#{he's using her fresher}

[lvmimis]

do you like to run your fingers through tsukasa’s glorious lion’s mane?

the type of man who uses my hair products and looks fancier than me

[dragon-subway]

got told sharing my drinking water with my plant is weird and i reject such a notion, share your water with your plants the'll love you forever and ever

[kylo-wrecked]

Anonymously tell my muse what the fuck is wrong with them: "Whats wrong with you? A lot, a kriffing lot! But for the sake of beeing short because of course noone listens to the kriffing doctor when they say important kriffery and instead they drown in the ocean of very kriffing important words and only hear what they want to hear- you are not living in an enviorment that allowes you to produce the right amount of Serotonine, so you end up beeing the kriffing grumphy, all black wearing Kriffer that looks like he has not seen a kriffing sun in lightyears. Which, yes, mood, as an albino I can unerstand that, but you have kriffing melatonine, so there are no kriffing excuses: Go and stand in the sun for around two hours a day, get a kriffing plant to grow to sooth your stoneage-instincts to have nature around you instead of kriffing cold wide empty space so that brain would not be in a permanent state of kriffing screaming anxiety, eat something else than random cantina-kriffery,drink something else than caf at best even two litres of kriffing water a day, and occaisonally, you know, if you happen to not be kriffing shot at, take a kriffing nap. Around eight hours a day. Will do kriffing wonders for you, but not that you ask kriffing me, nohohohho, who would ask me." There was a pause: "Also I swear, if you now make a kriffing "short people" joke just because I said I will be short with my words, I will bite off your toes one by one and kriffing eat them infront of you."

@irrfahrer ://

There was a pause. One pause in Ziv's maniacal diagnoses, and in that pause, Ben grinned somewhat and plopped his chin in his hand. (*The pink, puckered hand he'd almost lost to one of the Ren. Who was going to do what with it? Deliver it to Snoke? If one hand was all it took to impress, they must've been in dire straits. Seven knights, one hand—what were the odds? Kriffing incredible.*)

"You know what's wrong with me?" he said sweetly. "You. You're a monster."

But since Ziv offered her velvet ear and paw to his aid, Ben decided he'd ask where he could stand, in broad daylight, for two hours, without getting shot?

[arabella0001]

cn: explicit sexual content [nsfw / 18+]. aggressive sex. biting. slighty ehibitionism. aphrodisiac use. dirty talk, 4k+ words.

⟡ fandom: attack on titan | pairing: levi x reader

⟡ request

𓃠

To have feelings in times like these it’s such a selfish thought sometimes; it makes you want to scream into your pillow every chance you get.

And worse than that?

To have feelings for the captain of the recruitment division, the irreplaceable, cold, and strict Levi Ackerman was way worse.

You were one of the few left from the old squad. The camaraderie between you and your old comrades was cut off instantly after their death, as if it never existed. And sadly, it created a strange, clumsy distance between you and Levi. The only two survivors.

Not that he was the friendliest man, but the respect between you two was something admirable. Still, delusionally, you sometimes thought… maybe it was more than that.

Maybe he didn’t yell like that at everyone, so loud you’re sure it echoed to the other side of the world, when he thought you’d died on a mission two years ago.

Maybe he didn’t carry everyone in his arms, even when his own body was collapsing from pain, prioritizing your life.

Maybe not everyone got that subtle twitch of his lips that resembled a smile when you two shared tea now and then—and you teased him for being too strict, poking at his side just to get a reaction.

But those childish fantasies crumbled the moment Historia Reiss, the new queen, arrived at tonight’s gathering… and stood a little too close to Levi. The very same Queen who once slapped him—and he let her—and smiled back at her.

The gathering had been Erwin’s idea, a rare celebration after a successful mission. One of the only times there was plenty of food and wine without guilt along with it.

You sat at the table with Hange, who was talking with her mouth full, a mirror of Sasha doing the same. They both gulped down wine afterward, cheeks flushed red from the alcohol.

Though Hange was tipsy, she was still sharp. She noticed it. That quick, nervous glance you threw when Historia’s hand touched Levi’s arm. His gaze wasn’t detached like usual. He was leaning against the wall, engaged in conversation. Actively.

That alone made your fingers tap angrily against the table as you looked around, pretending you were simply bored. Hange gave you an amused look, tilting her chin toward the pair.

You rolled your eyes, but her eyes gleamed with some forbidden idea she wasn’t ready to say out loud yet. Instead, what came out of her mouth was:

“Hm. Did you know the air outside is way fresher in this season? Might be good to check.” Her double-meaning didn’t go unnoticed.

Sasha, unfazed, was more focused on a piece of pork on fresh bread.

“Maybe you should go. You both seem a little heated.”

Hange and Sasha laughed, leaning their heads together, grinning with the euphoria of wine-soaked joy.

“You got us. At least we’re not some bitter old lady who forgot how to have fun.”

You glared. “Hange.”

She raised both hands, mock-defensive.

“What?! I’m just saying, girl!”

But her plan needed to move faster.

“You know what? Follow me.”

Hange stood. Sasha glanced at her but didn’t care enough to ask. Hange didn’t wait—just started walking toward the exit.

You stood too, and you felt someone’s gaze on you from across the room. You ignored it.

But Levi watched your back a little longer than he needed to as you left. Then he returned his attention, somewhat distracted, to Historia’s strategy proposals. He was tired. Too much socializing for one night. Ten minutes of talking with Historia already felt like ten hours. She talked too much. Like everyone else here.

…Except you.

He always sensed the distance between you, one he blamed himself for. It wasn’t a priority, but sometimes, somehow, his thoughts always ended with you. The feelings inside him were small?, faint—but they echoed. He couldn’t name them. They were useless anyway. A weakness.

That’s how it should be. That’s how it must be.

You probably didn’t see him that way anyway.

And he understood. He wasn’t the warmest person alive.

┈─┈─┈─

When Hange saw you dragging your feet, she tugged you by the elbow and threw you into her chaotic, paper-filled office.

Then, from a box, she pulled out a dusty bottle sealed with a wooden cork and tied with twine.

“Let’s make some magic, shall we?”

You wrinkled your nose as she handed it to you, letting you smell it first.

“What the fuck is this? It smells awful.”

Hange waved her hand dramatically, a little wobbly.

“You don’t know what’s good! The old stuff is the best. Heals the body, solves your problems—I’m serious. I’ve tested it.”

“Just because you’re a research freak doesn’t mean I believe everything, you know?”

Still, you took a drink. Your emotions were buzzing too hot in your veins to think straight. The taste was awful but you didn’t stop at one sip.

Hange watched you with something close to admiration. She was happy—mission complete. But her face turned panic-stricken as you kept drinking. She grabbed the bottle out of your hands.

“ENOUGH! This wine is very precious. We should save it.”

You licked your lips. now stained wine-dark and your cheeks flushed fast. You looked at Hange, and your gaze made her grin.

Not me, pretty lady. I’m flattered, but not me.

“I’ll be back in a second. Gotta get some cheese to go with this wine.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

You collapsed into her surprisingly comfy chair and stared at the wall. But your thoughts turned—obscene. What the hell is happening?

You hadn’t drunk in a while, but this was something else. Your body felt too warm. Too restless. You shifted in your seat, fidgeting endlessly.

⸻

Hange rushed down the hall, nearly crashing into the door—right as Levi was walking out.

“Oh! Just the person I needed!”

“Spare me, Hange. I’ve had enough for tonight.”

Hange just planted a hand on her hip and the other under her chin, dramatically pondering.

“Hmmm. Then who should I ask to help Y/N?”

Levi was about to walk past her but stopped. Gave her a side-glance.

“Help? With what, exactly?”

“Well, let’s say… too much wine can make you lose control of your brain and body? Yeah, that definitely applies.”

Really? You? Drunk as hell? Since when?

“Where is she?”

“My office.”

She smiled far too innocently for Levi not to be suspicious. But he didn’t say anything. He just went straight to you.

┈─┈─┈─

When he opened the door, he found you waving your shirt like a fan, wide open—exposing your dark blue bra.

“Thank god. What the hell took you so long?! I’m dying over here!”

Your eyes shot to the door— And locked on Levi, standing there. His gaze was sharp. Angry. But also very much fixed on your chest.

“Fuck—? What the fuck are you doing here?!”

Your voice cracked, not angry—just embarrassed. You buttoned your shirt furiously.

“When did you become this irresponsible?”

“What? I had a few sips! Are you calling me a alcoholic or what?!”

Your words slurred slightly. Levi’s eyes flicked to the half-empty bottle.

“Looks like it.”

“Oh, shut up. Didn’t you have a conversation to get back to? Or are you just here to lecture me too?”

His thoughts faltered. Your tone… sounded accusing. Jealous? No. Can’t be.

“It’s over.”

You started fanning yourself with Hange’s scattered papers, your body feeling annoyingly uncomfortable—especially in certain areas.

“Nice. Maybe something good will happen.”

Levi froze at the double meaning.

“Something good?”

He picked up the bottle and took a slow sip.

It was disgusting. Weak. This got you drunk?

When you didn’t answer, which was unusual. Levi looked over. You were ignoring him, staring out the window with a sulky expression.

“I asked you something.”

You sighed. “You know… something. You and the bubbly new queen—what a ray of sunshine in this battlefield.”

Your sarcasm wasn’t subtle. Levi’s quiet, firm steps drew closer.

No. No, stay away.

Standing in front of you now, he looked down. Your expression—almost… embarrassed?

A strange wave of heat hit him. Unfamiliar.

“You find that funny?”

“Maybe. The bright little queen with the cold, sharp captain. What a pair.”

You snorted nervously, trying to mask it with a smile. Levi didn’t know why this stupid conversation was continuing. Why he was still standing here. You were fine. He should leave.

“You sound offended.”

The fact that he didn’t deny it almost made you want to push him from your face. But instead… the vulnerability in your body, his presence, pushed you in another way.

“Do you like her?”

Levi didn’t know what shocked him more, your question, or how red your cheeks suddenly were.

“No.”

You stared at him until you were sure he wasn’t lying. Then looked away.

“Why ask?”

“Curiosity.”

He stepped closer.

“Do I look like someone who doesn’t think clearly?”

“No?”

“Then why lie to me?”

You avoided his gaze. But when Levi’s hand gently tilted your chin toward him you froze. His fingers were shockingly gentle on your skin.

And just like that he knew something was off.

“What did Hange say before she left?”

You groaned.

“That she’d be right back. That traitor.”

Something was missing. Levi picked up the bottle, poured a bit onto his finger.

“Hey! You’re wasting precious wine—”

“Shut up.”

You muttered, “Mean.”

He didn’t answer, even though he should’ve.

You were talking too much. More than usual.

The liquid glistened faintly. Levi frowned. Aphrodisiac.

He looked at you again and slowly scanning from head to toe. You gulped.

“I think Hange tricked us both into drinking it wine with aphrodisiac…For… some unknown reason. That fucking psycho—”

But he cut himself off when he saw you sinking into the chair in shame.

“Do you know something I don’t?”

“No?”

“Y/N.”

A pause.

“No.”

“No, or you don’t want to say?”

He was being so persistent, it scared you. The fact that you both took it. That he was this close. That you couldn’t stop thinking about how beautiful he was. How badly you wanted him right here, right now. You slammed your head onto the desk.

“Leave. Please.”

“Speak now, or I’ll go.”

“Why should you need to know? It doesn’t matter.” You muttered, head still buried.

“I don’t like lies. Or people hiding—”

You shot up suddenly, furious.

“OKAY. I fucking like you, okay?! For a long time…since we were…nevermind. She probably set me up!”

Levi’s ears rang. He didn’t hear that right.

But your heaving chest and the brutal honesty in your eyes said otherwise. And he couldn’t respond. Didn’t know how to.

He just stared.

Embarrassing. God, this was so embarrassing. You thought.

You stood up clumsily, ready to storm past him and vanish but Levi reacted instinctively. His hand grabbed your arm.

“W-what?”

Levi considered himself an idiot before making the most impulsive decision of his life. But all thoughts vanished when his lips pressed against yours.

┈─┈─┈─

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment when you moaned the second Levi tried to deepen the kiss. His veiny hand cupped your cheek while your hand found the back of his undercut curtain hair. When his lips left yours, you chased them, but his darkened gaze locked you in place, your breath irregular.

Fuck it, Levi thought.

He kissed you again, dominating the way his lips pressed onto yours, forcing you to open them. But you were far too happy to do it now, your tongue dancing with his in an aggressive competition over who wanted the other more.

He guided you backward until your ass hit the desk, lifting you by your thighs instantly so you were sitting on it. Returning between your legs and dragging them until they locked around him. He groaned in your mouth when he felt you grind on him.

How did it come to this?

He began to move slower until he tried to calm himself down, to regain control, his head dropping over your shoulder.

“This isn’t okay. We’re not in control.”

“You don’t want me?”

Levi’s head tilted back to meet your gaze.

“Don’t want you? I want to fuck you this second if I did what I wanted now.”

You gasped, chasing his hips.

“Y/N.”

“You only want me now?”

Your gaze was so convincing, lustful, that if he stayed here much longer, he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions. But he thought twice before making an irresponsible confession in a situation like this. Fuck you, Hange.

“No.”

His short answer made your heart leap out of your chest. And the look in his eyes was enough to confirm he wasn’t lying.

“Then fuck me.”

He let out a low, mocking laugh.

“Tomorrow morning to be damn sure you’ll regret how brave you were last night.”

The pressure between your legs made you squeeze them around him, chasing relief.

“I don’t care.”

He tilted his mouth into a small smile, whispering in your ear.

“Yeah?” He took your earlobe in his mouth, making you shiver. “I even think you don’t want me to fuck you.” Your whine urged him to bite your earlobe before soothing it with his lips. “Two fingers are all I need to get the job done.”

“L-Levi.”

Your mind couldn’t comprehend how he was speaking to you right now—only that it made you unbearably wet.

His fingers traveled along your body before cupping your breast and chasing your mouth. You moaned against his lips, your hand on the back of his head pushing him further into your kiss. He was already addicted to how you responded to him.

Levi’s fingers went lower, raising goosebumps across your skin until he teased your inner thighs.

You whimpered in his mouth, furrowing your brows in impatience from his teasing. But he couldn’t wait anymore—he needed to feel it. He let out a low growl at your wet, clothed panties.

“For how fucking long have you been thinking about me to be like this right now?” A string of saliva connected you both, his hand cupping your pussy before you leaned into his mouth, but he didn’t give you the choice. “Tell me.”

“All night.”

“You fucking kidding me.” His lips left wet kisses along your neck, marking you again with his teeth, still biting lightly.

His fingers pushed your panties aside to reach your clit, starting to move in quick circles considering how wet you were even before he went lower for one of your holes. He tested with one finger, but when he didn’t find much resistance, your moan lingered in your throat before continuing with harder finger-fucking until he added a second finger.

“F-fuck, Levi!”

His dark strands, now damp with sweat from how hot his body felt, stuck slightly in his serious gaze, dilated pupils pulling him far from his image as a strict squad captain. He didn’t look like one anymore. He looked like a man who would do anything in this moment to make you feel good.

Levi had been fed up for some time now with being such a control freak, suppressing his emotions even though Erwin had never advised it—just something Levi knew how to do best. But now? He didn’t give a shit anymore. At least once, he could allow himself this.

“Yeah?” Levi’s lips brushed against yours faintly, his warm breath on them.

“More, I need more—”

He moved you instantly and pushed you forward even more, exposing your ass under your skirt, still covered by the white tights he immediately tore apart.

“Levi, for fuck’s sake—”

He slapped your ass—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to sting—then soothed it when you whimpered. Then he did it again in the same spot before switching to the other cheek. Your breathing was difficult to control, your eyes wide open in ecstasy. It wasn’t hard to guess he liked things like this, and it wasn’t hard to guess that you liked them too.

“You want more? Then fucking take more.”

He spread your ass cheeks, and you felt too aroused to feel shame as he knelt down, right in front of your ass, and began to lick you. It shocked you so much that your back arched even more, your mouth wide open from the sensations his exaggeratedly attentive tongue gave to every spot in your most intimate area. Your legs started trembling as Levi continued licking both holes, then up toward your clit and pushing his fingers back in.

“Please, please. Now, I can’t wait—”

He stood up, leaning over you, his hand moving in front of your body until it found your chin, lifting it while your skin shivered from your ear downward.

“And what can’t you wait for, cadet?”

You almost groaned in frustration, but your hole clenched around nothing, your body telling you directly what his words did to you. If you had known Levi was like this in bed, you would’ve listened to Hange a long time ago. But you knew the aphrodisiac played a role too.

“Damn it, Levi—”

He turned your head further, your body instinctively arching into him, feeling how affected he was by your presence too.

“Tell me.”

“I can’t wait any longer for you to fuck me, Levi. Fuck me, please!”

Your voice was rushed, yet full of sensuality mixed with desperation.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” His mocking tone didn’t disappear—behind closed doors, his usual attitude still lingered.

“S-shut up. Lock the door!”

He was undoing his pants, and all you heard was the rustle of clothing and the sound of a belt falling to the floor.

“I don’t care about that damn door.”

You couldn’t lie that it turned you on a little. The probability of someone coming here was very low, considering how far your desk was from the others. But with how loud you were, that probability could rise.

You looked over your shoulder, noticing, in your opinion, one of the most beautiful cocks—veiny, with the tip dripping proof of how turned on he was, its considerable length adding to the effect. You looked at his dick, then at him, with an awe-struck expression that made Levi’s mouth twitch slightly. Not that he cared about this kind of thing; his ego had been completely unraveled a long time ago, back in childhood. But the scary, lustful look on your face? It drove him like a caged animal to give you more than you could take.

He teased you, slowly moving his cock between your ass cheeks and barely penetrating your pussy. You didn’t even have time to complain before he began thrusting into you, both of you opening your mouths in sync from the pleasure.

He pushed in to the end—some of him still outside—and bent over until his mouth touched your shoulder, sucking it before he began moving inside you. He had to calm himself a little so he didn’t come like some pathetic teenager who couldn’t handle puberty.

His heavy breathing turned you on even more, and when his thrusts became slower but deeper, your voice didn’t stop moaning his name until he put his hand over your mouth.

“You want me to close the door for what? You’re still yelling loud enough for everyone to hear.” His groans didn’t stop though, a sound you never thought you’d hear from him. “Never thought you’d feel so good.”

He moved his hand from your mouth, letting one finger stretch your lips as he fucked you harder. The other hand stayed on your back to support his rough thrusts.

“You’ve thought of me like this before?” Your answers irritated Levi because they turned him on even more, letting him speak too openly about something he shouldn’t.

“You have no idea.”

His answer came voluntarily, simple, but it still made your heart clench. You let out a sound of frustration when he pulled out, your body leaning back toward him to find him again but he turned you to face him, which was even worse.

His piercing eyes immobilized you and suddenly you remembered what shame felt like when Levi was staring at you, perplexed by how beautiful you looked, his gaze dropping from your swollen lips, to your aroused breasts, then between your legs.

You pulled him by the shirt to kiss you, and he didn’t pull back; on the contrary, his hands cupped your head to keep you in place while he devoured you, the kiss messy again, you moaning into his mouth, trying to pull off his black shirt, wrinkled with passion. Your hands felt the muscles he built through harsh training and punishment, your eyes tracing the scars that reminded you how strong he was.

Your vulnerable gaze after Levi kissed down your neck and looked back at you was too much for him to handle. He couldn’t think about what he felt for you right now. It was out of the question but his softened eyes still caressed your soul.

He placed both hands on your thighs and lifted you slightly on the desk before spreading your legs and entering you. Your hands went around his shoulder, your head falling there too as Levi grunted in your ear with every deep thrust.

“Come for me first.”

He turned his head slightly toward you to meet your gaze while his fingers moved to your clit to help you. The excessive wetness made it easy for him to bring you to the edge, even though you could’ve stayed in this moment forever with Levi inside you. So close.

You turned to face him, making sounds that bordered crying while you looked at him, and he can only murmur:

“Yes, just like this. Do it for me. Do it now.”

His eyes never left yours until your head tilted back slightly, your body shaking uncontrollably as your legs, previously locked around his ass, loosened and fell until Levi’s hand grabbed one of them and the other cupped your cheek, not letting you look away as you came. He couldn’t forget this look. He needed it.

His erratic movements became harsher until he pulled out, stroking himself until the last drop spilled on your belly and a little lower. Your hands were barely holding you up on the desk. The aphrodisiac was almost halfway worn off, but your mind was still obsessively drawn to Levi and his presence.

