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somnambulants · 3 years

Note

Could you write protective!nat x r? I’m a sucker for r getting hurt on a mission, but I know you’ve already done that. Maybe r is in training w natasha as her trainer, and they go on what’s supposed to be an easy first mission for r but it turns out their intel is completely wrong. Even though r is in over her head, she saves nat’s life and gets hurt. Lots of guilty and protective nat and the confessing of feelings

with a safety pin

word count: 1.3K

“It was wrong – the….they… wrong, we’re outnumbered–”

The words come out jumbled, crackling in your earpiece as Wanda yells into her own from her position. You scan the field in front of you, but you can’t see her.

She's right though. You’re definitely outnumbered.

Every time you hit a target, there’s another three lining up after it. You’ve managed to push your way through half of them when you look up and spot Natasha across the field at the same time one of the beings you’re fighting does.

As it runs towards Natasha – who is occupied with trying to fight off a group of them already – you dart across the field in pursuit.

It’s a split-second decision but you don’t even need that time to make up your mind about what to do as you throw yourself between them.

You manage to get a hit on it, but not before it swipes out at you with its claws, snarling, and pulls you down with it.

It takes a second for the pain to hit you but when it does; boy it does.

The last thing you see before everything turns dark is Natasha hovering above you and the horrified look in her eyes.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

You wouldn’t be surprised if Natasha walked a hole into the floor with the way she’s going.

She hasn’t stopped pacing around your med-bay room once since you’d woken; if you asked any of your other teammates, you also wouldn’t be surprised if they told you she’s been doing it since you were bought in.

Still groggy from whatever meds they’d given you, you hesitate as you take in her words.

It’s not like you can give her an honest answer.

You can’t turn around and be like: well you see, Nat, I did it because i’m in love with you. And would do it again. Because I’m in love with you, as I said. No biggie though.

Either way, you’re saved from answering as she continues, not even sparing you a glance.

You huddle on the gurney beneath you and try not to flinch as she barks at you, even more harshly than before: “Are you insane Y/N? What the hell was going through your head when you thought that was a good idea?”

“Yeah, it was pretty dumb,” Sam agrees quietly in the corner, before he flinches when Natasha whirls around on him and slaps him on the arm. “You said it first!”

“Get out,” Natasha orders tersely, ignoring him. “All of you.”

She reaches out and grabs the back of your vest as you try to tiptoe out with the rest of the team. A few of them giving you sympathetic looks as they pass. “Not you.”

You don’t even bother trying to twist under her hold, it’s futile. You know better than anyone. When the room is clear, door shut behind them, she lets you go, surprisingly gentle even with the stormy expression on her face.

You watch her cautiously for a second before you clear your throat. “Nat, I’m sorry.”

At your words, her gaze narrows even further, and you flinch back instinctively as she advances on you again. The look in her eye making you back up until youre stopped abruptly when you make contact with the edge of the gurney behind you.

She doesn’t stop until she’s looming over you, hands on either side of you, flat against the gurney and caging you in so you’re trapped against her.

She’s so close that you’re pretty much breathing the same air. In almost any other circumstance you’d be jumping for joy being this close to her.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, almost whispering this time.

Natasha is probably the person you respect most in the world and her obvious disappointment in you made you feel about two inches tall.

“You ever do that again and you’re off the team, got it?”

You start to protest, feeling like she’s being a little unfair. It’s not like you meant for this to happen. “I was just trying to –”

Immediately Natasha cuts you off as she grabs the front of your shirt, leaning in until your faces are so close that all you’d have to do is angle your head the right way and your lips would be touching.

That particular thought still sends a thrill up your spine, despite the severity of the situation. Since you’d joined the team and Natasha had begun training you, you’d spent a lot more time daydreaming about that particular scenario than you’d ever want to admit.

“I don’t care about what you were trying to do,” she growls, her gaze dark and intent with the anger you can see inside of her eyes as she scowls at you. “Never do that again. Never put yourself in danger for me ever again. You hear me?”

“What?!” you can’t help yourself this time. Despite yourself, you’re starting to get a little worked up too. And a little incredulous; you’ve never seen her lose her cool like this in all the time she’s been mentoring you. “Are you kidding? That’s part of being on this team. We’re always in danger!”

“That doesn’t mean you can just risk your life for me!”

“Why not? You’d do the same for me!”

“That’s irrelevant!”

“How is it irrelevant, Natasha?”

You’re both yelling now, inches apart, and you know distantly that the team must be able to hear you and you know you’re going to feel embarrassed about it later.

At your words, Natasha falls silent and it’s like some of the anger leeches out of her as her shoulders slump a little.

It’s at this moment that you can finally spot the worry in her eyes, no longer masked by her anger and it finally clicks what her reaction is actually about.

It’s not because she’s angry at your insubordination.

She isn’t scolding you for going against her orders or the plan.

She’s scared.

“Why is it irrelevant?” you repeat, a little softer this time. “It was my decision, Nat. If I died today, it would’ve been on me. Not you. You don’t have to feel bad about it.”

When she looks at you this time, you can see that spark of anger is back. You’re not sure how but you’ve clearly said the wrong thing.

“You think just because you’re okay with sacrificing yourself like an idiot that I should be okay with it too?”

You just manage to hold back a flinch at the harshness of her words. And then you actually do flinch as she grabs you, fingers digging into your upper arms a little, not enough to hurt but enough to keep you in place. “You think I’d just be okay with it? If something happened to you?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Ignoring you, she lets go of one of your arms to grab the front of your tattered vest, running her hand down the bloodstained fabric.

You remember all of a sudden that it’s not even your vest; it’s hers. You hadn’t been able to find yours this morning and she’d shrugged hers off without hesitation and handed it over, zipping it up for you.

“I’m really sorry about the vest,” you say quietly and you must really be making it your personal mission to say everything wrong today because this seems to tip her over the edge completely.

“I don’t care about the goddamn vest, Y/N! God you’re so --“she seems to struggle for what to say for a second, hands coming up to fist and unfist in the remains of said vest as she glares at you, as though you should understand what she’s trying to say. You don’t. “You’re just so reckless! Why would you do that!”

“Nat, I’m sorry --”

“Shut up!” She growls. You let out a squeak of surprise as she pulls you toward her roughly, hand sliding around to the back of your neck. “Just shut up!”

There’s a second of complete blankness in your mind, where you have no idea what’s happening until you realise that her lips are on yours and she’s kissing you.

You kiss her back eagerly, trying to hold onto what parts of her you can reach until with a little growl, she grabs your hands and pins them by your side, holding you in place firmly.

“Never do that again,” she orders sternly, when you break apart. She rests her forehead against yours as her eyes flutter open and meet yours. “Promise me you won’t do that again.”

Breathlessly, you just have time to mumble an agreement awkwardly —you’d do anything she asks of you right now just for the chance to kiss her again — before she pulls you back in.

#natasha romanoff x reader

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mmvalentine · 3 years

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Can I please get a moonstone palace bathtub smut for feysand???

Pleaseeeeeee

Honey I'm sorry this took me soooo long, this was actually the last one on my list before I decided to cut off my prompt intake so I did always mean to write it I've just not been having as much motivation lately! But yes, let's do this, let's get SOAPY!

Moonshine

Rhys was a little drunk.

Feyre had been at the Summer Court with Amren all day, up to their necks in meetings. Rhys had been doing the same at the day court and Helion conducted his official court business... differently. And so it was that Rhys got home just after Feyre, rather worse for wear.

"Feyre!" he called, slurring a little.

"In here," she called back, in the middle of folding some clothes away. Rhys poked his head round the door.

"Oh," he said. "There you are."

"In... our room? Yes, where else would I be?"

Rhys sighed. "I couldn't remember which house I was supposed to be at. I went to the house by the river, but it's all covered up."

"Yes," Feyre agreed, her lips twitching. "Renovations, remember?"

"So then I went to the House of the Wind," Rhys continued. "But Cassian and Nesta were there and kicked me out, so I went to the townhouse, and then remembered that Nyx lives there now- did you know our son is an adult who lives alone?"

"I did know that."

"So then I went to the cabin but you weren't there either... and here you are in the moonshine palace." He shook his head, and corrected himself. "The moonstone palace. Feyre we have so many houses."

"We do," Feyre smiled. "And you have had so much to drink. Moonshine indeed."

"Yes, well, you know Helion's rules. You have to do a shot every time you raise a new point. Or win a point. Or concede a point. Next time, I'm going to see Tarquin and you can deal with Helion."

"Tarquin doesn't like you, and you know I can't get through the agenda with Helion's rules."

Rhys looked outraged for a second. "Why?" he demanded.

"Because I am half the size of Helion. Maybe less."

"No, why doesn't Tarquin like me? Everybody likes me."

"Darling I have a more pressing question."

"Yes, what is it?"

"What... is all over you?"

Rhys looked down at himself, and appeared to think about it for a second. "It's marmalade," he said eventually.

"It's what?"

"A delegate from the human realm brought it."

"Okay," Feyre said slowly. "But why is it all over you?"

"You know, I have no idea."

"And how did you get it on your wings?"

Rhys turned his head quickly. "My wings are out?"

Feyre laughed. "Okay, never mind. Let's just get you cleaned up and into bed."

Rhys' expression shifted then, and bewilderment became something much more wicked.

"You know," he said, "the marmalade is quite delicious. You should give it a try. You could clean me off with your tongue."

Feyre rolled her eyes, and pushed her mate toward the large bathtub. Around the bathroom, candles flickered to life of their own accord.

"Or I could just clean you off with a sponge like a regular fae."

"Oh so you are going to be doing the cleaning," Rhys said, his eyes lighting. And with that, his orange stained suit disappeared and he pulled her against his naked chest.

Feyre landed with her hands on his skin, and her breath caught at the sudden movement. She made to push him away, but when she looked up at his face Rhys was looking at her with an intensity she did not think he was capable of in his inebriated state.

"You're joining me, yes?" Rhys purred, and already his hands were pulling at the fastenings behind her back.

"Well I-"

"Of course you are," and then faster than she expected he had the dress falling around her feet, and his teeth on her left nipple.

"Woah, okay, down boy," she struggled out. "You have sticky stuff in your hair."

"Marmalade," Rhys reminded her.

"Right." She led Rhys to the tub, and they both climbed in. Feyre bundled her hair on top of her head while Rhys located the aforementioned sponge, and handed it to her. He waved his hand and the tub filled with bubbles, and beneath them Rhys pulled Feyre's legs to circle around his waist. She slid along the smooth bottom of the tub, and when she reached Rhys she found him suddenly hard between her legs.

Her eyes went wide, but she did not acknowledge it. Instead, plunged the sponge into the water and then rubbed it over Rhys' chest and neck where the sticky substance had gotten under his shirt. Rhys, his hands idle, scooped hot water up Feyre's back and shoulders, and let his fingertips follow the line of her spine.

"We haven't had a bath together in ages," he said softly, eyes on her ear where his thumb stroked, as his palm rested against the side of her throat.

"Well," Feyre said, trying to concentrate on cleaning him up, "it's not often you're in need of such thorough cleaning."

Rhys reached forward and pulled Feyre up onto his lap, his cock now pressing insistently against her.

"Maybe I should get dirty more often then," he murmured, and then Feyre was avoiding his gaze as she dunked the sponge again and used it to clean the stuff out of his hair. A sweet orange smell was drifting through the steam as she went.

"You know you don't have to go to such extreme measures for us to spend time together," Feyre said, and then swiped the soapy sponge all the way down one of Rhys' wings.

Rhys shuddered violently in shock and pleasure as Feyre collected more water and rubbed down his other wing.

"Ohhh darling," he groaned. "Do that again."

Feyre bit back a smile and moved the sponge in circles, peering over Rhys' shoulder and carefully wiping away all the marks on the leathery surface. Rhys' hands had left her back and were now gripping the edges of the tub. His forehead was leaning against her chest, and she made sure to get her sponge into the curves of his joints, and around the base of his wing's talon. She lifted a wing back to get the underside, and pretended to not notice the way Rhys' cock twitched beneath her as she wiped rough strokes down the inside edge.

Rhys groaned again, and put his teeth in her shoulder. Feyre was fairly satisfied that she had gotten the muck off him, and was now squeezing water over him to clear the suds off.

"Is that better?" she crooned.

"Mmm it's the most exquisite torture," Rhys replied, and started to move her hips with his hands so that she was sliding up and down in his lap while she swirled more hot water over his wings. His motion stuttered when she ran the sponge over a particularly sensitive spot, and then he had his arms tight around her and then he had his mouth on hers and was leaning forward to kiss her harder.

Feyre dropped the sponge and tangled her hands in his hair. She had always loved how he looked with his hair wet and slicked back. Rhys kissed her greedily, and she had to admit she was also quite fond of fooling around when Rhys was tipsy. There was just something a little looser, a little messy but sexy about him when he was handsy-drunk, and even though Feyre hadn't been drinking, the intoxication seemed to be contagious.

Feyre drank the taste of moonshine off Rhys' lips and got lost in the tingling sensation where his fingers gripped her. And then he lifted her hips and brought her right down on his cock under the water.

It should be so familiar by now. A hundred years together, and one might think this wouldn't surprise Feyre anymore. But every time, every single time the pleasure of Rhys inside her was almost too much to bear. Feyre cried out and grabbed a hold of his shoulders, hanging on tightly as he started to bounce her in his lap.

"Fuuuck Feyre, fuck," Rhys groaned, as his head fell back against the edge of the tub and his hips tilted up to get deeper inside her. His eyes closed but his hands clutched tighter, and then Feyre took a hold of the sides of the tub to get leverage as they quickened their pace. "Gods you could kill a male fucking like this."

Rhys sat up suddenly, water sloshing noisily as closed his mouth over one of her breasts. His hand came up to massage the other, and his free hand squeezed her backside. Feyre moaned as his teeth touched her nipple, and changed her motion so that she was grinding into his lap instead of moving up and down. Rhys' tongue flicked over her peaked nipple and it seemed to echo in her clit, over and over until she was clawing at his neck and pushing back her orgasm, trying to stretch the feeling out.

Rhys saw it coming, dragged her mouth back to his and then kissed her with her tongue sucked into his mouth as he got his hands back on her hips and slammed into her exactly how he wanted it and not letting her hold anything back. And then she was screaming as she climaxed, head tipped back and sweat and steam and bubbles plastering the stray strands to her face as she came apart in the bathtub. Rhys was not far behind, and Feyre reveled in the unguarded, unrestrained sounds that he made, too.

When they had stopped moving, they sat for minutes just curled together like that. Eventually, Rhys yawned and Feyre kissed his head before whispering "Let's go to bed."

"I'll just sleep here," Rhys mumbled.

"You can't sleep in the bathtub," Feyre argued.

"Sure I can," Rhys said. "I'm doing it right now."

Feyre rolled her eyes, and disentangled herself from Rhys' arms. He growled in protest, but she managed to climb out of the tub and wrap a towel around herself.

"Alright your turn, come on."

Rhys slid down in the bath.

"Come on you big baby." Feyre reached in and hauled her giant, heavy mate out of the water with some difficulty, and decided it would be easier to magic him dry.

Rhys practically fell into bed and was asleep within seconds- but not before he managed to grab a hold of Feyre, pull her tight into his body, and kiss the back of her neck while his arms wound round her middle.

"Good night my love," Feyre said quietly, and then used magic again to send their clothes to the laundry and snuff the candles out, since once Rhys was unconscious and wrapped around her like this, there was no getting up until morning.

****

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace @philosophorumaurum02 @story-scribbler @allthecolorsneverseen @asteria-of-mars @fandomstalker27

#feysand #feysand fic #smut #mine #asks #prompt fill

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chiliiscereal · 3 years

Text

chosen last: part three

The people asked and so they shall receive

https://chiliiscereal.tumblr.com/post/650808822043115520/chosen-last

https://chiliiscereal.tumblr.com/post/651201066386554880/chosen-last-part-two

Summary: a boy takes notice of reader for the first time and Donnie is worried that he’s bad news. Little do both of them know, he’s right

Warning: mentions of attempted rape

——-

You felt so much better about yourself when your birthday was over. It was honestly one of the best you’d ever had. Better than the ones your friends planned anyway. You still went, but it was nothing like the party that the turtles threw. You didn’t think it could get any better.

Until, that is, something happened that almost made you change your mind.

You friend put a picture of you and her, together, up on Snapchat.

And... for the first time in your life... a guy took notice of you.

It wasn’t much. It was just “who’s that? Low key cute. Whats their snap?”

That happened to your friends.

Never to you.

Even more surprising, your friend gave him your snap.

Eric.

Eric was his name.

And he also went to your school!

You were incredibly nervous about this. Every single time a boy took interest in you it never seemed to be what your thought it was.

Last time a boy took interest in you it was ACTUALLY so they could get with your friend. That, my friends, was two years ago. Your friends blasted through boys like there was no tomorrow. But you? You’d never had someone interested in you like that.

Until now.

You talked to him and... honestly... you felt like there was something there.

He asked a lot about you and just seemed like the one, you know? You both shared the same interest in shows! You both enjoyed the same music!

Whenever he responded to you, you just couldn’t help but feel elated.

You would fall back on your bed and stare at the ceiling, feeling like this was a scene from a movie.

He didn’t wait for twenty minutes to respond to you.

He acknowledged every single thing you said.

And when he met up with you after school...

Wow.

Just wow.

He was incredibly handsome and polite.

He even held doors open for you!

You found yourself meeting up with him again and again.

It made you feel so... important.

