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inuyashaluver · 2 months

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apple cider - alessia russo

alessia russo x reader

description: in which you and alessia don't like each other that much, but you both really do

warnings: this was a looooonnnnnggggggg one! swearing and honestly makes no sense but here we go, toone!reader

a/n: based on a BANGER OF COURSE, please enjoy this omg i love this song i can't, it is mandatory that you listen to it and associate alessia with it forever

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'we both like apple cider, but your hair be smelling like fruit punch'

it wasn't really ideal to be in love with your older sister’s best friend, but you were, and you have been for the majority of your lifetime.

your sister, ella, has always been extremely close to you, you both had different interests, sure, but she always kept you in the loop of her life as did you.

you were very much the best of friends, the way both of you liked it. and by association of being your sister’s biggest fan, alessia was added into the equation.

you weren't in the football scene, you were more into the academic side of things.

you tried football, liked it for about two minutes and then quickly realised you preferred to watch it, especially when ella and alessia were playing.

you instead went to university and ultimately became an occupational therapist.

—

'and i don’t even like you that much, wait, i do, fuck'

back when you were 16 and alessia and ella were 17, things began to shift. it was common to see you at a game if ella was playing, she always loved to have you there even if she wouldn't admit it all the time.

“there she is! my darling sister finally took her nose out of the books” ella teases, pinching your cheek as you stood at the fence of the pitch at the england u17 team. you were bundled up in the cold in one of ella’s puffers that you lovingly stole, though thankfully, she didn't notice"

“ella, get off man!” you groan with a laugh, letting ella pull you into a hug in greeting, you look over ella's shoulder and spot alessia chatting with lotte.

alessia smiles at you through the conversation, waving at you shyly, smiling wider when you returned a sly wave.

when ella releases you, alessia runs over with her charming smile and her blonde ponytail swaying behind her. you didn't even realise you were beginning to go red.

“hey, little toone” alessia grins, pulling you into a sweet hug, you began to wonder how she could smell so good after 90 minutes of running around. you couldn't help but feel dizzy.

“i have my own name, you know?” you roll your eyes with a giggle, alessia’s hands run down your arms as she releases you from the hug, you have to remind yourself that it means nothing. (you’re silly)

“i know you do, (y/n/n), just teasing” she squeezes your forearm with a wink before she lets go of you completely. “oi, we’re good at that” ella laughs, bumping shoulders with alessia, the blonde letting out a chuckle of her own.

“enjoy the game?” alessia asks, “yeah! great goal, less” you smile, alessia returns it, “you saw? i knew you were coming so i had to impress you” alessia flirts, you clear your throat, letting out a nervous giggle, feeling warm from alessia’s words.

ella laughs, “look at you all red” ella teases, making kissy faces at you, you flip her off and alessia laughs. “don’t tease her, tooney” alessia nudges her again, smiling at you in a way that made your heart flutter. “yeah, tooney, fuck off” you mock, ella slaps the back of your head, scolding you to respect your elders.

and that’s how it always was, you and alessia, mainly alessia flirting yet doing nothing about it. you both had so much in common that everytime she came over to your’s and ella’s house.

it would be like you invited her over, as every conversation was you and alessia getting excited over whatever you were talking about. ella loved that the two of you had a friendship, but it never really came to her that the two of you had a thing for each other.

—

you lived in london while your sister lived in manchester along with alessia when they both played for united. you came back frequently while you were in uni to see your sister. and only your sister (you're a really bad liar).

you sat on the sidelines while the girls warmed up, your eyes were focused on your sister until they drifted to her passing partner. alessia just exuded this aura you couldn't distract yourself from.

she's gorgeous and you thought about her constantly and it didn't help that she flirted with you any chance that she got.

she spots you staring and she can't help but smirk. she looks down for a moment, catching her lip in between her teeth before she looks up again, letting it go with a cheeky smile now replacing her features.

alessia nods her head toward you so ella would turn around. ella brightened up when she saw you, though, looked perplexed for a split second when she saw your flustered expression but quickly shook it off.

she waved exaggeratingly and you both giggled when you returned one with just as much enthusiasm, ella smiled when you turned to show her your ‘toone’ jersey, holding up one finger to indicate she needed to play well.

alessia laughs when you turn back to the front, looking between you and ella with a bright smile. she loved your relationship and reminded you both constantly.

she understood how much ella meant to you and vice versa, much like her relationship with her brothers. that’s why she was a little nervous showing any ounce of attraction towards you.

ella and alessia continue their passing drills, though the blonde of the pair seemed increasingly distracted. each time she passed the ball back to ella, she would glance at you, and she would be pleasantly surprised to see your eyes already trained on her.

it was part of the reason she couldn’t look away, and it was a point in her mind to remember, a moment that you showed some interest back.

after the game, ella came bounding over to you in a bone crushing hug, you haven't seen her for a little over 2 months.

“oh, hello!” you wheeze out, “you need to come over more, it's ridiculous!” ella pulls back from the hug as she scolds you, though pulls you back into the hug after you laughed at her.

“i barely see ya!” she exaggerates, giving your cheek a sloppy kiss that made you both laugh, “el, yes you do!” you defend, though ella wasn’t having any of it.

“very good game, ella” you say as you step apart, “did you just tell me i played well?” her hand clutches her chest, gasping mockingly, you shake your head at her amusingly, flicking her forehead.

“i take it back, you were shit” you joke, wincing when she slapped your arm harshly, and that was when little miss charming alessia came over right on time.

“hey, no hitting” alessia scolds ella, giving her a light shove away from you. “hello, miss london” alessia says cheekily, pulling you into a warm hug that was definitely a second too long.

“you just hit me” ella mutters, you and alessia ignore it. you laugh at the nickname, alessia started calling you that ever since you moved to london for uni.

“hello, miss manchester” you mock, her hand sits on your hip for a moment when she pulled away, “now, tooney, we don’t hit our sisters, we love our sisters” alessia ridicules, winking at you before turning back to ella, arms crossed over her chest.

“less, you should have heard what she said to me!” ella gawks, “i was joking!” you exclaim, “right, (y/n/n), what did you say?” alessia attempts, hitting ella when she was about to answer for you.

“i made a joke that she was shit” you huff, your own arms crossing over your chest, “tooney, she's not wrong” alessia jokes, though ella does it find it funny.

she gasps at the words before she shoves alessia towards you, you manage to hold her steady before she fell, both of your hands land on her hips as you catch her. alessia’s body slots against your own, her back pressed to your front, feeling oddly familiar.

you can hear alessia’s breath catch in her throat when one of your fingers slightly grazes her skin from where her shirt had ridden up. “my god, you’re both perfect for each other” ella points at both of you huffing in frustration before looking right at you.

“i'm getting changed, we’re going to dinner, and then you're going home” she doesn't even let you respond before she marches off. ella doesn't know how that comment of you being perfect for each other ignited a flame in both of your stomachs.

alessia is still against you, you give her a light squeeze to indicate that she moves, “shit, sorry!” she says, cheeks completely red in embarrassment, she shuffles nervously as you look at her.

“um, really good game” you stutter out, alessia grins, “thank you, i’m happy you came, i haven’t seen you in a while” she's back to normal and you're grateful for it.

“it has been a while” you trail off, “so, will you be coming to dinner?” you ask her nervously, alessia’s mouth opens slightly in surprise, “oh” she starts, “would you..be okay with that? isn't this your sister time?” alessia mutters quickly, the nerves rolling over both of you in waves.

“i don’t mind at all, like you said, i haven’t seen you in a while” you smile, cocking your head to the side quickly, alessia chuckles, copying your action with a smile.

“i’ll have to check with your sister” something about that last word stinging, suddenly shedding light on the situation. “i’m sure she wouldn’t mind” you shrug, trying to be cool about it.

alessia smiles at you, moving closer to fix your jersey from your shoulders, there was nothing wrong with it and you both knew it.

“okay then, see you later, babe” she winks, letting out a breath before moving away from you, running towards the change rooms. you stood there frozen after the interaction. you were fucked.

—

the dinner was fun, the three of you joking and conversing while updating each other on what was happening in life. alessia sat across from you, your ankles brushing each other occasionally and your breath would hitch each time it happened.

to say alessia was focused on you wholeheartedly was a complete understatement. this girl was studying your every move with utmost attention, intently listening to your words and making mental notes on what to remember for later.

saying goodbye that night to both girls was bittersweet. separating from your sister was always hard, especially since she wasn't across the hallway anymore. the older girl had to remind you to call her daily for your updates and you agree.

when they walk you to your car and both give you a warm hug, you grew a little heartbroken, this day was so fun and you didn’t want it to end.

—

'call me at midnight, let’s give this thing a try'

you got home at around 10 and began to get ready for bed, until at midnight, your phone began to ring. your eyebrows furrow, who could’ve been calling you this late at night? and there it was, ‘alessia’ lighting up the screen with a facetime call.

you scramble to answer, pointing the phone towards the ceiling. “hello?” alessia’s voice calls out, she’s in bed, hoodie clad and looking more cozy than ever.

“hey, lessi” you say in quite confusion, “hey, love, sorry to be calling so late, i um, missed you” alessia says slowly, her eyes flickering in attempts to spot you on the screen.

you smile shyly, trying not to let out a squeal, “i..missed you too” you breathe out, the smile on alessia’s face was so bright, it took everything in you to stop yourself from screenshotting.

“you missed me, huh? i also missed your face if that’s anything to you?” she says cheekily, you laugh, propping up the phone in your bathroom, clearly about to do skincare of somesort.

“oh my god, you’re so cute” alessia coos, pulling the screen closer to her to get a better look at you. “stop it” you groan, covering your face up in embarrassment.

“for now” she winks, propping herself up on her hand, watching you with blown out pupils as you move around the bathroom getting unready. the call was so natural and weirdly felt so comfortable. you’ve never called like this before but you both internally agreed it was fun.

“so, tell me why you’ve called me, star girl” you chuckle, she groans at the name but her pink cheeks said otherwise. “i um, i don't know if i’ve been reading into this, but i think you also notice the connection between us” she says nervously.

you could tell she was anxious, you were too because you never thought this would happen, especially after years of pining.

“we have a connection” you gasp, she rolls her eyes at you, both of you now in bed on respective sides of the phone.

“okay, im hanging up now” she jokes, “no” you pout exaggeratingly, she can’t help but screenshot and laughs at you reaction of you cursing her out, halfheartedly of course.

“yes, our connection” you wink, alessia nods determinedly, “mhm, and i know this is going to be hard for us so i wanted to know what you thought about it” you both stare at each other for a second before breaking out into little giggles between you two.

“well, i'm not opposed, russo” you flirt, she grins at you, chuckling breathily, “well, neither am i” she flirts back, tucking a loose piece of hair behind her ear.

“what about ella?” you point out the obvious, regretting it seeing the slight wince on alessia’s face. “we..can tell her when we’re ready” she suggests, you think about it for a moment, ultimately nodding, “let’s try this, slowly” you tease, alessia smiles, “slowly” she mocks.

you both stayed on the phone for over 3 hours, no regrets between the both of you, and that’s when the sneaking around started.

—

'you said you liked my hair, so go ahead and touch it'

you and alessia called every night and somehow managed to keep ella out of it. you were surprisingly hiding it really well, even when you and alessia were completely loved up, it was honestly ridiculous how she didn't catch on.

you would come down every other weekend to stay at ella’s, ‘staying on the couch’. the moment ella would go to bed, alessia would drag you to her room, you were her girlfriend after all.

her lips moved languidly with yours, gently squeezing your hips as she pressed you against her bedroom wall, directly next to ella’s.