But the shame you felt now was even stronger, trying to cover yourself, not wanting to feel so exposed anymore. But Levi only memorized how special you were to him; and not just because of the sex, but in general. Memories rebuilt themselves in his mind as if they were yesterday, of how much you’d been there for him through his life.

He pulled himself out of those thoughts, not allowing himself to drown in them. Hs hadn’t even allowed himself to get here before, but here they were.

He looked through drawers and around the desk until he found some wet wipes to clean you, at least superficially, because he couldn’t stand making a mess, especially not on someone like you. He lifted you off the desk, seeing your fragile legs, but you surprised him by hugging him tightly, not letting him protest how hard you held him.

“Y/N.”

Even if he couldn’t believe it, he couldn’t do anything to stop it. His hands still weren’t touching you.

“Hug me back, Levi. Please.”

He felt a lump in his throat, suffocated by your love. But he hugged you back, one hand cradling your head as he stared blankly. It was hard to accept this from someone. But you weren’t just anyone.

“You’ll catch a cold if you stay naked much longer.”

Your voice was muffled by his shoulder.

“I don’t care.”

You squeezed him tighter, now that you had him this open, you couldn’t let go so easily.

He leaned toward the desk, stretching his hand to grab a shirt to cover you. That melted your soul even more.

“I wanna sleep with you.”

“Y/N, you know it’s not allowed for a commander to sleep in the same bed with another—”

“Please, Levi. I don’t think I can breathe well without it.”

He was annoyed at you and your rule-breaking, exhaling an irritated sigh—but didn’t say anything at first.

“If you don’t come as subtly as possible in the middle of the night, I swear I’ll make you regret it.”

You lifted your face from his chest and smiled at him, sincerely. Though his expression seemed serious, there was a playful one underneath. Levi’s walls were down tonight for you. And maybe, they would stay open more often. Life is too short not to love each other in the limited time you have.

You pressed your face back into his chest, hugging him tighter. From the outside, the image was as romantic as it could be—the two of you at the center of the office, moonlight covering your bodies and leaving only your shadow as proof that, in this moment, you truly belonged to each other. No one else.

[mattslilies]

My Girls - M.S.

"shh, just go back to sleep, sweetheart." or... the one where you've just had your first baby with matt, and he does everything to make sure you feel rested, loved and supported. warnings: postpartum depression, exhaustion, mostly matt being a softie for his girls. word count: 706 a/n: requested by anon!

having a baby was hard.

of course, nobody expected it to be easy.

the process of childbirth felt impossible in itself, but the hardest part for you was the afterwards. you were struggling, badly. you felt like you couldn't bond with your new daughter, having issues getting her to stop crying. you just felt like a failure.

and matt? matt had been an absolute saint.

he'd helped in every way possible. he cooked nearly every meal, and when he didn't, he got takeout. he did all of the laundry, he took the baby on road trips so you could sleep, and never said a word about it. he kissed every spot that ached on your body, whispered praises to it in front of the mirror on days you hated the way it looked, reminding you that you'd carried your child, and that was something to be proud of.

he'd helped you shower on days you felt like you couldn't move out of bed, helped you change the sheets, get you feeling fresher, even if it meant you were just going to lay right back down again. he took care of everything. he took care of you.

he'd never once complained about getting up in the middle of the night, always taken her from you when you just couldn't handle any more of the screaming, cleaning up every spilled food, milk, or dirty diaper when you just needed a break.

when you awoke to the sound of ear piercing screams from your very young daughter, matt shot out of bed. he pushed your hair out of your eyes, kissing your forehead and giving you a gentle rub on the back. the sound of her crying and matt's kindness was enough to bring tears to your waterline, threatening to spill over.

"shh, just go back to sleep, sweetheart. i've got her, don't worry."

matt disappeared out of the room, soft steps padding along the carpet as you heard him open the nursery door, picking up your daughter and holding her. he slowly hummed a tune as he rocked her, her cries calming enough for him to figure out the problem.

softly singing a lullaby, he quickly changed her diaper, redressing her in her onesie as smoothly as possible before scooping her back up. she had ceased her tears, instead just watching him with wide, big, eyes, taking everything in that the world had to offer her.

she began to yawn, and matt took that opportunity to slip back into your room, sleepy baby in his arms. he softly spoke to you, gently shaking you with one arm.

"honey, sit up real quick."

you blearily opened your eyes, tear tracks stained on your cheeks as you did as he asked, holding your arms out for your daughter. you braced yourself for her to begin screaming, begging for her father back, but instead, she curled into your chest.

her small hand grabbed your shirt, fingers curling into a ball as she held it tightly in her hand, tiny eyes beginning to softly close as the body heat from you radiated against her in comfort. as you watched her fall asleep, you couldn't help but feel the tears beginning to flow again.

"matt, she's sleeping on me."

your voice cracked on the last syllable, breath hitching as you began to cry, careful to not let the tears hit your baby. matt slid into bed next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, using the other hand to wipe your tears.

"she is. you're her mom, baby. she loves you by nature."

you nodded, sniffling as you looked down at your child's peaceful face, content and happy, wrapped up between her two parents.

"i booked you some therapy, sweetheart. you need to talk about what you've been feeling. i'm here for you."

you could've hysterically sobbed at the care matt always showed you, but instead, you placed your baby into the cot beside your bed, careful not to wake her, kissing her forehead before turning into matt's arms, tears steadily flowing.

"i love you."

he hugged you back, hands already comforting your skin.

"i love you too. and so does she. we're going to be okay, baby. i love my girls."

[joelsbloodyhands]

Mine

Din Djarin x Reader, The Mandalorian x Reader

Summary: Your employer is pissed when you come back from getting information about a bounty with a bruised hand mark around your neck.

A/N: I kinda just wrote this one because I had a vague idea and ran with it. I think everyone is going to learn very quickly in my writing that clearly jealous/overprotective Din is my fave version of him 🙈

Warnings: reader gets choked and not in the nice way (only talks about it), overprotective Din, Din is your employer but clearly wants to be more, death and m!rder (all in the name of love) 🤗, mentions of blood and bodily harm, mentions of slave traders, fluff with a little bit of spice✨, soft!Din but also a little bit reckless!Din 👀 smut references but not written too explicitly but still MINORS DNI, business associates to lovers arc? 😅 not set at any particular point during the series.

READER does not have a specified gender, they/them pronouns used. Reader does not have a visible disability.

You’d been gone too long and Din was getting anxious.

This hadn’t been his original plan.

The contact for information regarding the bounty had unfortunately been highlighted as a previous foe of his. He’d busted them prior when their bounty puck had fell in his lap over a cycle ago.

Trust Karga to let the man redeem himself by providing intel on high-level bounties with the incentive of remaining out of the hands of the Rebellion that for some reason unbeknownst to Din, wanted his head on a stick.

Why had Din let you go and barter for the information again?

“He won’t suspect me to be a threat.”

Oh right, yeah. That’s what you said.

Except Din was probably worrying about the wrong thing because the biggest threat would be the ex-criminal you were meeting with at Mos Espa Cantina.

“Go say hi to Boba for me. Get the boy fed and I’ll be back soon.”

Din was losing his edge.

On what kriffin planet did he give in to such a request?

You were in danger and he knew it.

He knew it and he still sat in the markets with Grogu, twirling wupiupi coins in his fingers for the past half hour while his son slurped another bowl of pog soup.

Why?

Well, that was easy.

Since the past year you had been travelling with him, Din had grown to have affections for you.

To start he kept you at arms length.

Brief answers to your curious questions turned into nightly talks between your bunks. Subtle touches to guide you through busy and sometimes treacherous places turned into lingering holds in his grasp, fear of losing you to the crowds. He found himself watching you far longer than he ever had before and during times when he didn’t necessarily need to. The sound of you using the fresher while he tucked in his little green son had his heart pounding and a certain area of his armor feeling a little bit too uncomfortable.

He grew more and more protective the further you strayed without him.

He no longer wished for you to venture into dens alone to ask for information on his behalf but he couldn’t deny that you were good at it.

Better than him.

You were calm and collected.

You had a level head.

Something that he could very easily lose control over should Grogu and yourself be threatened by a contact. Though it was the one thing you had learned you could assert yourself over since Din’s change of heart.

You had a job that needed to be done and you were the best person for it.

So Din caved far quicker than he normally would with allowing you to go the cantinas and talk about bounties, pay and information. It sped up the process for Din to track them and also meant he didn’t have to deal with the unwanted chit chat that came with meeting up with Karga.

Something you enjoyed. Something that had Din’s palms itching whenever Karga took your hand to help you stand from the booth, Din’s clenched fist aching to wipe the smug look of his face when he turned back in his direction.

“I like her, Mando. She’s good at getting what she wants.”

He knew you were.

Din wasn’t sure if he was included on the list of things you wanted but you sure as hell were on his.

There was times he had a inkling.

Especially when he was feeding the kid and he caught you looking away when his eyes found you scraping away at your lunch.

Times when you would grab his hand without hesitation and pull him through midnight markets towards the sights of fireworks. Din’s heart warming at the wide smile plastered across your face, the powdery shades of red, blue and green lighting up in your eyes from the sky.

Damn, he was down bad and he had no idea what to do about it.

Technically, he was your employer.

Juggling Grogu and his job was a difficulty. Most of the time he was happy to venture out with Grogu in his carrier or pod but his bounties got, let’s say, brave in their efforts to deter him. Going so far as to aim shots towards the child. They learned his weakness and Din hated it.

So with much reluctance to start, he asked Peli if she would be interested in babysitting him for a price but of course she refused; even with the money on the table.

“Not a chance but I know just the person for the job.”

He had slid the money off the table and walked back to the ship without another word until she scrambled after him.

“Hey, hey, hey! Just hear me out, okay?” Din had sighed, turning back to her from the top of the ramp while she stood hands on her hips and a smile growing. “There’s this kid that needs a job. Call ‘em a distant relative, if you will. They’re desperate. Need money, board, food, water and they’ll make sure your little boy is taken good care of. I swear!”

“Have they taken care of children before?” Din asked inquisitively but also with a half mind to ignore Peli completely and close the ramp in response to her proposal.

“Yeah! Loads of times! They’re a professional!”

Din doubted that very much. He knew Peli’s tactics for selling him an offer and he couldn’t deny that she was good at it.

Fine, he’ll bite. Again.

“Call them.”

He just remembers Peli’s grin, your soft voice on the end of a comlink and then a speeder sounding just outside.

She had presented you to him like a rare gift and he was less than happy to receive you at the time but more than a few rotations later, you had thrown yourself in front of a bounty that had tried to commandeer his ship, their blaster aimed for Grogu in his bunk, taking a graze to the side before Din shot him dead.

You were willing to die to protect his son.

That was more than he could’ve ever asked for.

Later when Din was back at the Crest, you returned.

He had spent the past hours pacing up and down the ramp like a mad man.

Originally, he had planned to detour from the markets with Grogu over to the cantina but you had used your comlink to tell him you were already near the ship.

That was interesting because Din got back to the ship and you weren’t even here.

Which begs the question, why did you lie that you were already nearby?

Maybe he was being paranoid. His fists clenching and unclenching repeatedly, stressing about your whereabouts and the obvious reason as to why he was so stressed to begin with.

So when he’d heard your footsteps up the ramp, your voice calling for Grogu, you were both surprised to see the other staring back.

“Where have you been?” Din questioned gently but you sensed an underlining annoyance to his tone.

“I detoured, sorry,” you sheepishly smiled, holding up a bag of frog meat. “I saw a vendor selling this and I knew Grogu would be happy about it. Not to mention,” you brush past him, eyes focused solely on the sleeping child snuggling into his hammock on Din’s bunk, “it would be nice to see him not eat a whole frog for once.”

You laugh and it eases Din.

Of course he was just being paranoid.

“And the contact?” He says and you remain with your back to him, reaching your hand in carefully to tug the blanket over Grogu’s body. “He give us what we need?”

“He did,” you respond and Din satisfied, presses the button to bring up the ramp and close the hatch. The sound of it whirring so loud, in need of some oiling so much so that you had probably thought he missed your quiet words.

“What was that?” His helmet turns your way when the hatch closes with a loud creak.

“I said, somewhat.”

Okay, maybe he wasn’t being paranoid after all.

Din feels his nerves wash over him, noticing how you’re not even turning around as you address him. He takes you in. You don’t seem discomforted, angry or emotional. You’re incredibly calm.

Though that was worrying.

Normally, you came back from having debriefs with the informants with a story to tell.

“It was quite scary actually. They had this wookie with them but then you’ll never believe this guy! Stood there, blaster in hand, immense glare in his face, goes and shoves a fist in his satchel, I’m ready to throw hands and I shit you not, Din…wookie pulls out a cookie and starts crunching away at it!”

“Have you ever met a Gungan, Din? I think they’re my favourite people I’ve ever met. I mean they were all like, yousa follow us now, okeyday? Seriously! Oh gooberfish! I love them!”

“What do you mean by somewhat?”

You sigh.

This wasn’t good.

“I’m sorry, Din. They gave us the last location. I think that’s the most important thing.”

“What about if they’re solo or run with a crew? We need to know what we’re walking into, otherwise we could get bombarded the moment we land.”

This wasn’t a simple bounty. This guy was one of the worst out there.

A slave trader.

It angered Din to even think about it.

“Something happened,” he doesn’t let you tip-toe around the subject. “What are you not telling me?”

You fall silent and that’s enough for him.

Something did happen and what’s worse, you don’t want to tell him.

He moves towards you and you turn on your heel, ready to protest. Din had only meant to just embrace your shoulder gently to ease you into a conversation he thought you needed to have but the slightest wince had him drawing back almost immediately.

With his steps halted in front of you, the air cold, the crest filled with silence, Din’s visor drops instinctively to your neck.

Was it getting cool? Sure, when it was getting late. Though right now, it was still early afternoon and you never wore a scarf in Mos Espa outside the settlement and in the dunes.

“Did he touch you?”

Din has to bite back the growl threatening to crackle through his modulator.

Your head drops, eyes on the floor and the look of regret on your features make Din pray to the Maker that he’ll kill the man just for the expression on your face.

Then you unravel the scarf and Din wastes no time.

His hand had pulled your collar back gently, his shoulders stiffening at the purpled marks there.

You grimaced before trying for a smile but he sees the way your eyes plead with his, “Before you ask, it looks worse than it feels. I’m fine, Din. Let’s just go.”

He remembers you calling his name after that.

Only once because you knew as you watched him brush past you, grabbing two vibroblades from his armoury and charging down the steps towards the town, that there was nothing you could say to stop him.

And you were right because less than five minutes later, Din’s blades were impaled on the informants hands, stapling him indefinitely to the table at the cantina while onlookers ran completely, hid or dropped their heads from his view.

Then his gloved hands were on his throat, squeezing the life out of him.

An eye for an eye.

You hadn’t explained why the man had strangled you and it was pointless anyway.

He had no right to touch you.

To hell with Karga.

He’d lose an informant but that informant chose to fuck with what was his and that was worth more than any information.

When Din felt the life leave him, he dropped a number of credits to the table, looked up at the barman and walked away. His last words being, “you can keep those,” shrugging his shoulder towards the blades on the way out.

Now back at the ship, you sit rigidly on the bunk while Din gently swipes a lotion of bacta over your wound with a cotton wipe.

“I shouldn’t have let you go.”

Your eyes flicker to his visor and you know he’s evading your gaze.

You sigh and for a moment, he think you’re not going to reply until your hands gently take his, stopping him from tending to you.

He lifts his visor then, meeting your concerned eyes, your fingers intertwined with his on your lap.

“I can handle myself. You know that, right?”

Oh. So that’s what this was?

You were worried he thought you incompetent to end up in this circumstance?

Of course you would think that. He’s your employer. You only want to deliver good work for him.

That’s not all this is anymore though and Din can’t pretend and let you go on feeling like a failure especially with the tears dancing on your waterlines.

“You are very capable, mesh’la but-“ Din sighs.

How can he even begin to explain to you that he’s more angry at himself for not protecting you like he’s supposed to?

Kriff, you’re not even a bounty hunter. Trained to use a blaster as a novice, he noticed how you flinched whenever you’ve had to pull the trigger on his behalf. You’re at your calmest when you’re rocking the small boy before bed, singing lullabies to him in a hushed tone probably so Din couldn’t hear. You had no idea that he stood just above the ladder to the cockpit and listened.

You were ethereal and he couldn’t get enough of you.

That’s why it made his hands shake to even think that anyone would harm you.

He’s so caught up in his own thoughts, he misses the way your eyes widen at the term of endearment he let slip and the quick gesture as you shake yourself from how affected you are by it.

“I just…” you break through his racing thoughts, his eyes latching onto your dipped chin, eyes shadowed in the corner of the docking port, just outside his bunk. You look solemn but rather than feel dread, Din’s heart stills when he notices the flush of pink across your features.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say you were nervous.

“I just want to be able to do more for you.”

The words play on a loop, almost like they’re colliding against the inside of Din’s helmet, repeatedly soaring through his ears again and again.

“I want to be more useful for you. Ya know?”

Useful? You think you’re not already useful?

“Sometimes I just feel like I have more to offer. I know you brought me in to be a babysitter but I can be more than that. For you.”

Was the carbonite freezing system failing or was it getting hotter in the crest?

Din felt like he needed to tug the shroud off from around his neck. The air was suffocating.

“Please say something?” Your small voice says quietly.

“You are more to me than you will ever understand, cya’rika.”

Your eyes meet his then.

Well, his visor at least and Din curses his creed for having him hide his face at a time when he wants- no needs you to see how much he means what he says.

You’re silent but the increasing rouge of your cheeks is enough to see that you understand him and that perhaps there was some truth in his suspicions.

You felt for him just as much as he felt for you.

“Din…”

And just like that, his eyes roll back momentarily hearing his name leave your tongue like a pleading prayer.

He couldn’t pretend like you weren’t affecting him too.

He needed you to know.

“Get in the bunk, ner kar’ta.”

Your body stills a moment in surprise and you don’t move.

Maybe he misjudged or maybe he’s being too forward but then you stand and without taking your eyes away from him, you seat yourself on the side of his bunk.

Waiting for him.

Waiting for further instruction just like you’ve been doing ever since you walked onto his ship.

One thing he realised he misjudged.

All those times you obeyed every command, it was never out of the need for his money.

You never questioned him, never refused an order but with Din and the matter of Grogu’s safety, it was never a request and that’s all it was to start.

It was just a matter of his sons safety until he realised he loved you too.

Din stands and steps in front of you, you look up at him as he tugs the shroud from around his neck loose.

He notices how your eyes drop to his waist, evading the reveal of his tanned skin while you’re positioned below him. He wraps the material a couple of times before placing the fabric over your eyes.

You don’t move.

You don’t flinch.

You just allow him to remove one of your senses, leaving nothing but darkness over your sight. His heart aches at the trust you have in him, allowing him to render you vulnerable before him.

He ties it behind your head, making sure it’s not too tight as to hurt you.

He’s not the same type of man as the monster from earlier today.

His fingers itch at the memory and he shrugs his gloves off, setting his bare fingers against the cold metal of his helmet.

You await patiently and he watches as you jerk your head slightly at the familiar sound of his helmet releasing.

The sound you’ve only ever heard from a nearby room, hiding away from him when you brought him supper.

You await patiently while Din removes each piece of armor, setting it aside.

Then there’s just silence.

Until you hear his knees hit the ground in front of you and a warm breath hits your neck, a shudder running up your spine.

“Is it okay if I show you something?”

His whispers hit your ear drum in the most delightful way.

You nod dreamily.

Then you feel rough, warm lips graze your neck.

If heaven was travelling at light-speed through space, it was right here and now with Din’s lips travelling along your jawline, mapping out the path to seal against your lips. He tugs gently, coaxing you out of the shy shell you had created when you realised the butterflies he made you feel when you first met had more to do with how attracted you were to him than to how intimidating most people found him.

Every step he took on each planet you travelled, Din carried a powerful aura that most people cowered away from but it only drew you to him more.

You knew Din was strong.

You knew not many could beat him in a fight, yourself included but that was the whole point.

Din would never abuse his strength over you.

Ever.

Though, you wish he would, in special circumstances.

Like right now.

“How do you feel, cya’re?” Din inquires breathlessly, lips pressing soft kisses down your throat while you bite back the urge to be vocal.

“I wish we’d done this sooner,” you say uneasily, your hands gripping the bunk below you.

Din’s chuckle hits your ear, reverberating against your ear drum exquistively.

“Din?” He hears your voice rattle with every nestle of his lips stroking over your skin.

“Yes, mesh’la?” He raises his head, lips brushing the underside of your jaw, watching your lips turn up into a small smirk. Though you couldn’t see his expression returning yours, his adoring smile awaited your next words patiently.