Unfortunately, the turtles didn’t feel the same way.

————

“Who ya talkin’ to?” Leo leaned closer to look over your shoulder from his spot beside you on the couch.

It was movie night with the boys and April.

You brought you phone to your chest to obscure his view. “Hey hey hey back off!” You playfully shoved him away. “Just a friend.”

Mikey gave you a shit eating grin when he noticed the smile slipping onto your face. “Just a friend huh?” He pulled himself off the floor and reached for your phone. “Let me see let me see!”

You held it away from him to. “Woah this is my phone! Get away!”

A metal claw snatched it from your hand, retracting back to Donnie.

“And is this ‘friend’ a boy or a girl?” He opened your phone. “Ugh, what’s your password?”

You leapt off the couch and tried to grab your device back. “Does it matter?”

Donnie tapped away at the buttons, using his metal claws from his battle shell to keep you away. “No, it doesn’t matter unless it’s a BOY.” You phone buzzed slightly as it opened to your home screen. “Aha, I am in!”

Mikey and Leo both crawled over to their soft shelled brother to observe from behind him.

“Donnie, give it back.” You ordered, looking to April for help. She just shrugged and continued watching with a smirk. “Guys, come on! It’s not a big deal!”

Raph pulled himself off the floor and placed his hands on his hips. “Alright, jokes over; give the phone back.”

Donnie groaned. “Come on! I’m so close to figuring out who y/n’s talking to!”

Raph gave him a stern look. “Now. It’s private and obviously Y/n doesn’t want you looking through it.”

Donnie, Mikey, and Leo all gave him giant puppy eyes.

Raph simply held out his hand.

Donnie sighed. “Fine. Here.”

You sighed as well but in relief.

Raph took it from him, glancing down at your phone. To your dismay, it was open up to messages. “Eric Sherrin?” He asked in confusion.

“AHA!” Donnie shouted in triumph. “A name is all I need!” He began typing in the device on his wrist.

“Raph!” You accused angrily.

Ugh what were you gonna do now??

You’d never hear the end of this.

“Hey! Raph’s on your side! I didn’t know he could find out with just a name!” He held up his hands in defense.

“Eric?” April asked as she swiped through her phone. “Does he go to our school?”

You glared at Donnie before you decided whether or not to share that.

He shrugged. “Hey, I already have his social media up and every piece of information I could find. Whether or not you say will change nothing.”

“Fine.” You growled. “Yes, he goes to our school. He’s a mutual friend with my other friends.”

April raised a brow. “And that’s supposed to make me feel better.”

You shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Well it doesn’t.”

April was dead set on despising your friends. You knew she had good reason but you didn’t need it brought up now.

Leo took the computer that Donnie had sent all the information to, scrolling through Eric’s social media. “Wow, there are a lot of pictures of him holding fish.” He snorted. “Does he think that’s gonna impress people or something?”

“I’ve never understood the appeal.” Donnie shook his head. “So what? You killed an animal good for you.”

“I think it’s about killing a BIG animal.” Leo squinted at the screen. “There’s also lots of pictures of him with other girls.”

“Guys can you just stop?” You placed your hands on your hips. “It’s sweet that you’re trying to make sure he’s not some idiot but you’re invading his privacy-!”

“Woah, look what I found in his records from the school.” Donnie waved his brothers closer.

Even Raph and April did so.

“He harassed at girl at school?” Mikey repeated as he read the screen. “Really?”

“Yeah no this guy’s bad news.” Donnie shook his head in disappointment. “Y/n, give me your phone. I’ll block him for you.” He even reached his hand out expectantly.

You held your phone closer. “No, that’s just a rumor that spread at school.”

The boys stopped what they were doing.

“You knew?” Leo narrowed his eyes. “And you’re still interested?”

“He told me that the teachers didn’t believe him.” You responded as you crossed your arms. “Some girl made it up cause she didn’t like him.”

“You can’t take that risk.” Raph crossed his arms.

“Raph, I thought you were in my side!” You protested.

“That was before Raph found out that the guy harassed someone.” He defended. “Come on, you know this can’t end good.”

Your stomach burned with anger.

Anger that they felt they could order you around like that.

That they wouldn’t even let you figure it out yourself.

That this might end just like every other romantic interest would.

“Why won’t you just let me handle this myself?” You stuffed your hands in your pockets and flopped back down in the couch.

Mikey crawled into the spot next to you, wrapping his arms around you. “You’re one of our best friends! We don’t want anything to happen to you!” He gave you wide innocent eyes as if that would erase your anger.

Well... it did.

Curse him and his adorable eyes.

You rolled your eyes and hugged him back. “I know. I just want to figure this out myself.” You gave Donnie a hard glare as your rested your chin on Mikey’s shoulder.

“Fine.” He closed all the tabs on his computer grudgingly. “But I know this is just gonna end in heartbreak.”

“What a vote of confidence.” Leo snorted and plopped down in the spot next to you.

He smirked when you ignored him, still hugging Mikey.

“Hey, come on, you know you can’t stay mad at this face.” He leaned against you dramatically. “I’m the face man! You can’t resist me!” He pulled you away from Mikey and draped his arm over your shoulder. “You know you love me.”

You turned your head away from him, more playful now than spiteful.

“Come onnnnn...” he smirked. “You love meeee...”

You shoved him off the couch with a laugh. “I’m still thinking that over.”

Raph quickly took Leo’s seat as his younger brother rubbed the spot he’d landed on.

“No hard feelings?” Raph rested his arm on the couch behind you as he started the movie back up.

“Fine. No hard feelings.”

Leo moved so he was sitting on the floor and leaning against your legs.

You couldn’t stay mad at them. Well, except Donnie. You could very well stay mad at Donnie.

And it seemed that Donnie could stay mad at you as well. He left the room with all his tech, grumbling something under his breath.

“I already know how this is gonna end.” He grumbled.

“Love you to, Donnie.” You muttered, sinking into the couch.

Whatever.

He’d get over it soon enough.

————

Donnie didn’t get over it.

Whenever you came over to hang out he brought it up again casually. Well, as casually as Donnie could be, which wasn’t very casual at all.

“Ugh, this game sucks!” Mikey shouted at the tv once.

“Not as much as Eric What’s-his-face’s record.” He’d commented, giving you a glance out of the corner of his eye.

Or even:

“Ugh you can’t trust those pop up ads.” Raph told Leo when his phone had downloaded a virus after he clicked an ad.

“Just like how you can’t trust Eric.” He’d ran into the room to spit that out.

If Raph ever asked how things were going with Eric, Donnie either magically appeared next to him with a hopeful look or disappear with a groan.

You and Eric weren’t even together.

But... you hoped you would be soon.

He invited you to a party that Friday! And he’d specified that he’s invited you as his date.

Your friends were excited, surprisingly. They wanted to help you find an outfit and everything.

Finally, you felt like things were going right.

Why couldn’t Donnie just be happy for you?

——-

“Why won’t you come?” You begged April as she flopped down onto your bed.

“You’ve got Eric and all of your other friends.” She waved you off. “Besides, you know I hate parties.” She sat up slightly. “And Eric gives me the heebie jeebies.”

You rolled your eyes and held out a dress. “Yeah, yeah. Fine, I won’t make you.”

April touched the fabric of the dress with a frown. “Is this what your friends picked out for you? I thought you didn’t like dresses?”

You shrugged. “They said Eric would like it and that it looked good on me.”

April fully sat up now. “But you’re gonna be so uncomfortable in that!”

“I mean, it’s supposed to be pretty, not comfy, right?” You shrugged, slipping it on over your head. “Does it look good?” You gave her a small twirl.

“Of course it’s pretty... but its a little... much.” She shook her head. “Does Eric really deserve to see you in that?”

The last bit was playful but still...

“I think so.” You say down beside her. “I’m just so incredibly nervous and I don’t know if this is a bad idea.”

You felt exposed.

But, you also trusted that the people at the party could be trusted with that.

April draped her arm over your shoulder. “Well you look stunning.”

You smiled back at her. “Thanks.”

“Alright, girl, your party’s in twenty minutes. Ready to head out?” She jabbed her thumb in the direction of the door.

You stood up and smoothed out the dress. “Ready.”

———

You stood in front of the house nervously. You could hear the music and see the lights and people dancing. You just didn’t know if you actually were ready.

“You look hot, y/n.” Your friend told you, glancing at one of your other friends. “He’s gonna love it.”

You didn’t really love it, but if he liked it then so would you.

“Hope so.” You muttered, checking your phone.

Donnie sent you a simple text:

Don’t trust Eric and keep pepper spray on hand.

Wow, such confidence.

You ignored it and stuffed your phone in the dress pocket. You didn’t need that. You needed all the confidence you could muster.

“Wow.” A voice said from behind you, causing you to jump.

There was Eric, dressed nicely and with a charming smile on his face.

“You look hot.” He grinned.

Your stomach fluttered. “Oh, thank... thank you!”! You smoothed it out nervously.

You didn’t know if your stomach felt this way out of nerves or out of feelings for him. You really couldn’t tell.

He placed his hand over your hip and pulled you to his side. “Well Let’s head on in! Can’t wait to show you off.”

Your stomach jumped. “Well, I just wanted to wait a little,” he opened the door and dragged you in, “oh okay!”

Your friends and Eric were at your side the whole time.

You still felt as if you were on display while you and your group were dancing.

You still felt like the dress was too short when you and Eric sat down on the couch.

You felt like he was staring at you when you noticed the couples in the room kissing and making out.

“You wanna head upstairs?” He asked as he took your hand.

Your heart jumped. “No, no I’m good. Really.”

“Come on.” He nodded his head in the direction of the stairs. “It’ll be fun!”

You shook your head. “No I don’t want to go upstairs.”

He looked disappointed but you stayed confident with your choice. You didn’t want that and you weren’t ready.

He recovered quickly and dropped your hand. “Alright! I’m just gonna go talk to a friend real quick, I’ll be back.”

You sighed in relief when you realized he wouldn’t push it on you.

He got up and you pulled out your phone, trying to decide if you wanted to text Donnie back.

You settled on typing:

Yeah yeah whatever.

You saw he read it but he didn’t respond.

What was with him?

Why couldn’t he just be happy?

You glanced up, noticing Eric talking to one of your friends. You noticed him glance back at you and then back at your friend. She handed him something and he left to go to the kitchen.

You went back to your phone, waiting to see if Donnie would respond.

You just wanted your friend back.

Why couldn’t he just... ugh no you had to stop asking that. He was being too judgemental and untrusting.

There was nothing untrustworthy about Eric.

He was just being crazy...

You glanced up again, noticing Eric at the drink table. Whatever it was your friend had given him, he was slipping it in his drink.

You looked closer.

It was some sort of... powder?

When he turned back around you immediately acted like you hadn’t been watching.

He made his way to you and sat down, a drink in each hand. “I thought you looked a little thirsty, so I got you a soda!”

He handed you the red cup enthusiastically.

No, he couldn’t be trying to spike your drink. He wouldn’t do that.

But he was looking at you so expectantly.

“Oh, thank you!” You swirled the soda suspiciously. “I’m pretty sure I’m allergic to corn syrup so... sorry.” You set the drink back down.

Again, he looked disappointed. Maybe even a little mad.

“Hey, We’re gonna go upstairs and play a game!” Your friend shouted from across the room. “Wanna join?”

“What game?” You asked, feeling incredibly nervous.

“Truth or dare!” She giggled. “You’ll love it!”

Eric jumped on that idea expectantly. “Come on lets go!”

“I don’t really...”

He pulled you up before you could even finish.

You wanted to stay where people could see you!

But... you WERE gonna be with your friends...

“Alright, Fine.” You settled. “I’ll go.”

“Awesome!”

You and your group headed up and down the hallway.

Your friend opened the door for you and let you in first. Eric followed closely behind you.

It was a bedroom. A very dark bedroom.

“Hey, We’re gonna head down to the bathroom and freshen up first.” One of your friends smirked. “You two have fun!”

“Wait, no-!”

They were already gone and the door was shut.

Eric had gotten you upstairs.

Alone.

————-

Donnie sighed, trying hard to focus on his work. “Why can’t y/n just listen to me.” He groaned to himself. “I’m just trying to help! How does that make me the bad guy?”

He continued wiring his latest invention, frustrated at how he kept messing up.

“It’s not gonna end well.” He growled. “It’s gonna end in heartbreak and I’m gonna have to pick up the pieces.”

“If y/n even trusts you with that.” Leo added from behind him, causing him to jump.

“Nardo, how long have you been standing there?” He glowered at him. “I’m busy.”

Leo held up his hands in surrender. “A while. Anyway, you’re just pushing y/n away.”

“But y/n isn’t listening to me!” He protested, dropping his tool. “I’m right!”

“Maybe, but you’re also being a jerk.” He shrugged. “Maybe she’ll get her heart broken but you could at least be there for support.”

“Oh no no no I’m not supporting that relationship.” He shook his head vigorously and picked up his screwdriver.

“Not the relationship, egghead.” Leo rolled his eyes. “Our friend?”

“Oh.” Donnie tapped the table in thought. “Yeah, I guess I shouldn’t have left y/n on read...”

“...And maybe go apologize?” Leo prompted.

“No she’s at a party.” He glanced around his phone, checking your location again. “Actually...” he leaned closer to stare at his screen, “y/n’s not at the party any more.”

“Perfect!” Leo clasped his hands together. “Go apologize!”

“It can’t wait?”

“Go!”

———-

You sat on the rooftop, clutching your jacket to your body and watching the city.

How could you have been so stupid.

How could have let something like that happen.

It was incredibly cold on the rooftop but you didn’t want to move. You didn’t want to go home. You CERTAINLY didn’t want to go to the lair either.

You just wanted to watch the city and pretend everything was okay again.

Why did you have to get your hopes up.

No one ever took interest in you like that unless they wanted something from you.

“Scoff, there you are!” Said the last person you wanted to talk to. “I thought you were in the building and spent about an hour searching for you.”

“Tracking device?” You asked, not even looking at him.

“Yep.” Donnie confirmed. “Now, might I inquire why you’re out here?” He glanced at his watch. “And not at your party?”

You stayed quiet.

“Something happen with Eric?”

You gave him nothing.

“I knew it!” He jumped up and cheered. “I was right! I was RIGHT! Ha!”

His every word made you feel colder and more embarrassed.

“I knew from the start! I knew he was untrustworthy!” He continued. “Eat that!”

Finally, he calmed down enough to sit next to you.

“Now, tell me, what did he do?” He leaned close expectantly. “Did he cheat? Did he kiss a girl? Did he try to get with one of your friends? Did he-?”

“He tried to rape me.” You spat out, bringing your knees to your chest.

Well I’m out of room XD

Part four up soon!

#rottmnt x reader #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt raph #rottmnt oneshots #rottmnt leo #rottmnt imagine #rottmnt headcannons #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt x reader

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p-artsypants · 3 years

Text

A Gift from Mr. Blanc

Marinette's worst nightmares were of Chat Blanc. But that's all they were: nightmares. Until one day where in the stone cold light of day, Chat Blanc walked into the classroom, with a gift in hand. "This will make you love me again, My Lady."

Ao3 | FF.net

Everyone is on this Chat Blanc train, so I bought a ticket and got a window seat.

“Yes, Timestreamer, find me the best Akuma ever created!” Shadowmoth raised a manic fist as the images appeared before him.

The woman who was once Nathalie Sancoeur stood next to him, now transformed into an Akuma with thick glasses, which almost looked like VR goggles.

In a fit of artist’s block, Gabriel Agreste had vented that he had run out of ideas for Akuma. He had to keep going, and the villains couldn’t slack less Ladybug and Chat Noir get the upper hand.

To which Nathalie had said, “well, you don’t need to reinvent the wheel.”

She had meant it to be cheeky, but he took inspiration from it in a whole new way. Why invent a new villain when one from a different time is sure to work? Timetagger, an Akuma from the future, had seemed to almost win. Perhaps there were more like him out there.

He only needed someone to see the timelines so he could pick his champion.

So here they were, scanning through endless time streams, looking at massive successes, and massive failures. There really was no telling which one would do the job, but unless Timestreamer’s Akuma was taken or, heaven forbid, the Butterfly was taken, they could send villain after villain after villain.

Yes, this was a good plan!

“That one!” Shadowmoth pointed, the stark white catching his gaze.

“That one?” Timestreamer asked, feeling unease looking into his soulless blue eyes.

“That has to be Chat Noir’s akumatized form. He’s perfect.”

Following orders, Timestreamer summoned the Akuma forward.

From the static images appeared a grainy figure, slowly solidifying into a solid white boy. His expression was one of confusion and disorientation.

“Chat Blanc, I am Shadowmoth,” he began.

Immediately, Chat Blanc snarled. “You! You monster!” And he leapt.

Suffice to say, neither Timestreamer or Shadowmoth were prepared for a full on fight this early in the conversation.

Shadowmoth did have training in fighting, and successfully blocked the incoming swipe at his throat with his arm. However, the claws cut right through his suit and into his flesh, making him cry out in pain.

The next swipe hit true, and knocked the butterfly Miraculous from its place on his collar.

Chat Blanc then plucked the Peacock from his lapel while Gabriel Agreste tried to put pressure on his grievous wounds.

“Why?” Asked Gabriel, “don’t you know I made you? Don’t you know I can give you everything you want?”

Chat Blanc didn’t respond, only snapped the goggles off of a shell shocked Timestreamer. He then touched the black butterfly with his claw, and it crumbled into dust.

