#thrashing aching and sometimes creating

[professorfcknmoriarty]

[quarterlifekitty]

Moth girl getting into that state with nesting, being tired, her belly hurts and she's just acting off.

König already knows it's the time of the year when she lays eggs. But some time passed, and she still didn't get better. Still didn't come out of the pillow nest.

When he's checking up on her, her belly is round and swollen, but the eggs are not coming out..

König having to help her out. Carefully pressing down on her belly, rubbing her little pussy to stimulate her and trick into finally letting the eggs go.

(I made that up, it lives in my head rent free.)

cw: egg laying stuff, overstim

König’s heart aches when he looks down at you, squirming and sluggish all at once, the distention of your belly obvious. His precious mottechen, so uncomfortable and full.

The only struggle he experienced was internal as he pulled you from your nest of blankets and pillows, your usual pips and chirps replaced exhausted whines.

He’d been warned that this could happen. That sometimes hybrids have trouble expressing, especially if the eggs are unfertilized.

He’d gotten you into bed, your back to his stomach with your legs spread and ankles hooked over his thighs.

One of König’s massive hands is splayed over your abdomen, cupped to create a bit more pressure from his gathered fingertips as he rubs ellipses over you.

Your hands grip weakly at his forearm as he tries to stimulate you. You look up at him with barely formed tears gathering at your waterline from how long and tiring this process has been, keeping you exhausted and restless at once.

“Ich werde es besser machen, liebling, I promise,” he coos, shifting his legs to spread you a little better. It feels… a bit wrong to be touching you this way when you’re not well. Like he’s taking advantage, even though he knows it’s the least invasive way to help you. It doesn’t help that you can definitely feel him hard against your back.

His touches start feather-light on your clit, flicking and rubbing to try to spur your inner muscles into making the necessary contractions. His petting and stroking gets heavier, until your hips are twitching and your eyes clench shut with the strain as you pass the first egg in your clutch.

König lets out a breath he’d had no idea he was holding as the cream colored egg slips onto the towel beneath you. It’s a little bigger than the ones in your last clutch had been, which is probably what caused the issue, if he had to guess. His poor little siedenmotte.

The ones after the first come much easier, thank god. He wasn’t sure he could handle seeing your face twisted in pain much more than he already had.

He grinds his teeth, sick with guilt when you thrash against him with what must be the last of your strength— your legs twitching as you try to free yourself from his hold, from the overstimulation. But he has to make sure you’re not holding onto anything, so he keeps you pinned, pressing down on your belly while two of his fingers find a home inside of your sore cunt. He makes you cum, finally, and heaves a sigh of relief when you don’t produce anything more.

Your eggs, which he typically finds laid in an array with almost mathematical precision, sit in a sticky pile on the towel. Not quite as many as usual, but noticeably more girthy, not as uniform either. He hoped it didn’t mean you were sick.

He puts the towel off to the side to be dealt with later, focusing on untangling your legs. He lays with you on his chest, and he starts to hum an old song he remembers from his childhood so you can feel the rumble in his chest. He doesn’t have the deepest voice, but it seems to do well enough for you, relaxing you enough to let your eyes close.

When he feels you’re recovered enough that he feels he can leave you alone to rest, he’ll dig out a flashlight from his dresser to shine through each of your eggs, just like always, just to make sure there’s nothing in them before they’re returned to you.

Hopefully you’d be back to your usual self tomorrow. He isn’t sure how much more of this his heart can take.

[i-love-ptv]

I’m Crying While I’m Cummin’

JJ Maybank x reader

An: Hey Hotties! This is my first EVER fic (kinda just a blurb since it’s a littleeeee short.) I hope you enjoy!

Feedback would def be appreciated bbs!

(You’re hot if yk what song the title’s from 🤭)

Fluff + NSFW <3

JJ was always on top. Always the dominant one.

Yes, he’s had a few tourons ride him, but completely control him? It almost sounded foreign to him. He never even considered letting go; letting himself be taken care of.

That was before you came along.

Now, sometimes he finds himself thinking about what it’d feel like to let his thoughts exit his body while you take what you want from him. Milk his cock for all he’s worth until he’s withering underneath you.

Until he can’t think about anything except for you.

You, you, you.

Your scent is intoxicating, and he feels himself getting wasted on the smell of saltwater, sex, and your perfume. He can smell faint remnants of the shampoo you use and it makes him melt like the ice cream you licked off your fingers yesterday in the hot sun.

Your touch is warm: like the rays of sun beaming down on the obx.

The sun.

You remind him of the sun. You were his sun.

His everything.

He can’t help but think about how lucky he is to have you while you’re quickening your pace as you ride him. You light up his life, and right now, he really wishes you’d just choke him. He wants you to take every thought and every question out of his head until he can barely keep his head straight.

He begs, whines, and cries out to you.

Blubbering on about what exactly?

God, he doesn’t even have a clue anymore.

His speech is slurred, making you giggle softly in his ear. He feels your laughter rattle throughout your body, making you clench even more around his throbbing cock.

He lets out another hearty moan.

The sounds of the bed squeaking, and the slaps of your bodies becoming one floods his senses.

You flood his senses.

His eyes water as his throat tightens, he recognizes the diminuendo of the beautiful song you two have created together.

He thrashes around as you slick cunt takes every drop of cum out of his leaky, aching, dick.

The pair of you are scrambling around, trying to grab one another desperately; like your lives depended on it.

Life.

That’s what JJ thinks about as you coo sweet nothings into his sensitive ears.

He wants to feel this way forever: pussy drunk, fuzzy, and loved. Loved by you. At this moment he decided that he didn’t need anyone but you.

And he knows you’ll always be the one to make him feel this beautiful.

[thingsjusthappensometimes]

Coping As Best He Can ----------------------------

Fandom: Good Omens CW: Self Loathing, Self Medicating, Alcohol Use, Cannabis Use, Angst, Spoilers for S2 Length: Ficlet (722 words)

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

Crowley used to love getting drunk. 

Sure, it was always bittersweet getting pissed with Aziraphale, when he’d get to that warm and fuzzy sweet spot where every shift of fabric, every movement of the warm arm next to him would make him ache.  But it was more over good.  It was fun.  Getting drunk now was signing up for a quick trip to sad sack lane.  It made him moody (or moodier than usual).  It made him angry in that dark and jilted way he hadn’t felt since after The Fall.  Drinking wasn’t pleasant now.  Now, it was almost masochistic. 

If anyone had asked what it felt like, drunk and burning from hurt, he’d have waved it off that he was already over it. If he was in a particularly open mood, he may have ventured to claim the anger that came up while drunk was all directed at Aziraphale.  These things weren’t entirely wrong, they were simply layers.  And if you kept stripping them back, you’d get to the core of him, the weeping black wound at his center that was kept stuffed up with gauze at all times.  When he drank, the wound oozed.  His brain ran, and when he was alone, the thoughts ran out of his brain and onto his tongue which hissed them miserably into stale air: “You worthless piece of shit, of course he wouldn’t choose you. Who would?” 

Worthless. Nothing. Useless.  Forsaken.  Forgotten.  Pointless. 

He’d try and swallow the ichor that was rather pouring from the wound, bursting out the gauze under the heady influence of drink.  It was easy to dab up the remnants of a seeping leak.  A gushing of pain was much harder to control when you didn’t even realize the dam had broken until you were already drowning. 

Pointless.  Useless.  Unforgiveable.  Evil. Evil. Evil. 

No one wants you. 

Rage was easier to feel than terror. Than hurt. 

It was easier to scream, and kick, and smash things than to sit with the wound and willingly drown.  It’s against any beings nature, to willingly drown, celestial and occult as well as natural.  All Her doing.  Wouldn’t be smart design without some failsafes. 

If he had taken some time to think, really think he’d have realized how ludicrous the whole thing was.  It wasn’t really drowning.  He wasn’t at risk of death.  Of true dissolution gone-forever-from-the-world death. 

But that didn’t stop the impulses to fight and kick and thrash and stay alive whenever the thoughts made him want to do anything but. 

He stopped drinking. 

It was a little difficult at first, breaking a nearly 6000 year old habit, but it got easier after the day when the horrible hangover was easier than the night before. 

It got even easier when he switched it out for cannabis. 

Cannabis use dates back to the dawn of time (clever humans), and he’d dabbled in his day. 

It was alright, getting high, but Aziraphale had never quite taken to it as he had to getting drunk.  A drunk Aziraphale was typically (barring a serious situation like, per say, discussing what to do with the recently delivered antichrist) a very amenable drunk.  Sometimes he could be downright affectionate. 

Crowley had only smoked cannabis with the angel once, a long time ago, but the blank and panicked look that stretched long across Aziraphale’s face was enough for him to guess this wouldn’t be one of the hedonist’s preferred pleasures. 

Crowley hadn’t thought about cannabis for a long time, and it hadn’t even been in consideration after Aziraphale left.  But on a whim, he’d passed some young folks under a bridge and taken up their easy offer to join their circle.

He was irritable from a particularly dull sober night, and was fully planning to create as much drama within the friend group as he possibly could in order to lift his spirits a little. 

After a few rounds of passing the joint around, though, he was partly alarmed to find himself loose and comfortable. Almost amenable, as dirty as the word sounded.  He learned about Kari’s terrible boyfriend, laughed genuinely at Matt’s terrible Piers Morgan impression, and found himself walking away from the group two hours later than he had ever expected to spend. 

As soon as he got home he ordered a few packs of edibles online.

[book-of-baba-fett]

Illicit Affairs - Chapter 17

Captain Rex x OC

Chapter Summary: Talia catches up and unwinds with some old friends on Kamino, but does she make a choice she'll regret?

Chapter Rating: E

Warnings: Angst, Smut. Piv, drinking, drunk sex.

A/N: please don't hate me you guys lol. I swear things will get lighter for a moment. Getting close to the endgame now! Thanks as always to @galacticgraffiti for being a wonderful Beta reader! As always, comments/likes/reblogs are so SO appreciated.

Ao3 Link Series Masterlist

Rex had one time tried to tell Talia that every day on Kamino wasn’t rainy, that sometimes the sun peaked out behind the gray veil of clouds, but the past two days spent in Tipoca City felt shrouded in time, Talia’s internal clocked screwed up as she shuffled from briefing to briefing. She met with cadets, all of whom seemed in awe at the presence of a Jedi. It was sweet how they spoke with excitement, but Talia couldn’t ignore the twist in her gut as they vowed their unwavering support to the Republic. So young, yet that was the only life they were told about. At lunch she ate with Storm, who had attended his own sessions to assist training cadets as well, but Storm could sense something had been going on with Talia lately. He had been watching her closely since Turia, maybe just checking in on her as she recovered, but by now she was ready to snap at him, no longer wanting to deal with his probing gaze.

It was almost dinner time, and she knew he would be waiting again. But Talia wasn’t hungry, and didn’t feel the urge to risk him asking too many questions about why her mood was so downcast as of late. She debated heading to a training room again; she hadn’t gotten much further with her progress with force lightning. She really did rely on an output of rage to create it, so each burst seemed weaker than the last. She tried delving into her mind, finding fuel for the energy while she trained, but the dark place it took her was taxing. She was torn between the drive for the power, and the mental wall she had put up against it.  She knew it was risky even dabbling with it this much. But she wanted to try it more. There had to be good use for a power like this, the Council just didn’t see it yet.

She knew also  that she shouldn’t push herself, though; the process was physically and mentally draining. Her knuckles were raw and bruised already from not taking proper care in her earlier training. A residual ache lingered in her body from the exhaustion of pushing herself past her limits. Talia had enough sense to know she shouldn’t push it more for the day, but now found herself wandering the too-bright pathways of Tipoca City. 

Pacing through the halls, Talia paused to watch the ever-storming weather outside, her gaze following a graceful aiwha as it flew out of the water, battling against the wind before diving back into the thrashing waters.

“General Riva!” A booming voice called from her side. Talia didn’t have time to turn but she didn’t need to see who it was; only one clone had such a presence, and quite honestly had the nerve to swoop her up in a wampa-hug that threatened to break her ribs.

“Wrecker!” Talia coughed out in laughter as her feet left the ground. Wrecker quickly placed her back on the ground – the man meant well, at times he just forgot his own strength. Talia grinned at him and took in the rest of Clone Force 99 behind him. She had met them about a year ago, when they had helped the 412th on a mission when the battalion was still in its rebuilding phase after the vicious attack from Maul.

Hunter stood to the side of Wrecker, a small smile of greeting on his tattooed face. Tech seemed more interested in something on his datapad, but mumbled his greetings, while Crosshair stood the furthest back, a signature toothpick in his mouth.

“Good to see you all! Nothing ever seems to change with you guys. Crosshair, your smile is as lovely as ever.”

The sniper rolled his eyes at that, but Talia caught the smallest flicker of a grin threatening to peek through. Hunter stepped forward and held his arm out, which Talia accepted to shake as he spoke, “Good to see you, General. What brings you to Kamino?”

“Just some repairs, picking up some new troops,” Talia shrugged. She tilted her head back, “You all heading to the mess? I guess I should finally head over and get some food.”

“We just got back from a mission-“ Hunter started

“-and don’t feel like dealing with that many regs,” Crosshair added under his breath.

“So, we were just going to head to our quarters,” Hunter finished, ignoring the statement from his brother. He glanced at Talia, back at his squad, then back to her “We actually have some…uh… contraband, if you’re looking for something to do tonight?”

“Offering alcohol to a General? That’s a bold move,” Talia scoffed, crossing her arms. For a moment Hunter looked flustered, as if he were worried she might actually reprimand them when Talia laughed, loosening her posture and slapping him on the shoulder. “You have no idea what I would do for a drink – I’m in.”

The Bad Batch were truly unlike any clones Talia worked with; besides their physical differences, they had their oddities that made them an interesting bunch to hang out with. What they had in common with their reg counterparts, was their bond with each other. The way they would nag and tease one another, a  flair for embellishment when recalling war stories. And for Talia it was a needed break, listening to them goof off after having a few beers.

Wrecker found a way to grow more boisterous under the influence of alcohol, Tech would fall into slightly slurred tangents that were loosely related to the topic of conversation which would prompt Crosshair to teasingly taunt him to ‘turn the page’ to the next topic, but Talia caught the way his normally stern face slipped into a smirk as he joked with his brother. Hunter leaned back in his chair, slowly nursing his drink, a light flush on his cheeks. He would occasionally toss Talia an apologetic glance when one of his brothers made a particularly crass joke, but Talia always waved it off with a smile.

The night quickly moved on, Talia and the Batch drinking more of the beer they had stashed away. It was cheap stuff, even more watered down than what Republic offered for free to clones at 79’s; but it worked to give Talia a light buzz. She leaned against the table, laughing and tossing out jokes once she felt more comfortable- Talia knew the Kaminoans would disapprove for so many reasons, but she didn’t care.

Talia thought back to herself at the beginning of the war, unsure and a bit uncomfortable in her new role as a General. Many nights she had secluded herself in her own quarters as the Venator drifted through space, reading into the late hours. Then one time as the ship was docking in Coruscant, Church, Storm and a few others had invited her to 79’s for the first time. She’d been hesitant, but she accepted.

It was nice, seeing her men more at ease; even if they were as unsure how to act with her off duty as she was with them. But they settled in, getting a bit drunk and enjoying each other’s company. For Talia, that was the moment it hit her how close she was in age to the men she served with, how normal hanging out with them in down time felt. She started to make a habit of going, or relaxing in the barracks after a long mission. Maybe it was unprofessional for her as their technical superior, but Talia grew to rely on the downtime.  She felt it from the men too: the longer they fought the more they needed these little moments where they could dull the stresses of war. And when soldiers passed on, she was able to look back on those nights as a way to remember them, remember the way they laughed or the dumb jokes told. 

That’s why she felt at ease whenever she went out with the 501st, or even now drinking with the Batch. She didn’t know them as well as her own men, but it was easy to sit in and relax with them. The beer was hitting her head, how little food she had that day more obvious as she could feel herself getting drunk. But she didn’t care, she hadn’t laughed this hard in awhile. She felt like the weight that had been resting in her gut ever since Turia was slightly lessened, the laughter easing the tension that settled over her and the alcohol numbing the bitterness she felt. Maybe this was made easier by how different Rex was from the Batch. They didn’t look like the regular clones, their voices even sounded slightly different so she didn’t feel that jolt of pain she had been feeling any time she talked to a soldier since she had last seen Rex. 

Shit. She’d done it again. She’d thought of Rex.

Talia glanced at the empty bottle in her hand; the drink was obviously not doing its job if she was still being reminded of him. She reached for another full bottle, cracked the lid open and gulped.

“How do you drink so much for someone so tiny?” Wrecker’s voice called out from across the table, a teasing grin on his face. Sure enough, about half a dozen empty bottles sat in front of him, and the large clone seemed barely buzzed.

“I handle my booze just fine,” Talia answered seriously, not realizing the evident slur that would lay in her voice nor predicting how when she waved her hand, she would knock over the empty bottles in front of her. The boys laughed at her clumsiness, and she grinned bashfully, reaching down to pick up the bottles. “In my defense, I would have done that sober.”

It turns out the Bad Batch had a decent beer supply, pulling out a new case and drinking more. Talia still more observed their conversation, her eyes being drawn to the waves outside the window once more. How they thrashed against the foundations for Tipoca City, the lights from the buildings reflecting against the surface before it faded into darkness, the waters a black void in the nighttime that would occasionally be illuminated by bolts of lightning. 

Talia was vaguely aware of the boys getting into a brotherly argument, catching a glimpse of something that sounded vaguely like a plan to head into the shooting range. As the ranking officer present, she probably should have had the sense to say something along the lines of ‘alcohol and blasters don’t mix’ but she was more fascinated with the sight out the viewport. The door slammed shut, a silence settling in the room with the absence left from Tech, Crosshair and Wrecker. Hunter grabbed a few bottles, placing them together to slightly tidy up, his eye flicking to Talia as she sat with her thoughts. She held her bottle in her hand, the cool glass against her skin as she twisted it in her fingers, the ale sloshing inside, a poor mimicry of the waves outside.

“Everything ok?” Hunter asked, nudging Talia and breaking her from her silent periphery. Her head jerked to the side, glancing at him. Talia stilled her movements of the bottle, instead, tilting it back and swallowed the remaining booze.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Talia answered right after as Hunter raised a brow doubtingly. Talia sighed. “Just had a long training day, that’s all.”

 Hunter huffed out a laugh. “I understand that; whenever we come back around the Kaminoans run us through every possible test and training routine.”

“Coming home isn’t just all fun?” Talia asked, already knowing the answer. Kamino might be home to the clones, and some had differing degrees of sentimentality to it, but there was nothing ‘homey’ about the aquatic world that she had witnessed these few days.

“It’s not all bad; don’t have to deal with clankers, but I guess we have to trade them in for the Kaminoans,” Hunter answered, earning a giggle from Talia.

“Not that I’m complaining, because it was nice to see a more relaxed side of you, but why did you spend your night with us? Surely you must have had more exciting things to do?” Hunter seemed sincere with his questioning, a curious glance in his eye.

“Not at all; I’m not a very exciting person.” Talia shrugged, earning a disbelieving huff of laughter from the clone next to her.

“I doubt that,” Hunter replied, leaning against the table to smirk at her. Talia rotated on the bench, swinging her legs over it so she sat facing him.  Maybe it was the influence of the cheap beer, but it really was hard to tell he was a clone. Hunter didn’t have the same sweet honeyed eyes of his brothers; his were smoky, like everything else about him from his long hair to the tattoo covering half his face. Talia always felt the tattoo acted as a mask half the time; imperceptible emotions hidden away under it. A fierceness that hid a layer of softness underneath. She couldn’t quell the curiosity in her mind that wondered how far the skeletal pattern went on the rest of his body.

“Oh, I mean it,”” Talia insisted, taking one last sip of the beer in her hands; she didn’t even realize she had been that close to finishing another one. Her cheeks were warm, the room slightly swaying but she contributed a part of that to the waves rocking outside. Talia pressed her arm against the table, leaning against it and mirroring Hunter’s pose facing her. “Don’t really get up to much. Unless you count that one time I was kidnapped by bounty hunters and held hostage by Count Dooku.”

Hunter looked taken aback for a second at Talia’s blunt delivery, but his face broke into a grin as he shook his head. Talia giggled, feeling a bit lighter by the minute. Maybe this was what she needed. A distraction, her head being somewhere else.

“Still, hanging out with me and my brothers probably isn’t up to your speed,” Hunter continued. “Hope the boys haven’t been driving you too crazy.”

“Hunter, I would be perfectly capable of leaving if I was bored,” Talia rolled her eyes. “Besides, you all are…refreshing. And I needed to unwind a little.”

“So did it help?” Hunter asked, spreading his arms wide on the edge of the table behind him. Talia’s eyes flicked to the way his biceps pressed against the tight material of his undersuit, quickly correcting herself to bring them back to his face. “Hanging out, do you feel less stressed?”

“A bit,” Talia nodded, ignoring the heat settling in her cheeks.

“Anything in particular bothering you?” Hunter asked once again, his voice filled with sincerity. The liquor loosening her lips tempted Talia to talk about everything on her mind; about her own insecurities with the Order and as a leader, how stuck she felt, about Rex. But her last shred of composure allowed her to keep it in, stoppering the bottle of emotions in her.

“Just had a lot of long campaigns in a row,” Talia answered vaguely. It wasn’t a lie. Just withholding the finer details.

“I understand,” Hunter sighed, leaning into the table. “Half the time we aren’t even finished with one mission before we’re getting our next assignments.”

