brace your feet on the bars and with one final yell, you pull back until he stops struggling.

There are tears running down your face as you let go of the chain. The guards’ body is slumped against your bars, his eyes popping in an unnaturally blue face. You waste no time in reaching through and unhooking the keys. Despite your cramped hands, you make quick work of the lock and step through the groaning cell door.

You look over to the dead guard, and unlike the last time, you don’t torture yourself over what you did. Serves him right for working in a place like this.

You hook your hands under his large shoulders and drag the dead man into your cell. A dead guard in the hallway would attract too much attention. Seeing as he has no use for it, you take his blaster as well before you lock him inside. “Next time, don’t get in the business of sex trafficking women, you asshole.”

One last idea comes to you as you walk through the hall. With no active guard on duty to stop you, you toss the keys into one of the cells. The surrounding cages were empty since all of other slave women were in use but when they return, one of them will have the keys to free herself and hopefully the others from this place. You hope it’s enough.

With the bulky blaster in your hand, you start to creep throughout the compound halls, careful to not run into anyone or turn corners too fast. The adrenaline from earlier is still coursing through you, helping you to not lose your courage and think fast.

“Stupid Mando,” you say to yourself as you move around. “I don’t need him. I’ll find my own way out of this place.”

 ***

 The blaster is steady in his hand. It’s the man he’s pointing it at that’s shaking.

Din presses it harder onto the back of the security monitors head, urging him to work faster. The rest of the guards in the room are dead, but that doesn’t matter to him. It’s only because it takes so much extra time that he doesn’t kill every single person in the building for harming you.

With a trembling hand, the security monitor points to the screen. “She’s being held below in the cells.”

Din takes a look for himself, realizing you’re being kept underground at the bottom level of the building. For some reason that makes him angrier, to imagine that they’re trying to suffocate you down there. He shoots the guard and gets moving, conscious of the fact that a countdown will start once somebody finds the mess he left.

He moves fast down the levels, careful not to be seen by any guards once he gets to the areas that are restricted to civilians. The conditions get worse the farther away he goes from the public and as a result so does his fury.

His tunnel vision is clouded red the second that he reaches the last level and sees the hall of cells. There’s no guard standing watch, but he proceeds with caution anyways. Blood is pumping hard in his ears as he gets closer to your cell number. If he finds that they’ve hurt even one hair on your head, there will be hell to pay.

He starts to approach your cell, praying that you’re unharmed. That you’re fine. That you’re …

His mind goes blank as he sees a dead guard inside your cell instead of you.

… Gone?

Din double checks the cell number, confirming that it is yours. For a moment, he has no idea what to do next. Of all the things he was expecting to see, this wasn’t one of them. If you weren’t here, then where were you?

Panic threatens so creep into his thoughts, so he takes a deep breath and starts to look at the scene around him as objectively as he can. Just by looking at the ground he can tell there was a struggle. The dirt near the cell bars has been disturbed and kicked in different directions. There’s also a trail from that spot leading to the dead guard. Din blasts open the door and steps inside for a closer look at him. It’s obvious he’s been strangled, and judging by the bruises on his neck it wasn’t done by a pair of hands, so maybe a rope or chain. Finally, he notes that the guard’s blaster and keys are also missing.

It’s hard for him to picture you doing this, but he can’t imagine why anyone else would’ve helped you escape, so it must’ve been you. Besides, only one pair of footprints can be seen walking out of the cell.

He starts to follow them, trusting his gut that they’ll lead him to you. This method becomes difficult when the dirt floor changes to smooth tile. Thankfully, you don’t seem to realize how dirty you are, and he keeps his eyes peeled for any smudges on the floor or walls.

Din is about to turn a corner when his heart stops. There you are, slowly creeping along the halls with the guard’s blaster in your hands and a thick metal chain looped around your shoulder. Your back is to him, so you don’t see how he watches you.

Maker, help him. “Fuck,” he can’t help cursing under his breath at the sight of you, his armor suddenly too tight in all the wrong places.

His eyes can’t help drinking you in, the outfit you’ve been forced to wear leaving little to the imagination. He should look away, but he can’t, his gaze glued to every curve of your body that he’s never seen before.

A blaring alarm goes off, snapping him back to reality. “Emergency, all security personnel report to level 3.” They found the guards, then.

His helmet helps him hear the sound of far way footsteps rushing to your direction. You don’t notice this either, and he rolls his eyes when he realizes that he was too distracted to see that you are holding the blaster you took from the guard wrong, too.

Din doesn’t waste time on that, though. With the guards getting closer, he decides to move quickly, skipping the pleasantries for the sake of not getting caught. He sneaks up behind you, not thinking too hard on how easy it would’ve been for anyone else to catch you off guard, and pulls you around a corner that is out of the view of the guards.

He has a hand over your mouth to muffle your screams and he holds your back tightly against his chest as you struggle to break free.

“Shhhh, don’t move,” he whispers in your ear. “It’s me.”

You quiet in his hold, keeping dutifully still as the guards march by without noticing the both of you. As soon as they’re gone, he relaxes his grip, and you push off of him.

Your eyes are wide as you turn to face him. “Oh, Mando!” You cry, throwing your arms around his neck in a tight hug. Din freezes for only a moment before giving in. He wonders if you even realize that this is the first time you’ve ever hugged. He holds you tighter, finally at peace now that you’re safe.

The moment is short lived, and he doesn’t understanding why you suddenly pull away from him.

“Wait a minute! You sold me!” You accuse, starting daggers at him. “What are you doing here?”  

Din can’t even think straight enough to answering that yet. He unclasps his cape and holds it out to you, “Here, put this on.” You slap his hand away, and he ignores the sting in his chest when you take a step back, evidently preferring to remain uncomfortable than to give in to trusting him.

He sighs, “ I didn’t agree to sell you. They took you.” He holds out the cape again and you have no way of knowing how his eyes are pleading. “Please, put this on.” Please, trust me. “I’m here to rescue you.”

Your harsh stare finally softens, taking his cape and wrapping it around your shoulders. “I thought you left me.”

“Never.” The word feels like a vow on his lips.

Din moves closer to you, relieved beyond words that you don’t back away this time. He knows they need to get moving, sooner or later they’d be caught if they stay here any longer. But he can’t bring himself to keep going without looking you over first. You look so tired, and wince when he brings brings a hand up to inspect your collar. There, he notices that the chain you’ve been holding is attached to you.

He holds your chain out, asking gently, “You used this on the guard?”

Your nod is almost imperceptible. “Yes.”

He hums, impressed. “Good girl.”

He takes out the darksaber and holds your chain out. You look at him curiously, and he tells you, “I’m going to cut this off now, alright?”

You let the heavy metal fall to the ground as soon as the laser cuts through, shaking off the extra weight you carried. If he had more time, he’d also get rid of the collar, but the alarm rings again reminding them to speed things up.

“We need to go,” he tells you. “Stay close to me. I’m not leaving here without you again.”

 ***

 Back safely on the ship, Din is ready to leave Smarab behind as an unpleasant memory.

“Where’s ad’ika?” You ask him.

He whips his head around shocked to hear you speak Mando’a, his hand flat out smacking the wall instead of pressing the button to close the ships ramp.

He must have heard you wrong. Clearing his throat, he asks, “What did you say?”

You shift awkwardly, re-adjusting his cloak to wrap around you better. “Ad’ika?” You repeat hesitantly. “Your baby. Am I pronouncing his name wrong?”

That you remembered to think of Grogu despite everything is reason enough to bring a smile to his face, but hearing you try out his language is what truly does it.

Din grins and can’t help the chuckle that escapes, “That’s not his name.”

“It’s not?!” You ask, clearly embarrassed. “But you always call him that.”

He wasn’t aware of that, or that you had even noticed. “It’s a term of endearment in my language,” he tells you slowly, suddenly feeling very transparent. “It means ‘little child’.”

“Oh,” you smile. “That’s really sweet, actually.”

The compliment makes him eager to say more, and he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind, “It’s a lot like your chiquitita.” Your smile widens and it’s followed by your infectious laughter that prompts him to keep you in that happy mood.

“Did I say that right?” He jokes, poking fun at your earlier mix up. You roll your eyes but laugh anyway.

You’re both silent for a moment, but it’s not uncomfortable. Without words, you both seem to understand the need for this calm moment after everything that’s happened. All of his propelling anger from the last few days is suddenly replaced with the anchoring feeling of relief that you’re here – that you’re alive and even laughing.

“His name is Grogu,” He finds himself sharing. “And he’s with a friend on Nevarro”

You take a deep breath, “Is that where we’re going next?”

Din catches on to the exhaustion in your voice, and it hits him how they’ve been standing here this entire time and you’re still wearing next to nothing.

“Yes,” he answers you quickly, wanting to take care of that as soon as possible.

He takes a mental step back, knowing that in order to best help you right now, he needs to think clearly without the distraction of his own emotions.

“I’ll go start the ship,” he starts. “In the meantime, you can go change and when you’re done, I’ll get that collar off of you.”

“Change?” You repeat, your voice taking on a nervous tone. “Those guys took all my clothes. I don’t have anything else.”

He bites back a groan, not being able to decide if he was the most respectful or the most stupid man in the galaxy for deciding to ignore those words.

“Right,” he finally says, mouth dry as sand. “Follow me.”

Din starts moving, preoccupying his body before he does something he regrets. He doesn’t look back, but hears your hurried footsteps follow him all the way to his quarters.

For some reason he feels rushed even though he’s hyper aware of how all you’re doing is standing against the wall, watching him as he rummages through his drawers to find something for you to wear.  

Finally, he sets down a bundle of clothes on his cot, not trusting himself to hand them to you directly, “I’ll find you something more suitable when we get to Nevarro.”

The gratitude written all over your face is heart wrenching and his discipline hangs on by a thread. He starts talking again before you have a chance to say anything, “You can change in here. I’ll be back when the autopilot is set up.”  

Din rushes out of the room, well aware of how strange that must’ve been for you. When the door slides shut, he lets himself breath again.

Hopefully, he just bought himself enough time to get it together before he has to go back in.

 ***

 You stare at the closed door with your thanks left useless on your tongue.

There’s a puzzling feeling that hangs around, covering you almost as well as Mando’s cape – only not as warm. This isn’t the first time that the Mandalorian rushes away just when you thought you were getting closer. Maybe it was a mistake to assume that he’d be as comfortable around you as you were around him by now.

You shake your head, moving on from that sad thought. For God’s sake, the man is letting you borrow his clothes. He might not want to be your best friend, but that kindness counts for something whether he realizes it or not.

Taking off the cape, you fold it as neatly as you can, pursing your lips when you notice just how many holes it has near the bottom. If you have some downtime in the future, you’ll remember to ask him if he owns a sewing kit.

The metal bikini requires a bit more work to get off. Its only when you use a nearby mirror that you’re able to unbuckle the clasps that finally release you. Mando’s clothes threaten to swallow you whole. The shirt alone goes up just above your knees and you have to roll up the sleeves a couple of time before your hands even poke through. You giggle putting on his pants, the mirror showing you how comically large they were on you. Thankfully, Mando was thoughtful enough to leave you a belt, which you loop through after tucking in the shirt. You do a turn, satisfied with how it looks and feels.

It's funny, but up until now, you had never imagined Mando using a mirror to get ready. In your defense, what use could he have for it? – you only ever see him in the one outfit. You can’t help smiling at the thought of him holding up different undershirts to it, or fixing his hair right before covering it up with the helmet.  

You let yourself picture those domestic parts of his life. How he would move throughout this room, and you follow his imaginary footsteps. Despite his best efforts, this room reveals little clues that show you bits and pieces of Mando’s character. Everything is clean and tidy like his shiny exterior, but the few possessions that he has give you a glimpse of what he could be like beneath the surface. With an unknown trinket here and a book there, you’re reminded that there has to be more than meets the eye. You leave everything where it is, deciding to look but not touch. It’s not snooping that way, you tell yourself.

The ship starts to shake and you hurriedly take a seat on the only place that you can. While the ship takes off, you cling to Mando’s bed, still not comfortable with every dip and turn that comes with space travel. It’s a lot easier to tolerate with a window like the one in the cockpit, but without any in here, the room might as well be spinning in every direction.

You take deep breaths, your senses calming when you inhale the familiar smell of wood and smoke of the bed. It’s the same smell as the pillow he gave you when you first slept in the crew room, you notice. Come to think of it, the same scent is on the clothes you’re wearing as well. The ship finally stops shaking, and you sit up to a curious realization.

Either Mando doesn’t sleep with a pillow, or he gave you the only one he has. You were willing to bet that it was the latter.

You cover your mouth with your hands, appalled at how you could have spent the last few days cursing and thinking such horrible things about Mando when he’s done nothing but continuously show how selfless he really is. And to you, of all people, who have to be one of the biggest inconveniences of his life.

As if summoned by your thoughts, you hear his low voice through the door, “I’m back.” He pauses. “Are you dressed?”

You shoot up, moving away from his bed that you had no business being on. “Mhm,” you nod, instantly recognizing the stupidity of that because he can’t even see you. You pat down your shirt, feeling more nervous in this than you ever did in the bikini, “Come in!”

The door slides open and when Mando steps in, his presence takes up the entire space of the room.

“Thank you for the clothes,” you say rapidly before you lose any more sense.  

He nods, getting closer. “I wasn’t sure they’d fit you.” The way he tilts his head at you makes you feel like a deer caught in headlights and you concentrate on not fidgeting under his gaze. “But they’ll do.”

It wasn’t exactly a compliment, but you’d take it.

“Sit,” he tells you, motioning to his bed. You do as you’re told, sitting on the edge pretending like you weren’t basically laying down on it a few moments ago.

Mando pulls out a small tool from his belt, “I’m going to take that thing off you now.”  

Your brows furrow, remembering how quickly and easily he got the chain off of you earlier. With that little tool, you’ll be sitting here a lot longer that you’re sure you can take. “Can’t you use your laser sword to get it off?”

He chuckles, “Not unless you want an ear sliced off.” You blink back, unsure of how to respond to such a gruesome possibility. “I’m kidding,” he amends. “The shock mechanism on the collar is delicate. I’d rather go in slow with this to not hurt you.”

He has to be kidding. “Of course,” you say instead, slightly breathless.

“Turn your head,” he instructs, and you do, but apparently not far enough because with a soft touch, he holds your chin and positions you accordingly. You’re not prepared for your heart to go as fast as it does, especially when he gently moves your hair out of the way.

He sits down next to you on the bed, feeling him draw closer to your neck and exceedingly thankful that he’s opposite to where you’re facing. You don’t think you could have faced him during this.

“Let me know if I’m hurting you.” Especially when he says things like that!

His deep voice is so close to your ear that it vibrates through your bones. You don’t trust yourself to say anything more than, “Okay.”

You get a hold of yourself as he quietly works on the collar. Every now and then you hear small zaps, but you have yet to feel any pain. You mentally roll your eyes at yourself and at your silly attitude. If he’s not bothered by any of this, then neither are you.

Without much warning, Mando takes a firm hold of the side your neck with one hand, while he uses the other to unscrew one of the bolts on the collar. You stiffen at the touch, feeling an intense warmth where his skin touches yours. He immediately lets you go, and the only shock to you is how much you miss the contact.

“I need to unscrew some bolts,” he explains. “But you don’t have to be scared about it shocking you.”

Bless his heart, if only that were your problem. His hands go back to work on you and before you know it, the collar screws off letting the cool air of the room soothe the newly exposed skin.

“Oh, thank you,” you sigh blissfully now that the uncomfortable restraint is off. Mando doesn’t say a word, his fingers still ghosting over your neck.

“You’re bruised,” he says, short and clipped.

You thought as such, the collar was bulky and painful. You cross the room to get a better look in the mirror, silently wincing at the sight of the purple ring around your neck. Turning back around, you can tell he can’t even meet your gaze.

“Hey, it’s not that bad,” you say, knowing it’s a lie. “At least its off, right?”

Mando gets up and walks to where you are. You wonder if he’s even aware that his hands are on your neck again.

“Not that bad?” he repeats, and he turns your head so he can get a better look at the spot where the shocks were administered, where a particularly dark bruise was forming. “How many times did they use it on you?”

You step away from his hold, more for his sake than yours. “Does it matter? I’m fine now.”

He shakes his head, “How. Many. Times?”

Mando stares right at you now, and you can’t muster up the courage to lie again. “I don’t know. Three, maybe four.”

His hands clench at his sides. “Dank farrik,” he curses. “Did they - ” He takes a deep breath, struggling finish his question. “Were you forced to - ”

“God, no!” you catch his meaning, interrupting him before his thoughts turned any worse. “I was a bit too uncooperative for their tastes.”

He sags in relief, and you have to admit that the concern is touching.

“This is all my fault,” you hear him say.

“No, it’s not,” you respond earnestly. “You didn’t do this.”

His head hangs, “I should have protected you better. I could have prevented this.”

“Oh, Mando,” you sigh. “There was no way you could have know what would happen.”

Mando still doesn’t face you and your heart pangs at the silence he’s trapped himself in. You place a hand on his arm, wanting him to feel your sincerity if he wasn’t going to take it from your words.

There were times when you thought that it didn’t take much to understand Mando, but when he locks himself up like this you remember that the two of you are only one step above being strangers to each other. You’d do anything to know what to say or do to make him feel better.

After some time, he covers your hand with one of his, giving it a light squeeze. Such a small action shouldn’t move you the way it does. Now you hope your words can have the same effect on him.

“Please, look at me,” you tell him softly. If you couldn’t look him in the eyes when you spoke to him, at least he could look into yours. Mando lifts his head and you give him a soft smile. “I’m not going to lie, I was really pissed at you before. I thought you left me there on purpose, so you can imagine how angry I was.”

You hear Mando laugh a little, “That anger helped you, if I remember correctly.”

“True, but don’t interrupt,” you tease, continuing. “When you found me, I was so relieved! And to then find out that you had been looking for me the entire time? Mando, I am so grateful for you. No matter how I ended up in there, you got me out. You saved my life.”

You let him soak up your words in silence. Without facial expressions, you can’t be 100% sure if what you said helped at all, but you see that his breathing is slower and that his shoulders are much more relaxed.

Mando gives your hand one last squeeze before moving away to the other end of the room. He starts looking through his things and eventually comes back to your side to place something directly in your hands. You recognize it as that medical cream he showed you before.

“For your bruises,” he explains. “Don’t forget to also put it on the scrapes on your arms and legs.”

Heat spreads over your face. You weren’t aware that he had noticed those.

“I’m going back up to make sure the ship doesn’t crash again,” he jokes, and you smile at the return of his good mood. “Feel free to join me when you’re done with the bacta.”

 ***

 Nevarro is not exactly what you expected.

When Mando told you he left his son here, you envisioned a place with rolling fields and endless sunshine. Imagine your surprise when you landed on a planet that looked more like an active volcano. Hardly a place you’d call baby proof.

He landed the ship outside the city and led you through the streets where you saw so much life despite the harsh exterior of this world. You walked fascinated until you reached an official building of some sort.

“Wait here while I meet with my friend,” Mando told you before he disappeared into a room.

That was all a little while ago.

Now, you pace nearby the room, careful not to go too far but also wandering enough to satisfy your curiosity. There are little holograms everywhere and more of that strange language that you can’t read, but that only keeps you occupied for so long.

You wonder what he could be discussing, and why you can’t be in the room. Not that you don’t trust him, but you’re reasonably anxious to be left alone for so long.

Already bored, you twist your necklace around your fingers as you circle the room again. A hologram of a planet catches your eye, and you take a closer look. It spins slowly, showing you the entire landscape in bright blue shades. You’re tempted to press one of the buttons on the console below it to see if anything changes, but this isn’t an interactive museum exhibit, and you don’t know what will happen if you do. Without Mando, the last thing you want is to start trouble and cause a scene.

Something grabs onto the back of your shirt collar, and you don’t have time to turn around before you’re harshly pulled by it and thrown against the wall. Your head slams against hard stone, causing a pounding that disorients you momentarily.

A woman, probably the largest woman you’ve ever seen, stands across from you. She’s got different pieces of body armor covering her and a number of weapons on her person. From the way she’s glaring, you know she’d love to use any one of them on you. You’re paralyzed against the wall both out of fear and confusion.

The mystery woman cracks her knuckles. “You’ve got some nerve showing up here,” she hisses.

You gape at her, unable to come up with how you offended a woman you’ve never met. One of her hands creep closer to the blaster strapped to her hip, and you make the mistake of glancing at the door that Mando went through. The thought of running crosses your mind for only a second before the woman slams you against the wall and pins you there.

With the wind knocked out of you, you barely catch her saying, “Now, that was really stupid of you, Taxo.”

You want to scream. Not again! “Listen, I’m no-”

The woman doesn’t let you speak, pressing one of her arms against your neck. The armor she wears digs uncomfortably against your windpipe as she slowly suffocates you.

“I told you what would happen if I ever saw you again,” she threatens.

“Get off me, you psycho!” You choke out, slamming your fists over and over on her arms with little effect.

She presses against you harder, lifting you off the ground as you struggle to breath and find footing.

 ***

Greef Karga gives him a curious look, “So, she’s like another foundling?”

“No!” Din barks instantly, uncomfortable with that idea. “She’s a woman I feel duty bound to return to her planet.” His answer felt serious enough, but Karga laughs anyway, leaning back on his chair with an amused smile.

Din rolls his eyes, continuing the conversation, “We need to lie low for a few days and regroup. I’m low on supplies and she needs clothes.”

Karga’s eyebrows raise, “You left her outside the room naked?”

If he could strangle this man, he would. Din sighs, “No. She’s wearing some of my clothes.”

Loud, obnoxious laughter fills the room again. “Definitely not a foundling, then!”