Nathalie ran to Gabriel and looked at his wounds. “You need to go to a hospital.”

“No!” He protested, pushing her away. “Answer me, boy! You’re easily the most powerful Akuma ever made. Once you get the Miraculous of Ladybug and this timeline’s Chat Noir, we can make the ultimate wish! Whatever your heart’s desire, it’s yours!” He reached a hand out to the boy.

Chat Blanc, who Gabriel knew as the exuberant and emotional Chat Noir, just looked at him with a sharp, emotionless stare.

“You already took everything from me, Father. This is my one chance to get things back to where they are supposed to be.”

“Adrien?”

The gaze didn’t change, but he did raise an eyebrow. “In my timeline you knew. You knew, and you still hurt me. You hurt her. You turned me, and you forced me to kill. You left me alone in that world for months. Left me to mourn. Cursed me to this form—“ he snarled. “That can’t starve, that can’t sleep, that can’t thirst or drown—“ a tear fell down his cheek. “You left me in a prison where I couldn’t die, and would continue to suffer because of your mistakes.” He gave a hint of a bitter smile. “Does that answer your question, old man?”

Maybe it was just the blood loss, but Gabriel felt some remorse. “I’m sorry, son. Give me back the Butterfly, and I’ll set you free.”

“Not a chance. Ladybug will fix me. And when I give her these, she’ll love me again. And I’ll have all the family I ever need.” With that, he summoned his baton to break through the window, and launched out into Paris.

Gabriel laid still on the ground, holding his chest with one hand while Nathalie gripped his wrist with the other.

“I…what am I going to do?”

“Well, you know Adrien has the ring—“

“No doubt Chat Blanc will tell him everything before we can get to him. I don’t think that’s an option anymore.”

“Then…what would you like to do?”

He spent a long time just breathing and thinking.

Choosing.

“I guess, apologize. And then hope that I haven’t done enough damage to lose the only family I have left.”

“Maybe, if he is Chat Noir, and you explain the truth to him…he’ll tell Ladybug. Maybe she’d help.”

“I doubt she’d do anything to help me, after all I’ve done.” He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “I could just bleed out here. Save him the pain.”

“I won’t let you do that, Sir. As upset Adrien will be, he still loves you.”

“But for how long?”

“I think you should live and find out.”

—

Chat Blanc had never been so happy. He should be upset, angry, sobbing even, but he wasn’t.

He was getting his second chance. Paris was full, alive, teeming with traffic and swearing and smoking and everything foul that wasn’t there in his wastelands.

Hawkmoth was gone, and he was on his way to Marinette. With these, she had to love him, she just had to.

Francois DuPont never looked so pretty. The windows showed bored expressions of dozens of students.

Students that were alive and not submerged under water.

He dropped down in the courtyard, letting muscle memory take him up the stairs to his old classroom. The door was closed, but not locked.

Did he knock? Or did he just walk in? It had been so long…did he introduce himself? Did he apologize for interrupting?

He decided to forgo knocking, and pushed the door open on his own.

All eyes turned to look at him, but his attention was only on her.

Though he did get a glimpse of his own horrified face.

“Chat Noir?” The teacher asked.

“No.” He shook his head. “Not anymore.” He never stopped looking right at Marinette.

“I must be dreaming,” the girl in question said aloud. “I must have fallen asleep, and now I’m having a nightmare.” Tears were filling her eyes as her voice crumbled. “Please tell me you’re a nightmare, Chat.”

“No, My Lady. I’m real.” Did she know him from somewhere? Or was she just assuming he was an akumatized Chat Noir? “But this shouldn’t be a nightmare, Marinette.” His steps were slow and soft, trying not to spook her. “I’m your dream come true. Because it’s over now, and we can be together.”

She stood abruptly, smacking her knees on the desk and almost tumbling. “What are you talking about?”

He placed the Miraculous on the desk. “It’s over now. I won. Hawkmoth is no more, and there’s nothing that can hurt us. This will make you love me again!”

“Holy shit…” Said Alya.

Marinette just stared at them, and then at Chat. “How—?”

“He brought me here. Somehow, an Akuma I guess. He plucked me out of my time, and brought me here. This is my chance to start again, you know.” He grabbed her wrist. “Now our love won’t ruin the world! We can be happy again, My Lady! We can be happy and nothing will tear us apart!”

Adrien, who had up until very recently, by reveal of a certain nickname, thought that Marinette was only just Marinette, grabbed Chat Blanc and yanked him back, forcing him to let go of Marinette.

“Don’t touch her!” He snapped.

“And you—“ Chat Blanc grabbed him by the throat and lifted him into the air. “A little liar with too much self preservation! Why didn’t you act sooner?! Why couldn’t you save her?!”

Adrien clawed at the hand on his throat. “I don’t—know what the hell—you’re talking about!”

“Don’t play stupid, Adrien! It’s not going to work on me, and you know that!”

His voice was just a whisper now, as he attempted to meet Chat Blanc’s gaze. “Whatever, man. But you think outing her is smart? You think that’ll make her like you?”

Chat Blanc crushed harder, suffocating him. “It doesn’t matter with Hawkmoth out of the way! And once I kill you, there will be no competition! She’ll love me for sure!”

Marinette had stashed the Miraculous in her purse once Chat Blanc had turned his back. She was going to attempt to talk him down, but at his threat on Adrien’s life, she realized he was beyond talking.

“Tikki, Spots on!”

Chat Blanc whirled back around, only to get a fist to the face.

Adrien fell on the floor, gasping.

“Are you alright?” She asked, helping him up.

He rubbed his neck sheepishly as he nodded. He knew she was Marinette, but the mask still turned his legs to jelly.

“Why do you protect him, Ladybug? Don’t you know you can just be happy with me?”

Marinette pushed Adrien behind her. “I might be able to be happy with my Chat Noir, but never with you. I love Adrien, and I’ll fight to protect him, even if he doesn’t love me back.” Though it was a brave declaration, she still blushed.

“Ugh, don’t you get it? I am him!”

“What?”

“I’m Adrien! Adrien is Chat Noir! We’re supposed to be together! And we were! We were happy, Marinette! And then—and then you told me you didn’t love me anymore. You almost got akumatized over that…but I saved you.” He snarled. “But he kept us apart. My father knew who I was, and he turned me into this…”

“Wait,” Adrien rasped. “Father turned you into…an akuma?”

“Because he’s Hawkmoth, Adrien. He always has been. Mother is alive, in a coma, in the basement. And he never let you see her, because he doesn’t trust you.”

“Shut up!” Ladybug shouted.

“Even after he knew who I was, he still hit me. He beat me, Adrien, because he doesn’t love us!”

Adrien held a hand over his face, willing his sobs to stay silent.

“We’re just a pawn for him. But…I can make it better. Let me destroy you, and everything will stop hurting. I’ll take care of Marinette, I promise!”

“That’s enough!” Ladybug lashed out and snagged his bell, ripped it from his throat, and smashed it on the floor.

Then she caught the butterfly as it emerged, purified it, and let it go. But she didn’t call for a cure, not yet.

Chat Noir, sans bell, glanced around the room in confusion. “Ladybug? What’s going on? Why are we here? Where’s Hawkmoth?”

She met him with tear streaked cheeks. “You’re in the wrong timeline, Chat Noir.”

His eyes flicked to Adrien, who was clearly shell shocked. “That would make…some sense.”

“You were akumatized, and our Hawkmoth brought you here…probably to recruit you.”

“Did I hurt anyone?”

“You beat him. You beat Hawkmoth.”

“And you tried to take my place,” Adrien hissed, showing his bruised throat.

Chat Noir gripped his hair fiercely. “Oh crap! Oh crap crap crap! I’m so sorry! He’ll be all better once you do the cure, right Bug?”

“Yeah. Physically, at least…but you did say some things that will hurt for a long time.”

“I didn’t mean any of it! I was an Akuma, they lie and say all sorts of things—“

“You told me about Father. And mother.”

“Oh…” he sighed. “Unfortunately, that’s too fresh in my mind to be a lie. I saw mom. He wanted to use the Miraculous to bring her back, but he was so unwilling to listen to me, to even think about working with us—that’s how it happened. He got me.”

“I’m so sorry, Kitty.” Ladybug lamented. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

He shook his head. “It’s over now. If I defeated him, then you don’t have to be subjected to it,” he told Adrien. “I don’t mind taking one for the team.”

“Did you kill him?” Adrien asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Even if he did, casting cure would fix it.” Said Ladybug. “There might be hope for a happy ending.”

Chat Noir took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “My Lady, will you send me back? I have to see her again. My Marinette. I have to see her and make up with her.”

Ladybug patted his cheek fondly. “Knowing me, she probably still loves you. But something happened to make her put distance between you.”

“You’ll be happy together, right?” He asked, pouting.

Adrien slipped an arm around her waist and held her. “I think we’ll manage.”

Ladybug hugged Chat briefly. “Thank you. For all your trauma and suffering, you helped us.”

“You also revealed both of our identities to the class, but that’s the kind of mistake I would make as an Akuma…” Adrien winced.

Chat Noir looked at all the shocked and concerned faces around him. “Wow, look at all these comforting, understanding, and loyal friends you have. Where’s Lila?”

“Out sick today,” provided Sabrina.

“Perfect! Don’t ever ever tell her what happened here. She’s a liar and would tell our identities in a heartbeat for a chance for fame.”

“Not a problem, Kitty Cat,” said Alya, with a wink. “Some of us are pretty good secret keepers.”

“You knew!?” Adrien cried, with betrayal in his voice.

Alya winced. “Ah, yeah…”

“Adrien.” Ladybug took his face and held it with trembling hands. “My kitty, my partner, my best friend, what I’m about to tell you is going to suck and you’re going to hate it, and that’s why I haven’t told you.”

“I’ve already had a lot of bad news dropped on me today, lay it on me.”

She glanced at the rest of the class and then Chat Noir. “Let me send him home, and then we’ll talk in privacy.”

He nodded, not really fond of how much the class had already learned about him today.

Ladybug threw her yo-yo up in the air. “Miraculous Ladybug!”

In a wave of fluttering red, Chat Noir was gone, and so were the bruises on Adrien’s neck.

“Spots off.”

Now, the class started whispering. Up until that moment, shock held them in silence. After all, it's not everyday you find out your classmates are superheroes.

“Miss Bustier, are you okay if we leave for a while?”

The teacher stammered a second, unfreezing from her complete and total shock. “I think it would be a crime to make you stay here today.”

Marinette smiled gratefully, before taking Adrien’s hand and leading him out into the hall. He was silent, rightfully so, and Marinette could only be happy there was no chance of him getting akumatized.

Finally, they took a seat on a bench, and waited for the other to speak.

“I…didn’t think this was how our identities would be revealed,” he breathed.

“I always wanted to tell you.” Marinette insisted, “even though I said otherwise. Tikki and Master Fu were so adamant that I not tell a soul.”

“So why does Alya know?”

She rested a hand on his. “I’ll get to that. But first…Chat Blanc.”

Adrien sat attentive and quiet, holding his accusations for later.

“It started about three months ago, when I gave you that Beret.”

“Beret? The one from the Brazilian fan club?”

“Yeah…except it wasn’t. It was from me. Originally, I left it in your room, with my name on it. My real name. A little while after I left, Bunnix came to me, and explained that she needed my help. She took me into her burrow, and led me to the future…the future where you were akumatized.”

“As Chat Blanc.”

“Yes.”

“That same akuma, that same Chat Noir?”

“I assume so. The moon was destroyed, the city flooded. You were all alone, everyone was gone.”

“Where…where was that Ladybug?”

She hesitated to say it, but admitted, “I found her underwater…cataclysmed.”

“No…I wouldn’t have—“

“I know, Adrien. Chat Blanc was upset about it too. He cried. He wanted my Miraculous to make the wish and fix it.”

“Sounds like an Akuma alright,” he said bitterly.

“At the time, all I knew was that you knew my identity, and you said that our love destroyed the world. So…I assumed that you became akumatized by finding out who I was…and that the beret had something to do with it. So I erased my name.”

“Oh…but Chat Blanc said he was akumatized because of my parents.”

“I didn’t know that back then. I wish I had. As it stood, I was certain an identity reveal would end up with an Akuma.”

“I understand your reasoning…but what about Alya?”

She sighed, the guilt toiling around inside her. “That wasn’t…it was a spur of the moment thing. I was back into a corner and people were getting really worried about me. Worried and nosey…and so I told Alya. Rena Rouge.”

“Ah. I see.”

“I should have told you. I should have told you so you could have told someone. It’s not fair to think I was the only one that needed a confident.”

“If I had to pick someone that wasn’t you, it would have been Nino. So I get it. Really, I do.”

Tears welled up in her eyes regardless. He was hurting so badly, but what could she even do to help?

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“Yes! Yes I do! Adrien, you’re my partner. Yes, keeping secrets can keep us safe for a while, but eventually we’ll run out of trust and then we’ll be in danger again. I don’t want to lose you!”

He gave her a little smile. “I might be upset, but you aren’t going to lose me. I promise.”

She squeezed his hand. “No more secrets. We train as guardians together. I’ll tell you all the auxiliary heroes, and all the formulas and—“ she stopped, blushing.

“What?”

“Ugh…I have to tell you something, since I said no more secrets.”

“Is it bad?”

“…no?”

He turned his hand to squeeze her back. “Okay. Well then, let’s hear it.”

She looked away, too nervous to look at his face. “Gah! This is just as hard as it’s always been!”

“I’m not going to judge you.”

“I know! I know!”

Pretend this is just Chat. She goaded herself.

“I…I’m in…love with you?” She squeaked out. There. The deed was done. She shyly turned to look at him.

Wide, sparkling eyes full of tears, but a big smile on his face. “You mean it? You said as much to Chat Blanc, but I didn’t know for sure…”

“Ugh, right. That.” She nodded. “You were the boy I kept turning…well, you down for. I’m sorry…”

“I’m not!” He chirped. “Marinette, if anyone was going to have a crush on me as Adrien, I’m so glad it’s you. You really know me! You’re special to me, and I always considered you as a friend.”

She sighed, hearing the magic words. “As I’ve heard.”

He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She blushed again. “It’s just…whenever we had a moment, or I tried to do something special for you, you always remind me that you feel…nothing for me.”

“Wait, what? That’s what you got out of that?”

“That you want me as a friend and just a friend?”

He actually laughed at her and pulled her into a hug. “Marinette, I thought you were nervous around me because you were uncomfortable. I said that stuff to let you know I treasured our friendship. I love you so so much, My Lady. I was deeply in love with Ladybug, and completely in denial with Marinette.”

“Can confirm!” Shouted Plagg from inside his jacket.

“So having you be the same? I’m…I’m so happy!” He hugged her tightly. “Today has thrown a lot of bad things at me, and I’m so worried about what comes next. But with you, I’m sure I’ll be okay.” He pulled away slightly. “You…will stay with me for whatever happens, right? I know Hawkmoth being my dad is kind of a deal breaker…”

Marinette wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned up into him, kissing him right on the mouth.

He stiffened briefly, before melting against her and pulling her tighter into the hug.

The kiss was perfect, not in execution or performance, but because of the love they felt. Adrien nipped at her lip, and Marinette hummed as she twined her fingers into his hair.

They pulled away begrudgingly.

“You and me against the world, right Kitty?”

“You know exactly what to say to make my heart swoon, my lady love.”

“I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“Kiss me and I’ll get over it.”

“I’m serious, Kitty.” She touched his cheek. “I knew it was going to hurt, and I foolishly and cowardly put it off, hoping it would go away.”

“Marinette, from what you said…it wasn’t just painful for me. It scared you, didn’t it? You said…when Chat Blanc appeared, that you thought you were having a nightmare. Do you dream of him?”

“Sometimes.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Adrien.”

He considered his next move, and decided to scoop her up into his lap. “So, here’s my idea. If you have another nightmare about him, you call me, and I’ll be there in a jiffy.”

“And do what?”

“Hold you. Kiss you. Reassure you. Cuddle with you until you fall asleep. Whatever you need.”

She snuggled closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you too, bugaboo.”

Silence lapsed between for a while, as they just sat together, enjoying the warmth of their bodies, and the open air between them.

Marinette sighed. “We should probably go confront your father.”

“Yeah. We should…”

“Could…I offer you a reward if we go through with it?”

“What could possibly motivate me?”

“Once we’re done, and everything is put away…we can find a random, secluded rooftop and…make out for a while.”

Adrien stood, with Marinette still in his arms. “You know how to motivate a man.”

“I’ll be with you every step of the way. Just think about later.”

“One peck for the road?”

“One.”

Adrien held her tightly before dipping her and pressing a sinful, toe-curling kiss to her lips. When he finished a few minutes later, she breathlessly huffed, “that was not a peck.”

“No, but I need the strength.”

“Somehow, it’s a lot harder to stay mad at you. You can put me down now.”

“Nah. Plagg, Claws out!”

“Tikki, Spots on!”

The closer they got to the mansion, the faster Chat’s mood tanked. All the surface level happy feelings had bubbled away, and now he was filled with dread and apprehension.

“I…I don’t want to send my dad to jail,” he said, as they landed inside the walls.

“I know Kitty. I can do the talking.”

“You’re so good at it, Princess.”

She knocked twice, but didn’t wait for an answer before entering.

It didn’t matter. Gabriel and Nathalie were sitting in the lobby, waiting, as it appeared.

“Hello son,” said Gabriel, with not a trace of malice in his voice.

Chat halted, paling considerably. “You know?”