“I just want it all to be over with,” Talia admitted. “No more fighting; I’m good at it, but I never wanted to be a soldier.”

“What did you want then?” It was the type of question that had run through Talia’s brain often these past few days. In theory, it should be simple to answer. But Talia felt a weight pressing on her chest every time she even tried to delve into it.

“I’m not sure, but I know this isn’t it.” Talia answered softly. Hunter’s brows cinched, searching for something comforting to say. If he knew her better, he probably would probe her more, trying to get out of Talia what was really troubling her, what left her in this limbo of doubt. His eyes met hers, soft and reassuring and Talia allowed a smile back, something to signal she was ok.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Hunter assured, “It’s a pretty wide galaxy out there. Besides, you’re an amazing woman, and I don’t think there’s much you can’t do.”

Talia resisted the urge to sarcastically laugh, thinking of all the things she failed at. But Hunter was being so sincere, something about his presence was so strangely calming. It was…nice having this sort of reassurance. Even if she didn’t want to talk more in depth about it, someone being there and seeming to care was comforting. And he was familiar. The way his face scrunched when he thought, the small smile he gave, even the sound of his voice; it was scratching the surface of what she knew. And maybe she had been wrong in secluding herself so much lately, because even just this moment of company was partially filling a vacancy that had been left within her. Or maybe it was the drunken haze settled into her, driving some innate need of hers to be with someone else, to feel something else than the loneliness that she allowed to seep in recently.

Talia wasn’t sure what propelled her to do it, whether it was just the beer or the way he smirked at her, or just how much she craved the touch of another person. But Talia leaned in, pressing her lips to Hunter’s, chasing him back as he mumbled something in surprise. 

Hunter did not protest, instead his hands found purchase on her hips as Talia clumsily straddled his lap, his grip steadying her and pulling her tighter to him. Talia moaned into his mouth as her core grinded against the bulge forming in his pants, eliciting a curse from Hunter as he gripped her harder, encouraging her to keep moving against him. The kiss was needy, desperate, remnants of beer lingering on their lips. Talia slid a hand up Hunter’s neck, gripping his hair and tugging lightly. Hunter pulled back for air, and for a moment Talia was worried she had crossed a line but before she knew it aHunter’s hands were sliding lower to grip her ass as he stood.

Talia yelped as she was jolted up. Hunter picked her up and turned them around, just to place her at the edge of the table. He leaned down, kissing her again as Talia’s hand’s found purchase on the front of his shirt, tugging the fabric up.

“Are you sure?” Hunter asked breathily, pulling back to search for any hesitancy from Talia. She shook her head and tugged at his shirt once more. She bit her lip and met his eyes. 

“I’ve always wanted to know how far down this tattoo went,” Talia smirked, pressing her hand to his face. Hunter returned the smirk and helped her remove his shirt. He was leaner than Rex, Talia observed, and the skeletal tattoo continued down his torso, black lines over his toned chest and disappearing beneath the waist line of his pants. Before Talia could reach to pull more off him, Hunter’s hands met the hem of her tunic, unwrapping her robes. His eyes glanced up to hers once more and she nodded, her hands meeting his to help speed up the process.

This was no flight of passion, not a moment of devotion and need for one another, where they were the only thing that could satisfy the other’s need; no, it was instinct, it was desperate and rushed. 

It was craving the touch of someone else, almost pretending it was something more just to fill the void. 

Talia quickly tossed off the last of her clothes, just for Hunter’s rough hands to meet her skin. She moaned as he cupped her breasts, arching herself to press into his touch. His head dipped and he took a nipple into his mouth, swiping over it with his tongue. Talia gasped at the tingling pleasure brought on by Hunter’s mouth, her hands once again landing on his head. Hunter seemed to like it when she tugged on his hair, because he started to suck on her breast, his hand roughly squeezing the other as she cried out.

Hunter pulled back and glanced over her body, the remnants of his spit still glistening over her chest, her legs spread wide and revealing herself completely to him. It suddenly struck Talia, the intimacy of it all, almost too much for what she wanted. She flipped herself over, resting her forearms on the table and sticking her ass out for him to see.

“Fuck me, Hunter,” she sighed, glancing gover her shoulder at him. His eyes were wide as they trained on her wiggling ass. “I want you inside me.”

“Are you sure?” Hunter asked once again as he slowly, hesitantly gripped his cock.

“Yes, just… fuck me already,” Talia ordered, facing forward once more.

Hunter’s hands gripped her waist, his thumbs massaging over her skin as the head of his cock nudged against the lips of her pussy. Her heart was pounding, a thud in her head that could be partially contributed to the ample amount of alcohol in her system. Hunter slowly pressed into her, groaning at the tightness around his cock. Talia winced slightly from the stretch with no foreplay, but relaxed into it, moaning as he settled all the way inside her. The fullness made her eyes roll back into her head, that satisfying relief of having that which she had been craving.

Hunter’s hips slowly rocked back and forth, his breath rugged and hoarse above her as he squeezed the flesh of her hips. His cock dragged along her walls, her cunt squeezing around him. 

Talia’s body was still wound tight, a need for something still stirred in her gut and as good as it felt having him inside her she needed even more. Her palms pressed flat on the surface of the table for more leverage as Talia bounced her ass back to meet his strokes. Hunter cursed as Talia met his thrusts, his cock hitting deeper inside her. It ignited something in him, maybe knowing she wanted more was the right push he needed to give it his all.  He placed a hand between Talia’s shoulder blades, nudging her down against the table as he fucked into her harder.

Talia’s cheek rested against the cool surface, the edge of the table imprinting along her thighs. Talia squeezed her eyes shut, listening as the room was filled by the jostling of the table, slightly skidding on the floor with each thrust, the slap of Hunter’s hips meeting Talia’s ass, his grunts and her high-pitched gasps echoing along the walls. She felt his hand as it firmly held her back in place, his fingers spread wide against the smooth and now sweat dampened skin. Blood was rushing through her head, her mind numb as she succumbed to the feel of Hunter burying himself in her, each buck of his hips like a lightning strike of pleasure to her gut. 

Even in her state, that prickling feeling in the back of her mind reminded Talia how the rest of the batch could walk back in at any moment, that they could see her naked and bent over the table they had all been drinking at moments ago, having all sense being fucked out of her by their Sergeant. But she couldn’t bring herself to care. She needed this, needed to feel him using her for his pleasure. Needed to feel the touch of someone else, get to that precipice of an orgasm that wasn’t from her own hand. Needed to feel something.

Talia’s legs were twitching as they hung off the side of the table, no longer able to rest on the ground as the hot waves of pleasure began to spread through her body. Hunter’s breath grew more frantic, his grunts getting louder as his pace grew sloppy. He lowered himself so his chest pressed into her back, their skin clinging to the other. Talia almost cursed at him for changing the angle when her orgasm was so close, but her words were lost to a cry of pleasure as he slammed himself into her deeper and harder. His head fell in the crook of her neck, his breath hot on her skin. His rasping voice in her ear telling her how good she felt, how hot she was, and grunting her name before he pulled out, spilling hot spurts of his cum on her ass.

Hunter stepped back, his breathing still heavy, his voice husky as he asked, “Did you finish?”

“Yeah,” Talia lied, her own breath still tense. She could feel Hunter’s gaze on her, his own doubt in her words palpable but he didn’t voice it. 

Hunter stepped away, murmuring something about getting a towel as Talia slowly pressed herself up. Through the glass on the window she caught her reflection, her hair disheveled, her cheeks flushed, but mostly what she caught was the exhaustion in her face. Her heart rate slowed down,the orgasm  slowly fading away, and she was left wrung out. It had felt satisfying while it was happening, it had seemed like what she wanted. But an ache settled in her chest because it wasn’t enough, because it only scratched the surface of what she really wanted. Who she really wanted.

After considering the past few days a victory for having not cried, Talia couldn’t stop the flow of tears that suddenly cascaded down her face. It seemed as though her body was trying to release every bottle up emotion she had through her tears as she heaved out a sob and crouched to the ground.

“Shit, Talia?” Hunter’s called out, rushing back over to crouch where she huddled and hot flashes of mortification hit Talia. She didn’t want to be crying right now, but it felt like a dam had burst, and she could not stop herself.

“I’m so so-sorry,” Talia choked out, trying to stop the tears but all she managed to do was cry harder. Naked. On the floor. With Hunter staring at her as horrified as Talia truly felt.

“Don’t apologize, I should apologize!” Hunter hurried to grab the remnant of Talia’s clothes where they were scattered about. He brought them over to her, seemed like he was going to try and put them on her again but retracted his hands and just held out the clothes for Talia to shakily accept. “Please, what did I do? Did I hurt you?”

“No you didn’t, you were great. I’m just in love,” Talia’s voice cracked out in a sobbing drunken slur.

Hunter stared at her, his horror fading into confusion, then ran a hand through his hair. “Gen-Talia, I’m very flattered but uh-“

Talia actually managed to hiccup a laugh in between her sobs, as she loosely wrapped her tunic on. “No, n-not you. I’m not that drunk.”

“Let me get you some water,” Hunter stood up to grab a canteen as Talia redressed. He pulled his shirt over his head as she gulped it down, then kept a watchful eye on her until she finished it. “Listen, I’m so sorry if you felt I pushed you to do anything, I thought you were more aware and wanted-“

“Hunter, I wanted it,” Talia cut him off. “It’s just…I recently got out of a relationship and thought this would-.”

Talia couldn’t finish the sentence because she herself didn’t know the answer. Did she really think having sex with someone else would magically make her feelings for Rex go away? Did she just want to numb the pain she was feeling and used the first person she could find?

Hunter stared at her for a moment, understanding dawning on his features. He didn’t need Taia to explain further. He just nodded and sat next to her, “I didn’t think Jedi did the whole relationship thing.”

“We’re not supposed to, at least not fully,” Talia explained, still sniffling. “We’re encouraged to love, but are supposed to be able to let go. I’m struggling with the latter.”

“Who was the guy?” Hunter asked after a beat. As Talia bit her lip and looked down he quickly added, “You don’t have to-“

“He’s another clone,” Talia admitted softly. Her hand reflexively went to her neck, searching for the necklace she would usually fiddle with whenever she was thinking or nervous. In another jolt to the gut she remembered she didn’t have it anymore. “He ended it because things were too complicated.”

That was putting it too simply, Talia knew it. And she had a hunch Hunter knew it too by how he looked at her, but he didn’t question it.

“But you love him?”

Talia nodded, wiping her face with the back of her forearm. “Didn’t get to tell him that though.”

Hunter and Talia sat in silence after that. He offered her more water as tears still fell from her face. When she couldn’t cry anymore, she could barely keep her eyes open, the sweet temptation of sleep calling to her.

“You can crash here if you need to, I don’t mind sleeping on the floor,” Hunter offered as he stood up. He held out his hand to Talia, which she accepted while shaking her head.

“No, I shouldn’t. Besides the walk back to my quarters might do me some good,” Talia waved him off. Hunter looked doubtingly at her to which she just rolled her eyes, “I can message you when I get back, does that make you feel better?”

“Yes it does; you can barely stand straight and I don’t want to think you fell into the ocean,” Hunter nudged her with a smirk. Talia actually managed to giggle a laugh at that. She made a last attempt to make herself appear a little bit together in the event that she walked into anyone on her route back, but she accepted it was a lost cause.

The halls were empty, their white glow adding to her already forming headache. She didn’t rush her walk back; even though she wanted nothing more than to go to sleep she was already dreading the feelings that would come in the morning. The guilt she was feeling was gnawing at her, guilt for her own embarrassment, for how Hunter had to see her in that state, and that bit of guilt that made her feel like she had betrayed Rex.

Every bit of this planet reminded Talia of Rex. She should have known drinking would just make that worse. She didn’t expect it to make her admit the depth of her feelings for Rex. How much she missed him calling to check in on her, the thought that she could meet up with him on leave sometime soon, or that they even could have a mission that would bring them together. These empty white halls and the thousands of identical faces just made her ache for the one that now probably wanted nothing to do with her. If she had told him she loved him back on Turia, would he have still ended it? Or would he have fought to keep her, like how she wanted him too?

Talia found herself in her quarters, once again plunged into that darkness with nothing but the void of the sea outside her window. The rain had slowed, the waves lightly rocking instead of thrashing; she wondered if it would actually be a sunny day tomorrow. Her fading buzz tingled through her, her eyes growing heavy as she collapsed in the bed, holding her comm in her hand.

Dawn on Coruscant felt timeless in parts of the city; the buildings rose so high that on certain platforms you couldn’t tell the sun was rising, a peculiar haze just settled into the city. There were remnants of bar goers still out from a few of the clubs that stayed open later, night and morning shift workers trading places in their commutes, freight vessels landing in the atmosphere carrying food, medical supplies, and all the miscellaneous supplies the people of the Republic’s capital needed.  It was a bit of a walk from Naobe’s apartment to the train station; Rex had stayed there longer than he should have, but he was still slipping out before she could wake up.

Rex needed to clear his head; he had done nothing wrong technically, but he couldn’t ignore the feeling in his gut, that guilt that made him feel like he had. Maybe Naobe would be upset to find her empty bed that morning, she had seemed fairly interested in him, but Rex wasn’t planning on seeing her again. It was a stupid distraction. One night with a random woman wasn’t going to make him forget how he was feeling. Wouldn’t make him forget Talia. He had known that, yet he still felt disappointed.

Still, he couldn’t dwell on it. He was Captain Rex of the 501st. He had a duty to the Republic, to the brothers who served under him; he couldn’t let his emotions get in the way of that. He would push through like he had pushed through everything else that had come his way.

Rex arrived at the train station; it was empty apart from a couple sitting on a bench near the ticket booth. It was a quick ride to the base, and the next train should only be a few minutes away. Rex glanced at the couple, a Twi’lek man and woman. The man held a bag in his hands, and the woman was leaning on his shoulder, eyes drifting closed as she fought to stay awake. Rex looked away, fiddling with his comm as he felt like he was invading on something too private.

He had muted his comm while at Naobe’s, and had a couple messages. Nothing urgent it seemed, mostly the chat he was in with a few of the CC’s going off. Flicking through them to clear the notification, something else caught his eye that punched him in the gut.

Talia had left him a voice message.

Rex stared at the screen, unsure of if he should wait until he got to base, play the message now, or just delete it and save himself the trouble. But his own desire to hear the sound of her voice won out, and Rex hit play, letting the message echo through his helmet.

--

Next Chapter

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[luvsicksubs]

 ꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡꘎

sweethearts - bakugo katsuki 

wc: 1.6k 

cw: pegging / anal fingering, degradation, dacryphilia, sub!space, dom!reader (afab but i dont think there’s anything gendered?), using the word cunt for bakugo,  pro-hero!bakugo, and a lot of super fluffy aftercare at the end. 

“Y-you’re so — hic — so fuckin’ mean,” 

Your laugh is warm - too warm for something like this. With Bakugos face pressed firmly into your shoulder, strong arms wrapped around your neck - your laughter feels cruel. It sounds sweet but Bakugo knows better than to fall for it - aware of the irony in his words as your hands grip the meat of his thighs. Your fingers are bruising as they hold onto the muscle, legs lifted and wrapped your back with his calves twitching and trembling. 

You’re trying to hold in your amusement - refocusing your eyes on Bakugo in this state. Your favorite pro-hero’s expression, normally so stoic and cold now broken. Skin flushed red from the tips of his ears down to his chest - warmth running down his back in waves. He’s sobbing poor thing, nails scratching up your back without remorse.  

In an effort to get him to show some submission, you pull out full-stop. Bakugo gasps at the emptiness, whimpering as your heavy eyes watch his hole tremble. So pretty and so desperate, the feeling of hot plastic is replaced with strong hands - angular and plunging. You lay him on his back and lean back yourself, your fingers teasing and prodding the sensitive ring of muscle. It’s sore, red and puckered from exhaustion - stretches all too easily around your thin fingers. 

But it’s more precise this way, Bakugo realizes in half-terror and half-lust - eyes flickering down to your middle and and ring fingering scissoring him open. Not a tight fit by any means but Bakugo clamps down on you anyway. You laugh at him, can’t help yourself as your hand presses down on his belly. 

“You’re so mouthy, aren’tcha brat?,” you tease, pressing a kiss to the calf at your face, resting your cheek on it as you position Bakugos hips up using a pillow. His cock weeps pathetically onto the muscle of his stomach, red and burning and aching. Everything in him feels warn out and he can’t do anything but sob - not a thought running through his mind other than missing having you inside. 

“So damn disobedient but this always shuts you right the fuck up, doesn’t it baby?,” and the question is rhetorical - always is. Your fingers are angled directly at his prostate so perfectly, practically milking the orgasms out of his body with only one hand. Everything is too much. 

“Too much - ‘s too much, fuck,”  

He’s thrashing, arms desperately clawing into the sheets for life as you easily work another orgasm out of him like this. He’s lost count, doesn’t even care to know as he feels your other hand simply brush against his sore cock. He can’t breath, half choking out a sob as his body floods to weakly spurt out a thin stream of cum, if you could even call it that. 

“See? Didn’t talk back even one time right there, did you?,” and your hands, cruel as ever - draw a line in the cum that coats his stomach and the sheets. He shivers, eyes welling up with tears of shame.  

“This is the only way pretty boys like you know how to cum right?,” you ask, hand landing on his and leaving another familiar print in your wake. The pain jolts him awake, makes him drool. 

“Like your body was made for me to fuck ‘n use like a little toy, right Katsuki? Pretty little hole you got is begging to get fucked all over again,” 

“I don’ like it, swear I don’t, swear  — fuck,” 

You grin - so much spitfire in your sweet brat. You take pleasure in pulling your fingers out and thrusting them right back in, massaging his g-spot with intensity in your gaze. His eyes shoot open, frantically searching for your face in pure need before seeing your feral expression and swallowing. 

“Liar. You love it when I use you.  So pretty and perfect like this,” 

You lean up, the weight of your body pressed against his - lubed plastic cock grinding hard against his own. He bites his lip hard enough for it to swell moments after, arms desperately coming around your body for support as he loses strength. Fuckfuckfuck. 

“Tell me you love it - tell me how much you love when I ruin this pretty lil cunt baby,” 

Bakugo swallows a heavy breath as his body tightens up. Your hands feel good but it’s not enough, he knows he needs more. His body trembles, throat hoarse as he sobs and sniffles into your chest. Bruises and hickies blooming all over his skin create a hazy buzz in his head as panicked eyes find yours - gasping as he desperately tries to find his voice. A hand wrapped around his throat has him shaking violently. 

“I love it — hic — fuck.. fuck me already,” he chokes out the words between sobs, fat tears sliding down his face and onto the sheets as his hands lock around your shoulders - desperately searching for reprieve. His ass is grinding against the strap even more eagerly than before, cock almost limp and making a wet noise as it moves against his belly. 

The tip of your cock presses right against his hole, and you grin. A hand around his throat, another pressed on his stomach - you lean low. Teeth catching his ear lobe, you whisper. 

“Say please, Katsuki.” 

“Fuck, please!,” 

Like something had been triggered in you, you immediately pull-back and slam back in one fluid motion. Bakugo cries out - moans so brokenly in a silent scream as you set a violent pace. He uses his hands to hold his legs up, afraid of what’ll happen if he doesn’t as you jackhammer him into the bed. The mattress ricochets off your every movement - headboard banging loudly against the walls. But Bakugo’s voice is louder, lewd and desperately croaking about how fucking good it all feels. His cock stands to attention again - and the pleasure drowns out the blurry pains of overstimulation like a drug. You grit your teeth as the friction of the strap grinds against your clit. 

Your hand pumps Bakugo’s cock furiously as you fuck him, and Bakugo has given up on doing anything but repeating your name like a prayer. His incantations send shivers up your spine as you grunt into his ear - your own orgasm mere seconds away. 

“One more yeah? Give me one fuckin’ more - be a good little cumslut for me and give me one more baby,” 

“Oh, god,” 

Almost in tandem, you reach your orgasm only seconds after your boyfriend reaches his. You nearly choke at how hard you cum, lungs burning as pleasure curls through your body and you’re groaning into neck. Panting desperately, you lift your head-up to meet Bakugos with a soft smile

You kiss his jaw softly, smiling. 

“You did so well baby,” you hum against his throat, brushing his hair back. 

“Let’s get you fixed up,” 

__

[ after-care ] 

You would argue this is the best part. After fucking the daylights out of your bratty boyfriend - he’s half-way there as you kiss and massage his body. He’s pliant, dizzy - somewhat gaining his consciousness. He can only half-find it in himself to argue with you as you take care of him. He succumbs to your touch and silently plants himself in your lap or otherwise as you do. In the bath, he spent ample time having you hold him and scratch his scalp as you wash it. 

When he wanted kisses, he simply looks up at you - vermilion eyes catching light as you laugh lightly and kiss whatevers closest. He only closes his eyes against when he’s satisfied with it. The warm water helps him feel steady, relaxing into the water. 

You dry his hair off in the bathroom before transpiring back to your bedroom - where Bakugo curls up exhaustedly in the corner as you fix up the sheets and get him to lay down. 

You talk idly as you rub lotion down his body - watching his eyes flutter close. Your hands go over all the marks, bruises, bites and scratches with soft kisses before paying special attention to them. For the first time since you’ve finished, you get a sentence out of him. 

“You’re a demon,” he slurrs. You can’t help but break out into a laugh, you hands squeezing his pecks before bending down to kiss him. A glass of water by the bed-side prompts him to sit up and drink before leaning against the frame. 