“Can you focus?” Din seethes, face growing hot from his friends teasing. “I also need your help finding Earth.”

Karga gets serious, “That’s in the unknown regions, Mando. It won’t be easy.”

“I know,” he tells him, understanding that he is asking a big favor. “I need you to look from here while I track down Taxo and see how she found it.”

“You’re still going after her?” He wasn’t expecting the surprise in Karga’s voice.

“She knows how to get to Earth,” Din puts simply as if stating a common fact. But in his line of work things were never that simple, and his other more important reason follows. “And she needs to pay for what she did.”

“How dutiful,” Karga responds with playful sarcasm.

Din hears a distant thud and he’s instantly alert. “Be quiet,” he warns, listening for any sound of danger.

“I’m serious!” Karga smiles, ignoring him “Women love dutiful men.”

“I said, be quiet!”

Something doesn’t feel right and his instincts tell him to keep his guard up. A second thud, closer and stronger is heard. Din springs into action, blaster in his hands while Karga finally reacts and follows him out of the room.

Of course, he doesn’t blame you, but it baffles him how easily trouble finds you. “Get Cara!” Din orders at Karga when he sees how you’re pinned up against the wall by your neck. Karga pushes Cara off, keeping her away while she attempts to lunge back at you.

You slump against the wall, coughing and sputtering as you regain your breath. Din puts a stabilizing arm around your waist, ignoring everything else as he looks you over. “Are you alright? Is your neck okay?”

Off to the side he hears his friends arguing. “Dune, that’s not Taxo.”

“What are you talking about?” She rages. “She changed her face!”

Din blocks it out.

“Let me look,” he tells you, moving your head up to check the damage.

“I’ll be fine,” you protest, swatting his hands away. You point to Cara accusingly, “You know her?”

Din sucks in air through his teeth. “She’s a friend.”

You look to Cara, who’s still off arguing to the side, and back at him. “Some friend.”

“She means well.” He ignores the pointed look you give him.

His friends are now talking in low voices, occasionally sparing glances at you and continuing the conversation. They start to walk back to where you both are, and you quickly move behind him, using him as a physical barrier. Din would be more embarrassed about the situation if he didn’t secretly enjoy how you trust him to protect you.

Cara steps up first, looking at you cooly. “Sorry about that. I thought you were someone else.” You eye her suspiciously. “Cara Dune, marshal.”  

You ignore her outstretched hand, greeting her reluctantly. “Hi.”

There’s an understandably thick tension that Din doesn’t know how to get rid of.

Thankfully, Karga steps forward with a pleasant smile, “Mando told me all about your situation and I can assure you we’re here to help. I’m Greef Karga, magistrate.” You’re less tense with this introduction and shake his hand when he offers it.

“Welcome to Nevarro!”

[imaginesfordifferentfandoms]

Getting You Back

Click here for my masterlist.

Febuwhump Prompt - Restrained

Prompt - "You just took the one thing I care most about away from me, that makes me very dangerous and it should make you very scared."

You kept your eyes trained on the floor as you were forced onto your knees, not daring to look up. You missed Dwight opening the van, missed as members of your group were forced out of it and onto their knees beside you. You didn’t look up, you couldn’t look up, not when Glenn called for Maggie, not as Maggie sobbed and Dwight shoved Glenn down.

You didn’t look up, not until Rick nudged you, then you turned to him and watched as he nodded ahead. You let out a sob as you saw a bloody Daryl on his knees, watching you with wide, scared eyes.

You went to stand, not giving a damn about the amount of guns trained on your group, not giving a damn about anything other than getting to Daryl but Sasha saw the move before you could make it and grabbed your arm. She held you tight enough to bruise but it kept you in place even as you fought against her, not taking your eyes off Daryl.

“Don’t.” She murmured to you, quietly but her tone was hard, knowing that one wrong move was all it would take for you to be killed.

You watched as Daryl shook his head, barely moving it but you caught it and a silent sob wracked your body as you sat heavily back on your knees, body shaking as you stared at him, pleading with him for something, anything.

“Let’s meet the man.” Simon said and your whole body tensed but you refused to look away from Daryl, desperately blinking away the tears.

A man, clad with a spiked baseball bat and a leather jacket stepped out of the RV with a smirk but you refused to look at him, eyes trained on Daryl who looked back at you like somehow his gaze alone could protect you.

“Pissing our pants yet?” The man asked and you scrunched your nose up, trying to hold back tears.

“Which one of you pricks is the leader?” He asked and both you and Daryl glanced away from each other for a second as you looked at Rick out of the corner of your eyes as Simon pointed him out.

You listened to Negan talk to Rick, hating everything about him as you knelt there, hating the sound of his voice but you also knew that if he was talking, he was distracting himself and not hurting any of you.

You could hear Rick’s shuddering breath as Negan told him the new rules, the cocky jackass demanding all of your supplies, letting Rick know exactly who was in charge and letting you all know that none of you were safe.

“You didn’t really think you were going to get through this without being punished, did you?” Negan asked and you felt your blood run cold at the words, eyes shifting from Daryl to the baseball bat he carried. “I’m gonna beat the holy hell out of one of you.” Negan warned as he stared at each of you, swinging the bat around as he introduced Lucille.

You heard Negan talk to Abraham and Carl and then he was crouched down in front of you and you could feel your heart threatening to beat right out your chest as he followed your gaze over to Daryl with a smirk before he took your chin in his hand and gently turned your face so you were looking at him.

You immediately lowered your gaze, looking at the floor instead of at him but still saw the way he smirked.

“You wanna pay attention?” He whispered into your ear, his smirk widening as you shivered. “That your boyfriend over there, that sonofabitch killed a hell of a lot of my men, maybe I should introduce him to Lucile.”

Negan grinned as your gaze snapped up to him, eyes narrowing into a glare as no words were needed to get your threat across, don’t touch him.

“Oh, I like you.” He laughed as he looked you up and down with an approving nod before he stood back up.

He moved onto Maggie after that, laughing as Glenn jumped for him only to be stopped by Dwight holding Daryl’s crossbow to his face. You watched as Negan let the man off with a warning, raising an eyebrow as a tear made its way down your face, certain that Glenn’s outburst would get him a one on one with Lucille.

Negan watched your face change as you looked at him and laughed before he warned the group against any more daring moves.

Your gaze shifted back to Daryl, seeking comfort in his scared eyes. Daryl looked right back at you, a warning in his eyes for you not to look away as Negan started whistling, fear coursing through your whole body as you nodded at him, hating that it felt like time was about to run out.

“I simply cannot decide.” Negan told you all and you hated that he was getting what he wanted as the tension and anxiety continued to consume you and you desperately wished to be by Daryl’s side. “I got an idea,” He said before the bat was pointed in Rick’s face, then Maggie’s, then Abraham’s, then Michonne’s.

Your heart stuttered as he pointed it at Daryl, using it to turn Daryl’s face away from you and letting it linger there before he moved onto Sasha, Aaron, Carl and then you, continuing down the line before he finally stopped, you and Daryl staring at each other with matching fear as tears slid down your face.

“Anybody moves, anybody says anything, cut the boy’s other eye out and feed it to his father and then we'll start.” He warned before he brought the bat down and people around you screamed.

You choked out a sob, feeling vomit burning your throat as you watched the bat continue to thud down on Abraham. You continued looking towards Daryl as the tears poured down your cheeks and Daryl swallowed heavily as he took in the scene, hearing the noises and Negan’s enjoyment.

It took everything in Daryl to stay knelt down, knowing there were too many guns trained on your group, knowing that Negan wouldn’t give him an opening to get to you, to get you as far away from him as possible. Right now Daryl would give anything for you to be back home.

Then Negan started grinning and laughing, waving the bloody bat around, first in Rosita’s face, then Michonne’s, then Maggie’s before he stopped at you. Daryl watched as the bloody bat was ran along your cheek, leaving a mix of Abraham’s blood and your own blood that poured from cuts as the barbed wire nicked your cheek.

That’s when Daryl couldn’t take it anymore, that’s when he jumped into action. He was up before anyone even realised, taking two big steps towards Negan and punching him in the face with a grunt before Negan’s men had him on the ground, you crying out as Negan stepped close to him, holding the bat out towards him.

Sasha caught you as you went to stand up, pulled you into her and held you tight as you struggled against her, listening to Negan laugh.

“Stop,” She muttered into your ear, “You’re going to get him killed.” She hated the bluntness of her words but they worked, you stopped struggling and she let you pull away from her, you leaning forward as you cried, your forehead resting on your knees.

“That is a no-no,” Negan exclaimed and you lifted your head slightly, watching him crouch down in front of Daryl, missing the looks Rick and Sasha shot at you, Sasha ready to catch you again knowing that if Negan made one move you’d be up.

She wasn’t going to let him kill you too.

You watched as two of Negan’s men pinned Daryl to the floor and it took everything in you to listen to Sasha, to stay still even though every bone in your body was screaming to move, screaming at you to kill Negan.

“Do you want me to do it?” You heard Dwight say, aiming the crossbow at Daryl’s head.

“No!” You yelled and Sasha barely caught you as you leapt up only to have her pull you back onto the floor.

Negan turned to look at you, grinned as he watched you struggling and fight against your friend and let out a chuckle as he gripped Daryl’s hair.

“Get your hands off him!” You shouted and Negan looked between the two of you before he told Dwight no, shooting you a smile as he did.

You listened to Daryl grunt but breathed a sigh of relief as he was dragged back into the line up.

“I told you people the first one was free, then what did I say, huh? I said I would shut that shit down! No exceptions.” Negan exclaimed but you weren’t listening to him, you pushed yourself away from Sasha again and she let you go, keeping a hold of your shirt as her blood ran cold at Negan’s words.

You ignored the man as you turned to Daryl, Daryl already looking over at you, panting with fear clear in his eyes. You forced yourself to smile at him, it was a terrible attempt as your lips wobbled and tears continued to flow down your face but you watched as some of the tension left him as he smiled back just as badly as yours had been.

Neither of you listened to Negan, not until the sound of the bat connecting with a skull sounded. Daryl’s head snapped over to Negan as did yours, all of you watching in horror as Glenn was killed before your eyes, listening as Maggie sobbed and none of you were able to do anything.

You had to look away, your gaze turning to Daryl who kept his eyes locked on Glenn’s body, flinching with every hit and you knew he was blaming himself. You sobbed as the urge to kill Negan spread through your body, looking away from Daryl and lowering your head and not listening as Negan began to speak again.

“Give me his axe.” Negan said to Simon and you watched as it was passed in front of your face, Negan staring down at Rick before he stood and pocketed the axe for himself before dragging Rick away into the RV.

“I’ll be back, maybe Rick’ll be with me.” He said as he left and you closed your eyes, more tears making their way down your face.

You didn’t know how much time had passed before the sound of the RV coming back drew everyone’s attention but you kept your eyes scrunched shut and head down, not able to look up as Negan and Rick left the RV.

“Get some guns to the back of their heads.” Negan said and that made you raise your head, looking straight ahead.

You took a deep breath and let your shoulders square up, sitting straighter and preparing yourself for what was to come. You glanced over to your right, forcing a smile as you saw Daryl already looking at you, guilt, fear and anger clear across his face.

“Not your fault.” You mouthed to him, watching him shake his head.

“Kid,” Negan said and you watched as he forced Carl over to him, watched as he strapped the belt to his arm and felt sick as Negan forced him to the ground and realised what he was going to do, listening as Rick pleaded with Negan.

You gasped as Negan demanded Rick choose between your lives or Carl’s left arm.

You looked away from the scene, looked towards Michonne before looking past her at Daryl who’s horror was reflected in his eyes.

“Look at me.” He said and you swallowed, not looking away from him as you listened to Rick hand himself over to Negan.

Daryl repeated the words to you, making sure your eyes stayed locked onto his even as he glanced back over to Rick watching as his best friend, his brother, sobbed, begged and pleaded with the bastard. Daryl’s eyes couldn’t keep watching the scene but he couldn’t look away either, his eyes darting from you back over to Rick and Negan every few seconds, shaking his head when you tried to look away just as Rick picked the axe up.

Daryl felt himself let out a breath of relief, tension leaving his body as Negan stopped him from cutting Carl’s arm off. He nodded over at you again and you felt yourself gasp breathlessly, nodding back at him.

“Dwight,” Negan said and Daryl glanced over to him watching as the bat was pointed at him, feeling his stomach drop and he glanced over to you, glad you missed the action as you did as he said, not taking your eyes off him.

“I love you.” He mouthed, watching as your eyebrows knitted together.

“I love you too.” You told him before Negan spoke words that turned your stomach cold.

“Load him up.”

At those words though your head shot over to Negan and saw exactly who he was talking about, not even getting a chance to react before Dwight was pulling Daryl up and throwing him into the back of the van he was brought in.

“No!” You yelled, standing up and running over to him, clawing at Dwight’s back, desperately trying to tug him away from Daryl, screaming and sobbing when you felt a hand grab the back of your shirt before you were thrown onto the floor.

“Get your damn hands off her!” You heard Daryl yell as Negan held you against the floor, roughly holding your hair and chuckling as you struggled against his knee on your back, trying to fight him off of you.

“You people just don’t learn do you?” He asked with a grin, “You really want me to kill another person?”

“Take me,” You begged him, still struggling against his hold despite the fact it was getting you nowhere.

“Best get your hands off her or I swear t’God-” Daryl was still shouting and Negan looked over to Dwight with a sharp look.

“Shut him up,” He said and chuckled as Daryl fell silent whereas you were still pleading with him, tears slipping down your face.

“Please, please, just take me. I’ll do whatever you want, just, just leave him alone, please, leave him alone, don’t take him.” Negan relaxed his grip on your hair, brushing it out of your face and watched you look up at him with wide, pleading eyes.

“Shit girl, you’re almost making me feel bad.” He smiled, his fingers trailing across your cheek. “I like you but I want him, he’s mine now.”

“No!” You yelled, still trying to get his weight off of you.

“Yes!” He shouted back, sick of the group now. “I cannot make these rules more simple, you do as I say, I say he’s mine you smile and say yes Negan. I already let your people off with one warning, do not test me today.”

You watched as the door slammed shut on Daryl’s face and you sobbed as he gestured for somebody to take his place, the man pointing a gun at you as you turned around you were on your back and glared up at Negan.

“Want to try something else?” He asked with a raised eyebrow, “And the answer to that better be no because if one more person forgets my rules I’m going to start cutting pieces off…” Here Negan trailed off, looking towards his second in command. “Hell’s his name?” He asked and you felt anger burn inside of you as you sat up, trying to calculate if you could snatch the gun out of the man’s hand and kill Negan before somebody shot you.

From behind him you saw Michonne shaking her head at you, pleading with you to just let Negan do as he pleased.

“Daryl.” Simon said after a pause and you turned away from Michonne to glare at him.

“Wow, that actually sounds right.” He chuckled and crouched down next to you again, locking eyes with Rick as he spoke, “I will cut pieces off of Daryl and put them on your doorstep or better yet I’ll bring him to you and have you do it for me.”

He turned his head towards you and gave you a grin before he leaned in close, whispering words meant only for you.

“Now I have a feeling you aren’t going to follow my rules so let me be very clear, I will not hesitate to hurt him, you make one move I don’t approve of, his death is on your hands.” He smiled as you turned to face him, so close to each other and he could see the hatred clear as day in your eyes as everybody watched you.

“Go to hell you bastard.” You whispered back, hearing your group gasp and cry as they expected Negan to retaliate.

“I like you.” He repeated with a smile, patting your cheek and standing you.

“I’m gonna leave you a truck.” He told you all, “We’ll be back for our first offering in a week until then,” Negan waved a hand at you all and you could do nothing but watch as they all left, your eyes not leaving the van that held Daryl.

You were going to get him back.

You had too.

__________

Daryl Dixon Taglist (Click the link in my bio to add yourself!) - @lovinnholland, @canadailluminate , @cinderellacauseshebroke, @black-rose-29, @classyunknownlover, @cole22ann, @levisbloodcut, @alexxavicry, @mystic-writings, @lizamango, @urbestgrrl, @morganaah, @kaitieskidmore1, @loki-laufeysons-wife, @am-wd-ma, @srhxpci, @jelliebeanss, @black-cat-hardy @fangirl-who-dreams, @fangirl-and-her-fantasies, @mrslizzyolsen, @lolmxria

[h0tchner]

Something More (Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader)

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: Written as a request for the loml, Abby! (@heliotropehotch!) "Could I have a hotch x reader request thats got a love confession- maybe a hurt comfort scene where the reader is maybe torn up about something like self deprecation or some cop makes an off-handed compliment and he cups her cheeks and wipes the tears away? Pretty please 🥺"

word count: 3.2k

includes: love confessions! hurt/comfort, protective!hotch, mutual pining!!!, kissing, a little teaser of sexytimes, work tension, BAU!reader, crying and other emotions, rude af deputies, fluff soooo much fluff

rating: 18+ (cursing, crude nicknames, suggestive sexual mentions, and brief explicit sexual content at the very end)

a/n: HELLO BESTIES! I hope you love this one! If you want a smutty part two, let me know. PLS (!!!!!) interact if you liked this fic; rb, comment, like and/or send me a request if you have ideas for future fics! i love y’all! - rivka💞

some pals tags: @arsonhotchner @laurensprentiss @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie

“It’s time to give the profile,” Hotch announces.

Six words. One sentence. Zero hesitation.

“Go and gather everybody in the bullpen,” he directs Spencer, who nods and quietly exits the conference room to collect your team and the rest of the Sherrif’s department of this small, Wisconsin town.

You stand on the opposite side of the table from your boss, looking at him expectantly. Hotch meets your gaze. His tongue darts out from between his lips as he glares at you from beneath thick lashes. You wait for your instructions, but the instructions don’t come. Rather, you both stand there in a staring contest, unmoving.

You can’t help but feel bare under his scrutiny, but this feeling is nothing new. Every time Hotch looks at you, it feels as if every fibre of your being is on fire. It’s been this way since the very first day you started with the BAU, and, over time, the flame has only burned brighter.

You and Hotch have grown close over the two years you’ve been with the team: closer than he’s been with any of his other agents, even Rossi. It all started with one long night spent together in his office, sharing cold Chinese food, scribbling away at mountains of paperwork. It was then, sitting across the desk from him, laughing at his incredulous reaction when he dropped some Lo Mein on an After-Action Report, that you knew: you were in deep. From then on, your Chinese food office “dates” became a regular occurrence. And then, those regular occurrences transformed into other regular occurrences; to name a few: rides on the jet, side by side, sharing soft glances and tired smiles after hard cases… holding hands to comfort each other when emotionally vulnerable… and even bringing you your favourite coffee on mornings that you’ve needed an extra boost. All these little moments of kindness and care are what made you fall in love with him. You would cross the line from coworkers to more in a heartbeat if you knew for certain that he felt the same way about you. But you refuse to take a risk on losing what you currently have with Hotch for the chance at something more.

The way that Hotch looks at you now, tall and commanding, feels very much like something more… it’s incredibly intimate. He’s effectively stripped away all the layers of protection you’ve built up to do your job with one pointed glance. What you don’t know is that he too feeling the same way, and is toeing a line between being your boss, being your friend, and being your “something more.”

Hotch breathes out hard through his nose. You watch as he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he does. His jaw ticks. He shifts on his feet.

“I want you to sit this one out,” he says.

“Hotch?” You question, puzzled. Nothing about this day has prepared you for him to say that. You start racking your brain, trying to figure out why he would give you such a ridiculous order. Did you piss him off somehow? Did you play-flirt with Morgan too much in the car? Overlook an important lead? Did he not like the coffee you made him this morning?

Looking over at him, you swear he almost looks conflicted… but it doesn’t last.

“This is not up for debate. Do you understand me? You’re sitting this one out.” He repeats, steadfast.

“I don’t understand, what did I do wrong?” You ask more defensively this time, wishing he would give you more information. Something, anything besides the “SSA Aaron Hotchner” routine he was pulling on you now.

“I never said you did anything wrong.” Hotch moves forward a step, finally breaking eye contact, opting to gather files and loose papers into his arms.

“So, then what it is?” You cross your arms, stepping forwards as well, challenging him with your posture.

He doesn’t respond, nor does he look at you. Instead, he lumps more files into his arms before rounding the table, moving swiftly toward the door.

You have never, ever disobeyed one of his orders because his orders have always made sense… until now.

“Hotch,” you say sternly, your stubborn feet moving to stand between him and the exit before your logical brain can stop you.

He’s practically up against you, cornering you between his solid body and the old wooden door. His height dominates your shorter frame, and the heat coming off his body is positively criminal. Your heart flutters in your chest as he stares you down, calculating his next move.

“Out of my way, Agent Y/L/N.” He breathes out, tensing his jaw.

“Fine,” you stutter, “just tell me why and then I’ll let you go.” Your confidence wavers as you’re a little taken aback by his official use of your title and last name.

You’re hurt, confused… and he knows this. No matter how hard you’re putting on your tough-girl FBI face, Hotch can see right through it. He knows this order is unjustified, but he has his own reasons: reasons that he can’t get into. Not now.

Hotch lets his eyes dart to the side, past your head, not daring to look you in the eyes. He wills himself to be gentle.

“I can’t tell you, but I need you to trust me. Sit this one out.” He verbalizes, looking at you a little softer now. His face relaxes a little more into the Hotchner you’ve come to know: the one who calls his son every night to read a bedtime story, the one who grins every time you beat him in chess.

You two stand there a moment longer, your heart racing from the heat of the quarrel and your current proximity to your Unit Chief.

Hotch opens his mouth to say something else, but a knock on the door behind you stops him in his tracks. You step aside and he whips open the door; a very apologetic Spencer stands behind it.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Spencer says, clearing his throat awkwardly, “but everyone is ready in the bullpen.”