“i missed you, baby” she hums against your lips, rushing to press them onto yours again. you break away for a moment, “i missed you too, my love” you breathe out, she smiles against you, whining against your lips to pull you closer.

she drags you over to the bed, flopping down on top of you as she gives you a tight squeeze. she hovers, looking at you affectionately, “so beautiful” she whispers, dipping to press kisses along your jaw.

she rests her chin on top of your chest, brushing off a stray hair from your forehead, “i think i’m ready to tell her” you whisper to alessia, she smiles at you in surprise, two months of sneaking around potentially coming to a close.

“whenever you’re ready, baby” she says sweetly, leaning up to pull you into another kiss.

—

'you said you liked the jumper i wore, so i always wore it'

you got up earlier to make the two girls breakfast much to the disapproval of alessia. you wear one of her jumpers as you stand at the burner making food, alessia following you shortly after you left her in the bed.

alessia rests her chin on your shoulder with her arms wrapped around your middle tightly, she hums quietly as she swayed you slightly. what you didn’t hear was ella coming into the room, and that’s when alessia gave you a quick kiss on your lips.

“what the fuck was that?” ella screeched, her hand covering her mouth in shock. alessia pulls away from you in shock, a safe distance between the two of you.

“ella” you try though ella shook her head, “you’re fucking my baby sister” ella points at alessia, “ella, please listen to her” alessia pleads.

“no, what the fuck, how long has this been going on for?” ella says sternly, “2 months” you said softly, unable to even look at your sister in the eye. “2 months” she repeats in shock, running her hands over her face in frustration.

alessia looks at you, you look shattered, this was not the way you wanted this to go.

“i’m going for a walk, a 15 minute walk and you two are talking, and we will talk later” alessia pronounces. you nod, nervously glancing at ella, she nods as well, alessia gives you an encouraging smile, closing the door behind her.

you and ella both sit on the couch, “go on then” ella says, clearly agitated. “ella, i was going to tell you, i was literally going to tell you today” you admit, looking at her pleadingly but she just stared at the wall.

“my baby sister is dating my best friend” she breathes out, nodding in acknowledgement.

“ella, i love her, she treats me better than anyone, she’s respectful, she kind, she’s loving and shes so understanding of me, of us, i really do love her” you cry, not even realising you were tearing up, ella looks at you, just staring for a moment.

“you love her?” she says, her eyes softening at your tears, “a lot” you sniff, ella nods, “well don’t let her see you cry, you look ridiculous” she jokes, you let out a wet laugh, holding your arms out for a hug that she was happy to return.

“just think about your best friend being your sister in law” you joke, ella pulls back from the hug, “oh my god, you are so right!” ella laughs, telling you all the ways her and alessia would give you hell but you didn’t care, your sister accepted you.

alessia comes back and you dish up breakfast for everyone, you can't help but give her a tight hug and she knew everything was okay. until the middle of breakfast when ella pronounced, “this doesn’t mean she’ll be wearing your jersey, russo”

—

'it’s really nice to talk to you, it’s really nice to hold your hand'

“hi, baby” alessia smiles breathlessly, pulling you into a tight hug after an england game, she’d just transferred to arsenal. “hi, star girl” you grin, giving her a loving kiss on the other side of the barrier.

“two goals for me, i’m so spoiled” you say cheekily, giggling against alessia’s lips when she pecked them repeatedly, “mhm, just for you, babe” she grins, nuzzling her nose against yours for a moment.

“yuck, move, less or i’ll throw up on ya” ella gags, grinning at you and pulling you into a hug, “don’t defile my sister” ella warns, checking all over your face for ‘injuries’, “you two are definitely sisters” alessia smiles, letting ella tease her.

ella catches sight of something, “what did i say about the russo jersey?” she exclaims, you and alessia freeze, alessia pulls you over the barrier, holding your hand and you both make a run for it while ella chased you.

—

alessia and you now lived in a cozy apartment in london, you had graduated from university and lived a happy life with alessia. ella came over all the time and even though she wouldn’t admit it, she loved your relationship.

she loved how perfect you were for each other, the pure love you had made her so incredibly happy. she’s never seen you so happy and loved up, the same with alessia.

ella trusted alessia wholeheartedly after seeing how much she took care of you. she was so happy to see you two the way you were. though, the teasing would never relent, you and alessia didn’t mind, you were both elated.

'we can talk about how we don't like each other that much'

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you know the drill, pretend its you! ily lotteeee xx

liked by ellatoone and 44,232 other

alessia: my preferred toone

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yourname: oh you are so cute, lessi bear!

↳ alessia: no, YOU'RE so cute baby girl!

↳ yourname: no, YOU'RE so cute baby cakes!

↳ ellatoone: ENOUGH I'M BEGGING, I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE

ellatoone: less, you are so funny because this is not true

↳ alessia: i'm not a liar tooney wooney

↳ ellatoone: all right then, you are never invited over again

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso one shot #woso imagine #alessia russo #alessia russo x reader #Spotify

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sstrwbrryccke · 9 months

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member of txt!amab!reader who wears grey sweatpants to practice... and soobin can't help, but keep on staring at their crotch :( stupid baby can't even concentrate on practicing anymore, so he just sits on the floor and continues staring, rubbing his thighs together from time to time. reader obviously takes a notice at soobin's behaviour, so when they're left alone in practice room, it all ends up with soobin getting fucked dumb in front of all the mirrors around...

stop pervy soobin will be the death of me… thank you em @soobinsonly1bf for the request! 🫢🙏 (i asked him to req me HSHHSJFJA)

— practice room | sub choi soobin

tags: txt!amab!reader x pervert soobin, mean reader but soft at the end, made-up dance routine, reader is the oldest of the group, usage of hyung a few times, mirror sex, downbad soobin, pervert soobin, mention of drool once, soobin fingering himself, thigh slapping, dacryphilia, age dominance? idk like korea’s respect system based on age, fluffy at the end but other than that its filth

“okay everyone, two more tries. from the top.”

you call out, slicking your hair back, and getting back to position. more emotion, more expression, focus on the chorus. you repeat in your head, looking back at your members.

“lets do it!” yeonjun yells in english, clapping his hands, hyping up everyone as beomgyu replays the song from the top. soobin takes his position beside you, a meek look on his face, which you shrugged off at first. maybe he was tired, the group had been practicing for hours after all.

gradually however, you begin to notice the subtle changes in his breath pattern, the way he bites his lips as he stares intently at the practice mirror. it only became more apparent at the killing part of the dance, you face towards soobin, hand reaching out to grasp his chin, and you distinctly hear his breath hitch, eyes lidded as he stares at you.

when the dance ended, some members took a drink break, while others kept correcting their mistakes in the mirror. you on the other-hand, approached soobin directly, who was busy pretending as if he didn’t see you.

“soobin.”

you just say, arms crossed. the said boy was sitting with his back flush to the mirror. head turned to the side and hand rubbing the back of his neck. his eyes glance to you before nervously looking away. the closer you get the more jittery he becomes. you squat in front of him, and you hear him hold his breath, he couldn’t help but glance down— to your crotch and the outline of your cock in your grey sweatpants— oh shit.

he gulps, coming face to face with your knowing look. he just got caught staring. he props his knees up, hugging them to his chest, face down. trying to hide his growing erection.

“soobin, look at hyung.”

he lifts his head at this, bunny eyes wide and mouth agape. you were smirking at him. his heart thumped and his cheeks grew warm.

“guys, soobin’s tired, let’s practice one more time without him. come on, get up. lets go.” you clap, signalling to the others before jumping up and walking back to your position. some members whine, joking about your favouritism towards soobin and you just shush them playfully. the many privileges of being the oldest. the loud instrumentals start, but instead of the mirror, you stare at the boy sitting in front.

the moment the dance begins, you default back to your facial expressions carefully crafted for each move, though your eyes never left soobin’s pair. he felt his erection twitch in his pants. you lick your lips and he imagines that was him spread out onto your tongue. you thrust your hips and he imagines his body flush against yours. and god, those stupidly hot grey sweatpants. he was so incredibly down bad for a dumb piece of clothing, but the way the fabric almost left nothing yet everything to the imagination— maybe he finally understood how fans felt when they see their bias.

before he knew it, his thighs were desperately rubbing together, mouth agape. if he opened his lips any wider, drool might even seep out. he was so needy, and he knew you knew. the way you eyed him down, tongue poking at your inner cheek, fingers deliberately sliding down from your chest to near your crotch.

god.

thankfully the dance was over, otherwise soobin might’ve genuinely busted in his pants, and he was sure he would’ve faced a lifetime of teasing as a result. you pat each member behind the back, exchanging ‘good work’s as you remind everyone to stretch at the dorm. yeonjun sneaks up on you, slapping your ass with a cheeky grin. “what? gonna dote on soobin once the two of you are alone?”

you jab him in the side, playfully rolling your eyes. you knew yeonjun was joking, but he didn’t know just how true his words were. there had always been something between you and soobin since your trainee era, and the two of you were ecstatic when you found out you were debuting together. and soon enough, that attraction became something tangible and physical. as hormonal young adults, it was no surprise you two took advantage of your youth to enjoy each other’s presence. aka fuck like wild bunnies.

when the rest of the group leave the room, their laughter and chattering muffled down the hallway, you slowly lock the practice room door, turning around to meet eyes with a very desperate soobin. his hands snaking around your neck. kissing you just as eagerly, you kiss him back much more precise compared to his sloppy attempt. he pushes a tongue against your bottom lip and that’s when you part, a string of saliva connecting you two. he stares at you for a second before a low whine trembles out from his plump lips.

“why?”

“why should i reward you? you’ve been bad.”

his pouty lips frown, about to sulk before you push him further into the room, dead centre in the middle of the practice mirrors.

“seriously soob, you think you’re slick, staring at my crotch like that?”

his face instantly darkens to a crimson red, he lowers his head and his bangs cover his eyes but you can see the pink on his ears.

“you wanted to distract me didn’t you. wanted me to mess up on the choreography?”

he shakes his head quickly, his hair tousling at the motion, his big eyes peak from behind his bangs as he looks at you.

“no!… i…” he stammers, trying to formulate words to defend himself, but all he could really focus on was his hardening dick and how it pressed against his jeans painfully.

“no? look at yourself.”

he does as you say. good obedient boy. there was a tent in his jeans and at the very tip was a wet spot. his breath stutters, because he catches a glance at your crotch too, your length outlined by the thin fabric of the sweatpants. he wished that was in him instead.

“i can’t help it, im sorry.” his head hung low in an embarrassed shame, apologising to his older member out of genuine guilt.

“if you’re so sorry, let me see you open yourself up. if you’re good, maybe ill reconsider.”

he takes a glance at you, and he knew exactly what you wanted. he’s been here before, you wanted to see the humiliation on his face as he played with himself. you wanted him to cry as he threw away his dignity and pride. degrade his body into a shivering and quivering mess until he begged for forgiveness.

it shouldn’t, but it turned him on so much. he quickly shuffles off his pants, keeping his hoodie on because he knew you liked seeing his huge hoodie slump down his figure and onto his cock. he parts his legs but before he can touch himself you stop him. his wide eyes look at you, did he do something wrong? are you going to leave him here untouched and hard?

“turn around.” you interrupt his train of thoughts, sitting down crossed legged as you dug into his pants, taking out a travel-sized bottle of lube.

“how did you—“

“knowing your perverted ass, i took a wild guess.”

he sheepishly smiled, turning around as you commanded. meeting face to face with the reflection of his body. and wow was he red… thighs parted with his dick barely hidden by his hoodie. it looked sinful, and you were grinning behind him. you take his hand, slathering a good amount of cold lube on his fingers before leaving him be.