“You killed him, didn’t you?”

You feel a thumb smooth over your bottom lip.

“He deserved it,” you shake your head slightly, fighting away an amused smile on your lips that he quickly wipes away, replacing with an expression of longing when his lips meet your ear.

“You’re mine.”

[suna-cerely-yours]

Break Point ft k. sakusa

synopsis: tennis!au -you shouldn't be letting your boyfriend's rival feel you up in the locker room, and you certainly shouldn't be getting on your knees for him, especially given the history between the two of you

warnings : mdni, smut, fem! bodied reader, reader has she/her pronouns, degradation, cheating, oral (m! recieving), public sex, pussy jobs, hair pulling, reader is called a good girl

song rec : fetish -selena gomez

"and we're back folks! that was some first set- of course, we are in the US Open semi-finals, and it is sakusa and terushima on the court!"

the crowd roars as you adjust your sunglasses and pick up your honey deuce to take a sip, eyes trained on terushima sitting on the bench with a towel over his head. unwillingly, you find your gaze pulled towards the player on the other side of the umpire's chair, sakusa kiyoomi uncapping a bottle of electrolytes before tilting his head back and bringing the bottle to his mouth. you take another sip, watching the strong column of his throat move as he gulps his water.

"this infamous rivalry's brought everyone together today. over in terushima's box, is, of course, his beautiful girlfriend- joined by his high-school friends!"

you raise your head and smile, raising your honey deuce as the cameras pan over to your seat at the commentator's words. in the row behind you terushima's friends holler and whistle, waving a banner with his face on it.

"terushima's partner is pretty private, so it's a real treat that we managed an interview with her before the match- she's had some fun stuff to say about this rivalry and today's match."

you watch as you pop up on the big screen, dressed in the blue and white dress you'd picked out specially for this match- makeup and hair fresher than it currently was. the string of diamonds around your throat winks in the light as you nod at whatever the interviewer was saying.

"what do you think about sakusa? he's given your boyfriend quite a good amount of grief this season."

the video-you laughs at the question, red lips curling upward. "well, he's been a household name for some time now. yuji thinks more about him than about me, if we're being frank."

"do you think his victories are earned? sakusa's won 5 out of the 6 times they've met so far, and their rivalry goes way back to their juniors days."

"sakusa's definitely a really good player, and he's improved a lot since his defeat at last year's wimbledon final. i- we, yuji and i both think he's someone to watch out for, especially if he can clean up his net play a little more. he, for sure, has the potential to surpass the big 3."

the interviewer raises her eyebrows at your admission, and Arthur Ashe clamors in real time. you sink your teeth into your lower lip, as the other screen shows sakusa's reaction to your words. as usual, the man is stoic, showing no signs of having heard your praise. however, his sharp eyes are focused on the screen showing your interview, having stopped all his inter-set preparations.

"and what about terushima? do you think he can surpass the big 3?"

you're silent for a touch too long before showering yuji with praise, however it doesn't seem like anyone except you had noticed the pause. yuji's grinning from his bench on the court making kissy faces at the screen. he has everyone's attention.

you swallow, shifting your focus back to sakusa, who's no longer looking at the screen, but has his eyes trained on you, a faint smirk evident on his face. well, that pause hadn't escaped everyone's notice. kissing your teeth, you avert your eyes- taking another sip of your honey deuce. arthur ashe titters one final time before silence settles again as the players take their positions, sakusa's serve.

"and at 144 mph that's this season's fastest serve yet! i would not want to be the one who faces that serve, that's for sure."

you lean forward, taking off your sunglasses as the men enter the fifth and final set, sakusa breaking in the first game itself. you, as well as the rest of the centre court, watch with bated breaths as the game gets tense- so focused that you completely miss the dark clouds rolling in and the thunder rumbling ominously. there's not a moment of notice as the sky opens up, the downpour brutal. fat, cold raindrops assault your senses as you scramble for cover- dress already sticking and hair frizzing. making your way down the stairs into the gallery, you hear the commentators announce the official postponement of the match.

going down a level further, you push open the double doors to reach the locker rooms. surprisingly, there's no one around. there's a clang of a locker closing somewhere, and you walk towards the sound- your heels clacking loudly. turning the corner, you freeze as a pale, muscular back- scattered with moles- comes into view. sakusa kiyoomi stands with his back to you, shirtless, with his shorts riding low and a towel slung over his shoulder. at your sharp intake he turns, hooded eyes pinning you in place.

"sorry, i um- i'll just-"

you shouldn't be here. (you've been here too many times to be anywhere else.)

he says nothing but keeps his eyes on you as he towels his hair. your gaze unconsciously strays to his biceps as they flex at the motion, before snapping back to his face. he stares at you for a moment longer, before throwing his towel back into the locker and slamming the door shut. you feel heat creeping up your cheeks as he turns to you again.

"why are you here again?"

"sorry, i just- i thought-"

he keeps quiet, cocking his head to the side, waiting for you to continue. you stammer once more before shutting up.

"sorry. i'll leave."

you feel a lump in your throat at his curt words, but you have no right to be upset. you know that very well. you're almost at the corner when his words cause you to stop.

"the big three?"

you pause, memories of younger kiyoomi talking about his dreams flashing through your mind. swallowing, you turn around.

"you know you could do it. coming from me it means nothing."

"nothing?"

you pause again, feeling your neck prickle with heat against his intense stare. he hasn't moved an inch, yet you feel cornered- like prey.

"it should mean nothing."

he scoffs at this, taking a step closer.

"is that what helps you sleep at night? do you say it before you slip your hand into your panties imagining it's my dick inside you, or do you say it after- as long as there's no guilty conscious right?"

you blink at his words, before retorting sharply, "kiyo you can't speak to me like that, watch your words-"

"so i'm kiyo again? what happened to sakusa? you said it so sweetly in the interview. i'm a regular at your perfect white picket fence household, right?"

you step back, hitting a locker, unaware that you'd been backing up. he's in front of you before you can blink, pressing up against you, one hand gripping your waist the other flat against the locker beside your head. leaning closer his breath fans across your face as he pants, still breathing deeply from his match.

"you show up- as you always do when he's playing against me- wearing the dress i bought you, the dress i fucked you in- wrapped in diamonds i bought you, diamonds that rest where my hands used to-

and that's fine. that's perfectly fine. but showing up here? in this locker room? and saying your words mean nothing to me?"

you whimper, eyes falling shut as he grips your face, smearing your lipstick with his thumb. the scent of his cologne mixed with his sweat crowds your senses, dimming them. slipping his thumb into your mouth he presses against your tongue. you obediently part your mouth, pressing your thighs to relieve some of the pressure. sakusa scoffs again, slotting his thigh between your legs, allowing you to press down and rut against him.

"what a slut, do you get wet like this for everyone? or am i just special baby? do you let every fucker who plays against your darling boyfriend feel you up in the locker room? does the idea of you getting fucked by someone he'll lose against turn him on too?"

your eyes roll back as you moan, sliding a hand to your breast, before it's snatched back by kiyoomi, pinned against the locker. his touch is too familiar for you to consider him as sakusa, he's always been your kiyo.

"you're going to get off humping my leg like a dog in heat baby, i know you can do it," he coos, grip on your face tightening.

you whimper at his words, grinding down harder. everything feels so hot, with kiyoomi pressing his body against you- weight heavy. his scent is everywhere.

"actually- i don't think you deserve that."

your eyes fly open as he shifts his thigh and moves away, leaving you cold and slumped against the lockers. you breathe heavily, fingers scrambling for purchase behind you to keep yourself upright.

you open your mouth to say something, anything- but you draw blank. what can you even say?

kiyoomi stands still in front of you, arms crossed- but with his shorts tenting it's clear he's not entirely unaffected. his dark eyes remain fixed on you, but he says nothing. the two of you remain suspended like this for a few heartbeats. you see his adam's apple bob as he swallows once, twice- before taking a step back.

"you should leave. he's probably waiting for you."

you should leave. he's definitely waiting for you.

you nod slowly, straightening your spine. taking a deep breath, you reach for your bag which you had dropped sometime during and dig through it for a tissue. your makeup must be a mess.

glancing back at kiyoomi you pause- watching as he sinks down on a bench and leans back to rest on his elbows. his legs part as he breathes, chest rising- erection still straining against his shorts.

the sight is so familiar, your heart aches. your mouth feels dry as he drops his head back, revealing the strong column of his neck.

your panties stick uncomfortably, pussy still throbbing. your breasts feel heavy as you drop your bag again, turning towards him. heat trickles down your spine as you reach for the zipper of your dress, unable to move your eyes from his physique. your dress pools by your feet as you step out of it, now dressed in nothing but your panties, heels, and his diamonds.

kiyoomi still hasn't moved.

teeth sinking into your lower lip, you reach to unbuckle your heels, your brain on autopilot. now barefoot, you pad towards kiyo, sinking to your knees in between his parted legs.

you should leave.

you reach forward to mouth at kiyo's erection, pressing open-mouthed kisses on his cock through the fabric. above you kiyo still hasn't moved, but he sighs, carding a hand through your hair. pressing a hand to his thigh for balance, you move to pull him out, continuing to mouth at his shaft. leaning forward you take him in your mouth, slowly easing him in until you feel him hit the back of your throat. eyes watering, you breath slowly, sucking him the way you know he likes it. you feel kiyo tug at your roots, and you look up at him, eyes locking. his eyes are hooded and impossibly dark, mouth bitten red as he pants.

"my pretty girl, so good for me, only for me," he slurs, grip on your hair tightening. you moan, taking him deeper, swallowing him. kiyo groans, head tipping back again. you slip your hand into your panties, desperate for some friction, moaning again. before you can move however, you find yourself being lifted straight up onto his lap.

now straddling him, your pussy slides against his dick, as you grasp his shoulders for purchase.

"you just couldn't stay away could you? what a filthy little whore. what would those reporters say if they could see you now, hmm? tennis's favourite girlfriend is nothing but a cock hungry slut, but not for her boyfriend, no- for her boyfriend's rival," he coos.

"kiyo, fuck," you whimper, everything is too much.

he moves you again, this time standing up to push you against the locker once again. your legs tremble as you lean back. he slaps your tits, as you jerk, gasping.

"kiyokiyokiyo, please," you whine, unsure what exactly you want him to do. yanking your panties down, he pumps his cock once, before tapping the head against your clit. bullying the head between your lips, he groans, rutting against you.

slapping your tits once again, he grips his cock, inhaling sharply- and he cums all over you pussy and panties. you whine again, reaching to pull his head down, needing to kiss him.

"fuck. fuck, you're so-," he pants into your neck. you nod deliriously, you need to cum so badly it hurts.

the doors clang loudly.

"yo, sakusa, you in here? the weather's cleared up, they're sayin' if it's cool with the both of us we can continue in 30 minutes."

the two of you spring apart, alarm bells ringing in your mind as you pull up your panties. rushing to your dress, you struggle to put it on.

kiyo shoots you one last look, before calling out, "sure man, you mind letting them know on my behalf? i'll be right up."

the footsteps stop just you're stumbling into your shoes.

"of course my guy, no problem."

the doors open again, and you sigh in relief.

"say, you wouldn't have seen my girl anywhere, would you? she's disappeared."

you freeze again, but sakusa's moving past you now, rounding the corner with his tennis bag hung over his shoulder.

"nah, haven't seen her."

[uramakimochi]

LIttle Y/N giving Remus's 'after a full moon' scars with little kisses because that's what her daddy and dad do whenever she gets hurt. 'kiss the pain away' :')

SORRY IF I'M LATE WITH YOUR REQUEST MY LOVE BUT I HOPE YOU LIKE IT🤍

HEALING KISSES AND COLORFUL BANDAIDS

Wolfstar x daughter!reader

SUMMARY: Your fathers are always there for you when you get hurt so now you want to do the same for Remus. (1.9k words)

WARNINGS: fluff fluff and fluff!! No use of Y/N, but use of petnames.

English is not my first language so feel free to correct me.

Your parents had told you about what had plagued poor Remus since he was a child. Although at first Remus was very unsure about telling you the truth about the werewolf thing, with a little convincing from Sirius, James and the others, he found the courage to tell you about it.

And he was surprised when, despite your very young age, you revealed to him that you had had your suspicions, even if you weren't sure what it was.

"I always wondered why i went to sleepover with Uncle Reggie or Aunt Lily and Harry once a month, but i didn't know it was because you are a werewolf, Dad" you said in a thoughtful tone, while Remus looked at you more shocked than you were. "I thought werewolves were just stories!"

It didn't take Remus and Sirius long to convince you that Remus wasn't a monster. In fact, it didn't take them anything, to tell the truth.

The only one who had such a terrifying view of himself was Remus, but you understood that what happened to him wasn't his fault or anyone else's and you were determined to make him understand too. No one in your family looked at him differently and so you wouldn't either. He was your father and you would've never stopped loving him for it. Ever.

So, as James and Sirius took care of him during the full moon, you promised him that from now on you would help him too and that you would've never let him suffer alone again.

The front door opened and Remus and James entered next to each other. Remus was shirtless, wearing only some ruined trousers and had one arm thrown across James' shoulders, while his thin, tired and battered body couldn't help but lean against the one of his friend.

"Here we are" the bespectacled man murmured, flashing a warm smile at Remus. "Are you alright, Moony?"

"As alright as i can be" Remus replied with an ironic tone, but with a reassuring smile, even though his bones felt sore.

"Dad!"

Before any of them could expect it, Remus felt the force of a small body slamming into his legs. A pair of arms hugged him tightly around the waist and Remus's eyes bulged as he felt a rush of pain run through his body, but he stopped himself from cursing out loud.

"No no no no no baby baby wait!" another concerned voice hastily interjected.

Remus saw Sirius, who had stayed at home with you waiting for him and James, emerge from the same direction you had come from and approach the group but when he noticed the grimace of pain on his husband's face and your body wrapped around his, pressing painfully on his wounds, he quickly placed his hands on your shoulders to make you take a step away from Remus. Remus would never admit it to you, but he was honestly grateful for Sirius' intervention.

"See that Dad is hurt?" Sirius asked you sympathetically, wanting you to understand that none of them were angry. "I know you want to give him a hug but we have to be more gentle because if not we're going to hurt him, hm?"

At those words your eyes rested on Remus' body, finally noticing the cuts and wounds, some dry and others fresher, that covered his torso and face. You nodded slowly and everyone present could notice the exact moment when the joy of seeing your father return home disappeared to make room for guilt.

"I'm sorry dad" you murmured, lowering your head and playing with your fingers. "I didn't mean to hurt you"

Remus and James exchanged a look with Sirius who smiled tenderly and patted your head to comfort you. Remus slowly knelt on the ground, helped by James and you lifted your head to look at him.

"I know you didn't mean to hurt me, my darling girl" he said with an understanding smile, then reached up to your face and caressed your soft cheek with his thumb. "I'm not angry, don't worry"

He slowly stood up, grimacing as he heard his bones cracking like rusty gears, and then held out his hand to you. "But now i'm a little tired, will you accompany me back to my room please?"

And you nodded frantically with a wide smile, finally proud to be of use to him in some way, before taking his hand and leading him towards his and Sirius' room, being careful not to walk too fast.

When Sirius returned to their room after saying goodbye to James at the door before he left, he saw Remus half lying on the bed with his back resting on the pillows against the headeboard and an exhausted look in his eyes. But despite the tiredness, he could see a small affectionate smile that had grown on his husband's lips, while his loving gaze was directed towards you, kneeling next to him on top of the covers and with two packets of bandaids in your hands.

"Do you prefer the ones with butterflies or the ones with flowers, dad?" you softly asked, lifting your head to look at your father.  (Both your parents immediately noticed how you were careful to keep your voice lower and more delicate, not wanting to ruin the atmosphere and not wanting to disturb poor, tired Remus).

Sirius walked into the room to approach the bed, exchanging a look with his husband as he sat behind you on his side of the bed.

"Whichever you want, darling. I like both of them" Remus replied, holding back a yawn.

You smiled and began to open both packets of patches. "Then i'll use both"

So your parents admired you working with dedication on your father's body, as you used your colorful bandaids to cover the wounds that decorated his arms and chest.

"Honey, maybe you don't really want to use all of them" Sirius said gently, placing a hand on your back and stroking it with his fingertips.

You turned to look at him confused, holding a patch with a red butterfly between your fingers.

"Why?"

"Well because these are YOUR bandaids that you like so much and if you use them all for Dad then what will you use if you get hurt again?"

Sirius didn't want to be mean to you or Remus. He simply knew how fond you were of your bandaids (you had personally chosen them after careful consideration) and he knew that at that age you still tended to hurt yourself when you carelessly played without worrying about anything, so he didn't want you to be left without something to cover your wounds.

"He's right. I'm okay my love, you don't need to use all your bandaids on me" Remus then added.

You alternated your gaze from one to the other and after thinking about it for a few seconds you shook your head.

"It's okay, i don't mind" you said with a smile, leaning over to press the butterfly patch onto Remus' shoulder as the two of them looked at you in confusion and surprise. "Your wounds are bigger and they hurt more than the ones i get when i play. You need them more than me"

Remus and Sirius exchanged a tender look over your head and the latter gave him a comforting smile.

"I promise i'll be more careful not to hurt myself so you can use my bandaids" you concluded, placing the last one on his skin.

Remus giggled a little and Sirius slipped along the covers to get closer to him, both of them already imagining how difficult it would be for you to try not to get any injuries. But they knew you would put all the effort you could into it.

"I guess we'll have to buy some more then, won't we?" Sirius piped up looking back at you and you nodded. "Because Dad needs a looot of bandaids"

Remus ran his eyes over the colorful patches that decorated his body, as if he were a canvas you had painted on.

"Good job baby" he said, lifting a hand to stroke your head. "My little personal nurse"

"Wait dad, there's one more thing to do" you added, holding up a finger, as he tilted his head.

"What?"

"I have to kiss you on the boos to make the pain go away" you replied in an obvious tone. "You and Daddy always give me kisses when i hurt myself so i'll give them to you too"

Oh of course, how could they forget about that?

Your parents didn't like seeing you cry when you got hurt, but there was no better feeling for them than seeing you run up to them to beg them to kiss your knee or the palm of your hand to make the pain go away. And so they did. They would gently place one of your beloved bandaids on the wound and then place a sweet kiss over it, kissing the pain away and watching you smile again as if nothing had happened.

Remus looked at you with teary eyes as he felt his heart swell so much he was almost afraid it would burst in his chest.

You leaned towards your him and began to pepper his body with small kisses, leaving a loud "Mwuah!" every time your lips touched the patches covering his scratches. And when you were sure you hadn't missed a spot, you raised your head to look at him with a satisfied look.

"Done! How are you feeling now dad?"

A shaky smile spread across Remus's lips and before he could say anything, he felt Sirius' hand clasp his as he caressed the back of it. His gaze passed over him and then back to you.

"Better, my darling. I feel… S-So much better now"

But when you saw a couple of tears escape from his eyes and run down his face, you frowned, tilting your head to the side slightly.

"Do you want a hug?" you asked, leaning towards him and opening your arms wide.

"Noo dad, why are you crying?"

Remus sniffed and shook his head with a smile, while from beside him Sirius wiped away his tears with his thumb. "It's nothing lovie, really. I'm just very happy that you helped me"

He nodded without hesitation and wrapped his free arm around your small body, pulling you against his side. You snuggled into him, still being careful of his wounds, and Remus tilted his head to give you a series of kisses on your hair, squeezing his eyes.

"Thank you baby. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart" he soflty murmured and you rubbed your cheek on his shoulder, smiling.

"Mh. Anything for our Moony"

Remus felt his heart skip a beat, which always happened when he heard you say that nickname, having learned it thanks to James and Sirius.

It made him feel proud to be Moony. Proud to be your father and above all proud to have a daughter like you, who would always love him, despite everything. That would never see him as the monster he believed himself to be.

And while you closed your eyes to enjoy the family cuddles, with the desire to fall asleep in your father's arms, Sirius and Remus exchanged a loving look, while the former leaned towards his thin scarred face to leave a delicate kiss on a small scratch that decorated his wet cheek.

"Anything for our Moony"

[kabr0ztrousers]

Kabr0z Writes Episode 7: The Rowing Team

Find the Contents page Here

CWs: noncon; intox; alcohol intox; substance intox; group sex; impregnation; foreshadowing; fem!reader having a very bad time

Author's note: The poll in the last episode has about a half hour left on it as I start this, and so far all votes are for "No limits, make it uncomfortable" So we're doing a noncon scenario today. You filthy, filthy animals, I love you all 🤍

########################################

You might have pregamed a little hard. By the time you got to the party you could already feel yourself swaying a little. You shook yourself and went inside. What was freshers week for but drinking irresponsible amounts of alcohol and going to flat parties, after all? You're still not used to this though, you only turned 18 in the last week of August, and still haven't had chance to build up the tolerance to alcohol some of your peers were sporting as they swigged from bottles of cheap vodka, gin, and rum.