“Thank you,” Hotch nods, stepping forward to leave, but you grab a hold of his arm.

“Hotch,” you begin, not entirely sure what you want to say.

“Later,” he answers, finishing the unspoken thought.

With that, he’s out the door and you’re left alone with only stale coffee and a bunch of disorganized files to keep you company.

You close the door behind them with a sigh, letting yourself rest against it again, closing your eyes for a moment in defeat. Three days on this case. Three days of hard work, interviews, and research just to get benched in the end zone. You wish that you didn’t love Hotch, because maybe if you didn’t, it would be easier to disobey him. Opening your eyes again, you scan the quiet room. Then, something in front of you catches your eye and you get an idea.

On the table rests one of the precinct’s phones. It is all too easy to use the conference feature to listen in on one of the other phone lines: specifically, one in the bullpen.

You grin and rush over to the device, feeling a little bit sheepish for not listening to Hotch, but you push the buttons anyway, and bring the receiver up to your ear.

At first, all you hear is the shuffling of papers and muffled voices. You take a seat, leaning back in your chair like the cat who caught the canary. Several more moments pass of bureaucratic white noise, but then, someone speaks.

“Where’s the slutty one?” A male voice whispers.

“Oh, Agent Y/N? Probably on her knees somewhere waiting for her boss to come back.” A second male voice snickers back, matching the volume of the first.

You gasp, the phone slipping out of your hand, landing on the table with a loud thunk.

Scrambling, you grab it again, your other hand coming to rest over your open mouth.

“Don’t know why he wouldn’t let us use her as bait. This whole case could’ve been wrapped up and done by now if we just stuck her in a skimpy dress and shoved her out on the street.” One of them muses.

“Obviously because he’s sleeping with her.” The other mutters. “Agent Hotchner looked like he was going to take your head off when you asked him about it. Thought he was going to deck you for suggesting disguising her as a hooker to lure this guy out.”

“Yeah, he did. She looks like the victims, though. Bet she’s a whore like them too.”

“Deputies, we’re starting.” You hear a third voice pipe up. This time it’s one you recognize: it’s Hotch. “This is your final warning. I don’t want to hear another word out of you for the rest of the day. Not only is this wildly inappropriate, but it is insulting and vile. If I hear either of you speak about, look at, or interact with Agent Y/N, I will make sure you are both charged with harassment and fired from this department. Is that clear?”

With that, your eyes nearly pop out of your head. The deputies mumble something back, but you can’t hear over the sound of papers rustling.

Stunned, you set the phone back in its holder and force air into your lungs.

Waves of thoughts come crashing down on you. You have so many questions and so many answers and it’s all just… too much.

Suddenly, you know that you need to be anywhere but here.

You stand, shoving the chair aside and burst out of the conference room, fuming. You power-walk down the hall, and past the bullpen, focused on getting yourself outside and into the fresh air. Understandably, you don’t look up as you pass the profile briefing, so you don’t see Hotch’s brow furrow at the sight of you. You also don’t see him hand his papers to JJ, excuse himself, and race to follow you out the front door.

Once you’re outside in the parking lot, you look up at the cloudy, grey sky, and the tears start to fall. You feel guilty and angry; part of you wants to run away and cry, but the other part of you wants to walk straight up to those men and kick them straight in the dick. They not only called you vile names, but they also called the victims – those poor, dead women – the same. You sniffle, thinking about how Hotch stepped in and protected you, stood up for you.

Hotch… the thought of him makes you cry a little harder.

You start to pace around, kicking gravel as you went.

Were you that obvious? Was your crush so rampant that two low-level deputies in the middle of nowheresville picked up that easily on how you really felt about your boss?

“Fuck you two,” you curse under your breath to nobody as you choke back sobs. You kick a large piece of gravel as hard and as far as you can, but it doesn’t help.

“Are you okay?” A voice prods from behind you, gently, hesitantly, as if not to spook you. It’s a curt baritone, laced with concern. It’s Hotch.

“Hotch,” you breathe, turning to face him, furiously wiping tears away from your eyes.

“What happened?” He frowns, stepping closer to you, a comforting hand reaching forward to take yours.

Any other day you would grasp it contently, letting him console you. Today? All you can hear are the deputy’s comments. Sleeping with her. Whore. On her knees. You’re embarrassed and ashamed, so, you involuntarily step back.

“It’s nothing,” you put your hands up, looking down at your feet.

“Y/N,” Hotch says, his heart pounding in his chest.

You look back up, locking on his beautiful, angular face. You see every feature clouded in a haze of sorrow and concern.

You know you must swallow your pain and try to get it out. He wasn’t about to let you off easy.

“You… they… I…” you begin, but never finish your sentence. Instead, you start to cry again.

Wordlessly, Hotch moves to cup your face in his hands. They’re large and slightly calloused, encasing your cheeks as his thumbs gently swipe away the tears. His soft eyes search your watery ones; despite your better instinct, you bring your hands up to rest on his chest. You feel his breathing hitch. One of his hands moves from your face to cover your smaller hand against his chest. The two of you stay there, just like that, for another handful of heartbeats. You focus on his hands and how warm and safe they make you feel. Soon enough, you stop crying and gather the courage to speak.

“I heard them.” You whisper, not trusting yourself to say another word. You know that Hotch knows exactly who “them” is, and exactly what it is that you’ve heard.

His brow creases and his hand grips yours tighter. He cleans another tear off your cheek, and then lets that hand down to ball in a fist at his side.

“I’m going to kill them.” Hotch states, furious and heartbroken.

“Me first.” You sniffle.

Your boss sighs, giving you a heartfelt look. Leave it to you to make a joke at a time like this.

“I told them this morning that if I ever heard them say another thing about you, I was going to have their badges. I should’ve kicked them off this case hours ago.” He huffs, closing his eyes, letting his other hand, the one that was covering yours, drop down to his side.

You know this look all too well. You know he’s blaming himself.

“It’s not your fault,” you offer, smoothing your hands over his chest to settle on his upper arms. “Hotch, look at me.”

He doesn’t at first, but eventually, he opens his eyes. His hands open and close at his sides, as if he’s fighting them to be still.

“I’m sorry.” He breathes out. “For everything. For handling this how I did.”

“I’m not.” You chime in, feeling braver, calmer now that you’re here with him. Your comment earns a quizzical glance and a slight head tilt from Hotch, urging you to go on. “You stood up for me. You honoured me. You respected me. You protected me. You –“

With a fierce momentum, your next sentence is swallowed by Hotch’s lips pressing into yours. His hands come up to rest on your hips, and then circle around your waist to pull you closer. He’s warm and soft and intense; you whimper into the kiss, moving your hands to rest on the back of his neck and card in his hair. The kiss is over far too soon for your liking, both of you needing to pull back and inhale.

Hotch looks at you with heavy eyes, hands gripping your hips. He smells like coffee and pine, with a hint of something spicier. Everything about him is overwhelming yet grounding.

“Finally,” you whisper, hands clasped around his neck. “It’s about damn time.”

“It is,” is all he musters, still dazed by the audacity of his own actions.

“Aaron?” You lick your lips, feeling his hands squeeze you tight at your use of his first name.

“Yeah?” He can’t help but start to smile, showing off his adorable dimples and crinkled lines around his eyes.

“I love you; do you know that?” You say in earnest.

Aaron giggles, giggles at your confession, and then attacks your lips again, making you yelp at the surprise. His lips detach from yours only to pepper kisses on your tear-stained cheeks, jaw, and forehead.

“I love you too,” he breathes out, giddier than you’ve ever seen him. He looks like a kid in a candy shop, and it makes your heart leap into your throat.

Just then, a car beeps on the road, startling you two. You’re suddenly reminded where you are, and why you’re here. The thought of having to go back inside makes you groan, and you bury your head into his chest for a moment. He hums into your hair, planting a kiss on the top of your head.

Reluctantly, you pull yourself off his chest to look up at him.

“Forget about them,” you say, “go finish giving the profile so we can close this case and get the hell out of this town so you can take me home and show me how much you love me.” You smile at him, pulling him in for another, lighter kiss.

He grins against your lips, meeting you for another smooch.

“Yes ma’am,” Hotch replies, giving you a kiss on the tip of your nose.

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

Three months later, you and Aaron are coming down from your highs, sweaty and blissed-out after an amazing lovemaking session. After the team wrapped up the case and made it back to Virginia in one piece, you and Hotch went out to dinner the next night. He took you to dine in at the Chinese restaurant that you both usually ordered from on those nights you both spent pining and yearning in his office. It was… perfect. He was perfect. Just as your friendship had blossomed, so did your relationship. One date led to another, one gesture turned into more, and you and Aaron settled into life as a couple with ease. You hadn’t brought up the incident with the deputies since it had happened the afternoon that Hotch had followed you out to the parking lot to wipe away your tears.

Now, as you lay in his arms, wrapped in his strong, loving, embrace, your mind wanders back to their words. However, you don’t feel animosity toward them, rather it makes you giggle.

“What’s so funny hot stuff?” Aaron cracks open an eye and smiles down at you. One arm is tucked underneath his head, and the other is tracing patterns on the bare skin of your shoulder.

“Oh, just that case we had in Wisconsin a few months back.” You nuzzle deeper into his chest with another laugh.

Hotch frowns, recalling the memory, thinking about the way those awful men spoke about you.

“How is that funny?” He asks, hesitantly.

“They called me a whore.” You say nonchalantly, peering innocently into his amber eyes. You bring your palm up to swipe across his cheek softly, feeling the light stubble of his jaw underneath your fingertips.

Both of his eyes are open now, and his hand motions cease their patterns on your skin. He’s confused, and the face he’s giving you is downright adorable. It makes you giggle again.

You detach yourself from his grasp and sit yourself up, carefully shimmying down the bed. Aaron’s eyes never leave you.

You nestle yourself between his legs and look up at him with a smirk.

“They were partially right.” You offer, studying the small changes in his face, watching as his eyes glaze over with lust for the second time that night.

“I am a whore.” You pout suggestively and flutter your eyelashes. “A whore for you, Hotch.”

He shakes his head at you in amusement and chuckles, but it quickly turns into a deep, throaty moan as you wrap your lips around the tip of him.

As you start to bob your head on his already hardening length, you think to yourself: as much as I hate to say it... someone should really give those two deputies a raise.

[withcolebrock]

Lovely

Corpse Husband x fem reader

Summary: Y/N surprises Corpse on his birthday

Warnings: a few swear words

Word count: 1,818

Author’s Note: happy early birthday Corpsey!! I thought about writing a birthday fic and this is what I cam up with, I hope you guys enjoy it. Also please tell me I’m not the only person that remembers Mario Super Sluggers, one of the best Mario games and I stand by that, that’s all. 

~~~

Corpse was never big on birthdays. He hated the attention it brought on him, he hated the idea of celebrating himself like that. He stopped recognizing his birthday when he was fifteen. Never acknowledge the day as something special. Until he met Y/N. Three years ago he met Y/N through social media and she was the first person he felt comfortable enough to show his face to.

The two were never romantically involved, per say, but they definitely had romantic feelings for each other. Their friends were big on teasing them about their feelings for each other, Felix and Sean always had a field day with this. Their friend group thought it was peak comedy. Even Corpse would admit that it was hilarious listening to Sean try to impersonate his voice.

Y/N and Corpse first met on his birthday, he invited her to come over and hang out. She happily accepted the offer. Ever since then Corpse has started to look forward to his birthday because he knew they would spend all day together. He knew he would be happy and smiling the whole day because of her.

He was laying in bed watching one of Dream’s Manhunts. He lifted his phone from his side table to begin to scroll through Twitter. It was the same old tweets and not a lot of tweets from his friends, quite boring. He reached to place it down when he saw a phone call from Y/N. His pinked lips curled up softly as he spent a few seconds admiring the photo of her in his merch hoodie that he took.

“Y/N, Hey,” he said while putting the phone on speaker. He cleared his throat while he rested the phone on his chest.

“I’m so sorry, Corpse,” she whispered, a small whimper left her lips. Corpse furrowed his eyebrows as he adjusted the pillow under his head.

“What’s wrong, Hun?” he asked.

“I can’t make it tomorrow, my car won’t start and my brother came to look at it and it looks like I need a new battery and possibly an alternator, I’m so sorry Corpse, I really wanted to see you,”

Corpse let her finish talking while he felt his heart sink at her words. She was all he was looking forward to seeing for weeks. He spent a few days cleaning his apartment, making it spotless. He went out to the store to buy her favorite alcohol and other snacks. “It’s fi-Don’t worry about it, it’s okay,” he whispered. He tapped his finger against his laptop while clenching his jaw.

“We will still celebrate your birthday, I promise, we will still have a good day, okay?” she offered.

“Yeah, of course, it’ll still be good. Yeah, we can-yeah we can do something over discord,” he explained while he tossed his computer to the other side of his bed as he slowly pushed himself off the bed.

“Are you mad?” she asked, her voice was barely audible.

“No of course not, it’s something out of your control, it’s okay I promise,” he responded while he left his bedroom. His gaze looked all over his freshly cleaned apartment, that never looks this nice and put together, “I was just excited to see you is all,” the words fell from his lips without realizing. His eyes widened as she was silent on her end of the phone.

“I was excited too,” she whispered. After a few more minutes they ended their phone call with a quick shared goodbye. He rested his phone down on the counter as he continued to frustratingly clench his jaw. His gaze shifted towards the bottle of Vodka in the corner of his kitchen. He sighed while he reached for it and quickly untwisted it. He brought it to his lips and took a quick sip of it. He cringed as he set the bottle down on the counter while twisting the lid back on.

“How does she like this shit,” he muttered as he shook his head again at the after taste. He walked towards his bathroom, while dropping his head slightly.  He rested his phone and his watch down onto the bathroom counter. He looked into the mirror briefly before shifting his gaze back towards his feet. He started to take off his clothes to get into the shower and to try and rush the end of the day. He wanted to try and sleep to get Y/N off of his mind.

~~~

He was surprised when he woke up when he realized he did in fact fall asleep for a while. It was late past nine o’clock when he reached for his phone on his side table. He opened Twitter to see hundreds of thousands of birthday tweets from fans. His face softens as his lips curled up into a smile.

Over the years his fans would tell him happy birthday, over social media but this year felt different. The constant messages rolling through slowly started forming tears into his eyes. The amount of endless love he always received from his fans always made him feel better and slightly more secure than last time. His eyes filled with more tears as he saw his friends tweet sweet little birthday messages. A few tears slipped his eyes as he began to reply to their tweets and private messages.

He raised his hand as he wiped his eyes. He shook his head as she slowly stood up from his bed while he kept his phone in his hand. The birthday messages and wishes were a quick and short distraction from the one person he wanted to see. The one person who made him excited for his birthday again. He sighed as he opened his fridge, taking a bottle of water.

The silence in his apartment was heartbreaking, despite the love and appreciation he felt from his fans and his friends, he was still alone. He never wanted to remember the feeling of being alone on his birthday again. He loved the joy and love he felt from Y/N when she would spent the day with him. He wiped his eye as he rested his phone beside his bottle of water when it started to ring. He quickly cleared his throat as he answered the phone.

“Open the door,” she spoke. Corpse’s eyebrows furrowed as he stood silently while he waited for her to elaborate, “Open the door, please,” she continued. He chuckled nervously as he kept the phone to his ear as he wandered towards the door. He looked through the peep hole to see Y/N standing holding a small cake. He chuckled as he pulled the door open. She smiled widely when she saw him. His smile was as wide as it could go as he was at a loss for words. His body was tense as he looked deeply into her eyes. “Happy birthday,” she whispered as she stared towards him. Corpse slowly brought his phone down into his hoodie pocket as he reached out for the cake.

“I thought you couldn’t come,” he said as he walked towards the kitchen. She placed her phone into her jean pocket as she kept her gaze on Corpse.

“Suprise?” she let out while she ran her fingers through her hair. He chuckled as he turned to face her. He leaned his body against the counter while he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Come here,” he said, barely audible. She rushed towards him delicately wrapping her arms around him as he slowly did the same. He took a long deep breath as he ran his hand slowly up and down her back. His eyes shut as he fought off the tears of joy filling his eyes. He sniffed, as she pulled away from him.

‘Are you okay?” she asked as she stood in front of him, anxiously playing with her sleeves. He nodded as he chewed at his bottom lip.