“Nice to see you, baby,” you joke. You grown serious just as fast, sitting between his legs with his face in your hands - observing him. 

“How do you feel, angel?,” 

His eyes flutter open - sleepy and full of vulnerable adoration. You’ve fucked the fight out of him, literally so he’s in no place to deny your affection. He yawns. 

“‘s fine, stupid. ‘m okay. Are you?,” 

Your heart flutters. Sometimes he reminds you in little ways like this that this goes both ways. You nod, hold one of his hands in yours. 

“I’m fine. Worried I was too rough on you, or too mean,” 

He scoffs, almost offended. 

“Who’dya take me for,” comes his reply. You laugh, softly placing his forehead against his - shrugging. 

“Right, right,” you hum, leaning forward to kiss him deep and slow. Everything is still, slow and perfect. He opens his eyes, overcome by his own emotions and hugs you tiredly. 

“Love you, dumbass,” he chokes. You yawn as he clings to you, kissing the crown of his head. 

“I love you too, Katsuki,” 

 ꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡꘎

[javierpinme]

The Catalyst

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: sexual tension, mention of Cara Dune is its own warning

Rating: T

Summary: You don't know why you thought you could make it one day without fighting with Mando. The tension has been building for a while and it looks like you're about to reach the conclusion of it.

A/N: I originally sent this in as a thot as an anon hoping I would finally stop thinking about it, but alas I couldn’t so here we are. I originally uploaded this on AO3 a week ago and realized that I never put it on here.

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The cheers of the villagers are a complete contrast to the earlier events filled with screams, flesh tearing, and blasters firing. The threat of the raiders is over. Mando and you have made it out alive with zero casualties. The only acknowledgement between the two of you after Cara and him solved the problem of the AT-ST is a stiff nod. Anything more than that would reveal your hidden feelings; you're not ready to unpack that one just yet. The adrenaline of the ordeal is shifting into a state of exhaustion. The familiar ache seeping into your joints and muscles that usually follows post-battle.

Mando is tired too. You can see it in the way he slumps his shoulders and his slower than normal strides with Cara. You walk to your temporary living situation and don't even bother to remove your clothes that more than likely have blood on it. You'll deal with your dirty sheets in the morning. You sit down on the edge of your cot and your boots are mocking you. Why did you have to pick shoe wear that involves you bending to untie them? Your muscles are screaming at you to relieve the tension building. There aren't that many comforts in the galaxy, but even the cot felt like a 5 star hotel bed when you feel like this. Mando comes into the hut shortly after though he never removes his armor. You respect his creed, but there wasn't a threat anymore. It can't be comfortable sleeping like that, but telling him would make it seem like you care. You don't, of course.

You don't usually feel the need to fill the silence, but you find yourself filling it. Goodnight. There's a pause from the other side of the hut and your mind starts running that you crossed an unspoken invisible line that the two of you created. Then you hear it. Goodnight.

There's warmth from the sun rays spilling onto your features when the sun starts to rise. You can see children running around off in the distance and you can't help the smile forming on your face hearing their laughter. They more than likely haven't known peace since the raiders started their wrath. It felt good to have played a role in that.

The stretch you do lying in the cot feels wonderful on your back. Out of the corner of your eye you see Mando in a similar state of relaxation. His hands are folded behind his head and his ankles crossed. He must have noticed you were awake, because he immediately breaks the moment by leaving. Does he ever stay still? You can't help the drawn out sigh that falls from your lips and close your eyes to take in the sounds surrounding you.

The sound of heavy footsteps cause you to open your eyes along with the feeling of something being placed on your on the edge of your cot. Breakfast. He brought you breakfast. Good morning, thanks. Morning. He says with a grunt at your appreciation of bringing you food. You lift yourself up with a groan to a seated position and enjoy the moment. It was too quiet.

You’re not even sure how you got here. The reason for your argument in the first place was drowned out by your inner need for dominance. You were at a slight disadvantage due to the towering presence of beskar, but what you did have going for you was your stubbornness and smart retort to his intimidation tactics.  You’re both vibrating with unresolved tension with no chance of release; nothing to redirect what you’re feeling so resorting to your usual vices which is screaming at each other.  

It wasn’t always like this. You used to make him laugh underneath that tin can sometimes. Sometime between being just a crew member to whatever it was that was beginning to develop between the two of you that was when the fights started. It was easier than dealing with the latter. The galaxy was too harsh for allowing anyone to feel love without anguish following closely behind. The only communication you seemed to agree on was silence, yelling, and sarcasm. It was easier that way.

You’re in Sorgan and it’s pouring outside. He’s trying to get you to go inside, but you’re so damn stubborn you refuse just out of spite. It doesn’t even matter that your clothes are soaked causing your body’s response to the freezing temperature. He can probably hear your teeth chattering from where he’s standing. The thunder and lightning isn’t helping. It adds another layer of the already volatile situation you’ve both found yourselves in. Why is it so fucking cold?

Dammit you’ll get sick. You’re not useful to me if you’re bedridden.

That’s it. That’s the catalyst. You're not sure if he can even see the glare you're giving him in the darkness, but you hope he does. You can’t stand to be in the same room with him anymore. Even just the thought of hearing him breathe at this point is a nuisance. It’s almost too much. It will kill you, you’re sure of it. I’m bunking with Cara. He’s lost his patience. You can tell from the heaving of his chest, but you can’t find it in you to care. You don’t need to see his face to know there is a scowl under there. You’re surprised you can’t see smoke coming out of that helmet. Why isn’t he saying anything? His body is so rigid and tense. You might have gone too far this t-

What are you doing?!

 He’s thrown you over his shoulders to carry you back to the hut you share. It’s like you don’t even weigh anything even with the extra weight your soaked clothes add. You would be impressed with his strength if you weren’t supposed to pretend how much you hated it so you thrash your legs in protest. You liked the screaming better. Now you feel like he’s treating you like a petulant child by giving you the silent treatment. He’s trying to make you look like the one with the temper tantrum because there might be witnesses. You’d be surprised if you didn’t wake up the whole village. He can probably feel how freezing you are and puts you down. Without saying another word he kneels down in front of the fireplace to create warmth in the room. The only sounds filling the room are the crackle of the fire and your own shallow breaths.

Your clothes. Take it off or I will.

You know you can’t keep your clothes on. You know you need to change into something dry, but you refuse again just to establish you’re the one in control. You’re in control. Not him. Realistically you’re aware you could get sick and you would probably need to stay in bed. Then you briefly wonder if he has a filter in that helmet because you’d definitely sneeze in his face if he didn’t.  How can you change when he’s made no move to even turn around?

It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.

What?

You had argued about god knows what and you left to blow off steam the day before. By the time you made it back the hue in the hut changed from that orange soft glow that golden hour usually brings to a soft blue. It would have been pretty if you weren’t so damn annoyed still. Mando was asleep thankfully so no awkward dance of trying to ignore the other in close quarters. You watched the soft rise and fall of his chest signaling he was indeed asleep. He was almost tolerable when he was sleeping even with the snoring. Almost cute. Almost. It didn’t matter that you never saw what was under the helmet, but you would never give him any indication of that. You were so tired. You were physically drained from the day so you took off your clothes haphazardly and changed into a nightshirt to sleep your frustrations away. Tomorrow will be better.

You were awake the whole time and didn’t say anything? You seethed.

You seemed to be having trouble and I didn’t want to hear your complaining when you inevitably tripped.

He’s challenging you. You’re both very well aware the dam could break based on your next move and he’s not going to lay out all his cards. Would the fighting even stop? Even with the resolve of all your combined tension? You’re taking too long and he’s staring. It’s hard to tell when all you see is a black abyss in place for eyes, but you can feel them boring into yours with loathing or is it desire?

You’re going to get sick if you don’t change.

He cares, but he would never give you any indication of that. He takes a step towards you to let you know he wasn’t lying about his earlier statement. If you’re going to do this you’re going to make a fuss about it. It’s childish, yes, but you don’t have it in you to care. It’s better than laying out all your cards. He can’t enjoy this if you’re glaring at him. I hate you. No, you don’t.

Never losing eye contact you start untying your boots. Glare. The cool air is doing nothing to calm your heated skin after your shirt is removed, but you can’t decide if the temperature is rising from anger or something else. Don’t enjoy this. Too late. The rain is still roaring outside and there’s almost an electric charge in the room waiting to spark. It’s too quiet. Then he says,

Glare all you want but this is doing something for me.

[professorfcknmoriarty]

[stxrrywildflower]

family

pairing - bau team x teen!reader

summary - you never knew something so good could come out of something so bad

warnings - kidnapping, injuries, cursing

word count - ?

requested by @marvelxmendes

by the urgency of hotch’s message, the team knew they were in for a tough case.

another key factor in their suspicions was the fact that garcia was seated, not presenting the case. instead, hotch stood with the remote in his hand, a serious look on his face.

“four bodies have been found in indianapolis. all of the victims have been either teenagers or young adults. another person was just taken, nineteen year old victim. the time between the abductions and killings have been becoming shorter. wheels up in thirty,” hotch announced. 

with that, the team grabbed their bags and took off to the airport. the flight over was spent reviewing the case and bouncing possible theories. emily and rossi were sent to talk to the victim of boy who was just taken. hotch and j.j. were due at the police station while morgan and spencer were going to the latest crime scene.

just hours into their individual assignment, the body of the latest victim was found. the unsub wasn’t slowing down and if anything, was becoming more and more violent.

examining the body was incredible difficult for everyone. the local police had all refused as the boy killed was very active in the local community. hotch and rossi remained at the station while the other agents headed out to the crime scene.

“victim was david mitchell. he was staying with his mom. she worked almost all day,” one of the cops informed.

“well the unsub is obviously going after people who are alone. makes it a lower risk,” morgan concluded.

after a few more minutes of examining the body, the team all headed back to the police station. they didn’t have a ton of information to go off of. all they knew was that they needed to act quickly or else more people would die.

____

stepping into your home, you used your foot the close the door behind you as your arms were filled with groceries. the only sound throughout the house was your shoes scuffing against the floor.

you were only 17 and a senior in high school. your parents ‘worked’ leaving you alone almost all of the time. they had people check in on you and showed up sometimes, making it semi-legal. it had started a year and a half ago. you were shocked at how quickly you adjusted to being alone all the time. honestly, it didn’t feel much different then when they were actually around.

as you turned on the tv to the local news station, you began putting the groceries away. “in regards to the recent murders, the fbi have arrived and are working with the police to catch this criminal. all residents are advised to be on the look out for any suspicious activity and keep their doors locked at all times,” one of the reporters spoke. you peered around the doorway, double checking that your doors were in fact locked.

once you put everything away, you headed upstairs to your room. in an hour, you were due to meet a classmate for a study session. if you were being honest, you didn’t really need a whole study session. you were already accepted to georgetown in washington d.c. for college with a pretty large scholarship. however, you were always willing to help someone study.

it was when you opened your closet and looked in the mirror that you noticed the presence of a figure in the corner of your room. you could barely turn around before the masked figure was rushing towards you. his hand clamped over your mouth. “you scream, i take this knife and stab you. you hear me?” he whispered harshly.

tears began to flow freely down your cheeks. in an effort to save yourself, you bit down on his hand hard. the man was wearing latex gloves allowing for you to tear through them. a metal taste was then in your mouth, letting you know that you had broken the skin.

the man clutched his now bleeding hand, allowing for you to slip out of his grasp. you took off running towards the door. just as you thought you would finally be able to escape, a sharp pain in your shoulder stopped you.

you fell to the ground, screaming as you clutched your shoulder. the man pulled the knife out of your body just as you fell. “fucking bitch,” the man spat. he then raised his foot and kicked you hard in the head, knocking you unconscious.

the local police chief rushed in, clutching a phone in his hand. the teams eyes all darted up. “we think the unsub may have another girl. a local student just called in about y/n y/l/n. they were supposed to study together but y/n never showed,” he informed everyone. “she could have just forgotten,” morgan offered.

“y/n isn’t like that. kid’s had a tough life. but, she’s a straight-a student, set to be valedictorian, and always helps any kids who need help. hell, she’s even helped my son in math,” the chief replied.

“tough life?”

the chief nodded, “her parents work almost all the time. they pop in every once in awhile but y/n is basically on her own. friends and neighbors always check in on her to make sure she’s okay.”

“all right, we’ll all head over to her house. try and find out anything we can. it’s the only lead we have right now,” hotch ordered.

after arriving at your house, the team exited their cars and made their way up to the front door. j.j. stepped forward, knocking on the door. they waited all of two minutes before agreeing to enter. suprisingly, the door was unlocked, adding to the teams growing suspicion of your kidnapping.

spencer, morgan, and emily all headed up the stairs while the other three agents took the first floor. “we have blood!” morgan called as soon as he entered the bedroom. the team regrouped upstairs. blood was on the floor right by the door.

“signs of struggle,” emily spoke as she kneeled down, “it’s fresh.”

“well we know the percentages of kidnappings with minors. take a room and find out more about y/n’s life,” hotch once again gave out orders.

j.j. and emily found themselves in the hallway leading to the living room. “look, there’s no family photos. not even any in the past. all of them are of y/n, her friends, and then accomplishments,” j.j. pointed out.

that was common throughout the house. every room had the basic furniture but but besides that, it didn’t feel like a true home. even your room was incredibly bare. “hey look at this,” emily called, taking one of the frames off the wall.

“an acceptance letter to georgetown. practically a full ride,” emily said as she handed the frame over. “what have you two got?” rossi asked, entering the room. “she’s incredibly smart. already had plans for college. other than that, this house lacks any family value.”

“same for upstairs. everything has been modified for a single person living here,” rossi added.

“we need to find her,” j.j. blurted, her heart already aching for you. obviously, with the fact that you were currently in the hands of a killer but also with your current life. growing up with parents barely in your life was tough, no doubt. by the looks on the faces of the team, they all felt the same way.

when you woke up, your entire body ached. your head was pounding, no doubt from being knocked unconscious with a swift kick to the head. through your blurred vision, you managed to make out your surroundings. the room itself is was a simple square, no windows with concrete floors and walls. you were tied a metal chair which was then bolted to the ground.

naturally, you began to thrash around. you instantly regretted it as your shoulder began to throb once again, the stab wound still bleeding slightly. the ropes that retrained your hands grinder against your skin, creating burns on your skin. your body felt like it was on fire.

“don’t get to comfortable girl,” a new woman called, making you jump slightly, “the fun hasn’t even started.”

the team worked almost nonstop for three days. for a short period of time, they had thought the unsub had already killed you. however, they had received a lock on your hair, letting them know that you were in fact alive.

it was around 10pm when they had a break in the case. garcia had been doing excessive digging and somehow managed to find a warehouse. it was only secluded location in the area which was the best lead they had. after putting on their vests, the team quickly got into their cars and began the drive.

your head hung loosely, no strength was left in you to even pick it up. your eyes were slits, only open enough to see the floor below you. the once grey color was now stained red from blood. some areas were slightly darker, due to the fact that you were practically waterboarded. the stab wound in your shoulder was even worse now. hours ago, you had lost feeling in it entirely.

it turns out you were taken by a man but he was apart of a pair. the man had sat back and watched while the woman tortured your excessively. she only showed up for a few hours while the man stayed with you 24/7.

various cuts, some shallow and some deep, littered your body. a concussion was already inevitable, as you have had one since the first day you had been taken. your left wrist was no doubt broken. the woman had decided to experiment with hammers. your hand was the first thing she hit.

when the sirens had began blaring outside the warehouse, the mans face shifted to panic before completely changing back. “one more for good measure,” he smirked, grabbing a large knife from the rack. suddenly, he plunged the knife into your side. thankfully, he didn’t hit any major organs. blood gushed out of the wound, now soaking your shirt. you couldn’t even cry out, all you could do was hope that the sirens got to you in time.

a cloth was harshly placed over your mouth before being tied around the back of your head, silencing you. the man then pulled your hair, bringing your head up to face the door. “they may get me but they will never get her,” he whispered harshly. your eyes widened at knowing your one kidnapper would still be at large.

the doors suddenly slammed open. two women rushed in, one blonde the other with dark hair, along with two men, one extremely muscular and the other as skinny as a twig. the cold metal tip of a gun was pressed into the side of your head. fear coursed through you.

“put it down,” the muscular man ordered.

the gun was jammed further against your head. pain exploded as your already damaged head was hurt yet again. the muffled discussion between the fbi agents and the man went on for a few more moments.

finally, the man stepped back. you thought that it would be over and you would finally be saved. however, the man pulled the trigger, sending a bullet towards the agents.

the bullet wizzed passed your ear, creating a ringing that no doubt made your ears bleed. another wave of pain exploded from your left ear as well as your head. turns out that the bullet had grazed your ear and head, making more blood flow. another gunshot sounded, the man behind you dropping dead.

the realization that you almost just died finally set in. your eyes widened once again as your breathing became heavier and faster. the one blond woman rushed over and went to untie your legs. a burst of adrenaline came over you as you did everything in your power to push her away. when the cloth around your mouth dropped, you let out a loud sob as tears freely flowed down your cheeks.

“get away, get away!” you screamed as you jerked around.

the blonde woman’s face fell. she stepped back to stand by the other woman. hesitantly, the two male agents stepped forward.

“hey, i’m agent morgan and this is doctor reid. i’m going to take this ropes off of you. is that okay?” morgan asked. you nodded, pressing your lips together. as morgan went to begin to untie the ropes, reid kneeled down beside you.

“help is on the way. but now i need you to breath with me,” reid started, motioning with his hands to get you to follow his breathing pattern. you did as he said, your eyes still continuing to dart around the room. “he can’t hurt you anymore,” reid reassured you.

you jumped again. “p-” was all you could get out before a series of coughs racked your body. your uninjured hand clutched your side. morgan kneeled down beside reid. “what?” he asked.

“partner,” you slurred, eyes finally closing as you fell unconscious.

the second you passed out, morgan and reid immediately went into action. morgan layed your body to lie on the floor as he started applying pressure to your hip. spencer moved your head into his lap, his knee against your shoulder to help with the injury there while his hands were pressed against your head. “you think she has a head injury?” morgan asked.

spencer nodded, “definitely.” meanwhile, emily and j.j. rushed outside to find hotch and rossi. “unsub is dead. y/n is hurt pretty bad but she mentioned a partner,” emily informed the other two agents. “it’s most likely a woman. she freaked out when i went near her but are much better with reid and morgan,” j.j. added, “most likely a dominant and submissive type.”

the ambulance pulled in a minute later. the emt’s rushed in, your body being placed on a stretcher and moved out of the building quickly. the team regrouped outside of the warehouse, all at a stand still on what to do.

“alright, emily and i will head back to the police station. you four go to the hospital. we’ll need to interview y/n after she is treated,” hotch ordered. from there, they all went there separate ways.

at the hospital, you were rushed into a quick surgery to repair both your hand, and stitch up the stab wounds as well as the other cuts on your body. it only took three hours after your initial admission for you to be back to your room and set to wake up any minute.

the four agents stood outside of your room, glancing in through the window to where you were. “poor kid,” morgan spoke. “have you had any contact with her parents?” reid asked from his seat.

j.j. shook her head, “yes and no. the first time i called when she was first taken they didn’t even pick up. just now they did answer but said they wouldn’t come home.”

rossi scoffed at that answer. “can’t that be classified as child neglect?” the senior agent questioned. “she isn’t 18 yet, not a legal adult,” morgan piped in.

“all i know is that y/n can’t be under their care anymore,” rossi concluded.

“what are you thinking?”

rossi shrugged, “not sure yet. we just need to wait for her to wake up. then we can talk.”

twenty minutes later, you began to stir. in an instant, nurses entered your room, changing out your iv’s and helping you wake up properly. they left you alone for a few minutes before the team would come in, no doubt to interview you.

you toyed with the fabric of your hospital blanket as the door opened. in walked morgan and reid since they were the most familiar. “hey y/n, how are you feeling?” reid asked.

“whatever they gave me is helping. thanks for saving me,” you smiled slightly. “it’s what we do. now there’s two of our agents outside. they aren’t going to hurt you. is it alright is they come in two?” morgan asked, his voice soft.

nodding, you adjusted yourself so you were sitting up better. the woman from before and an older man were the next in your room. “hi y/n, i’m emily and this is dave,” she introduced. you instantly felt a lot more comfortable around the people in your room. your eyes flickered down to your casted hand before looking back up.

“what do you want to know?” you asked quietly.

“what can you tell us about the woman who hurt you?” emily asked. you visibly flinched when she mentioned the woman. “i think her name is ashlyn. i overheard them talking. she-” you got choked up slightly. after taking a deep breath, you continued, “she did most of the beating and torture. he just stayed with me and watched.”

rossi sat down in the chair by your bed. “we are going to do everything in our power to find her. i promise,” he spoke. “you promise?” you questioned. “i promise,” rossi reassured you.

you were released from the hospital the next day. the team was still in town as the second unsub had yet to be caught. j.j. was in the room with you while you were getting ready to go. the memories were still slightly blurry but you had apologized profusely about screaming at her. the profiler and brushed it off, saying that it was okay. just after slipping your t-shirt on, you turned to the woman.

“my parents?” you asked.

“i tried calling them-,” j.j. started. as soon as you heard her words, you broke down. “of course they’re not here,” you seethed. j.j. shot you a sympathetic look. “they’re never here. i need them and they leave me in the fucking dust!” you yelled, allowing yourself to curse them out.

you collapsed against the bed as you began sobbing. all your emotions combined with everything that had happened in the last few days came out. j.j. stepped forward hesitantly, moving to sit beside you much to your suprise, she hugged you. you rested your forehead on her shoulder, feeling instant comfort from having someone there for you.

back at your home, reid and morgan stayed with you with the other agents visiting and checking up on you. hotch was the one you had seen the least. after introducing himself, he had to leave pretty quickly due to something about the case.

it was almost two in the morning when you were gently shook awake. with tired eyes, you turned on your lamp to see morgan and reid already dressed and putting on their vests.