You made your way through the throng of people and into the lounge, the larger of the 2 common rooms in the flat. That's when you saw him, wearing a jacket sporting the rowing team logo. He was a catfolk, tall and limber, he didn't seem to be bulky enough to be a rower, maybe he was the Cox?

He saw you, and locked eyes across the room. His gaze dazzled you, a deer in his headlamps, transfixed. He strode over, prowling through the crowd that parted before him

"Hey, I'm Miles" He thrust a cup into your hand "What can I call you?"

You told him your name, and took a sip. It was a kind of beer, slightly bitter and fizzy on your tongue.

"Cute name!" You could see his sharp teeth as he laughed.

He was magnetic. Tall, slim, not to mention charming. It felt like you'd only just finished your drink before he grabbed you another, some sort of cocktail this time.

He pulled out a baggie containing several brightly coloured lozenges "Something to take the edge off, you want one?"

You shook your head, noticeably swaying as more of the beer reached your head.

Miles shrugged and put one in his mouth, washing it down with the dregs of his drink and got up, grabbing your hand as he did "Come on, let me introduce you to the team"

You felt light and heavy, all at once. Your head swam as you got up and you hung on to Miles' arm as he led you upstairs to another flat, out of the pounding music and commotion of the party.

Every step you took, you could feel yourself getting heavier, your limbs getting clumsier. You were stumbling, but he kept a hand on your back as he led you. In the half-light up here you could only make out his eyes against his brownish tabby fur, narrowed slits of reflected light

He opened his flat door and pushed you inside ahead of him, then brought you through to the lounge. A group of four over large, predatory males lounged around on the threadbare sofas. They turned to look at the fresh meat their friend had brought them.

"Miles, you came through!" A big grey wolf barked out

"She even legal?" Another wolf, this one mottled brown

Miles threw your drivers license at them in response, did you give him that?

A tiger catfolk caught it, inspecting it in the fluorescent light and laughed "Ha! Barely! But when have you cared about legal, Lance?"

The mottled wolf laughed "She sure looks like you worked your magic on her, cap"

Miles pushed you. You stumbled a step before your legs gave out and you fell bodily onto a table in front of you "Bitch didn't think to question why she was getting so many free drinks from the nice pussycat" he spat "Now we get to clear her tab"

The one that hadn't spoken yet, a powerfully built lizardman looked into your eyes "What you dose her with?"

"The usual" you could hear Miles doing something behind you, you tried to look but you couldn't turn your head "A little of this, a little of that"

Laughs all round. You tried to speak, to ask what's happening. You yelled. You screamed. All that came out were soft moans.

"Looks ready to me" the lizard's long forked tongue darted out, and he stood up. He started to undress. You realised what Miles and the others were doing.

The lizard pulled off his sweatpants and revealed his genital slit. You could feel the rest of them manhandling you, pulling off your jeans and underwear, tearing open your shirt and opening your bra before on Miles' count you were flipped over on the table.

Paralysed.

Exposed.

You could feel your limbs lying uselessly off the table as you saw it in front of you, the lizard's hemipene rising from the slot between his loins, long and thick, clubbed at the end.

A scaled hand squeezed your jaw, forcing your mouth open as the others watched. The lizard pushed the obscene shape past your lips, then teeth, until it was resting in your mouth.

He straightened up your head, lining you up. "Let the game..." He thrust, pushing straight past the back of your throat. "Begin!"

All at once five sets of hands were on you, accompanied by mouths and animalistic cocks. Rubbing at every part of you. Licking your pussy. Groping your tits. Toying with your asshole. Spurting hot jets of precum onto your naked skin.

The lizard kept fucking your throat pulling out occasionally so you could take a gasp of air. You could feel your pussy getting hotter and wetter despite you, preparing itself.

The lizard pulled out. The grey wolf took his place. The lizard started working on you as the rest had, and everyone moved over a step, except Miles.

Miles was busy with your pussy, licking his rough feline tongue over the whole of it, taking special care around the clit and keeping you just on the edge of orgasm.

Then he pulled away. You felt soft fur between your thighs, but no whiskers now.

Then a pressure. "Seems like she's ready boys, I'll take first go, seeing as she's my catch"

Miles pushed himself inside you. You couldn't scream. With the huge canine cock in your mouth you could barely breathe around the thick shaft and the precum oozing out from your lips and down your throat.

You could feel why some people liked felines, and why most didn't. His entire shaft was patterned with sharp points that scraped inside you as he fucked in and out. Every point hurt. Every one drove you closer and closer to the edge.

Then it happened. You could feel yourself start to pulse against his shaft. Squeezing it. Clenching around it. Miles' thrusts got faster. More desperate. He pushed in. You could feel his balls tighten against your asscheecks. His tip was nudging your cervix, pumping rope after rope into your womb.

A chill went down your spine. You're not sure why

Then they changed position.

Miles and Lance lifted you upright and held you over the table as the lizard and the wolf that was in your mouth got below you. They lined their cocks up against your asshole and your cunt as you were lowered onto them. You could feel the bulbous lizard-dick stretching your ass as the blunt wolf cock invaded your pussy.

The lizard grabbed you around your waist and pulled you on top of him "Erik's gonna fuck you silly, and I've got dibs on your sweet ass" he hissed into your ear.

You could barely hear him. Your head lolled madly and your arms flailed with the power of the wolf's thrusts. The tiger grabbed each side of your head and started using your mouth as Miles and Lance suckled on each of your tits.

The wolf cock was smoother, but bigger. Stretching rather than scratching. Milo's cum was mixing with Erik's pre and filling the room with a slapping sound as it lubricated you. The feeling of two cocks in you was too much. You could feel them rubbing against one another, frotting inside you like you were nothing more than a toy.

Because that's what you were. A toy.

Erik grunted as you crested your second orgasm and pushed in harder. His thick knot slapped against your hole again and again until it jammed in. His cock was held against the neck of your womb, filling you more and more.

What are you forgetting?

Erik worked his knot free. You would've cried out but you still couldn't make a sound other than lewd moaning, and the slap, slap, slapping of the tiger's balls against your chin.

The tiger's turn next, and Miles' cock entered your mouth, still sticky with both of your cum.

The tiger's cock went in easily, Erik's knot had left you gaping when he pulled it unceremoniously out, but it was the worst of both. It felt as thick as your arm, and the barbs were bigger on it. You moaned on each pull, as the thorns caught your labia and he quickly rubbed your clit with a thumb. He looked up at Milo and nodded, before they both pushed into you. You felt the sharp spines of Miles' cock at the back of your throat and tasted blood and cum as he pumped a load down your abused gullet. The tiger grunted and groaned as he too filled you up.

Something scared you more than the predators using your body

You could feel a mixture of cum running down your ass, lubricating the lizard who somehow still hadn't finished in you.

Then it was Lance's turn. He pushed his cock into your face first. Making sure you could smell the musk from his sheath and his balls. You could feel the heat of it as it painted your face in precum. Then he went for it. He didn't pause like the others. He just pumped into you. Faster and faster. You could feel yourself trying to twitch and shake but it never did. Your mouth now full of Erik again, fucking down into your coated throat and filling your belly with precum.

Lance didn't last long. The lubricant from his friends. The pulsing and clenching of your pussy. He pushed his knot in. It felt even bigger than Erik's.

He was filling you up again. You could feel the lizard finally doing the same to your behind. This time the wolf wasn't in any hurry to pull out.

You've forgotten something important

Lance kept his knot in you for at least the next half hour. Every time it felt like it was going down one of his friends would cum down your throat, on your face, on your tits, and he'd harden back up.

Eventually they got worn out, or bored of their new toy. Lance slipped out and a great gout of thick cum went with him. They dressed you in some pyjamas and took you down into the dead of the cold autumn night.

That was six weeks ago.

You're doing well at your studies. Keeping up well with the class, though first year's always the easiest they say. You're waiting in the pharmacy, you're not the most regular person in the world, and you're in a 2-month dry spell, but it never hurts.

You leave with a small box

Later that afternoon, you're sat on the toilet in your room, watching the slip of plastic you just peed on. The other one discarded at your feet. It must have been a false positive, they happen, right?

Right?

[ominouspuff]

Kote’s House

Kote’s first house is a pathetic thing, and he is incurably proud of it. The twi’lek he purchased it from very evidently could not make up his mind what to do with a man that grinned while he haggled, but it was the first time Kote had haggled over a purchase of his very own. He had thoroughly enjoyed it.

The house is built for one being, and a compact being at that, but Kote doesn’t have much. Moving in is quick, and most of his efforts during the next few days after go into attempting ambitious repairs for things he doesn’t know the first thing about. 

His plumbing is an issue, he knows. Something is getting blocked up. Somehow while trying to fix the kitchen tumbler, his fresher spout explodes.

He hadn’t kept his new house a secret from anyone by any means, but it is still surprising when Fox barges in through his jamming front door. He finds Kote on the floor in his cramped kitchen while the fresher rains water in the adjacent room, laughing so hard and so crippled with delight that he can’t get up.

He tries to explain how wonderful it is —

“I-I have to fix my plumbing on my own, vod—”

—but judging by Fox’s single raised eyebrow he knows it doesn’t translate.

Fox, it turns out, is moving into the neighborhood. Kote doesn’t ask about the house Fox already has — the house he has visited, which is very nice and fancy — or point out that Fox’s contract there cannot possibly be up, which begs the question of why he’s here in Kote’s neighborhood — except that Kote already knows the answer to that question. So he doesn’t ask.

Fox doesn’t show him any grace or forbearance, though.

“Don’t even know how to fix a damn pipe, front lining show-off—” His brother snarls, but it is muffled; his top half had to go down beneath the floor they’d pried up to get at the plumbing issue.

“So that’s what they had you doing all these years.” Kote says, because he really is in a criminally good mood. He barely ducks the foot-long pipe Fox throws at his head, feeling giddy.

He makes dinner that night in thanks. Fox stays, ostensibly because now that he’s fixed the fresher he intends to use it, because his new house isn’t hooked up properly yet to all the supply lines and power grids. 

They choke on homemade tiingilar (vode-style; Kote can’t pretend at the real thing yet) so heavily spiced it’s got grit to it that sticks between the teeth. It’s disgusting, but Cody had bought fifteen different spices and while usually he likes to keep his approach to the unknown more cautious, more methodical, he couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do more than use them all at once for the first time. 

Wolffe joins them not long after; brings a few others along by recommending the apartment he picks out, so that soon most of the complex is taken up by vode, Kote hears, but he doesn’t visit yet. Everyone’s too busy coming over to his house, it seems; filling up his kitchen and asking why he hasn’t fixed the trash disposal yet, why he doesn’t have a couch, doesn’t he know they’re all the rage among civilized folk?

Kote fixes the trash disposal with Rex, who is better at it than he is but says it’s only due to Skywalker’s influence on managing all things mechanical. 

“How is Skywalker?” Kote asks, and gets more than he bargained for over the next hour. At first he’s a bit off-put, because he’s trying to get dinner sorted again and he’s not been very fond of Skywalker at the best of times, but Rex is snorting out a story and laughing and it’s contagious, so Kote just resigns himself and settles in to enjoy.

Skywalker has little ones, now. Obi-Wan is the only one that can get them to sleep. Ahsoka is distressed; she knows better, but every instinct in her is apparently in agony over the little ones’ inability to eat meat yet. She obsesses over nutrients in their diet — which, given what tiny natborn humans primarily ingest in the early stages, makes for some slightly awkward conversations.

Rex helps with dinner afterward, and they take turns being incredulous over natborn baby facts, shoving around one another in the tiny, uncomfortable kitchen.

“What’s your next project?” Rex asks at one point, glancing sidelong with a cheeky look, and Kote levels his vegetable knife at him (he’s got a vegetable knife. Specifically for vegetables. It’s a very new concept). 

“I make everyone’s dinner on Tuangsdays.” He says. “I’m productive.”

Rex’s sharp-toothed grin turns thoughtful. “Yeah” He says. “Everyone loves coming here, you know. You could be the new 79’s.”

Kote knows. He plans and plots, and puts more work into researching recipes than he’s put into any research whatsoever in months. It feels a bit like coming out of a shore leave; his thoughts quicken and his excitement grows. He hunts down a market. He brings a bag. He shops, bargains, and returns victorious.

He sends out a few comms., and can’t help but shake his head and grin at how different the responses are. 

What a marvelous idea, Cody. His general — ex-general — says.

Yus pls, Ahsoka sends back, with some sort of strange tooka vidclip that dances with wiggly gyrations Kote can only assume indicate excitement.

Where is your house, Anakin says, blunt and to the point, and Kote can appreciate that. 

He sends the address. He cooks all day. The sun sets, and Fox and Wolffe arrive, already bickering, Rex trailing behind with a long-suffering look sent to Kote, begging commiseration.

“Ugh, don’t you ever stop smiling, now?” He gripes when Kote just grins at him. 

“Nope,” Kote says, unrepentantly.

He leaves the soup on the stove, simmering, and takes his cup of caf to the window. He leans on it, breathing in cool air, and just listens — listens to the squabbling as Wolffe gets on Fox’s case for not washing Kote’s dishes correctly the last time they visited. Hears the soft thumps of Rex sneaking into the cramped room Kote has set aside for plants and the sole pet he has; a pastel goullian, fins swaying ever so gently, permanent scowl in place. Thinks he catches, distantly, the sound of his remaining three guests (Padme couldn’t attend, and had made him feel very awkward by how thoughtfully she apologized for it) plodding up the hill. 

“Cody!” Ahsoka cries, coming into view and waving. 

Kote’s cheeks have stopped aching from all the smiling he’s gotten used to, so it’s easy to let another through.

[multimilfs]

Agnes O'Connor x Fem!Reader: The Bigger Bear

Summary: Agnes is set to be recognized for her work on a case, but getting her to the event leads to some... unexpected circumstances.

Ao3 + Part 1

Words: 10.6k

A/N: An enormous thank you to my beautiful beta readers; @saphiccarma , @louisaa-a , and @harknessshi who were kind enough to take their time and read over this for me!!!

Included: Established relationships, G!P, daddy kink, mommy kink, hand jobs, begging, dom/sub, kink exploration, car sex, accidental stimulation, accidental drug use, dirty talk, humiliation, possessive sex, porn with plot.

Tag List: @sapphicharknesss @grilledcheeseandguavajelly @milfslvr @kathrynscontroversiallyyounggf @raleighgay @ninatheronhahn @lizzieolsie216 @ajaasiopaoo @sweetestberryofthebunch @meiwan @pagetboobstarcomments @coffeemelko @alli23rt @thefearoffallingapartohohoh @ambessasevikasexslave @cowtownz @ilovehotactresses @supergirl107 @jillisselt @reignofnightmares @sapphic-gays @heady-pomegranate @dmtrxie @sp3c-tr0 @evie-101 @poisson-99 @renravens @scullysstrapblog @littlebminus @hvrkncss @blue2908 @lolitscaitlin @whoreforolderfictionalwomen @bqqbacenbuger @tastycadaversoup @women-are-so-ethereal @fruityrat47 @yluji @absolute-memegarbage @starryalexis @snickerdoodles-stuff @cheesee07 @rosie6reyes @kmaxmadness

With sleep still clouding every corner of your mind, you sigh, trudging down the stairs. 

The to-do list sits empty, which in theory allows for more time to relax; but relaxation often turns to boredom, and you find yourself missing Agnes. You sigh again as you aim for the kitchen, passing the living room.

Three steps past the living room you pause. 

You know every inch of your home top-to-bottom, down to the scuffs on the baseboards from Agnes kicking her shoes into them—which is why you know the dark mass sitting on the couch shouldn’t be there. You back up and blink at the sight of your wife. 

She’s clad in a flannel shirt and boxers, hair a frizzy halo around her head. Her glasses threaten to slide down her nose as she stares down at the pages of a book. 

“You’re home today?” You ask. 

“Chief told me to leave, take a ‘well deserved break.’” Agnes scoffs, not looking up from her book, “Just because we wrapped that case yesterday doesn’t mean there aren’t others.” 

“True. But you can look at the others with fresher eyes if you rest.” 

“If I didn’t know better I’d say you were conspiring with him. He said the same thing.” 

“Common sense for those who believe in work-life balance.” You smile, crossing to the couch and sitting down, leaning into her, “What are you reading?” 

An arm loops around you, pulling you more firmly into her side. Long fingers brush against the exposed bit of flesh on your side. Warmth radiates from her and you cuddle into every bit of contact she offers. The sigh that leaves you this time is pleased—dreamy. 

Agnes switches to reading the book aloud. Yet you’re not paying attention to the words, but rather, her voice; the gravelly note in it as she keeps her voice low in the peace of the morning, how it speeds up and slows at different intervals depending on how eager she is to see what happens next. Head resting on her shoulder, you take in all of her with so much affection it could make you sick. 

Like the details of your home, you know every contour of Agnes’ face as if you possess a map. You know every wrinkle and smile line, the subtle freckles that become brighter in the summer. If she’d let you, you’d kiss every mark on her face a dozen times over. 

Instead, you settle for tracing your finger down the length of her nose. She pauses. 

“What are you doing?” She asks. 

“Admiring.” 

Hesitation, then she shrugs it off, “Okay.” 

She begins to read again, mouth twitching with a grin when you trace the sensitive spots of her skin. It makes you grin. Faintly, you have the thought of hooking a finger in her mouth to see how she’d react, but you’re enjoying the comfort of being near her too much. 

Her lashes flutter when she blinks behind her glasses. The muscles in her jaw work double-time when she reads faster. You drag your finger along said jaw with agonizing tenderness. 

Tenderness that fills you so fully you can’t keep silent any longer, murmuring, “My handsome girl.” 

She swallows roughly.

“What is your deal?” 

“I told you,” you smile, leaning in to kiss her jaw, “I’m admiring.” 

“You’re distracting.” 

“Part of my job, sorry.” 

“Don’t remember that being in the vows.” 

“If I remember correctly, you don’t remember any of the vows—your focus was on the wedding night. As if we’d never had sex before.” 

Agnes barks out a laugh, “A lot of you was on display, what else could I focus on?” 

“How much you love me, for starters.” You pout. 

At the sight of your expression, Agnes rolls her eyes, the hint of a grin still pulling at the edges of her oh-so-kissable lips. 

“That’s what the rest of our lives were for.” She waves you off, “The wedding night had its own purpose.” 

“Loving and fucking can and do exist at the same time, you know.”

“You don’t say.” 

You don’t dignify the comment with anything beyond a petulant huff. 

Like a cat sure of their rightful spot, you curl back into your wife’s side as if you own the space; as if the curve of her body was molded to match your own. The length of a strong shoulder plays the part of your pillow. 

Agnes’ fingers twitch around her book. She resumes reading, silent this time. 

The allure of sleep still beckons with a convincing hand. Your eyelids droop—but though you may close them, sleep does not come. You alternate between opening them to make a half-hearted attempt at reading the pages and letting them slip closed on the hope of slipping away. Similar fatigue plagues the whole of your body. 

A bird calls outside. There’s a brush against your foot as Scratchy hops by. 

The lingering notes of Agnes’ cologne tickle your nose. You press closer—as if it’s possible— wanting to drown yourself in the scent, in her. She huffs a near-silent laugh. 

Your stomach growls. It squeezes, searching and desperate. You should make something for the two of you, but that requires moving away, and you’d rather cut off your own hand than do that right now. 

But the noise doesn’t escape your wife’s notice, “Let me finish this chapter and I’ll make breakfast.” 

A simple, innocuous statement; yet it turns your heart to liquid. 

Before Agnes, how many times did you trudge through the day, ignoring your own needs due to your exhaustion? How many past partners had cared enough to put their tasks on hold to do something like make you breakfast? 

The offering doesn’t surprise you; you’ve been together too long—but in the silence, you’re painfully aware of a time where the idea of anyone caring felt impossible. You had only let yourself imagine someone like Agnes in the dead of night, where the lack twisted in your chest. And you had given up on ever finding what you needed… until she walked into your life and shook the foundations of what you knew to be true. 

The affection and gratitude gnaws at your insides, desperate to be expressed. How do you express the gravity of a love like yours? How do you explain to Agnes the way she makes you feel without her waving you off, unwilling to hear praise?