“go on, soob.”

you state, and his breath trembles as his fingers prodded at his own ass, slipping in softly and he keens, thighs and eyes slowly closing, only to snap back to reality by a ringing slap to his thigh. he yelps, widening his legs and looking up at you in the mirror.

“keep your eyes and legs open.”

your hand comes to tilt his chin up, he bites back tears as he continued inserting in his fingers with your new rules. you were so mean. he wanted to whine, but if he endured this he might be rewarded. so he disregards all his shame as he starts riding his own fingers. crotch leaned towards the mirror as he watched his hole close and open.

“look at that soobin, if you were good from the beginning that could be my dick.”

you whispered and he whimpers, tears escaping and rolling down his cheek. all he wanted was for you to dote on him, but because of his stupid horny brain he ruined that chance. he starts sobbing as the shame seeps into him, and you slap his thigh again to remind him to keep his eyes open. he does his best to please you, biting his lips hard as he inserted a fourth finger, it painfully stretched him out but he kept going, his hopeful eyes glancing up at you in pleads. but you didn’t budge and he just couldn’t do it anymore, his finger accidentally jabs particularly hard at his prostate and his thighs shook— a choked ‘coming’ trembled in his throat before he came in ropes, hard cock bobbing up and down before he was empty.

he gasps out, the satisfaction of the orgasm was soon replaced by his brooding disappointment. he sighed as he took his fingers out of his hole. head down and afraid to look up at you, he knew you were disappointed. it was akin to getting a scolding from his manager. his non-dirty hand comes up to wipe at his tears, at least he could face his hyung with some dignity before he gets reprimanded.

though, as if the gods answered his prayers, your hands come up to brush his bangs away from his eyes, pulling his tall body into your lap.

“soob it’s okay, you did well, soob.”

he sighs out a breathy exhale, big red eyes glancing behind him.

“i’m sorry” he just says, sulking.

“you’re okay. want to feel me in you?”

he nods, letting you dote on him. it always felt nice when you took care of him, either socially or physically. he may be the taller one, but you were his hyung and you always made sure he was taken care of. you slip your dick out from your sweatpants, before slowly inserting yourself into his throbbing hole. he sighs, out of relief this time. he glances into the mirror and you had your face in the crook of his neck, slowly moving him up and down as your hand caressed his cock.

it was a few soft moments, you thrusted softly into him as to not overstimulate him. he turns his head to you again, plump lips in a frown.

“kiss?” you ask, he nods eagerly, and you capture his lips gently. letting his curious tongue in your mouth this time, and in exchange you slipped yours in his, tasting him. his breath hitches, and you could tell he was close with how his stomach clenched. you break from the kiss to suck on his neck, leaving a small hickey just above his collarbone. he moans out, quiet and breathy, thighs clenching as his second orgasm came at him in waves. he squeezes your cock and you cum with a small moan.

the two of you take a moment to breathe before a satisfied smile adorns his pink lips again. you chuckle, so predictable. his eyes creased with his grin and his aegyo sal was on full show, he turns to you and cuddles into your neck.

“happy?”

“super.” he giggles into your collarbone. you let him enjoy your body warmth for a moment, slipping your dick out and hearing the soft drip of cum falling from his hole to the ground.

after a few soft seconds, you pat his back, getting his attention. “okay soobie, let’s clean up and go back to the dorm. we have a dance practice to film tomorrow.”

he sulks when you untangle his long limbs from yours, but quickly recovers as he cleans out the cum from his hole with a tissue (shivering and doing his best not to get hard again, this man has a stamina of a bunny…) slipping his underwear and pants back on. meanwhile you take one of the towels to clean up the residue on the floor. dumping it in a basket later. you gather yours and soobins stuff before noticing the guy staring long and hard at his reflection.

“soobin? what’s up.”

“i have a hickey.”

“what— oh.”

“what do i do? we’re filming tomorrow.”

“…hope and pray moas don’t notice?”

—☆★☆

TOMORROW X TOGETHER OFFICIAL uploaded: TXT (투모로우바이투게더) ‘XXXXX’ Dance Practice

@soobslefttoe: yall?? is that a hickey on soobins neck

@iloveyn: @soobslefttoe nah the real question is DO YOU GUYS SEE HOW YN LOOKED AT SOOBIN??? i would sell my soul to be looked at like that.

@ynxsoob4ever: they are totally fuvking i bet yn scks coobins dick all day

@sanetxtstan: all of you are so delulu…

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eggluverz · 1 year

Text

GIFTS FROM THE HEART

PAIRING. dan hang x gn!reader

SUMMARY. dan heng sees a plushie of him at a vendor booth at belobog. he doesn’t understand that craze of “cute” things himself but perhaps you will like the gift.

SOF’S NOTE. inspired by this fanart on twitter!! check it out omg it is soooo cute :> i wanna hug dan heng so bad AHHH pls enjoy this lil random drabble!

Dan Heng wanted to do something nice for you. There was no particular reason for this; no special occasion as the books would call it. It was simply an uneventful Wednesday and he wanted to do something to make you happy.

Since the Astral Express had been gaining more traction throughout the universe, they had somewhat acquired the semblance of a fan base. Now, he wouldn’t sugarcoat things. Most of the individuals they have encountered as a group wanted to put their faces on wanted posters, but there remained the few who cheered them on. And those few were incredibly loyal.

One day, when he returned to Belobog, Dan Heng saw a booth outside the museum selling dolls. Plush toys, or plushies, as referenced in the records. The dictionary of everyday vernacular had grown increasingly useful to him.

In his studies of the modern world he lived in, Dan Heng also learned that couples tended to gift each other impractical things. Objects that were simply “cute” and held no real utility. Yet in his research, he found the receiving partner would tend to be overjoyed.

So, when Dan Heng laid eyes on the plushie created in his likeness, he felt the desire to gift it to you.

“Y/N,” he said, approaching you back at the Express. “I have a present for you.”

At the sound of your boyfriend’s voice, you instantly perked up. Dan Heng noticed that the smile on your face brightened even more when you saw the bag in his hands. He was pleased by your expression. Perhaps his studies did him well this time.

“You got me something?” you asked, bouncing his way. “I wonder what it is!”

He smiled at your excitement. He would get you small, random gifts everyday if it meant he would see you like this more often.

As you looked through the bag and pulled out the plush toy of him, you broke out into a fit of giggles before jumping into his arms for an embrace.

“This is so cute!” you fawned, giving the toy a kiss on the forehead. “Thank you, Dan Heng! I love it.”

As he took in your reaction, Dan Heng stroked the top of your head with a thoughtful hum. “Now, if you stay at the Express while I go out trailblazing, or vice verse, you will always have me with you.”

Your grin grew even wider at his explanation as you kissed his nose— The real Dan Heng this time. Not the plush toy.

“I know you’re always with me,” you assured with a gentle squeeze of his hand in yours. “But now I will forever have you to bring along and hold.”

He smiled fondly at your declaration before hesitantly asking, “Maybe I could get a plushie of you as well?”

You laughed, resting your head on his chest and holding the little Dan Heng to your own. “Of course I’ll get you one. Then, we can even make them have matching outfits!”

Dan Heng chuckled in response. He decided, he quite liked the sound of that.

#hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #dan heng x reader #honkai star rail #hsr imagines #dan heng #hsr #hsr drabbles #hsr fanfiction #dan heng fluff

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dreaamerwrites · 2 years

Text

[ JEALOUS ]

rating: PG couple: cho guesung x female reader request: "can i ask you to imagine cho gue sung if he gets jealous because of one of the other players?" tags: jealousy, cake, kangin shenanigans, making out in a hotel hallway lol note: reader has had a crush on guesung for a long time. she was starting to wonder if her feelings might be reciprocated while they were apart during the Qatar World Cup, but during a welcome back party for our KNT boys, guesung begins to act very, very strange. /

You realize something is wrong immediately.

You can’t quite put your finger on how you know. He’s standing on the other side of the room, several feet of carpet, appetizers, and rowdy footballers stretching out in the space between you two. Seungho is laughing at his side. Jinsu must’ve cracked a joke, because Guesung appears to be laughing too now. But…

But you can tell something is wrong.

Maybe it’s that tight set to his jaw. (You can see it clench and unclench, an unhappy habit you know he’s been trying to break for months now, per his dentist’s orders.) Or maybe it’s his arms, crossed over his chest. He’s standing broad; feet apart, shoulders squared. He looks half-ready to fight or bolt – and yet, still, he continues to laugh between Jinsu and Seungho. As if everything is fine, as if nothing’s wrong.

His eyes briefly flicker over. They meet yours. You frown at him, trying to ask and convey:

What’s wrong?

Guesung’s expression does not change as he looks away yet again.

“Noona, did you taste this yet?!”

Suddenly a fork comes in line with your vision.

You look to your left, startled. Kangin had been chatting animatedly by your side for the last few minutes but, with Guesung looking so off, you hadn’t been able to pay much attention to the boy. The Mallorca boy smiles down at you with a broad, earnest smile, all teeth and dimples, and you immediately soften.

“No, not yet,” you reply, leaning forward to take the bite of cake he offers to you. It tastes of blueberries and whipped cream. “Are you guys even allowed to eat stuff like this?”

“Of course,” Kangin’s grin grows even wider, a truly impossible feat. “It’s Day 1 of our vacation. I deserve this today. Isn’t it good?!”

The sweetness clings to you, both from the cake and the boy.

“Yes,” you laugh, shaking your head. “It’s very good.”

Pleased, Kangin moves to take another bite for himself now. He’s settled close to you, as he had been for the last hour…

(I’ve missed you, noona! he had exclaimed, as soon as he had found you waiting in the hotel suite, still adding the last finishing touches to the makeshift welcome party you and the rest of the Seoul-based staff had thrown together.

The day had been a hectic one – their flights delayed, the airport erupting into chaos, countless fans lining up outside the hotel where the team had intended to touch base before all going their separate ways. You had been a mess then, hair still up in a sloppy bun, a pile of knotted streamers in your hands. Kangin had nearly tackled you down with a hug regardless.

You should’ve come with us, he had whined, arms still tight around your waist. Qatar wasn’t the same without you!

Over his shoulder, at that moment, you had seen Guesung walk in, face gaunt, eyes tired. He had stopped briefly when he saw the spectacle before him – Kangin hugging you in a wild bear hug, walking you backwards and nearly knocking over a bowl of confetti in the process – before shaking his head and making his way immediately towards the bar cart.)

That had been one hour ago.

And now, Kangin is still pressed into your side, curled up beside you on one of the hotel suite loveseats – and Guesung…

Well, Guesung has still not even come to say hello.

You’re trying very hard not to take it personally. It isn't as if you have any claim on Guesung. He isn't even your boyfriend, after all. You're close of course. You're close with all of them really. But… but Guesung had been different. Had felt different.

Especially over the last few weeks, throughout the World Cup campaign. You two had been talking more than ever. Constant phone calls, constant texts. You had spoken to him more over the last few weeks while he was in Qatar than you had ever before.

(And when he’d fall asleep, mid-sentence, mumbling to you over the phone about just wanting to do well, to make everyone happy, to make you feel proud of him… well, was it wrong for your heart to have flipped at the promise? Was it wrong to start to wonder if, for the first time in years, that perhaps your feelings weren’t so one-sided after all?)

You did well, Guesung. I missed you. I’m proud of you, Guesung. I missed you.

You had had so many things to tell him in-person and yet, now, you can’t even find the courage to approach him from across this very hotel room.

Was it possible for someone to feel far away, even while in the same room? How had he managed to feel even closer, when he had been oceans away before?