“did you find her?” you asked, incredibly hopeful.

morgan nodded, “we have a lead. we all need to be there though. but i do have someone for you to talk to while we are gone.” you shot the agent a questioning look as he handed you a phone. “hello?” you spoke tentatively.

“oh my gosh hi sweetie! my names penelope. derek has been telling me a ton about you,” the woman on the other end greeted.

you instantly smiled at penelope’s voice. as the two of you began talking, morgan and reid slipped out of the room.

when they returned, you were in the kitchen, still talking to penelope and getting a glass of water. “we got her,” reid revealed. you gasped, your hand moving up to your mouth. as a natural reaction, you hugged the agent as a thank you.

you were now finally safe.

the team stayed in town for two more days. they may have lied a bit to do their paperwork there but the real reason was to keep an eye on you. when it was time for time for them to depart, you had almost cried.

after hugging each agent individually, you stepped back onto the foyer of your home, rubbing your fingers over your cast. rossi, however, remained behind. you turned towards the older man, confusion written over your face.

“are you staying?” you asked.

he nodded, “i have a few vacation days. the doctor didn’t recommend leaving you alone.” deep down, you were greatful for his presence.

one night, after a traditional italian dinner, rossi sat you down. “i know this is a sensitive topic for you but we need to talk about it,” he started, “you cannot he under the care of your parents anymore. it’s child neglect and you are not safe there. now, you’re almost 18 and heading to washington d.c. in just a few months. how would you feel about being put under the care of one of us on the team?”

after noticing your slight uneasiness with the question, rossi spoke up again, “i know you’ve only known us for a short period of time but i’m going to be honest. we don’t get cases involving teenagers a lot. we just want you to be safe.”

tears welled up in the corner of your eyes. you couldn’t help it honestly. knowing that there were people out there that actually wanted you to be safe and take care of you made you extremely emotional. “i would love that,” you concluded.

____

the team is as incredibly active in your life from that moment on.

they had suprised you at your graduation, cheering for you as your name was called and after your valedictorian speech. when the official procession was over, you had practically ran over to them, accepting hugs from all.

a week after that, you were put officially under rossi’s care. your birthday wasn’t for another two months making the process easier. with the information presented to the jury, it was no doubt that your parents were deemed unfit to take care of you anymore. you cried when the judge had made it official, hugging rossi over and over as you thanked him.

just two weeks later, you had packed up your things and made the official move to washington d.c. the house remained under your parents name. all you packed was all of your clothes, personal items, and toiletries. there wasn’t a single thing in that house that was yours.

when rossi showed you your room with the promise that you could decorate it anyway you wanted, you hugged him once again. it almost felt like you were starting over and you were extremely thankful for that.

despite him and the team being away often for cases, rossi has always called to check up on you. team dinners became more and more frequent with you meeting the teams extended family also. you eventually became the go to babysitter for henry and jack.

sure there were countless nights you had woken up crying, memories about your kidnapping coming back to you. rossi or whoever was around was always there to comfort you and help you calm down. the past two months were a mess but having the team by your side to celebrate all of your little victories and help you overcome your challenges almost made it all better.

they were your family after all.

[ohheyitsokay]

dreamscapes

this is a little gift-fic for @scribbledghost! because you know as well as I do that she deserves all the love in the universe. this takes place in her “Multitudes AU” (or does it..?) and I directly pulled some lines from her stories to make parallels, so all rights belong to her. If you haven’t read it recently, I highly recommend a reread - not because it’s necessary but because it’s that good.

paring: Jack Daniels (Agent Whiskey) x reader 

wordcount: 2.5k

warnings: brief mention of ‘canon’ typical trauma, literally so much fluff 

summary: post universe-collision, you and Jack grow closer and closer every day, and every night 

>>

A few weeks had passed since your literal reality had collided with Jack’s- and it still feels surreal. He wouldn’t take no for an answer in all the best ways: you lived in his home, worked in his office, ate everything he put before you. It was the most safe and loved you felt in years, maybe ever.

The looming threat of losing it all, the memories of it actually happening, and echoes of loneliness still haunted you sometimes, but he fought them. Your sweet, try-hard Statesman cowboy would fight for you, making sure you eat like a mother hen, and shooing away prying questioners like it was his job. And he wrapped his strong arms around you, resting his chin on your head and glaring, daring the darkness to try taking away his love again.

It’s not happening – he spent too many nights sleepless, agonizing over the death of your world to let anything happen to you. And he lost so much once, he knows he wont make the same mistake twice.

Towards the beginning, he had been careful, trying to be as considerate as possible, but you’d been in agreement about one thing: you would share his bed. After gathering the courage to sleep with your monitors side by side, this was an obvious choice, but seeing his face when you woke didn’t compare to the elation of reaching forward and touching it. Of feeling his skin against yours, the relaxed muscles of his half-asleep body, gathering you as close to him as he could.

It was perfect.

Except, there was one thing being tucked against him couldn’t fix, that all the fighting for your health couldn’t cut away.

Nightmares.

Waking up to the love of his life tended or thrashing in his arms was a hurdle he never even thought of when he yearned for your presence in his life. Jack did everything he could, whispering into your hair, running soothing hands over your skin, even signing his favorite country lullabies when you woke and needed his voice to cling to. It made him wish for the times when you’d find each other in your dreams, when he could look you in your eyes and mouth to you that he would do anything to make sure it was okay. 

It made him wish, as as he had before, that the universe had given him you under different circumstances. 

And in a way, he got his wish.

-

It was hazy, he almost couldn’t see – musty and damp and dark, like he was a basement.

In the background of his mind there was a pulsing ache of fear, desperation, claustrophobia, and betrayal. It was gnawing at him, steady as a drum, pounding and painful.

Jack tried go move, his limbs heavy and stiff and different, than he remembered them. Harrier, darker, less … human. You were tucked into his side, tears drying on your face as your hands wander across the expanse of his chest.

The rising panic in his chest subsided.

Everything was different except one thing. You loved him, and he loved you.

Sure that everything could be okay, he shook his head to clear it, confused at the weight and size of it, before he woke, for real.

-

Jack felt strange, lighter and smaller, and he took slow breaths through his mouth. Against his side, you were still asleep, mercifully peaceful, and your hand twitched on his chest, running through the folds of his shirt like it was part of him.

When you woke, you’re eyes were puffy, but void of the familiar dark circles you’d grown accustomed to. Footsteps lighter than he could remember them being in awhile, Jack made you pancakes that morning, thinking nothing of the dream he had. 

You were his love, brought to him by the universe and some science, and his sheer power of will, and he wasn’t going to dwell on anything other then the fact that you were here. He was going to take it day by day.

It was a byproduct of your trauma, your need to stay close to him, and he liked having you a step away, or better yet, under his arm. Well rested, you slipped your hand into he crook of his elbow and talked more boldly around his coworkers. When you mimicked his accent he nearly cried, thankful beyond words he could see the teasing glint in your eyes, clear of the usual sheen of anxiety.

It was more than enough, your energy, to occupy his heart and mind the whole day through.

-

Your body had been sore when you went to bed, just a little from building your strength and keeping up with your long-limbed lover.

But this was something different, something new. Your body ached, pulsing and throbbing and through the haze of confusion you realized you needed… Jack. Where was he? He should know. He should be able to feel how much you needed him to soothe your pain.

Distress rose in your throat until you could hear yourself, pleading for him, whining in a way you didn’t recognize. You didn’t know who you were talking to, but you were desperate for his touch, his comfort, anything. 

And all of a sudden there he was, like he had heard you, your Jack but… different. Intense, shockingly so, confident and possessive waves rolling off of him, and you would have froze if seeing him didn’t make you need him even more.

When he stooped closer to you, though, the fear melted away, and he was gentle, so caring and worried and tender you could hardly understand it.

He was rougher and softer than the Jack you’d fallen asleep next to, but when he rubbed his nose along your neck, there wasn’t a single worry in your mind. Comfort washed over you, flooded your mind and body, his adoration clear and you could smell him. It was your Jack, your love, and he was taking care of you.

-

At the Statesman headquarters the next day, Ginger caught your arm, and Jack bristled next to you.

The woman let go quickly but her smile was kind as she told you, “You’ve been looking better, recently.”

She wanted to ask What changed? but she hardly could. You were fine the last time you let them test you, and she was well aware she was on thin ice. Besides, other than looking more rested, more self assured, it’s not like there was any evidence that the change in realities was having a lasting impact on you.

You smiled graciously and thanked her, before your love moved you along.

In truth, you felt better, too, and you didn’t want to question it.

-

It was another nightmare.

You surveyed the surrounding wasteland with resignation, less afraid that you had been in one of these in quite a long time. Your legs felt stronger than they had in months, like you’d been hiking. Jack’s whip was in your hand and you stared at it, wondering at the pride and confidence that filled your chest.

The realization hit you – you knew how to use it, enjoyed it even. Baffled at your satisfaction, you went back to examining the woods around you, searching for clues to the place your mind had created for you.

There were people around you, that you vaguely recognized from the Statesman, battered and looking worse for wear. They were listening to your Jack, as he instructed them on something.

Moving closer you saw his facial hair was grown out, rugged and handsome, and there were spatters of something dark on the edges of his clothes. The words coming from his mouth were strange, but you didn’t mind them, determination settling in your gut like you knew what he was saying.

Instinctively, your hand slipped into a pocket of your bag, and you pulled out a little stuffed cat. Perplexed but comforted, you put it away, looking up to see your love coming towards you. He was solid at your side, tired eyes filled with the fire of survival.

“You know I ain’t goin’ anywhere you ain’t, baby,” he said it like a promise he’d spoken many times before.

“I know, cowboy,” you heard yourself say.

-

It took you two steps to Jack’s, when he was walking quickly. The pace made your journey from Gingers office short and you almost laughed at the look on your partner’s face.

You loved him, but sometimes you felt like he was more anxious than you were, about your joining his world’s population.

Her and Soda had just shown you… something crazy, to be sure. All the universes where they’d found you and Jack connected, and it was beautiful, overwhelming.

Once the high had worn off, however, there were lingering thoughts, unspoken fears – what did that mean? What would happen in the universe decided it need more drastic methods to correct the error you created?

The little videos danced in your mind, stirring up foggy memories of things that didn’t quite feel like your own. It left you uneasy, uncertain, but you promised him that they were proof. If you could be certain about one thing, surely it was him?

Settling in his arms that night, you notice he held you tighter, like he was cherishing it as much as he had the very first time he held you.

-

The sun was well into the sky by the time Jack pried his eyes open, and that was normal. He wasn’t sure why, but if definitely felt routine.

This dream was a blurry as he prepared for the day, surprisingly domestic until it stilled again, and his elbows were resting on a long wooden counter.

There was laughter and chatter and country music and flirting and it seemed comfortable, like he belonged here. Almost like this was his home, and he’d been here awhile.

But his heart clenched when he looked around and couldn’t see you. Fear clawed at his throat and he almost thought it would be okay if you were anywhere – with another man or annoyed in the corner or anything, as long as you were here.

But then he felt your hand on his back, and he whipped around, almost knocking over a weeks worth of wages in glass. It didn’t matter, you were there, and he was so glad to see you he didn’t even tan your hide for coming behind the bar.

No, instead he kissed you until he heard hoots and hollers from his patrons, relishing the way you kissed him back, hands holding him like he was your anchor. 

Pulling away, he realized a crudely dressed ex-customer was walking out the door, no doubt suddenly aware of the futility of flirting with him, and he tugged you into his side.

When you looked at him unquestioningly, he knew, to the sole of his boots, you weren't going anywhere.

The burning of the ring in his pocket lessened, and he kissed you again.

-

Jack woke, more at ease than he’d been for a long time. Tilting his head he watched your eyes move behind your eyelids, lashes fluttering before you sighed and tucked your nose into his neck and settled.

It was a perfect moment, or it would have been, if Ginger’s show yesterday wasn’t still sticking in his kind, buzzing around like a summer fly, too small and quick to grasp. His previous worries of you being taken from him, were eased by his dreams but…

His dreams. Finally, he could place a finger on what was so strange about those images saying before his eyes yesterday. It was almost as if he’d had that feeling, of connection to you, before. Almost if he’d been having them for months.

Jack mulled it over for throughout the morning, wondering if having such an odd conversation was worth spoiling the peaceful Saturday.

You looked so cozy, wrapped in one of his sweatshirts, rocking gently on his patio, the sunshine brushing your outstretched toes.

But he couldn’t resist. It felt like a gift from the universe, those little dreams, and he wanted to acknowledge it.

“I’ve been having dreams about you lately,” he said, settling next to you with a strange sense of dejavu.

“Yeah?” you asked, cuddling into him like it had never been different. “What kinda dreams?”

“Well…” he started, “it’s like I’m me… but I’m not. Like those different universes Ginger and Soda showed us – I’m Jack from somewhere else, doing something else. And then you’re there, darlin, and just when I know everything’s going to be okay – ”

“You wake up,” you finished, giddy laughter bubbling out of you. “I’ve been havin the same dreams, I thought… I thought it was just me.”

“Again,” Jack joined you laughter, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I think we can reasonably come to the same conclusion we did last time, cowboy,” you said, relaxing into the warmth of his chest again.

“Maybe this was all meant to be, somehow.”

Jack leaned down to kiss your temple, his mouth almost smiling too wide to do it properly.

“Maybe like we were meant to be.”

-

Jack woke alone in his bed, longing in his heart.

As he got up and got ready for work, his movements were methodical, boring, simple. It was lonely, a feeling he hadn’t quite felt in awhile, and he hated it, wondering why it felt so wrong.

When he looked through his kitchen window, he knew.

Across his yard and part of another, there you were, sleepy as you picked up the newspaper off your porch. You glanced at his house and he almost ducked like a teenager caught peeping, but he held his ground, ready to wave if your eyes met his.

When they didn’t, a need rose in his stomach, insistent. There was no way he could start his day without seeing you – and when he checked the clock, it confirmed the theory blooming in his mind.

He had planned for this.

Grinning, he threw on his boots and slipped out the door, grabbing an extra handful of eggs to share with you.

In the back of his mind, Jack thought it was nice, to get to fall in love with you in a normal way.

-

You woke alone in your bed, longing in your heart.

Rolling out of it, you began to get ready, a nagging feeling on your mind. You shouldn’t feel lonely, it said, and you almost believed it.

Still, you werent sure what to do about it, you had to get ready for the day. You had ample time, for some reason, but making a real breakfast, one with eggs, seemed like it would only make you with you had someone to eat them with. So you wandered around your house, confused at why your feet wanted to carry you outside.

When you did, to get the newspaper, you knew. Looking over at the house next to yours, you scolded yourself for not remembering – Jack. Your love, your cowboy, wait. No, your crush.

The pig milling around his garden looked at you, and you could’ve sworn she winked.

Back inside, you watched through the window as he sauntered his way over o your home, and you grinned. He was wearing his boots and jeans and his shirt was mis-buttoned, and he was bringing over some of his eggs.

In the back of your mind, you were thankful for the chance to fall in love, the normal way.

-

Bonus:

Jack sighed, turning his pencil to tap the eraser on the paper of the notebook.

He wasn’t sure how he got here, really it didn’t make sense, but here he was, nonetheless. Writing stories about a love of his life he hadn’t met yet.

It didn’t bother him really, as the lines filled the papers, but he’d been catching himself daydreaming a lot recently. He liked the idea of someone out in the universe, sweet and kind and lovely, who adored him just as thoroughly.

And little did he know, that he was right.

<<

taglist?: 

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179 @mrsbentallmadge

whiskey taglist?:

@0celestialbitch0

[angst-fairygodmother]

Work of Art (Diego Hargreeves x Reader, Kinktober

A/N: Rather than try and finish 2 more fics this week, as would be necessary to finish the original Kinktober list I posted, I played a little shuffle, and combined the two remaining ones, tossed some stuff, added new stuff. Because frankly I’m running out of steam[iness], though really, this is further than I ever expected to get on this project. Anyway...the final fic. Hope you enjoy. Word Count: 2440 Kinktober Prompts: bondage, knife-play, marking Rating: E(xplicit) Content Warnings: dom/sub (dom reader), bondage, knife-play, marking kink, pain kink, begging, teasing, praise kink, oral (both male and female receiving), biting, blood, overstimulation Cross-posted to AO3 here.

“Stop squirming so much,” you laughed, dropping the soft cotton rope to start over. “You’d think I was torturing you or something.”

“You’re sitting there, dressed like that, looking that gorgeous, and not letting me touch you,” Diego pointed out. “Find me the part that isn’t torture.”

You rolled your eyes, finally securing the last knot to keep Diego exactly where you wanted him, despite his continued wriggling.

“Unless you want actual torture, stop complaining.”

“Actual torture? You couldn’t if you tried.”

You raised a challenging eyebrow and smirked. He swallowed, instantly regretting his words. 

“Well then, you wouldn’t mind if I just…” you walked over to the bedroom door, pausing dramatically in the doorway to look back at him. “Left you there then?”

“Wait, no, Y/N,” he called after you, voice straining with ill-concealed desperation. “Please. I promise I’ll behave.”

You waited a few beats longer, until you heard his faint whine, pleading for you, before you returned to the bedroom, satisfied that he knew your threat was serious. When you returned, he gave you his best penitent expression, which was admittedly, just a little bit ruined by the way his eyes trailed hungrily over your figure in the lacy, nearly see-through negligee you wore when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

“I could do whatever I want to you like this,” you observe off-handedly, still standing near the end of the bed, studying his bound form. 

He wasn’t completely immobile, though you had originally tried to convince him to let you trap him in that way. But he was tied enough that he wouldn’t be going anywhere or able to pull his usual stunts to try to take control. And he looked so pretty: stretched out on the bed, hands bound above him with just enough slack to be able to twist and grab the thin wrought-iron rails supporting him, another thin set of ropes wrapped around his waist and secured to the underside of the bed. If you were being honest, it was a bit like the damsel tied to a railroad track in an old silent movie, but it was a look that worked for him, especially the way the blue ropes stood out against his skin. 

“And you’d like that wouldn’t you,” you purred, taking a few steps closer. “You like to act tough but really, you’re just craving to be used and controlled. Isn’t that right baby?”

His cock twitched at your words and you couldn’t help but smirk, enjoying the visual evidence of your effect on him. He nodded in answer to your question, even as he strained against his binds. You stopped, waiting expectantly for him to use his words. It had taken a long time to convince him to let his guard down and be vulnerable like this, and you wanted to be sure that he was both capable and willing to bring it to a stop if he needed to.

“Yes,” he finally panted. “Please, use me, do whatever you want to me. Please, Y/N.”

“You look so good like this, like a work of art. What would you do if I decided I wanted to just sit here,” you plopped yourself down on a stool in the corner and folded one leg over your knee, leaning forward so you could still see his face. “And admire the art?”

He shook his head. “No, please, please touch me, hurt me, fuck me. Do anything, just please, do something.”

“You’re so right.” You stood again, sauntering to the edge of the bed and staring down into his face, gently running your nails down the side of his face, swiping them across his lips, drawing back harshly enough that they caught when he tried to suck a thumb into his mouth.

“My pretty boy.” He shivered bodily, as much as the ropes would allow, at your words, throwing his head back against the pillow.

“Do you like that? Being called pretty or being called mine.”

His face flushed and you repressed a giggle.

“Both,” he admitted shyly. 

“Do you want me to keep doing it?”

“Please?”

“Of course, my pretty boy, all mine, all laid out and gorgeous for me.” A dangerous glint crossed your eyes as he tried to buck upward, a bead of pre-cum welling from your words alone. 

“Maybe, I should make sure everyone knows that you’re mine. Make it clear that they can look,” you ran your fingertips down his sternum, “but they can’t touch. Would you like that?”

You suspected that by the end of the night, he would grow tired of your prompting. And yet, if he paid attention, he would see that through this, he had more control than he ever did otherwise. 

“Yes, Y/N. Claim me.” There was a hint of frustration and desperation in his voice, and you decided not to push him any further before giving in. 

Slowly, making sure his eyes were trained on you the whole time, not that he had dared to look away for a second so far, you straddled him, just above where the ropes crossed his mid-section, moving at a pace that made tectonic plates look like speedboats. 

Settling comfortably, you leaned down, pressing your body against his, only the gauzy layer of your dress separating you. You let your breath ghost over him, teasing at the sensitive spots behind his ear and beneath his jaw. And then, sure that he wouldn’t be expecting it, you dipped your head lower and bit down harshly on the soft spot where throat met clavicle. Diego cried out, thrashing under you but unable to move, and just as importantly, not seeming like he was actually trying to get away from you. You felt the slightest hint of blood welling up and laved your tongue over the spot, soothing the worst of the sting but maintaining enough pressure to draw the blood toward the surface, ensuring a heavy, dark spot would be left behind.

“Mm,” you purred, pulling back to look at his face once more, the blissed out look on his face sending a jolt to your core. “You mark up so well for me Diego, but I don’t know if that little spot’s going to be enough.”

He gulped nervously. “Will you leave another?”

“I had a better idea, if you trust me…” you forced him to meet your gaze. 

“Absolutely.” It was the firmest his voice had been since you began. 