“I’m just happy you’re here is all,”

~~~

They sat together with a half eaten chocolate cake with a half a bottle of wine, with Mario Super Sluggers on the TV screen. She leane her head back laughing as she watched Corpse try and get Bowser to get to first base. “Come on, come on, come on, Oh fuck that!” he yelled through a few chuckles. Y/N gets Diddy Kong to get Bowser out. “Oh come on Bowser you’re supposed to be all strong and shit what is this bullshit,” he complained while he sat back down on the couch. She leaned her head back as she began laughing hysterically.

“I think it’s just you, Hun, this aint got nothing to do with Bowser,” she explained. He shook his head while laughing.

“I am so good at this game, it’s definitely Bowser for sure,” he continued. They played the game for a few more rounds, there was tons of trash talk and laughter shared. A full bottle of wine and a few vodka sodas later they were both drunk and still making their way through the cake sitting on the coffee table.

“I’m so glad you came, honestly would’ve been a shit day without you,” Corpse said as he took another fork full of cake and he slowly brought it to his lips.

“It’s been a great day, it’s always a great day with you, Lovely,” she turned her head towards him. He tilted his head to meet her gaze. A small chuckle leaves his lips as he stares into her eyes, admiring the color. “Why are you laughing?” she chuckled as she spoke quietly. He shook his head as he pressed his lips together.

“That’s a new nickname,” he whispered. She furrowed her eyebrows as she tilted her head back slightly, “Lovely,” he hummed before leaning slightly closer to her, “I like that one.”

“I’ll start using it more then,” she said while she turned her head away from him briefly, “Lovely.” He smiled widely as he rolled his eyes playfully. He lifted his hand and wiped his hair away from his eyes as he reached into his pocket for his phone. He opened his camera. “What are you doing?”

“Smile,” he said while he held the camera facing her. She furrowed her eyebrows and laughed nervously. She smiled towards Coprse. He took a few of the photos and held his phone up as he looked towards her through the phone. He admired her smile, the way her nose scrunched up slightly when she did. He slowly lowered his phone as he kept his gaze towards her.

“What,” she let out nervously, her lips still curled upwards. He shook  his head as he reluctantly shifted his gaze back to his phone. He went to Twitter and picked his favorite one. He captioned the photo, Great Birthday with my Lovely :).

He drunkenly posted without thinking about the repercussions that would’ve occurred.

[the-iceni-bitch]

The Bitch is Back

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x fem!Reader (OTP)

Words: ~2.8k

Summary: You run into Ransom’s cunt of an ex again and it goes about as well as expected.

Warnings: explicit language, Ransom looking like a whole snack, fluff, that blonde bitch, Linda being a cunt, extremely abusive language and allusions to past emotional abuse, more angst than I had intended, my undying love for these two idiots, too many feelings

A/N: I hate her, I hate her, I hate her, I hate her, I hate her, I hate her! Sorry everyone, the angst took over this one and what I had intended to be another fun romp a la Girl Fight turned into a pit of emotion that I couldn’t dig myself out of. I’m gonna go cry.

“Baby, you know we can just go home, right?” Ransom gave you a tired but indulgent smile when he looked at you, tucking his fingers under your chin and tilting your head back so he could look into your eyes while you swallowed thickly.

“No, I’m not gonna give your mother the satisfaction of seeing me duck out of this thing.” You got that stubborn set to your jaw that told him to quit trying to take care of you, because proving to his bitch mother you could actually make it through one of these stupid events without causing some kind of scene was more important than your comfort right now.

You felt bile rise in your throat and swallowed it again. This was fucking ridiculous, you weren’t even on a boat, just the dock. But you still felt like you were going to vomit at any second, watching the motion of the boats rocking on the water making your gut lurch. It almost made you wonder if Linda knew about your stomach’s aversion to being on water when she had insisted on the two of you attending their fucking sailing club’s final regatta. 

“Here we go, one scopolamine patch.” You could’ve kissed Anne when she handed it to you, grateful that Ben’s boat was moored in this marina so you didn’t have to spend the rest of this stupid thing constantly swallowing your own vomit. “Why didn’t you bring your own?”

“She said she’d be fine if she didn’t actually go on the boats.” Ransom ignored the glare you shot him when he talked to Anne over your head, rubbing your arm softly when he pulled you closer to him.

“Did I tell you how much I hate that you two get along?” You frowned when Ransom pressed his lips to your hair, slapping the patch on your neck and sighing when you felt your stomach start to settle.

Anne just laughed at you, shaking her head as she sipped on her cocktail and leaned against Ben. The fact that this guy actually treated you like you deserved did a lot to endear him to her, even if he was an asshole sometimes.

You had been worried at first about introducing Anne to Ransom’s idiot friends, no matter how much they had grown on you. But your friend could hold her own, her no nonsense attitude endearing her to the girls as she chewed out Logan for some dumbass comment while Dylan and Chaz just chuckled that now there were two of you.

This was one of the few things that you actually felt out of your element with, since you could not give a single fuck about sailing with your stupid seasickness. But you could tell Ran was enjoying himself, and every fucking time he got near the water he looked so fucking windswept and dreamy so it was well worth the nausea. That was all gone now though, the scopolamine making you feel just the tiniest bit drowsy and pleasantly warm while Ran pulled you tight against his chest as he whistled for his team’s boat between nuzzling himself into your hair with pleased little hums. Even Linda giving you some vicious side eye couldn’t break you out of your good mood, the warmth of Ransom wrapped around you like a balm for your typical nervous energy. Then you heard Jess mutter an “oh shit” and the sound of a bratty, whiny voice broke right through your pleasant haze and made your spine stiffen.

“Rannie?” That fucking blonde bitch would show up to something like this, just to ruin your day. “I thought that was you. Oh, still with your tramp, I see.”

“Sloane.” His grip around you grew almost painfully tight, growling into your neck as he did his best to take deep breaths. “Don’t you have some puppies to skin, or something?”

You grabbed his hand and wound your fingers through his as you felt him tense up, pressing your lips to the inside of his wrist in an attempt to help him calm down. It had been your sincere hope that after you beat the shit out of this cunt you would never have to see her again, but when had you ever been that lucky?

“Aww, Rannie, thought you couldn’t talk without this bitch’s permission.” She looked mildly uncomfortable when you shifted your gaze to her, your eyes narrowing in a warning that she chose to ignore. “Been missing you a whole lot, baby, when’re you gonna stop slumming around?”

“What the fuck do you want, Sloane?” You were chanting over and over in your head that you were not going to fight this cunt, catching Anne starting to square up from the corner of your eye and giving her a small shake of the head to get her to stand down.

“I’m not talking to you, slut.” She must’ve been drunk, you had definitely taught her her lesson last time. “Just because you can give this bastard a good, sloppy fuck doesn’t mean you get to keep him. You don’t know what he really needs, and he’s too fucking stupid to tell you. God, you’re only sticking with him because he’s such a good fuck, right? That’s like, his only redeeming quality, except for the money. And you and your low class pussy don’t even know what to do with such a fine piece of eye candy.”

“Ok, you need to leave, Sloane.” Ransom may have been full of the anxiety he always felt around his ex, but the way your whole body was wound tight like a spring let him know you were ready to get violent. So he pressed a brief, soothing kiss to your hair and moved to guide this drunk bitch away from another beating.

“Don’t you fucking touch me, god, you really are a fucking moron.” Sloane jerked away from him when he tried to guide her away from your group, turning and sneering derisively at him. “Fuck’s sake, Linda was right, she really should have aborted you so we wouldn’t have to deal with your stupid bull shit.”

“What the fuck did you just say?” You reached your arm out to grip Ransom’s shoulder on instinct when he recoiled like he had been slapped, pulling him towards you protectively as you stared disbelieving at the people around you. “What the fuck did she just say?”

Sloane was just grinning at you wickedly as she sipped on her drink, like she had never and would never do anything wrong in her life. You almost forgot your promise you’d made to not get yourself kicked out of this event, but then Ran was clutching at your waist and making a choked sound and you turned back to him with concern.

There was no one to hold back Anne though, and she hadn’t made any promises about being on her best behavior. So she handed Ben her purse and punched that bitch right in the jaw.

You just gave a grateful look to your best friend before she bitch slapped that twat, security already starting to rush towards the fight as you guided Ransom towards the parking lot while he tried to regulate his breathing.

“Baby? Hey, Ran, look at me.” You’d never seen him look so completely lost, his eyes glistening with pent up emotion when you finally got him to look at you and you felt your heart break. “Oh honey, can you make it to the car?” He just nodded at you as another strangled sob escaped his throat and every fiber of your being ached to give him some form of comfort. “Ok, gimme the keys.”

He handed them to you and you wound your arm around him to guide him towards the beemer, letting him lean heavily on your shoulder and murmuring soft, soothing noises to him as you tried to think of something you could do for him. You knew that bitch was an abusive piece of work but Ran had been so hesitant to talk about it and you didn’t want to push him about it before he was ready, but if the way he reacted to her barb was any indication of how she treated him you might end up killing that bitch.

Ransom’s breathing seemed even more ragged by the time you reached the beemer, barely giving you a chance to shove the front seat down so the two of you could climb into the back and you could instruct him to stretch out over your lap. Your own throat was starting to get tight when he let out a wretched sob, the fingers of one hand running through his hair while the other smoothed over his chest as you watched his face closely.

“Baby, I need you to breathe for me, ok?” You were trying your best to keep your voice low and even, taking a deep breath and waiting for him to mirror your actions until he was pressing his face to your stomach with a piteous whine once his breathing had regulated slightly. “That’s it, you’re doing so good, Ran, just keep breathing.” 

He sighed deeply when you continued murmuring soft words of praise to him, his fingers curling over yours on his chest as he looked up at you and felt the softness of your gaze spread like warmth through his body. 

“I’m sorry.” He moaned when you pulled gently on his hair, his voice raspy with the tears he’d managed to swallow.

“No, baby.” You curled over him and brushed your lips over his forehead, trying not to cry when he wrapped his arms around your neck and let out another shaky breath. “You don’t apologize, ever, you hear me?”

“I thought I was over this shit.” He buried his face in your neck and breathed deep, your warm scent washing over him and finally making him relax. “I don’t want to put this on you.”

“Listen to me, Ransom.” You pulled back a little so you could gaze into his eyes, resting your forehead against his and maneuvering until you were laying next to him across the backseat. “I don’t know if you really think I’m just with you for the sex or what, but when I say I love you, I fucking mean it. I love all of you, so much, and that means that you can put all of it on me, ok? I’m not going anywhere.”

“Fuck, I love you, too.” He whined when you pressed your lips to his gently, drinking you in and pulling you to him as tight as possible when you let him deepen the kiss. “Need you so much.”

“I know, Ransom, I’m here.” You moved your lips up to his cheeks when he finally let his tears start to fall, kissing each one that stained his cheeks as you splayed your body over his while he held you. “My sweet boy, it’s ok. Let go for me, baby.”

He buried his face in your shoulder and did as you asked. It wasn’t loud or dramatic, but you could feel the warm wetness of his tears against the bare flesh of your neck while his chest heaved against yours. You cooed soft words of encouragement into his hair as he wept, letting a few of your own tears fall as you felt the tension slowly seep from his body.

Neither of you were sure how long you laid there tangled with each other, but eventually Ransom felt the last of the pain drain out of him until he was sinking against the seat with exhaustion. Having you there with him was like a balm for his soul, the way your eyes moved to search his once you felt him let out a deep sigh making his lips quirk in a small smile. His eyes were brilliantly blue from the tears he had shed, but you could see a glimmer of something hopeful there, and that made you relax. You sighed when he framed your face with his hands and pulled your lips back to his, the kiss chaste but full of emotion that he was too exhausted to vocalize at the moment.

“You ready to go home?” You pressed your hand over his heart when you leaned back a little, glad to feel that it had slowed down to a normal rhythm as he nodded for you. “Ok, you just stay back here and rest, alright? When we get home I’m gonna draw us a nice bath and we’ll just spend the rest of the day vegging.”

“That sounds good.” He watched you climb back into the front seat with a deep breath, squeezing your hand when you let it linger on his chest before letting you pull it away with reluctance.

You peeked at him through the rear view mirror before pulling out, relieved when you watched his eyes drift closed as he sagged into the seat and let his exhaustion take over. It almost hurt you how much you loved that man, and if you ever saw that cunt who hurt him again, there was a good chance you were going to jail for him.

Ransom was still dozing by the time you pulled up to the house, but he roused quickly when he felt you shake him awake. He let you help him out of the car and smiled warmly at you when you brought your hand up to cup his jaw, humming contentedly when you let him bury his face in your hair as you guided him into the house.

You pressed a kiss to his cheek once you were inside and instructed him to go to the en suite while you got some wine, watching him closely as he headed up the stairs before moving to grab a good bottle from the rack. There was a buzzing from your purse and you pulled out your phone, texting Anne that everything was ok and no, you didn’t need her to smash that bitch’s windows in. She was detailing all the ways she was going to fuck that cunt up and making you chuckle when suddenly the last caller ID you expected flashed across your screen.

“Can I help you with something, Linda?” You poured the Syrah into a decanter and moved to grab a couple of glasses, curious why exactly she was calling you.

“Y/N…” she sounded massively uncomfortable but you could not bring yourself to give a single fuck. “I just… I heard what Sloane said and I wanted to make sure Ransom was alright. He wasn’t answering my calls though.”

“Good for him.” You chewed on your lip as you considered what you wanted to say to her. “Was she lying?”

“What?”

“Did you tell your own child you should have aborted him? Or was that abusive cunt you kept forcing down your son’s throat being a lying bitch?” 

“I never… I didn’t tell him.” She still sounded like she thought she was in the right, and you might have spit in her face if she was in front of you.

“Oh, but you said it, didn’t you?” You sneered and downed the glass of wine you’d poured when you saw her number pop up. She didn’t deny it, and you quickly moved to pour yourself another glass. “You’re a fucking piece of work, Linda.”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.” You could  practically hear her spine straightening over the phone and you rolled your eyes at her. “You don’t know what it was like trying to raise him. Stubborn and spoiled and…”

“Goodbye, Linda. Don’t fucking call either of us again.” You hung up before she could continue, tossing your phone across the counter and draining your glass before grabbing the decanter and glasses before heading upstairs.

“Hey, baby.” He was already soaking when you walked into the steam filled en suite, his head leaning back against the edge of the drop in tub and giving you a lazy grin. “You have trouble picking a wine?”

“No.” You set the decanter and glasses on the tray at the tub’s edge and pinned your hair off your neck before getting undressed and sliding into the water with him. “I had to talk to your mother.” 

“Oh, you had to?” He pulled you against his chest and sighed when you tucked your face into his neck.

“Yeah, I wanted to make sure she didn’t disturb us for the rest of the weekend.” You took a deep breath when he started trailing his fingers over your spine, the warmth of the water seeping through your body and helping you relax as you sank into him. “You wanna talk about what happened?”

“Later.” His arms wound tightly around you, nuzzling into your hair and breathing in the scent of you that always made him feel like he was home. “Just wanna hold you for now.”

[dominimoonbeam]

All The Things They Didn’t Know

The final chapter ended up being a bit long at like 7k!

Tags have been updated for Quinn-reasons on ao3.

Adult-content ALWAYS.

Final Chapter on ao3 and posted right here.

First chapter of ATTTDK here if you’re looking for some Darlin/David get together drama goodness!

-

All The Things They Didn’t Know - Chapter 5

The moon was so bright that he could see it glowing in their eyes, and in the thick blood pouring out of their neck through his fingers. It made everything black that wasn’t moon bleached.

David was breathing fast, his pulse in his throat and the world sliding out from under him.

Darlin kicked at the grass, one hand grabbing at the hand over the wound in their neck, like to make sure it was there, while their other hand grabbed at his chest, twisting in his shirt, pushing at his heart. Tears rolled off their eyes, their bloody mouth moving to try to make words—trying to tell him. Their lips were cut up, razor thin but deep, opening old scars he’d never entirely understood before. Quinn kissed with teeth.

“Take it easy,” he whispered. “Just hang on.”

But of course they didn’t listen, still struggling. Tears pricked his eyes because he realized they were struggling to do exactly what he said—to hang on. His Darlin was literally kicking at death.

David leaned over them even closer, his forehead brushing theirs. They were both bloody. “Please,” David said, voice cracking. “Please.” Their pulse was under his palm, faster and faster, their chest struggling.

They clung to the front of his shirt, body bowing in the grass, twisting, mouth moving and words barely a wisp of sound.

“I know,” he promised. He couldn’t hear their words, no one would have, but he knew and it broke his heart that he hadn’t said it before. “I love you, Darlin.”

They stopped kicking and jerking, body tense until it suddenly wasn’t, heart frantic until it suddenly stopped.

 -6 Hours Earlier-

 David pressed Darlin up against his office door and kissed them. They smiled into it. He loved when they did that, their arms wrapping around the back of his neck and their fingers messing up his hair. He growled low but didn’t break the kiss. They were always messing up his hair and he was always complaining about it. He liked that. It felt like routine.

Their hands found the front of his jeans, popping a button.

David grinned and broke the kiss, one hand to the door beside their head and body still leaned into theirs. “What are you doing?”

Darlin huffed, confused by the question, two fingers curled into the waist of his jeans, skin pressing to skin. “What does it look like?”

He loved when he got them riled before they managed to get him riled. It didn’t always work out that way. “Right here? In my office with at least a dozen pack members in the den outside this door?” Oh, he liked the idea, but it absolutely wasn’t going to happen. They’d fucked in the den before, but only when it was empty and locked up. Just the other night he’d bent them over his desk and fucked them so hard they pushed the desk to the wall. He would have been attracted to Darlin in any body, would have loved them and craved them for the incredible person they were inside, but he very much enjoyed their form. They were close to him in size and could take the weight and force of him in bed. He loved being soft with them, but he also loved being rough and not having to worry about hurting anymore.

Darlin smirked, recovering from the whiplash moment of him breaking their kiss. “Yeah. Yeah, I was thinking…” They popped another button on his jeans loose and then dragged down the zipper, looking him in the eye the whole time. “I was thinking, you stay right there, keeping this door closed while fucking my throat…” They started sliding down the door and he ground his teeth to keep from groaning, their hands tugging his jeans down his thighs until they had his cock out, stroking it. Their knees hit the floor, eyes still turned up to him.

It was probably a bad idea.

It was definitely a bad idea.

If one wolf shifted…

Someone knocked on the door just when their tongue flicked against him.

David growled low and Darlin at least at the sense to look like they’d fucked up, even if he could see them biting back a laugh.

“Boss?” Asher whined, knocking again. “I’m gonna walk in…”

Darlin was on their feet fast, tugging his jeans back up and tucking him in with an apologetic look.

David rolled his eyes, zipping up and going to his desk to sit down. “You are in so much fucking trouble,” he mumbled.

Darlin stepped to the side from the door.

“What?” David shouted.

Asher threw the door open, his gaze flicking between them and his smile growing. “Did I interrupt something?”

Darlin’s smiles had disappeared as soon as the door opened, their expression that perfectly bored one they loved to wear. “Are you suggesting I’d fuck around in the den, Asher?” they asked, straight faced and deadpan like it was the dumbest thing they’d heard all day.

David still didn’t know how they managed to do that.

Asher blushed, eyes growing a little. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry.”

Darlin rolled their eyes and turned to go. “I’ll see you at the apartment later,” they called back, before leaving. “We can finish this then.” It sounded like they were talking about an argument.

David curled his lip and even Asher might have thought it was.

Although maybe not, there was a curl to the corner of his lip and a little mirth in his eyes. Fuck him for knowing too much about him.

“What is it?” David asked.

“Oh. Yeah. Chrissy called in sick today but Amanda’s covering for him, so it should be fine… I was going to order lunch. Do you want me to get food for you too or…are you on your way home?” There was a smirk there and David looked pointedly at his paperwork instead of acknowledging it.

“I’ve got some paperwork to go over and calls to make, so yeah, order something for me.”

Asher nodded, backing up, doorknob still in hand. “Open or closed?”

“Closed,” David said. He had calls to make. It wasn’t at all because he still had an erection and every intention of texting Darlin about how hard he was going to pound them when he got home tonight…not that that would help the current problem at all.

“Sure boss,” Asher practically sang on his way out, closing the door.

“Asshole,” he grumbled, leaning back in his chair and groaning. He was still thinking about what Darlin almost did. Which needed to stop right now if he was going to ever get up out of this chair.

Luckily, he managed to calm down by the time lunch showed up.

It was only two in the afternoon when David left the den, walking down the sidewalk toward where he’d parked his truck.

His phone rang and he tugged it from his pocket without missing a step. He expected it to be Asher. Asher loved to call him two minutes after they parted ways—his beta still in the den.

It wasn’t Asher.

Unknown Caller.

He answered in his formal business tone. It could be anyone.

Someone took a breath on the other end, like they were taking a drag off a cigarette, before saying, “I want to cut a deal.”

David stopped walking. He didn’t know the voice but something in his gut knew who this was.

“I don’t want to have to worry about that misfit hunting me down one of these days, and I’d also like to not make enemies out of the entire Shaw pack.”

Quinn. They were already enemies.

“I can only think of two solutions,” he went on, sounding sleepy.

David glanced at the clear sky and high sun. He would be sleepy now. Was he in Dahlia?

“You can give me your word that they and the pack will leave me alone, and in return I can give you my word I won’t cross your paths again…”

“Or?”

Another breath. Another drag. “Or I can kill the misfit. Depending on your feelings about them, I can see why you might go either way.”

David’s jaw ached. Quinn wasn’t in Dahlia at least. He wouldn’t think there was a chance David wanted Darlin dead if he had seen them. “Okay,” David said. “I’ll give them to you. Where do you want to meet?” It was a longshot, but he could try.

Quinn laughed and it sounded humorless. “You’re just like everyone says… You’re going to let your pack members die just to protect that stray? Really? Because that’s what comes next, alpha. I can’t enjoy my life worrying about you and your pack, which means I’ll have to get rid of your pack. I’ll start with the weak, the old, the young, and the unempowered. Your beta is fucking an unempowered human, aren’t they? Maybe I’ll take them. I could turn them and make them come for you…Make you have to kill them to save yourself. Doesn’t that sound awful? You could avoid all of it. You could save everyone you love. All you have to do is give me your word I can walk free…or give me my stray.”

My stray, he said. David stepped off the sidewalk and into an alley between buildings. He had to try not to break the phone in his hand.

“You know I’m right,” Quinn interpreted his silence as consideration. “They told me themself they never belonged in your pack. You know this trouble is their own making. If you don’t want to get your hands dirty, you can just cut them loose. Turn a blind eye. I’m basically offering to clean up a mess for you, alpha. Make the call. Pain and suffering for your whole pack, or one troublemaker out of your way?”