“Chat Blanc revealed as much. What did he tell you?”

“He said that…mom was still alive. You wanted the Miraculous to wake her up.”

“That’s right. But…” he sighed. “Can I humble myself and ask for your help, Ladybug? Can you look at her? Can you see if there’s any hope?”

“I would love to.”

#miraculous #ml #miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #marinette dupain cheng #adrienette #adrien agreste #chat blanc #ladynoir #identity reveal

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yourdeepestfathoms · 3 years

Text

melting fire

Bela had never been so hot before.

Delirious and fever-stricken, she squirmed on her bed, desperately trying to escape the burning heat inside of her. It was like she was laying in the hot sand of a desert, slowly being fried by the sun that wasn’t there. Because she was in her bedroom, shrouded by dim shadows, and the only light was coming from a singular gas lamp on her desk, flickering faint yellow-gold across the floor. But it was so hot, the blankets like plains of fire on her skin, doing little to bring her any comfort.

A soft moan managed to escape Bela’s flaking lips. Her mouth was dry, tongue like burnt coals. She desperately needed water--not even blood, but nice, cold water--but she couldn’t get up. She could barely even move aside from her twisting and turning in a vain attempt to get comfortable.

Her breath came out thin, reedy, and too-hot. She thought she could spout flames, maybe. She had to be burning alive.

There was a squeak as her bedroom door creaked open. She pried open her heavy eyelids to see two silhouettes creeping towards her bed. She instinctively bared her teeth and spat at the trespassers, too weak to raise her claws to defend herself.

“Someone is cranky,” teased a voice.

Wait-- she knew that voice.

Bela settled as her sisters perched on the edge of the bed.

“Sorry,” she rasped, her voice weak and hoarse from illness. “I’m kinda delirious.”

“Kinda?” Cassandra raised an amused eyebrow. “Do you know what you were doing before you passed out earlier?”

“Do I want to know?” Bela asked nervously.

Daniela helpfully supplied her with details: “You were all wobbly and Mother set a hand on your shoulder and said it was to keep you from falling. Your response was, ‘It’s okay, five-second rule.’”

Bela’s face flushed red--redder than it already was than her fever. “Oh--”

Daniela didn’t relent: “And then you started stroking Mother’s arm hair and said, ‘You’d make such a good carpet.’”

“Okay, that’s enou--”

“You also said, ‘my bones feel wet, may I have a napkin?’”

“Daniela--”

“Oh, and we can’t forget, while at breakfast and you were still trying to act like you were okay: ‘Coffee doesn’t taste like coffee, but it sure does taste like brown.’”

“Okay, okay!” Bela yelped, then coughed into her blankets. “I get it. I was out of it.”

“Very out of it,” Cassandra said, stroking her claws through Bela’s sweaty hair. Bela, rationalizing that she couldn’t get any more embarrassed than she already was, leaned her head into her sister’s touch, letting out a soft purr of contentment. Cassandra’s talons were nimble and uncharacteristically gentle against her burning scalp.

“Where is Mother?” Bela asked.

“Aww, are we not good enough company for you, Beli?” Daniela teased playfully.

“I didn’t say that!” Bela squeaked. She hunched her shoulders in. “I was just wondering.”

“Somewhere around here,” Cassandra said vaguely. “She’ll probably come to check on you soon.”

Bela nodded sluggishly. Her head was beginning to fill with fog again. “Alright…” she murmured.

“Aww,” Daniela cooed. “She’s getting all silly again.” She reached out and lightly dragged her claws down one of Bela’s clammy cheeks, probably thinking she was being comforting, when really her touch was just ticklish.

Bela bared her teeth at her, though she barely opened her eyes. “Shut it.”

Daniela tittered.

“Well, we’ll let you rest,” Cassandra said, tugging on Daniela’s arm.

“Sleep well!” Daniela said as she was pulled out of the room.

“Thanks,” Bela replied.

The door shut and she was left in darkness once again.

Bela rolled onto her side and curled up in her blankets. A moment later, she rolled onto her other side, but it did little to help her discomfort. Her body was aching all over and no position was good enough.

Outside, the wind was howling. Another snowstorm was blowing in, loud and powerful. She turned over again to watch the snowfall. The snowflakes flew like dozens of little whiteflies behind the glass, twisting and twirling through the air. It made her think of her own flies, and she broke off a piece of her skin into a cluster of insects. She was desperately lonely and wanted something to interact with since she didn’t have her sisters or mother there with her.

With blurry eyes, Bela watched dazedly as her insects flew around her head. She held out a finger and they lined up on it in a perfect arrangement: blowfly, flesh fly, dogbane beetle, Spanish fly, black vine weevil, drain fly, green bottle fly, clothes moth, click beetle, room spinning, ears ringing, eyes shutting…

Bela’s head jerked back when she began to nod off, sending her bugs into a scattering cloud of frantic wingbeats. She blinked her eyes furiously, but it did little to dispel the fuzziness over everything. It was like she was looking underwater. She rubbed her heavy eyelids, and moving her arms was like trying to move solid beams of lead.

Her fever flared. She moaned weakly in pain.

Her skin was baking, boiling right off of her bones. Her limbs were sacks of heated stones and smoldering embers that she had to drag around with her, and her ears simply felt like they were lit on fire. Her cheeks felt like someone was holding hot iron to the sides of her face and wouldn’t let go, no matter how loud she screamed.

To put it simply, she was like a roasted lamb on a spit, rotating slowly above hungry flames. Sometimes, she had fallen into their orange-gold mouths. She could almost feel the flaming tongues licking at her skin…

Bela squirmed, whining faintly. She couldn’t handle this. She couldn’t take this heat. She used to think the cold was bad, but this-- this was just awful.

She had to escape it.

As though beckoning her, the blizzard howled.

Bela raised her head--which was rather difficult, as it felt like it weighed a ton--and squinted. The snow usually wasn’t very enticing, but something about it now seemed to call to her. It was inviting her to join its cool embrace, promising to soothe her raging fever. She had to oblige to it.

Sliding out of bed, Bela staggered towards the window. The glass was cool against her palms when she pressed her hands to it, but felt even better on her burning forehead. She let out a sigh of relief as the chill invaded her, but it wasn’t good enough. She needed more. She needed to be rid of this fire inside of her.

Bela pushed against the window. It didn’t budge. She whined and pushed harder. It still didn’t budge. Mother kept them locked for good reason, but Bela needed to get out now. She felt like she was being cremated and didn’t know how much longer she could handle it.

Finally, after a few moments of desperate struggling, the window relented under her assault and she was embraced by the soothing cold. It didn’t hurt as much as she thought it would. It felt…nice.

Letting out a sigh of relief, Bela relaxed her body and shut her eyes to rest.

--- --- ---

Alcina was alerted by the sound of glass shattering. She had been idly flipping through a book when she heard the horrendous smashing sound. Instantly, she snapped to her feet and began striding down the hallway until she got to Bela’s room. Upon opening the door, she was greeted by a blast of cold air, which was as freezing as the black ice that suddenly sprinted through her veins.

“Bela?” Alcina shouted. Stepping inside, she noticed that the window was broken open and her eldest daughter was nowhere to be seen. “Bela?!”

Alcina rushed over to the crater created in the glass and looked out. Despite the darkness of the night, she could still distinctly make out the figure of Bela in the snow below.

She didn’t look like she was moving.

“Bela!!”

Alcina ran out of the room, where she was promptly met by her other two daughters. They both instantly leaped away from the doorway with yelps when the cold wind brushed against their legs. She quickly shut the door.

“Mother, what happened?” Cassandra asked.

“Stay here,” Alcina said instead of answering. She then turned and sprinted down the hallway and outside, nearly clipping her head on the doorframe.

When she found Bela, she may have been more concerned about her falling from the second-story window if it wasn’t for how leached her skin was. Her eldest daughter was icy to the touch, her skin as brittle as weak glass in the unforgiving cold. Alcina scooped her up into her arms, holding her close to her chest to protect her from the vicious lashing of the snowstorm as she carried her back inside.

Bela had been out there for less than three minutes, but Alcina’s mind was still running in panicked circles. Was it enough to kill Bela? Was her baby girl about to die in her arms? Alcina’s heart seized at the mere thought of losing one of her daughters. She frantically went over her own notes in her head: the flies generally began hibernating at temperatures below ten degrees Celsius, and it was definitely below ten degrees Celsius out there. When that happens, their metabolism drops and they go into a state of lethargy, which then causes extreme weakness and fatigue. There was also the pain and sensitivity that came from the cold, and though Bela didn’t seem like she was in freezing agony, Alcina still couldn’t be too sure.

It was then that Bela stirred, and Alcina snapped her head down. Bela was squirming in her arms, whining ever so faintly. She didn’t seem to be in pain, she just seemed distressed and very uncomfortable.

“Mother,” Bela panted. “Please--”

“It’s alright now, my love,” Alcina said, carrying Bela over to one of the many fireplaces in the castle, swiping up a blanket folded over a cushioned chair as she went. “It’s alright. I’ve got you.” She squeezed her daughter close to her chest, not quite realizing that she may have been smothering her. “It’s okay. Mother’s here now.”

“No-- no--” Bela tried to wiggle out of her grasp, but she was much too weak. “Hot-- too hot--”

Alcina frowned. She had been wondering how and why Bela got outside, but now it made sense.

Was her fever really that bad?

“You can’t be cold, darling,” Alcina said, crouching down in front of the fire, not releasing Bela from her vice. She wrapped her in the blanket, despite her wriggling. Under her touch, Bela's skin was still worryingly frigid and dry. She hoped the snow wouldn't leave blisters. “You must stay warm.”

“No--” Bela’s claws tugged feebly at Alcina’s dress. If it weren’t caused by illness, then it may have been cute. “Mother, please…”

Alcina sighed. She shifted Bela into one arm (it wasn’t exactly hard to do) and brushed her sweaty hair out of her face. Bela leaned into the touch, her eyelids fluttering shut. She purred faintly.

“You need to be warm,” Alcina told her. As hard as it was to resist her child’s begging, she couldn’t just go throw Bela out into the snow. She had to keep her near the fire, where her body could go back to its normal temperature.

Alcina cupped the back of Bela’s head and pressed her face into her neck, rocking her slowly. She should have kept a better eye on her. She should have been there, taking care of her. Now an awful chill had taken lodge in her precious daughter’s body and she was worried that it wasn’t going to come out.

“Mother?”

Alcina turned to see Cassandra and Daniela. They both looked simultaneously curious and worried.

“Is Bela okay?” Daniela asked.

“She will be,” Alcina answered, holding Bela closer until she was holding onto her like a baby koala bear. She was hoping her body heat would help dispel the ice inside of Bela’s own being. “Your sister thought it would be a good idea to break her window and go out into the snow.”

“I’m hot,” Bela whined. She quickly followed her words up with a purr as Alcina stroked her hair.

Daniela giggled. “Beli, I thought you were the smart one!”

“‘M gonna…turn you into a ceiling fan,” Bela growled without opening her eyes. “But…too tired… Maybe later…”

Daniela giggled again. Cassandra snorted into her hand. Even Alcina, despite her worry, couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Darlings, can you get a wet rag for me?” Alcina asked her other two daughters.

Bela chuffed against her neck.

“A moderately cold one. But not too cold. Just slightly below lukewarm. Please.”

Cassandra and Daniela both nodded and raced off to retrieve the item before the other.

Slowly, the cold was draining from Bela’s body, chased away by the tag-team effort of the fire and Alcina’s body heat. Her fever, however, quickly became apparent once again, searing right through the back of her gown and into Alcina’s hand while she rubbed up and down her spine. No wonder she had broken a window just to get outside; she was burning up.

“I’m sorry for not keeping a better eye on you,” Alcina said, shifting her daughter in her arms. “I should have been watching you to make sure this never happened. Though, I never expected you to break a window…”

“Not your fault,” Bela said, her breath hot against Alcina’s neck. “I was being stupid.”

Alcina leaned her back slightly, cupping the back of her head with one hand. “Are you slightly more awake now?”

“A little,” Bela said, her eyes glassy and half-lidded. “Feel like I’m on fire, though…”

Alcina frowned and tucked Bela back against her. She worriedly ran her fingers through Bela’s hair, which was damp with a mix of sweat and melted snow.

“I’m sorry I can’t do more for you, my darling,” Alcina said. “Damn, why did you and your sisters have to be weak to the cold? I would run you an ice bath if that didn’t put you at the risk of--” She didn’t finish that sentence. She shook her head. “Why flies? Why something that can’t survive in the cold? Why not something like-- like-- like birds!”

“Better than being hurt by heat,” Bela pointed out. “Then the fever probably would have killed me already.”

Alcina winced. “I suppose you’re right.”

“‘Course I am. ‘M the smart one.”

That got a small chuckle out of Alcina. “Your hubris is showing, darling.”

“No, yours is,” Bela mumbled, drifting off into a feverish, half-awake daze of slurring and purring.

Despite her remaining worry, Alcina couldn’t help but chuckle once again. She rocked Bela slowly until Cassandra and Daniela returned with the rag, Daniela being the one to present it to her. She thanked them, then shifted Bela in her arms so she could wipe her face down with it. Bela shuddered at the cold water on her heated skin, but let out a soft coo of pleasure.

“Thank you,” Bela whispered, cracking open her eyes slightly.

Alcina gave her a tender smile. “You’re welcome. Now, rest, my sweet girl. I will watch over you until you feel better.”

Afterward, she would make arrangements to strengthen the windows.

#resident evil village #resident evil 8 #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #dimitrescu family #dimitrescu sisters #resident evil fanfic #melting fire

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gaiuswrites · 3 years

Text

King of Cups || Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The Moon

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | four

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: All relationships are about give and take.

Word count: 7k~

Rating: Explicit (Mature until the last few paragraphs)

Warnings/tags: nightmares, trauma, drinking, fluff and pining, drugs/being drugged (medicinal), wound care, blood, shots/needles, mature themes/language, emo shit, masturbation (f)

Notes: Hi friends. This is broken up in two portions: the first, being in Nevarro, and the second taking place some time later (hopefully that becomes clear when you read it heh). I'm hoping I captured the varying, distinct tones in each of the sections. Please feel free to reach out to me. :) Enjoy x (gif credit: @skyshipper)

They come at night.

The visions.

Your legs are rock, crumbling - eroding - with each weighted step, trudging through the city you once knew, laid bare to waste all around you. The air is grey brown, chalked with dust—with ash. There are bodies lining the road like trimmed hedges, floating by their ankles—ugly, corporal zeppelins. They’re pale. Their eyes are burned to coal and their tongues hang dead and waxy from their mouths.

They begin the same, choreographed like this; you follow the paths your mind has carved out for you, time and time again.

You spot him, plated in silver at the end of the row. Your feet stop. You see him, and he sees you. You feel his eyes - hawkish, piercing - under the murk of his visor. A predator’s gaze. He’s got a man in his fist—you think you recognize him, you might not—held by the scruff of his neck.

Sometimes it’s X’elo, bending to break in his gloved grasp. Other times, a stranger—a half remembered photograph—a memory of a memory of another dream entirely.

And sometimes, it’s you.

You hear the howl of wind scream through your bones—through the bones of the ruins there—but you don’t feel it. There’s only heat—the kind that’s unavoidable and omnipresent, as heavy as guilt. The hunter brings his hands to frame the man’s temples—yours too, sometimes— pebbles and slate trembling off you as you move towards them. You’re running, you realize, immobile but running and you’re not sure how or why—you never get there in time to find out.

He snaps his neck. You hear the crunch in your own ear—inside your own head.

It becomes night—blood moons drip wet from the sky. They splash onto the dirt. It turns to mud, caking the underside of your boots, squelching as you walk. You round a corner and—

You don’t recognize this. This is new. This— no, this is wrong.

A door. Rutted, freestanding—a dark monolith.

You stutter in your sleep, a crease in your brow.

It’s just a door.

No, not here—

A door. Black wood, a brass handle. Just a door, and you’re sweating. Just a door, and you’re suffocating—you’re being smothered—like your outsides are clawing to get back in through your throat and it’s sucking you in—this door, it’s just a door, it’s just a—closer, nearer, looming taller overhead—

You gasp awake, clutching at the scratchy blanket drenched cold with your sweat. Your rasps echo against the hull, sharp pants scraping the hollow metal, and you bring a hand to your chest—steadying, steadying, the fear of your racing heart.

You sit up, throwing your legs over the edge of the cot, and rake a shaky hand through your hair—the damp of the strands sticking to the nape of your neck. Your breathing evens out, tampering, with your forearms braced on the plats of your thighs; the rise and fall of your breasts against your sleep shirt quiet until you’ve stilled.

You roll off the bed, the aluminum frame whining with the shift, and you knock a knee into one of the carbonite pods as you stumble out of the storage room—your bedroom, now.

You couldn’t handle much more of it. You bought a bedroll the first planet you stopped to refuel at after Bajic, hermitting yourself away into the bowels of his ship. It was the only smidgen of untapped real estate left in the Crest, and it was far be it from you to complain about location. You were just thankful to be out of that copilot’s chair—no amount of bacta could unwind the knots in your neck after sleeping there night after restless night.

So you bunked with the bounties Mando had brought in, like one big macabre slumber party—the chrome slabs slotted up - watchful - in their chambers.

You try not to spare it much thought.

Padding through the Crest, soft bare feet leaving crescents on the steel deck, you step into the fresher to splash water on your face, jolting you back into the present and out of the nightmare, out of—

Just a door.