Without a word, you spit in your palm and slide it past the waistband of her boxers. 

Agnes jolts when you take her in hand. Her fingers press indents into the pages, eyes wide and searching your face for a hint of explanation. 

“Keep reading.” You say, with more force than intended. 

You’re stunned when she does so without argument.

Pages turn, minutes pass. You listen to how her breathing changes as your hand works over her length, varying your strokes, paying attention to what makes her hips twitch. The change is slow—gradual, the sun changing position as you bring Agnes’ cock to wakefulness. 

You don’t mind the time it takes; allowing you to revel in the closeness, breathing in the scent of her and embracing her warmth as she slowly grows hard in your palm. 

Every now and again, you’ll tilt your head back to admire her side profile again—the subtle pucker of her lips, her darling cheekbones, the beautiful meandering outline of her nose. You want to show her love so overwhelming that she never doubts her beauty again. You want to smother her in it. You want to sink your fucking teeth into her. 

Agnes inhales sharply when you squeeze, sitting up a bit straighter. You smile into the skin of her neck at how hard she’s growing, and how with every minute that passes she loses control over her focus. 

“Baby.” She whispers, pleading. 

A strange desire for a different title comes to life in the back of your mind. You shove it down. 

“Keep reading, Agnes.” 

A throaty whine. You like watching her try to do what you ask, but you want to see her squirm more. You nip at her neck. 

“You’re so perfect.” You whisper, hand stroking faster, “And all mine.” 

Though Agnes’ eyes are focused on the book in her white-knuckle grip, they don’t move across the page. Her chest rises and falls, hips twitching as she bucks into your palm. A thin sheen of sweat clings to her temples. 

When you run your thumb over the head of her cock, she whines, thrusting up. 

“So responsive, aren’t you?” You run your tongue along the shell of her ear, “So needy for more of me around your cock. You just can’t get enough.” 

The flutter of pages and a clatter as her book hits the floor. Head thrown back, she squeezes her eyes shut, throat bobbing. Slowing the movement of your hand, there’s a rush of heat between your legs at her pitiful little noises. God she’s fucking perfect. 

Her cock throbs as you drag your hand over every tense inch. Fist so loose you’re hardly making contact, Agnes’ hand seeks your own; gripping you around the wrist and tightening the grip for you, fucking herself into the warmth of your palm. 

That won’t do. 

Extracting yourself entirely, you tsk, “I didn’t say you could touch.” 

Agnes’ head rolls in your direction. Shadow falls over her face, her eyes darker for it. Pink and red paints an enchanting vision over her flesh. You resist the urge to give in and give her your cunt—because then she won’t learn, will she? 

“Baby,” she grits out, jaw tense, “don’t tease.” 

“I wouldn’t have to if you’d behave.” 

“I’m not a fucking dog.” 

“Oh?” Your head tilts. Her cock is pressed against the front of her boxers and you trace your finger along the outline of her, “But I thought you liked being a good boy.” 

A violent throb beneath your touch. Her hands clench in the couch cushions. 

“God.” 

You bring your ghosting touch up to her throat. Sweat clings to your fingertip as you dip along the sharp structures of her physique. An idea pops into your head that has you clenching your thighs. 

“Maybe I should put a collar on you. You’ll never forget who holds your leash if you’re wearing my name around your neck.” 

“Fuck no.”

Agnes twitches. 

You laugh—a mean sound that you don’t entirely recognize coming from your mouth. Oh. The sound of your own twisted confidence and the power wrapped within only deepens the heat between your thighs. 

“No?” 

A dangerous note lingers in your voice. Agnes—whether not noticing or not caring—snarls.

“No.” 

“What a shame.” 

In a beat, you’re gone; off the couch and out of her reach. You crouch to pick up her book and look up through your lashes. Agnes swallows, eyes blown out, cock straining enough that she must be in some kind of pain. 

The weak, pleading look on her face has been replaced by something harder—the veneer of Detective O’Connor, who spits in the face of higher forces and never once stops to ask for forgiveness. Your mouth feels too full; your tongue desperate to trace along the hard line of her jaw and into the divots of her collarbones, the press of bone firm against your soft appendage. 

You love her in power and control, but you want the glimpse caught in her office on Christmas Eve—you want her so desperate she’ll humiliate herself for a touch. 

With a sweet smile, you throw the book into her lap, “Have fun with your hand.” 

A brief glimpse of her shock makes you shiver with satisfaction. You’ve never walked away, never denied either of you; you’re the desperate one, willing to do any degrading little thing she suggests if it means she’ll take you. 

You’re not sure where this desire to dominate has been hiding, but god if it isn’t delicious. 

A step away from leaving the room, her raspy voice calls, “Wait.”

“Yes?” 

“Don’t… Don’t leave me like this.” 

Leaning against the doorway, you laugh, “I’m not taking orders.”

“Come on, baby,” She says, in a near-whine, “I don’t want my hand.” 

“You want mine?” 

For flair, you hold yours up, wiggling your fingers with a raised brow. She stares and gulps. Then, she nods. 

“Words, Agnes.” 

“Yeah. Yes.” 

You step back into the room with an expression of faux-sympathy. But instead of returning to the couch where she waits, hard and wanting, you sink into the armchair at the edge of the room. The cushions caress your form without fuss. You sink deeper, getting comfortable. 

Agnes' eyes haven’t left you for a moment—good. You fold one leg over the other and finally meet her gaze. 

“You’ll have to come over here and earn it.” 

She’s up from the couch in less than a second. Her feet wobble beneath her, but she’s so eager that the questionable footing doesn’t stop her. 

You hold up a hand. 

Agnes stops. 

“Crawl.” 

Her teeth make an appearance, lip curling. You brace for a mouthful of venom as you prod at the pride she protects so viciously—but Agnes sinks to her knees. 

You feel as if you’re watching the scene in slow motion. Agnes crosses the space on all fours, hair obscuring her features, even as her eyes never leave your own—not even when the sharp rays of sun sneak through the slats of the blinds and light directly on the electric-blue orbs. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. 

Desire churns and makes you clench. The emptiness between your legs is so prominent that it’s painful. You want her inside you, but you have all day. 

When Agnes reaches you, there’s a split second where she looks unsure, hands twitching in front of her as she tries to decide what to do with them. You wait. Even if you’re enjoying holding all the power, you love how she surprises you. 

Agnes’ eyes leave you as she bends, pressing her lips to the sensitive skin of your ankle. 

“My angel.” She murmurs, alternating to the other side, “My love.” 

It’s a slow ascent. She’s taking her job seriously—worshipping every inch of you on her way up to the space between your legs, murmuring words of devotion and praise in a voice so reverent it almost feels out of place; you are the offering upon the altar she kneels before, and she’ll do whatever is required to demonstrate her piety. 

Your chest is heaving by the time her lips make it to your inner thighs. How unfair, how so like her to steal the power back by completely surrendering herself to you—tears prick at your eyes, your body searching for a way to release all this emotion inside. 

You have never loved or trusted anyone like her. You want to fucking ruin her for it. 

Before she can reach your covered center, you weave a hand in her hair and yank her head back. She groans. The sound makes you clench. But it’s nothing compared to how she looks up at you. 

The heart in your chest squeezes, you whisper, “Perfect.” 

She bristles like the words are an insult. You don’t give her time to argue, leaning down to capture her lips. Your tongue sweeps across them and into her mouth with a desperation that makes your heart race—the need to taste her, to taste your flesh upon her, drives you to near-madness. 

When you pull back a thin web of spit connects you and you lick it from where it meets her bottom lip. 

Unyielding, you grip her jaw in a hand, and stare into her eyes, “Who do you belong to, Agnes?”

A beat.

“You.” She breathes. 

It takes everything in you to keep your eyes from rolling back in your head. 

“Stand up.” 

Agnes does as you command as quickly as she can manage. You tamp down on your giggle when her knees crack, but you know she can see the amusement in your eyes; a matching look in her own. 

Said look fades when you remove your sleep shirt and yank her boxers down. 

The cold air of the room pebbles your nipples. From her position above you, Agnes licks her lips. You take her cock in hand once more and she throbs; no matter who is in control, she loses it seeing you beneath her. 

You squeeze. Her hips thrust forward. 

“Don’t tease, angel.” She begs. 

“Behave and I won’t have to.” 

Punctuating the statement with a firm stroke cuts off any arguments. Pretty blue eyes roll right back in her head, her hips moving, seeking more—soft little pants leaving her in place of words. 

It’s not going to take long to make her cum. 

When your hand falls into the rhythm that best suits, your mind begins to wander; it feels nice to touch her, taking your time—you’ve both found yourselves so caught up in life as of late that sex was a collection of frantic movements between tasks. Not that it was ever bad sex. But there’s something special about having time to tease and draw out the actions. 

How fortunate you had no plans today. 

You’re going to take your time and worship her like she worships you. You’re going to familiarize every inch of Agnes’ body with your tongue; imprinting her taste until it’s all you hold in your mouth. By the time you’re finished, every inch of her will shake at the reminder of how good you make her feel. 

Looking up through your lashes, that warm devotion in your chest expands until it’s hard to breathe. Her hand digs into your shoulder as she thrusts, eyes closed, completely trusting you to hold her steady. 

You push up the bottom of her shirt and press kisses to the soft skin of her stomach. Her hips stutter for a moment and you feel her tense, fighting her desire to check on you. But that isn’t what you want; you want her to take, to enjoy without guilt or worry. 

“Who do you belong to?” You repeat, speeding up your movements. 

Faintly, you remember why you don’t use your hand very often; your wrist hurts. 

A choked gasp, “You.” 

“Yeah you do.” You smile, bolstered by her affirmation, “Every inch of you is mine—mine to love, mine to cherish, mine to break. And I’m going to break you, baby. I’m going to fuck you until all you can do is pant like a fucking dog.” 

Agnes keens. Her chest is rising and falling so fast you worry she might hyperventilate, but she doesn’t once stop moving, fucking into your hand while whimpers of “yours, all yours” leave her lips. The power of taking every ounce of her fight makes your head feel floaty.

Her thrusts grow more erratic as she nears her peak. The hands on your shoulders tense and loosen. 

“Let me. Please l-let me—” She cries. 

You tense out of nowhere, waves of pleasure coalescing and rocking through you as you cum without a touch. Heaving gasps of air as you breathe through it. 

Your voice is weaker than you’d like, “Give me a pretty necklace, baby.” 

Agnes wastes no time in fulfilling your request. With one final snap of her hips, they stop, and spurts of cum shoot from her cock, painting the bottom of your face and neck in her desire. You watch every inch of her face—the furrow of her brows as she works through the feeling, and how every muscle loosens as the pleasure settles like a warm blanket. 

Carefully, you extract your hand from her softening length, licking her off your lips. She regards you through heavy-lidded eyes. 

You scoot to the side and make room to tug her down next to you. She allows it. Soft and pliant, she curls wordlessly into you, head falling on your shoulder—only narrowly avoiding the mess she’s made. 

“You did so well,” smiling, you kiss the top of her head, “you make me so happy when you let yourself have what you want. And you look so perfect when you do.” 

She grunts in acknowledgement. Her body weight is pressing against you more insistently with every passing second, and you let it, running your hand up and down her back until her breathing evens out. 

Even as she dozes off, you can resist whispering, “My love. My handsome girl.” 

---

Days later, you curse, every muscle still sore as you answer the phone. 

“Hello?” 

“This is Chief Proctor, would you—” 

You don’t think before rushing out, “What is it? What happened?” 

Did something happen when Agnes was out following a lead? She rarely goes alone, but you know how stubborn she can be about being made to wait. Did some perp try to fight back, or get her before she could get them? Fuck, did she get shot? 

“Everything’s fine, Agnes is just fine!” He rushes to reassure you, and you feel like you can breathe again, “I wanted to ask if you’d come in so I could run something by ya.” 

You put your head in your hand. The heart in your chest is still beating too fast, fear still coursing through your veins even though there is no danger. 

“Yeah. Yeah I’ll be there soon, Chief.”

---

 A few heads pop up when you walk into the station, but you don’t give them any attention; too exhausted from the scare earlier to entertain polite conversation with Agnes’ coworkers. You beeline straight for the Chief’s office when you spy that your wife’s is empty. 

Harold sits at his desk trying—and failing—to wipe a ketchup stain off his white shirt. 

“Sarah’s stain treatment must be holy with all the messes you make.” You say by way of greeting, plopping into the chair opposite his desk. 

An embarrassed flush works up his cheeks. He clears his throat, dropping the crumpled napkin on the desktop and straightening up. 

“Thanks for coming in. Sorry for scaring ya.” 

Waving off the apology, “What’s up?” 

“Well, you know the annual State banquet is coming up. I was wondering if you could get Agnes to be there.” 

You raise a brow. It takes all your will-power not to scoff at the request. 

“Chief, she hates those things.” 

“I know, I know—but look, they, uh, well what I mean to say is we—”

“Chief.” 

“They want to recognize Agnes for her work in the Maximoff case.” He blurts. 

The second he says it, you know you have no choice but to figure out a way to get her there. 

Ten months; that’s how long you watched Agnes agonize over the Maximoff case, obsessing over the details she was missing. She’d leave before dawn and come back after dark. And even when she was home, she spent half her time sitting at the kitchen table, staring down at all the photos. Some nights she brought Vidal with her—others, she sat in the dim kitchen alone, head in her hands while the world went on outside. 

She’d have worked 24/7 if you hadn’t insisted on days off. When she took them, she slept the whole day. 

Agnes doesn’t do her job for rewards, but you’ll be damned if you let her pass up recognition from the state; especially after everything she went through. 

“Fuck.” Dragging a hand down your face, you sigh, “She’s going to be a bear about this.” 

“Yeah, well, you’re the bigger bear. You’ll find a way.” 

---

“Did you pick up your suit from the dry-cleaners?” You ask in lieu of a greeting. 

Agnes’ scoff is faint. The front door shuts with a half-hearted slam. Then, the squeak of rubber on wood; you wish she would stop doing that. 

“No, honey, I came straight home after you texted me about it seven times.” 

She comes into the kitchen, plastic-covered suit in hand, and you relax. That’s the last thing on your list, ready and secured.

“Oh bite me.” 

Agnes grins, “With pleasure.” 

You turn when she rounds to you and accept her hello kiss. The taste of un-burnt coffee lingers on her lips and you frown. 

“Did you go out for lunch again?” 

“The guys needed a pick-me-up.” 

“Agnes.” You groan. 

“It was a few sandwiches, baby. It’s not going to break us.” 

“That would be true if you didn’t buy ‘a few sandwiches’ three times a week.” 

A hand is dragged down her face. She sighs. 

“I’m going to put the suit in the closet and do some work in the office, yeah? Yell when dinner’s ready.” 

You grab her before she can go too far, “No, hey, I’m sorry—I just, there’s been a lot coming out of the account this month and I’m worked up over it. I’m sorry. Stay, please.” 

Worked up over it being an understatement—the state you were in after paying the final installment on Nicky’s funeral arrangements this morning could’ve earned you an Oscar. But you don’t want to dwell on that. You want to finish dinner with some light banter from your wife, sit next to her at the table, and cuddle up in bed talking about nonsense; none of which you can do if she locks herself in her office. 

Agnes relaxes in your hold. She may let you handle the finances, but she’s just as aware of the bills, and likely has a hunch of which are bothering you. 

“When do you plan on telling me where we’re going?” 

“Just enjoy the surprise, baby.” 

“It wouldn’t take much digging to uncover your evil plans,” she says, making you snort, “if you save me the work I’m sure we can strike a deal.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Tell me what I want to know and we can knock your time down from six hours to three—less, with good behavior.” 

There’s a purposeful press of her hips against you. She’s not hard, yet, but you take her meaning. 

“You can’t last that long and you know it.” You taunt. 

“Practice makes perfect.” 

You roll your eyes. Playfully pushing her away, her grin nearly makes you melt—but you focus back on dinner before she can tempt you into letting it burn. 

“Go hang your suit up and stop harassing me.” 

Her grin feels like a brand when she kisses your cheek, “Yes, ma’am.” 

---

The door clicks open and you get a whiff of Agnes’ cologne. You smile, not looking up from where you’re fastening your own bracelet. 

“Can you help me with the tie?” 

After several failed attempts, you loop the clasp through the chain link. Looking up, your breath stops. You swallow. 

Agnes stands in the doorway of the bathroom in a deep brown suit, the jacket button undone to reveal the dress shirt beneath. It’s a bit big, offering a slouchy silhouette that makes her look phenomenal. The matching tie sits unraveled around the back of her neck just waiting for your hands. 

You stand to help and she shifts. The adjustment moves one side of the suit jacket and that’s when you see it—the carabiner with her keys attached to one of the belt loops; simple, something she has on her everyday, but the sight of it has you sinking to your knees in front of her. 

“Fuck, baby.” 

She smirks down at you through the mane of hair she hasn’t pulled back yet, “Stand up.” 

“I need you,” you whine, hands reaching for her belt-buckle, “please, Daddy, I need you so bad.” 

Her hands pause as they reach for you. Clear as a whistle, you both register the desperate want in your voice; the kind she’d expect to hear after edging you a few times. 

Something about the suit is driving you wild—sending you from 0 to 60 from the mere sight of her. Maybe it’s the effortless way she pulls it off. Maybe it’s that she’s so comfortable in a way she’s only displayed wearing her flannels. Maybe it’s both, combined with the reminder that this woman is yours. 

You love her so much it threatens to stop your heart and you need to fuck her about it. 

“Please.” 

Agnes snaps back into movement. Her hand grips your chin, firm, “I gave you an order. Stand up.” 

It’s mean and unfair and so fucking hot. You whine, but you do as she says—though not before pressing a kiss to the front of her pants, longing for the prize past the layer of fabric. 

“What did I ask you to do?” Agnes says when you’re stable on your feet. 

“Help you with the tie.” 

“Then what are you waiting for?” 

Your hands find the fabric and go about the motions, though you have to slow down when your hands stutter. Even if she rarely wears them, you’re glad you memorized how to fix a tie, or this would be a significant loss to her ensemble. 

God you want her so bad. 

“Could we… just something quick?” You ask. 

“Oh no, honey, you’ve been on my ass about this dinner for weeks.” Agnes laughs, something cruel, “I’m not living in suspense any longer. You can handle an hour.” 

For an agonizing moment, you consider breaking—telling her that you’re about to be stuck in a stuffy government building with sub-par food, so she’ll refuse to go and punish you for trying to trick her—but then you remember the nights she ate Planter’s peanuts straight from the canister and got two hours of sleep, all so she wouldn’t leave the case for too long. 

“Okay.” 

Her smile softens, “Good girl. You’ll meet me downstairs when you’re ready?” 

“I shouldn’t be long.” 

She nods. Agnes presses a kiss to your forehead and squeezes you in a sweet gesture, before heading for the bedroom door. You listen to her go, unable to look—if you do, you might be tempted to use the rest of your time getting ready with your favorite vibrator. 

Half-way down the stairs, she calls, “Do we still have ibuprofen? My head is killing me.” 

“In the medicine cabinet. Bottom shelf.” 

She grunts an acknowledgement and you laugh. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you take a few deep breaths; it’s only a few hours—you can handle it. 

---

The second you pull up to the State House, Agnes stiffens. Her leg that’s been bouncing with agitation the past half-hour stills. 

“What the hell are we doing here?” 

“You’re the detective, you tell me.” 

Agnes glares, “Turn around.” 

“No.” 

Some defiance is commonplace in your relationship; it’s hard to earn a punishment if you don’t act up a little bit, after all—but the note in your voice now is firm, the kind you’d employ in the middle of a fight. Agnes regards you with steely eyes. 

“Excuse me?” She asks, slow. 

Her voice is tight, her jaw too. Slowly, you watch her hands tense over the armrests, as if she’s trying to measure her patience. A small murmur of fear prods you. 

This isn’t Agnes putting on a stern act to remind you of your place. This isn’t even a mild bit of annoyance you can tread lightly around. This is the type of anger that builds over time—and making her walk through those doors might drive it to bubble over. 

Chief Proctor’s words echo in your mind, “Yeah, well, you’re the bigger bear. You’ll find a way.” 

You’ve driven the hour and a half here and she’s going to be pissed regardless. In for a penny… 

“I didn’t stutter.” You raise a brow, making direct eye contact, “I’ve driven us all the way here and I told the Chief we were coming. So we’re going to go inside, sit through this dinner, and play nice. Am I understood?” 

For a split second, you see her eyes widen. Then her face flushes a deeper red and her hand tightens on the armrest again. You are so dead. 

Her voice is surprisingly entreating, “Baby—” 

“Am I understood, Agnes?” 