Hesitantly, you reached over to the nightstand, picking up one of the tiny precision blades that he used sometimes, though never in this way obviously. Palming it, you held it up for him to see. His eyes widened. 

“I promise, I won’t hurt you, not really,” you explained, dropping any act or pretense. “Lightest touch only. Just enough to leave a mark that will heal over without a trace. Or I can put this away. It’s up to you.”

His eyes flickered back and forth from the knife to your face. 

“Do it,” he said, voice gruff with desire. The muscles of your cunt clenched and fluttered at the sound, but you tried to ignore the feelings and focus on him. “...please?”

You kissed him passionately, trying to pour into it all of the thousand feelings coursing through you: how badly you wanted him, how much you loved him, how grateful you were that he trusted you like this. 

You rocked backwards, letting your ass brush teasingly against his straining erection as you inspected your canvas.

“Now, my pretty boy,” you taunted, “where shall I make my mark. There are so many options…”

You trailed the flat of the little blade along the column of his throat, watching his Adam’s apple bob, dangerously close to the point. You traced outward, first over one side of his collarbone and then the other and then down over the taut muscles of his chest. He hissed as you turned the blade so that the needle-sharp point was against his flesh as you traced circles around his nipples with just enough pressure to create a sting. Finally, you stopped, poised just above his heart.

“Shall I write my name right here?” you asked, “label your heart and lay my claim to it.”

“It’s yours,” he countered, “already yours.”

“Well then, let’s make it official.” 

You turned the blade again so that the full edge was pressed his exposed skin, biting your lip as you watched the little specks of red well up in the shape of your initials, tracing over them once, twice, thrice. He moaned louder with each pass, high and needy and threatening to overwhelm you, but he held himself perfectly still, one wrong move potentially spelling his end. You admired the endurance and discipline it required almost as much as you admired the patterns of pain you were tracing around the letters now, little hearts and swirling shapes. You followed behind the knife with open-mouthed kisses, as you wanted him to experience the sting and ache at the same time as you wanted to draw them away and spare him any suffering.

“Please,” he breathed. “Please, haven’t I been good?”

You looked up, a little startled at the question. 

“Of course you’ve been good. You’ve been so good. Perfect, obedient, beautiful. You’ve been all those things Diego,” you assured him. 

“Then please, I can’t take anymore. Please stop teasing me, no more games.”

You frowned. It wasn’t the safeword you had agreed to, but maybe…

“Please, don’t I deserve a reward?”

Oh.

“Of course you do baby. Do you want to cum now?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“No?” you startled. 

“No. I don’t want to cum yet. Not until I taste you. I know you’re wet, I know you. I want that sweet little pussy all over my face.”

“Well who am I to refuse you whatever your heart desires?” You said, eyes sparkling with mirth before you rose up on your hands and knees, crawling over him until you were poised, hovering just out of reach of his tongue, which was already darting out to run across his lips. 

His hands strained at the ropes, and you knew that if his hands were free, something you could have given him with a few flicks of the little knife if you wanted to, they would be gripping your hips with bruising strength and holding you down while he pleasured you. You closed your eyes, letting the image dance across your eyelids while you sank down. 

Diego’s tongue flicked through your folds, tasting your gathered wetness. The groan that followed vibrated up through you, and it took all of your willpower, and the sharp bite of your nails into the palm of one hand, the other braced on the headboard, parallel to Diego’s own arms, not to break from that sensation alone. He sucked hard on your sensitive clit and you keened, grinding down on his face just as he moved his attention, tongue diving into you. You continued to move, hips bucking in rhythm with the thrust and flick of the wet muscle inside you, his name falling from your lips like a prayer and then in a primal scream as he flicked and sucked at your clit again, alternating back and forth faster than you could keep track of. He answered each sound you made with one of his own, groans and moans and hums mixing with his clever mouth to drive you over the edge, and then again without warning as he refused to let up. 

“Oh fuck!” you cried out, “Fuck, Diego, yes! You make me feel so good baby!”

As a third orgasm tore through you, you pulled from him, trembling in the aftershocks as you tried to catch your breath.

“That was so good baby,” you panted. “You always know how to make me feel so good. But now it’s your turn.”

You slowly slunk down the bed, trailing kisses and little nips along his skin until you reached your destination. Looking up to check on him, and because you knew how much he loved the sight of you making eye-contact as you sucked him off, you wrapped your lips around his dick and slowly lowered your mouth onto it, taking him as deep as you could until he bumped at the back of your throat and tears stung at the corners of your eyes. Curling your hand around the base of him, the other bracing yourself against his thigh, you set an unstable pattern, working him rapidly, twisting your fingers and bobbing your head up and down only to suddenly slow, so that you were all but still, holding him in your mouth and the length of his cock with your tongue and then resuming your motions, trying to keep him on his toes. He bucked his hips as far as the ropes would allow him, trying to match your patterns with thrusts of his own, and crying out your name over and over. 

“Oh, Y/N,” he moaned. “I’m so close. I’m so fucking close.”

You squeezed gently on the base of his cock at the same you hollowed out your cheeks, taking him as deep as you could and he came with a feral growl, his cum filling your mouth, hot and salty and you swallowed down as much of it as you could, fighting the urge to gag. 

Slowly, you slid him out of your mouth and stood. Your own fluids were rapidly cooling on the insides of your thighs as you made your way shakily to the bathroom for some warm cloths to clean you both up.

As you returned to Diego’s side, you noticed the way he shivered and sweat. Concerned, you quickly slit the ropes, freeing him to curl in on himself.

“Diego, baby?” you asked softly, stroking the damp fabric over his skin soothingly. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he said slowly, sounding hoarse and slightly out of breath. “That was just a lot…”

“Too much?” 

“No. No,” he shook his head, reaching around to grab one of your hands in his. “It was perfect, I’m just…I’ll be fine.”

You bit your lip, not sure if you believed him and concerned that you’d gone too far, all in the name of showing him how amazing he was.

“How can I help?” you asked, wanting to follow his lead and speed his recovery.

“Just, hold me, please.”

“Let me finish cleaning us both up, and then I can definitely do that,” you said with a smile, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “I love you, Diego.”

“I love you too, Y/N.”

[kuuderekweenfics]

Dabi is Not a Liar

Hello everyone,

This is it. I’ve fallen off the precipice of...what exactly? Sanity? Or, perhaps, lack of shame? Who knows. But this was a fun little piece I wrote about a month ago. I put it up on AO3, but I thought I’d create a Tumblr for future fics since this is a bit more social.

Please keep in mind that I am shaking the dust off my writing and so it may not be the most polished piece of work. Go easy on me. But I hope you enjoy it regardless!

Explicit Warning: non consent or extremely dubious consent.

Fingernails carve into the the filthy brick of the abandoned building nestled by the sea. The pier moaned, it’s cold breath wrapping around your body and reeking sourly of fish and decay. 

Your head hangs low between your hollow arms. How you got yourself into this position is due to several reasons, of course. One, your brain is swollen twofold in your skull, pounding with the weight of lead. Two, shame caresses every part of your body far more thoroughly than the man who currently has you trapped between him and the wall. Three, and most likely the most crucial reason, Dabi, ‘the Cremator’ as he was so often called, has been railing you senseless for the past hour.

You cried yourself dry after about ten minutes. He came quickly the first time, unabashedly getting off on your whimpers and pleas. Where he dug up the stamina to keep his cock hard for another three rounds was a dull ache for your mind, and pussy, to ponder over. 

The strength in your knees escaped long ago. His fingers gripping your bare ass as he currently pounds himself into you, deeper and deeper each time, is the only support you have against gravity. 

He attempts some foreplay occasionally, killing the space between the two of you as he whispers into your ear threats of what is to come and reaches under you to thrash at your clit rough and carelessly. This is, you figured out, more to his benefit than yours; he had to get you more motivated to continue the little game he set for the both of you somehow. You mewl softly when he does, cursing your needy body for betraying your wants.

Because this isn’t what you want. No, no, no. Not even if his thick, veiny cock fills you to the brim and sometimes hits a spot in your core that makes you see stars and silently beg, much to your humiliation, for more.

What you want is to go pro. You just started working for a small agency start up only a week ago. You’ve dedicated to becoming a top ten hero, even if your quirk isn’t the most convenient. But if a guy who’s power was to do laundry could make it to the top, so can you and your absurdly comical gacha quirk. You are able to generate capsules from your hands, ranging anywhere between the size of a tennis ball to a beach ball, but the contents inside are always random. This little inconvenience made your quirk almost entirely useless. Despite it all, you trained hard and got a once in a lifetime opportunity at this agency. Your task today was to survey the pier for any suspicious activity called in by a concerned citizen. You were strictly told not to engage and call for back up as soon as you surveyed something worthwhile. But you immediately ran in, all too confident in your ability at hand-to-hand combat, as if you had something to prove. You crouched behind stacked crates and fumbled through your creations: a teddy bear, a toaster, a tennis racket. Before you could generate another capsule, you heard his whistle behind you. He was crouched, hands lazily in his pockets and looking over your shoulder with a deadpan expression that plainly said you were in over your head. 

But you knew you were quick. The tennis racket sped toward its target only to be crumbled to ash as his hand stopped it an inch from the side of his head. He smiled at you then, not quite reaching his eyes but eerie and menacing all the same. And before you could even fathom throwing the toaster, he pinned your neck to the wall. Your feet kicked helplessly against the brick, unable to find purchase on the floor a inches below. One of your hands pried at his arm while the other reached for his face or his neck or anything you could grab hold of that could cause enough pain to lot weaken his grip. Your breaths came up short, your lungs screamed for a sip of air. 

“It looks like a little mousy lost her way,” he chuckled. “Now whatever am I going to do with you?”

Drool leaked from your mouth as you fought against your restraint and blurred vision. Your mind clawed for consciousness, your body begged for survival. You had come to terms that one day you could potentially meet your end at the hands of a villain, as does any hero in this field of work, but you hadn’t expected it to be so soon. 

You felt the obstruction in your mouth before you saw it. The thumb of his free hand pressed on your dancing tongue, drool pooling where he held it down firm. If the look in his eyes scared you before, now they were wild and carnal and more terrifying. 

He first has his way with you with his hand still around your throat. He let up on his grip and was so gracious enough to let you wrap your legs around him while he impales you without a second thought. 

He grunts. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

You are no longer a virgin, but you’re sure you never experienced cock of this size, all the while without some form of foreplay. Granted, he used your drool to lubricate himself before sheathing himself deep in your gummy walls, the friction elicits a gasp of pain while from you as he moans and nips at your neck. Not long after he begins to thrust do you start sobbing, and soon after that he shoots inside of you, his cock twitching to unload what feels like everything he had. You hope it is over then. He would either kill you or leave you there broken physically and mentally. You find out soon enough it is neither.

“I’m gonna fuck you until your voice is gone from screaming my name, little mousy,” He gasps into your shoulder as the twitching finally ebbs and his release oozes down your thigh. “I’m gonna fill you with my cum until I am sure that when I leave you in this shithole, you will have a little part of me with you for the rest of your miserable life.”

And if there is one thing you can call Dabi, among the million curses and names you can conjure, you aren’t sure if you can call him a liar. For true to his word, albeit only partially, he comes into you, hard and relentless, two more times before starting once more. You are absolutely positive this goes against all modern male biology. But you guess, in a world with bizarre quirks, anything is possible.

Halfway through round four, you feels his fingers weave into your hair and, for a moment, you think Dabi just may capable of being passionate. Or, at the very minimum, maybe he thinks more of you than just a bucket for him to shoot his load in. This moment, you find, is fleeting as he yanks your head back and pulls you up until your back lies flat against his chest. He slowly pulls the zipper of your shirt down and grabs your breast callously, pinching your nipple hard until you cry out. 

You can only imagine that he’s grown bored of your silence and complacency because his other hand reaches around until his fingers find your clit, exposed and hungry for some well-deserved stimulation. His fingers rub small circles against it, and you feel nauseated as you let out a moan, your pussy clenching desperately around him in newly kindled desire.

He hisses at your reaction, an obvious stamp of approval and continues flicking your bundle of nerves as he pumps in and out of you. “Say my name.”

Your mind, which, up until this point, had been lost in a sea of fog, finally breaks the surface. And it is pleading with you to not give in. He speeds up, each thrust hitting the right spot and oh no, oh no, it feels so fucking good.

“Say my name, little mouse.”

Your core coils tight with stimulation, the spring on the precipice of release with the pressure of his calloused fingers. The ache you had felt up until then is replaced with an immense pleasure that you haven’t felt in, let’s face it, ever. You stand on your toes to give him a better angle. Your hands searched for something to anchor onto. One mindlessly reaches above to grab onto his hair as he licks you, hot breath warming your already flush neck, the other latches onto your ignored breast.

“Say it.”

You bucked against him, almost there, almost there, so very close....

Until he becomes utterly and completely still. 

“No, no. Please, Dabi! I need it. Fuck me, please Dabi!” You sob. 

And with that, you feel a smirk form against your neck. He pulls out of you and before you can so much as whimper, he shoves you back onto a large crate. He grabs one leg and forces it up and over his shoulder as he penetrates you, holding your waist to keep you steady as he pumps in fast and hard. His hip bumps into your overstimulated clit with each thrusts and it nearly obliterates you. In this new position, his cock kisses your cervix and, if you ever had any semblance of control since being pounded into, it has all but disappeared.

“Dabi! I’m going to...Ah, shit, I’m gonna...”

As you begin convulsing, you hear his name, loud, hot and heavy, escape from your lips. Your release sends him over the edge, and he ruts into you. 

Just as quickly, he slides out of you, places himself back into his pants and walks out with his hands in his pockets without a word before the cum can so much as leak out of you. You lay still and let the world refocus before you get up and go home. You come to realize that he didn’t so much as care if you came or not, and that the fact that you had was a happy coincidence on your part. What he was really aiming for was you to scream his name, just as he said you would. How little regard villains had felt about others left you in awe. Can you really go head to head against him or any other villain again? 

You submit your resignation the next day.

And two months later, as you stand wide-eyed and frozen over the test exposing itself to you on the bathroom sink, you can finally confirm that Dabi is, in no way shape or form, a liar.

[dirty-holy-things]

The Space Between (your heart & mine)

Chapter 17 has been posted to Ao3, and below to Tumblr.

Catch up on chapters 1-16 on Ao3.

Notes: This fic is 18+ and explicit. Chapter contains canon-typical violence and descriptions of injuries. Reference to past abuse. Please exercise caution if this is a sensitive subject for you. Also - I promise there's a happy ending, but it might take a bit of angst to get there. For those who have kept up with this fic, sorry for the delay in updating - grad school has kept me busy, but regular updates should resume.

Words: 5.1k update, 80.9k total.

There had been changes within yourself as well, even though you struggled to admit it after having spent so much of your life suppressing that which was now showing itself within you. Your safety had always depended on your ability to mask your powers, or at least conveniently use them, and now they were unexpectedly breaking through your barriers. Through observation and meditation, you had started to put together that your abilities and powers swelled whenever your emotions did, just as they had when you were younger. When Din was once running behind schedule for a bounty, your nerves and fear alone were able to entirely warp the canteen you had purchased for yourself, crushing it to the point that it was unusable junk. And when Din finally returned home to you, bruised and battered, and yet focused only on touching and kissing every inch of you — you found that his cuts and bruises began to disappear from underneath your fingertips without any direct focus or attention. There was an undercurrent of power that was growing within you and Grogu, and it was beginning to breach the walls that you had put in place to hold it back; and you had no way of predicting when that wall may cave in.

These ever-increasing powers and revelations were both fascinating and terrifying. You did not know what would happen from here if you and Grogu continued down this unmapped path. You could understand that power without training could be exceptionally dangerous, but how would you even go about learning how to control it all? You had once been able to suppress your connection to the Force, but you never actually learned how to master this connection; repression is not true mastery or control, as it only delays the chaos.

But who was there to learn from? The Jedi Order was no more, the grasp of the Sith had receded with the rise of the New Republic, and the civilizations that connected with the Force as a form of magic were incredibly closed-off and tight-lipped. You had been extraordinarily lucky to stumble unto the teachings of Ixxith as you had, but now that the seal had been broken, now that Pandora’s box had been opened, you were faced with an impossible question — where do you go from here?

Image credit to my love @knivesareout as she makes beautiful things and supports my writing.

An eternal thank you to @soyelfuegoquearde for beta'ing my baby and giving me constructive feedback.

And love to @bdavishiddlesbatch and @louderrthanthunderr for all of their love and support.

"We fall in love because we long to escape from ourselves with someone ideal as we area corrupt. But what if such a being were one day to turn around and love us back? We can only be shocked. How could they be divine as we had hoped when they have the bad taste to approve of someone like us? If in order to love, we must believe that the beloved surpasses us in some way, does not a cruel paradox emerge when we witness this love returned? If they are really so wonderful, how could they love someone like me?" - Alain de Botton

The universe felt brighter as you traveled through it now, suspended in space and time within the secure confines of your roaming home. You continued to watch the stars streak past you on every journey, still feeling just as entranced by them as you had on the first flight from Chandrila — but it was even more of a beautiful and brilliant thing, as you now had the incomparable comfort of being known, and being loved. For a brief moment, you had worried that your admission of love would make things complicated, awkward, unbalanced; but your fears had been completely dismissed and rendered unnecessary, as it had brought you and Din closer than you could have imagined.

It was the little gestures and moments throughout the day that allowed those fears to be quieted. His hands would brush along your body in passing; he brought you a blanket to the cockpit after seeing you wrapped tightly around yourself to fight off the chill; he would gently tuck away the stray pieces of hair that fell across your face. And you became less reserved in showing your affections as well; you would often drape yourself across the back of the pilot’s seat and over his expansive shoulders as he navigated the Razor Crest through the atmospheres of new planets and hyperspace. You would bring him food and water, reminding him to take care of himself in ways that he often forgot to. And the two of you spent more time encased in the security of darkness, to the point where you joked that you might develop night vision. Very few things can grow in the absence of light, and yet here you were, your love thriving in this unexpected place.

You found that you didn’t necessarily feel as though you were missing anything, by not being able to see his face. Your love felt whole, comprehensive, and possibly even more valuable as it was so unconditional in its nature; you would love him endlessly, and you didn’t need a face to assign that love to, as he was so much more than the anatomical structure that existed behind the helmet. Somehow, the darkness felt more freeing than the light. The comfort and security of the darkness offered you both the opportunity to be completely and entirely exposed; no helmet, no clothing, no beskar, no self-doubt. It was infinite in its nature, and allowed for infinite possibilities.

How beautiful, these little infinities you had created together.

And while you never held any regrets for the life you shared with Din, you understood that some things were not worth repeating. You didn’t offer to help with a job again after Corellia, and it was a decision that you had come to by yourself. Again, you held no regrets for what had transpired on the industrial planet as it had been the catalyst that had brought the truth to the surface, the truth about your love, but it had left some wreckage in the process. Your sense of self-preservation and fear had been reignited when the Twi’lek had made unwanted physical advances, and although you knew you were safe now, it was challenging to quiet that instinctual part of yourself that had risen up, desperately seeking to sustain your hard-won survival.

Following the events of Corellia, you started to have the occasional nightmare, your mind resurfacing old wounds and memories that you had worked to let go of and leave on Chandrila. You would have dreams of the torrential thunderstorms of Eadu, threatening to drown you as your family watched, making no effort to help you stay afloat. You would feel the radiating pain of Orron’s blows throughout your body, every old wound somehow reemerging and aching anew. Sometimes the terror and pain of the nightmare was quick to pass upon waking, but there were some occasions in which you woke up crying and thrashing, a scream trapped in your constricted throat. Sometimes, you would wake up shaking like a leaf in a thunderstorm, chest heaving as the tears flowed; upon waking, you were always disoriented and scared for a moment, until you realized you were still at home and you were still wrapped securely in Din’s arms. You knew Din hated seeing you like that, tearful and distressed, and you didn’t want to cause any further hurt to yourself or to him. So you made the decision to no longer act as bait.

There was no sense in reopening old wounds, and creating new ones in the process. If you were to live with these pains, you could at least avoid inflicting them onto others.

Din had been supportive of your choice to no longer participate in bounties. He had reassured you that he still believed in your capabilities and value as a companion, but agreed that the reduction in stress would be worth the reduction in payouts. It had been tough to find a way to keep yourself occupied and still feel like a valuable, contributing asset; you knew you would never be content to simply exist here, offering nothing to Din except your body. While your originally agreed-upon partnership ended up not lending itself to you becoming a bounty hunter, you were not about to become a deadbeat, indolent passenger either.

The first few weeks after Corellia were alright, as you found odd jobs around the ship that you could tend to; repairing sagging panels, cleaning away the cobwebs, reorganizing equipment. These were tasks that you could manage, even with your limited mechanical and engineering knowledge. But eventually, as time wore on and your journeys carried you further along, you started to run out of tasks that could be done on the ship. Needing something to do, you then turned to managing additional business responsibilities, hoping to relieve Din of some of the stress that he carried on those broad shoulders. You kept a more organized, detailed record of his jobs and finances, and made sure there was an appropriate stock of supplies to support the Razor Crest’s three travelers.

And then there was the kid — you quite often found yourself managing him.