No—

You towel off, patting yourself dry. Inhaling, your lungs expand with the massive rush of air, and you hold it there until it hurts, until it prickles the corners of your eyes, and finally - deliberately - you release.

You look into the mirror.

You blink. She blinks back.

///

You make breakfast now.

It’s not something you both agreed to, it’s just something you do. Funny, how quickly you adapt to new normals, to new routines. You have rituals now—you two. You make breakfast, and you leave a bowl for him out on the counter before you slip into the shower. When you get out, the bowl is empty and the dishes are washed clean, drying face down on a rag. You smile. You never speak of it. Like ivy crawling up cobbled walls towards the sun, it happens— without prompt or feed, it simply is.

///

Nevarro reminds you of Dallenor—the craggy blandness of it, the endless black sands—and you fight the urge to hate it solely based on this principal alone.

You stay on the ship with the little one while Mando goes into town, meeting with some Greef Karga character to sew up Guild business. You have no idea how he ever managed to get any hunting done with the kid always acting up, pulling hijinks and inciting anarchy. He’s nearly torn the whole place to shreds. How such a tiny body can produce such a massive wake of damage is a mystery you will never solve.

You make yourself watch.

You force your jaw, set and held, as Karga’s men haul the quarries out of the ship, hovering eerily down the ramp.

X’elo, the smuggler from Vohai, some two-bit thief, and a woman Mando caught before you met, all parading single file out of the Crest like a funeral procession. They’re criminals, each and every one—they’re violent and they’ve done terrible, irredeemable things—but they’re people, too.

And isn’t that what makes it all so cruel. So sad.

The least you can do is give them an ounce of dignity before they’re subjected to their fate— however harsh, however fair.

So, you watch.

Maybe they don’t deserve it—they’re here by their own hand, after all, a bed of their own making— and maybe they haven’t earned it back any. But perhaps it’s less about what you can offer them and more about what you refuse to let the galaxy take. Because don’t you deserve to stay unfragmented? Complete? Would you rather be robbed of this humanity, your sense of decency—have it stolen from you?

Doesn’t it cost you nothing to be kind?

You pray neither sound nor fury will strip you of this—this open-eyed tenderness. You beg that you remain, undistilled, despite despite despite.

///

You’re so much more relaxed now then when you first came on board. You were as quiet as a church mouse then, tip toeing around the ship like you were afraid you’d ruin her.

Din will never admit it, but you even managed to get the jump on him once or twice—appearing exactly when and where he least expected. And he didn’t - couldn’t have - he didn’t expect you.

This.

And he looks at you now: lit by lamplight—the kerosene filament flickering warm in the dark hull— slotted back and humming to yourself as you swipe a finger over a holopad, feet propped up on a crate by the table, and it all looks organic. Right.

The drink in your hand, sloshing against the amber jug, no doubt eases your mood. You’re drinking it right from the bottle. He thinks it’s fucking charming.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Maker above,” you hiss, startling a foot out of your seat. You shoot him an accusatory glare, but there’s no malice in it—there’s laughter ringing around your eyes.

Honestly, that man needs a bell on him.

“Don’t let me interrupt you,” he comments dryly, stepping past.

You move your legs from their perch and sit a little straighter. “You- you could join me,” you chime, “if you want.”

His feet slow until he’s stopped completely and he pans over his shoulder to you. You can’t read his expression—it’s steel all the way through— but you think you feel the air around you both quiver - shudder - with something unspoken, something kinetic.

The scrape of the chair as he pulls it out from the table is deafening, the thunk of his metal body sinking into it even louder.

“What are you reading?” Mando asks.

You cast him a sheepish smile. “CoreWorld News.”

“Anything good?”

Your mouth twists, biting the inside of your cheek. “Never.”

He huffs a breathy chuckle.

There didn’t seem to be any good news anymore. You forage for it—scouring the net for just a whiff of it, of something pure. There is plenty of greatness left in the world, but you find that what it lacks most is goodness— humble and precious. More often than not, you come up empty and disappointed—but never so dissuaded that you do not search again the next day, and the day after that, and after that and after that again.

“How’d it go with Karga?” you ask, setting the holopad down and switching off the display.

“Fine. Good.”

“Good,” you smile. He’s terse—sparse. You think it’s endearing now—vexing too, without a doubt, but the two aren’t mutually exclusive anymore.

“Nothing close to Coruscant yet. More outer rim chaavla,” he grits out, swallowing. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a tickle of bemusement in your voice and a quirk to your chin. “What are you apologizing for?”

“I know you want to get back.”

You hope the glow from the lantern in the galley is dim enough to camouflage the tinge sprung on your cheeks. The truth is becoming more and more clear to you, whether you like it or not: with each passing day, you want to go back to Coruscant less and less. You have to—you know you have to. You have your career, your whole life, waiting for you. But—

But.

“You told me it would take a while—longer than I’d like.”

“I know.”

“I’m happy to be here— I-I’m grateful,” you catch yourself.

He clenches his fist under the table, beyond your line of sight, gnarled tight into a ball. It tethers him down, anchoring him in place—because if he weren’t, fuck, he’d fly out of his seat so fast—

“Alright,” he chokes out.

“Alright,” you smile, glassy.

There’s a kind of mist encircling you two, an incense of a sort, intoxicating and sinewy and lulling you into a hushed calm. It’s thick around you - lush - and you can feel it settle like lead behind your eyes.

“Can I pour you a drink—for later?”

It’s late into the evening, well beyond the hour where the lines of decorum blur. You’ve crossed into the Other—that tarred, limber undertow. Dangerously weightless and free. The liminality between here and there— that twilight place.

Shadows bounce along the walls. Your outline—his too.

“I’d like that.”

///

You’re not as tipsy as you could be, but you’re less sober than you’d like.

Subconsciously, buried somewhere deep, you’re aware that Mando is humoring you and that you should let him get on with his night—but you don’t.

You’ll be annoyed at yourself later for this.

“Okay okay, what are your hobbies?”

A deadpan tilt of his helmet. “I—I don’t understand the question.”

You gape at him, your bottom lip glossed as it parts, plush and wet, and you laugh. “Hobbies,” you reiterate. “You know, stuff you like to do? For fun?”

You see the gears under that helm wheel and spin. It shouldn’t take anyone this long. The question is basic and the answer should be relatively immediate—but Mando has to mull it over. In all of his cycles, as hardened as they’ve been, he hasn’t been gifted the luxury of leisure - fun - and he hasn’t been afforded the time to dwell on the lack of it.

Selfless, without a moment of ownership to himself. This is the way.

“I-,” he pauses, mouth clamping shut. “Skip.”

“Fine, fine,” you tut. “What is... your favorite planet?”

Din stretches back, his beskar groaning against the chair.

All the planets he’d visited were out of necessity—out of demand and credit, never because he wanted to be there and certainly never out of favor. They were tainted—made insipid and unremarkable by the quarries he chased to them.

But there is one in particular that stands out; he remembers a planet the kid seemed to like—how he babbled the whole time, slung in the satchel at his hip, entranced and enthralled. He was on his best behavior, too—the little womp rat didn’t even try to stuff his tiny, wrinkled face with anything. Not once.

“Adega.”

“Adega,” you repeat, testing the name. “I don’t think I’ve heard of it. What’s it like?”

He draws in a long breath, his ribs yawning against the corset of his armor.

He should’ve gotten up by now—fuck, he shouldn’t have ever sat down in the first place. It’s not like he didn’t have anything to do; he needs to downshift the Crest’s power converters, switch off the shield projectors, chart a course to his next job, get some damn sleep if he’s lucky…

But you’re here before him. You’re here and he can’t deny you—not when you’re looking at him like that, like the sun shines out from his fucking face—far softer, far kinder than he deserves. Not when you’re here now, and you won’t be for much longer.

He’s racing against the clock—the swinging inevitability of it. Each moment he shares with you, is a moment that brings him closer to taking you back.

Din is a fool. He knows he’ll lose. He races anyways.

“It’s a water planet—mostly ocean,” he begins.

You allow your eyes to dip close, savoring the description, and you tuck your legs up to fold over themselves.

“But there are islands. Some are small, private—with red trees that go all the way to the sand. Others have whole cities on them.”

You remain quiet - patient - like marble, chiseled and sanded as thin as chiffon, veiling over your face in fine, cascading sheets. Transparent - ethereal - you listen to him blind, letting his words guide your sight.

“The kid-"

Your tongue darts out over your lip and he stutters. Din has to shift his hips, relieving the growing heat that’s tightening below his waist.

“T-The uh, the kid loved it. I’d never seen him like that. The bogwing didn’t want to leave,” he chuckles. He conjures the details he thinks you want—the details he thinks you might like most. “The people are honest—generous. The days are long, and the nights are warm.”

He’s no poet, but it doesn’t bother you.

“I can see it,” you say, before blinking your eyes open. "I'll have to go some time." There’s pink on your cheeks, seeping past your jaw and below the neckline of your shirt to the swallow of your breasts.

You look at him— he looks at you.

A noise hums from somewhere inside the ship.

“Are you scared of anything?” you murmur.

Mando lets a beat pass.

“I don’t think so. Not yet.” You smile at that—small, wistful. You’re not even sure why. “You?” he asks.

Your chest rises with a deep inhale. “I used to be scared of dying. I thought I was gonna die young. I was convinced—I had dreams about it all the time as a kid.”

But maybe that’s not it entirely. Maybe it’s not the fear of dying itself, but the dread of living and dying alone. And isn’t that at the heart of it—at all of this?

I just don’t want to do this all on my own.

He’s never been privy to this version of you—this sloping tone, the liquor buzzing through your speech, churning your words to treacle. You sound nonchalant in way that’s jarring, as if you aren’t talking about death— the fear of your own tenuous mortality.

“But I bet everyone does,” you continue dismissively, “just one of those things.”

He’s almost cautious when he replies. “I’m not sure they do.”

Your expression contorts, knotting for an agonizing moment—until the tension all but disappears. “Huh,” you shrug flippantly, and take a swig. That heaviness, that fog, dissipates nearly as soon as it arrived. “Anyways, favorite color?”

He rolls his eyes; you can see it in the way he tilts his head to you. Really, he seems to say, how old are we?

“You’re right, you’re right— that’s low brow. I can do better…” You melodramatically tap your chin, eyeing him pensively.

“Okay. What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“That,” you nod to his pauldron, “that symbol on your shoulder.”

Tawny fingertips trace absentmindedly over the emblem. “It’s a Mudhorn. It’s-” Mando hesitates, before his hand returns to his lap. “It’s the sigil of my clan.”

You arch your brow. “I didn’t realize you had a clan— is it- is it like, big?” Stars, you sound dumb—and there’s no excuse. You’re not even that drunk. “How- what is a clan, exactly?”

“In Mandalorian culture, your clan is your family. Aliit. Mine, it’s—it’s a clan of two.”

Something in the pit of you stirs, a sickly warmth, pulling at your gut like a rope. You glance over to where the child sleeps, snuggled away in his pram and your lips curl into a smile, hidden behind the bottle you bring to them.

“You’re lucky to have each other,” you say gently, taking another sip.

“We almost didn’t—shouldn’t have.”

His hands tense into his legs—the creak of leather against his thigh plates is audible even from where you sit.

You narrow your eyes curiously. He heaves.

“He was a bounty and I did my job. I turned him in. I went back for him, but—the kid, he saved my life, and I could’ve left him there—I would’ve, before.”

It all comes out like tires grinding through gravel, bruised and roughened. It’s regret, you realize—this is the sound of guilt, frigid and rued, pushing through his modulator. It makes you want to reach out to him, put your hand on his, comfort him, reassure him—something. But you can’t. He’s too far away. He’s on his own sea—untouchable.

You decide it right then and there: you can’t bare that sound, the wracked timbre of it. You hate it. You think you’d do anything to rid the way in constricts his throat—makes him hoarse and clipped, even through the guise of his helmet. It pains you, a visceral stabbing, right to your core. You could go a lifetime without hearing it, and it still wouldn’t be long enough.

“But you didn’t,” you offer.

“No,” he utters. “No, I didn’t.”

Mando gives you these tortuous, beautiful previews of himself. Like light passing through stained glass, you sneak brief glimpses of the paintings there, the stories and fables and the lessons they teach, until some great cloud drifts past, blotting out the sun, and all goes dark again.

You know this is rare. You know you’ll be home soon. You know to cherish it—to relish what he gives, when he gives it, if he gives it at all.

But—you want more. You’re a simple woman, at the end of all things: all you want is to hold him.

“I think you’re a better man than you let on, Mando.” There’s a knowing twinkle in your eye, a coy lilt to your loosened tongue. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were flirting.

“You don’t know that,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I have my suspicions." You're smirking something awful - deadly - as it sears into him.

He grunts, flames licking up his chest. Din has to bite back his grin, making careful it doesn’t shape the sound of his vowels; grateful for the helmet that buffers him, the mask that seals him away into anonymity, into apathy.

If he can convince you, maybe he can convince himself too. Maybe.

“Next question, dala.”

If he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were flirting.

///

Your eyes are blown wide, gawking at him.

“I’m not a medic, Mando—I’m not a fucking surgeon!”

Mando crashes through the Razor Crest, red dollops trailing in pools behind him. He grunts, hand pressed to his side, blood pushing out of the gash that’s torn into him— a canyon down his unplated body, spewing angry and insistent with each spasm of his heart.

With a broad stroke, he sweeps the clutter off the table and onto the floor, spraying across the deck.

“Medkit,” he barks, hoisting himself up to lie, hulking and pained, out on the slab. You scamper to it, ripping it off the wall, and return to his lumbering body. His breathing is labored—he’s forcing it, seething it out.

Mando’s legs bend off the table at an uncomfortable angle and he rasps when you crane them up by his booted ankles �� fuck, he’s heavy – to situate a small crate under his feet. They drop with a dulled thud— without muscle, without resistance. The languid weight of a dying man.

You’re stationed beside him, medkit spilled open. “W-What now, what do you need?”

“I need you,” you heard him say, deep and bassy, as he ascended the ramp. With a colossal drum of your heart, you spun around - I need you - a blush stippling your jaw. The pregnant expectation built behind weeks and weeks of stalemates and stolen glances - I need you - all rearing to a head here and now and finally, finally something—until you saw him, doubled over, bracing himself on the wall, a line of blood smearing behind his palm.

“Bacta-“ Mando wheezes, “bacta shot.”

You rifle through the supplies, littering them as you dig through the box.

Sure, you had gotten your first aid certification with the Movement—it was required, and you retook the courses every few cycles. But that was gauze wrappings and mouth-to-mouth and anti-inflammatory tablets—that was not this, and this is fucking surgery. You’re out of your depth—and Mando must be out of his damn mind.

“I nee-“ He inhales sharply, and his body spasms, gripping the ledge of the table like a vice. “My chest plate—take it off.”

He’s told you bits and parcels of the Mandalorian way—of his Creed— and you aren’t under the impression that this would be strictly sanctioned.

“M-Mando, I thought— are you sure?”

“Yes I’m kriffing sure—do it. Just do it,” he snaps. He hates this—he fucking hates this. Soft. Weak—weak weak weak, he’s so fucking weak. Laandur.

You fumble over the armor, uncoordinated as you unclasp it from his cuirass and Mando strangles out a sigh as soon as it leaves him. At last, you fish the shot from the medkit and hold it up to the light, the medicine like venom as it whirls in the tube. It’s uncomfortably large—simply holding it makes you squirm.

“W-What is that?”

Your eyes flit over the needle and then back to the bounty hunter. “What do you mean ‘what is that’? It’s a shot.”

“That’s a lance,” he growls.

“It’s ebacta-”

“It’s green!” he hisses out incredulously.

“It’s all they had!” you bite back, panic skipping through your veins.

You’re practically yelling at each other, the tension winding and coiling tighter and higher as the seconds tick by. You feel each one, tapping along your vertebra like a metronome, keeping time, keeping time, wasting time—all this back and forth is a waste of time and—

You’re nervous—you’re fucking terrified—and Mando doesn’t frequent this position either—this vulnerability. He doesn’t know what to do with it, where he belongs in it. I need you, he said. He hadn’t needed anyone before and now look at him, bare breasted before you, wounded and mewling like roadkill.

You rap the needle with a knuckle, banishing the air pocket, and test the plunger. Droplets of liquid spurt from the tip, and he begins to rile.

“Dala,” he warns.

“Mando,” you mimic.

“Nu draar-”

“Do you want my help or not?” you spit out, and he shrinks, visor trained on the jab, that unnatural chartreuse swirling inside the glass vial. “Okay. Okay, on three.”

“Wait, wait-"

“One..." You try to sound firm - competent - but you’re a fucking mess. Your breathing is erratic, tunic soiled with sweat, and you’re trembling.

“You don’t-“

“Two...”

Mando huffs exasperatedly, “Ah, fuck it-”

“Three.”

You drive the syringe down, stabbing into him. His body seizes—flexing rigid—as soon as the viscous gel is injected, oozing oozing oozing until it’s pumped empty and spent.

And then— nothing.

All that whirlwinded frenzy, that raging tempest, and now silence— dead silence. He lays there motionless, fidgeting ceased, that ungodly needle pitched like a flag pole from his chest.

… Shit.

“Hey,” you touch a hand to his shoulder.

The smug bastard could be having a laugh under that helmet and you’d have no idea. That’s what you tell yourself—that’s what you’d prefer to believe anyways; it’s better than the alternative, better than—than than than fuck—

“Hey, this isn’t funny...” A little rougher now, you jostle him. He doesn’t react.