“Quinn,” David said clearly, coldly. “If you come back into my city, or go anywhere near my pack, I will rip you apart. And that will solve your problem, because you won’t have to worry about watching your back anymore.”

Quinn was quiet for a stretch, no more leisurely drags on a cigarette or tired sighs. “I know you think they belong to you,” he said, grounding out the words like he was trying and failing to be reasonable now. David could practically hear him shaking in anger. “You might be fucking them, alpha, but every time you run your tongue over their neck, you’re feeling my mark.”

David’s eyes widened, his previous thoughts tossed out. Quinn was in Dahlia after all.

“It’s why you haven’t marked them yourself, isn’t it? It’s been weeks and I haven’t seen a single bruise or fresh bite on that neck. I mean, I guess you could have put it someplace else…But I doubt it.”

David’s pulse was in his throat. He needed to tell Asher, warn him to get eyes on his own mate and send word out through the pack. Everyone needed to be accounted for and protected. And he needed to see Darlin. He needed to touch Darlin. He started walking, heading back to the den, the phone still to his ear.

“I’ll give them a once over to check before I rip out their throat, Shaw.”

Quinn hung up.

That sudden irrevocable silence felt like a gunshot at the start of a race. He was calling Darlin when he slammed open the den door and marched back in. Asher looked up, surprised. Milo must have just arrived too, both of them watching him for queues. He poured out the information and both of them were pulling out their phones. Asher called his mate and Milo call his to have them inform the Department before calling other pack members.

Darlin didn’t answer.

“Come on,” he growled to himself, calling again. They should be at the apartment by now. He stood in the doorway, looking up at the sun again like it might have tricked him. It was midday. He saw them just a few hours ago. There was no reason to think… “Damn it,” he shifted and ran for his apartment, it would be faster than driving. He didn’t care who saw.

 -

 The apartment door was open. The frame wasn’t busted. It was just open.

He knew something was wrong—something unchangeable and heartbreaking. He didn’t want to go in but there was no other way. There was no version of him that didn’t push the door into a full swing and step into the unknown of his own home, because it was his and because Darlin might be inside. He never even hesitated.

Cold air hit him, rolling in through the open window.

The coffee table was broken, a lamp busted on the floor, a dent in the wall and frames off their hooks. Scratches ripped up the carpet and blood stains splattered the wall. He knew instantly that there was no one there. The apartment was empty. He shifted a little and inhaled sharp. It was Darlin’s blood and a wolf he didn’t recognize. He tracked the ruin of the front room, imagining what had done it—the way the fight had unfolded. It led to the open window. But it wasn’t open, it was broken. He leaned out, his heart in his throat, and looked down the three flights to the alley behind the building. Shards of glass reflected the moon back at him, scattered around dark puddles. No body. It was a strange mix of relief and gut-ripping horror. They weren’t dead. But Quinn had them.

How? It was midday. There was no way Quinn could have done this himself.

Milo appeared on the street below, frowning hard at the glass shards and blood and then up at the window. David saw the reflection of his thoughts on his friend’s face. It couldn’t have been the vampire, which meant their vampire had daylight friends. “Track Darlin’s scent first, if that goes cold we track the others.” He had no doubt there were more then the one wolf who had bled in his apartment. It would take more than one to bring Darlin down.

The open door niggled at his frayed thoughts and he turned to look at it again. The chain should at least have been broken, the bolt ripped from the frame when someone kicked it in. He had seen Darlin answer the door—more often than not he had seen them pretend not to be home and just ignore whoever was knocking like it was the most normal thing in the world to do. And when they did answer, they liked to have the chain lock in place. It wasn’t because they were afraid, it was just because they thought it was funny to open the door but not really—to remind the person on the other side that they weren’t invited in.

So why wasn’t it locked? Why wasn’t it broken? Who the fuck had they opened the door to?

Miguel and Arden arrived, standing in the hall and looking in at the wreckage. David grabbed a dishcloth and walked back to the living room, glass crushing underfoot. He sopped up some of the blood that wasn’t Darlin’s and then went to the door. He held it out to Miguel. “Someone lost a lot of blood. They’ll need a healer or they’ll be dead not far from here. Find them.”

The wolf took the bloody rag with a confident snarl and set out with two others.

 -

 Within an hour the whole pack was either guarding the more vulnerable members or out following trails.

Darlin’s went cold in a splash bucket of chlorine splashed across a sidewalk, dousing blood drops. Milo followed the chlorine stink to the river, where whoever had tried to cover the tracks had cleaned up. Or, tried to. But it wasn’t easy to shake that. In their effort to hide where they’d taken Darlin, they’d tagged themself but they ran circles in the city. They definitely knew Dahlia.

Miguel and Arden found a lone wolf, leg chomped good and bleeding out almost a dozen blocks from David’s apartment. They dragged him to Marie for healing. If they’d taken him to the Department, they wouldn’t get to ask him any questions, and they knew their alpha had questions.

David was still out searching, so it was Asher that had to ask the questions.

There was a lot of talk about only healing them enough to keep them alive, to use pain and fear to get more answers. But one look and Asher knew that pain and fear were not going to work. The loner was covered in bite scars, from wolves in fights as well as from vampires feeding. A lot of those scars, lining his neck on both sides and coating his shoulders, reminded so painfully of the scars he’d seen on Darlin’s neck. The scars they’d all seen.

So, Asher asked Marie to heal enough to do the job right, not enough to drain herself, but not leaving the loner broken or bleeding out. And when she was done, he asked her and the rest of them to leave.

He saw the way the loner braced, watching him but not looking him in the eye, already snarling like they were enemies—like this was a fight and they weren’t still chained to the floor. How many times had he seen Darlin do that? Snarl like that? Not make eye contact like that?

“We don’t know you,” Asher said, speaking on behalf of his pack.

The loner looked surprised and confused, suspicious on instinct.

No, beating them would never get Asher any answers. He knew it in a way that hurt his heart because it was the way he knew Darlin. Darlin would never answer to anyone that laid hands on them. Would rather break than bend. And they’d always gone through worse, there was nothing anyone could do. He wondered if they were still alive. He wondered if Quinn was torturing them now or if he was waiting for sundown.

“You helped a vampire kidnap one of our pack.”

“No.”

“No?”

The wolf bared teeth again and jerked chains. “I don’t know your pack,” he agreed. “I’ve done nothing to you.”

“Your blood is all over our alpha’s apartment, buddy.”

The fear on their face said a lot. The loner didn’t know who he’d helped steal.

“N-No. No. He said they were a killer, a runaway blood bag and the pack—” he choked back, trying to stop the tumble of words.

Asher resisted the urge to snarl. He leaned against the wall. “The Shaw Pack,” he prompted, hoping he would continue.

The loner winced, breath fast and panicked. “They were a loner, cast out from the pack but stalking the city still. The bloodsucker made the deal, we were just hired to do the job because they were fucking wild!” His breathing came faster now, shaking his head. “No. No. You’re fucking with me. They were a killer and a blood bag. That was no Shaw wolf.”

Asher growled low and the loner flinched back. “That was our alpha’s mate you attacked, threw out a window, and then dragged away to a psychotic leech.”

The loner finally looked up and met his gaze then, eyes big with horror. “No,” he whispered and then shook his head, shouting it with new, desperate certainty, like Asher was a liar playing some fucked-up mind game with him. “No! You’re full of shit. He said his pack was on board with it!”

Asher jerked upright off the wall. His pack? “He? He who?”

The loner clamped his jaw shut and looked away, stubborn now and full of doubt.

“You mean someone pretended to be one of the Shaw Pack and told you they wanted Darlin gone?”

The loner wouldn’t say.

Asher resisted the urge to close in on him or yell. He dragged a breath and expected that he could not force this person to tell him anything. “Okay. You’re going to stay here,” he explained. “I’ll have someone bring you water and no one will mess with you.”

“What—”

“You will die if they die,” Asher continued, just as calmly. It wasn’t without sadness, but it was more for the entire tragedy that that would be. If it came to that, it would mean Darlin was dead and his best friend was broken hearted again in life. Yes, if that happened, everyone involved would die. If not, maybe they could hand him over to the Department.

He sighed and turned for the door.

“It took three of us.”

“What?” Asher paused.

“It took three of us, all wolves, to bring them down. And we tranquilized them as soon as we were close enough. They should have gone down easy. It should have been easy.”

Asher smiled, tears in his eyes. “They don’t do anything easy…”

“That one wolf… He wasn’t pretending to be one of the Shaws. He is one of yours. We shifted. I smelled it on him.”

Asher felt his bones aching to shift. A name struck out in his head but it wasn’t fair, he had no proof. “Do you know where they took Darlin?”

The loner looked away, shaking his head and Asher couldn’t tell if he didn’t know or just wouldn’t say. “Okay.” Asher walked out of the holding room and closed the door. Even from the little hallway he could hear all the noise of the main room of the den. He pushed his shoulders back and walked. He had a traitor in their midst, a missing wolf, an alpha on the hunt, and the sun going down.

Babe was in the den at least. They and a few others had turned one of the rooms into a study room for the younger wolves to work on homework and just try to keep them distracted from everything else.

He stepped out of the narrow hall and checked on Marie who promised she was just fine after the healing. He gave orders not to hurt their captive. It would be David’s business and no one was going to tread on that.

He spotted Christian and a few others on one side of the room, arguing about something with eye rolls and huffs. Arden and Miguel wanted to know if they could go back out and try to pick up another scent or if they should stay and protect the den.

Asher was about to answer when the side door opened and he saw Milo walk in—walk in and then shift back to wolf. It wasn’t uncommon for wolves to hang out in the den in their shifted form but Milo was supposed to be out tracking a scent…and he didn’t look like he’d lost it. He moved so quietly, nose scenting as he skirted the room. And then he stopped and looked up, not at Asher, but at one group of wolves. He shifted back to human and Christian finally noticed him.

He didn’t turn and sneer the way he might usually, or ignore him to be cocky, but for one horrible second, he looked like he might try to run.

“What did you do?” Milo exhaled the words and the whole den went quiet.

Asher wished he didn’t understand—wished it wasn’t falling into place and breaking his heart. As much as he wanted to, he didn’t even doubt it.

“What are you talking about, runt?” Christian laughed but it was thin. The friends around him snickered too, uneasy and confused.

Milo hadn’t taken his eyes off him. He was a split second from shifting again and this time it would be a fight. Everyone could feel it. Everyone recognized that stillness on the edge of violence. It was a like a gunfighter ready to draw. Asher was the only one that came closer. “Milo?”

Milo didn’t look away from Christian. “I followed Darlin’s scent trail from the apartment… You fucking weasel, you hid in their blood scent. I wouldn’t have noticed you being in the building or the apartment because why wouldn’t your scent have been there…but after that…after that you dragged their bleeding body to cover it up.”

“What are you talking about?” Christian yelled. “That’s insane. I wasn’t there and I wouldn’t touch them.”

Miguel and Arden inched closer too and Asher knew they were waiting for his signal. He almost, selfishly, wished David had been there—because then it would be him they watched for signs of what to do. Then it would have been him to make these calls. What would David do? What would he do if he wasn’t following his mate’s blood trails through the city? If he wasn’t imagining them dying a nightmarish death at the hands of Quinn?

“Milo,” Asher urged him to continue—to explain how he came here.

Milo was shaking now, not in fear or cold, but anger. There were tears in his eyes but it was born from betrayal. “You used chlorine, you dumb shit, but then you didn’t get in the vehicle you must have thrown Darlin into to get away. You shifted. You ran. You washed off in the river and you kept moving. Did you think it wore off? Did you really fucking think I couldn’t track that chemical reek on your skin?” his voice rose as he spoke.

“You probably just lost the scent and you’re trying to—”

“Milo doesn’t lose anything,” Asher said and even Amanda took a step away from Christian, eyes growing big with horror when she looked at him.

Arden shook her head a little. “Chrissy?”

“Fucking shift and tell me you don’t smell it,” Milo countered to anyone in the room.

A few did shift, his sister among them. They scented the air and wolves started growling.

Christian shook his head. “What? Chlorine? So what? I was cleaning today and I—”

It was Arden that lunged, snarling and furious. Christian shifted right before she hit him, the siblings tangling in teeth and claw on the floor. Other shifted too, Milo among them.

“Take him alive,” Asher shouted, hating the taste of the words but knowing they had to be spoken and once spoken trusting them to be respected. His gaze flicked to Amanda. She was crying but not moving, her back pressed up to a wall. Her eyes bulged when she found him looking at her, her head shaking and mouth opening to plead innocence. She didn’t know anything useful. But maybe Christian did?

The fight didn’t last long. It only took the couple of minutes it did because they were trying not to injure Christian too much. When the pack parted, Milo had shifted back and dragged Chrissy out. There were bites on his arms and legs and someone had caught his cheek in teeth. He was a mess, blubbering and gasping when Milo put him on his knees in front of Asher.

Asher stared down at him but pulled his phone from his pocket. He hit redial on his last called and held it to his ear. David answered after a few rings, dragging deep breaths. “I’m heading back to the den with Stealth. We dealt with the Department. They’re looking for Quinn as well now,” he said, not sounding the least bit hopeful in that circus. “Tell me you have something, Ash.”

Christian’s eyes grew big and pleading, like he really imagined a scenario where Asher just pretended this hadn’t happened—where Milo did—where the whole fucking pack did. “We’ve got the one that was injured in lock up and we’ve got Christian.” The room was so quiet despite being so full, only the low rumble of growls. “He’s a traitor. Milo tracked him from the Darlin’s blood trail here.”

There was a silence on the other end that Asher knew as his best friend taking in something horrific and readjusting his understanding of the world around him. How many hard talks had David had with Christian? How many times had he spared him with a warning? How many times had he left it at a beating and not an exile?

Asher wasn’t surprised when the line cut off.

He wasn’t surprised when the door slammed open.

He wasn’t surprised by how everyone else shrank back or bowed their head when David walked in today, fury rolling off of him.

And he wasn’t even surprised when Christian begged for mercy yet again.

Milo never let him off his knees, waiting for orders.

And no one was surprised when Christian told David where the last loner had been delivering Darlin.

As the sun dropped, a dozen wolves burst from the building, cutting through the streets with no care to who saw, racing against those last slivers of daylight toward an address on the other side of the park.

 -

 Darlin woke up slowly, feeling hung over. They rolled onto their side and bit back a cry. Their arm was broken and they had glass shards stuck in their skin through shredded clothes. The window. They’d gone out the window. Fucking Chrissy!

And those wolves had stuck them with needles. Drugs? They remembered losing feeling in their arm, and then their leg and their vision blurring even before they went out the window. Yeah. Drugs. What a bunch of wussies…

And then they saw him and all other thoughts and amusements and pains vanished.

Quinn was sitting right there in a chair, waiting. He smiled slowly when they finally saw him.

Darlin’s first thought, was that this was really going to hurt David. Would he find their body? Would he know what happened or always have to wonder if they were out there somewhere? No. He would know. Maybe he would even feel it. Darlin thought for sure they would feel it if the world lost him.

They tried again to sit up, taking it slower this time.

Quinn leaned forward, watching their efforts. He looked better than last time they saw him, unfortunately. He had been a mess last time, both of them had been. But now he was healed and probably well fed, and they were a broken, bleeding, and still slow from the sedatives.

“What’s the plan?” Darlin asked, pleased by how bored they managed to sound. When they managed to sit upright he closed the distance between them in a flash, suddenly crouched right in front of them, his face close. Darlin flinched and hated themself for it.

Quinn grinned big. “I was going to break your bone and then bleed you dry… Maybe leave your body on a park bench for your wolves to find.” He touched their cheek, cupping it.

Darlin curled their lip in disgust.

His smile didn’t waver, his hand sliding lower until it was wrapped around their neck. “But looking at you, fucked up and still defiant? I think I’ll keep you for a while instead. And now that the sun’s down, it’s time to go, misfit.” He stood, pulling them up to their feet by his grip on their throat.

Darlin gasped, boots scuffing at the floor as they tried to get their legs to hold them up. They shook. Fuck. The sedatives still hadn’t worn off.

Quinn leaned in closer and Darlin slammed a fist to his side, under his ribs. It wouldn’t hurt him much but it surprised him enough that when they shifted they managed to bite into his arm when he dropped them, dragging him to the floor with them.

Quinn swore, slamming a fist hard into their face to throw them back. They lost their hold on the shift to the sedatives, turning human again

“You ungrateful shit!” Quinn swore but he was smiling when he did it. They knew this mood. This was his—I love how we’re both monsters, mood. This was bad. He was on them again, hand around their throat and this time squeezing. They opened their mouth but couldn’t get air. They tried to kick him off, trying to pull at his arm with their hand, but it was useless. He kissed them. He knew better than to try to put his tongue in their mouth, so instead he bit at their lips, his fangs so sharp they didn’t even hurt when they sliced.

When he finally broke the kiss and let go of their throat, they tasted blood on every gasped breath.

He pulled them up to their feet again, arm curled around their chest to hold their back to his chest. “I’ve got plans for you, misfit,” he whispered against their cheek and started pulling them toward the front door. They grabbed weakly at the frame but he hauled them outside.

The air was cold and the sky dark. There were trees across the street. The park?

He took one step toward the car before the first howl pierced the night, not far away at all.

Darlin smiled and Quinn froze.

“You should run,” Darlin suggested. He was vampire fast. He might get away if he took off now.

Quinn hissed against their ear and did just that, only he didn’t let them go.

It was dizzying when they were already hazy. He tried to cut through the woods, avoiding the streets. It would lead out of the city if he kept going—if he could out run wolves while carrying Darlin, which they both knew he couldn’t. But he tried. He tried until he finally had to stop.

Darlin groaned, looking up at the moon and trying to focus their vision again. Everything hurt. “Quinn, just run,” they tried again. It was such a thin chance though, that he’d let them go. Maybe he’d think he could try again another time? Quinn loved to live to try again. He loved a plan.

But he growled low against their back, his mouth against their cheek.

More howls filled the night as the pack neared.

Quinn held them so tightly that they felt his fingers bruising into their sides. “If I can’t have you, misfit…” he thought aloud.

Darlin tried to elbow him in the side and get away, tried to kick and twist out of his hold even when it sent waves through their already broken arm and drove pieces of glass deeper. No. Nonono. Not when they were so close.

They tried to shift but they were so drained.

They heard another howl. David. So close.

And then Quinn’s teeth sank into their throat, not a bite and suck, but tearing into skin and ripping. It wasn’t about the meal. Blood slid hot down their shoulder and arm, dripping off fingers and drenching their shirt. He held them up by the back of the neck, licking the blood off their skin and waiting.

He waited there, under the moonlight, until the wolves broke the treeline. Darlin wondered if he smiled at them, if he grinned at David with his bloody mouth. It wouldn’t matter, because David wasn’t looking at him.

When Quinn let go and ran, Darlin’s legs tried and failed to hold them up. The grass was soft but everything hurt.

One wolf jumped over them in the chase for Quinn. Asher. That was Asher.

And then almost just as soon, David was next to them in human form. His hand wrapped around their neck and they jerked as if to get away, even when a part of them knew he was just trying to stop the bleeding. They couldn’t breathe. Their vision blurring and darkening. They grabbed onto him, trying to stay with him.

They tried to tell him. If they were really going to die, then they had to tell him. He was the only person they had ever loved and they hadn’t even said it. He didn’t even know.

His forehead touched theirs and for a second their vision cleared just enough to see him clearly, to hold his gaze. All the pain and panic pressed back, washed away by his nearness. “I love you, Darlin.”

It shouldn’t have surprised them the way it did, but they’d just never been able to imagine it before. David Shaw loved them. Everything was suddenly perfect. And everything went dark.

 -

 David watched them die.

And then Stealth was sliding onto their knees on the other side of them, their hands pressing over his. He couldn’t say anything. He couldn’t look away. He wasn’t even sure if he was breathing.

And then Darlin came back to life with a sudden kick, body bowing in pain.

Stealth winced but he felt them still pouring magic into Darlin, closing that deep wound and refilling blood until their heart was beating steady, until Stealth was shaking. He grabbed their hands and took them away from Darlin, his other stroking over that bloody neck—scars but no wounds. He exhaled soul-deep relief, nodding, hearing Darlin’s heart beat steady and seeing their chest move as they breathed. They were still unconscious, they still had broken bones and cuts, but they were alive.

“I-I’m sorry,” Stealth said, trying to catch their breath, hands still shaking in his. It wasn’t fear though, it was exhaustion. “It’s going to scar. David I’m sorry. I’m not that good at—”

He look at them for the first time since they got there. “You saved their life,” he reminded. “I will never forget that.” Stealth had always been incredibly capable and even if it weren’t for all the strength they brought to the pack, he would have been proud to have them in their family just for how they were with Milo. They were good for each other. But Stealth had never stopped there, they had always tried to be good for the pack too. He touched the side of their head, the way he only ever did with pack members. It was instinct. It was comfort, affection, and acknowledgement. “Stay with them, for me. Rest. We’ll take both of you to a Department clinic soon.”

Stealth nodded.

David got up and forced himself to turn away from Darlin. He could trust them with Stealth. If nothing else, Stealth could shield them. And this wasn’t going to come to that. Not now. Not with Asher dragging Quinn back out of the woods, into the clearing, with half a dozen wolves on his heels.

David met them halfway. No reason to bring him too close to Darlin, just close enough that… Yes, there, that fury and devastation on Quinn’s face when he heard their heartbeat, when his gaze slid past David to see them still alive. Quinn spit blood, half torn apart already and working up words.

David snapped his neck before he could get any out. He didn’t need to hear what he had to say and he didn’t get to say anything more. This night was over.

 -2 months later-

 They’d moved out of the apartment. Or rather, they hadn’t gone back. Darlin kept saying it was fine but David couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t bring them back into a home where they’d been attacked and thrown a window—wasn’t sure he could sit there without thinking about it.

They crashed at one of the rooms in the den. It was tight and not exactly comfy but Darlin made it fun. Kept saying he had become soft from having basic amenities. They bought a house a short walk from the den and he had Stealth put up wards before they moved in. Darlin stuck their dumb rubber duck in the fridge and acted like they were done with the moving in work. They spent weeks arguing about and finally agreeing on furniture. He liked arguing with them almost as much as he liked building a home with them. Darlin had clearly never picked out anything but knives and boots before.

He was making pancakes and they were sitting on the counter watching one morning when they said, “I love you” for the first time. They both know they’d meant to say it that night in the field, but they’d never actually said it.

David looked up at them. They looked away, nervous and uncomfortable. David bit back a smile. “I love you too.”