A long, long moment of silence. 

“Fine.” 

You smile, triumphant. Leaning over the middle console and giving her ample time to reject your nearness, smugness burrows into your mood when she leans in closer; and you press a sweet kiss to her lips. 

Whispering against them when you pull back, “That’s my good boy.” 

Her broken groan makes you feel alive. 

---

As far as State banquets go, you’ve been through worse. They must’ve upped the budget in the years since the two of you stopped attending—the food isn’t half-bad and there’s an open bar; which is exactly where you’re waiting to get Agnes a drink when a warm presence slides up beside you. 

“I’m surprised you got her to come.” An amused voice comments. 

Agent Vidal is a vision in deep green. Her dark hair lays in soft waves over her shoulders, offset by gold earrings that catch the light when she shifts. A small smirk plays at the edges of her mouth. 

“She didn’t know until we pulled up outside.” You admit. 

That startles a laugh out of the woman. It’s a bit maniacal, but you like it—it suits her. 

“No wonder she looks so pissed,” A glass of champagne is passed over the bar and she takes it with a nod, “You’re playing with fire, sweetheart.” 

“Don’t I know it.” 

Silence lapses between the two of you, but it’s not uncomfortable as you’d expect. The bartender is dipping around and under the makeshift bar; you perk up, recognizing the ingredients for the drink you ordered Agnes. 

You glance over at Agnes and find her distracted; a couple of detectives have wandered over to your table. Her face is still flushed though she doesn’t seem as upset. Frowning, you wonder if maybe she’s coming down with something. 

The bartender passes you Agnes’ drink and you smile. Vidal hasn’t left your side. She looks you up and down with those rich brown eyes of hers. 

“I never had a chance to thank you for my Christmas gift.” A sultry grin replaces her smirk, and it’s your turn to flush, catching onto her meaning, “Though I’m disappointed it wasn’t delivered in person.” 

Your throat feels dry. Staring at the drink in hand, you consider whether a sip will help. 

“It was a spur of the moment thing.” 

“I guessed as much. Still, I was impressed.” 

“Thank you.” You smile, not sure if it’s the proper response. 

“Should you two ever find yourselves in my city and willing, don’t hesitate to call me up, sweetheart.” 

Vidal doesn’t give you time to respond before vanishing into the crowd. Good—you’re not entirely sure what you would’ve said. But it does a good job of reigniting your desire from earlier in the evening. 

There are people rushing around near the podium, which means you don’t have enough time to drag Agnes into the bathroom for a little relief. You settle for taking your seat next to her and lacing your fingers together. Though you blink at the heat coming from her. 

It isn’t until the other detectives take their leave that you murmur, “Do we need to go?” 

To hell with the award or recognition or whatever it is. Agnes’ health takes priority over everything. 

“I’m fine,” she says, gruff, “let’s just get through this and go home.” 

“My love—” 

“Leave it.” 

Every part of you screams to do the opposite, but you sigh and settle into your chair. You pull Agnes’ hand to your lips and kiss the back of it. Her eyes soften and that’s enough for you. 

You hold onto that soft look in her face as people step up to the podium and drone on about numbers and figures; nothing the actual workers in the room care about, but necessary to show the government officials in attendance that the state forces are still worth funding. As if they need even half of what the budgets are. To keep yourself from going crazy, you steal a few sips of Agnes’ drink. 

About an hour has gone by when Vidal steps up to the podium, unfolding a pair of glasses. You realize her purpose here seconds before understanding dawns on Anges—who turns with an inscrutable look. 

Pressing another kiss to the back of her hand, you smile. 

What Vidal says goes in one ear and out the other, try as you might to pay attention; but you’re too caught up in watching the emotions pass over Agnes’ face—surprise, hesitant softness, feigned indifference. She deserves every kind word being leveled her way, deserves to have everyone in this room know the hours she put in, deserves to be appreciated. 

When the clapping starts and all eyes turn to her, her flush deepens, and she looks unsure. Her eyes meet your own as she searches for comfort. 

You lean in and kiss her cheek, whispering in her ear, “I’m so proud of you.” 

And the look she gives you—fond, watery eyes and a hesitant smile—makes the entire evening worth it. 

---

When the speeches wind down, the two of you are swarmed by state officials and officers alike who want to give Agnes a kind word. She’s a bit tense through every interaction, but takes it in stride. Some well wishes are no trouble. 

It’s when the people you know come over that you can feel the trouble start. You hide your grin when they start trading jokes, Agnes scoffing, back in her element. 

Her glass sits empty on the table and you snatch it up discreetly. 

You manage to catch the bartender before he cleans up for the night. And though you can tell he’s not thrilled to do more work, he makes the drink—you slip him a twenty and his mood perks up. 

In the few minutes you were gone the table was completely occupied by your friends; Chief Proctor and his wife Sarah, John, a few of the other Westview detectives and some from Eastview, even Vidal. Every seat at the table is filled. You grin as their laughter echoes in the room, drawing eyes from other lingering groups. 

Vidal has stolen your seat. She leans back in it with the same air of poise she possesses in everything. Not for the first time, you completely understand what drew Agnes to her. 

While Chief Proctor captures the table's attention with a story, you offer Agnes her drink, and slip into her lap, unbothered. You can’t help the little squeak you let out. And though your wife manages to tamp down on any noises, her hand is digging into your hip, blunt nails threatening to draw blood. 

Agnes is painfully hard beneath you. 

Her behavior starts to make sense; the flushed face, how stilted her movements have been, her agitation. You blink. Agnes has been off since the drive here.

Without thinking, you adjust to get comfortable, and her grip tightens. 

Hissing so only the two of you can hear, “Don’t fucking move.” 

You’re impressed, past all the worry—she hasn’t been like this since Christmas Eve, and even then you think this might be worse. And you’ve put her in a precarious situation without meaning to. 

You’re deeply reminded of the moment in her office; how little it had taken to drive her over the edge. It’d been fun, though unintentional. But there’s an audience now.

Her breath is ragged. When you chance a look, her mouth is pinched, but her eyes are blown out. One shift—either in you standing up or moving on accident—and she’s going to put on the show of a lifetime. And no one seems in a hurry to leave. 

An idea hits you. 

“Where is your phone?” You whisper. 

Agnes slides it off the tabletop and into your hands without a word. She’s trying to measure her breathing—in 5, out 5. But the throbbing under you only seems to get stronger. 

You find the number without much fuss. 

You: Be discreet, but I need your help. 

If you weren’t moments from disaster, you’d be impressed; the recipient doesn’t so much as glance your way. They respond without even a blink out of place. 

Vidal: Go on. 

You: I need you to find a way to get everyone to leave. 

Vidal pauses after reading the message. She turns her attention back to the group while your heart beats in your ears. Then, you see her regard the two of you from her periphery. The corner of her mouth twitches. 

Vidal: What’s in it for me? 

You: Are you serious?

Vidal: As a heart-attack. 

Vidal: Tick-tock. It doesn’t look like she can hold out much longer. 

You resist the urge to sigh, worried it’ll jostle too much. 

You: Your offer becomes a promise. If we’re in your area, we’ll call. 

Vidal: You’ve got a deal, sweetheart. 

It doesn’t happen all at once. Rather, Vidal employs a slow form of manipulation on the group that leaves you breathless; she starts a small story you don’t really hear, drawing everyone in, only to end it with an exaggerated yawn. 

A yawn that passes through every other person at the table. 

God she’s good. 

Putting on an apologetic smile, she stands, “It’s been a long night—I know you all have a long drive home. Congratulations again, Agnes.” 

She throws a smile your way, eyes twinkling. Everyone else at the table stands as if on cue, offering their own apologetic goodbyes; leaving you to wonder if Vidal is some kind of witch. 

Only when everyone has departed do you turn to Agnes. Her face is covered in a thin sheen of sweat. 

“If I move, are you going to…” You ask, soft. 

A hesitant nod. 

“What can I do?” 

Her voice is gravelly, “Just—give me a minute. Don’t talk.” 

You raise a brow at the second command, but don’t open your mouth to question her. She relaxes beneath you by just a hair. Each breath is slow, measured. 

Some of the organizers have begun to clean up around the edges of the room. They avoid interacting directly with any of the lingering guests, but their pointed looks aren’t subtle. 

A few groups take the hint and begin to head toward the front. It’s around this time that Agnes taps a finger against your hip. 

“Get up, carefully.” 

A despicable part of you considers doing the exact opposite. The room is mostly empty and she’s capable of being quiet when she tries; if you were to grind down hard and fast, she couldn’t do anything but accept the inevitable—the humiliating inevitable. 

But you shove that down and stand, using the arms of the chair to lift yourself so there’s as little friction as possible. 

Agnes huffs out a breath. 

“Are you okay to walk to the car?” You murmur. 

“I’m not going to lose it from walking,” she scoffs, “give me a little credit.” 

“You’re being very mean to the woman who could’ve utterly humiliated you a minute ago.” 

“The same woman who gets off on that?” 

You don’t deign to respond to that comment. Rather, you hold your hand out, wiggling your fingers expectantly. Agnes’ fond smile warms you as her hand slots into place in yours. 

The night air seems to help as you cross the parking lot. Agnes’ breathing loses its ragged edge, her gait a bit smoother. There’s only the sound of your intermingled breaths and the jingle of her keys; the reminder of earlier making you throb. 

Releasing her hand, you reach the passenger door before she can and pull it open, “Your carriage awaits.” 

Agnes scoffs. 

“Thanks.” She kisses your cheek before sliding into the car. 

You rush around to the driver’s side and don’t even turn the car on before leaning over, scrambling with her suit jacket to reach the belt buckle on her pants. Agnes straightens in her seat. When you brush her cock in your search, she twitches, swearing under her breath. A strong hand grabs your wrists. 

Blinking, you take her in with a look of disbelief. 

“Are you trying to torture yourself? Because that’s my job.” 

“You’re just—You’re going a bit fast.” 

“I’d say this is overdue in your current state.” 

“Drive and we can handle this at the house, yeah? Not in the car like a couple of horny teenagers.” 

You laugh, disbelief coloring the sound. 

“I think being hard this long has stopped the blood flow to your brain.” You deadpan, “Just let me suck you off and we can go home.” 

Agnes' eyes widen just a fraction. Inches from your hands, her hips twitch, as if unable to hold her movements back. But her grip on your wrists only gets tighter. 

“Let’s wait.” 

“We’ve both been thinking about your cock in my mouth since before we left.” 

“Baby—” 

“Do you not want my mouth? Because I’m more than ready to take you if we want to climb in the backseat and—” 

In your haste to fulfill your mutual desires, you missed the signs staring you right in the face. Or maybe you wanted to miss them. 

Agnes’ head hits the headrest with a thud that goes unheard beneath the volume of her moan. Every muscle in her form tenses, with the exception of her hips—which are rutting forward in search of anything to deepen the pleasure. 

Where you expect the hand on your wrist to slacken, it grows tighter. And as if on instinct, said hand falls to her length, effectively using yours to stroke herself through the rest of her orgasm. It’s messy, and her desire is seeping through her pants, but you can’t look away—not as her hips hump forward, almost in a frenzy, and as her mouth parts to let escape her groans. 

In time, her hips still. Silence reigns over the space. 

Your hand rests over her suit pants, where you can feel her cock continue to give weak little throbs. Her eyes have fallen closed. 

“Did I just get you off with my… voice?” You whisper. 

A breathless laugh, “You sound surprised.” 

“I’ve never heard of that happening before.” 

Her eyes open, then. It’s too dark to see the look in them, but what little light exists makes them sparkle. Your heart squeezes. 

How the hell did you get so lucky? 

Then she opens her mouth and says, ever so soft, “There’s no part of you that doesn’t drive me crazy.” 

You blink. Heat flares in your face and you look away, suddenly shy. But her finger beneath your chin brings your gaze right back up. 

“Agnes…” 

“Where’s all that boldness now?” 

Your blush deepens, “You liked it.” 

“Yeah, I guess I did.” She sounds slightly puzzled by the information, “You surprise me. Not many can.” 

There’s a lingering exhaustion in both of you that prompts you to start driving, eager to get home. Agnes sets one hand in the center console, palm up; and you place your own into hers. 

“Is that why you married me? Cause it gives you plenty of time to figure out my mind?” You tease once you’re safely on the highway. 

“Don’t sell yourself short, baby—your mouth was a contributing factor too.” 

You giggle. Your face flushes, again, despite the circumstances; Agnes has seen you in more situations of embarrassment and desire than anyone could hope to, and yet you still blush at her dirty jokes. 

In your periphery, the lights over the highway catch her smirk. 

“The same mouth I oh-so-generously offered, and you denied?” You ask with mock-hurt. 

“‘Oh-so-generously’ my ass. Don’t pretend that was a selfless act.” 

“Doesn’t matter now, does it?” You pout, “You couldn’t keep yourself together long enough to get out of your pants.” 

Her hand tightens in yours. She jolts in her seat, as if flinching from the remark, and you glance over—but her face is impassive. 

You shake off the moment and settle into the rhythm of driving. Singing along to the music, there’s a calm over you as you traverse the open road, enjoying the lack of other drivers at this time of night. Agnes settles back into her seat, singing under her breath to the songs she knows—early 2000s rock, mostly. 

Halfway through the drive the song changes and you perk up. It’s modern with a heavy beat, the singer going back and forth between high notes and breathless singing, and you match it with a passion, not thinking too much about it. 

Agnes watches every movement. 

And when the song ends and you lean into the seat again, you hear a soft ‘fuck’ from her. You look over, brow raised. 

“Baby?” 

“Focus on the road.” She snaps. 

She avoids your eyes as you squint. The muscles in her neck are taut, a few straining, kinda like when—

Oh. Oh. 

“Agnes, are you hard again?”

“I’m fine.” 

“That’s not what I asked.” 

Agnes huffs out a breath. Two fingers pinch the bridge of her nose, “I don’t—This isn’t normal.” 

“You’re just having an up-day in the hormone department. It’s not a bad thing.” 

“This isn’t… It’s like I’m in my twenties again, getting turned on at the drop of a hat. I wouldn’t mind if not for this fucking headache.” 

The information swirls around in your brain for a moment before striking like a snake. No fucking way. She couldn’t have been that careless, right? 

“Baby, what color were the pills you took?” 

She pauses, “What?” 

“The pills. For your headache. What color were they?” 

Agnes throws her hands up, looking baffled by the turn in conversation, “Blue, I think. What does it matter?” 

You laugh. You laugh so hard tears begin to form in the corners of your eyes—and you almost miss taking the first exit you find, looking for a dark, empty lot. 

“Ibuprofen is pink.” You finally force out. 

Her brows furrow. Then, like a switch flipped, it registers. Pink crawls up her neck. Veined hands tense on the armrests. 

A song comes on that is upbeat, a little cheery. Agnes slams the off button. 

“Why the fuck were those in the same place?” 

“It is the medicine cabinet. That’s where medicine goes.” 

You find a dark, empty lot and pull in. Agnes doesn’t seem to notice as she watches you. 

“That’s—You—Why were they on the same shelf?!” 

Your wife. Your beautiful, brilliant, decorated detective of a wife—who somehow managed to miss the bold label on the pill bottle. Another round of laughter bubbles up. 

“You’re an idiot,” you say, voice fond as you throw the car in park, “and I’m going to fuck you so hard.” 

Her mouth snaps shut. Something inside you purrs. 

You continue, “Get in the backseat, Agnes.” 

There’s a moment where she bristles. She leans toward the middle console, lip curling. But then—she winces. The car is turned off, then, with a deafening finality. 

It is only you and your wife and the wind outside. 

Leaning closer, your hand finds the length of her with ease. You trace a finger along all her straining inches. Dark, wanting eyes don’t blink as they take in the sight of you. Agnes is exquisite, cast in shadow and moonlight through the windshield. 

“I won’t ask again.” 

“And if I don’t?” She murmurs. 

“You’ll spend a lot of quality time with your hand.” 

Leaves rustle like insect wings. Trees above sway, dipping into the light kissing Agnes’ strong jaw. 

Her seatbelt unclicks. 

You smile. Agnes rolls her eyes. 

“This is your fault. It’s only right you fix it.” She grouses. 

Neither of you pay much attention to your surroundings as you clamber into the backseat. You’re parked in the middle of a town you don’t know, where any patrol officer could see you, but you don’t care—Agnes would talk her way out of it.

No, all you care about at this moment is having her inside you. 

You straddle her thighs as she furiously works the buckle of her belt. In her eagerness, her hands are fumbling, and you take over with a laugh. Strong hands settle on your hips. The hold pulls you forward a fraction, just enough to press her cock against your core. 

“Ass.” There is no way that action wasn’t intentional, “Condom or no condom?” 

“Need to feel you.” 

Her honesty is rewarded with a kiss. Managing to unclasp her belt, you waste no time in slipping a hand inside to free her. A stuttered gasp is your reward. 

Agnes is heavy in your palm. She’s throbbing, veins prominent along her length, absolutely flushed. You run your thumb over the tip to collect the fluid there and spread it down her slowly. It won’t be enough, though—so you reach between your legs for some more. 

When you spread the wetness down her and give an experimental pump, her hips jump. Agnes’ head falls against the headrest with a low moan. 

In shades of grey shadow she is a vision; limbs sprawled across the backseat, hair wild around her head. Her throat bobs as she swallows. Eyes squeezed shut, her mouth parting when you squeeze. Ecstasy softens her hard angles when you stroke reverently. 

Tears bead at the corners of your eyes. You blink them away. 

“My sweet, stupid baby.” Tittering, you tighten your grip, “Too silly to read the label on the bottles. Or are you so desperate for this pussy that you took them anyway?” 

You push your panties aside and rub yourself against her. Agnes grunts, pushing up for more. The tip of her cock hits your clit and stars erupt behind your eyes. 

“‘Was an accident.” Agnes defends. 

The defense feels pretty weak when she’s humping her cock against you like she’s never cum before, but you’re not much better. You’ve been wet and wanting since sitting in her lap. And even if you’re playing tough, all you want is to sink down on her length and ride her until you know nothing more than how she stretches your cunt. 

You clench at the mere thought of her. Of how perfect it feels to be so connected—and how warm you feel when she spills herself inside you, clutching any bit of you she can get her hands on. Fuck, you need her so bad. 

But—a little part of you whispers—don’t you want to play?

“I’m sure. Just a dumb little mistake.” 

“Mhm.” 

Seemingly unsatisfied with sitting back, Agnes sits up to mouth at your breasts over your clothing. It makes you bear down where you grind against her. The vibrations from her moan and the muted scrape of her teeth over your nipple makes the emptiness unbearable.

You reach between the two of you and—tentatively—slap her cock. Her startled whimper drives you wild. 

You’re reminded of your idea from a few days ago; of putting a pretty collar around her neck and treating her like a dog. It’d take some convincing, but she’d like it—letting you take control, the denial of begging, the heated destruction of her pride as she humps your flesh like she can’t help herself. 

Another blow to her length. 

Toes curling at the sound of her pretty little cry, you can’t stand the separation any longer. You need her deep inside you. If you don’t get it, it’ll kill you. 

“It’s so generous of me to fix your mistake for you, isn’t it?” You ask, “What do you say?” 

Whining, pathetic little breaths, “Thank you.”

“You want this pussy, baby boy?” 

“Yes, yes. Fuck.”

A thought bubbles up inside you—that wayward desire from the day she spent at home once more rearing its head, urging you to give it life. You’ve thought about it at length only in private moments. The want makes you hurt. 

But will it be too much? Will this be where Agnes draws the line? 

Fuck it. 

Trying to sound as sure as possible, “Tell Mommy how bad you want it.” 

The second you give it life, you’re terrified of seeing it die. You hadn’t been honest with yourself about just how bad you wanted it—too scared that it was wrong, or shameful. Calling Agnes Daddy has always been natural; but is calling you Mommy… wrong? 

You hold your breath as Agnes gasps. Tears threaten your composure. As you stare up at the ceiling of the car, you try to rid yourself of them. 

She’s going to laugh. Shame bubbles up. You should’ve kept it to yourself. 

Agnes’ nails dig into your flesh as she whines into your neck, “Mommy—please, please let me—let me have you, cum in you—I’ll be your good boy—please.” 

The tears fall, but they’re not sad—they’re euphoric. 

Not bothering to hide them as you line her up and sink down, adjusting to the stretch, you hope she knows how happy she makes you; how safe you feel in her arms, admitting the lurid desires in your mind and just being. With every inch of her cock you hope she understands that she is your everything. 

Her hands shake when she bottoms out. You can feel how desperate she is to just take it, but she waits. For you. 