“You wanna know a secret, noona?” Kangin suddenly asks.

He’s pressed to your side, radiating a comforting kind of heat that briefly distracts you from how strange Guesung has been all evening.

You force yourself into a brief, small smile before turning to look at Kangin again. He has a small smudge of whipped cream on his Cupid’s bow. He looks as soft, kind, and sweet as ever. A boy, enjoying his cake, just happy to be here at all.

“Sure,” you can’t help but laugh, reaching over to wipe the cream from his lips with your thumb, endeared. He blushes sheepishly at the action, licking at his lips afterwards. This time, you press your shoulder into his instead, laughing teasingly. “What’s the secret, kid?”

This gets him back on track.

Momentarily forgetting his sheepishness, Kangin straightens up, sitting broad in the loveseat with you, shoulder firm against yours. He gives you an owlish, knowing look.

“I’ve been conducting an experiment,” he says, very matter-of-factly.

You raise a brow, licking the icing off your thumb. Kangin doesn’t bat an eye.

“You see, when we were at the airport, some of the hyungs were all making fun of… someone,” he raises a brow right back at you, all swagger now, as if he wasn’t just caught with frosting on his lip. “They all knew you’d be here, waiting for us when we got back, ya’know.”

You’re not quite sure where this is going.

“They were making fun of him, saying that… that someone would probably be soOOOooOo happy to see you,” Kangin hums, clearly pleased with himself. “He tried to deny it the whole trip. Said it wasn’t a big deal. Said he just wanted to see you just like everyone else. Said it wasn’t like that.”

Wasn’t like that. Suddenly your heart is caught in your throat.

“Kangin,” your smile falters.

Kangin’s expression transforms from faux swagger to warm encouragement in a split second. He sets his cake down onto the coffee table and, hands free now, shifts even closer to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

“I needed to call bullshit,” he smiles warmly, no malice lacing his words whatsoever. Just pure kindness and laughter. He radiates so much softness that you can’t even admonish him for swearing. “I wanted to make them acknowledge that: nope, this is exactly like that.”

Kangin squeezes your shoulder firmly, never breaking eye contact with you.

“Noona, you deserve someone who will be honest about their feelings. You deserve someone who will be proud to have you in their life and who will fight to keep you always.”

(Just want you to be proud of me, Guesung had murmured sleepily on the fourth night.

His voice had sounded far away on the phone. You had pressed the receiver closer to your ear. You could catch what he said next just barely. It came so soft and sleep found him so quickly after that you wondered if you had dreamt it all.

Just want you to want me too, he had whispered. Just want you.)

“So I started wondering, ya’know. If this guy can’t even be brave enough to tell his friends that he likes you, then will he ever be brave enough to deserve you?” Kangin continues, this time more flippantly than before. His gaze flickers over to the side of your head but he holds you still, does not let you look away. “So I needed to run a little experiment.”

Suddenly Guesung is standing before you.

This time, Kangin lets you look up, look away. Lets you look up into Guesung’s face, to find his expression pinched and unhappy, his big hand brushing Kangin’s off of your shoulder with focused intent.

Guesung grabs your arm and lifts you up and off the couch.

“We’re going,” Guesung grits out. “Now.”

“Guess I know my answer now,” Kangin laughs loudly, a full-bodied laugh. You can see he has some whipped cream still left on his chin, too, that you hadn’t noticed before.

You glance between the young boy and Guesung in confusion – but Guesung doesn’t give you a chance to squeak out another question.

He leaves behind a laughing Kangin and pulls you further and further away, his hand firm on your arm, fingers pressing into your skin as he pulls you through the crowd of people, his steps so wide that you nearly trip over your own feet to keep up with him.

Heungmin is laughing now, just as loudly, and you can see Jinsu and Seungho doubled over in the corner.

Guesung does not spare anyone a second glance.

He does not even spare you a glance until you’re out, finally, standing in the hotel hallway, the suite room slamming closed behind you. Your back hits the wall.

“I’m – what – what’s going on – ” you sputter, Guesung’s hand still tight around your arm. “Guesung, you’re hurting me.”

He drops his hand immediately, as if burned. Still, he does not look at you. He stares down at his hand instead. His chest is heaving and his expression has morphed from frustrated anger to one of disbelief, as he stares down at his palm. He clenches it closed into a fist, his knuckles white.

Just want you to want me too.

“Sorry, I’m – I’m sorry,” Guesung is muttering now, voice low and gravelly. Thick with something uncomfortable. “I shouldn't have – sorry, I grabbed you. I shouldn’t have – ”

You can hear the party even through the thick hotel room door that separates you from the rowdy footballers. You can almost hear Kangin laughing, still.

Be brave, he’d probably tell you.

Be brave, he’d probably tell the both of you in this hallway.

Slowly, you raise your hand to cover Guesung’s closed fist. His hand is so big, compared to yours, that you can barely cover half of it. You raise your other as well. Cradling his fist in both of your hands, you smooth your thumbs over his clenched knuckles. You can feel him shiver at the touch and finally, finally… you buck up the courage to look up.

To look at him.

Guesung stares down at you, towering over you with his height. He blocks out the hotel light behind him, still breathing heavily, shoulders shaking, and, for once, all you can see is him. The hotel room, the laughter, the party: everything fades away. There is only you, and there is only him.

The silence is deafening.

His mouth is pressed into a thin line. His expression is still unreadable, guarded and unhappy, but the beauty mark just below his eye is so endearing that you can’t help but soften, despite yourself.

For the first time that evening, you think you may finally understand what was wrong all along.

I miss you, his eyes seem to scream. I missed you!

You let go of his hand to reach up to cradle his face carefully instead.

“It’s okay,” you whisper into the silence of the hotel hallway. “Don’t be sorry.”

Be brave!

“I missed you too,” you admit quietly.

The change in his expression comes so swiftly that you can barely register it before he crushes you against him. He presses your face into his broad chest and wraps his muscled arms around you tightly, desperately. He holds you so close that your own chest rises and falls with each breath he takes. His breath is warm and harsh against your ear, a faint whine of unhappiness rising up when you wiggle in his arms, trying to free your own arms so that you can wrap them around him. Only when your arms circle his waist does he finally let out a ragged, relieved sigh.

Still, he does not let you go.

“I hated it. All of it,” he mutters into your hair. “Everything in there. I'm sorry. I hated that Kangin was the first one you saw. I hated that he was with you all night. I hated that we didn’t speak and that you didn’t look at me and that you were looking at him and –”

He’s rambling now, all nonsense and tight breaths.

You smooth your hand down his back. Follow the curve and dip of his spine. Rub soothing circles into the base. He seems to melt into you at the touch, though he’s careful not to rest his weight onto you.

You don’t think you’d mind it, really. You tug him closer, still.

“I didn’t know,” you whisper back quietly. “I’m sorry too.”

This stops the rambling.

Guesung seems to go still in your arms. And then, unwillingly, reluctantly, he slowly pulls back. His hands are locked behind your back so neither of you can go very far, but he pulls back just enough to get a better look at your face. You’re not sure what you look like. Your hair feels like a mess, from being pressed up against him just now, and you’re sure you’re flushed as well – but…

But Guesung looks at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

And, damn, if he isn't the most beautiful thing you've ever seen as well.

His mouth is red and his cheeks are flushed. He stares down at you with such intensity that you want to squirm under his gaze, but still he holds you in place. You swallow. His hair has come loose, the pomade softening, and a few strands fall into his forehead. You want to push them back. You want to hold him closer. You want him to…

“You didn’t know?” Guesung asks softly, breaking your train of thought.

You shake your head slowly. He licks his lips. Watches you watch him too.

“You didn’t know that I’ve missed you like hell for the last few months? You didn’t know that the first person I wanted to see after our Portugal match... was you?”

Guesung’s gaze never leaves yours.

This time, you do shiver.

“You wanted to see me first?” you reply shakily, a slight tremor in your voice.

Guesung sweeps one hand up from your waist to the side of your neck. Normally he runs cold, you know, but today he is warm, skin hot against yours. His thumb smooths over the slope of your jaw, the touch purposeful and tender.

“I always want to see you first,” he replies, just as shakily, his voice giving him away.

You cannot hear Kangin laughing anymore. You do not hear anything but the sound of Guesung’s soft voice and your own heart thumping loudly in your chest. It’s time to be brave now.

“Good,” you reply.

You tilt your face up to Guesung. And then, staring into his eyes, you lift yourself up onto your tippy toes, rest your hands on his shoulders, and lean up and into him.

When your lips find his, the first kiss is unbearably soft.

A barely there brush of your lips at first – but then there's a second, and then a third.

By the fourth, Guesung is hungry as he pushes you back further against the wall, one leg slotting between yours, his big hand cupping your cheek to tilt your mouth up and open for him even more.

“Missed you,” you murmur between kisses, his tongue catching your bottom lip. You shiver when his other hand stops at the small of your back, thumb sweeping across the stretch of skin there that appears as your shift lifts just slightly. “So proud of you. ‘M so proud of you. Wanted to tell you all night.”

He shakes in your arms at this, holding you closer, his thigh warm between your legs.

“Proud of me?” he mumbles back, pressing another kiss at the corner of your mouth, nose brushing against yours. “Missed me?”

You nod, dizzy now, breathless as he kisses you in earnest. Your hand finds its way into his hair and you give the strands a light tug, pulling him back slightly. When he tilts back, you can see him clearly now. Mouth wet, pink with your lip balm, his hair even more mussed than before. He’s heaving now, chest rising and falling with each desperate breath.

You can taste that cake still – blueberries and whipped cream clinging to the backs of your teeth – but you can taste Guesung too, you think. You lick your lips.

He seems to melt at the sight.

He sags against you, pressed firmly against you, wedging you between his thighs and the cool wall behind you.

“Did you really?” he leans closer, pressing his forehead to yours.

For someone who just kissed you as if their life depended on it, a flash of uncertainty shines in his eyes.

Oh, Guesung…

You decide to be brave enough for the both of you.

“I did. I’m so proud of you. And I missed you so much,” you answer steadily. Your hand in his hair is gentle. You brush the strands back slowly, carefully. Breathe in his cologne and let yourself get dizzy with it. “Wanted you. So much.”

Guesung looks dizzy himself.

He nudges his nose against yours. You’re sure the position must be uncomfortable for him, towering so high above you but leaning down so that he can reach you, like this. He does not seem to care. The uncertainty in his eyes seems to be fading now.

“Really? You wanted – want me?” he clears his throat. Presses himself closer to you, all heat between your legs, shuddering when your fingers card through his hair, nails grazing the nape of his neck. He tries to laugh shakily. “Even more than Kangin?”

The joke catches you so off guard that you let out a helpless, breathless laugh.

“Is that really a question?” you ask, looking down at the predicament you two are in briefly before looking back up at Guesung. Do you see this right now? is what you should really be asking. Instead, you decide to humor him. “Of course more than Kangin. More than anyone else. Always. I wouldn’t be out here kissing Kangin like this!”

This seems to appease him.

He crowds against you even closer, nuzzling your nose with his, sneaking a quick kiss to your cheek.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Only kiss me like this. Only want me. I know I only want you.”

You know there will be lengthy conversations after this. You know the two of you will need to discuss your feelings properly – will need to iron this out and speak like adults, rather than kiss-drunk kids who want only to be wrapped up in each other’s arms. You know that that will all come...

But for now, you let yourself have this.

Be brave.

“Only want you,” you promise, voice soft. Reassuring. Guesung is warm and solid in your arms.

He is everything you could ask for at that moment.

He is everything you could ask for always.