Following your journey to Bardotta, something had awoken in both you and Grogu; it was as if a creature that had laid dormant for many years had been awoken from its hibernation, and had returned with renewed strength. While you felt this change deeply within yourself, it presented itself most visibly in Grogu and his increasing abilities. You frequently had to search for him within the ship, as he had been working on learning how to cloak himself as you once had, adding this to his other skills. He was not able to fully vanish into his surroundings as you were, but he was decent enough at camouflaging himself to the point where you once had a panic attack that he had managed to escaped the ship into the wild forests of Dantooine while under your supervision. He was also experimenting with bringing larger and larger objects to his small green grasp, most noticeably larger and larger portions of food, or other comfort items like blankets. His growing curiosity and expansion of power hadn’t been allthat concerning until a particularly rough tantrum, during which he pushed both you and Din a good three feet back from him, without ever laying a hand on you. The changes occurring could no longer be denied or ignored, and you understood you would have to confront them at some point.

There had been changes within yourself as well, even though you struggled to admit it after having spent so much of your life suppressing that which was now showing itself within you. Your safety had always depended on your ability to mask your powers, or at least conveniently use them, and now they were unexpectedly breaking through your barriers. Through observation and meditation, you had started to put together that your abilities and powers swelled whenever your emotions did, just as they had when you were younger. When Din was once running behind schedule for a bounty, your nerves and fear alone were able to entirely warp the canteen you had purchased for yourself, crushing it to the point that it was unusable junk. And when Din finally returned home to you, bruised and battered, and yet focused only on touching and kissing every inch of you — you found that his cuts and bruises began to disappear from underneath your fingertips without any direct focus or attention. There was an undercurrent of power that was growing within you and Grogu, and it was beginning to breach the walls that you had put in place to hold it back; and you had no way of predicting when that wall may cave in.

These ever-increasing powers and revelations were both fascinating and terrifying. You did not know what would happen from here if you and Grogu continued down this unmapped path. You could understand that power without training could be exceptionally dangerous, but how would you even go about learning how to control it all? You had once been able to suppress your connection to the Force, but you never actually learned how to master this connection; repression is not true mastery or control, as it only delays the chaos.

But who was there to learn from? The Jedi Order was no more, the grasp of the Sith had receded with the rise of the New Republic, and the civilizations that connected with the Force as a form of magic were incredibly closed-off and tight-lipped. You had been extraordinarily lucky to stumble unto the teachings of Ixxith as you had, but now that the seal had been broken, now that Pandora’s box had been opened, you were faced with an impossible question — where do you go from here?

Your best attempt at navigating this next step was to seek out knowledge in a different format; as Din’s travels occasionally brought you to larger cities, you would spend a portion of the layover browsing the city’s libraries and book stores, if they existed, poring over the texts to see if there was any history, legends, instructions, or insights that could be obtained. You had very little success at finding anything that taught you about Force powers and how to use them, however you had managed to find several interesting texts that chronicled the historical power struggle between the Jedi and the Sith. You had heard whispered stories and legends as a child, tales of heroes and villains who carried out the unending battle of good versus evil.

And as you read of these wars and conflicts, you came to an interesting conclusion — depending on the perspective of the available source material, both Jedi and Sith could be considered good, or evil.

Thinking back to Ixxith’s teachings about the importance of balance, you could understand how these two diametrically opposed sides were continually fighting against the scale of the universe that sought balance. From your wide assortment of readings, you understood that the universe itself truly held no favor for good or evil, Jedi or Sith, and it only ever sought an equilibrium — and yet the universe’s occupants insisted on living within one extreme or the other, the scale never allowed to settle at a place of peace and balance.

You enjoyed studying the texts that you had managed to acquire, and learning more about the history of those with abilities like you, even though it may not have been the specific knowledge you had set out to find. Occasionally, you would talk with Din about the things that you discovered in these books, which prompted him to share more about the history of Mandalore and their role in the galaxy’s history and development. This newfound, strengthening point of connection between you was beautiful and valuable in its own right, even though it may not have offered much help for corralling yourself and the kid’s behaviors.

Reading had given you something to do during the down time while Din was working, and while the kid was self-contained or safely entertained. You had never had much time to dedicate to your own hobbies and interests before, and it was refreshing to be able to have your own passions that you could pursue as you desired.

Having few travel expenses of your own, you were still living quite comfortably off of the bounties you had profited from, and you were able to purchase the things that caught your eye or interest. This led to a steadily-expanding corner of the cabin that became yours as it was occupied with stacks of books, piles of blankets, an assortment of snacks, and a respectable wardrobe. The fresher also now showed evidence of your residency, as some of your specialty products had found their way to the shelves and the shower; silky lotions, a nice brush, hygiene products that didn’t exist in the shape of a bar. The Razor Crest was gradually becoming a shared space, a shared home, and were someone to step foot onto the ship, they would be able to determine that the fearsome Mandalorian was no longer maintaining a solitary existence.

This change in Din’s lifestyle was becoming more and more clear to outsiders as you now frequently accompanied him to his negotiations and trade-offs with Karga when on Nevarro. The older man had been excited by your reoccurring presence, and while he had teased Din for it in the beginning, he had since relaxed and always welcomed the two or three of you with a genuine smile. And with each visit to the volcanic planet, Din grew more comfortable with claiming your relationship openly; he almost always kept a hand on you, tracing pressured circles into your skin, or if you were seated with some degree of privacy, gently stroking the inside of your thigh from underneath the table as a tease for what was to come. There were rarely moments in which you were left alone, and you found you preferred it this way. While Orron had once insisted upon keeping you within arms reach, out of his own need for power and control, you understood Din’s motives to be different. He wanted to protect you, wanted to show you off, just genuinely wanted to be with you because he loved being with you. And you also knew that he would never deny you an opportunity to venture off on your own, to explore the town or take Grogu to play with the local children.

Today had been no exception to that truth; as Din and Karga haggled over upcoming bounties, you grew bored and restless, and decided you would prefer to stretch your legs with a walk around town, and feel some sunlight on your skin as it was a fairly nice day. You squeezed his knee gently, getting his attention before nodding your head to the door of the cantina, where the three of you had gathered for this business dealing. Din nodded wordlessly, trusting you to keep yourself safe and return to him when you were ready. This unconditional sense of trust was new to you, but you loved every moment of it, and loved Din for offering it so readily to you.

You excused yourself from the table and strolled out of the bar, knowing that Din’s eyes had followed your entire journey through the tables and patrons until you exited into the bustling town center. The sunlight felt nice on your skin, and the slight breeze kept the air from feeling heavy and stagnant around you; you stretched your limbs and you felt the cracking and popping of your joints. You needed breaks like this, to be able to physically stretch your body and keep it limber and in shape.

And yet, despite the small space of the Razor Crest, you had still found ways to keep your body moving; Din had certainly made physical exercise more enjoyable. You thought back to all of the nights that had now been spent on the floor of the Razor Crest, as your exhausted bodies had collapsed into one another; you loved every minute of the physical exertion the two of you created, but your body needed more. It needed to run, jump, stretch, bend, without the constraints of the small cabin space. But Maker, did making love with Din feel like the most glorious and exhilarating use of your body; you marveled at every moment of passion the two of you shared, holding nothing back in the pursuit of giving the other what they desired.

You were brought back to the moment by an oddly dressed man bumping into you; you turned to apologize, as you had been the one to have stopped in the middle of the street, but they had already run off by the time you looked for them. Shrugging, you carried on with your afternoon expedition. You had intentionally chosen comfortable and lightweight clothing today, knowing it would offer a nice opportunity to stretch your legs. As you strolled through town, you felt yourself start to pick up your pace gradually until you were jogging along at a decent speed, leaving the town behind you as you ascended the black volcanic hills that surrounded the area that had since become familiar to you. From atop the hills, you could see the cantina, the school, the marketplace, and off in the distance you could see the Razor Crest as it was undergoing refueling and maintenance.

Continuing to run for a while, just along the outskirts of the city, you relished the feeling of the breeze against your skin; while Nevarro was hot and the air somewhat sulfurous due to the volcanoes, it was still a nice change from the recycled air of the ship, and was certainly better than some of the atmospheres of other planets you had journeyed to. You could feel the lava rocks and ash shifting beneath your feet as you ran, offering just enough resistance to make your heart race and your lungs expand with forceful, concentrated inhalations.

Having now circled about half of the city, watching the landscape change from your position above it, you settled down onto a spot that offered some dry grass to sit comfortably on. You waited for your heart rate to slow back to a resting pace, and stretched your limbs out around you, loving the bit of soreness that came along as your muscles stretched and contracted. You allowed yourself to rest here for a while, clearing your mind as you worked to let the Force flow through you, just as Ixxith had taught you. You could feel the Force moving through you gently, almost like a breeze passing through an open window. You settled into this feeling, into the peace that it offered, as silence and tranquility had become rare within the steel confines of your home. Relaxing, you only barely noticed the breeze that seemed to push and pull the air through your lungs, as you sank into the comfortable silence for a while.

Sensing a growing chill in the air, your eyes opened to scene around you. The sun had begun its descent behind the volcanic hilltops and you knew it was time to be on your way, to return to Din and Grogu, to your home and to your bed. Pushing yourself up from the ground, you brushed off the dust and debris that had pressed into your body and clothing, before starting a comfortable pace down the hillside and back into the city.

As you passed some of the houses that made up the outskirts of the city, you could sense that something, or someone, was watching you; turning to look all around, you didn’t see anything unusual. You tried to shake off the feeling as you navigated yourself down a familiar city path, shifting your focus towards your upcoming reunion with Din; thinking of the way he had pinched the inside of your thigh earlier shot your heart rate right back up to its previously racing pace.

And yet there was a persistently odd feeling around you though, one that you couldn’t seem to shake, even with the thought of Din. Deciding to trust your gut, you stepped down what seemed to be a quiet alleyway to take better stock of the situation around you and determine what was causing this unsettling feeling of observation. No, observation wasn’t the right word. The word that came to mind was stalked. Like something was hiding in the shadows and corner of your vision, keeping in step with you but never being revealed. You scanned the street you had just been walking through, trying to find whatever was causing this unease, this growing sense of danger —

And then you felt a large hand grasping your forearm like a steel trap, crushing your wrist as whoever this was pulled you further into the alley and into the seclusion that it offered.

Whirling around as your free hand having found its way into a fist, you intended to punch this unexpected attacker in the face; but before you could complete your movement, a grey and leathery hand grabbed your entire fist and wrenched it away, but maintaining a tight hold on your hand to restrain you. Looking up, you saw a terrifyingly familiar humanoid face.

Maxir Bragant had been a close companion and business partner of Orron Jakar, and you had spent more time around this Delphidian man than you ever cared to recall. He had been a frequent visitor to your shop, and the individuals who he dumped onto your cot for healing rarely survived due to his brutal and unyielding attacks. Being quite fond of cleaving into others with his axe, there was generally very little you could do to improve his victim’s odds of survival; you were no miracle worker, and you recalled how you had been beaten mercilessly for your failures. As you looked down to see that very same black axe strapped to his belt, you felt bile and fear rise up in your throat, not confident that you would be able to escape the crushing grasp of this towering man who now had both of your arms restrained.

His voice hissed out coldly, as his pitch-black eyes stared into yours with the same kind of fury and hatred that you had often seen echoed in Orron’s icy blue ones. “What a surprise to find you here,” he laughed, and the sound turned the very blood pumping through your veins to acid, to ice. He sneered at you, lips curling back to reveal the same ugly grin that showed up in your nightmares. “Figured you’d know better than to show up in a town like this. But, you were never a very bright one, were you?”

You bit your tongue, trying not to snap at that bait that he had flung out to you; you knew he wanted you to respond, wanted you to get mouthy, so he would have an excuse to discipline you, just as Orron once had. He wanted an interesting fight — you knew that he thrived on crushing the life out of a terrified and desperate soul, and you were not going to give that to him. You needed to ignore his jabs, verbal and physical, and focus on how to get yourself out of this situation, how to alert Din, or the Marshal, or any bystander who could offer you some sort of reinforcement against what was surely about to be a horribly painful and ugly fight.

Bragant used his leverage to pull you in closely to him, and you could smell the putrid odor of sweat and blood that radiated from him. It was nauseating and made your head feel dizzy, but you couldn’t let this get to you, couldn’t let this throw you off. From this positioning, you knew that you wouldn’t be able to use your upper body to fight him off as he had your arms secured; making a quickly-calculated decision, you brought your knee up forcefully into his groin, and as he bent over in pain with a groan, he released one of your hands. Gods, was it satisfying to see this motherfucker writhing. Having some more leverage and momentum now, you kicked into his sternum forcefully, his massive body flying backwards into the stone wall behind him. You turned to run, willing your feet to move faster than the stars you had watched in hyperspace — but he recovered faster than you expected; you had only made it about four or five steps away when he wrapped his rough, scarred arm around your neck and brought your writhing, desperately fighting body up and into his, pressing his back into the wall to keep you out of sight.

“Stupid bitch,” he spit at you, and you could see the flecks of blood and saliva that landed in the dust around you, standing out in stark contrast to the dark volcanic ash. “Did you really think you’d get away with it, killing him?” You felt the cold and rough-hewn blade of his axe pressing into your chest, a jagged corner digging in just enough to make you gasp as it pierced your skin; the blade was pressed dangerously close to your heart, and you had seen the force with which he could swing his weapon.

“Still curious how the fuck you got out of there like you did, vanishing like that; but we’ll have plenty of time to ask questions when I bring you back home. There are a lot of people that have been missing you.”

You could sense the sick and cruel smile on his face as he pictured what would surely be a gruesome, horrific, and torturous death.

No. No, you were not going to go out that way. Not on his terms, not on Orron’s. Not like this.

You thought about the horrors that would await you if Bragant was able to bring you back to the cartel. You thought about the sickening fear and sadness that Din and Grogu would feel at your unplanned and unexplained departure. Thought about how Din would cut his way through each and every formidable cartel member trying to bring you back to him, to bring you back to safety, to bring you back home. Thought about how one man wouldn’t be enough to fight off an army, thought about how Din would die trying to bring you back, just as you had nearly died bringing him back on Bardotta.

Thought about how the love between the two of you would threaten to shatter the galaxy.

You thought about how Bragant had called the cartel home, and the anger that coursed through you felt as though it was moving through your very bloodstream, each desperate beat of your heart pushing that anger further and further into your body, fueling your muscles and your strength until it was threatening to burst forward from you like a seismic charge.

“Home?” You screeched, the words tearing their way through your throat with vitriol.

“Home?! You keep that word out of your goddamn fucking mouth!” You screamed forcefully, your voice echoing against the stone and clay walls; you heard a loud crack, and the wall that Bragant’s body was resting against collapsed in on itself.

This disruption and destruction caught Bragant by surprise, and he fell backwards into the pile of rubble that your anger alone had created, releasing you from his grasp in the process. Your chest was heaving as you inhaled deep lungfuls of air, feeling the oxygen feed more and more power to your body — you felt invincible, impossibly strong and powerful — and vengeful. Every violent revenge fantasy you had ever had came rushing back to you, as you saw the tidal wave of your abuser’s blood overtake the world around you.

Here was a man who had contributed to your pain and destruction, who had killed countless people with no mercy — and now, you didn’t have a single ounce of mercy to extend to him. And you were at peace with that.

A blinding hot, red wave of fury overtook your body, crashing around you and drowning out the fragile sense of humanity that was desperately clambering to stay afloat. It was as if you were possessed, as you watched your arm extend before you, muscles twitching beneath skin as your fingers pointed in Bragant’s direction, before your hand found itself curled into a tight fist. Your nails dug into the palm of your hand, and you could see redness dripping forth from it — and you saw Bragant’s writhing form being lifted from amongst the stones, until he was levitating in midair. His hands clawed desperately at his throat, and the sight of his now-bulging eyes filling with terror felt beautiful.

With a final, overwhelming rush of immense power, your wrist pulled your hand inwards to your body and you heard a nauseatingly satisfying crack reverberate through the alleyway as Bragant’s eyes went dark and his body went limp, collapsing onto the pile of rocks and clay beneath him with a dull thump.

Your head began to spin as the energy that had previously flowed through you was suddenly ripped away, and you felt as though every cell of your body was now collapsing in on itself in slow motion; the sky above you and the ground below you tumbled throughout your field of vision, spinning both together and apart as your body connected with the dusty floor of the alleyway.

You could vaguely see a blood red stain spreading in your field of vision. Whose blood was it?

Throughout all of the endless spinning and disorientation, your eyes eventually came to rest on one comforting and familiar sight — a tall figure clad in beskar rushed to your side, but you couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t feel the hands that you knew were on your body, couldn’t feel the shift in your form as you were hauled into his arms. Couldn’t feel the heavy breaths and terrified words that spilled around you, as your head lolled to the side in his arms. It felt as though the link between your mind and body had been snapped, like a harp string tuned too tightly, and as the universe continued to tumble through your field of vision, you closed your eyes tightly and prayed for it all to stop.

Stop. Stop.

Stop.

[adarafaelbarba]

Cure my ache

Pairing: Rafael Barba x reader

Fandom: Law and Order Special Victims Unit

Requested: No

Warning: Smut (duh). Do NOT read if you’re under the age of 18! oral (female receiving).

A/N: This covers the Nipple play square in the Kink Bingo @thatesqcrush​ created. This means that I’ve completed another line and can therefore call BINGO! 😂🙈 -Karen

You loved his touches. It didn’t matter where as long as his hands were on you. Whether it was on the small of your back trying to move past you, or on you ass when you went to events. How he rubbed your back when you were cuddled up on the couch, and how he sometimes just grabbed your hand out of nowhere to hold it. It drove you wild when his hands would go all over you during sex, but especially when he would tweak and tease your nipples.

«Rafi! More!» You moaned as he took his time exploring your body. «Where hermosa? You got to use your words and you know that», he murmured in return. Grabbing his hands you lifted them to your bra clad breasts.

Lately you had been feeling especially sensitive there. Not so much that you had to forgo any items of clothing. Well, you often took your bra off as soon as you came home from work, but that was besides the point really.

«You like that huh? Like when I touch your tits?» he murmured, massaging them. «Hmmmm. Feels so good!» you purred, cupping his bulge in your hand. «Oh fuck!» he moaned.

«I got something the other day that I want to try on you», he murmured, his hips bucking into your hands. His comment intrigued you, and you bit your lip, looking at him. «Oh? Now I’m intrigued», you murmured. «Mhm, I think you’ll like it.» Now you really wanted to know what it was.

He kept eye contact with you as his hands left your breasts and travelled back to unclasp your bra. «Are you gonna tell me what it is? Or do I have to guess?» You asked. «Paciencia querida», he murmured, hands going back to cup your breasts, his thumbs teasing the hardened pebbles. «Your nipples are so hard right now.» You moaned as his fingers ran over the sensitive flesh before he dipped forward and took one in his mouth. «Oh fuck! Yes Rafi!»

You swore you melted on the spot in pure ecstasy at the mer touch of his mouth on your breasts.

Treating the other nipple to the same treatment as the first, Rafael sucked willingly on it tweaking on the first one. “Hmmm. Feels so good Rafi”, you mewled, your hand running through his hair.

...

You were laid out on the bed, moaning and thrashing around as he fastened the clamps on your nipples. “Lay still mi amor!” He mused. “Rafi! I—oh!“ you whimpered in return, a squeal leaving your lips as he turns on the vibration function for the clamps.

It was like nothing you had felt before in your life. And with the already sensitive feeling on your breasts, this was heaven.

Reaching over for your boyfriends hands you bit down on your lip. “Fuck me papi”, you moaned, gasping when he turned the vibration up a notch.

“You want me to fuck you, huh? Tonight is about you”, Rafael murmured, leaning over to kiss you before his lips trailed down your body, once more stopping at your chest, scattering kisses across the heated flesh.

His lips continued their descent after deeming his attention to your boobs sufficient. And they soon found themselves hovering over where you wanted them the most. “Rafi!” You whined.

You soon realised that if you kept whining or “complaining” he turned the vibration up. This made you whimper even more at the feeling.

“Paciencia mi amor”, he murmured, pressing kisses to your thighs. “Please papi, make me feel good”, you moaned, hands running through his hair.

Rafael finally gave in, putting his lips around your clit as he started sucking. Your arousal hit peak as your back arched and your head pressed into the mattress.

He could sense that you were close. And wasted no time pushing one and then two fingers into your dripping core. “Fuuuuuck!” You moaned, almost not feeling Rafael push you back down to the mattress. “I’m so close papi”, you purred. But he could feel that. He could feel how you were clamping down on his digits.

“Cum for me hermosa!” He commanded. And with no further need of encouragement, you came, screaming his name as moans and swear words followed in short tandems like a mantra.

...

When you finally came down from your incredible high, you couldn’t help but smile wide. “That, was amazing Rafi! Best surprise ever!” You giggled at his amused look as you pulled him down to kiss him, moaning at the taste of you on his lips. “That was one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen querida”, he mused, kissing you again.

taglist:  @sweetcannolicarisi @rafaheadcanons @rafivadafreddy@detective-giggles @mrsrafaelbarba @storiesofsvu @stardust-fray@beccabarba @teamsladsandgents @tropes-and-tales@kriegsverlobte @prurientpuddlejumper @meri-dawn @caked-crusader @itsjustmyfantasyroom​

[captainjaspenor]

Fire in My Bones - Chapter 4

heFirst of all, I want to say a huge apology for the wait. First I moved, and then I had to get settled in, and then I was job hunting and before I knew it weeks had flown by. I worked on this slowly the entire time though, so it was never abandoned. Also, I have been working on a Last Kingdom (Finan x Reader) story that was stealing some of my attention. 

Anyway, thank you all for being patient. I appreciate all the nice things you guys have been saying about the previous chapters! I hope this next one doesn’t disappoint. It does have some action in it for you too!

Surprisingly no one guessed last chapter’s song title which came from “I Know Places” by Taylor Swift. As usual, if you know this week’s song title comment or message me and you’ll get a shoutout. 