They exhaled like it was a relief—like they hadn’t been sure it would still be true when they weren’t dying. He should have said it more. He just, wasn’t good at soft shit. He would work on that. They needed to hear it because he needed them to know it. He flipped a pancake on the griddle, while his other arm reaching out to settled a hand on their thigh. They pressed a hand over his, hanging on. He felt their muscles jump. They were still tense. “What else?”

“What?”

“What did you do?” he asked, only half-joking.

“I didn’t do anything!” Darlin defended automatically before sighing out a, “Yet…”

“Yet,” he repeated, flipping another pancake.

One of their hands slid up his wrist, over his forearm, tracing tattoos. “I had an idea. If you don’t like it I won’t do it and we just won’t talk about it again, okay? Like, don’t give me shit about it. I was just thinking, if you didn’t hate it, maybe I could,” they were rambling and fast.

David looked up at them again. “Jesus, just say it,” he laughed.

They looked down at his arm again. “I was thinking I could get a tattoo. Obviously, I don’t need to ask you if I was just getting any fucking tattoo but… One of yours. I was thinking I could get one of your tattoos.”

David stopped laughing. He squeezed their thigh and looked down at their hand on his arm, fingers tracing one of the inked lines there. They wanted one of his? Like matching tattoos? Permanently marked on their skin?

“Forget it,” Darlin snapped suddenly, jumping down from the counter. “Coffee’s done. How much longer before the pan—”

He caught their arm and pulled them back to him. He loved when they looked surprised, kissing them before they could catch their breath, his tongue slipping into their mouth and their body melting into his. When they broke for air they were still pressed together, his arm around their back and their hand curled in the front of his shirt, over his heart, just like they’d been doing since that night in the field. He looked them in the eye when he said, “You can have the whole sleeve, Darlin. Anything I have is yours.”

Darlin stared up at him, surprised so naked on their usually guarded face. He loved all those reactions because he knew they wouldn’t show them to just anyone. They showed them to him, because they trusted him. And he would never fall short of that.

The pancakes burned.

“Oh fuck,” David kept one arm around them, the other picking up the spatula again to flip the pancakes off onto a plate. Definitely burned. “Those are yours.”

Darlin laughed, leaning against him. “I’m not scared of burned pancake… You’re so spoiled, David.”

He snorted. “And you’re feral, Darlin.” Feral, but his.

[watchmegetobsessed]

PAPER-THIN WALLS

a/n: i woke up totally in themood to write just straight up smut... and that's what i did lmao. there's not much plot in it, just a whole lot of fucking, so enjoy!

pairing: Bucky X Reader

warnings: sexual content, unprotected sex, oral, the good stuff

word count: 3.8k

masterlist

The Avengers compound was built almost perfectly with its luxurious suits, several entertainment rooms, fully equipped training areas and millions of hidden snack and drink bars all across the building. But the stress this time is on almost.

Bucky was never sure if the walls were originally built to keep less noise than in any other buildings, or if it was just his super hearing that allowed him to catch conversations and noises that weren’t meant for his ears. He would often hear gossiping agents as he walked down the hallways, or Vision and Wanda talk about recipes and TV shows in her room and there was this one time he heard Nat and Bruce have a discussion that was surely not meant to be heard by anyone but the two of them. He is still trying to get rid of the words he heard.

Having a room next to yours, he often sat on his bed, hearing you shuffling around, humming to yourself. As the latest addition to the Avengers, you felt a little out of place at the compound, like you were a stranger to the team even though they never gave you a reason to think so. This feeling of not belonging is what brought you closer to the century old super soldier on the other side of the wall, who despite being free from the claws of Hydra finally, still felt like an outsider in the superhero filled complex. Bucky always thought he was hard to make friends with, but he had to realize that it was all about who he was trying to make friends with. Because with you, it was an instant, like he had known you his whole life, you’ve definitely become one of the closest people to his heart in a very short time.

With this friendship came some undeniable feelings and tension from Bucky’s part. He couldn’t help but fall for you, how couldn’t he? He would have been surprised if it didn’t happen, after spending so much time with you. He found himself craving your presence, to be with you, talk to you and listen to you at the same time. He was a sucker for your lame jokes that he would laugh at even if they weren’t that funny. He loved your enthusiasm whenever you brought a new book and basically told him the whole plot, spoiling the story, but he never minded, because the way you rambled in excitement made up for everything.

And of course, he has been attracted to you since day one. Even when you weren’t that close, he couldn’t deny how much it affected him when he saw you spar with Steve at the gym in just some tight shorts and a sports bra, or when you linger around in the kitchen early in the morning wearing only an oversized shirt and your underwear hidden under the long fabric. It stirred his fantasies that’ve been sleeping for decades and late at night, when he was lying in his bed restless, his vibranium hand firmly curling around his erection, he thought about you. How you’d taste and feel, what it would be like to have your body pressed against his, his name falling from your lips in a whimper as he pleases you all over and over again. Sometimes he felt dirty after an elaborate fantasy, barely able to look into your eyes, but he just couldn’t help it. You had him in the palm of your hand.

What he doesn’t know is that he is not the only one with fantasies and desires. Because on the other side of the wall, you’ve often found yourself craving the mixture of warm and cold touch from flesh and metal hands, toned muscles flexing under your palms, pink lips whispering into your ears as you arch against his body… Bucky has been living in your mind rent free and you’ve been having a hard time containing your desire for the super soldier.

Having sex dreams is not at all a new thing for you. It happens every once in a while, waking from a heated scene only to find yourself alone in the comfort of your room, a thin layer of sweat coating your skin as you try to bring yourself back to reality. It was never an inconvenience, but in the past few days it’s been getting worse. You’ve had a wet dream for three days in a row, jolting awake right when you were about to climax, a wave of disappointment washing over your body as you fisted the sheets in your sweaty palms. And the worst part? All of them have been about Bucky.

It’s another sleepless night for Bucky, nothing new. He has tried to chase himself into sleep with everything already, TV, ready, music, even counting sheep, but nothing seems to be working, so he is left with lying in his bed, staring at the blank ceiling, the soft bed sheet throw across his naked upper body, only wearing a pair of boxer briefs, because it’s been hot these past week, but he is not a fan of using the air-condition. The dogtags are lying messily on his naked chest, his vibranium finger playing with the wrinkles of the sheets mindlessly.

His eyes slowly flutter closed, a promise of some rest finally nearing the corner, but right just then, he hears some muffled noise coming from the other side of the wall. His eyes snap open as he sits up, trying to make out what it is, but he catches no words, just… grunts and some shallow panting, as if someone was struggling.

What if you’re sick and something is wrong? You’ve been a little worn off the past days, maybe something was lingering in you.

Kicking the sheets off of himself, he pads his way to the door, his bare feet tapping on the hardwood floor as he walks out of his room, heading to yours, stopping at the door. Pressing his flesh hand to the door he takes a moment to listen to the voices so he can make out what’s happening, but it really feels like you’re in a struggle, but he has no idea why. Knocking lightly on the door he hopes to get an answer, but nothing of sort comes and he stays still, debating whether he should go in or just leave. Right when he is about to retreat he hears you gasping, as if you’re at a short of breath and it pushes him to check in on you.

Opening the door he pops his head inside, the darkness fully taking up the room, your king sized bed in the middle, a few strikes of moonlight sneaking through the curtains that are not entirely drawn.

“Y/N?” he calls out softly, not wanting to startle you, but no answer comes once again, however he can see your figure tossing and turning under the sheets, another gasp slipping through your lips.

He walks closer, stopping at your bedside, seeing how your eyebrows are pulled together tensely, chest heaving as you keep moving around. Bucky feels like an intruder, you’re definitely asleep, probably having a nightmare, but he is not sure if he should be in here. Should he wake you? Or just leave? Would you be mad if you found him here upon waking up? After some hesitation he decides it’s better if he leaves, but right as he turns around, taking just one step towards the door, he finally hears a word from you.

“Bucky,” you whine, his name coming out a little slurred, but still clear to him. “Bucky, please!” you continue, his eyes widening as his head snaps around, eyes returning to you. You’re still asleep, but he notices your hand moving down your chest and then disappearing under the sheets, between your legs. That’s when he realizes that it’s not a nightmare. You’re having a sex dream about him.

Clearly trying to chase your release, your lips part as you moan, the voice instantly making Bucky’s cock twitch while hardening. His hands curl into fists as he is fighting himself whether he should do something or leave, but when his name slips through your lips again, he goes feral. He would be damned if he lets you get stuck in your dream when he can please you in real life.

He finds himself striding back to your bed faster like ever, like an elegant lion, hungry for his prey as one of his knees sink into the mattress between your open legs, keeping his weight up on one arm while the other finds your waist. The shirt you always sleep in has ridden up to just below your breasts, the exposed skin watering Bucky’s mouth as he squeezes your waist gently but firmly enough to wake you from your fever dream.

Your eyes snap open and you stare up at him slack-mouthed, your brain barely able to process the sudden change between the Bucky in your dream and the one holding himself up above you in real life.

“Bucky? I—“ you breathe out, the cloud of confusion on your head making it hard to even form a sentence. He leans down, his face just inches away from yours and even though it’s quite dark, his blue eyes are basically piercing. His dogtags fall to your chest, right above your wildly racing heart and you wonder if he can hear the pounding in your ribcage.

“Shh, I’m gonna take care of you,” he whispers and without a warning, his lips crash down onto yours.

It’s so hard and passionate, filled with hunger and longing, the air gets knocked right out of your chest as you eagerly kiss him back while he slowly moves himself until he is fully between your legs, his hips coming down to meet yours and you moan when you feel his erection pressing against your already soaking wet core. Your hands find their way up into his hair, grabbing a fistful of it and he can’t stop himself from growling at your action, grinding himself against your hips, both of you desperate to take it further.

Pushing himself up into a kneeling position, he grabs your panties and tugs them down your bare legs, throwing them across the room before he rids you from your shirt as well, so now you’re lying completely naked in front of his lustful eyes. He could devour you with just his icy blue eyes, he looks glorious, towering above you with his broad, muscular shoulders and toned chest, you’ve never been more desperate for a man before.

Your desire takes action, pushing yourself up your lips meet his chest, kissing the hot skin, your tongue sloppily pressing against him as you make your way up on his body. His vibranium fingers tangle into your hair as he holds the back of your head, pulling you up to kiss you again, both of you in a kneeling position while your hand reaches into his underwear, palming his hard cock, feeling up his size before you push the fabric down and he kicks it off easily, his erection now pressed between the two of you teasing and tempting you, making you buck your hips forward just for the slightest friction.

“Were you dreaming of me, doll? Huh?” he questions, his lips nibbling on your lower lip as he takes it between his teeth and gently tugs on it.

“Yeah,” you breathe out, hands grabbing onto his hips before they move down to his bare ass, pulling him closer to you, earning a moan from him.

“And what was I doing in your dream?” He kisses down your neck, stopping at a soft spot before he starts sucking and biting on it, marking you as his, something he’s been aching to do since the moment he laid eyes on you for the first time. Your brain almost shuts down, one of his hands is on your jaw, keeping your head in place, while the other one is gripping your waist harshly, his fingers digging into your muscles. You fail to answer his question as just a whimper leaves your lips at the sensation.

“Words, sweetheart. Use your words for me, will you?”

“I, uhh—You used your f-fingers,” you croak out, a satisfied grin tugging on Bucky’s lips at your words.

He pushes you back on the bed, making you lie on your back as he gets on top of you once again, but this time he doesn’t stay like that long, after a hard kiss he climbs down until his face aligns with your core, his hands parting your legs widely, baring you to him fully.

“Tell me, where did I use my fingers?” he hums, face so close to your center that you can feel his hot breath on you. He teases you, running his hands up and down your spread thighs, his fingers just grazing your folds before moving away every time.

“Bucky, please!” you cry out, grinding your hips up, but you only reach his chin before he leans back with a pleased grin on his face.

“Just tell me and I’ll do it. Where did I use my fingers?” he repeats.

“On my pussy! You fingered me!” you groan, your cheeks heating up from the blunt comment you just made, but it’s exactly what Bucky wanted to hear.

Two of his fingers find your clit easily, starting off with slowly drawing circles on it, stimulating your nerves and it’s nothing like in your dream. You curse under your breath when his fingers move to your hole and he pushes both of them inside, his lips taking their place on your clit.

“Oh fuck!” you groan in pleasure, your hands immediately snapping to his head, fingers lacing into his chocolate locks as you shamelessly grind against his face.

Bucky is not a man of many words, but god damn, he can use his mouth like a fucking master. It feels like your whole body is on fire, you’re sweating and shaking, his fingers curl inside you every time he thrusts into you and he is stroking that one heavenly spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back into your head. His tongue is slick and sloppy against your wet pussy, but he is drinking it all up as if you were his last meal before death.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum! Bucky!” you gasp as your back arches at the sensation, your orgasm building up rapidly.

“Cum on my tongue and fingers, let me make your dream come true,” he growls against your heat, picking up the pace of his fingers which completely throws you over the edge.

You come with chanting his name over and over again as you ride your high, thighs shaking and tightening on either side of his head until you’re finally able to catch your breath.

Bucky pushes himself up, his lips glistening from your juices and you watch him wipe his mouth with his fingers, licking them afterwards like he just finished eating a chocolate cake, a satisfied grin on his ridiculously handsome face. He crawls up on you until his lips can finally reach yours again, kissing you in a slower pace, but still with a lot of passion to offer.

“Tonight wasn’t my first sex dream about you,” you slyly admit, lips brushing against his as you speak.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Mhm, so there’s more to act out.” His still hard cock twitches again and you’re fast to reach down and palm him again, wrapping a hand around him as you give his cock a few lazy stokes, but it surely has an effect on him.

You’re quick to turn him over, pushing him to lie on his back as you straddle him, steading yourself with holding onto his waist, his eyes bore into yours intently and your mouth hangs open when you grind against him, his hard cock sliding between your wet folds.

“The other day, I dreamed about riding you, your cock filled me up so good, but right when I was about to cum I woke up,” you tell him, not sure how this sudden confidence came from, but you just can’t help yourself. Bucky growls at your words as his fingers dig into your thighs.

“Then let’s make up for that, love,” he breathes out and you nod eagerly, lifting yourself up just enough to position him to your hole and then you sink down as far as you can, his dick filling you up inch by inch and your breath hitches when you finally settle, his length fully buried inside you.

“Oh, fuck!” you whine before you start moving yourself up and down his cock, grinding back and forth, the feeling of him inside you so intoxicating, you think for a moment that this might still be your dream. If it is, you hope you don’t wake up this time.

Though your training has strengthened your legs so you are able to ride him in this position longer, it still tires you out. Bucky notices when your movements slow down, his hands running up your torso, kneading your breasts before they end up on the back of your neck, pulling you down so you lie on top of him, his strong arms wrapping around you. His lips kiss the side of your head before he starts thrusting up into you, doing the work for you this time. You can’t stop yourself from moaning and whimpering as your second orgasm is starting to build up, your senses are on the edge.

“Fuck, Y/N, I’m so close,” he gasps, his thrusts becoming a little uncoordinated and you feel the same way, only moments away from your climax.

You push yourself up, pulling him with you, wanting to take back control before you both reach your relief, you get into a sitting position that allows you to grind in his lap, moving your hips back and forth as fast as you can. Bucky’s lips find yours again, kissing your sloppily before they travel down your neck and he licks at your collarbone as you hold onto his broad shoulders.

“You feel so fucking good, oh God!” he whines, his head falling backwards as you keep moving, both of you sweating, but neither of you really cares, you’re just relentlessly chasing your high again.

“I want to feel you cum. Please, Bucky!” you beg him, squeezing your walls around him, the action completely maddening the man as he holds you to his chest and flips you over with ease, his body weighing down on you as he starts fucking into you fast and hard. You could throw a fuss about how he took control again, but you don’t mind it, not at all. Because the way he pounds into you, his cock disappearing to the last inch inside you with each thrust, your whole body starts shaking as your orgasm finally reaches you.

Your squeeze your walls again around him and the moment he hears his name fall from your trembling lips he cums inside of you, filling you up entirely, marking you with his pleasure.

He rides his high with a few more sloppy thrusts until he stops, his forehead falling against yours as you both try to catch your breath. He captures your lips in a soft and slow kiss, so different from the ones you shared before. Then he finally rolls off of you and you let out a displeased grunt when you feel him slide out of you.

For a while it’s just the silence in the room mixed with your soft panting, but he is the first one to break it as his head rolls to the side, looking at you with those fucked-out eyes of his.

“How long have you been having these dreams?” he asks, turning to his side so his hand can spread out on your naked stomach, fingers drawing tiny circles on your sweaty skin.

“A while,” you admit.

“I wish I heard you earlier through the wall,” he chuckles, but your eyes widen.

“Wait, what? You heard me through the wall?”

“Yeah. Thought something was wrong so I came over to check on you.”

“God, I must have been really loud,” you laugh, covering your face with your hands, but he is quick to peel them off and leaning closer he kisses your lips gently.

“Don’t blame yourself, these walls are like paper. And besides…” A sly smirk tugs on his lips as his hand comes up to cup your jaw, his thumb running along the line of your bottom lip. “I fucking love it when you’re loud.”

“I wasn’t even screaming yet,” you tease back, your comment definitely catching him off-guard, but he likes it.

“We’ll get there next time.”

You and Bucky walk into the kitchen in the morning, completely oblivious to the rest of the world, still in the bliss of last night. Nat, Tony and Steve are sitting at the kitchen island, sipping on their morning coffee when you emerge from your room, all eyes immediately glued to the pair of you.

“Well, good morning, everyone,” you chuckle a little nervously, not sure what the stares mean.

“Morning,” Nat smirks, shaking her head before she turns back to the newspaper unfolded in front of her.

“Nice of you to make an appearance, I have some news to share with you all,” Tony announces as you pour some coffee for yourself while Bucky grabs everything he needs to make breakfast for the two of you. Nodding you signal to Tony that you’re listening. “I decided to do some remodeling on the compound.”

“Oh, what are you getting done?” you ask, wondering what could possibly need work on the building.

“Nothing major, I’m just gonna make the walls soundproof, so we don’t have to listen to you guys fucking all night long.”

You almost choke on your coffee at Tony’s blunt comment, cheeks heating up right away, you were not expecting that. Though he is looking at you and Bucky, who is now standing behind you with a hand on your waist, with a stern expression, you can see the small smile hiding in his eyes. He finds the situation rather amusing instead of annoying.

“Yeah, next time maybe keep it down a little,” Steve suggests as he stands from his seat, grabbing his mug. Walking past the two of you, he pats Bucky’s shoulder however. “But I’m glad you guys are finally getting it on,” he comments before walking out, Nat and Tony following him right after, leaving just you and Bucky in the kitchen.

You glance up at him with concern in your eyes, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, but he doesn’t seem to be ashamed at all. Instead, he leans down, pecks your lips shortly and then whispers:

“I told you. Paper-thin walls.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

[spikesbimbo]

Girls need love

Paring: Aran ojiro x f!reader

Summary: having a big mouth sometimes works out.

Tags: fwb to lovers, frenemies tsumu, big bro suna, use of weed, tw: pregnancy scare, soft freaky dom aran, use of word bunny and every other pet name, gives himself a handjob with your hands, daddy kink, cunt slapping (with his dick), oral sex, creampie, squirting,  hurt/comfort <3 , unrequited love

wc: 4.5k words of filthy, tooth rotting smut.

a/n: thank you @explvrer for proofreading!! —part of the Love Club Love Collab !!!!!!!

18+ Minors DNI

The pink and orange was reflected as you looked out the window . The clouds looking like they came out of a painting along with the man next to you. The smoke coming from the back of the car to you as you inhaled the comforting scent, hearing tsumu and suna arguing over who got it next.

Your gaze turned to him. Eyes lingering on his hands gripping the wheel, his arm taking up all the space on the console as you wanted to so desperately hold onto his hand, so warm and comforting as the dirty thoughts rushed into your head.

You softly shook your head, suna tapping you on the shoulder asking you if you wanted a puff, shaking your head again before tsumu said “you should've drove so aran could smoke.” 

“Ay, shut it.” Suna replied, slapping him on the back of his head, as you heard him groan and apologize.

“It's fine, we still got the whole night.” his warm gentle voice let out. The way you pouted “don’t wanna drive.” when you all went out, looking up at him with your puppy dog eyes, immediately saying “ok”.

You took your place in the passenger seat, as usual, grabbing the aux with tsumu quickly whining “fuck no!” because you always played some indie love songs while he was tryna listen to travis scott. 

“What?… Valentine's day is tomorrow, lemme get in the mood. Don't you have a girlfriend, you should understand.” which successfully shut him up for the time remaining. 

It was obvious he doted on you, but they just put it to the back of their head because they did it too. But suna knew what was up, even letting it slip to samu, saying that the way your eyes lit up around him and the way he held you close definitely meant y’all were atleast fucking.

Which was right. 

And he confirmed it when he walked into the same bathroom that he ‘saw’ your legs wrapped around his friend through the crack.

Mumbling out an “oops” as he was about to close the door before he saw you crying, his big brother side coming out as he decided to open the door fully, sitting next to you. 

He understood what was going on as you let it all out while he waited with you, luckily finding out that the test was negative as you finally calmed down, and he kept his word keeping it a secret.

Your eyes turned form the darkening sky to him. His vision was on the road as pulled onto the exit to drop them off. His cool eyes, so formal, contrasting his appearance. The heat in your body rising as your eyes never left him.

Thinking about how it started after one night when you were a little tipsy, seeing girls all over him as they took his precious, well-needed attention from you. Your tiny brain grasping how attractive he was from this perspective as a man and not a ‘friend’ while you watched his teeth shine though his smile 

Admiring his glowing skin under the dimmed lights and his tall big frame towering over yours was all you needed to get on your tiptoes and put your lips on his, the taste of the chapstick being engraved in you memory. It not taking long for his hands to wrap around your waist, picking you up and taking you to the guest room leaving you bedridden for the next day.

Fortunately it wasn't uncomfortable the next morning as you put it in your head, “its only awkward if you make it” . Waking up with a headache, recognizing the bed as his from the times you studied here in highschool. The sheets holding you back as you were borderline tucked in, finally freeing yourself letting them fall off, being stark naked in his room already feeling the pain grown in your tummy.