“… Mando?”

His head lolls to the side.

With a whistle, the room goes mute. Sound and oxygen alike, it all gets vacuumed out, and your senses invert. You can hear every tick of your body: the bone of your jaw as your teeth mash together, the pulse at your wrist, your stammering heart beating beating beating in your inner ear, the bob of your trachea as it grates against your neck.

Kriff. You killed him—you killed the Mandalorian.

Oh Maker, oh shit-

You press down around the puncture site with a wide palm before yanking the syringe out, flinging it away. You’re shaking him now, wrestling with his limp body, and you’re shouting—croaked with worry, with fear.

“Fuck, Mando—Mando!"

The sound is like glass shattering.

He gasps wildly, gulping down air as if he’d been drowned, writhing like the undead from your operating table. You buckle over him, fatigued and slumped, and cry out in blessed relief.

Your instincts, those poor frail nerves, tell you to smack him—but given that he’s bleeding out, you refrain.

“Don’t do that to me!” you exclaim, breathy and strained.

“Don’t do that to you?” Mando retorts, panting. You let out a weak crackle of laughter and he moans. It’s like he’s been hit by a speeder - twice - forward and then reversed over again.

“Maker, what did you give to me?”

“I got it on Vohai. They uhm- they said it was good quality-“

“And you believed them?”

Your mouth twists shyly. “I-I wanted to believe them,” you correct him.

It’s his turn to laugh now, tired and raw. Oh, you sweet little thing.

You swallow, saliva coating your ragged windpipe. “I’m sorry—Maker, I’m so sorry, a-are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, gargled, “but remind me never to have you save my life again.”

That earns him a light slap to his arm. If he’s well enough to dole cheap shots, you figure he’s fit enough to take yours too. He’s spliced open, whole chunks of him missing, and he still has the wherewithal to be an ass.

“Well, you’re not out of the woods just yet.”

///

Regrettably, Mando might have been spot on about the bacta—in fact, you’re starting to question whether it’s really bacta at all.

A delirious grunt ripples through the bounty hunter’s modulator as you cut open his ripped flight suit, careful not to slice him with the vibroblade. His black undershirt is matted to his gaping wound, the blood bubbled over and through the rough material, and you have to peel the fibers out of his coagulating flesh to get to it. You toss the fabric into the bucket next to you with a sloppy, wet plop.

It didn’t even occur to you. You were so swept away by the state of him—by the dizzying carnival of it all as soon as Mando breached the Crest—you didn’t consider the fact that you’d be seeing him. Touching him.

You have to mask your expression when you meet his skin for the first time. He’s golden—he’s golden everywhere—like desert sand dunes sizzling under ripe, afternoon suns—dappled with memories of violence, branded into him.

You’ve never heard him like this. He keeps noising these feverish little nothings— gasping, moaning in a language you don’t recognize—and you do your best to distract him. It’s one of the tenets you recall from your aid training: keep them talking, keep them sharp—engaged.

“Do each of these have a story?” you ask, eyeing the marks that riddle and pucker him.

“Some of them.”

“What about this one here?” You touch a faded ribbon of scarring. It’s older than the others—paler. Your fingertips are cool and he blazes beneath them.

He tries not to twitch. You try not to notice.

“Fell out of a tree when I was a kid—haven’t thought about that in a while,” Mando pants. “B-Broke my wrist, got scraped to shit— my buir, m-my mother, she chewed my ear off.”

“Mm, I bet she did,” you smirk—you can relate to the feeling.

“I-I remember the lines around her eyes. H-Her eyes— they were green, bright green— jade.”

He lets out a wince as you swipe a disinfectant soaked rag over him. You cringe and flash him an apologetic look.

“Sounds beautiful,” you muse, a quiet smile pulling at you as your deft fingers work. “Did you get her pretty eyes too, Mando?”

Something is caught in his throat— a chuckle, or a cough more likely. “No, they’re brown. Just brown.”

Your whole body locks.

Just brown.

Two words - just brown - and suddenly you’re rich— full to the brim with him.

And fuck, if it doesn't feels like a gift. Like he gathered something precious and laid it in your arms and said here, you can have this now. We can share. Sometimes you forget that there’s a man under all those layers; a man— a warm blooded, tanned skin, brown eyed man. You hadn’t often wondered what the Mandalorian was hiding under his armor—he was so finite, so unmovable, the mask he wore became him. He was beskar - indistinguishably - through and through.

But that was before. And now you’re blinded with him— with all the details you cannot unsee.

“S-She was the last person to take care of me—like this.”

It comes over you so suddenly, you’re taken aback by it: that knee-jerking gut wrench. And not because there’s heartbreak in his voice, but because there isn’t. Because he’s had to be so invulnerable—so unyielding and invincible for so long—that he doesn’t even realize what he’s without.

And you, if only for a silly, naïve moment, wish you could give it back to him. Every little ounce of goodness that he’s been deprived of—to dip into his time stream, and rewrite.

To plant but a seed of it there, even if you don’t stay long enough to see it’s harvest.

“Tell me more about her,” you say.

And beyond expectation, beyond reason, he does.

///|||///

This—this is wrong.

He feels pulpy - soggy - wrong. He’s more liquid than he should be—there’s nothing solid about him now. He’s swept away in the tide of it—this green current charging through him and he let’s go - what is there to hold onto anyways? - floating belly up on his back.

Din spills—like the aperture split into his side, he gushes. Whatever dam he’s forged around himself, the beskar and duracrete there, cracks.

The stream trickles until he floods and like any good story, he starts from the beginning.

He tells you of home—his first home. Aq Vetina.

You’re plucking spikes and nettle from his side, and he barely feels it—all he has is this sinking, unending wet—and they hit the tray with dull plunks, punctuated and staccatoed.

He tells you of the adobe dwellings and the domes and columns. Marketplace canopies and caravan bazaars.

plunk

The oak trees, the willow bark, the spires he’d climb until the sun set.

plunk

The tall mountains and the dry, rubbled earth. Of the nameless neighbor children he played with, kicking a ball through the dirt. Red robes trailing, fraying.

plunk

His mother. The shawl she wore. The copper of his father’s ring. The herbs she grew by the light from their kitchen window. How he held her hand while they sat by the fire.

plunk

His tongue doesn’t belong to him—it wags numb and supple. He’s lost his sense of direction, unbound by north or south, and these words are simply happening to him. They keep happening and happening and escaping and—

It’s not just the off-bacta speaking for him, making him pliant. He wants this. He wants to bend—he wants to bend for you.

And now there’s no stopping it—there’s no breaking this, no halting it's downhill momentum. Din describes the attack, the heat of the fire as his town - his world - burned down, of his parents concealing him—a child, abandoned and bunkered away in a cellar to live or die with or without them— being rescued by the Death Watch and raised as a Mandalorian himself.

Your bandaging has long since finished, but you remain, hovering over him as you listen—listen as the jigsawed shards of his life stitch themselves together. Like a moth to a flame, you are drawn in and in and in, until you’re butted against the wick of it. Inseparable.

When the well of his words runs dry, neither of you go to move. Pin-drop silence envelops you. Your hands still on his chest, palms like a weighted quilt—warming him, securing him. He feels-

He feels safe.

“Mando,” you murmur, and the epithet has never sounded so fucking sacred, whispered from you like a prayer. You cripple him; the web of concern along your brow, the sheen in your eyes, the breathy part of your lips.

His throat has gone dry and he shakes his head left right, beskar grating against the makeshift gurney. Mando. No. No, that’s not right—that’s not who he is, that’s not who he wants you to know.

He draws his hand up—it’s so fucking heavy, he can barely lift it—but he tries, he tries, he wants to. You’re right here, you’re touching his chest and you’re healing his body—his mind too, if he’d only let you—and if he could just get to you. If he could just lace his fingers with yours—would you let him? Should you?

“M-My name-"

A warbled wail from the kid’s alcove rips through the cradling hush, and you both react immediately, lurching up to tend to the child. Din forgets—he hears his foundling and his reason leaves him—and he flinches with a grimace. You urge him down, steadying him with a pointed look.

“Rest.”

It’s a command, there’s no question to it, and it’s teeming with all of these unrecognizable concepts— care and assurance, worry and compassion. So impossible to disobey in the way that gentle things are—too soft and too right to say no to. He relents - gives - helmet thudding when it connects back with the table.

Din, he pleads, desperate for you to read his mind. Like a mantra, his subconscious rambles it on a drug addled figure-eight, coming around only to repeat itself again, infinite and wanting. Din Din Din-

Only when the child’s cries muffle into hiccups and his hiccups slur into coos does he let his exhaustion get the better of him. There was too much—it was an assault from all fronts. The blood loss, the drugs, his life like a monsoon as it crushed him open. And all it took was a wound, a brush with his mortality, for him to surrender it to you.

He turns his head, searching for you through the blur of his vision. You’re there in the doorway, rocking his boy in your arms, haloed with light.

I need you, he said. I need you I need you I need you I need-

Din’s eyes shut.

He doesn’t dream. He sleeps like the dead, blissful and undisturbed.

///

You spend hours scrubbing the deck on all fours, spine hunched and aching, cleaning scarlet off silver steel. It got everywhere, the splatter of it—even on the surfaces Mando didn’t come in contact with. The smell of blood, that nickel musk, it lingers long after its welcome—long after the stain of it, the stain of him, has vanished from the Crest. From your skin.

At some point during the night you nod off next to him, curled over a crate, and when you wake Mando is gone—presumably back to his quarters but gone all the same. All traces of him gone - expunged - and the ship feels hollow and gaping— a sterile Mando shaped hole in his absence. You follow his lead, retreating to your bed for a few more hours of sleep.

The next morning doesn’t go as you’d like.

You weren’t sure if he would remember any of it—of what he confided, of what he almost confessed— but by the way the tension ferments between you, you can only assume he does.

They go through their routines, stilted as they are.

He’s up early— unnecessarily early. Mando goes to the cockpit to rouse the ship, plugging in the coordinates from his tracking fob to chase after the escaped bounty. Thrusters set. Repulorlifts and auxiliary engines engaged. Deflector shield generator on. Weapons check. Atmospheric pressure regulator switched.

He’s slower, you note— his movements are crawled—with only half the feline agility he typically possesses and you want to tell him to sit, to take a break—to get off his damn feet and to let you help him—that it’s okay if he rests. That he can take time for himself. That it doesn’t make him any less of a Mandalorian—any less of a man.

But, you can’t.

And so the day is pulled taut like this—a bowed string ready to snap, chalked full of false starts and tinny stoicism. A sharp, intentional air of avoidance with every action. They were out of step, out of sync, and it reminds you of the first days you’d spent on the Razor Crest, orbiting each other—planets apart.

Because he’s shared too much. You knocked, Din answered. He opened the door and he let you past and now he has nowhere left to go but inwards. He’s cornered with no exit strategy - no option - but to close back up again and furl in on himself like a fern in the dark. Curling - evaporating - until he’s nothing but armor—nothing but mirrored edges and metal plates.

But—

you still made his breakfast and he still washed your dishes—and maybe that is enough.

///

You pass each other in the corridor, as you have done before.

You smile gently—soft as sin— and it breaks him, like it always does.

You have a hand on the rung of the ladder when he calls your name, and you turn to him, bright eyed.

“Thank you,” he rasps, “I never thanked you.”

He’s so strikingly sincere— standing there, arms dangling stiff by his sides. He looks different now, somehow— different, but the same. Fuller, bigger—smaller, too.

Human, you realize.

Your heart flutters in your chest. “Of course, Mando-“

“Din.”

You forget to breath. Time forgets to move.

“My name is Din.”

///

Din. Din Djarin.

It takes you almost a week to say it—to even utter the syllable aloud—and you only ever risk it when he’s gone on a hunt and you know you’re alone.

“You like it when I touch you like this?” you hear him say, the fabricated echo of his voice in your skull. He’s got two fingers in you—you can envision them now, clear and potent, the golden hide of them—and he moves slow as he takes you right to the edge, dancing dastardly along that cliff side before retracting himself and backing off. You can’t see his face, but you know he’s smirking; you can feel it in his fingertips, how they mock you—how they scorch into you and leer.

Even in your fantasy, he’s a prick.

“You like it when I make you cum on this filthy fucking cot?”

You keen into your hand, whimpering into your bitten raw lips. The scene is playing on without you now, writing itself. All you can do is lay here and take it, succumb to it, starved and desperate and vile as you thrash on your bedroll.

You rove your palm over your chest—

He snakes up your shirt, twisting your nipple until it’s peaked and perked under him, until you yelp with that muddled jolt of pleasure and pain. He’s lazy and fitfully unhurried, each movement sauntered and proud. He’s coaxing it out of you, this orgasm, as he kneels over you, your vision flooded with the cold menace of his beskar. Finally, tortuously, he traces his thumb over your clit, toying with you in small circles until you’re shaking—vibrating, every molecule of you—like you’re going to burst, incinerate there in your bed. He’s urgent now, demanding, and thrusting into your swollen cunt and the pressure mounting in your heat swells until, until, oh my st-

You fuck your fingers until they prune, drenched with the thought of him teasing you, stuffing you full with anything he’ll give you; his hands, his cock—Maker, his tongue. You let it roll around your mouth when you touch yourself like this in the dark belly of the ship—heels digging into your thin mattress, knees steepled together—and you’re panting, wanton and velvet, before a fist shoots up to muffle the moaned name wafting from your lips like smoke.

“Din”

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eremiie · 4 years

Note

Hello there I really like your writing and I was maybe wondering I can get some angst of a cheating eren who break his s/o heart

yes you can!! i shed a few tears writing this bc i was listening to sad music & thinking, but i hope you enjoy, i am not the best at writing angst😪!

cheers to you - eren x reader

in which eren breaks your heart and you have no choice but to move on.

tw; crying, heartbreak ig idk

2.5k words | angst | modern au

"okay."

you pushed at sasha's phone, you didn't want to see anymore. you were trying to suppress your tears, refusing to cry in front of your two friends.

sasha took one more look at the photos before swiping out of her camera roll, looking back up at you with a frown, hitch likewise. "_____, are you okay?"

and you hated when people asked you that. you thought you were doing fine, you thought you could keep everything down but you simply thought wrong. you croaked out the smallest sound, but before you could even get a word out the tears began to spill, your eyes becoming bleary with the suffocating liquid and the suffocating feeling surrounding your heart. you felt so dumb.

hitch rushed to your side pulling you into a hug until your head fell against her shoulder, body going limp besides the soft heaves that would leave your shuddering body. the pictures of eren were embedded in your head, replaying in your mind, constantly on repeat and you wished to think of anything else that wasn't clawing at your heart like the photos lingering in your subconscious. it was all you could see, almost like a photo album; eren's hands sat on some random girls waist while she straddled him, his jaw slacked open as she ground against him, whoever taking the photo catching her mid grind. his eyes were half lidded if you remembered correctly, reddening, he must've been high.

you couldn't tell if that fact alone hurt you less or more.

your mind swiped, another photo with the same blond haired girl, this time her hands cupping his face and his hands gripping her ass while they engaged in a kiss that you wished was chaste. you were repulsed that your lips had met his in almost the same manner before he left for that party the same night. more sobs left your poor quivering lips, hitch's grip around you tightening as she tried to shush your sobs and cries.

sasha's hands ran over her face as she shook her head clear disappointment evident as she watched you and hitch.

"what did i do wrong?" you gasped for air finally pulling away from hitch, the only body part connecting with hers be your hands that she clasped so delicately as if, if she squeezed too tight you would break. "my heart hurts, it hurts, it hurts," you babbled as tears fell from the bottom of your chin and the bridge of your nose, your eyes were puffy and swollen. "this hurts so bad," you conveyed your emotions through words another gasp leaving your lips.

"you did nothing wrong," hitch reassured rubbing her thumbs against the surface of your hands. "he's just an idiot."

"it's gonna hurt, and that's okay," sasha scooted forward from her position on the floor laying her head in your lap and you knew she was right but god, you didn't want it to hurt. you wanted the pounding in your head to stop, the recurring thoughts to stop, the salty tears streaming down your cheeks to stop, i mean you wanted someone to tell you exactly where you messed up so you could go back and try again.

"do you want us to stay with you tonight?"

you looked down at the side of sasha's face, one of your hands letting go of hitch to comb through brunette hair, and the lazy bun in the back of her head seemed all too familiar already, the way a couple of flyaways framed the front of her face had you covering your mouth, repressing a gag with your palm, sasha whipping her head around to confront the source of the sound, worry on her face, but you squeezed your eyes shut, even the furrow in her brow reminding you all too much of the boy.

"______?" hitch's arms were back around you but you quickly pushed them off feeling the rising feeling of your breakfast you had not too long ago, rushing to the trash can in the corner of your dorm letting your remnants spill from your stomach. the feeling of throwing up felt so foreign to you, you couldn't even remember the last time you did it, and to some degree you wished your heart came up with it.

hitch's mouth parted in the slightest not even sure what to say but the anger behind her eyes was apparent. "baby, i'm so sorry." was all she could say in response while your body crouched beside the trash can, your hands slipping from the rim until they were palm first on the floor, slowing turning into fists.

"i wanna be alone for a couple hours." you managed to utter with a sniff.

"you sure?" sasha asked, standing up awkwardly with hitch reciprocating. you nodded your head and it felt like everything was going in snapshots, them walking to the door, the door opening and their bodies disappearing, your figure laying back in your bed and then the next snapshot didn't come, sleep had came so quick you didn't even have time to process it.