Kissing her cheeks, lips, the tip of her nose, her forehead; you can’t get enough of her handsome face, “Take what you need, baby.”

The dam holding back her need breaks. Hips snap up hard and you would gasp—if you could draw enough breath between thrusts. Shivers descend through your body as she chases her peak, brushing that perfect spot inside you with every movement. 

This would normally be where Agnes taunts you, prying admissions between thrusts and holding back to make you talk; but both of you are too far gone to prolong what you want. 

Little uh uh uh moans dissolve into something more primal, grunting and growling into the flesh of your neck. It makes you clench hard around her. 

“Fuck.” 

You couldn’t have said it better yourself. 

“You like that?” 

Agnes nods against your neck. She’s panting, and the sound feels deafening in the silence of the backseat. At the speed she’s pistoning her cock inside you, she’s going to be sore tomorrow.

You reach down and toy with your clit, fingers slipping over the little bundle of nerves. Every thrust of Agnes’ cock drags more wetness from you. It fills your ears just as your wife’s noises do. You whine, struggling to get friction where you need it most. 

Long fingers brush your own away. They slip against the same spot but with better coverage. Then, she does it again. 

“Right there, right there.”

Her fingers never leave your clit. Even as you lift yourself up and slam back down, taking every inch of her with growing fervor. Even as her thrusts falter in their speed at how you clench. Agnes is dedicated, even when staring down her own ecstasy. 

She gives so much—and to no one more than you. 

A home. A love. Comfort from the hard edges of the world and a soft place to expose the truths of yourself. Agnes gives all of these things without hesitation, without asking for much in return. It’s her turn to take. 

You tamp down on the whine as you secure both of her wrists and hold them away from you. Her eyes—which had slipped closed in the heat of the moment—snap open. 

“What are you—” 

The question cuts off when you take the entire length of her once again. It becomes a pained-sounding groan, but her eyes don’t close. You clench and try not to come at the sight of her staring like you hung the moon. 

Agnes fights your hold admirably. Her hands ache to settle on some part of you, to make you feel good because that’s what she does. But you can’t let her—not right now. This has to be all about her. 

“The first time I saw you, I couldn’t take my eyes off you. All I could think about was how I’d do anything to have you.” You pant, “And now look at you. You’re all mine.” 

Her agreement comes quicker than you anticipate, “All yours.” 

“All yours who?” 

“All yours, Mommy.” 

“That’s right. And you want to be Mommy’s good boy, don’t you?” 

A particularly violent throb inside you. 

The answering nod is a touch frantic, “Yes—yes.” 

“Then I’m going to give you instructions, and I expect you to follow them to the letter. Because you’re so good for me.”

No verbal response. Rather, Agnes' head falls to your chest, groaning into the fabric still separating the two of you. You continue to ride her even as her throbbing grows more insistent. You need to stop, to slow down, but the idea of stopping her pleasure for even a second hurts you. 

Continuing while you still can, “You’re going to use me like I’m a toy that only exists to please you. Can you do that, baby?” 

“Fuck, yes.” 

It’s a miracle she’s held herself back this long; given how tormented she’s been all evening. But she won’t be tormented any longer. No—she is driving herself into you at a punishing clip, so deep it hurts in just the way you crave. 

She’s snarling in your ear like an animal, and your eyes roll back in your head. This won’t take long if she’s descended to this level of pleasure. 

A few moments pass in which she says nothing. There’s the smacking of joining flesh and her ragged breath. Her hips begin to falter in rhythm as she fights your hold on her wrists.

“‘Wanna fuck a baby into you,” she pants, “make it stick this time.”

Your toes curl at the thought, “Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Wanna make you a Mama again.” 

Grabbing her by the hair and dragging her into a kiss, your hips frantic, Agnes shudders. She’s almost there. You are too. 

“Fill me,” you breathe against her lips, “I want it all. Want the world to see that you own me. Want you to make a baby in me.” 

Agnes freezes and snarls in your ear, “Fucking take it.” 

She spills herself inside you in forceful spurts. And you shudder, your walls squeezing as you come, milking her for all you’re worth. 

As you feel your orgasm fade, you wait, sitting still as Agnes’ continues. You’re so warm that you can’t tell if she’s still shooting, but you can feel the weakening throbs. With the extra assistance still in her system you gather it may be a minute. But you don’t mind. 

“You’re so perfect.” You murmur against her skin, “So beautiful.” 

Agnes only grunts in acknowledgment. 

You press little kisses wherever you can reach, but don’t say much else, letting her come down from the high. Her breathing slows, heartbeat no longer fluttering. 

One hand begins to rub circles on your back. 

“Thank you.” She whispers. 

Chuckling, “It was my pleasure. Literally.” 

“Not for that.” 

You soften. Brushing a few sweat-soaked pieces of hair from her face, you take in every inch of her; reveling in the feeling of skin on skin. 

“I’ve got you, baby. Always.” 

Agnes joins the two of you in a slow kiss. You sigh, utterly content, even if the two of you are tangled in the backseat of the car—because you have her, the woman others could only dream of. 

You shift to get closer and Agnes releases a pained noise; you had forgotten she was still inside you. 

“Is it safe to go home, or will we have to make another stop?” You ask. 

“I think I’ve hit my quota for the night.” 

“Aw.”

She chuckles, “Greedy.” 

“Guilty.” You grin, “Take me away, detective.” 

She does. She finishes the drive home with a hand on your thigh, smirking everytime you fidget; more of her leaking out of you each minute. The jerk. 

Somewhere along the way you fall asleep. And when she glances over every now and again to check up, she can’t help but grin. 

Maybe those pills aren’t so terrible after all. 

[arsquare]

Happy Valentine's Day!

This is my Heishin Exchange piece (event hosted by @heishinvalentineexchange2025) for oreganocactus on Ao3! The prompt I used was: "heishin yuri would be awesome…i love explorations of how gender would affect how characters behave/change so that would be cool :)"

Thoughts and process under the cut!

And also an NSFW sketch at the very bottom btw. as a treat for clicking on the readmore

So originally I had wanted to do a comic retelling the Murdered Diplomat Case Except They're Both Girls This Time AKA Heiji's debut case, but I got about 8 pages into the storyboards before I realized it would be impossible within the exchange's time frame. The Murdered Diplomat case is really really long, even if I cut everything about the case out LMAO... here's what I had if anyone is curious!

It was already sprawling by my standards here. We're on page 8 and Heiji has nary shown her face in the Mouri Detective Agency (also boy Kazuha is there? The part with the details of the case was supposed to be sort of timelapsed through a bunch of texts Kazuha sent Heiji because he was worried about where she was) So in my desperation I tried redoing it from page 7 to be more concise:

This was the point where I was officially like yeah this is not happening this is going to take one william pages at this rate and I just am not going to have the time to do that!! So I scrapped it and started working on the final product you see up there.

(BTW IT'S REAL!! about 80-90% of the comic actually exists in the real world!! I actually drew and inked it physically this time!)

I had really WANTED to retell the Murdered Diplomat Case because I would have been able to totally recontextualize Heiji and Shinichi's relationship, because I do think it would have been kind of different.

For one, I think Heiji's adoration of Shinichi would have had a more desperate quality to it. Between the two of them, Shinichi is definitely the more self-assured one of the two. With her laissez-faire parents who just does whatever they want, I'm sure they would have been fine with letting Shinichi pursue her detective dreams (though I'm sure Yukiko's even more sad about Shinichi not being a child actress </3 whatever though who cares about that), and so she's more confident that it's something she can be.

Heiji on the other hand comes from a more traditional family. I think her parents would highly disapprove of her detective pursuits, and as a result she becomes a more rebellious child-- but one who harbors a deep insecurity about whether she's doing the right thing or not, even if she knows she wants it.

When Shinichi vanishes off the radar, it's more than just a person that Heiji's developed an intense parasocial relationship with going off the grid, it's an entire nail in the coffin of the idea that being a female high school detective is something that's possible at all. That's why she's so desperate to find Shinichi-- she needs assurance that this hiatus that Shinichi is taking is not because society or the world put her into her place and made her quit doing this, but because of... something else. It has to be something else.

This I think would really bleed into how Heiji ends up treating Conan. In canon Heiji's super dismissive of Conan, initially only treating his as a nuisance on the crime scene before he figures out that he's Shinichi, despite the fact he no doubt was in those shoes a decade ago. But because of the continual pushback from her parents, the officers on the scene, and friends (cough boy kazuha), the struggle of being treated like she isn't supposed to be there on the crime scene is much fresher in her mind. She sees herself in Conan much more than he does in canon.

So I guess all I'm saying is that I think Heiji would have been nicer to Conan in my retelling LOLLL

As for what's going on in the comic I actually posted... well, you know, this wasn't my first choice precisely because I don't think it's necessarily gendered as much? Like, I can see this playing out if they were both still guys as well, maybe even more. After all, girls in general are more able to be physically affectionate with each other while suffering fewer consequences.

At the same time though I think Shinichi has an intense "not like other girls" thing going on. This whole thing is actually a subset of my genderbend universe where the whole teenage cast gets swapped and actually it was originally me just wanting girl Shinichi to comfort boy Ran (but badly because she's lowkey kinda autistic and not great at that...) as his parents got divorced LMAOOO. But anyways it would mean that Shinichi's closest friends are... Sonoko and Ran? Who are both guys...

So I think she would intentionally distance herself from that physical affection girls are able to have. She feels like if she indulges in that, then everyone else will take her less seriously and think "oh she's just a girl after all" and all the negative connotations of not being as capable or as smart as she actually is. In my head, she associates physical affection with being manhandled as a kid.

Another thing I kind of waffled on was... what should Heiji and Shinichi call each other? And maybe it's a bit of a weird choice for them to still refer to each other by last name but like. Hear me out.

I think to refer to each other by their last names is a token of respect, especially from Heiji to Shinichi. He keeps slipping up in canon and accidentally calling him Kudo, and while I do agree that part of it is him being careless and possibly inconsiderate to some degree, I also think... he really wants to call him Kudo? Like, this is someone he deeply respects. He wants to be professional equals to him more than he wants to be friends at the start, but never was able to actually GET that kind of relationship due to contrived circumstances of Shinichi getting shrunk. He can't call Conan "Edogawa", that's weird as fuck, so he has to wait until Conan's back to being Shinichi to even begin calling him "Kudo" for real. I think he'd really relish it, as a long-time-coming kind of thing, and I don't think it's any different as girls. In fact I'd argue it's even more intense because of that.

These two characters are both in such an intense hurry to grow up. Hell, Shinichi even dislikes it in canon when his mother calls him Shin-chan, and I think it's because he feels like this diminishes his self-perception as a "grown person". All the more since they're girls: I think this type of affectionate, diminutive name-calling would have been used against them to try to coax them away from crime scenes they wanted to be at. Like, "Oh, come on~ You're just a little girl, you shouldn't be here, Hei-chan~", something like that.

I think this is sort of an implicitly understood undercurrent that lies between them. If we have nobody else in the world who respects us we at least have each other. So when Heiji tries to push their relationship a bit, tries to become more than just friends, Shinichi sees this as a betrayal in some ways. Even if she rationally knows that Heiji isn't trying to belittle her, she can't help but conflate her recent experiences as a little girl again with how Heiji treats her now in the comic.

This whole thing could have been avoided if Heiji was more straightforward about her intentions btw but of course see above careless and possibly inconsiderate PLUS he's also kind of a tsundere character like everyone in detco when it comes to the person he likes so. inevitable... </3

Anyways thank you for reading all of this nonsense. Originally this comic was going to be longer and like, (this is a grossly incompetent summary,) they'd have a yuri makeout session in the Kudo Mansion Study. But we can't have good things in this world because there's not enough time so I only have this to show for :(((

I hope everyone likes it 👍️

[internetdaddy98]

The Ties That Bind Us - Chapter 19

Previous | Next [Series Masterlist]

Content Warning: medical procedures; mutual pining; jealousy: angst; angst; angst

You walked through the ER doors just before 7 a.m., fully expecting to slip into the usual rhythm.

But something felt off.

You adjusted your badge, trying to shake off the unease curling in your stomach.

Robby stood at the far end of the nurses’ station, scanning a tablet, his brow furrowed in focus. But when he looked up, his gaze found yours instantly. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved.

There it was again—the thing that didn’t exist. You offered a smile, soft, professional, like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t said exactly what you never wanted to admit stung. But before you could walk toward him, you heard your name.

“Dr. Williams,” Gloria’s voice cut through the corridor like a scalpel. You turned, instantly straightening. “Morning,” you greeted her, surprised to see her. “Do you have a moment?” You followed her into the empty consult room, hands slipping into your pockets.

“I’ll be brief,” she began, all business. “We’ve been reviewing performance metrics from the day shift. Gurney times. Patient satisfaction scores. Throughout. And one thing is becoming increasingly clear—whatever you’re doing with Dr. Robby, it’s working.”

There was a pause. Calculated.

“But,” she added, folding her arms, “I have to ask myself: how much of that success is you?”

You blinked.

“Excuse me?”

“Look,” she continued, stepping closer. “You’ve got instincts. You’re sharp, fast on your feet, and the staff trust you. That’s not something we see often in someone still in their fellowship.”

You opened your mouth, unsure what to say, but she didn’t give you the chance.

“I’d like to offer you an Attending position on Day shift. Permanent.”

Your breath caught. For a second, all you could hear was the echo of her words—sharp and sudden, cutting through the haze of the morning.

“I... I thought that wasn’t possible until the fellowship ended.”

“I can make exceptions,” she said smoothly. “We’re restructuring anyway. Leaning into what works. You’ve earned the opportunity.”

There was a flicker of something in her eyes when she said it—an unspoken message embedded beneath the compliment. Something that made your stomach knot.

“And Dr. Robinavitch?” you asked carefully.

She gave a noncommittal smile. “Dr. Robinavitch is very good at what he does. But his methods are... traditional. You, on the other hand, represent something fresher. Progressive. It’s not about replacing anyone—it’s about optimizing what we already have.”

You didn’t buy it. Not entirely.

Still, the words landed, pressing against a part of you that had longed to be seen for something more than potential.

“I’ll need time to think about it.”

“Of course,” she said. “We’ll be finalizing the shift schedule for Q3 by next Friday.”

You nodded numbly. She left with a purposeful stride, heels clicking across tile like punctuation.

You stayed behind a moment longer, staring at the closed door.

Your heart was thudding now—not from the offer, but from what it meant. From what it could cost.

When you stepped back into the hallway, the buzz of the ER surrounded you, but it was muted somehow. Like you were underwater.

Robby had moved closer, standing just past the nurses’ station. His eyes were already on you.

And this time, you didn’t smile. Because you didn’t know how. Because for the first time, it felt like you might be standing on opposite sides of something.

You spent the first few hours of the shift pretending to be fine.

You nodded through consults, smiled with the residents, charted with a kind of manic precision that made your notes look like they were written by someone with caffeine in her bloodstream instead of blood.

But beneath it all, you were rattled.

Gloria’s offer kept looping in your head like a faulty monitor alarm. Permanent. Day shift. Optimization. Not replacing anyone, she’d said. But you weren’t stupid.

And Robby—he was everywhere.

In the trauma bay, tossing you a pair of gloves with a smirk and a quiet, “You ready, hotshot?”

In the lounge, where he held out your favorite snack without comment, like he always did when you forgot to eat.

And every time he was near, your body betrayed you.

Your shoulders would stiffen. Your pulse would kick up a notch. You’d flinch—internally, mostly—each time his arm brushed yours or his eyes lingered for just a second too long.

He noticed something. You knew he did.

But Robby wasn’t the kind of man who pushed. He just... watched. Waited. And that somehow made it worse.

Because now, every look he gave you felt like it came with a question you didn’t know how to answer.

“Hey.”

You turned, startled, and nearly dropped the chart in your hands. Robby stood behind you, brows raised slightly.

“You okay?” he asked, too casual to be just professional.

You forced a smile, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah. Just, uh—long morning.”

“You’ve been charting like you’re mad at the keyboard,” he said, one corner of his mouth lifting.

You tried to laugh. It came out thin.

There was a beat of silence between you. The kind that used to feel easy.

“Want to split the next trauma?” he asked. “They just paged for a GSW.”

You nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Absolutely.”

Robby lingered for half a second longer, as if he was waiting for you to say something else. But you couldn’t. Not yet. Not with your heart running a marathon and your thoughts tangled in every possible version of what this meant for him... for you.

You followed him down the hall, your footsteps slower than usual, your mind anything but steady.

Later that afternoon, you stood in the supply closet, staring blankly at the gauze shelf while trying to remember why you came in here in the first place.

Your hands were shaking. Just barely. But enough to notice.

You hated feeling like this—off balance, uncertain. You hadn’t felt this way since your intern year, when everything had felt too big, too fast, and all you could do was try not to drown in it.

The worst part was knowing that this—whatever this was—wasn’t about fear.

It was about Robby.

It was the way you had to keep pretending his words hadn’t cut when you overheard them. The way you kept brushing aside the look on his face this morning like it hadn’t shaken you more than you wanted to admit.

And now Gloria’s offer had taken all of that emotion and lit it on fire.

Because for the first time, you weren’t just a fellow trying to prove herself.

You were a threat. To him. To the stability of whatever fragile rhythm the two of you had managed to build.

And the worst part? You didn’t know if you should warn him.

By the time the shift was wrapping up, your nerves had frayed to the point of splintering.

You handed off the last patient to a resident, ducked into the lounge, and took a long sip of your tea like it could somehow center you.

Robby walked in a second later, and ran a hand through his already-messy hair.

“You ever gonna tell me what’s going on with you today?” he asked, voice quiet.

Your throat tightened. “Just tired.”

He didn’t look convinced. But he didn’t press.

Instead, he sat beside you on the couch, close enough that your knees brushed. The quiet between you was heavier now. Charged. Like a storm waiting on the edge of your skin.

You turned your mug in your hands, suddenly feeling everything far too clearly.

“Do you ever feel like things change overnight?” you asked, not looking at him. “Like... you wake up and you’re not sure where you fit anymore?”

His brow furrowed. “What happened?”

You hesitated. “Nothing. Just thinking too much.”

His gaze lingered, but after a moment, he nodded. “For what it’s worth... you still fit.”

The words landed deeper than you expected. And when you looked up at him, you saw something flicker behind his eyes—something soft, unguarded.

It would be so easy to lean into that.

But instead, you stood.

“Have a good night,” you said.

And as you walked away, you knew he was still watching.

And this time, you didn’t know what it meant.

[auraisereigh]

"A Tale of Ink and Desire"

oneshot

Garrick Tavis x Scribe reader Request: "Coul you write Garrick Tavis x Scribe!Reader oneshot, please? 😍🙏" wc: 5.7k letter count ☆ no specific spoilers. Uses pronouns: she/her. it holds the tinniest bit of suggestivness at the end. A/N: don't feel like its the best piece i've made but i still hope you will enjoy it.

Masterlist ☆ Dragon guide ☆ Star's story ☆ Empyrean guide ☆ Support me

Being a scribe at Aretia is different from Basgiath—yet somehow, it's the same.

The air here feels calmer, fresher. There isn't as much tension here as there was in the archives, yet the quiet hum of work remains familiar.

I go through my routine, the same one I’ve built since arriving a few weeks ago.

Mornings start with coffee from the mess hall, then straight to the Riorson House library. A list of book requests usually waits for me—sometimes for riders, sometimes for the assembly. I gather the needed texts and place them in the study before sorting the returns. Some days, we even receive deliveries of completely new books.

Weirdly, that makes me so happy.

Today is one of those days.

I’m carefully shelving returned books when the soft chime of the library’s entrance bell rings. I glance up to see Garrick and Bodhi stepping inside, a cart stacked high with boxes between them.

I offer a polite smile to both men, but my gaze lingers on Garrick—the man who has spent countless late nights with me, whether here among the shelves or outside on the quiet grass field, bringing me food and drinks when I was too lost in my work to remember to eat.

“Good morning,” I greet them as they stop in front of the desk.

“Morning,” they echo back, setting down the boxes.

The moment the first one is placed on the desk, I can’t help myself—I’m already pulling it open, eager to see what’s inside. Garrick chuckles softly at my enthusiasm. I shoot him a small, sheepish grin before turning back to my treasure trove.

Most are just extra copies of textbooks for the cadets. But then, two new ones catch my eye—ones I’ve been waiting weeks for.

The Tyrrish Rebellion: A Forbidden History by Colonel Gerault and Lieutenant Colonel Aisereigh.

And Tyrrendor’s Dragon Guide, written by the same Lieutenant Colonel Aisereigh.