You just sat on the edge of his bed, holding the sheet to your chest warming your cold body waiting for him to come back. And on queue he walked in, only in his grey sweatpants hugging him just right, trying not to ogle him as he walked up to you, stroking your forehead before handing you an advil.

“You okay?”  He asked, wondering if he was talking about your physical or emotional state.

You let out a forced giggle, “yeah”, trying to lighten the mood as you tired to calm your nerves.

The words “wanna do this again?” slipped past your lips, not realizing you would regret this, falling for him quicker than any other man you've been with. Not knowing just the sight of him would make your knees weak and tremble, not knowing the pain of never being able to take it further.

Not knowing that you’d be crying over him every time you left. Always being a reminder that you were just a ‘plaything’ and he could cut you off at a moment’s notice.

He grinned back, lips turning up as he leaned on his hands to get closer to you “Well... you on birth control?” 

You all got out of his car, chatting a little before they left getting on the train. The words “love you” leaving his lips, voicing it in a friendly way after saying goodbye, and even though it wasnt directed at just you still made your heart race.

You had no claim over him besides the marks you left, the indent being printed skin deep as your nails dug in his flesh. The only remains of the nights you’ve spent together. Waving goodbye as he walked back to you, just you two alone now, the way you wanted it. 

“You wanna spend the rest of the day with me princess?” Already knowing the answer from the way you were squirming under his touch as he smirked, bending down into your ear, his hand resting on your side.

You leaned in for a kiss before quickly pulling away, dragging him to the car with a giddy smile on your face. Wanting him to feel as neglected as you were right now; so what if you havent got rawed for three days, it was a long time when you had someone like him doing it.

“Missed you daddy” you mumbled into his ear, your tone of voice changing to soft and sweet just around him as he started the car, longing to be touched as you clung onto his rough hands that were so soft on you.

His lips hovering over yours, dragging them in as his breath touched yours. “Missed you too baby”. His grip on your hand got tighter, bringing it down to his crotch. “Look what you did to me pretty girl. You know what you're doing with that little pout on your face.”

Your smile was the brightest it had been all day, hearts in your eyes as he drove back to his place, his hand covering yours on your thigh, fingers reaching far past yours as you felt them gripping you, inching closer and closer to your needy little cunt.

Not wasting any time getting inside as you started stripping the instant he closed the door behind him. Throwing off the heavy sweater keeping you warm, pushing him down on his bed as you moved your body, feeling it up in the pretty lingerie you wore just for today. 

“I know you love to show off.” he muttered as you bent over, shaking your ass is his face while he was leaning back admiring his view. “But c'mere sweet girl.”

You did as you were told and almost skipped up to him, wrapping your arms around him. Holding his face in your chest as he started placing wet open mouthed kisses on every inch of skin he saw. 

“jiro, please.” you whined out after your neck was sore from all the attention it was getting, wanting to direct it somewhere else. 

“you want daddy’s dick that bad, princess?”

Just the lewd tease of his voice had your pussy clenching, no shame left in your body as you reached out for him, your newly done nails gently grabbing onto the collar of his shirt. Grip tight as ever, your body so tense from trying to hold self back.

“So impatient baby, you got me for the rest of the night, m’not going anywhere.” He chuckled at your greedy little hands making their way up his shirt. Your lips met his again as his hands gripped onto your ass, sliding his fingers under your panties.

“Wanna make you feel good.” you whispered into his mouth, heart racing as his hands made their way up to your lower back, leaning into him. “Wanna make you cum.” He stopped his hands where they were, his clear eyes meeting yours, face having no shame in sight.

“fuck, baby.” he groaned, his tounge sliding into you mouth, your lips getting more angry at his biting while you palms were running down his to his cock. Your tiny hands wrapping around it though his boxers, running through his head if you knew how filthy you looked right now.

You pulled them down, whimpering at the sight of it already so hard, wrapping your hand around his cock as much as you could, the precum acting as lube. Using both your hands as you started moving them, looking straight at his face to see if you were doing a good job.

“Fuck, you're such a good girl.” he said, his hands resting on your back as you puckerd you lips letting spit fall onto his fat head, knowing he loved how slopy you got him. His breath choking as you moved one of your hands down, caressing his balls. “my good girl.” 

Your wrist getting heavier with each stroke, trying so hard to keep it going because his moans were so heavenly. And the way his cock was throbbing and twitching against your palm only made you grow slicker. Wanting to do your best to prove that you could take care of him, that you were the only one he needed.

“stay there, s’okay i got you.” His hand wrapped around yours, engulfing it completely as he started using yours, moving it up and down, his eyelashes fluttering as he could barely keep them open as you count help but stare, wondering what did you do to deserve a man like him.

His groans weren’t helping your situation too while he was guiding your hands faster as you could tell he was getting closer, squeezing your palm a little tighter with all the drive you had left until he came, thick white ropes being spread onto both your hands. 

Your thighs clenched around his, almost coming with him as a little whine escaped. Eyes rolling back as you grinded against him, leading his big hand up to your mouth, sucking it in as you licked around his dirty fingers. “Fuck youre so wet”

You adjusted yourself, now laying on the bed as you were trying to calm down, leaving you legs open as you twithced under his gaze. “Was thinkin bout you daddy... couldn't help it”

He groaned as his hand moved toward your ankles, holding them up in the air with his strong arms as he rubbed your swollen nub with his free one. Your cries and moans being music to his ears  whiel your pretty body was bouncing under him as his fingers worked their way up into your cunt, you walls pliant around him as you let him abuse your clit, unconsciously letting out lewd sounds.

Your voice is cut as he lets go of them, diving his head right back in kissing your clit. Fucking his fingers back into you, angling them to hit your g spot, the rule in the back of his head that he had to make you come more than him taking over. 

You should be embarrassed how he has you legs spread open with the sound of your wetness, but you aren't, empty of every thought except of him making you feel good.

He knows how you like the feeling of him curling into you after fucking you so many times, knowing eachothers bodies inside and out, but something he can never catch onto is when you squirt.

Always coming as a surprise to him and you. Not knowing what causes it, from it being him bottoming out, to just whispering dirty shit into ear while fingering your cunt. But he loves the look of relief painted on your face, the shame being long gone as you could only feel pleasure with him.

Your mind goes white, orgasm rushing into you while you tried to push his chest away with your feet. Sobbing as his fingers didn't stop, body thrashing. It felt so good, your daddy always making you feel so good.

But he just kept  going, fucking them into you even harder while his tounge flicked up and down on your clit, making you come harder and harder each time, resulting in a mess all over his chest and the sheets beneath you two.

Your blurry vision made out his handsome face, body soaked from you slick, both of you catching your breath as he wiped your eyes before kissing you, knowing how bad you wanted it.

Yes, it was a rule at first that you two wouldn't kiss, or do anything else too intimate, but that went out the window the night he was fucking you chest to chest, forehead to forehad, neither of you being able to resist the urge to connect them. And it hasn't caused any problems, yet.

He pulled back, taking in your appearance, still so needy, Your body adapting to his, as you could last for more than a few rounds now. “What you want doll, gotta tell me.” He looked with lust in his eyes as he waited for the answer, spreading your lips open watching the mess drip out of you.

“Fuck me, please, jiro,” you choked cathing the tears in your mouth, as he was quick to give you want youwanted, after your pretty voicedbegged for it, replacing his fingers with his cock. Resting it on your cunt, slapping your it on your clit a few times to see you squirm before placing his tip inside you.

“daddy s’too big” you whined as you bit down on one on of the fingers you put in your mouth, trying not to wince. You would've thought your cunt would've followed along with the rest of your body, but even when you were a soaking mess it still barely fit.

“Aww baby, but you're dripping so pretty for me, you gonna take it like a big girl?” Your eyes rolling back as he shoved it in more, pushing it back far enough to have you whimpering.

“fuck, sweetheart, so tight,” he groaned with your face in his neck while he was trying to ease you into him. Your whines getting more vulgar by the second, body finally taking him whole as his cock was kissing your cervix.

You wished you hadn't slept with those other guys trying to fill your void, them not even being close to getting you off, just wanting to feel someone's. Not knowing you prince charming was right in front of you all this time. 

 Did you regret the guy you lost your virginity to? no. Was he a bad person? no. Did he fuck you right...no. But at least you were slightly experienced, wanting to do your best to please him. Worried that he'd get tired of you one day and find someone else.

But he made you feel it all over again, the way his cock stretched you out as he gently worked his way into you. His vision shaking as his thrusts get rougher, your trembling arms reaching up for him as he just ignores them. 

“My sweet girl sounds so pretty when they're getting fucked.” he muttered holding back a groan, his thrusts getting faster as he knocked the breath out of you along with the word “my”. The possessive claim had your mind spinning while your hands gripped onto his skin so tight you know you leave a mark, not wanting to let him go.

“You love this cock?” You could feel him say against your breath, the soft vibrations of his lips catching your moans as you brushed your lips against his.

It didn't take you a lot to admit it, a “-yeah”, quickly escaping from your dry lips, covered in spit, a mix of his and yours soothing them.

“You love the way i'm splitting you open, pretty girl?” 

Getting overwhelmed by the pleasure, your emotions grew with it not being unusual for you to cry while he was fucking you.

 Of course you loved the way you could barely take his cock, the way just looking at it made you mind go hazy. Your legs shaking as you didnt care about trying to control them anymore.  You loved the way that you were the only one who could make him feel this good, doing you best to maintain it that way. 

“Yeah, fuck..L-love you “ you sobbed out, fat tears running down your face, not even registering in your brian what you said until you noticed he stopped his movement. It clicking after his eyes turned from hazy to clear, his expression in shock, only visible to you after all this time you've spent together.

“Fuck” you muttered, tears falling even more as you tried to move your limp body away from him. But he held you still, not pulling out, trapping you as your eyes grew wetter and wetter, nose sniffing from embarrassment.

“What’d you say?,” he asked, moving his body away from you. The feeling of disgust rising in you, hating yourself for letting those words fall from your mouth. The way he pulled away made you crumble, bringing your hands up to your face trying to hide the best you could.

Throat closing, your dry eyes swelling again, “m’sorry … fuck, i didn’t mean to say that aran.”

“hey....angel, look at me.” He said, stalling. Not knowing exactly what to do but wipe your tears, not wanting to see his precious baby upset, breaking his heart to see you so distraught. He stopped after you finally calmed down enough, his thumb still stroking your cheek as he moved your jaw to look up at him.

“Say it again.”

“Wha-” He pressed his lips against yours, “tell me that again, fuck baby. You drive me crazy, you don't know what you do to me. I haven’t been with anyone since we started fucking.”

 Your eyes red as your face slightly twisted in confusion, too tired to express itself fully. “Don't cry.” he whispered, foreheads close again. “it's okay, I got you.”

“C’mon baby, just tell daddy what you want and i'll give it to you.” he said, edging you on, wanting to prove it to you in the only way he could.

“w-want...you daddy” you mumbled after some time, wiping your eyes as your head was still tuned into your arm.

“Good girl” he muttered. “I'll make it all better.” his hand wrapping around the back of your neck to keep your eyes on him. “all you have to do is cum on my cock, you can do that for me, right?”

“yes, daddy." the only words to leave your lips as you try to be on your best behavior, knowing that bad girls didn't get daddys dick or get to cum. 

“still so tight, bunny.” He said, pushing himself into you again, lips besides your ear wanting to let you know good you made him feel. “already creaming on daddy’s cock”

“Who’s is this baby?” The question sinks into you along with his hands as his fat cock is splitting you open, his thumb tracing circles on your clit. Face flushed with a newfound pride growing along with the burning feeling under your skin. “Yours jiro, belongs to you daddy.”

“That's my good girl,” he cooed, kissing you open mouthed on your lips, lingering there before he pulled away. Your heart swooning at the affection and attention. He still fucks into you hard, his hands feeling up every inch of skin on your body, stopping at your soft tits, pinching your nipple as you whined out. 

“Look at you,” he huffed out, “Brain not working huh? You like my cock that much, sweet girl?”

“Y-yeah, like it... like you” you mumbled out, your words being slurred as you feel the heat rise with every stroke.

“I know sweetheart. Is that why you’re drooling all over the place? Does it feel that good, bunny? Having my cock inside you?” he smirked as a groan escaped his lips, slowing down making sure to hit every spot.

He drags out of your throbbing cunt so painfully slow, forcing you to feel every inch of him. His hips angling different, fucking you rough as thrusts back in just as slow, teasing. He pulls you closer, his cock pressing against your cervix

“Yeah, daddy loves you and this tight little pussy too.” His deep warm voice making you melt, your cries growing more erratic after every word left his lips. 

“Jiro, daddy wa- wanna come… together” you sniffled out, swearing you could feel the tip of his cock against your womb. 

“Yeah baby? You sound so pretty wanting me to stuff you full.” Your parted lips, eyes struggling to remain open, letting out silent moans as he was taking it all in, his ego rising knowing that he was the one who had made you like this.“don’t worry, sweet girl, daddys gonna take care of you, as always. just lay there pretty.”

“Ple-, p-please.” you begged, voice trembling, tears rolling down your cheeks as you clung onto him. He brought your legs up and pushed them towards your chest, folding you in half, as you tried to find a new place to place your hands.

“Wanna- cum, ple” you hiccuped, nodding off into the kiss. Mind in a whole new world body going limp again as he grabbed your arms and wrapped them around his neck hanging on there, wrists stuck together as his head is so close to yours.

He’s mumbling out some nonsense as you can feel him starting to throb inside of you, kissing up your neck until he’s tugging on your lips.“You gonna cum again, give me one more?”

You can’t even respond, letting out some deformed moan, because if it wasn't obvious your pussy belongs to him, you belonged to him.

You came together, feeling his cum rush into you nonstop, so hot. His cock jerking inside your soft body. Keeping his eyes on you loving how your thighs twichted and fluttered, his hand resting on your back arching as you let out your final cries.

You feel so weightless, the only thing keeping you grounded is his hands on you, his mouth on your cunt, not even realizing he pulled out, licking it up wanting to show you how pretty the mess you made was.

He comes back up to you, knowing that you wanted to be kissed and coddled as your emotions were foggy. Opening your lips with his thumb, his tongue covered in your cum making its way inside your mouth as you easily accepted it. His hands wrapped around your jaw as he finally broke free.

Your whole body was sensitive, so sore after being with him but this time even more, whining as he laid you beside him snuggling into his arm. He just chuckled, before giving you a gentle hug, already tired.

“You wanna wash up?”

You hide your face in his arm, using the cool feeling of the room as an excuse.“no, dont pull out.”

His laugh was soft as he turned you two onto the side so he could face you. “You’re so spoiled.”

“I wasn't lying earlier… I, love you.” He said, the weight on his chest feeling burdensome that he made you feel like this for so long. You stopped moving completely along with the hand resting on his chest. You turned and looked into his eyes.

“Well, why the hell did you say anything!” you pouted as you turned your messy worn out head towards his.

His mouth opening to apologise but you got to him before he could get a word out, kissing him so hard,that he couldn't breath. Your body now on top of his, your whimpers from his cock nudging inside thinking he’s being eaten alive, never wanting something more.

You finally give up as he turns disgustingly sweet, cupping your cheeks as he keeps pecking your entire face, staring at you like you were the only thing in the world, making you breath hitch. “I love you, too.”

“Baby?” he asks quietly after you two just laid there for what felt like hours. His hand tracing patterns all over you from your neck down to your back. “You here?”

“Yeah” you lied groaning out as you rubbed your eyes that you could already tell were swollen.

You looked up at him, his hand pulling your head into his chest, realizing he must've put the blanket over you two, feeling so comfy again that you were nodding off. “Hold on baby, lemme ask you something.” he chucked out sttoking your forehead

“Wanna be my valentine?”

You nod the fastest you have your entire life, a fat smile appearing on your face as you hid into the comforter as he let you cling to him all night, never being able to say no to you.  You breathing growing quieter and quieter until he can barely hear it, and that's when he can finally rest too. You loved him and he loved you.

[aussiepoguepunk]

Perfect Storm pt3 (JJ Maybank x reader)

Summary: heartbreak is hurting JJ in more ways than one.

Warning: angst, mention of pain, crying, JJ's lungs, smut,

Part1 part2

_____

Why would you do that?” JJ tried to stop himself, but going on not knowing, it was killing him. In that moment JJ was more vulnerable than he had ever been in front of another living soul. He was anxious and confused, his throat burning as a consequence of the sobs that filled his sleep. Heartbreak and desperation tightening around his lungs, awaking that all too familiar pain in his chest.

 “If you rejected me, fine. If nothing happened an-and we kept-'' JJ paused, his lungs tightening. “-kept on the way we’ve always been, I-I-I wouldn’t be confused,” Tears had begun streaming down JJ’s cheeks and he didn’t care at this point. “but..but why kiss me if you were just gonna ...I-I…” JJ ran both his hands through his hair, only making it messier in doing so. “I don’t understand.” he whispered, letting himself cry again with his head in his hands. The sound of his sadness echoing quietly through the van.

Y/n felt her heart shatter. She’d made a mistake in thinking he didn’t have feelings for her.

JJ’s muscles tensed from the unexpected contact. Y/n having wrapped her arms around the boy, one around his back, the other coming under his chin.

“I’m so sorry, JJ.” She rested her head lightly on his shoulder that shook with each of the boys’ quiet cries. “I was trying to prevent anything from getting too complicated. When you said you had a thing for me I misunderstood and thought it was just in a sexual way.” She hugged him tighter. “I never meant to hurt you.”

JJ tried to stop crying but his lungs felt like they were on fire. In an attempt to cope, even though he knew it would do nothing, he clutched the fabric that covered his chest. A weak cry of pain barely leaving his mouth. 

Y/n removed her arms from around the blonde. “JJ, please stop crying” she brought her hands to his face, getting him to face her. It was then that she saw his red puffy eyes. JJ had always been a master of puppy dog eyes, so to see their beautiful blue colour stained with sadness was unbearable. He still held his chest, strands of his hair sticking out in all directions.

“It...it hurts.” JJ sobbed, beginning to move away. Y/n pulled him back to her.

“I know, sweetie. I'm so sorry. I should have talked to you about it, I was just-”

“N-No my...my lungs” he managed to correct her.

It took Y/n a second to realize what he was talking about, but once she had her only concern was him. Well, more than before. 

“Shit. Okay, do you think you can move to the back of the van? Maybe lay down.” Y/n asked, a new tone of concern and care taking over her voice. JJ only shook his head, breathing becoming more difficult as he continued to cry. 

“What-how do you usually stop the pain?” Y/n tried not to sound alarmed.

“I... c-c-calm.” JJ whimpered.

“Alright just… hey JJ...hey come on” she tried to get him to look at her again but he was beginning to panic.

There were probably a dozen other things y/n could have done but she didn’t have time to think about them all, she just went with her gut. Guiding JJ out from behind the steering wheel, she pushed his shoulders back. Y/n sat herself on one of JJ’s legs and took his face in her hands, kissing him gently. JJ froze, his breath caught in his throat, letting out a long exhale when Y/n pulled away.

“You’re okay J. I got you, alright.” she hummed. JJ looked up at her, his breathing slowly steadying as he tried to speak. “Shhh. Breathing first. Talking later.” Y/n hushed, pushing back stray hairs that had fallen on the boy's forehead.

JJ let himself lean into her touch, the fiery pain in his chest gradually dying. His fingers toyed with the hem of the sweatpants pockets to further calm his nerves and focused on Y/n as she fixed his disheveled hair, listening to her sigh quietly once she brought her attention back to him. JJ closed his eyes at the feeling of gentle hands on the back of his neck, moving his hands up from the pockets of the sweatpants to hold her sides. It was a peaceful moment, the boys breathing stabilizing as a welcoming warmth fluttered in his stomach.

After a small movement on Y/n’s behalf the warmth and anything JJ felt was feeling overshadowed, a grunt being drawn from the surfer. 

“What? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” Y/n panicked, trying to move away when JJ held her sides tighter, releasing whimper that sounded desperate, and more needy.

“nothi- mmh- Nothing’s wrong, just-” He tried to speak but JJ had become painfully aware of the placement of Y/n’s knee and where it kept grazing everytime she moved while she straddled one of his legs.

“Oh, God! P-Please stop moving!” JJ pleaded, squeezing his eyes shut when Y/n’s knee brushed against his groin again.

“Am I hurting you? I-I’m sorry. I didn’t think I’d be too heavy.” With a small voice she apologised and began to push herself off of him, only to be pulled back.

“No! Fuck. You’re not too heavy, Y/n.” JJ took a quick glance between the two before letting his head fall back on the seat . “Y-Your knee just isn’t in the best place for you to keep moving around like that.” 

Her face glowed red once Y/n noticed what was happening. A tingling sensation beginning between her thighs.

“oh”

“If you could just- mgh- just give me a minute to-mmh” he stopped when she began to litter his jaw with kisses.

“I’m...here...to...help you J” she whispered against his neck.

“Let’s move to the back then” JJ gestured to the vans back seat.

A hoodie and JJ’s boxers were all that kept them apart as he pulled her to sit on his leg again, desperate kisses and needy hands bringing them closer. Gripping her hips firmly, he guided her centre to slowly rock back and forth on his thigh, cherishing the little whines she released at the contact. The pace he kept her at was torture. Fighting against JJ’s stong hold, she did anything she could to go even the slightest bit faster. 

His thigh glistened from her arousal, feeling himself grow harder while the sounds of her wetness moving against him filled his ears.

“p-ple-ease” she breathed, gripping his shoulder tightly, trying to grind down on him more.

“You want more, baby?” he teased, somehow slowing the pace even more. She nodded eagerly, biting her lip to suppress her moans.

“You can have my fingers. Do you want that, angel?” JJ slid his right hand to rest on the inside of Y/n's leg that sat between his.

“Please J” she begged, letting a needy whimper slip past her lips.

“Well since you asked so nicely...” Carefully JJ caressed her inner thigh, making his way upwards, eventually beginning to massage her. He moved his fingers up and down through her folds, spreading them apart to toy with her clit between two fingers. Y/n gasped at touch, tingles of pleasure swirling through her. But just as it had begun, it disappeared, the wonderful feeling vanishing for only a moment as JJ freed her from the hoodie that covered her naked body. He resumed his previous actions, now using his other hand to tenderly caress her breasts. 

“Move your leg over, baby” JJ instructed, removing his hands. 

"but I like it here." Y/n whined, displeased once again with the loss of touch.

JJ pulled her forward kissing her sweetly, leaning next to her ear "So do I, baby. But I'd like you grinding on my dick even more" he whispered, his sentence very near being enough to make the girl cum then and there. 

God how she wanted him, both in the purest and most scandalous way. 

Y/n shifted her body to straddle JJ, resting her hands on his stomach as he laid back against the seat. His many hours of manual labour in different jobs had most certainly played off, leaving him with an abdomen that would put famous sculptures to shame. 