“I promise.”

Bonus cut:

Several minutes later, after a few more lengthy, hungry kisses:

Guesung fixes his hair, ruffling the strands between his fingers, as he gazes at you thoughtfully. You raise a brow at him, as you readjust your shirt, trying to tuck it back in from where he had pulled it loose.

“What is it?”

He purses his lips, a curious look in his eyes.

“You tasted like… blueberries. Do you always taste like berries?”

You pause.

And then, schooling your expression into the most neutral one you can manage, you sniff: “Did you get to try the cake we got for you guys? It’s blueberries and cream. …Kangin fed me some. Didn’t you see – ”

(Really, you both had tried to straighten yourselves out in vain. What was even the point of trying to straighten out your shirt again?)

You yelp when Guesung reels you back in, big hands immediately grabbing onto your hips as he pulls you closer, staring at your mouth with intent, chasing you for another kiss.

“I’ll kiss it away. Gonna kiss you til you taste like me instead,” he growls roughly, mouth open and wet against yours.

You can only laugh into the kiss in agreement.

#cho gue sung #cho gue sung imagines #no proofreading we die like men #LOL #soccer fanfic

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netherfeildren · 1 year

Text

The Cassandra Complex : Chapter V : Morpheus

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Din Djarin x F!Reader)

Content Warnings: Canon typical violence; Dom/sub undertones; Orgasm delay/denial; Rough sex; Cockwarming

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 11.1K

Read on AO3

CHAPTER V : MORPHEUS

Could you visit me in dreams?

Anne Carson, Grief Lessons: Four Plays by Euripides

He’s been dreaming about you.

Dreaming of you in a language you can’t discern, but that you understand nonetheless; about shoving his cock down your throat, gripping you there around the slim column to feel your muscles working to swallow around him, forcing you to take him until you gag and cry. His dreams, so strong – the connection so close, too close, he’s unconsciously projecting himself into your own sleeping mind, and you, inadvertently granting him entrance. You’re once again made painfully aware of the fact that a past version of yourself would have found this as the greatest sort of weakness, so close to another person that they would hold such power over your mind, to let themselves into you like this, and yet now…

You slide your knees further apart on either side of his head and arch your back further, splaying your cunt wider for him, he moans beneath you, and you slowly roll your hips against his face as his tongue works inside of you, switching between slow, strong thrusts, and then changing to lick and suck at your clit sharply, sliding his plush lips along the length of your sex to taste you from clit to ass. You press your hands to the tautness of his belly to better roll your pussy against his mouth, head falling forward on your neck so your hair trails against the skin of his belly. You slide one hand up to drag your fingers through the sparse hair between his pecs and lower down, sliding your hand beneath the heavy, drooling length of his cock, flushed such an angry shade of red at the tip it verges on purple. You slot the base between your thumb and forefinger, your palm pressing against his pelvis, his erection resting atop the back of your hand, applying no pressure to the actual throbbing length, barely giving him the relief of contact and the heat of your skin. His soft moans turn to frustrated snarls, and he sucks sharp and angry at your clit, big hands sliding from your hips to your ass, gripping the meat of you to spread you wider. He eats you with such fervent desperation, and that suctioning mouth moves further back to your tight rosebud where he presses his tongue, licks and licks and licks. You can feel the hungry clench of your leaking cunt, jealously weeping for the return of his mouth and the thrust of his tongue, and you can’t help but let your upper half wilt forward. The feel of his tongue at your ass too much to allow you strength to remain upright, you let out a keening sob as you fold in on yourself so that your face ends up right beside the length of his throbbing erection, your temple pressed to his hip bone. You turn your face to nose lightly at the prominence there, kissing his hip, sliding your tongue between the crease of his thigh and pelvis. Your panting mouth fans the warmth of your damp breath against his cock, and you watch the twitch and pulse of the thick veins along the underside of the shaft beneath the delicate skin. He’s so hard, and you close the millimeter of distance to press your lips to the side, his entire body jerking and shivering at the contact. Growling savagely, he digs his fingers painfully into the skin of your ass and pulls your cunt back onto his mouth, “Fucking come on my face. Right now.” He wraps his lips around your clit and–

He jerks awake as soon as your lips press against the wide flared mushroom head of his cock, spongy and fat and so soft.

“Maker–” he snarls hoarsely, sleep-graveled voice so deep and husky it sends a flare of lust straight to the wet space between your thighs. You flutter your tongue along the curve of his cockhead, and then open your mouth wide to swallow down the entire, thick length of him.

He’d been dreaming about you, about shoving his cock down your throat… so you’d sent your own dream back into his unconscious mind. Your own cheeky little fantasy of you riding his tongue, taking in the sight of his desperately leaking cock as you sat backwards on his face, fucking yourself while you admired the sleek expanse of his muscled abdomen and twitching erection. And then you’d slithered down the bare length of his naked, sleeping body to settle between his legs, waiting for the perfect moment to take him into your mouth.

You let the wide head hit the back of your throat and swallow, once, twice. He’s already so hard from the dream, pre-come oozing out of his slit, head swollen and pulsing. So close to orgasm already. You can feel it in the twitch and tremble of the heavy muscles of his thick thighs, the salty, musky leak down the back of your throat, the jerk and heave of his belly as he sucks in a shocked gasp from being woken so. His skin is so soft and lovely and warm over hard unyielding muscle. Littered scars here and there that you can feel with your searching fingers in the darkness. You slide your hands up his belly, moaning at the feel of him, through his happy trail, the hair on his chest and then dragging your nails back down the way you’d come, over the hills of his ribs, the dip of his concave belly while your mouth pulls back on his wet length, focusing the hot suction to the head, gently tonguing the slit, back down to work the muscles of your throat around him, and then pulling back again to focus once more on the tip. You wrap both of your small hands around his ridiculous length, so thick your fingers don’t even meet around him, zeroing in on the sensitive head, tongue fluttering and then pressing harder to the underside.

He groans, his hips and legs shifting against your nest of blankets. “Fuck, what are you doing to me?” You feel the tug of the blankets as he digs his heels in, writhing beneath your mouth, and you pull back with a wet, obscene pop, fisting one hand at the base tightly and sliding the other up the slick length to twist around the head, focusing gentle pressure there in a corkscrew motion that has his savage moan of your name ending on a soft and breathless whimper.

“I just want to make you feel good.” Truth. “That’s all I want.” Truth, truth, truth.

You bring your mouth back to him, stacking both hands one on top of the other and hollowing your cheeks to suck on the head, his back arches. “Fuck– fuck, yes. Maker, please, don’t stop. Please, it feels so good–” he moans, thrusting once, twice, fat tip hitting the back of your throat. His hands come up to hold your head, fingers twisting so tight in your hair it feels as though he’d rip it out in chunks. “Fuck, you milk my cock so well,” before emptying down your throat, and he tastes so good, warm and masculine as he starts to flood your mouth. You swallow everything he gives you, the thick, viscousness of the essence that is purely Din.

“Swallow my come, swallow all of it,” he begs. You feel the muscles beneath the delicate skin working and heaving to spit his spend down your throat, and he shivers, whimpering your name with praise. Once the last thick spurt is done you gentle your sucking, but hold him there in your mouth as he softens, enjoying the taste of his skin. His fingers card through your hair and you gently lap at his tip which has a shocked gasp huffing out of him. Too much, please, too much, begging for mercy. You let him slip heavy and wet from your mouth, pressing a kiss to the thick root of him, a gentle lap to the seam of his balls, and then lay your head on his hip, panting and just as out of breath as he is. The both of you settle, coming down from the high, and you squeeze your thighs together, trying to push the throbbing ache from your mind. This moment isn’t for you, just him, just him.

He wants you even in his dreams.

You turn your face into his skin, nuzzling at the line of muscle at his pelvis, pressing slow, languorous kisses, another softer one to his sated cock that has him shivering, gasping a quiet, breathless sound, you can’t help yourself. He cards his long fingers through the loose strands of your hair, catching his breath, and his heart beats so hard you’re almost certain you can hear the thrum of his pulse at his femoral artery pressed beneath your ear. His wide palm cups the top of your head, and you listen to the click of his knee as he stretches his leg, rumbling deep in his chest.

“Come here,” he murmurs, hands hooking beneath your underarms to pull you up his chest. You rest your forehead at the sharp line of his clavicle, taste the light sheen of sweat that lays there, and listen to his slow-paced, slightly burred tone, “What are you doing to me?” He asks again.

You can’t answer, for there is no answer, you don’t know – the only reply would be to ask the same of him. What are you doing to me? What will become of me after you?

Cursed with a history of always knowing how a thing will end, you think: this time please, please, let the ending be different. Let me be wrong.

You press your nose to his scruffy jaw, breathing in his scent, running your lips along the sharp edge, a bite to the beat of his heart in his throat. The journey of your exploring fingers starts at his brow, then down the curved slope of his strong nose, over the wet plush of his mouth, along the column of his throat, across his clavicle, and softly down his side, over the bumps and ridges of his ribs – he instantly goes boneless beneath you, lower down the side of his trim waist, over his hip, along his thigh, they’re hairy. He has hairy legs, and in a silly and strange way, it brings him into startling reality for you suddenly. He’s a man, only a man… beneath all of that indestructible beskar. A man of flesh and blood and heat, and you feel like you only exist in the warmth of his touch. You wish you could split his chest to feel the contours of his heart beneath your fingertips, the curves and slopes of it, lay eyes on the very beating thing. Violent, desperate thoughts that he pulls out of you.

“I like your nose,” you tell him.

“You can’t see it. It’s too big–”

“No, it’s not. And I can feel it – I can feel that it’s beautiful.”

This feeling of connection, of knowing – of damnation – as if the two of you had spent years together, instead of only days has been immediate and painfully natural. This spot above his chest, rocked by the cadence of his exhalations – it frightens you more than anything else you’ve ever lived thus for the ease of it, how gently and swiftly the two of you have settled into each other. How easy it would be to settle even further.

Your cunt weeps while you lay atop him, and eventually, he hardens again, grips you by the hips and presses up into you. Rolls you over and fucks you slow and deep into the blankets until you’re crying out and coming around him, milking a second orgasm from him and licking wet and messy into his mouth.

And you think again, beg again: this time, please, let it end differently.

Fucking ration packs and horrible fake food, s’probably all plastic, damn shiny’s never heard of a piece of fruit in his entire star blasted life living under that tin can – you’re muttering under your breath, bent over, rummaging through the drawers where he keeps his food supply. The man’s surely never even tasted fresh food in his entire life. You need a vegetable, a piece of fruit, anything besides more of that terrible polystarch portion bread he’s been feeding you the past few days, whatever imitation of the thing he calls “meat” come from a package, shudder. There’s something further back in the drawer you’re rifling through, bent over so that you can feel the cool air of the hull on your panty clad backside. You’re in one of his overly large undershirts again, and his thick socks which you’ve taken a liking to, he puts them on for you every morning before he gets out of bed, one pulled up to your knee and the other slouched down around your ankle. The ship is freezing and you’d only braved the frigidness of the hull, leaving your warm nest of sex and Din scented blankets to settle the growling of your belly. He’d disappeared up the ladder into the cockpit hours ago.