Title: Fire in My Bones

Show: Cursed

Pairing: Weeping Monk x Reader

Warnings: Blood, mild violence, language, mentions of death and dying

Summary: “From the trees, shrouded in smoke, he emerges. The Weeping Monk. Around you the terrified screams of the Fey and the pained groans of the dying fade away. You forget the acrid smell and taste of the smoke and ash as it burns your throat and lungs. You forget Nimue, who is hiding behind you, clutching at your cloak, shaking like a leaf.”

Chapter 4: I’m Burning So Deep That Just Breathing Hurts

Note: For the sake of the story, I assumed that Episodes 3&4 happened on two different days.

You wail as your teacher drags you by the arm into the hut where your father holds his council. You’d begged your teacher not to involve your father, but your pleas had fallen on deaf ears. 

Your father is standing on the far side of a large wooden table, which is currently covered in rolled out maps. Around him, his war council discusses plans. At the sound of your intrusion, your father looks up.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he demands.

Your teacher stands straighter, but his hold on your arm only grows tighter. “May I have a word with you, Lord?” He glances at the other men in the room. “Alone.”

Your father glares down at you and you try not to cower under his scrutiny. With a flick of his hand he dismisses the others and they make a quick exit. Your father’s temper is legendary. “Speak,” your father says.

Your teacher steps forward and gives you a shove. You stumble but manage to stay upright. “Go on, (Y/N),” your teacher demands, “Tell him what you told me.”

Your lower lips wobbles, but you don’t cry. It will be worse if you cry. “I don’t want to do the lessons,” you admit.

“Why not?” Your father comes around the table to stand in front of you. “I – I–” you stutter, unable to get the words out now that he’s towering over you. 

“She says she’s afraid of fire. What kind of Fire Folk is afraid of fire?” your teacher scoffs.

“You’re dismissed,” your father says, not taking his eyes away from yours. You’re teacher starts to say something, but your father cuts him off. “Go.” His tone leaves no room for further arguments. Your teacher exits, and though you hate him you wish he’d stay. Because you know what’s coming next. 

Still, the ferocity behind the smack catches you off guard. He’s hit you before, but never this hard. “Get up,” he grabs your by the back of the shirt and half drags, half pushes you out of the tent and into the center of your village. “No daughter of mine is going to be afraid of fire,” he snarls in your ear. The people do not so much as glance at the two of you as they pass, knowing that if they do they risk bringing your father’s wrath down on them as well. 

In the center of town stands a large pillar, where criminals and prisoners of war are tied up and tortured. And if they’re not fire folk, burned alive. You realize your father’s intention now and you begin to struggle.

“No,” you claw and kick and scream, “I’ll do the lessons, I swear I’ll do the lessons,” you sob in fear, “Father, please! I swear I’m not afraid, I swear.” But it’s no use. 

Your father clutches your wrists in one strong hand while using the other to wrap a thick iron chain around them. You try to pull free, but he’s too strong and the chains are locked in place. Your father walks over to a large pile of kindling kept nearby for just such occasions and begins to pile it around your feet. You beg and thrash and fight, but the chains hold and so does your father’s resolve. At last he comes to stand by you. He roughly grabs your tearful face with his hand and forces you to look at him. 

“You are to fear nothing and no one,” he hisses. You sob harder as he creates a small flame under your feet. It doesn’t take long to spread and soon you’re engulfed in flames. You scream in fear as the flames lick your legs and burn away your clothes. You can see nothing but smoke and you feel the warmth from the fire around you. 

You don’t know how long you stand there, an hour, maybe two? You scream and howl until your throat is raw and no sound will come out. Eventually the flames begin to subside taking your tears along with them. When the fire goes out you’re left naked and covered in ash and soot, but still chained. Your wrists are red, raw, and burnt. You wish one of the passing village people would unshackle you, but you know you won’t be freed until the sun sets. Father’s orders. 

You shiver in the cold for hours watching as the sun slowly creeps lower in the sky. The moment the last sliver of sunlight disappears over the horizon your mother is there. She removes the chains and bundles you up before carrying you towards your family’s tent. Her gentle, soothing touch is welcome. 

“Why does father hate me?” you whisper to her as one fat tear rolls down your cheek.

“Oh, (Y/N), your father doesn’t hate you,” your mothers says, “He loves you, very much. He just…Training you to be a warrior is the only way he knows how to be a father. To him, forcing you to face your fears is his way of showing you that he loves you. Do you understand, little one?”

“Mama? I’m not scared of fire,” you confide, “I’m scared because sometimes I can’t control it.” 

“You should be afraid,” she says. You must look surprised because she adds, “Fire is dangerous, (Y/N).  Fire Folk can create fire and manipulate it, but we can’t put it out once it starts to burn. And though we cannot burn, humans and the other fey can.” Her tone grows stern. “That’s why you must only use fire as a last resort.” You nod and she kisses your forehead softly. 

“Mama?” you ask, as the two of you approach the tent. “If fire can’t hurt me then why am I burned?” You hold up your blistered wrists.

“The chains your father used are iron. Iron is the only thing that can burn us. Remember that, (Y/N), but never tell another soul. If the other fey—or gods forbid, the humans—found out, they’d use it against us. 

_

You wake before the monk does. It’s no surprise considering you’re sleeping on the hard floor. You sit up and stretch to loosen up your aching body. It’s been awhile since you’ve slept somewhere this uncomfortable. You pull the blanket up around you to ward off the early morning chill. In the corner the torch still burns, allowing you to watch the monk as he sleeps. 

He looks different when he’s asleep. Peaceful, almost. You don’t know how long you watch him sleep, but eventually his steady breathing becomes shallower and he begins to stir. His eyes open and meet yours. 

“How long have you been staring at me?” he asks, sitting up.

“Long enough to know that you drool in your sleep,” you say. 

“I don’t drool,” he dismisses. He’s right. He doesn’t, but you might be right now. Down to nothing but his undershirt – black, of course – you can see practically every muscle move when he so much as breathes. You nearly moan when he lifts an arm to run a hand through his bound hair. You continue to stare, unabashed, but the monk seems uncomfortable with your scrutiny. He looks down at his hands and picks at the bandages with his fingers. 

“Can I take these off?” he asks.  

“Yes,” you say, though part of you wants to offer to do it for him, just to be able to touch him again. 

He begins to fiddle with the knot you tied in the bandage, but with only one hand he struggles to undo it. After a few futile attempts, he sighs. He looks up at you and you can see the question in his eyes. You debate making him say it out loud, but he looks so pitiful, you give in and go to him. 

He makes a move as if to stand, but you shake your head. This time you don’t hesitate to take your place between his legs as you take his hand and begin to untie the small knot at the base of his wrist. He shifts and little and his thigh brushes your hip. Your fingers fumble and you pray he doesn’t notice. 

“I have to leave the abbey today,” the monk says in a voice not much louder than a whisper. 

You continue to slowly unwrap the bandage. “Why?”

“We’re going to ride out and search for the witch. She can’t have gotten far,” the monk says.

At first you don’t answer. Instead you methodically finish unwrapping the first bandage. You observe your handiwork, happy to see that the blisters have healed nicely. They’ll still be tender, but they won’t impede any movement. You move on to the next hand. “How long will you be gone?” you ask. 

“I don’t know,” he admits. Once again you remain silent. You finish the second hand faster than the first and step back to allow him to see the results himself, but he keeps his eyes on you. “I’ll come back as soon as I can,” he says.

Somewhere in the back of your mind your father’s voice echoes: No one will ever come back for you. 

You nod and gather the dirty bandages. You drop them on the chest the empty mortar and pestle.  As his prisoner, you really shouldn’t be upset that your jailer is telling you that he won’t be around in order to keep an eye on you today, but somehow you are. 

You observe the monk. He’s still sitting on the bed, his elbows on his knees, looking at his nearly healed hands. You notice his hair is still ruffled from sleep and you fight the urge to cross the room and brush it back. You glance down at the bed and notice a red stain.

“You’re bleeding,” you say. 

The monk looks at his shoulder and presses his fingers to the wound. They come away red. “Well, you did stab me,” he says.

You roll your eyes. “You haven’t gotten it stitched yet?” The monk shakes his head and you let out a frustrated noise. You grab the leftover sutures, needle, and cloth Celia left behind and place them on the bed next to him. 

“What are you doing?” he asks as you thread the needle.

“I’m going to stitch it for you,” you say. The monk seems surprised by your answer. “Take your shirt off,” you demand and you place yourself between his legs once more. 

“No,” he says. “You can stitch it, but I keep my shirt on.” 

You shrug and he unlaces his undershirt as far down as it will go. He pushes the fabric to the side to reveal the bloody wound.

“You idiot,” you chastise him as you begin to clean the area with a damp cloth, “You’ve let it bleed for two days? Do you want to get an infection?” The monk looks a little embarrassed by your scolding and opens his mouth to interrupt, but you shush him. “I don’t want to hear any excuses from you.” Once the wound is clean enough you carefully prod at the edges. The wound isn’t large but it’s deep. You feel bad that you’re the one who gave it to him. Almost. 

“Well?” the monk says when you finish your inspection. “Am I going to live?” he asks sarcastically. 

“You’re lucky I wasn’t trying to kill you, Monk,” you quip. “The dagger missed all the big veins and arteries and only hit muscle. It’ll take time to heal, but there shouldn’t be any lasting damage.” You wish you had something to sterilize the wound with, but you’ll have to make do with water. If the needle going in and out of his flesh bothers the monk, he doesn’t show it. 

You work in silence for a while before asking, “Is Father Carden going with you?” The monk nods. “He must really want this girl dead,” you say.

“She killed one of our brothers,” the monk explains.

“Really? How?”

“She strung him up with branches. The branches were…inside of him,” the monk says.

Your sewing falters. “That is… considerable magic. What else do you know about this Wolf-Blood Witch?” You try to keep your tone neutral.

“Nothing more than what I’ve already told you,” the monk admits. “She told the abbess that her name is Alice, but that’s probably a lie.” You make a thoughtful noise and continue your stitching. You remain silent but your mind is racing, trying to use what little clues you had to figure out the identity of the fey girl in question. Whoever she is, you hope she’s gotten herself far away from here.

“Can I ask you a question?” he asks. You shrug so he continues, “Why are you helping me?” 

You consider the question. “My mother used to tell me…” You clear your throat, talking about her is always hard. “She told me that there is a time to kill and a time to heal, and that it’s important to know the difference.” You can tell he’s not satisfied with this, so you elaborate. “You let me live. True, I’m a prisoner, but I’m alive. And I don’t know if it’s for some sadistic reason that I’ll find out later, but so far you’ve been…kind to me.” You make the mistake of looking into those striking eyes of his. His expression is unreadable. “And I don’t like seeing you—I mean, seeing anyone–hurt when I can help,” you stammer. Smooth. You force yourself to break eye contact and go back to stitching. You can feel the monk’s eyes burning into you, but you refuse to look up until you finish the last couple of stitches. 

Finally, you tie off the last suture. You have no excuse to avoid his gaze now. “I’m done,” your voice is nearly a whisper; the two of you are so close.

“Thank you, (Y/N).” For a brief moment you think you see something akin to tenderness in his eyes. He opens his mouth to say more, but the door opens and Celia comes bustling in. You step back and the monk’s face is a mask once more.

“Oh.” She stops and takes the two of you in. “I’m sorry, but Father Carden has asked for you,” she says to the monk. She gives you a look before adding, “I’ll wait outside.”

The monk stands and laces up his undershirt. He dresses quickly, avoiding eye contact to your disappointment. The finishing touch is his sword belt. As he straps it on, he finally looks at you. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he says before leaving once more. You feel almost as if he’s taken your heart with him, but you remind yourself how foolish that is. 

You gather up the bloody rags and discarded needle and place them on the table along with the mortar and pestle. The door opens and for a moment you think it might be the monk returning, but it’s Celia. She doesn’t say anything as she begins to collect up the used supplies. 

“It wasn’t what it looked like,” you try to explain yourself. 

“You helped him.” It’s not question.

“It was the right thing to do,” you say. 

Celia cuts you off. She seems almost subdued. “(Y/N), I’m not judging you. I understand what it’s like to…want something that you shouldn’t,” she says. 

“Is everything alright?” you ask. 

“It’s Morgana,” she admits, “She hasn’t been seen since yesterday. I’m worried something bad has happened.” 

“I don’t know Morgana personally, but from what you’ve told me, she seems like she can take care of herself,” you say, but she doesn’t look convinced. “I’m sure she’ll be back soon, Celia,” you take one of her shaking hands in yours. 

“Thank you, (Y/N).” She smiles softly at you. “I have to go. Father Carden has called for us to gather in the courtyard, but I’ll return later with lunch.” Once again, you are locked in and alone. 

_

Time passes slowly as you wait for Celia to return. You run through a few basic exercises and try to loosen up your sore muscles, but that doesn’t take long and before you know it you’re back to square one. 

Eventually your mind wanders to the monk. He’d said come back as soon as he could, but every bit of training in you screams not to believe him. He could leave you locked in here for days, weeks, even months if he wanted to. He could starve you or let his brothers torture you for information about the fey. He could kill you. And he has no reason not to. You want to believe that the two of you have some sort of mutual respect, but you can’t really trust that after having one – okay, maybe two – conversations with him. 

Your head wants to find a way to escape, but your heart wants to stay and wait for the monk to return. If he returns. If you’re going to escape then this evening will be your best opportunity. You have to assume that most of the Red Paladins are with Father Carden and the monk, searching for the Wolf Blood Witch. Now that you’re hands aren’t bound, you can take on at least a few brothers even if you don’t currently have a weapon. They abbey is a maze and you’ve only been led through it blindfolded, but you can find your way out one way or another, even if you have to persuade one of the brothers to show. 

In the end it’s your loyalty to Nimue that sways you. You know that you owe it to her—and Lenore—to do your best to get out of here and find them. You study the lock on the door. You’re pleased to discover that it appears easy enough to pick given the right tools. You look around the room, but there’s nothing small enough to fit through the keyhole. You dig through the trunk at the base of the monk’s bed, but only find a couple of dusty blankets. Frustrated, you return to the bed and sit. If you can’t find something small enough to turn the tumblers in the lock then any future plans are futile. 

Thankfully you don’t get to wallow in self-pity long because the lock clicks and Celia enters. _

The man screams and begs for mercy, but the monk runs him through anyway. He’s used to killing men as they beg for their lives. It doesn’t bother him anymore. Almost. He turns and walks away from the body. He digs a stained rag from his pocked and begins to methodically wipe the blood from his blade. 

He approaches one of the brothers standing by. “The caravans are run by a man named Dizier. Drives a wagon full of leather goods. Go,” he dismisses and the brother exits to spread the word. 

The monk sheathes his blade as Father Carden approaches from behind. “How many?” the older man asks. 

“Just one. A Tusk,” the monk reports as he uses the rag to wipe any remaining traces of blood from his hands.  

Father Carden nods, pleased. “Still, another smuggler off the road.”

“I found something else.” He leads Father Carden to the trees lining the road, nodding towards the symbols hidden among them. “They’re in the trees and on the ground,” the monk says as he stops to gently run his fingers over one of the intricate spirals. 

“What are they?” Father Carden asks.

“Directions.”

“To where?” 

“I only have pieces,” the monk admits, “Somewhere north. Toward the Minotaur. A sanctuary. The caravans, they move one, two at a time, but this… This is where we’ll find them all. And I know someone who can take us there.” 

_

You’re surprised to see that Celia’s been crying. “What is it? What’s wrong?” you ask as you go to her. You guide her to one of the stools and take the plate from her hands, setting it on the table. 

Celia tears start anew. “The Red Paladins took the abbess. They drug her away and put her in a caravan. Father Carden said she’s to be punished for harboring the Wolf-Blood Witch. He’s going to have her killed,” she weeps. 

You take her into your arms and whisper reassurances. You know what it’s like to have someone you care about taken away from you suddenly and you know that nothing you say can actually help, but you try anyway. 

Eventually her sobs subside to small sniffs and she pulls away. Her face is tearstained and blotchy. “There’s something else.” You raise your eyebrows at her, indicating she should go on. “Morgana’s left the abbey.” 

“How do you know, I thought she hadn’t been seen since yesterday?”

“She came back, but now she’s gone again. I think she blames herself for the abbess.”

“The abbess? Why?” you ask.

Celia lowers her voice, even though you’re the only two in the room. “She’s the one who was helping the girl, Alice.” 

“And where has she gone now? Morgana.”

“There’s this place she’s been talking about, a sanctuary for the fey kind.”

“Nemos,” you mutter.

“You know it?” Celia asks, perking up. “Have you been there?”

“Once,” you sigh and take a seat on the other stool. 

“And Morgana? She will be safe there?” Celia asks, hopeful.

“As safe as any fey, I suppose. But Celia, these are dangerous times for the fey and those who help us,” you warn her.

“I know. I tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn’t budge,” Celia admits. She tears up. You suspect that Morgana may mean more to Celia than she’s let on, but you don’t want to pry. 

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” you reassure her. “Morgana seems more than capable of taking care of herself. After all, she snuck the Wolf-Blood Witch into the abbey right under the Weeping Monk’s nose,” you joke. It works and Celia cracks a smile. 

The two of you sit in a comfortable silence for a while as Celia composes herself.  

“She asked me to go with her,” she finally says. 

“Why didn’t you?”

“I was afraid,” Celia says, “I still am. Part of me wants to go after her, but I’ve never lived anywhere but this abbey. I’m terrified of the world outside of these four walls. And the sisters, they’re my family! I can’t just abandon them.” 

It’s not your place to try and change her mind, but still you ask, “And can you live knowing you may never see Morgana again?” Celia doesn’t respond, probably because she doesn’t know the answer herself. “Look, Celia, I can’t tell you what’s the right choice here, but I want you to know that it’s okay to want something good for yourself. It’s okay to choose love,” you tell her. Celia glances at you shyly at your use of the word “love” but you give her a reassuring smile. 

“I don’t know what to do,” she admits.

“You don’t have to decide now. Think it over. Sleep on it. You can still go tomorrow if you want.” 

With that the two of you lapse into casual conversation while you devour the lunch Celia has brought you. It’s a slab of meat with some bread and cheese. Nothing fancy, but you’re grateful all the same. It’s during one of Celia’s long-winded answers about one of the sisters at the abbey that you notice it: two small wires coiled tightly around the handles of the handmade utensils you’ve been using to cut the meat. You try to keep your face neutral as you mentally judge about how long the wires will be once unwrapped and straightened out. By your calculations they should be just long enough to use to pick the lock. 

Nonchalantly you nod along to Celia’s story while bringing the fork to your lap. You slowly unwind the wire and leave it on your lap as you bring the fork back up and stick it into the meat. You repeat the process with the knife, taking a few bites in between to avoid arousing any suspicion to what your hands are doing under the table. 

After the meal concludes you place the utensils on the plate and scoot it towards Celia, praying she won’t notice the missing wires. Thankfully she seems oblivious as she gathers up the empty plate and goes to exit. 

At the last second she asks, “(Y/N)?”

“Yes?” 

“I know you’ve probably already figured out how to escape and you’d probably succeed if you tried, but I’m going to ask you not to. I know you don’t owe me anything, but if you run the sisters and I – we’ll be punished and with the abbess gone, I’m afraid of what they might do to us,” Celia says, “If it was just me at risk, I wouldn’t ask, but I fear for my sisters. Please, try to understand.”

You think of Nimue and Squirrel, and send up a silent prayer to the gods that they’re safe and have found each other. “I promise I won’t do anything to put you or your sisters in danger.” You might have just sworn away your last chance at freedom, but Celia’s grateful smile soothes any ill feelings you have. With promises to return later with more food, Celia locks you away in your prison once more. ____ The monk watches in stony silence as his brothers pull the bloated corpses from the bloody pool of water. He can hardly believe that one girl could do this much damage. 

Next to him, Father Carden speaks, “Now this… This is a message. She taunts you, my son.” The monk always likes it when Father Carden calls him that. It reminds him of the bond the two share. One forged in blood. “She taunts you with your dead brothers.” The monk can hear the disappointment in his voice and he wants nothing more than to erase it. 

“Let us pray,” Father Carden continues. The monk bows his head in obedience. “We pray for the lost souls of our fallen brothers, Almighty Father. We beg thee purge us of our weaknesses, skin us of our mercy. Send a heavenly flame to cleanse our corrupted hearts. And should you deem us unworthy, send us your purest soldier, your avenging angel. Amen.” 

Father Carden looks at the monk expectantly. “Are you certain the girl will lead us to the sanctuary?”

“Yes.” The monk nods. “I am.”

_

You sprint through the woods, cursing silently every time you misstep and a branch snaps under your feet. You know you can’t outrun him, so instead you duck down underneath one of the large trees. A small cave has formed at the base of the trees roots, just large enough for you to crawl into. You tuck yourself in and cover your mouth with your hand to quiet your heavy breathing. You wait.  

Moments later you hear him. He doesn’t care how many branches snap beneath his feet, and each step alerts you that he’s getting closer. You try to make yourself even smaller, even less visible, if that’s even at all possible. 

Finally, you see him. You can only see from the waist down, as the roots obstruct your view, but you watch as he paces the area, most likely following your tracks. You should have covered them better, but there wasn’t time.

He turns and walks toward your hiding spot and you stop breathing all together. You pray for him to turn around and walk away, but he doesn’t. In three paces, he’s on you. He reaches down and grabs the front of your tunic, hauling you up. He easily lifts you off your feet and presses your back to the tree. He levels the tip of his dagger at your throat. 