❈ ❈ ❈

your eyes fluttered slightly and you relished in the heat over you for a minute. your mind felt like a clean slate for the time being, as your eyes opened to the bed next to you, sasha's figure vacant from her bed. you remembered asking for some space before you left but you thought she'd had return by now. it was dark, but it couldn't have been too late as orange rays from the sun were attempting to shine through your curtains, making you assume that it was just around seven, the sun setting soon. but you craved the warmness that was around you a little more, pulling down to reach for your blanket, until your body froze.

the hand wrapped around your waist, much like in the photographs engraved in your brain twitched and that same sickness felt like it was resurfacing yet you dared to move, tears brimming again subconsciously.

"eren," you mumbled under your breath.

"hm?" oh, so he was awake.

your face scrunched up in agony at the sound of his voice, your eyebrows coming together, your eyes shutting and you biting your lip so hard the taste of blood collected on your tongue. "please," your breathing began to thicken again, you wanted to move his arm but your body was almost stuck in place. "move."

eren groaned against your back, nose nuzzling into the back of your neck and you mentally cringed. "get out," you said abruptly, body jolting at the sudden movement and you felt him still behind you. how did he even get in? and then you immediately regretted making an spare dorm key and giving it to him only a couple months into your relationship. "get out, get out." you finally regained some self control, your body slithering from under his until your arm touched the floor and you crawled away from your own bed. "go, what are you doing?" you lashed, his gingerly stare making you aware of the tears cascading down your face again.

eren stared back at you finally lifting his head up from the spare pillow that he always slept with when he spent nights with you, the pillow that stayed tucked away on your bed and the same pillow that you'd have to wash and get rid of that stupid recognizable cologne he wore, the same cologne that would linger on most of his clothing that you owned. "_____,"

"no, leave, please leave, i can't do this."

eren seemed genuinely confused, sitting up completely now and scooting forward until his legs dangled off the bed. "baby, what's-"

you winced at the nickname and clutched at your stomach, feeling the emptiness inside from the lack of food, yet you still felt the urge to dispel anything inside of it still. "please leave." you almost felt lightheaded, you felt as if you weren't being heard and you were sick.

the significant sound of the dorm keycard slot beeping until sasha's figure came back in, "_____, i left the key hear but luckily i had a keyca-" her voice slowly died down as she studied the scene of the dorm, your body on the floor away from your bed and eren's figure sat on the same bed, both pair of eyes now looking up at her."

"what the hell?" sasha stormed over to eren grabbing his arm in a feeble attempt to pull him off of your bed. although she wasn't strong enough eren did stand up, mainly because of your pleas for him to get out just earlier. "get out! she doesn't want you here, weirdo!" sasha exclaimed pointing towards the door clear anger flashing in her eyes. "and don't just come in here uninvited again!"

those green eyes that would unknowingly keep you up for nights after today kept that confused gaze on you as he walked around you and made you feel stupid and small. we're you overreacting? were those pictures just your imagination?

"_____..." eren mumbled before looking at your frame on the floor once more.

“get out!” sasha exclaimed.

you weren't sure if he was just that dense or he was hiding the fact that he knew exactly what he did. the door shut and you immediately began crying again, this time harder. wails of pain escaping your throat. your cries were loud and full of pain. you clutched at your shirt as if to grasp at your broken heart.

"oh my gosh." sasha dropped her keycard and bag onto your bed where she still stood and got on the floor with you pulling you as much into her lap as possible. you felt fragile in your hands, her gripping at the sweatshirt around your body. she listened to your cries, responding with "i knows," and "mhm," as if they were telling her a story, simply listening to the aching noises that were leaving you.

"sasha," you finally mustered the courage to speak a few words again, although they resembled your words from yesterday. "i'm hurting."

"i know, i know."

"i loved him." you blinked so you could see a little clearer, lifting your head to look at sasha, bringing your hands to either side of her head, your thumbs stroking her jaw. "i thought he loved me? why? why?"

sasha couldn't bare to look at your sad, damaged eyes and instead pulled you back against her chest. although your sobs died down she could feel the convulsing of your body and opted to hold you for as long as you needed.

“does he even know what he did? does he even know how much pain i’m in right now?”

sasha couldn’t even answer that question. by the looks of it he didn’t, maybe he was high? under the influence? but either way you didn’t have the courage to confront him about it.

instead you spent the next couple of weeks sulking, mending to your broken heart and staying out of eren’s way, no matter how many times he tried to communicate with you. it seemed as if word got to him on what he did, sasha getting connie to talk to him, and as angry as eren got there was no denying what he did, especially with photo evidence.

your phone blew up with his own pleas begging for forgiveness, begging for you to talk to him, to come back, to do something.

but you were fragile, and you knew that even being in his vicinity would tear you apart bit by bit. you didn’t want to weep in front of him, you didn’t want to be in front of him in the first place, nor did you want his pity.

did you want to get back with him? the question still pondered on your mind constantly but both sasha and hitch refused to let you, and they were perfectly fine with the situation going unresolved if it meant better for you.

"so?" hitch pointed the straw of her frappucino at you. "i really think you just need to try exploring your options, just living a little. you can go to the next party with sasha and i, i promise we won't mind."

“hitch i want her to go to a party too but i don’t know about her getting with anyone.” sasha swirled the stick inside her latte to mix it up before sucking the liquid off the end.

now it had been a few months since you had seen eren, a few months since you began to heal yourself slowly compared to those first couple weeks. you had to really thank hitch and sasha for being there most of the way for you, and you had to especially thank netflix and sleep for being two of your greatest distractions.

you never officially broke up with eren, sure you saw him in the hallways (and you were certain he saw you as well) you had a couple lectures with him where the two of you would sneak glances at each other; which kind of reminded you of when the two of you first began liking the other. he never made an effort to speak to you after the first couple weeks when he would text your phone constantly, as much as it seemed like he wanted to still.

"i don't know hitch. i haven't even got rid of his stuff yet. they're still sitting in that stupid box in the corner of me and sasha's dorm." sasha nodded in confirmation taking a bite of her biscuit.

"but i don't think that box should stop you from getting out the house again. you haven't really been anywhere besides maybe target with sasha. plus i miss seeing you!"

you rolled your eyes with a slight chuckle. "you see me at least three times, especially when... you know, you came like everyday at first."

hitch shrugged her shoulders and then took another sip of her drink. "but do you think i can start seeing you more is the question? c'mon this is the first step towards a new life without that bastard."

you pondered on the thought before a small sigh escaped your lips, and you slowly nodded your head.

"really?" hitch exclaimed, her hands reaching across the table to grab yours. "you mean you won't mind coming to the party this saturday?"

you narrowed your eyes at hitch. "this was your plan wasn't it?"

"yes, yes it was. but there's no backing out now."

"yes, hitch, i'll come to the party this saturday." you decided that maybe this would help your healing heart in the least and you would try to push aside the boy that broke it for the couple hours just to spend time with your friends. but you couldn't help and wonder, "what if i bump into him at the party? or he tries to talk to me?"

sasha looked at hitch and hitch looked back before both turning their eyes to you. "we can be with you the whole time if that's the case."

"i wouldn't want to ruin your fun."

"babe, hanging out with you is one of the points of bringing you, ____." sasha smiled.

you internally twitched at the mention of the nickname ‘babe’ but neither one of your friends seemed to tell. you were getting better with reacting to things that reminded you of him, and you didn’t hysterically start crying at the slightest mention or object that related to him.

"we got you, okay?"

you frowned slightly but gave sasha a smile back and squeezed hitch's hand in the slightest. "yeah, okay."

this was the beginning of a new life for you, you wouldn’t spend your days sulking after him anymore. cheers to you and your first big step forward.

#eren jaeger x reader #eren x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger #attack on titan #eren angst #eren aot

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americxn · 3 years

Text

Lavender ((dirty version))

♡ Kit tries to make you feel better after a long day ♡ warnings: smut smut smut! a/n: I’ve very tired right now so I apologise if I missed any mistakes whilst proof reading but this is basically just a dirty version of the fluff I wrote a few weeks ago.

"Hey, baby - oh.” Kit said, walking to the front door where you wrestled with your shoes, sat on the ground and pitifully pulling at your feet. Chuckling, Kit crouched down in front of you, raising an eyebrow and holding his hand out expectantly. Complying, you placed your foot in his hand, watching as he undid the laces with nimble fingers and pulled the shoe off, moving to your other foot to do the same. Not being able to untie your shoes had been the final straw after the completely fucked day that you had suffered and your lower lip quivered slightly at your boyfriend’s kindness as he neatly tucked your shoes away beside front door and pulled you to your feet. “Aw,” Kit exclaimed as he looked you in your rapidly wetting eyes, cooing as he pulled you into a tight hug, his chin resting atop your head protectively. “Long day? Or has something upset you?” You forced your tears down as Kit pressed your face into his chest, his hand coming round to the back of your head. “Long day.” You said simply, the words so muffled in the front of his shirt that you were surprised that he could make out the reply. His chuckle rumbled in his chest and you pulled away, wiping the single stray tear that you had allowed to fall from you cheek. “Come on,” Kit said, grasping onto your hand and pulling you down the hall to the kitchen. “Lets get you something to eat before I try to make you feel better.

Half an hour later, Kit had you splayed out on your shared bed, face down and completely naked. You sighed as you closed your eyes whilst the sound of Kit rummaging through the draws in your ensuite bathroom filled your ears. “Don’t fall asleep on me.” He said and you grunted in acknowledgment and confirmation. Laughing, he emerged from the bathroom, a little bottle of lavender oil clutched in his hands. “Okay,” he said, coming over to straddle your lower waist, being careful not to put too much of his weight on you. “I know how ticklish you are so I’ll be careful.” You could hear the smile in his voice as he opened the bottle and let a few drops of oil fall onto the exposed skin of your back and you couldn’t help but flinch slightly at the coldness. Kit shushed you softly, rubbing his hands together in a futile attempt to warm them up slightly before he used them to smooth the oil out evenly onto your back. “Kit,” you whined softly, already half-asleep. “Cold.” “Sorry.” He whispered, his hands settling in the dip of your lower back before he worked them up towards the nape of your neck, digging his fingertips into your skin and rubbing at your muscles with the heels of his hands. He repeated this slowly a few times, the glorious sensation of your boyfriend’s skilled hands working the tension out of your muscles and the heady scent of the lavender oil intoxicating and you fought back against your sleepiness, refusing to fall asleep and miss the thorough massage that Kit was giving you. He began to hum slightly as his oil-slick hands moved to your shoulders and it was an effort not to moan as his rough, warm fingers rubbed away any soreness and knots in your muscles. Kit let out a breathy chuckle from above you, his hands trailing their way down to your hips. “Is it good?” “So good.” You affirmed, your cheek smooshed into the bed below you as you spoke in barely a whisper. You grunted in protest as you felt Kit’s weight lift off you, your hand finding his and clasping on tightly as he stood, not wanting this to end. “Shhh,” he breathed, “let me take care of you.” Letting go of his hand, you allowed him to walk around to the bottom of the bed and he reached for your ankles to pull you slightly closer to him, the movement leaving you hair fanned out on the bed covers. Kit dribbled more oil onto your bare legs before opening them enough so that he could kneel on the bed between them. His hands started their thorough kneading on your calves and in your sleep addled mind you wondered where the hell he had learnt how to give someone such a fucking good massage. Travelling slowly up each leg, Kit eventually made his way to your upper thighs, having paused briefly to do something miraculous to the backs of your knees that had your toes curling. But now he rubbed his hands up, up, up, smoothing out the aches in your muscles and coming dangerously close to the exposed apex of your thighs before moving down them again, sliding his fingertips along your flesh again and again and again until you couldn’t help the soft mewl that slipped past your slips. A huffed laugh sounded from between your legs. “Don’t give me any other ideas.” You smiled, too sleepy to laugh as he continued, “as inviting as the view is, I’m perfectly happy just doing this.” You wiggled your hips lazily in response and he landed a playful smack on your ass before returning his attention back to your thighs. The slight sting of his palm against your skin made you pause and you wiggled your hips once more in the hopes that he would repeat his actions again. “Y/n?” He said your name in question, his hand coming up to flatten your ass back down on the bed. You pushed against his hold, your bottom lip getting caught in between your teeth as he gripped your flesh slightly, his nails biting into your oily skin. “Really?” He chuckled. “Here I am, trying to make you feel better after a long day and you decide to get turned on? Fuck,” he commented, his fingers suddenly brushing against the edges of your pussy, parting the sensitive flesh and cooing in admiration. “You’re wet for me already.” You whined softly, your face turning into the softness of the duvet beneath you, the fluffy covers smelling of Kit. “Well?” He pressed, the tip of his finger swiping through your wetness with the ghost of a touch. “Well what do you expect?” You said weakly, your voice muffled from where it remained pressed into the bed. “The second your hands were on me, I got drenched.” Kit blew onto your open pussy from behind, his fingers spreading you open and exposing you to him even further. It took all of your will to keep yourself from turning to launch yourself at him. He trailed his finger slowly down the full length of your pussy once more, causing you to push your hips back into his touch in order to gain more traction against the rough pad of his finger. “Impatient.” He tutted, pulling his hands away from you. You groaned as his hands fell back onto your thighs, messaging them deeply. You lifted your head up to glance at him from over your shoulder, your eyes bright with need. He only offered you an innocent smile, shuffling forwards in order to begin pressing the heels of his palms into your back once more. With a sigh, you let your head fall back down onto the bed, coming to accept that Kit was adamant on completing his massage. You quickly relaxed once more under his skilled touch, your eyes drifting shut again. The room feel into a comfortable silence, your eyes getting heavier and heavier with each journey that Kit’s fingers made up and down your spine. Your eyes flew open a moment later when Kit pushed his cock into you. You gasped, raising up onto your elbows, your mouth falling open at the sudden intrusion. You hadn’t even heard him take his pants off. “Oh god.” You gasped when Kit began to thrust immediately. “Oh fuck.” Kit’s sudden entry into you and the intensity with which he immediately started to fuck you made your fingers and toes tingle, your pussy being gloriously stretched open. “I couldn’t make my baby wait for her pleasure after the day that she’s had, now could I?” Kit said from behind you, thrusting all the way into you with each word in emphasis. You groaned, your back giving out as he slammed into with such force that your body moved up the bed, the covers creasing around you. Kit’s hands quickly looped under your thighs to pull them up, positioning you so that your ass was in the air but your chest and face remained pressed into the bed. Your back ached slightly at the harsh angle that Kit held your legs up but the dim pain barely registered as Kit continued to pound into you from behind, pushing your body further and further into the mattress with each stroke. “Oh. Oh, Kit.” You groaned luxuriously, your name on his lips only fuelling Kit to go harder, faster, deeper. Just when you began to gasp, slightly overwhelmed by the pleasure that Kit was abundantly giving you, tears pricking your eyes, Kit, with a shuddering breath, released your upper thighs and planted his hands back onto the oiled skin of your back. His fingers dug into the planes of your back, his nails clawing into your skin. Your eyes rolled continuously, your mouth falling agape as your first orgasm slammed into your body. You almost screamed at the force of your climax, Kit muttering encouragements through gritted teeth with each forceful slam of his cock into your pussy. Your fingers grappled with the sheets pooled around your writhing body as you gasped for air, Kit’s hand coming around to grab you chin and holding your face so that your neck was slightly craned towards the ceiling. You couldn’t seem to gain control of your eyes as they rolled back again and again, each of Kit’s thrust punctuating the aftershocks of your orgasm as you struggled to come down from your high. But Kit didn’t stop. And it was all you could do but keep gulping down breaths in time to his wild thrusting, his hands settling on your hips to pull you further onto his cock. Your fingers shook from where they clenched the bed sheets beside you, your legs trembling so violently that it was a miracle that you didn’t collapse fully onto the bed. Only when your gasped moans turned into high-pitched whines, signalling that you were close again, did Kit pull out. You were barely given the time to comprehend the sudden emptiness at the loss of him inside of you before Kit's lips attached themselves to your clit, sucking it into his mouth. His tongue flicked against you engorged clit repeatedly and the sweet pressure as he sucked you into his warm, slick mouth pushed you over the edge again. It felt as if you had fallen off the edge of the world and you cried out hoarsely as you came for a second time, Kit’s tongue working to keep you in the grips of your orgasm for as long as possible. Your mind went completely empty during this moment, every nerve in your body bathing themselves in the pleasure that Kit was giving you, his face clearly imprinted behind your clenched shut eyes. It felt as if Kit managed to draw out your orgasm for a considerable amount of time and as you twitched one last time on his tongue, your body finally gave out and crashing onto the bed in a sweat-coated, exhausted heap. You could only groan incoherently at Kit as he pulled away from you, coming over to your side to check up on you. “Are you alright?” He whispered, causing you to crack open one eye as a truly spent smile spread across your face. You nodded, your ability to speak seemingly non-existent in your afterglow. “Okay.” He laughed quietly, his lips pressing against yours briefly before he was gone again. The bed dipped once more between your legs and your mouth fell open weakly as Kit’s cock slipped back into you. He bottomed out with a shaky exhale but didn’t move, instead reaching to the side to pick up the small vile of lavender oil once more. Your inner walls clenched and rippled around him of their own accord, causing Kit to groan. “Geez, I just can’t catch a break, huh?” He murmured lovingly. “It’s not me. I might fall apart if you fuck me again.” You whispered back, voice raw. The oil was cold as he drizzled it onto your back, his hands soft this time as he rubbed his fingers over the small crescent-shaped indents that his nails had left on your skin, smoothing away any hurt. little taglist: @forevercountess @kitwalkerangel (if you want to be added or removed, just send me a message.)