The two of you’d made your way back to Nevarro what you assume was a few days ago, the passage of time made into a strange, confusing vortex when traveling through hyperspace, but you knew that you’d slept and awakened several times, orgasms and quietly shared rations, whispered conversations and confession, ridiculous, uncontrolled giggles and his begrudging huffs of laughter, and slick, humid interludes in the fresher together before you’d woken this time to find him shut up away in the cockpit. A first since you’d begun this journey together, that you’d awoken without him beside you or inside of you, and you wonder at this interruption of your routine, if perhaps he’s coming to regret having brought you with him, getting tired of you, but when he’d said it was time to stop back on Nevarro to exchange the carbonite frozen bounties for new pucks, he’d not made any mention of you staying behind. Neither had he said anything when he’d picked up new supplies, packed the ship away, and told you the next stop was Endor, get ready for a long ride, with a pass of his thumb to the plush of your bottom lip before he made his way up to the cockpit to set course to the far off moon.

You’d taken that as your indefinite invitation to join him. And the truth was when he’d said he had to go back to Nevarro, your stomach had clenched and dropped in a moment of absolute terror, so afraid he’d call it the end of your travels together, that he’d want to get rid of you. But no, your Mandalorian had made no such suggestion, had not even hinted at the possibility of you leaving him.

However, he’d definitely shown that he was most assuredly not in the habit of traveling with someone else, as evidenced by the now extreme lack of ration packs. Din was a man accustomed to existing alone, singular in his experience of taking care of himself and only himself, and yet, he’d adapted surprisingly well to the mantle of having to take care of another person, always making sure you were well hydrated and fed after he was done making use of you, making you come over and over again, carrying you into the fresher when you were too weak and overwrought from his free use of your body and pleasure. Shopping was obviously not his forte, though. All that seemed to be left now were more packs of the polystarch rations, and as you reach as far back into the drawer as you can, fingers skimming the edge of the packet of what you’re hoping and praying is not some more of the water activated bread loafs. Even a broth or soup mixture would be better than that, please, please, anything but that. You slide your foot further beneath the edge of the open drawer, holding onto the door of one of the already pilfered upper cabinets, stretching your reaching arm as far as it’ll go towards the back of the deep drawer, exposed bum straight up in the air, just a little further, you’ve almost got it, and then:

“What do you think you’re doing?”

You jump, caught red handed, your leaning foot jerking forwards and slamming your shin into the open drawer, your head shooting up and knocking painfully into the open cabinet drawer above you. “Maker– fuck, shit,” you scramble back, trying to extricate yourself from the maze of open drawers and cabinets you’ve left ajar but only managing to slam your head on another perilous corner. “Oh, my– What in the–” your shin slams again, rubbing the smarting crown of your head, and then he’s hooking two fingers into the back of your underwear and pulling you away from further injury. Somehow you manage to step on the toe of his boot and then on your own foot, and you’re stumbling and tripping back and over onto your ass. You sit there for a moment, stunned at your own clumsiness, head spinning, tailbone smarting, and he steps slowly around you. You can just feel his stunned gaze through the dark transparisteel of his T-visor. He comes to a stop in front of you, and you let yourself wilt backwards, sprawled on the cold, metal floor. “Ow.”

He sighs a long-suffering sound, planting his hands on his hips. “Are you okay?” You shut your eyes and shake your head, groaning like a dying manticore and rubbing the top of your poorly abused, throbbing head.

“Ow,” you whimper again. “That really hurt,” you roll your head back against the floor.

“Maker–” he sighs again and crouches down beside you. His large hand cups the tender crown of your head. “You’re a little bit ridiculous, you know that?”

“Why did you do that to me?” you whine up at him, pressing your head into the warmth of his large palm.

“Me? Why were you rifling through my things?” He pets gently at your hair..

“I was looking for some real food.” You bat his hand away, rolling over onto your belly to wriggle away from him, and he pinches the swell of your exposed bum. “Stop that.” You press one of your socked feet to his shin, using it as leverage to push yourself further away from him, but he grabs you around the ankle, pulling you back so that he’s crouched over you now, feet planted on either side of your thighs. He pushes the hem of his shirt you’re wearing up your back and tugs down your panties, exposing your ass to his gaze.

“What in the world do you think you’re doing?” you squawk, trying, unsuccessfully, to push him away and crawl to freedom at the same time.

“None of that,” he murmurs softly, gently pulling both of your wrists to the small of your back and essentially pinning you to the floor of the hull. “I fucking love it when you wear my clothes…What did you say you were you looking for?” He murmurs again, distractedly.

“All of your secrets, obviously, shiny. Duh.” His hand smooths over the curve of your ass softly, then cups you at the crease of your cheek and thigh, plumping up your lush softness. “This feels entirely unbalanced,” you grouch, frowning at the opposite end of the hull. How the fuck you ended up pummeled, pinned and groped in the matter of a few seconds is entirely out of the scope of your understanding, and yet, you let yourself go boneless and pliant. Your body seemingly deciding to let him do with you as he will without your mind's full consent. He grips your cheek to pull you apart, exposing your holes to his gaze, and you feel your face heat. Maker, this man has no sense of boundaries.

“My secrets, huh?” He says contemplatively, “Don’t think I have any.”

Your belly twists, “Oh, no? That’s a shame. All interesting people have at least some skeletons in their closet.” You wiggle your ass at him provocatively, and he gives you a gentle swat.

“What were you looking for?” he asks again, the man is obviously not paying attention to a single thing you’re saying.

“Food, you blasted man. There’s nothing interesting to eat on this fucking ship. I need snacks.”

“Snacks?” He murmurs. “We’re almost to Endor,” softly caressing your skin, thumb sneaking down to thrum at your clit. “We’ll resupply there before I head out for the bounty.” All you can do is nod your head, alright, whatever you say, cheek squished up against the floor as you listen to the sound of his shuffling clothes as he frees himself, insatiable man, hips shifting up anyways, searching.

“The bounty’s on the other side of the planet – nowhere near where we’ll be. We can go out, get what you’d like, and then I’ll bring you back to the Crest and go collect her. Alright?”

“One… I absolutely do not need to be brought or taken anywhere.” You stick your tongue out at the back of his stupid shiny helmet as he straps another blaster to himself. The man acts as if you’re heading out to battle the entirety of the Imperial Army instead of to the market for some fruit and vegetables. “Two, why can’t I come with you to catch the bounty?”

He goes still, halting the movements of his methodical self armament,“One,” he mocks! “Absolutely not.”

“And two?”

He resumes his movements, “No, that’s it. Just one.”

Annoying, you mutter under your breath. “Why can’t I come?”

“Because I said so.”

“And?”

“And nothing. That’s it again.” You roll your eyes at him now, sticking your tongue out again.

“Put that tongue back in your mouth, or I’ll put it to better use,” he says as he turns to walk out the hull’s open ramp, leaving you to scowl and then scamper after him as he stalks off, wondering if he has eyes in the back of his head under that stupid metal thing.

So grumpy.

He looms behind you as you peruse around the small yet bustling market, large and menacing and entirely, ridiculously stern. Unnecessarily intimidating the other shoppers and anyone that gets, what he deems as, too close to you, and yet, there’s something about his countenance, so pristine and meticulous and serious. His nature so reserved out here in the open compared to the way he is when it’s just the two of you hidden away in the Razor Crest, traveling through the quiet of space, cocooned in your bed of soft blankets, the juxtaposition he poses out here has you feeling so endeared to him, smiling back up at him wide and goofy and just as ridiculous as his austereness is. He shakes his head down at you silently, and yet still, holds your satchel for you as you go about the market merrily choosing the produce and fresh meats, cheese and even some sweet breads you like. Never once complaining or rushing you, nodding along sagely as you show him the things you want and like.

“Are you having fun?” You ask, beaming up at him.

“No.”

“Why not?” You pout.

“We’re not here for fun. We’re here for supplies.”

“Oh, boo,” you blow a raspberry at him, stopping at another stall where an old woman is selling small bits and bobbles, jewelry and charms. You look over the multicolored stones and beads, pretty, and you feel him peer over your shoulder, taking a peak at what you’re looking at now. You step back into his space, pressing your bottom into his groin.

“Behave.”

I think I shall not. “I am behaving.” You press a little further, wiggling against him, and he huffs low beneath the helmet, his hand shooting up to grip your hip tightly, stilling your movements.

“Quit.” You choose two different earrings you like best and spin around to face him, his palm following your movements to keep you pressed to him despite his reprimands.

“Which do you like better? These – or these.” You hold both earrings up to the sides of your head by your ears, tilting your chin this way and that so that the sparkling stones can catch the light of the sun prettily. One of his gloved hands comes to your jaw, tilting your face up towards him to inspect you.

“The first–” he jerks the chin of the helmet to the pair on the right.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Just to be difficult and annoying.

Silence, and then softly, his thumb caressing your face, “They bring out the different colors in your eyes.”

Your heart flips and pinches and stings and you wish you could kiss him right here for the entire galaxy to see. “Hmm.” You turn back to the table, and he reaches in front of you to exchange credits with the old woman before you can do it yourself, that stinging turns into a full blown burn, and slipping the small dangling stones into your ears, you turn once again to present the sight of yourself to him. “Something shiny to remind me of my shiny.”

“Beautiful.” And his voice is so soft and so sultry and even though you can’t see his eyes, you know that if you could, they’d be full of such tenderness for you, translated through his tone and his soft touch, and you surge up onto your tiptoes, stepping up onto the tip of his boot to reach as high up as you can to plant a soft kiss to the face of his helmet. His clutch at your waist goes tight, verging on painful, pulling you further into himself, growling low and rough through the modulator. Pressed up against him like this you can feel the growing line of his erection beneath his pants. “Oh, sorry, sorry. Your street cred – I forgot. Can’t let the galaxy know big bad Mando enjoys a little kiss every now and again,” you snicker. But as you try to step back from him, his hold on you tightens, pressing the air out of you, and bends his head to whisper right at the shell of your ear, “I’m going to eat your cunt until you’re crying and begging me to stop when we get back, do you hear me?” The man has obviously developed a severe case of an oral fixation.

You tilt your head back to look up at him with the biggest, most baleful eyes you can muster, “Do you promise?”

He sighs, shaking his head at you once again, “Maker–” but as he’s about to lecture you further, tell you, probably, once again to behave, a red light beeps and flashes between the two of you and the bounties tracking fob starts to blink demandingly – picking up on its targets proximity. He spits a curse in Mando’a, pivoting on the foot you’re not currently perched atop of to scan the surrounding area of the busy market with you still clutched in his arms, the lines of his body going tense, preparing for a fight or an attack even, perhaps. You clutch at his shoulders, letting out an entirely undignified squeak as he practically lifts you clean off the ground, shouldering his way through the crowded shoppers, looking for a clear path through the throng of people. “Let me down, what are you doing?”

“You have to go back to the ship,” he snaps irritated. “The bounty is closer than I thought it’d be. I need to get it now.”

You splutter, “But put me down – this is entirely unnecessary,” hoisted like a rag doll in his arms, the great beskar made beast moves swiftly through the crowd until he finds a break in the direction of where he’d left the ship. He moves to the shade of a droopy hanging tree and finally sets you back down on your own two feet, dignity hanging by a thread. He gentles his movements, pushing your messy hair back and out of your face and cupping your cheeks, the tenderness of his touch making you feel something sort of frightened for a moment. “I need you to go back to the ship now. I’ll return shortly.” He slides your satchel off his shoulder and onto yours smoothly and touches the curve of the helmet to your forehead for one, too brief, moment, and then he’s spinning on his heel and throwing himself back into the throng of the crowd – movements entirely too swift and slippery for your eyes to follow him. It all happened so fast, his reaction time entirely too quick for you to even form a coherent thought, protest, whine, anything. You do not want to be left behind. You do not want him to go away from you. And you most certainly do not want to go back to the ship. There’s something anxious and unsettled flip flopping in your belly as you stand there beneath the shade of the wide tree, an almost bereftness of sorts. You feel your face do a confused, funny twist, and you look around at the mingling crowd, and then back towards the path where the ship lies.