“I’ve caught you,” your father says, “The Fire Folk have lost the battle and now I’m going to take you captive. What do you do?”

You slide one of your hidden daggers from your forearm sheathe and press it against your own chest. Your father steps back and nods with approval. “That’s right. If you’re captured, you fall on your own sword. Why?” he asks. 

“Because no one will ever come back for me.”

He nods. “Because no one will ever come back for you.”

_

You wake to the smell of smoke. You’re fully alert in seconds. After a quick dinner with Celia you’d passed out early, not having much else to do. But now something’s wrong. The smell is overwhelming and you can see tendrils of black smoke seeping through the door. You pull on your cloak and go to put an ear to the door, but you can’t hear anything. Silence. You call out and bang on your door, but still there is only silence.

You mentally run through your options. Stay here and wait to see what happens or go outside and investigate. You still have the wires from earlier and you can pick the lock, but that would mean breaking your promise to Celia. But what if she needs help? Decision made, you make quick work of the door’s heavy deadbolt. It’s all in the tumblers. Tucking away the tools in case you need them later, you brace yourself and open the door. 

A thick black cloud of smoke rushes in around you. A normal person would have trouble seeing with the smoke burning their eyes, but being Fire Folk you’re unaffected. You study the hallway; you’d always been blindfolded when you’d been led through the abbey, so you can’t be sure which way to go. A voice in your head reminds you that when Celia had taken you to bathe, she’d taken you to the left. You would guess that the bathing chambers would be towards the center of the abbey, close to where the sisters sleep. Which means the right most likely leads to a way out of here. You send up a small prayer asking Nimue for forgiveness and go left. 

Around you the temperature has risen substantially in the narrow stone hallway you sprint down. You make turn after turn hoping to hear or see someone, but the place seems deserted. You call out Celia’s name, but she doesn’t respond.  

You force yourself to stop and think. When you first arrived here Celia had led you up multiple flights of stairs, which means you’re on one of the higher floors. A light goes off in your head and you remember that when Celia had taken you to bathe she’d taken you down the stairs again, and the bathing chambers are likely on the ground floor. And if you know the monk, he’s likely chosen a room away from any one else’s living quarters. Stupid. You’ve been searching the wrong floor. 

You check the next floor down, but still have no luck finding anyone. Many of the rooms are locked and you don’t bother picking them, not wanting to waste any time. You find another staircase and continue down. 

It’s on the third floor that you check that you finally hear it. It’s faint, but you think you can hear the sound of screaming. Sweat drips from your brow and into your eyes. It glides down your cheeks and falls from your chin onto your leather jerkin. It’s hotter down here, so you figure you’re closer to the source of the fire, not that it’s a problem for you, but it could be for Celia.

You run hard, but it doesn’t seem fast enough. The heat and smoke grow more intense the closer you get. Still the cries are getting louder and clearer. You can tell there are multiple women. And they’re all screaming for their lives. As you round the last corner, you discover the screams are coming from the other side of a massive wooden door. You slam into it at full speed, trying to force it open, but it doesn’t budge.

“Celia?” you shout over the other women’s screams.

“(Y/N)?” she calls back.

“Yes, Celia, it’s me!” You press your hands to the door, overjoyed to have found her. “Don’t worry, I’m going to get you out of there,” you reassure her. 

You observe the door and quickly realize that someone has put a lock on the door. No wonder the sisters can’t get out. You reach out and grab it to study the keyhole, but the metal scalds your hand. Iron. You swear violently and you drop the lock. You give your hand a few shakes in a futile attempt to cool the burnt skin. You give up and cradle your burnt hand in the other. Blisters are already forming on your palm. You hiss in frustration. You’ll have to work carefully to get the lock off without touching it. You dig out the small wires and begin to fiddle with the tumblers. 

“(Y/N), please, hurry!” Celia begs. You try to drown out the women’s frightened scream and focus on the task at hand. The lock is old and rusty and for a moment you’re worried the wires aren’t strong enough to get the job done when there’s a satisfying click. 

You wrap your cloak around your good hand and yank the lock off. Triumphant, you toss it away and shove open the heavy door. Smoke billows out at an alarming rate, proving your theory that at least one of the fires is nearby, likely started in the dorms. You step into the room, only to be met with a horrible sight. 

Over twenty sisters of different ages are gathered around the door in disarray. The women are in various states of asphyxiation from the smoke. Some of the older ones have already succumbed to it. You’d been so intent on getting the lock open you hadn’t realized the screaming had stopped. You force yourself to look away from a young girl, not much older than Squirrel, who is lying on the floor with her eyes shut, her breathing shallow. 

Behind you a weak voice calls your name. Celia is there, with her dark hair unbound, barefoot and in nothing but a thin nightgown. She has her arms wrapped around an older woman, but it’s clear the woman is moments away from death. You crouch in front of Celia and begin to untangle her arms. She tries to fight you at first, but she’s too weak from the oxygen deprivation. 

“Celia, we have to go,” you tell her as you wrap your arms around her and stand up. You have to lean most of her weight on you, which means you won’t be able to go very fast. You pray you don’t have too many more stairs to climb down. 

“What about my sisters?” she argues, “I can’t just leave them behind!” Celia begins to struggle against you.

“Celia, please! Most of them are gone already. Think about Morgana! She’d want you to come with me,” you try to reason with her. With that, all the fight leaves her body and she nods. Her breathing is becoming more and more labored. You have minutes at best. “Celia,” you shake her as she drowses, “How do we get out of here?” 

With a tremendous amount of effort she lifts her head. “Down the hall to the left,” she mumbles, “Then we go through the courtyard and take a right to the entryway.” You basically drag her down the hallway, praying for a miracle that the courtyard isn’t on fire. 

Unfortunately, the gods aren’t on your side today, because as you step through the doorway a large flaming branch from one of the trees snaps off and smashes to the ground only a couple feet in front of you. Sparks go flying and Celia cowers in fear. You hold fast and look around, searching for a way around the fire to get to the aforementioned entryway.  

What was clearly once a well-kept courtyard of flowers and trees is now completely ablaze. It takes you a moment to realize that it’s dark outside, because the glow from the fires is so intense and it bathes everything in an eerie orange glow. Plumes of gray smoke disappear into the night sky, so thick that it’s impossible to see the stars. Beside you Celia coughs and takes ragged, painful breaths.  

You take off your thick cloak and wrap it tightly around her, making sure to cover her mouth and nose. And then, you summon the Hidden. The flames in front of you part, not unlike the way the Red Sea parted for Moses. If only the Church knew… You keep an arm wrapped around her as you guide her forward. You know the cloak will not catch fire, but it doesn’t cover all of her and the exposed skin on her body has begin to blister and burn from the overwhelming heat coming from the walls of fire on either side of you. You can smell the burning flesh and hear her soft cries. You wish you could ease the pain for her, but have to settle for moving faster and calling out reassurances. 

Finally, finally, you lead her out of the small inferno and through the threshold that leads to the abbey’s main entryway. You pray from some reprieve from the heat of the fire, but inside the entryway is also ablaze. In front of you stands a massive wooden and metal door, easily three times taller than you and Celia. You pull her forward, so close to your destination, when you hear a loud crack above you. You glance up to see one of the wooden beams from the roof come loose and plummet towards you. You shove Celia back and fall to the ground, slamming your not quite healed head on the concrete floor. You see stars. For a second you feel the blackness of unconsciousness pull you down, but you fight it and force your eyes open. Your vision remains blurry but you can once again see the burning room around you. You crawl on your hands and knees to where Celia has fallen. 

You pull yourself up next to her and look at the now inaccessible exit. The massive, smoldering beam has landed right in front of the large doors, making it impossible to pull them open and escape the inferno. You pull Celia’s head onto your lap and sit her up a bit, to ease her breathing. 

She lays on the ground, your cloak having come unwrapped. Her face is dirty from the ash and smoke except for where her tears have left thin tracks. Her eyes are swollen and puffy and her hands and feet are raw with blisters. Her lips are cracked and labored breaths barely push through them. 

She takes one of your hands in her blistered ones. “I’m dying, aren’t I?” she rasps. 

Tears prick your eyes and you look up at the flaming ceiling to allow you moment to compose yourself. You look back down at her blackened face, “Yes.”

She closes her eyes and nods in acceptance. A wry smile appears on her face. “I was going to leave tomorrow. I was going to go after Morgana and tell her that I loved her.”

This time you don’t fight the tears that spill over. “Celia, I’m so sorry.”

Celia shushes you softly. “It’s okay, (Y/N). There’s nothing more you could’ve done.” You open your mouth to argue with her, but a cough wracks her body. Once the cough subsides, she continues, “I want to thank you, (Y/N), for showing me that it’s okay to choose love. I hope you’ll do the same.” Another bout of coughing has the tears streaming down her cheeks anew. “Will you tell her?” she asks, “Will you tell Morgana that I was going to find her? Will you tell her that I love her?” 

“Of course. Of course, I will,” you promise her. She gives you one last dreamy smile before closing her eyes. She lets out one last ragged exhale and is still. You press your palm to her chest, but can no longer feel her heartbeat. You cradle her in your arms and press your forehead to hers as you sob. 

You cry for Celia and all the things she never got to do. You cry for Morgana who is going to be heartbroken when she learns the truth. And you cry for yourself, for having been unable to save yet another person you cared about. 

You aren’t able to grieve long, because another large chunk of the ceiling slams into the ground a mere foot away from you. You look up and realize that the fire has eaten away at all the major wooden infrastructure of the entryway and the entire thing is dangerously close to coming down on top of your head. Fire may not kill you, but being crushed by hundreds of pounds of stone will. 

You wipe your eyes and look around for another possible exit. There has to be a window or another door around here somewhere. When your search is unsuccessful you decide you’ll have to go look for a side door in a different room. 

You carefully lower Celia’s body to the ground. You kiss her forehead and take your cloak from her, wrapping it back around your own shoulders. You stand and look down at her for the last time. Part of you loathes leaving her to burn, but she’d want her final resting place to be here: in her home with her sisters. 

Again another piece of entryway comes lose and falls next to you. You flinch and take the hint to get the hell out of there. You sprint back through the blazing courtyard and take a left, hoping to find a wall with a window. You see a couple, but both are too small for even you to fit through so you keep going. 

Around you debris is falling from the ceiling at an alarming rate. Nothing has hit you so far, but eventually you won’t be so lucky. 

You round the corner and come to a halt. In front of you there is a dead end, except for one door. You mentally map out your path to figure out whether or not this door could possibly be an exit, but you’ve never been much good at that. You decide to try your luck one last time and go for the door. 

It’s locked, of course. You take out the wires to work on the lock, only to realize that your hands are shaking. You take a deep breath and try to calm yourself. It doesn’t help much, but you allow muscle memory to take over. It works, because the lock clicks open and you yank open the door to be greeted with a breath of fresh air. You nearly collapse in relief, but manage to stagger forward on shaky knees. 

You take in your surroundings. You’re not far from the abbey’s main entrance and you can spot the road you came in on with the monk. With the adrenaline starting to fade you realize that your body is bone tired. You don’t dare stop and look back at the burning abbey, because if you do you aren’t sure you’ll be able to hold it together. 

You’ve only just made it to the edge of the road when a dark figure comes thundering down the road on the back of a black beast. His cloak billows out behind him. He comes to a screeching halt mere feet from you and dismounts. In the glow of the burning abbey, you see the trademark tears of the Weeping Monk.

You stumble and he smoothly steps forward and wraps his large hands around your biceps to steady you. “You came back,” you say, breathless. 

“What happened here? How did you get out of there? How are you alive?” the monk demands to know as he takes the time to run his hands brusquely over your body to search for damage. Normally you’d take the time to bask in his attention, but your brain in still stuck on the fact that he came back. Satisfied you’re in one piece, he lets go and steps back. 

“You came back,” you repeat, dumbly.

The monk eyes you warily. “I said I would.”

You nod. “I know, but you came back.” You try to emphasize what you mean. You think you might be in shock. 

Apparently the monk does too cause he doesn’t say anything, but instead bundles you up and lifts you onto Goliath’s back. He hauls himself up behind you and turns Goliath back the way he came, this time at a much slower pace.  

_

At some point you must have dozed off, because the next thing you know you’re deep in the Iron Wood again and the monk is bringing Goliath to a stop. You ask him why. 

“It’ll be dawn in a few hours. I thought it best we make camp until then.” You accept his help as you dismount; your feet are still a little unsteady beneath you. He ties Goliath’s reigns to a nearby branch as you go and sit on a fallen tree trunk. 

You don’t say anything as the monk begins to dig a hole and line it with large stones. You watch him circle the clearing, picking up kindling. You don’t think you’ve seen anyone move with such ease and grace, even in the dark. You look away as he walks back toward you and its only minutes later before he has a sizeable fire going. He sits across from you and observes you in the orange light of the campfire. 

“What happened at the abbey?” he finally asks. You’d been dreading the question, but had known it was coming. Of course he’d want to know what happened. It’s not every day an entire abbey burns down. 

“I don’t know,” you admit, “I went to sleep and when I woke up I could smell the smoke. I picked the lock on my door,”—you give him a nervous glance but his expression doesn’t change—“and I went to find Celia.” The monk doesn’t say anything; instead he lets you take the time you need to relay the story back to him. When you tell him about losing Celia, you don’t even try to stop your tears. “I thought I could get her out. I thought I could save her,” you admit to him. You look up to see the monk watching you with a peculiar expression on his face, but before you can ask him what he’s thinking, it’s gone. 

“I’m sorry about your friend.” The words are so quiet you almost don’t hear them. Before you can say anything back, the monk stands and goes to his saddlebags, where he retrieves food for the both of you. He holds out your portion to you, but you don’t take it. 

“I’m not hungry,” you tell him.

“You have to eat something. Please.” The last part is an afterthought. Surprised by his use of the word, you accept the food and take small bites. 

The two of you eat in comfortable silence. After you finish you lean back and watch as the monk takes his sword out and begins to clean it. You feel a pang at the sight and you wish for your own blades. 

“I wouldn’t have killed the boy.” The monk doesn’t look up as he says this, his eyes on the cloth in his hand as it works its way up and down the blade. You hadn’t realized how sexy cleaning blood off of a sword could be. 

“What?” You’re really killing it today with the clever comebacks. 

“The one you call Squirrel. I wouldn’t have killed him. I don’t hurt children,” the monk says. You can’t help but scoff at this and he looks up, raising an eyebrow in a silent question. 

“You don’t think you hurt Squirrel when you burned down our village, murdered his father, and stole his innocence by using him as bait so you could slaughter his friends in front of him? You might not kill children, Monk, but you do hurt them.” The monk narrows his eyes at you, and for a moment you fear you’ve said too much, but his expression switches to one of contemplation and he focuses back on the task at hand. 

Again you two sit in silence. You think he almost might prefer it this way, but after a few minutes you can’t take it anymore. “Why did you come back?” you blurt out.

The monk shrugs. “I told you I would.” 

“Yes, but why?” you press, “Did you find the witch?”

The monk’s hand stills on his blade and he scowls. “No.”

Picking up on the obvious tension in his body, you ask: “Did something happened?”

The monk only grunts in response. You wait, figuring he’ll share when he’s ready. Eventually he sighs and runs a hand over his face in frustration. “She killed half a dozen brothers today.”

“With magic?”

The monk shakes his head. “She used the sword. It seems the longer she has it, the stronger she gets.” Lenore had warned you about that. She’d also warned you that the sword corrupts those who wield it. You hope whoever this girl is she’s able to overcome whatever hold the sword has over her. 

“So what now?” you ask.

“I think she’s going somewhere. A Fey sanctuary.” The monk’s eyes never leave yours, and you know he’s studying you for a reaction. You try to keep your face neutral as the he continues. “The directions are hidden in symbols in the trees and on the ground. I’ve been able to decipher some of them, but I need someone who speaks Old Fey for the rest.”

And there it was. The real reason for the monk’s timely arrival at the abbey. Perhaps even the reason he kept you alive in the first place.

“I won’t help you slaughter what is left of the Fey. Even if most of them deserve it.”

The monk cocks his head to the side. “You don’t care for your fellow fey kind?”

You chew the inside of your cheek indecisively before asking him, “Do you know why you’ve never seen a Fire Folk before?” The monk shakes his head. “It’s because the fey council had them all murdered when I was a child. Not unlike the way you and your Red Paladins have been doing to them.”

The monk seems genuinely surprised by this revelation. “How did you survive?”

“Lenore. She begged the council to spare my life. My mother wasn’t so lucky.” 

The monk places his sword to the side and leans forward, blue eyes boring into your golden ones. “Would helping me not be the perfect way to avenger her?”

For a second you’d been lured in by the sincerity in his eyes, but his words make your blood run cold. “I will not tarnish her memory by helping you wipe the fey in her name.”

“Even if refusing might cost you your life?” The monk’s words are eerily quiet. There it is. The moment you’ve been waiting for. The one where he finally starts treating you like the prisoner you are.

“Even if,” you say. 

“Why? Why are you willing to die for those who wouldn’t do the same for you?”

“I could ask you the same,” you taunt. The monk doesn’t take the bait and you sigh. “Because there are dozens of children living there. You say you don’t hurt children? Well, if I take you there then I assure you nothing will stop brothers from slaughtering every last one of them.”

“I will not ask you to help me to find the sanctuary. But I also won’t stop searching for it,” the monk warns. You nod and the tension dissipates.

You ask the monk the question that’s been on your mind since you first saw the lock on the sisters’ sleeping chamber door. “Was if you? The fire at the abbey. Was it the Red Paladins?”

The monk had been staring at the stars in the sky above you, but when you started talking he’d locked his gaze back on you. You can’t help but feel guilty somehow. Like you’re accusing him of something. Which is silly considering how many fey he’s killed, seemingly without remorse. 

“How do you know the fire was set on purpose?” he asks.

“It’s just... I know Father Carden had the abbess taken away for helping the witch. And there was a lock... on the door... which is why the sisters couldn’t get out... and there’s no way the fire spread that quickly. Someone must’ve set multiple fires all over the abbey. And I just thought... did he do this? To punish them?” Shit, you’re rambling. You can’t help it when he’s staring at you like that.

The monk seems to be amused by how flustered you’ve become and his gaze softens. “No. We didn’t do it.”

“You’re sure?”

“Father Carden doesn’t do anything without a reason. And this.... what reason could he possibly have for this?”

“Okay.... You’re right.... I just... If it wasn’t you guys, then who? Who would want a bunch of nuns dead? It doesn’t make sense.”

“At first I thought it was you.”

“Me?”

“Who burned down the abbey, but then I saw how upset you were and I knew I was mistaken.”

“Why did you think it was me?”

“Because you managed to walk out of a burning building while everyone else inside died. The smoke alone should have killed you. But then it came to me: you’re immune to fire.” You tense at his words. “I’m right, aren’t I?” You nod, warily. “Do the other fey know?” he asks.

“Some. The older ones, who were alive before the Fire Fey were massacred, though I suspect many of them have forgotten. I don’t make it a habit of showing off that particular talent.”

The monk hums in acknowledgment. “Don’t worry,” he whispers, “Your secret’s safe with me.” He gives you a conspiratorial (and uncharacteristic) grin before going back to cleaning his sword. 

You stare into the campfire in front of you.  The flames dance in a hypnotic pattern, one you are familiar with. One you used to find comfort in. But now you can’t help but picture Celia’s terrified face as the flames around you came closer. You glare down at your hands in despair, blinking back tears as the sound of the women’s screams echo through your mind.

The monk must sense your distress because he leaves his spot on the other side of the fire to approach you. He crouches in front of you, forcing you to look at him. “You blame yourself.” It’s not a question. The monk continues, “You can’t save everyone.” You open your mouth to protest but he silences you with a look.

He’s right. You know he’s right. But still, you hate to admit it. And you sure as hell aren’t going to do it out loud. Instead you settle for a nod. The small gesture brings your faces closer together. The monk glances down at your lips and for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you, but instead he says, “You should get some rest.” 

You fight back a groan of frustration as he pulls away from you and returns to his spot on the other side of the fire. Nonetheless, you obey and make a place to sleep near fire while the monk does the same. It doesn’t take you long to realize that you’re not going to be able to sleep. Every time you close your eyes you see Celia’s face. You let out a soft sigh and stare at the stars overhead. You try to keep your breathing even and steady, to make the monk think you’re asleep. It doesn’t work.

“I can hear you thinking,” the monk’s voice cuts through the darkness. 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” you retort. 

The monk ignores you. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“I can’t,” you say, softly, “When I close my eyes I see… her.” Normally you wouldn’t be so vulnerable, but somehow you know the monk won’t judge. 

At first you think he isn’t going to say anything or that he’s fallen asleep but there is a sudden flurry of movement to your right as he stands and begins to gather his belongings.

You sit up. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” the monk says, “but if you can’t sleep then there’s no sense in staying here until dawn.” 

“Scared I’ll kill you in your sleep?” you tease.

The monk helps you into Goliath’s saddle and hands you the reigns as he goes to put out the fire. “I just thought you wouldn’t want to be alone with your thoughts all night,” he says, his back to you. 

You can’t say anything, overwhelmed by the tenderness you feel in your heart towards this man who should terrify you. Instead, you offer your hand to him when he returns. He accepts the offer and together you pull him up and into the saddle behind you. He settles in and wraps his arms around you to take the reigns. 

“Ready?” he asks. You nod and the monk digs his heels into Goliath’s sides, sending you galloping through the forest once more.   ____

And there it is! Let me know what you think in the comments!

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