#american horror story #ahs #ahs asylum #asylum #kit walker #kit x reader #smut

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jayankles · 3 years

Text

Something to Consider

Pairing: Diana Prince x Reader/ Wonder Woman x Reader

Summary: Diana walks in at the end of a meeting between Lex and Y/N, she warns her that he is nothing but bad news. Based on the request from lovely anon: hi !! can I request Wonder Woman x fem!reader smut please? 💞 Lex Luthor flirts with the reader and Diana gets jealous af.. Maybe the reader could be related to Batman (while Diana's like Superman) so it's like a spin on the BvS scene 🥰🥰

Word Count: 1659

Warnings: smut, angst?

Written for: @anyfandomgoesbingo

Square Filled: Angst

“Thanks for the drink, Lex.” You smirked, sipping at the whiskey, never breaking eye contact with the man. Your eyes dance over his face, trying to gage his usual stoic expression. But this time his face was one of the smallest of smiles that you had ever seen on that man’s face that wasn’t a sinister one.

“It’s just a drink, Miss Y/L/N,” Lex says, nonchalantly. Because for him, it is just a drink, it means nothing to him yet the small gesture has meant something because you had taken it from him as if it were a silent peace offering.

“The glass I have, costs what... thirty five grand?” You shook your head at him but still took another sip. That amount of money meant nothing to Lex, it hadn’t even made a dent in his bank account.

“Unfortunately Miss Y/L/N,” Lex looked at the time on his watch. “I do have another appointment. It was a pleasure talking with you. Just think about my offer, Y/N. My door is always open, especially for a woman like you.” Lex purrs at you, his hand covering yours before he winks and walks away. You turn to watch him walk away and spot Diana in your sight. Your smile widens as you see the woman that plagues your dreams.

Narrowing her eyes at you, she looks between you and the door Lex just walked through. “What was that all about? ‘Just think about my offer.’ What did he offer you?”

Your smile drops at the seriousness in her question. “What are you talking about? Why are you so concerned, baby? It’s just Lex Luthor, you know I can handle myself around men. It’s the women that make my legs a little shaky.”

“Do you know how dangerous he is?”

“Honey, I know dangerous. He… he is not it.” You reach out but Diana steps away, shaking her head at your actions.

“You don’t know him like I do, whatever his offer is please… don’t even consider thinking about it. He is capable of so many things that you don’t understand.” Her eyes silently plea with you, compelling you to not take Lex Luthor up on whatever it was that he had offered you. Diana didn’t want you to fall into a false sense of security to trust the man that had played a continuous game with her and the people in her team.

Your eyes hovered between both of hers and you knew she just wanted to protect you from something that you didn’t know anything about, there was something deeper going on between the two of them.

“Okay,” you said, holding your hands out once more waiting for her to take them this time. “I’ll take care of him. I won’t accept his offer.”

“What did he offer you? Was it sexual favors?” Diana mumbles, trying to figure out what it was that Lex wanted from you to offer you something.

“Oh, Diana, are you jealous? Of a man?” you ask, your hands dropping to her hips to pull her close before you cupped her face in your hands, pressing your lips softly to hers. “I’m all yours, Diana. I promise. Let’s go home.”

You could feel Diana’s eyes burning into the back of your head as you turned the key into your home. She was on you as soon as she had slammed the door closed. Lips attacking yours as soon as she could reach you, your eyes widened before you start to kiss her back, tugging at any piece of clothing that you find so you can be closer to her.

With no struggle at all, she lifts you into her waiting arms, legs instinctively wrapping around her delicate hips as she harshly palms at your ass. She takes in your face, you’re perfect. The way your eyes never break from hers, the way your mouth falls open just after you bite it, but what tips Diana over the edge is the way she can hear your heart pounding in your chest. Like it is beating so hard just to reach out to her, to tangle with hers as if you couldn’t live without her hearing it.

“I love you.” It’s a hushed whisper and if you hadn’t been looking at her, you would have missed it but you heard the three most important words that meant the entire world to you. It was the three words that you had never heard before nor had you said them to anyone before.

Your lips connected once more. A fire burning low in your stomach, you ached for her. “I love you, too.”

Diana didn’t need to think twice about leading you to your bedroom. She gently set you down on your bed, not breaking the contact between the two of you until she kissed her way down your body, over your clothes, stopping just above the waistband of your pants. Diana looks up from her lashes and you see the desire in her eyes and you can’t distinguish whether it’s love or lust. You determine that it’s lust for now, you could be wrong after all.

Easily, she removes your shoes and moves up your legs to unbutton your pants, seductively dragging them down your legs. You can feel your wetness seeping through your panties. Diana tilts her head to the side, a sneaky smirk on her face as she ripped your panties in half, tossing them across the room, leaving your cunt bare and in all its soaking wet glory.

“Diana…” you whispered, wriggling your body underneath her gaze. You didn’t know whether you were pleading for. Her lips on yours or on your pussy? You were happy for either event to occur. Diana, however, picked the latter, her body lowering so that she was lying flat on her stomach. Her eyes flickered from yours to your dripping pussy. She softly swept one of her fingers through your folds, licking off your arousal, humming at the sweet nectar she had collected. “Absolutely perfect.”

You whimpered at her praise, your hips rolling up, trying to find any friction to release the ache between your legs. The Amazon Warrior takes her time, pressing soft kisses from your knee and slowly travelling across your thigh, so close yet so far from the spot you needed her to be. Finally, she licked her tongue through your folds to your clit. You hiss as Diana continues to work over your pussy, her tongue flicking over your clit before she suctions it between her lips, sucking it until you are clawing at the bed sheets beneath your body, trying to grab hold of anything that could ground you as Diana drove you to new heights. Your mouth falls open, you squeak out a noise as Diana continues to lick your cunt and swallow down your arousal. She pushes your legs open, bringing her fingers up to swipe through your folds before two of them sink into your weeping cunt, opening yourself up to her, giving her everything you have to offer.

You feel your stomach tighten under her fingers and tongue, her ministrations sending sharp pains through your body, you shoot up, trying to close your legs around Diana’s head but her strength prevents you from moving even an inch away from her. “Keep going. Please… don’t stop.”

Diana obeyed, picking up speed in her movements, her tongue and fingers moving faster to push you to your orgasm. With a final pump of her fingers inside of your pussy, her fingers curl up into your inner walls and you’re putty in her hands, exploding around her digits as she rides out the waves of your high.

“Jesus, maybe I’ll have to make you jealous more often if that is what is going to happen.” You breathed out, trying to find an equilibrium. “I’m sorry that I made you feel inferior. To Lex Luthor of all people.”

Diana rolls her eyes, kissing her way back up your body. “Shut up, Y/N. Next time won’t be as pleasurable for you.”

“So, there is a next time.” You hummed, bringing her face to yours, silencing her with a kiss before she spoke again. “I’ll tell Lex no. I don’t want to upset you when you were just trying to protect me. I get it.”

Diana pulled you close, pressing her lips to the crown of your head, tucking you into her warm embrace. You felt so safe and secure in her arms. That was the point where you knew exactly what you were going to do.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t you again, Miss Y/L/N.”

You peered over your shoulder to see the same man from a few weeks ago. “What is it this time, Lex? You bought me a house? A boat? An entire Island?”

“Oh, dear, no,” the man scoffed out a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. I concocted a serum. For you, I should add.”

“Lex, I told you, I don’t want any part of this and the game that we were playing. I didn’t sign up for it, please. As much as I would love to live a long and healthy life,” you breathe out, shaking your hands in front of you. “I would be forever in your debt. I appreciate your offer Mr Luthor, but I’ll have to decline. I have to live the rest of my life - whatever is left of it - as best I can, especially with the people I love. But thank you, the trouble you went through to help me means a lot.”

With your last words to him, you nod your head at the powerful man and press a kiss to his cheek. You were going to leave this earth whenever someone up there decided that it was your time to go but until then, you were going to love Diana Prince with all your heart. Nothing less.

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potatoes-is-are-food · 4 years

Text

Demon Shit [Part 3]

| NSFW

“I know it was probably scary last time, but stand in the circle, sweetness. Put your shoes and jacket on that chair first..” Dabi’s hand produced a blue flame which he used to light several candles around the room, illuminating it enough for you to see the circle, several chairs scattered around the room, along with boxes and a ton of cobwebs. You did as instructed, shivering as you draped your coat over the arm of a plush armchair and slid your boots under it. Dabi placed a hand on your back,

“Good girl,” he praised, “Now just wait right there, I have to leave the room so the summoning can happen. Seriously, don’t talk to him, okay?” You nodded, but he gripped your face and stared you down, “I mean it. Don’t talk to him until I say or I’ll spank your cute little ass so hard you won’t be able to sit right for the next century. Got it?” You nodded frantically and his hold lessened as he pressed a light kiss to your lips before giving your head a pat and exiting the room, leaving you alone in mostly darkness.

You shuffled your stocking-clad feet nervously, wringing your hands and shaking in the cold. When you felt the demon materialize in front of you, you pressed your mouth into a hard line. You didn’t even look up, staring down at the newly appeared being’s legs and trying to avoid glancing up any further.

The door opened and Dabi lit several more candles, giving you a reassuring wink as you watched him, eyes still wide and hands clasped tightly together. When he was done he approached and you turned to look at him, facing away from the new demon. His eyes darted up for a second and settled on you again, giving you a little smile.

“Perfect. You can speak. It’s all done,” he ruffled your hair, watching with an amused expression as realization clouded your expression.

“If it’s done then-” you screamed as pale arms wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you back against the bare chest of the demon.

“Fuck, Tomura, don’t scare her to death,” Dabi said, pulling you out of the stranger’s arms and into his. You immediately clung to him, burying your face in his chest and locking your arms tightly around his waist. You heard raspy laughing behind you and held Dabi tighter. His arm wrapped around your shoulders and his other hand pulled his friend in close.

You looked up to see Tomura pecked his lips and mutter thanks under his breath before turning his attention back to you, tracing his fingers lightly along your back for a moment.

“You’re fine, little sacrifice. Say hi,” he gently pried your arms off him and spun you to face the other demon. Tomura was roughly the same height and build as Dabi, but no discolored skin. The area around his eyes was a little marred and his lips looked chapped, but his long, unkempt hair was what drew your attention. That is, until your eyes glanced lower before you could stop them and you got an eyefull of the monster between his legs.

All the blood in your body rushed to your face as your eyes shot up to stare at the ceiling, trying to purge the image from your mind. Bigger than Dabi, and that had felt like it might tear you in half. Tomura’s looked like it would ruin you. He leaned in closer until his face was only a few centimeters from yours and smiled creepily at you. The expression made your thighs clench and your body shrink back against Dabi.

“Lucky asshole,” Tomura rasped, looking up at him but staying close to you, “My last sacrifice was an infant. What the fuck was I supposed to do with that? And I still had to fulfill my end of the deal. Bullshit,” he sneered, bringing his red gaze back to your scared, flustered expression.

“Pretty, right? Sweet, too. And a dumb little thing. Fucked up the ritual by talking to me, let me carry her off with no struggle, willingly let me mark her up, and does whatever I say. If I told her to drop her panties and give them to you, she’d do it. Isn’t that right, sweetness?” Cyan eyes bore into you and your face burned, but you nodded at him anyway. A smirk crept over his face and he gave you a nod, tapping your hip and stroking your hair.

“Fucking up the ritual doesn’t normally make them dumb and pliant,” he rasped, “you must have traumatized her or something. Not that I care,” He paused briefly, looking you up and down, “You’re gonna share, right? You owe me. You owe me a lot more than a pair of panties,” he watched you reach under your skirt and pull the lacy white fabric down, a fresh little wet spot visible on them. Tomura licked his lips, “I do want them, though,” he snatched them from you as soon as you held them out, inhaling your scent deeply and letting his eyes roll back.

“Yeah, I’m sharing. Looks like she likes you, too,” Dabi muttered, his hand slipped under the back of your dress and swiped up through your wet folds. He licked his finger clean before nudging you towards Tomura and pulling away from you to shuffle through some boxes at the other end of the room. You were left face to face with the new demon, who was still naked and still sniffing your panties.

“Gonna share with Kei?” Tomura asked, voice muffled from the fabric shoved against his face. Dabi shot him a look and he rolled his eyes, dropping your underwear and leaning in, “I want to kiss you,” he said bluntly, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you so your chests were touching. You didn’t get to respond.

His tongue, longer than Dabi’s but not split like his, jutted out as he licked along your jaw. Your mouth opened in a gasp and he slipped it past your lips, closing the distance after and kissing you harshly. Your eyes fluttered shut as your head spun, arms wrapping around Tomura’s neck for support. He held you up easily, sliding his tongue around inside your mouth and down your throat, moaning when you gagged on it and trying to go deeper.

Drool spilled down your chin, dripping onto you both with a quiet tap as his hands moved from the small of your back down to your ass, cupping your flesh and lifting you. Your legs wrapped around his waist as his fingers kneaded at your plush cheeks and thighs, and you felt his heavy, mildly terrifying cock stirring to life just under you. His clawed hands gripped too hard at your already sore thighs, breaking skin and making you whimper against his lips.

“Dude, wait until we’re in a pocket. Someone hears her screaming here, this location is fucked,” Dabi scolded him, still shuffling through boxes. Tomura grunted into your mouth, setting you down and breaking off the kiss, leaving you panting and flushed. Strings of saliva connected you, and you wiped off your face on your sleeve. He let you lean against him, humming contently as he pet your hair and gave you a squeeze, pressing his erection against you. He inhaled deeply,

“You’re so soft,” he muttered, rocking his hips a little, “smell so good…” “Don’t jizz on her here,” Dabi pulled him off you, wrapping an arm around each of you. He kissed Tomura again and pushed him off toward some clothes he’d gotten out before turning his attention to you, tilting your chin up and kissing you softly before setting you in the chair your stuff had been on. He slipped your feet back into your boots and laced them before setting you on your feet and trying to fix the mess his friend had made of your clothes and hair.

Tomura scoffed, stuffing his hard, leaking cock into a pair of pants, “Do you spoon feed her, too?” He taunted, zipping and buttoning himself away. You pursed your lips slightly as Dabi wrapped your coat around you and adjusted it.

“That’s why your sacrifices always die,” he laughed, “you forget to feed them and take care of them,” once satisfied with your clothes, he gave you a pat on the head and sat down, pulling you into his lap.

“That was literally three centuries ago,” Tomura argued, pulling on shoes and tying his long hair back, “And I didn’t like that one anyway. The deal wasn’t worth it,” Dabi shook his head when you shot him a questioning look. You settled against him, turning sideways in his lap to wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his neck. Tomura joined you both, sitting on the arm of the chair and fiddling with one of the buttons on his shirt,

“Is she always that clingy?” he gave your arm a poke and you gave it to him, holding his hand but keeping your face nestled against discolored, rough skin. Dabi shrugged,

“Since I’ve had her. She just kind of lets me do whatever, all she wants is affection, hm?” he bounced you slightly, sighing when you kissed his neck. You sincerely couldn’t explain why, but you were drawn to him, he made you feel safer than you ever had. You liked the other one, too, but he made you a little nervous. You gave his hand a little squeeze.

“She’s like a little girl or something. Are you sure you didn’t break her or some shit?” Tomura gave your hand a tug, pulling your face off Dabi and closer to him, inspecting your eternally flustered expression, “None of mine are ever like this.” Dabi scoffed, “You probably scare yours, you made y/n scream.” Tomura smirked at him,

“You haven’t made her scream?” he taunted.

“I’ll make you both scream,” Dabi shot back, gripping Tomura’s ponytail and jerking him forward, pressing his lips to his. You watched with wide eyes, squirming a little as you felt heat building between your legs from the display. Their kiss broke, Dabi leaning back into the chair with a laugh,

“That do something for you, little sacrifice?” You looked away, pursing your lips as he trailed a finger down your cheek. You heard Tomura mutter, “cute,” under his breath as his fingers slipped under your dress. Dabi swatted him away,

“Wanna touch,” he argued, trying to bypass the other demon’s hand.

“Knock it off. She needs food and I need to get her more clothes. Here,” he placed a light smack to Tomura’s thigh and both men stood, Dabi helping you off his lap and placing your hand in his friend’s.

“Get her food and text when you’re done. We can meet up and get her settled into the pocket,” he pulled a phone from his pocket and stuffed it in one of Tomura’s, “Have fun on your date,” he winked, kissing Tomura first and then you, smoothing your clothes one more time and wiping something off your face.

“Wait, you already picked a pocket for her? I’m gonna have to stay there too, it better be nice,” You stared up at Tomura as Dabi waved off his question, blowing out the candles around the room.

“Are you going to live with me?” You asked, clinging to his arm as the room slowly darkened.

“Sometimes. Between all three of us you’ll have someone with you pretty much all the time probably,” he scratched at his neck, shrugging as Dabi glared at him again.

“Three? Is that Kei?” Dabi winced as the name fell from your lips, blowing out the last of the candles and leaving the three of you in the dark.

“Don’t worry about him, but yeah. We’ll deal with that in a day or two,” a hand ruffled your hair, “Can’t do too many rituals so close together. It’ll overwhelm your puny little body. I’m not the only reason you’re sore and worn out,” you felt him kiss your head and steps walking off. The sound of a door opening, and he was gone.

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