And you can still feel him.

As he moves swiftly away from you, that dark red thread from before, from always, pulls, tickles, beckons you forward, spine to rib bone tied together once again. You look back towards the direction of the ship, towards good behavior and complacency, and it’s not even really a hesitation or a fight, not even half a thought really, as you step forward and follow after him, a mischievous grin blooming across your mouth.

“We have you four to one.” Din is almost certain that he should not have left you. Something in the way he just knows when and where a bounty will be sometimes, how he can almost predict their next movements, the poorly chosen decisions they’ll make. He knows he shouldn’t have left you, should have taken you all the way back to the ship himself, made sure you’re safe, that you’d stay put.

“I like those odds,” he says distractedly, scanning the surrounding forest for… something. He’d found the fucking bounty he was supposed to be collecting accompanied by a group of ragtag Endorians. He couldn’t give a shit about them right now. Honestly, what he really wants is to shoot the damn thing and get back, get back to you. But there’s something… in the surrounding air, in the way the leaves of the high trees rustle in the breeze, something electric, something of a taste in the ether slipping beneath the lip of his helmet and settling beneath his tongue. He looks around again, his gaze behind the visor sweeping in an arc beneath the tree line, and the bounty chooses that moment to be an idiot, blaster bolt dinging loudly off of his chest plate, another coming up on his right side, attempting a sorry excuse for a tackle he steps back from swiftly, fist snapping out to smash its trachea in. Another blaster bolt to the curve of his helmet, knocking his head to the side, sending a sharp ringing through his ears, and he’s annoyed now. Growling he sends a powerful kick to the center of another oncoming Endorian’s chest, pulling a vibroblade from his utility belt to block a punch with his vambrace, his other arm thrusting out to engage his flamethrower.

And then, yeah, he was right. There, out of the corner of his eye, as another idiot throws itself at him, there you are. Perched atop the large stump of a felled Redwood, knees crossed primly, chin cupped in your palm, pretty as some sort of Maker blasted curse that’s befallen him.

You piss him off so badly it makes his cock hard.

He can see you’re smiling wide and ridiculous, and he wants to take you over his knee and spank you until your cunt is so wet it hurts, crying out his name, begging for him. He snarls savagely, throws another punch, more of the flamethrower. How many of these fucking things are there? “I’m almost certain I told you to go back to the ship,” he spits.

“Yes, well…” you inspect your fingernails, all the leisure in the galaxy about your countenance, “I decided not to listen to you. Never presume that I will not act on my worst instincts. ”

Out of the corner of his eye he watches as a bolt of life ending plasma careens directly towards your head, his heart screams inside his chest, and then at the last moment deviates unnaturally in the opposite direction, singes the top of an innocently bystanding fern. Fuck this, knife to a lung, and he’s pulling his blaster from its holster, he has a brat to deal with. Plasma bolt to a skull, another, and then he’s engaging his whistling birds, hard to come by, and not frequently obtained, but he needs this done with quickly. He listens to the soft click of his vambrace, the descending illumination of lights down his forearm with the crook of his wrist, and the small guided munitions are flying through the air, striking their targets until only the bounty remains. She’s hunched at your feet below your perch atop the tree trunk, wide bugged out eyes filled with indignant rage at being trapped and confined by a power she cannot see.

He snarls a curse, stalking towards you. “I caught a gift for you,” you say up to him sweetly, batting those long lashes, those gorgeous eyes fucking with his head. He desperately needs to take you in hand, teach you a lesson, correct whatever it is that’s going on here that’s gotten so wildly out of his control Din feels as though he’s merely careening after you in your wake, waiting for your next move so that he might follow suit. You peer over the edge of your knees then, looking down at the prostrate bounty, “Boo–” eyes going wide, and he rolls his own beneath the helmet, coming to a stand before you, hands on his hips, hoping he’s conveying all of his immense displeasure at having his instructions disobeyed.

The bounty looks up at him, a choked gurgle forcing its way up her throat which is seemingly also being constricted. “Oh, I wouldn’t look to him for saving,” you say with feigned sympathy, a tut of your tongue. “He’s known to be extremely unhelpful.”

“I take offense to that.” There is something about seeing you out here, in the vicinity of an active hunt that makes him uncomfortable, like his jaw is out of line, stopping his teeth from aligning correctly inside his mouth. “And I told you to go back to the fucking ship,” he grits.

“Well, I didn’t want to.”

“I don’t care what you want or don’t want. This is my job. When I tell you to do something in a situation like this, you need to listen to me.”

“But I can help–”

“No.”

“You can use me! I’m expendable, I’m–”

“You are not expendable. Do not fucking say that.” And perhaps his voice is too aggressive, the menacing step he takes towards you too intimidating, for you go quiet, eyes wide and maybe even a little shocked, almost flinching away, but he’s too angry to pay attention to the twinge of remorse that pinches inside of him. “Get up. We’re going.” He pulls the bounty up by the scruff of the neck, pulling binders from his utility belt and clasping them around her wrists, ignoring the affronted, Hey, watch it! Barely even hearing it over the angry buzzing in his ears.

He rushes ahead of you all the way back to the Razor Crest, a low simmering seethe cooling to a frosty needle between his shoulder blades. Surely a physical manifestation of your glare piercing him in the back as you follow sullenly behind. He stomps his way up the open hatch, huffing and muttering under his breath, and he knows he’s unnecessarily pissed off. So you didn’t do as he’d said, and what? He’s no one to demand obedience from you. You’re your own person, wildly powerful and capable of your own accord, and if you want to tell him to go to the Maker and do what you please that’s entirely your right. And yet… he is so scathingly bothered right now. The sight of you once again surrounded by the objects of his hunt, surrounded by blaster fire because of him, it unsettles him, like a splinter burrowing deep beneath the surface of his skin, uncomfortable like an overripe fruit set to burst.

He hurries to shove the bounty into the carbonite freezer, shutting the hatch, and then makes for the ladder up to the cockpit. Trying to get away from you, for he can feel you hovering over his shoulder, an air of question and hesitance around you, maybe even a little bit of soft hurt, but there is something itchy running along the length of his bones, and he just needs to get away, to run away. And Din has never run from anything in his life, but you turn him into something else, a different sort of creature, a different sort of man. Something soft and tremulous, something simpler – someone that is not man and Mandalorian, but simply a man, simply himself. He feels a slight tremor run through his hands as he takes a seat in his pilot’s chair, flipping switches and punching buttons, preparing for takeoff. You stand suspended at the mouth of the cockpit, and he can almost hear your words on the tip of your tongue, a bated breath, he goes still, and then: “Din, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset. I just–” a soft little gasp, and his chest burns, your name splits open inside of him.

He doesn’t know why he’s acting like this, reacting like this. He takes a slow deep breath, the sound loud and echoing beneath the dome of his helmet, trying his best to expel all of that swirling tension he’s holding in his chest. The Crest lifts off, and he turns slowly in his chair, taking in the sight of you. Soft curves ensconced in that dark, primly high necked tunic you wear, tight across the swell of your tits – setting his mouth to water, and his cock to thicken, tempting him into unwrapping you to get at all that lush goodness beneath. Those gorgeous eyes, the lighter one shocking him, like a scolding, like a scream, like a fist to the heart. And the darker one… like a whisper, the feel of your wet mouth on him, every desire he’s ever held in his heart but never been able to have. The sweet, heart shape of your face, that sinful mouth – he’s going to fuck it.

“Come here,” he says low, spreading his thighs to let you in between them. His cock is hard beneath the plaque of his trousers already, the heavy bulge straining to be freed, and when you step into the space between his knees, finally obeying, he watches your eyes go wide as you notice it and then heavy, molten with lust, the fluttering thrum of your pulse beneath the fine skin of your neck.

“Take your clothes off.” Your eyes flash a spear of heat through them, a slow swallow, your muscles rippling, and then you’re obeying him without question and liquid heat pools in his belly, his balls tightening at the sight of you doing what he’s asked. He slouches further into his seat, spreading his knees further to settle in to watch the lovely spectacle you pose, taking another deep breath. Your fingers are trembling as you bring them beneath your chin to begin unfastening the long line of tiny buttons holding you ensconced and hidden from him, keeping you from him. You go slowly, slipping them open one by one, revealing the sight of all that smooth, gorgeous skin to his eyes. He knows that if he took his gloves off and gave you the gift of his touch, which he’s sure you’re desperate for right now, you’d be burning hot. You reach the little button beneath the deep curve of your breasts, the lapels of your tunic falling open to reveal your breast band, the line of your stomach, the soft swell, and then you’re pushing it off your shoulders. He watches the tremble of your tits as you take a shaky breath, the rapid dip of your belly with your quickened gasps for air. Then you’re pushing your leggings down your hips, toeing your boots off, taking your underwear down with the rest. You reach behind you to unfasten the tie of the band holding your breasts and they’re falling free, swinging heavily, and he’s sure he gasps, hopes it’s too quiet beneath the modulator for you to listen to the sound of his hunger for you. His cock pulses and throbs to the point of aching, he can feel it drooling for you. You let the scrap of fabric fall from your fingertips, and you’re entirely bare before him. His hands rest atop his abdomen, fingers woven together and he presses his fingertips into his knuckles as hard as he can without straining, digs his heels into the steel floor beneath his feet, grinds his molars together and just breathes for a moment, takes you in.

“Let your hair down,” he murmurs, voice falsely even. You reach behind to let the long locks fall loose, and he watches the line of your arm, the musculature you’re made up of, the jut of your elbow down to your wrist, the fine line of your hand. And now you’re just as he wants you, soft and open and all for him, your breasts, full and heavy and beautiful, the curve of your waist, the soft swell of your belly down to the apex of your thighs, that place he’s about to fucking wreck, wearing only the sparkling jewels in your ears he’d bought for you. All his, his, his, only his. He feels on the brink of insanity, the brink of discovery. “Kneel.” You fold slowly to your knees between his spread thighs, the softest, most serene look on your face. As if he could do anything with you, ask anything of you, and you’d give it to him. He sits up suddenly and leans forward, hands hanging limply between his legs to inspect you more closely. He looks down at you, your eyes wide and trusting and with something of an ethereal look in them, and he’s reminded that oftentimes, throughout these weeks the two of you’ve passed together, he’s been worried, perhaps, afraid even, that he’ll wake one day to find that you weren’t real, that it’d all been a dream, that he’d conjured you from the very depths of his wanting mind. How can eyes like these be real? He brings a single finger to the tip of your chin and tilts your face this way and that. You bring Din a great many pleasures, but he doesn't think anything surpasses the satisfaction he feels from simply looking at you. He hums low in his throat, and your lashes flutter at the sound, soft, wet mouth parting so that he can see the tip of your little pink tongue. He sits back again, hand going for the front of his pants, he opens the plaquette and wraps his fingers around his aching length, squeezes it tightly, hidden away from your eyes still, and he watches you lean forwards, hungry look on your face, mouth falling open wider, begging.

“Din–” you pant, and he hums again, shutting you up. He pulls himself out, slumps deeper in his seat and fists himself tightly at the root, squeezing harshly and then dragging his hand up so that a fat drop of precome oozes out of the swollen, red tip. Your gaze is trained on his cock, almost hypnotized, and he can see that you’re trembling slightly, knees shifting together to relieve what he’s sure must be a considerable ache between your legs.