I quickly unpack them, stacking them neatly. By the time I’m finished, the desk is surrounded by orderly piles and the remaining boxes are off to the side.

“Thank you,” I say, glancing between Bodhi and Garrick.

Bodhi offers me one of his usual soft smiles, but Garrick’s gaze stays fixed on mine. Something knowing flickers in Bodhi’s expression as he looks between us, and I feel heat creep up my neck.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Bodhi remarks, grinning as he claps Garrick on the shoulder before walking off.

Garrick barely reacts, only rolling his shoulders as he watches me. Then, lazily, he laces his fingers behind his head and smirks.

“When are you finished?” he asks casually.

I smile but focus on opening another box. “Sundown.”

A moment later, I feel the warmth of his hand settle lightly against my back. I freeze for just a breath before turning to face him. He’s close—so close I can feel his body heat, his breath mingling with mine.

“I’ll pick you up,” he murmurs, his lips a whisper away from mine.

My breath catches. Judging by the smirk that tugs at his mouth, he notices.

♤

The rest of the day crawls by unbearably slow.

It always does whenever Garrick tells me in advance that he’ll be waiting for me.

I’ve spent the last hour at my desk, all my tasks finished, absorbed in one of the newly arrived books. My robe’s hood is pulled up, an attempt to cocoon myself in solitude. It almost works—until the sound of someone clearing their throat pulls me from my trance.

I glance up—and regret it instantly.

Garrick leans against the desk, looking unfairly good. He always does, but something about seeing him in a short-sleeved black shirt nearly undoes me. The way the fabric stretches over his arms, the dark relic curling along his skin...

“You wanna keep staring, or are we leaving?” His voice is laced with amusement.

I should be embarrassed, but I’m not. Everyone stares at his arms, right?

“Is there an option for both?” I muse, still very much admiring his muscles.

He chuckles, extending his arm. I sigh, shut the book neatly, and stand—smoothing out my robe before slipping my hand into the crook of his elbow.

The walk through Riorson House is peaceful.

I grew up in Morraine province, never imagining I’d one day walk through halls like these. Tyrrendor’s history, its culture—so much of it was erased, forbidden. But here, it lingers in the smallest details. I see it in the carvings along the walls, the woven tapestries, the symbols etched into stone.

We step outside into the open field, where the grass is still a brilliant green, flowers blooming vibrantly under the golden evening light. Butterflies drift lazily through the air, undisturbed by the world beyond this quiet pocket of peace.

We settle on the grass, and Garrick pulls a few food containers from his bag—fresh fruits, vegetables, pastries, and, to my delight, chocolate cookies. This is becoming our routine. Sitting together, eating in comfortable silence. He sharpens his daggers; I read. Occasionally, I let myself ramble about a book I’m excited about.

Speaking of which—

I dig into my bag and pull out a book with a soft pink cover, the illustration of a fox and an archer adorning the front.

“I found this while reshelving,” I say, handing it to him before popping a strawberry into my mouth.

Garrick’s fingers skim over the cover. “What’s it about?”

“It’s a fairytale. A girl who was turned into a fox. Her lover is cursed to hunt her down, but they find a way to break the curse.”

His gaze flickers back to mine. “How does it end?”

I shrug, smiling. “I haven’t finished it yet.”

Garrick sets the book aside and leans in, his breath warm against my lips. His hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers tangling gently in my hair.

“It’s been too long since I’ve had you,” he murmurs.

My breath catches. “I know,” I whisper.

His lips brush against mine, soft and teasing at first. It never stays that way.

His hands find my hips, pulling me into his lap with practiced ease. I shift slightly, tugging my hood back up to shield us from wandering eyes. He huffs a laugh, but it doesn’t deter him.

“I read the tagged parts in your romance novels,” he murmurs.

I stiffen. My heart skips a beat. “You did?” I barely breathe out.

He grins—a knowing, wicked grin. “Mmh. Perhaps we should recreate some of those scenes?”

Heat floods my face.

“We definitely should if it makes you blush like that,” he teases.

I don’t reply, just meet his gaze, my silence all the answer he needs.

His grin widens, his grip on me tightening just slightly.

Something tells me it’s going to be a very long night.

♤

[trashedsunsets]

Spoiled Honey

***

Summary ~

Small towns need big personalities to compensate. If only overworked ER doctors knew that.

wc ~ 1k

big credit to @candlelitea for the inspo on this 💕

a/n ~

girl idk I’ve never done this before

Retirement.

A beautiful ten letter word. Sparkling. Glimmering. Hopeful.

And something that Michael Robinavitch still can’t find himself committing to yet. Though here he is with his old friend, Jack Abbot on what he’s deemed a pseudo retirement. Airbnbs are still in the realm of what Robby deems sketchy, self endangerment perhaps? Either way he found himself talked into using his plethora of leave days to take an extended three month summer stay. Somewhere rural, real middle of nowhere, Main Street USA, type of place.

Abbot pulls the old pickup truck into the only grocery store in town. No sooner is the car parked before its doors are flung open both men all but stumbling out. Robby’s joints are groaning from what he wishes he could blame entirely on the long drive. A solid clap to his back when he stands to his full height as Abbot starts guiding him, “Come on my friend, let’s see what uh, Delaneys grocer and general store, has to offer huh?”

The door chimes with an old fashioned bell announcing their entrance to the store. Blasts of cool breeze from the air conditioning is a reprieve from the humid summer air. To the left is a wall lined with refrigerated doors, the center is taken up with two long rows of shelves, and the right wall houses the stores the bulk food dispensers. At the front of the right side sits a lone cashier station, behind it someone has their feet propped up on the counter with a worn book covering their face. They don’t move to greet the men only flipping to the next page of the book. However the pup that sits in a fancy plush bed at the foot of the counter raises their head curiously. A very well loved cavalier spaniel huffs softly at their presumed owner as if chastising them for not greeting the customers before settling again.

One of the carts is pulled from the front of the store as the men start perusing the aisles. Robby takes note of the front window display next to the first refrigerator door, a very staged set up of handmade goods. He keeps moving following Abbot with the cart.

“The one with the blue cap is fresher. The ones with the green caps are from yesterday but they’re discounted, 25 percent off. Still good though.” Called from behind the counter is the cashier’s voice, their book now pulled down so their eyes are revealed, watching them. Abbots head whips around to the source of the comment. “Pardon me?”

Nodding and gesturing with the book the cashier speaks again. “The milk you’re holding the Callahans, our dairy suppliers, do different cap colors every day of the week. Rainbow order, blue caps means it’s Friday.” Returned to the fridge is the milk bottle with the green cap exchanged for a blue capped bottle. In thanks Abbot gives a nod back, “good heads up.”

Humming softly the cashier returns to their book as the men continue to shop. Making their way around the store they continue to fill their cart, only soft debates about what products to buy. Eventually they round the store to the bulk section, back in view of the cashier. Who has now abandoned the book completely in favor of watching the men. Robby sneaks a glance at the cashier whose face is now fully revealed to them. A pretty young woman sits with her chin resting on the palm of her hand elbow on the counter. Abbot hasn’t gotten a look at her yet as he reads an ingredient list for granola.

“That stuff is delicious, Marjorie makes it fresh down the road in the bakery twice a week. Family recipe she says…” The cashier glances conspiratorially at the store entrance before leaning closer voice lowering in a mock whisper. “Between you and I though, I think it’s just the recipe from behind the Quaker Oats box that she jazzes up.”

Robby and Abbot glance at each other then back at the cashier. Chatty girl is a shared thought between the glance. Yet Abbot smiles picking up one of the small paper bags starting to fill it with the aforementioned high praised granola. “You seem to know a lot about what goes on here, take it you’re a long time resident?” Jack muses languidly in response. Robby stifles a grin turning his head to the side as he knows his partner is appeasing the young girl.

Undeterred she perks up at the reply seemingly eager to have someone entertaining her quips. “Oh only my entire life, my daddy owns the place figure it’d be rude to run out on him after he so graciously raised me and all.”

Pretty girl… Daddy… Hmm…

Another glance is shared between the newcomers. Men are still men at the end of the day.

Robby clears his throat, “Well you and your dad must be pretty close if you think that way. Most kids can’t wait to get away from their parents.”

Tilting her head back and forth as if considering then giving a relenting nod, “Yeahhh… he’s okay.” She’s grinning despite it, lots of love there obviously.

“Anyway you two must be the ones renting the Talbots place for a few months, just past their ranch but before the woods.” Not a question, but stated as a fact from the cashier.

Brows are raised in surprise from the men before Jack speaks this time. “You must know everything that goes on around here.”

Moving her book off the counter to clear space for groceries as the men near with their full shopping cart. “Mmhm, Mrs. Talbot has been ecstatic since you booked. Called me a bit ago when you got in, I believe the words ‘strapping’ and ‘devilishly handsome’ were used.”

Faintly flushed cheeks adorn both the men’s faces as she starts scanning the chosen products, expertly packing them away into waiting paper bags.

“Oh really?” Robby takes the bait this time.

A nod as she turns the screen around displaying their total awaiting their payment taking them in up close. “Really really, and you know what? Guess her eyesight isn’t that bad after all.”

She holds out a receipt, “Pleasure doing business with you Michael and Jack.”

Masking their surprise but not that well from the perceptive cashier, the bolder of the two, Jack. Turns the charm back on the girl, “And do we get to know your name pretty girl?”

Bright laughter fills the air before she gives her name with an unabashed grin.

Nods from both the men in acknowledgement, “Well that’s certainly one we’ll want to remember.” Robby answers as they collect the hefty paper bags.

“The only one in town can’t be too hard.” Calls the girl as the pair makes their way to the door. They both laugh this time, Jack holds the door turning his head “Well if the first impression wasn’t memorable enough the names gotta stick right?”

It’s her turn to laugh now as the men take their leave. Bells on the door chime again barely disguising what she says next. “What do you think Honeybee? They’re hot right?”

The dog rolls over tummy up unconcerned with her owners appraisals of attractiveness, and more concerned with belly rubs. An over dramatic sigh is heard as the girl slips from her stool to crouch next to the dog giving into the demands scratches. “And they say I’m spoiled.”

[rebelscums]

Angel (Qimir x Jedi reader)

Part One of Angel

Ratings: Angst | Fluff

Summary: After the death of your master you begin to question the dark side and just who keeps appearing in your dreams…

The ringing in your head only grew as you opened your eyes. Your vision was blurry, but you knew that you were hanging from something… You drained your neck up to realize that it was a tree. You were stripped bare from your robes and something dropped slowly down your forehead past your nose… Blood.

“Master?” Your voice cracked as you called out to her.

The air felt thick and the smell of blood grew stronger, but you could hear her to your right.

“You must whisper, my padawan.” She whispered in the same predicament you were in, “It is hunting.”

“What is?” You whispered confused, hurt, and you knew you had a concussion, “What is going on?”

“They betrayed us and now they are offering us to the beast they fear from this jungle. It has already taken the other. We must remain vigilant and strong as we find a way out of us.”

You looked around, the moonlight brightening the forest floor just enough to see all of the blood and bones scattered everywhere.

Hours had passed as you both struggled to get out of your bindings without falling to the ground. You realized quickly that the tribe you were trying to help had drugged you heavily making it even harder to escape.

With the luck of the force, your master unblinded herself and swung over to one of the large branches on your tree.

“Stay still.” She requested as she began to untie your bindings, “Once you are free we will make a run towards the north river. Our shop is just across the river.”

“Okay.” You whispered as you began to feel the rope loosen.

“Almost…” Master Runh went to untie the rope. You were almost free… Almost.

It was so quick that you could barely see it grab your master between its large jaws and drag her down to the forest floor. Her screams echoed throughout the night as she yelled over and over…

“Run!”

Tears streamed down your face as you watched her get torn apart. Struggling to free the last not so you could help her… Save her… You needed to save her. You were so close.

“Master!” You cried out as her final breath left her body and through your tears you saw something or was it someone standing beside the beast over your dead master just watching you…

You jolted awake in your room with a startled gasp. It took you a moment for your brain to let you know that you were safe and it was only a dream, but but the wetness on your cheeks had let you know that you had been crying.

You quickly wiped your tears and went to the fresher to compose yourself. It had been a couple hours since you have been in hyper drive and you knew you would arrive to the next planet soon.

That means you had a bit of time to talk about your dream to Master Sol… Maybe he would have an answer for the mysterious figure.

“Master Sol.” You drew his attention away from the map he was looking at from where he sat at a table.

His tired eyes were now trained on you, a calm look on his face as he greeted you with a smile. He was an ever present and diligent master and you silently thought of how lucky Jecki was.

You have been missing master Runh dearly these days. She was a great master, someone that you could count on for anything. She was wise, and strong, and brave too… She aided and guided you as you grew up, leading you down the path of the Jedi. You were grateful to her for everything she has done for you. You believed in what it meant to be a Jedi.

Until she was killed a few months ago.

It wasn’t her fault, the two of you were betrayed and sold out by the tribe you were trying to help… It shook you to your core, leaving you with nightmares and sleepless nights. You could still hear her screams, see her body be torn to shreds by that horrible beast… A beast you barely ran away from with your life.

You remember it’s sharp claws digging into your right side, leaving you with a painful reminder of that night.

That was when the urges of darkness started to rise. A growing pain that settled in the pit of your stomach and rose to your throat almost like a scream. Your calm temper had grown shorter these days and with no other master willing to take you in during your last few months of training as you were too old and they were looking for someone with a more pliable mind.

You remember scoffing as you stood in the council room, an annoyed look suddenly spreading across your face. Not one free master would take you in so you could pass your trials. You almost threw a chair at the weak minded fools.

That was until you were placed in the care of Master Sol. He had graciously stepped up and offered to take you under his wing along with his current padawan. Master Runh was a dear friend of his and he refused to let her padawan be casted out.

“Yes?” He asked.

“My anger towards what happened to my master…” Your voice lowered into almost a whisper, “I feel as though it is getting worse.”

His gaze turned concerned as he lowered his voice, “I know what have you experience has been painful, but rage will only lead to the dark side. It was not your fault young padawan and I know that you will overcome this tragedy with great strength.”

“Thank you master, but my dreams…” You shivered as you remember them so vividly, “It’s always the same every night, but last night was different… It felt as if my master was warning me of someone.” You whispered, “There was…” A dark figure standing above my masters body.

My explanation was cut short as his former padawan butted into the conversation, “We’re nearly there. I was hoping you and I could talk before we go find Master Torbin?” Osha asked master Sol.

A torn look spread across his face as he tried to choose who he wants to help more… The sinking feeling in your gut at him looking back at Osha sealed your fate.

He started to say, “Maybe we could…” continue this another time.

It was the same thing you heard before and you raised your hand to stop him, “It’s alright. I should probably go get ready anyways.” You stood up from your seat and Osha quickly took your place.

“Another time.” He said again, an urgency in his voice.

You didn’t spare him another glance as you walked away, “Sure.” You knew you wouldn’t talk about it again.

You thought back to the figure in your dream as you followed after the group. Yord fell into step with you as he kept a watchful eye out.

“Your lost in thought.” He mentioned which seemed to work in snapping you out of your daze.

“I’m just worried for master Torbin.” You lied and a part of you hated the feeling, but you felt that it was necessary to keep the figure to yourself for now. At least until you can find out more about it.

“Mae has already killed Master Indara.” You continued, “Who knows what she is capable of.”

“The Jedi do not judge someone we do not know.” He said and his words twisted a not in your heart, “But I am confident that we will get to him in time.” He glanced at you, “There is no need to worry.”

His confidence made you cringe. How could I not worry when there was a Jedi killing assassin on the loose? Is no one here concerned? You thought.

It was safe to say that Jord’s plan to confront the mystery man was stupid.

“Or we skip that and she just talks to him.” Jecki said, “If he’s Mae’s accomplice, we can send her in. She can talk to him and we can record and monitor the conversation that way we have a lead on Mae plus we also get a confession from him. Seems like the most logical way.”

“That sounds like the better option out of the two.” You agreed.

“I’m in.” Mae nodded her head as she stepped forward.

“We will follow your plan padawan. It’s a good one.” Master Sol agreed.

That was all that was needed to spring into action on our mission. You watched as Osha stepped into the shop.

“Hello there.” You could hear her say over comms.

“Oh… Hello.” His voice sounded… Chipper. It seemed that he was happy to see her. Maybe he and Mae do know each other on a deeper level?

“Hi…” Osha’s voice trailed off as she seemed unsure of what to say.

“Hi?” His tone now held confusion to it.

“Come on Osha.” You muttered praying to the force with words of encouragement.

He continued sounding concerned, “You alright? You’re back so early?”

“I wanted to see you…”

“See me? Oh?” His light chuckle sent a pleasant chill you didn’t know the exact reason for, “Mae… Are you okay? Did the poison work?”

“That’s it.” Jecki looked up from the comms ready to go, “That’s all we need.”

“Pull her out.” Yord stated taking out his lightsaber.

You also made motion to grab your lightsaber, ready to head into the shop and confront the mysterious man before Sol put his arm out to stop you.

“Wait!” Master Sol’s sharp word had you, Yord, and Jecki all freeze in place. The four of you paid closer attention to the comm.

“You’re acting so strange…” The man spoke through the comms. There was a pause, as if he was assessing something about Osha, “Wait.”

Please don’t figure out she’s not Mae… You thought with worry.

“You killed Torbin without the poison.” He assessed with a light tone to his voice, “He will be so pleased.”

That seemed to be all Master Sol needed to hear as he said, “Go.” And pushed his group towards the man and Osha.

He was different than you expected him to be. A good way perhaps… He was easy on the eyes for a smuggler or was he a dealer? You weren’t sure. What you did know was how quick he was to sell out Mae.

You stayed partially hidden behind Jord. Your hood was up and your hand remained on your lightsaber as the stranger continued to explain himself.

“Wait wait…” He stumbled over his words as he tried to explain, “That isn’t my thing. This is her. I didn’t know what she was going to do with that stuff.”

“If you cooperate. We will consider letting you go with a warning.” Master Sol walked around him, assessing if he was a threat.

The man clasped his hands together, “Okay! Thank you! Thank you sir, ah… Please don’t do the memory wipe thing or whatever it is you guys do.” He held his hands up in surrender as he followed Master Sol’s movements.

You studied his movements, they were graceful compared to the nervous way he spoke.

“What is your relationship to Mae?” Was the first question Master Sol asked.

“I’m just her supplier.” He explained quickly walking around the room and using his hands as he spoke, “Yeah, I started out gun running for the hits and now I supply people like her with what they need. For the right price.”

He seemed to calm but too fidgety at the same time as if it were almost forced…

“Well maybe you could supply us with the truth.” Jord’s voice was stern and left no room for debate.

You hid further behind his stance as the man turned around. Not ready to reveal that you have been studying him intently to see if he was telling the truth or stalling for time…

“Who is he?” Master Sol asked.

The man gave him a confused look, “Ah… I? I thought he was with you?” He asked pointing back at Jord.

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped past your lips, but quickly stifled it as his amused gaze tried to find your behind Jord’s frame.

Master Sol didn’t find it funny as he continued, “Does Mae have a master? Is someone training her?”

“Listen I have no idea what’s going on with that girl.” He stepped towards Master Sol, “All I know… Is that she wants revenge on four Jedi.”

The room fell silent as a grave realization settled… Four Jedi was stationed on Osha and Mae’s planet and Master Sol was one of them…

His eyes widened as an idea sparked, “If you want to get to her, she’ll be back here tonight. I’m holding some things for her.”

“Jord. Secure the perimeter. Keep an eye out for Mae.” Master Sol ordered, “Jecki get to the ship. Mae, you are coming with me and…”

Your heart beat quickly in your chest as Master Sol looked in your direction, “You will stay here and make sure that he does not try to escape.”

“But—“ Your pleas were left unanswered as he gave you a look. You bit your tongue and nodded, “Yes master.”

“Good. Let us go.” Master Sol stated, “Mae will be here soon.”

You watched with a knot in your stomach as your group left. How could they just leave me here alone with a stranger? You thought as you clenched and unclenched your right fist to try and keep your nerves at bay.

You tried to take a calming breath. You are a Jedi. You can guard an unarmed man. He couldn’t hurt you. This will go smoothly without any problem… You squeezed your eyes shut as the screams of your master rang through your ears.

You were alone then too… You but your biotin lip, grateful that your hood hid your face as you stared longingly at the door. You didn’t want to be left alone with a stranger… You couldn’t handle it, not again. Your breathing began to pick up, something that the stranger noticed immediately.

“So…” He spoke in an airy tone in an attempt to lighten the mood and get your mind off of whatever you were thinking about, “Who might you be Angel?”