Profanities fell from her mouth, rolling her hips over the surfers tightly clothed hard-on. The girl bit her lip to suppress the uncontrollable expressions of pleasure when JJ's hips bucked upwards from underneath her. 

"This is great and all babe" he panted, slowing down the pace and lifting Y/n's hips so that she would hover barely centimeters off of him. "but if we keep going, I'm gonna cum in my boxer" 

There was a moment of silence, Y/n trying to think of words to say, all sensibility blurred for pleasure. 

JJ rushed to fill the quiet "if you don't wanna go any further, tell me. I won't do anything you don't want to." He explained. 

Y/n was happy that JJ was being a gentleman about things, it was very reassuring, but right now he looked so good layed back on that seat, torso coated from perspiration as his hands gripped her thighs. She'd much prefer to skip the chivalry. 

Anticipation began to shape her thoughts, mind imagining all the ways the two of them could express their affections. She quivered feeling her wetness leek down her inner thigh, a needy whimper leaving her.

"JJ. For my sanity and yours, can we skip over the whole 'taking it slow' thing?" She pleaded, shifting under JJ's hold in desperation of any sort of friction.

Without a word the boy lifted her from his lap. The cool leather of the seat sent goosebumps rippling over her body when it came in contact with her warm skin. 

JJ stood, removing his boxers swiftly. The bulge that previously occupied his underwear had displayed his size well, his erection now free from the constricting fabric. 

The blonde kneeled between Y/n's legs, leaving a trail of kisses upwards until their eyes met once again. 

"There are so many things I wanna do to you right now." JJ sighed, moving his fingers teasing between Y/n's thighs. He was driving her crazy.

"Can you just fuck me." y/n suggested, entirely flustered. 

JJ pretend to think for a moment. "Well I suppose eating you out can wait for another time." 

Before long the van began to rock with every movement, every thrust JJ made. The sound of Y/n panting his name was as sweet as he had dreamed. 

"Sounds so beautiful, baby." He'd whisper in her ear, kissing along her jaw, every now and then groaning when her fingernails would dig into his back. All of it building, every moan and kiss leading up to their peak. 

The climax was blissful, pure serenity away from the lighting of the storm. 

JJ rested his forehead on hers, Y/n's chest heaving up and down quickly. 

"I'm really glad we could work out our differences." JJ laughed lazily. 

"oh yeah, I really think it strengthened our relationship." y/n smiled moving wet hair away from JJ's face. 

He pulled her in to rest her head on his chest. They laid there staring at the roof peaceful and content, but something seemed off with JJ. A look of concentration painted across his face, staring at the roof as thought it was presenting him with a math problem.

"You okay, J?" Y/n ask lifting her head from his chest. JJ contemplated his answer, nervous that he might mess up the moment.

"Are we- um... you and I…" he was cut off with a soft and loving kiss.

"Yeah. We are." Y/n nodded, bitting her lip.

The blanket now comfortably draped over both of them, they held each other close for the rest of the night.

_____

I feel like the ending could have been better. :/ but I still like it.

Taglist: @taylathornton @skyfallgazingstar @poguesarah @mysticalhearteagle-trin @wannabejjmaybankswhore @gia-maybank

[catholicdaredevil]

soft || matt murdock & foggy nelson

this is just a small 1k of cute mattfoggy on their first date that i wrote at the request of and for my darling @momokodaisy

warnings: mentions of alcohol and drinking but not a lot

words: 1k

ao3 link

gif credit: @cloudyfacewithjam

“Why d’you always do that?”

They’re sitting, knee knocking into knee at a corner booth tucked away in a dark corner of Josie’s. All of this dancing, the back and forth, the lead-up had done just that and led up; up to a date that was so horrifically awkward that they both considered calling it a night. Until Foggy had the best idea, a certified Foggy Nelson is a genius idea. So they’d ditched the stuffy restaurant, taken a tense cab ride across town and all of the apprehension melted away the second they walked into familiar territory.

“Do what?” Foggy’s hands fall to his sides, done running through his hair in anticipation.

Matt frowns, his own hands twitching in front of him, dying to move forward and land on the blond somewhere, anywhere, “you like, play with your hair whenever we’re in a room alone.”

“Oh, it’s a nerves thing– I just do it when I’m nervous,” he can’t meet Matt’s eyes, knowing it’s a moot point but it’s the principle of the matter and his anxiety can’t let him look anywhere but down at the scratches dug into the wood from all the years.

“I make you nervous?” There’s concern laced in Matt’s words and Foggy can’t help but jump to justify, unwilling to let Matt be unhappy on his behalf any longer.

“No– well, yes, kinda. I just have really fucking liked you, since college actually, so it’s just a lot. Not that you’re a lot, I’m a lot– I’ve built this up a lot, which is like my own fault.” Once the words start it’s a lot harder to stop them than Foggy expected, word-vomiting out onto the table in front of them. Matt hums along when he talks, confirming that he’s at the very least listening.

Then there’s a long moment of silence, in which Foggy thinks maybe he’s ruined the whole thing. Why did he say he’d liked Matt since college, now there’s some added pressure for Matt to live up to this idea Foggy’s had of him since then. Foggy’s about to cut Matt loose, break the ice and give him a chance to leave before this gets worse, when he’s interrupted from his thoughts by a gentle hand against his thigh and Matt’s soft words.

“Y’know I liked you in college too.”

Matt hears the way Foggy’s heart lurches in his chest, like it’s trying to break out and leap into Matt’s arms, like it belongs with him. It warms even the smallest sections of him, the ones long frozen over thought to be gone from the kind world, in just one instant Foggy melts them all, setting Matt’s cheeks on fire with it.

“I think it’s– I think it’s why my hair’s so soft.” Foggy blurts out, brain going haywire in light of this new information placed gently at his feet. “Cause I run my hands through it so much, I mean. I think that’s why it’s so soft.”

A crooked smile pulls at Matt’s lips and he leans back to take another swig from his beer, head tilting as he puts every sense at his disposal entirely on Foggy. “See, I never got that. Everyone says it, everyone says that your hair is so soft, but they’re not touching it. They’re just seeing it, I don’t get it how does your hair look soft. How do people see soft?”

“Well, you could touch it, feel it. My hair.” His brain still hasn’t fully caught up to the moment, maybe if it had he wouldn’t have been forward enough to say it. Maybe if it had he would have at least said it more coherently, but it’s too late now the words are out there and he can see the way they settle over Matt. The way Matt thinks, practically chewing on Foggy’s words, deciding how they taste, how he feels, before nodding.

Foggy’s entire body freezes in place, so still he’s barely breathing when Matt’s hands reach out hesitantly. He only moves to catch onto one of Matt’s hands, to guide it up to his hair. Matt’s fingers dive in, curling around strands, running all the way through it to the tips of blond hairs then going straight back to the start and doing it all over again.

Matt’s entire face falls, slips into a look that can only be described as bliss, blissed out under the feeling of soft silky locks of hair. He keeps going, for minutes that tick by his expression melted into a goofy smile that pulls at Foggy’s heart so desperately. He wants this look to live on Matt’s face, so different from every frown, and line of concern that usually find their home there.

“Soft,” is all he can say, hands still continuing their path, scratching along Foggy’s scalp. It feels great, having Matt’s hands on him in general is always something that makes him a little gooey on the inside, this is no different, if anything it’s better to watch the man enjoy it.

“Told you, it’s soft,” Foggy practically cooes, inching forward so that it’s less of a stretch, scooting into Matt’s space until their legs press up together. It takes another moment for Matt to finally catch a hold of himself, cheeks burning as he drops his hands into his lap. Foggy reaches out to grab onto Matt’s hands, rubbing slow circles across broken knuckles with his thumb.

“Sorry, it’s just very soft, you were right.” His tone is abashed, embarrassment creeping back onto his face and Foggy does the only thing he can think of to try and stop it. He lifts Matt’s hands to his mouth and presses a kiss to the back of his hand.

“S’okay Matty.” Upon the reaction, Matt’s small gasp the second Foggy’s lips touch his skin, Foggy decides to push it a little. Leaning in and kissing Matt’s flushed cheek, but Matt turns at the last second and connects his mouth with Foggy’s. He tugs at Foggy’s hands pulling him even closer to deepen the kiss and Foggy thinks he might cry.

Because here he is.

A lawyer, with his own practice.

Winning cases.

Kissing his best friend.

[inkykeiji]

Many sad thoughts running through my head but I can imagine Dabi having trust issues as you and the other anon saying. Him being afraid of getting left behind. I feel like he would say “I didn’t mean to say I love you” at some point because that’s a type of vulnerable he doesn’t want to be but it’s just one of many thoughts

AHHHHHHHH anon anon why must u hurt me like this?????? pls my whole heart just broke at this and i uhhhhh wrote 1.7k words about it,,,

❅ cw: soft dabi, angst, rly sappy ❅

It seems to happen at the most random of times. It isn’t like the movies, isn’t ever after some profound incident or momentous occurrence shared between the two of you—no, it’s always right after the most mundane things; after he catches you brushing your teeth in a cute matching set of panties and a tank top, sticking out your tongue at him, mouth full of foamy white toothpaste; after he finds you curled up on the couch buried under a fluffy blanket, nothing more than a lump and a head as your eyes rapidly scan the pages of the book in front of you, entirely absorbed in whatever world it’s built for you; after he walks into the kitchen to see you by the sink washing a few dishes, hips swaying and head nodding as you hum along to whatever song is blasting through your headphones.

But God, does it hit him like a motherfucking bus every single time, punches him in the stomach without warning, knocks the breath straight out of him.

He’s usually good at keeping it to himself, usually able to swallow it back down when those three little words begin to creep up his throat, dancing on the back of his tongue and restricting his breathing.

But eventually, he messes up.

You had started it, right after you had finished sprinkling the pizza stone with some flour while he was rolling out the dough, wiping your powdery fingers down his t-shirt, then swiping a thumb across his cheekbone, leaving a streak of white flour painted in its path, a little mischievous smile on your face and glint in your eyes.

He retaliates immediately, grabbing a pinch of flour from the bag and flicking it right in your face.

“Dabi!” you gasp, but your shoulders are shaking with silent laughter as you wipe at your face, fingers only managing to leave more strokes of the substance instead of clearing it. Your hand dives into the bag, grasping a handful of flour, inhaling deeply—enough to expand your entire chest—before blowing air out of your mouth, casting tiny, thick explosions of white at him, speckling his shirt and dusting his inky hair.

“Oh, you little brat,”

And, fuck, you look so goddamn beautiful, giggles ringing out around the room, flour strewn in your messy, tousled hair, smears of it across your cheeks and neck, sprinkled on your clothes, eyes bright and breathing laboured with exhilaration as you daintily leap away from him.

They’re bubbling up in his chest, those three stupid little words, climbing up, up, up his throat to settle on his tongue, light and sweet, floating in his mouth like candy floss and melting on his tongue only to be resurrected by another one of your giggles, or playful yelps, or squeals of his name.

And he’s too preoccupied to remember to swallow them down, to chew and chomp on them until he’s crushed them into a thousand tiny pieces as he chases you around the kitchen while you throw clouds of flour at each other, too enraptured by the soft, cute, precious sounds he’s endlessly pulling from you, too hellbent on hearing more, a man possessed.

Because he hasn’t laughed like this in ages, isn’t sure he’s ever laughed like this in his entire life, and they just slip out, when he finally catches you, chest heaving a bit from the thrill of it all as large hands curl around your shoulders.

“God, I love you,”

They’re muttered softly, just a huff of breath, really, blanketed by his laughs and yours, and you nearly miss them.

Nearly.

And then, everything stops. Your laughs abruptly cut off, and he wishes he’d have missed the sharp intake of breath you inhale through your mouth, lips parted slightly, wide eyes staring at him as your body freezes up, going rigid in his grasp, feet fused to the floor.

He stops, too, lets go of you so quickly you’d think your skin burnt his palms through the thin material of your shirt, sapphire eyes growing wide—wider than you’ve ever seen them before—as his mind catches up with his mouth, stumbling a few steps back from you.

He wants to say something, anything, but his voice is caught in his chest, fading into pathetic squeaks of breath any time he tries to force a few words out. And it aches, heart pounding almost painfully against his ribcage, breathing shallow—almost ceased completely—as he stares unblinking at you, sharp, tingling anxiety flooding his veins.

And you—well, you’re staring at him with this look in your eyes, something that he can’t decipher, and it makes his stomach lurch. It’s a look he’s never seen before, your eyes shining as you gaze at him, almost glittering as you stare at him, unmoving, unbreathing, unexplainable. Are you upset? Angry? Disgusted? Stunned? A combination of all four? None at all?

The fact that he can’t tell, that he doesn’t know, when he prides himself on being able to read others so insanely well, ignites flames of anger that alight his entire body, right to the tips of his fingers and his toes, blazing straight through the anxiety and simmering in his chest, eyes hardening as they glare back at you.

A beat passes, your ears ringing from the thick, tense silence draped over the room, and then he’s pushing past you roughly with a choked snarl that sounds a little like a mix between a sob and a growl, and storming out of the kitchen.

He’s cut off all communication entirely, has been ignoring you for a few days now, only leaving his bedroom out of absolute necessity and refusing to answer any of your countless texts that have been collecting on his lockscreen, refusing to even touch his phone. He doesn’t want to see what you have to say, desperately tries to convince himself that he doesn’t care, that he isn’t scared of what your messages might reveal, isn’t terrified of that impending rejection he’s so sure is lurking on the horizon.

But there’s only so long he can keep avoiding you before you finally catch him in the kitchen, just past three in the morning, fixing himself a late-night snack.

“Oh, thank God,”

He whirls around at the sound of your voice, cobalt eyes gaping for a moment before narrowing into sharp slits an instant later.

“Dabi, listen—”

“No,” he growls, eyes flashing. “You listen, I don’t want to fucking talk about it, alright?”

Leaping in front of him, you block his path, prohibiting him from leaving the kitchen and speaking quickly. “Yeah? Well I do!”

“I don’t care,” he spits viciously, the ache throbbing deep in his chest—at the very core of his body—reminding him otherwise. “There’s nothing to talk about, anyway! It’s not like I meant them,”

And that—that gets you to stop, tripping a little over your own feet as you stumble back like he’s physically slapped you, a soft, hurt little whimper getting caught in the back of your throat as tears rapidly pool in your eyes, blurring your vision.

“Wh-What?”

He glares down at you, molars grinding together as his nose twitches.

I didn’t mean to say I love you.

What a pathetic fucking sentence—it’s almost laughable, the corners of his lips quirking up in a sardonic little grin. Your breath hitches, and his shoulders tense at the sound.

‘You aren’t supposed to know I love you’ is much more accurate, his mind sneers at him. Coward. Fucking coward.

“I didn’t mean it,” he says, though his voice is beginning to quiver, trembling hands curling into tight fists in an effort to stop it, short nails biting into the flesh of his palm as the skin stretched taut over his knuckles turns bone white.

“Didn’t mean what?” you whisper, glistening tears finally spilling over and streaming down your cheeks, leaving gleaming trails of salt water behind them. “Say it, Dabi,”

He’s got his eyes shut tightly as he shakes his head, knows if he opens them, if he looks at you, that he’ll break, shatter into a thousand pieces, split himself open at the very core of his body and bare his entire soul to you.

“Look at me,” you demand softly.

His jaw flexes once, slowly exhaling out his nose.

“Dabi, look at me,” a pause. “Please?”

“No.”

“W-Why?” the word escapes your lips in a little whine, broken up by your sniffles.

You know why.

But it’s those little half-sobs, the ones that keep catching painfully in your chest, that do it, interspersed with your soft whimpers as you plead with him—please, open your eyes, just look at me for a second, please!

Unable to stand it any longer, his lids finally rise, slowly revealing sparkling sapphire, glowering at you, his harsh gaze protected by a thin shield of water.

He hates this, hates not having control over his own fucking body, over his own fucking thoughts, hates the unfamiliarity of it all, of the unpleasant fluttering in his stomach and burning in his throat, swallowing thickly past the hard lump that’s formed, constricting his breathing.

Revolting, his inner voice snarls at him. You’re weak, letting some stupid little girl get to you like this, as if you even—

Your touch silences the voice, cutting it off midsentence, his whole body flinching at the soft, small hand resting so tenderly against the curve of his face, subconsciously nuzzling his cheek into your palm a second later, eyes slipping shut again.

“Dabi,” you begin, and something has changed. You no longer sound hurt, no longer sound wounded, your voice gentle and—

No. No, no, no, this can’t be happening to him right now. Panic grips his heart, puncturing it with its claws, sending blistering, sharp pain searing through his chest and slicing him open, raw and vulnerable.

“Please, don’t,” he whispers, words tumbling from his lips without his permission, voice frail, fragile, broken.

Don’t. He doesn’t want to hear them, doesn’t need to hear them, can’t bear to hear them—not if they’re false, fake, uttered out of misplaced pity and sympathy.

“I love you, too,”

A pathetic hiccup gets caught in his throat and he chokes on it, chest stuttering as he shakes his head, lids clenching tightly against the unfamiliar sting of tears, lips pressed together firmly to stifle the tiny distressed sounds that keep crawling up his throat, trying to escape.

There’s no way, she’s lying, how could she ever—

“Yes,” you whisper, thumb caressing his jaw. “I love you, too,”

[versadies]

hello hello! for the soulmate prompts, libra (lie imprint) + kazuha + hc scenario + fluff wherein kazuha's soulmate is very two faced (kind and caring outside but very cold and bitter inside) and lies a lot so he'd get all the tatoos. ^^ thank you and congratulations on your milestone!

i knew you were trouble (hc scenario)

penpal: ty for requesting ! happy readings <3

prompt: libra the scale, lie-tattoo soulmate au

pairing/s: kazuha x gn!reader

sypnosis: in which kazuha knew you're more than what meets the eye, but still loves you regardless.

includes: spoilers to inazuma archon quest (prologue) and kazuha's story profile, two-faced reader, badmouthing, and ooc!kazuha (?)

the moment kazuha managed to get away from his homeland, his mind were filled with thoughts of what happens next.

it's true that the crux fleet is his new home and that he doesn't mind drifting around the seas, but he felt like he's missing something. something that could make him feel more at ease than confused and conflicted.

it wasn't until he looked down on his body, specifically his right covered hand when he realized his once forgotten dream.

there were many unknown reasons as to why his hand is covered in bandages,

and one of them is his soulmate.

he used to dream of meeting his soulmate after finally being released from the burdens of his fallen clan, ready to explore the unknown and possibly meet his destined other.

but then one thing led to another and that dream stopped after a major change by the raiden shogun.

he couldn't bare to look at himself in the mirror, the words imprinted on his body except his face– it all reminded him of his unfinished goal.

no, he didn't care about the fact that his soulmate lies so much that it practically made half of his right hand fully covered by tattoos, he was concerned that he doesn't have time to try and find them.

and now, perhaps he could continue on his journey.

who knew the start of his said journey could also the end?

days after he escaped from the nation of eternity, kazuha met you, a chef who desires to make unique recipes for the world to feast on.

he met you thanks to beidou, who told him that you'll be going with the crux fleet and set sail around the lands for ingredients.

the samurai didn't think much of it, minding his own business as long as you mind yours. for some reason though, there was something... odd about you that made him feel intrigued.

was it because of the sense that there's something more about you? perhaps.

it made kazuha wanted to know more.

he finds himself talking to you when you offered him to try your newest recipe: a soup that contains the finest ingredients from the ocean with the weirdest seasonings.

it tasted strange in a good way, yet he didn't mind it. not when you're keeping him company.

the samurai would definitely agree on the saying that goes, "food always tastes better when with company."

since then, he often visits your area to see your attempts in cooking new foods, if he feels like it: he'll even tell you suggestions. he finds listening to your words that's laced with care and kindness endearing.

deep down, he knew it wasn't.

he didn't need to listen to nature, he knew right from the start that you aren't what people think you are. he does not seek what lies behind your kind features, but he seeks what made him feel drawn to you.

sooner than later, he finally found the reason why.

"curse this stupid goal," you cursed to no one, yelling out a frustrated noise as kazuha hid himself nearby after coming across to your frustrated self. "curse this wasted trip, when will these idiots stop asking me about liyue?!"

the man watched as you stomp around aggressively, paying no mind to showing your true colors while everyone sleeps away on their beds below you.

he wasn't surprised– after all, nature never lies to him.

before he could try to walk away from you in plain sight, you said something that changed his perspective of you.

"i don't even care about these people." you mumbled, yet it was still loud enough for the man's ears to hear.

kazuha's heart drops when he felt that familiar itch, looking down at his arm to see the new tattoo with words that came out from your mouth a moment ago. this can't be a coincidence, can it?

he was so taken back by surprise that he didn't notice you staring at him with furrowed eyebrows.

"so you saw that, huh?" you speak up. crossing your arms at the sight of the man.

the samurai quickly turns around to your direction, his heart paced quickly from his recent discovery, it felt like everything is coming to it's right place.

"...it's you," he breaths out, his shoulders now relaxing. "after so many years, i found you."

"what are you talking about?"

"you're my soulmate." kazuha blurts out, watching as your face drops and your body went tensed from what he told you. "what you said earlier– it's on my arm."

you quickly hid your disbelieved state, putting up your kind facade once more with a smile. "...you're joking, right?" you said with a light laugh. "i'm surprised, kazuha. i never thought you're the type to joke."

"i'm not joking." he retorts. "i can tell you a lie right now."

your smile slowly fades, staying silent for a moment until you take a deep breath and look at him in the eyes. "tell me one then."

"i hate you."

just like that, your sweet kind facade immediately dissipates, leaving your true self out in the open for the first time in years.

all because of the words that's now imprinted on your right hand.

hesitantly, kazuha slowly walk towards your now shocked state, wanting to be closer to you. "do you think i'm joking now?" he asks.

"...this feels so stupid." you mumbled, still staring at your hand. "why don't you hate me for pretending this whole... sweet and kind attitude?"

"you have your reasons as much as i have mine," kazuha answers quickly, looking at the view of the ocean in front of him. "i'm quite curious of myself as to why you keep up the facade but.. i don't mind having you as my soulmate."

"even if i'm a two-faced? that seems bold of you." you comment grudgingly.

"perhaps i am, but it doesn't stop me from letting myself love a person like you regardless of what you've done to my skin."

before you could say anything, he turns to look at you with soft eyes. "i must say though, i'd like to get to know to my real soulmate instead of the one everyone knows about. if you allow me, that is." he confess.

you rolled your eyes, only to stop yourself and feel a bit guilty for that gesture. "you... you won't like me even... even if you're willing to know this side of me." you said with a frown. "i'm not as a good person as you think i am."

he lets out a light laugh and shakes his head. "i never said i have thought of you as a good person, not that you should be offended by it."

kazuha then lends out his hand to you, still smiling so softly that it made you question whether celestia did a mistake in making someone like the samurai be your soulmate. "i know the abode of the gods has chosen you and i for a reason," he speaks up once more.

"and if i may be so bold to put this out of my chest, i could never imagine myself hating my own destined other."

your mouth twitches up a little from his words, allowing yourself to roll your eyes and accept his offer in defeat. "alright i'll let my so-called true self be shown to you– but only if you stop being so sappy about this."

he chuckles and nods in response, his hand still out for you to shake. "that settles it then. i am kaedehara kazuha, a wanderer who roams the land. and you are?"

"...y/n," you then wrap your hand around his and shook it firmly. "y/n l/n."