“Look at what you’ve done,” he says quietly, and your eyes flash up to his, wide and falsely guileless, as if you’d try and convince him that you’ve done nothing to warrant such deprivation, that you deserve to be impaled and coming around his cock at your earliest convenience, that you’re entirely innocent and deserving of whatever you want whenever you want it. “This is what happens when you piss me off,” he tells you. Your eyes fall back to the sight of him jacking his own leaking cock, heavy balls pulled out to hang over the edge of his trousers. You give a slight tilt of your chin, on the verge of disagreement, but then seem to think better of it. You look back up at him, blinking slowly. “Do you want it?” A dip of your chin. “Yes?” Yes, Din, a whisper he feels zing up his spine. “Show me how much,” and he dips the chin of his helmet down towards the apex of your thighs. You pause for a second at this, unsure if he really means what he says, perhaps, but then you reach between your thighs, knees spreading slightly to make room for you to pet at your cunt. Your lashes flutter shut, a tiny gasp, and he roughens his strokes around himself. Fuck, he needs to taste you. “Show me,” he barks roughly, you jerk and then bring your hand up in front of yourself, little fingers spreading wide so that the sticky strings of your lust are held between them. Din growls low in his chest, twists his fist almost painfully around his tip, down to the base, up again, again. “Put them in your mouth. What do you taste like?”

You bring your fingers to the flat gleam of your tongue, and minx that you are, eyes closed to savor yourself and drive him over the brink and deep into the depths of true madness, with a tiny whimper you say, “Like I need you.” He snaps forward, hand coming to gently cradle the column of your throat, you give him a shocked little gasp, and he brings the face of his helmet very close to your own, listens to the rattle of your breath within the confines of your ribcage. “Do you? And what about what I need?” He asks, dragging the pad of his glove covered thumb along the edge of your jaw. “For you to listen, for you to let me keep you safe.” He feels the pass of a swallow beneath the delicate muscles of your throat, staring up at him, and there’s something like confusion, hesitance in your gaze, the folding of your brow, the first uncovering of something not yet previously known. You swallow again, and with the very thing of you, your life held in his hands, Din realizes what his real issue is, which is nothing more, or perhaps everything less, than the fact that you’d saved him. You’d saved his life. And it was Din’s duty now, his honor, his utmost desire, to protect you, to keep you safe and well cared for, for as long as he could, for as long as you’d let him. And he so, almost desperately, wants you to give him that chance. And to see you amidst the tumult of a hunt, in the middle of blaster fire once again because of him, his work, it’d sparked a kindling of anger and wrongness within Din that he was ill equipped to deal with.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I don’t– I’ve never had someone… want that for me,” said haltingly, as if you’re unsure what word is supposed to come next. “I’ve never had someone try–” another confused flutter of your lashes, “Try and take care of me.” He feels what he thinks is his heart breaking a little, and he’s sure he can feel a humiliated sort of heat rise to the surface of your skin at your words and surely he can have none of that. He takes your wrist in his grasp and brings it to the head of his cock so that the wide tip is held in the cup of your palm, sticky drool smearing against your skin.

“It’s alright,” he says softly, twisting your wrist around himself, “I’m going to teach you.” You make a soft, whimpered noise in your throat, something like a supplication. “What do you need, little one?” He starts to jack his cock again and your grip on the head tightens, twists gently.

“Nothing,” you say simply. “I only want you to fuck me however you need to fuck me. That’s all I need.”

“Maker–” he groans, “Obedient little thing. Give it a kiss,” you lean forward to press that plush mouth to his sensitive head, tongue fluttering out to lap gently at the leaking precome. He snaps, reaching forward to yank you up by your underarms and turns you onto his lap so that your back is to his chest. He drapes each of your knees over his widely spread thighs, maneuvering you into the position he best likes, your legs spread so widely it must surely verge on discomfort for you. You arch your back as he drags his gloved hands over your skin, up the insides of your thighs, entirely bypassing that soaking wet place he knows is desperate for him, up the curves of your waist to your breasts where he cups the heavy globes squeezing tightly and eliciting a keening mewl from you. His cock bobs heavily between your spread legs, and you press yourself back into him, trying to gain purchase to rub yourself along his length, but he halts your movements, gripping your around the waist. He reaches for himself, wrapping his fingers around the thick shaft and tapping gently against your wetness. You moan, reaching back to wrap your arms around his neck, hips shifting in desperate little arcs. “Quit,” he says gently, listens to your frustrated huff. He taps the head against your clit again, then cups the underside to slot it flat between the lips of your sex, drags you along the length of it with the hand on your waist, coating himself in your slick.

“Din, please,” you whine.

“What? You want it?” And he grips the root again, smacking the heavy weight of it hard against your clit, again, again. The sound of the echoing sticky slaps has heat pooling in his spine, twisting down into his balls. You whimper, writhing in his lap, trying to escape his cruelty and he shifts you, notches the head and fucks up into you in one harsh thrust. Not giving you a moment's notice to think about it before he’s balls deep inside of your tight, wet cunt, the taking made all the easier for how soaked slick you are for him. He can't help himself when he lets out a rough, savage snarl, feels the flutter and spasm of your sensitive muscles as they struggle to accommodate the immensity of his invading length. You’re fucking dripping, leaking down his balls and onto the seat below. His pilot’s chair is going to smell like your pussy when he’s through with you. “Is that better?” He grits through clenched teeth, wrapping both arms around your front and squeezing you to himself, your soft tits smushed up towards your chin, he thumbs gently at a nipple and listens to the sound of your struggle, enjoys it. He can feel the strain of your legs trying to reach the ground, find something to anchor yourself on, but you’re too small, unable to find purchase. When he peers over the edge of the seat he can see there’s a good three inches between the tips of your little toes and the cold, hard floor. He spreads his legs wider, broadens the gap, and slowly begins to turn back to face the flight deck. “Wh– what are you doing?” You hiccup, hips shifting, legs straining. He pulls your arms from around his neck and folds them across your belly, going still. “Din– what are you doing? Please– please, move.” You’re so wet, and you make him so weak. And he– he is so– He thrusts once, just for his own sake, to feel the punch of his tip at the end of you, the way you jolt in his lap, the clench of your muscles, to savor the sound of your whine for him. “Enough,” he murmurs. “I have to navigate. We’re coming on an asteroid field, I have to drop out of hyperspace. You’re going to be good and sit still while I pilot the ship.”

Stunned silence, and then slightly choked, “Wh– what? Noooo, Din. Please, no.”

“This is what happens when you disobey, when you don’t let me keep you safe where I need you to be – fucked open and stuffed full of cock. And you don’t get to come either. Is this what you wanted?”

“Nooo,” a whining sob, “Please, I’m sorry– I’m sorry. Please, let me come–”

“No, and you’re going to be silent now and take what I give you without complaint.”

“You’re being so mean,” you cry.

“Too bad.” Another hitching sob, he grips you around the jaw, pulls your head back and to the side to check on you, to look at your eyes, only a few tears, not too bad. He gentles his voice, “You’re going to be my good girl and keep my cock warm for me, aren’t you? You’re going to do as I say?” Another pathetic little tear, and then a nod of your head, a sniffle. You nudge the tip of your nose against the face of his visor, and he almost loses it, fucks you raw and full of his come, rips his helmet off to kiss you full on, but no – no, no, no, not yet.

He waits a moment, giving you a second to settle, walls of your cunt still set to an overwhelmed flutter, but you take several deep breaths, your breasts heaving quickly, and you lay your head back on his shoulder, hiccup a few times until you go quiet and calm. A little shiver, another sniffle and then, “I’m going to be good. I’m going to be good for you. Yes, Din.”

He takes a slow breath himself, and then starts hitting buttons and flipping switches, the ship jerks gently out of lightspeed and the both of you gasp at the feel of the lurch where you’re joined. The Crest comes out of hyperspace just before where the navcom had indicated the asteroid field was. He settles himself as best he can with the feel of your wet heat around him, trying to concentrate, trying to ignore the fact that he’s currently got the most perfect cunt in the entirely galaxy wrapped around his dick and that he is willingly, and probably very stupidly, denying you both the relief of orgasm.

You do sit very obediently for a significant amount of time, he’ll give you that. He’s got the Razor Crest about halfway through the belt when you begin to lose patience, shifting, and doing a poor job of subtly arching your back, low whimpers in your throat that have his belly going tight. He feels a drop of sweat make a slow path from his hairline, down his temple and over his cheek, losing itself to the edge of his jaw. His cock kicks inside of you, throbbing something fierce, leaking within you, and he feels you start to tense up around him, muscles clenching tightly and then shivering loose. Your back arches deeper, your face turning into the crook of his neck, tucked beneath the edge of his helmet, panting. The thick folds of his cape are wrapped around his throat and tucked into the top of his chest plate and he can imagine what the damp heat of your breath would feel like without the impediment of these damned confines keeping him from you. He feels a sudden surge of terrible frustrated violence within him. He wants to tear the mantle, the entrapments, of his Creed from his body, bare himself to you entirely. You nuzzle at the fabric keeping you from each other and whisper, so breathy, so desperate, all for him, “You’re so hard. Please, please, just fuck me. Please, just let me come. I promise I’ll be good from now on. I promise.” Little fingers reaching back to claw softly at his neck. Din feels unhinged and set to burst, made of nothing but a tenuous and fragmented control, made of sugar, insubstantial and easily dissolved. Something he has never, ever felt before.

“Make yourself come,” his voice is gruff, almost unrecognizable. The Crest clears the edge of the asteroid belt, and he sets the navigation for Nevarro again, re-entering hyperspace. “I’m not helping, you have to do it yourself,” But he places a single large palm on your belly, over the place where your womb is, where you’re holding him inside of you, and presses down gently. “Can you feel me here? I’m so deep inside of you, little thing.” You whimper and hiccup, hips arching and shifting desperately, and he gives one jerking thrust of his hips upwards, knocking the breath out of you and setting your orgasm to burst, a tiny, fluttering thing, weak and pathetic in strength. You groan and sob frustratedly, the orgasm not enough to ignite the kindling of fire he’s set within you into a full on blaze. He whispers the tip of a single finger over your clit, feels the strain of your legs trying to reach for the floor, and he errs on the side of mercy, bringing his knees together slightly and straightening his legs to bring your feet closer to the ground. He feels when you make contact, the tips of your toes just barely touching the durasteel floor as you start to shift the smallest amounts, nudging yourself up and down on his cock, trying to fuck yourself desperately. He pulls your arms in front of your belly, crossing them in front of you and hugging you to himself tightly, restricting your movements, rescinding that mercy, but he feels you come again anyways, sensitive thing, and buried balls deep in your tight, wet cunt, it’s too much for him, too much restraint, too much desire, insanity. He wants you too fucking much, and this is madness and blasphemy and bliss and some sort of mythical creation, all at once.

He surges up to his feet with you in his arms, cock never slipping from your clutch as he bends you over the control panel and pins you there, snarling savagely, trying to catch his breath and spit a curse and a prayer at the Maker for having sent him someone so beguiling and unraveling all at the same time. He holds you there, zeroed in on the place where your stretched, swollen cunt is split around his cock. Your slick smeared into a gleam across the surface of your smooth skin. Peripherally, he can hear you saying something to him, begging or his name or an riddle of the two but Din feels, a little bit, like he’s beyond himself, outside of himself, cock so painfully hard his neurons have started to fizzle and snuff out like stars in the darkness of space. He slowly pulls out, grips himself to slide his dripping length between the cleft of your ass. He presses the tip gently to your asshole, appreciates the jerk and twitch of your muscles as you feel him there, the sound of your gasp. “Will you let me fuck you here?” A whispered yes, like such a good girl. “Maybe next time.” He slides back down and presses into your cunt again, watches the way you swallow him, “Fuck, yes, look how pretty all your little holes are for me.” The sound of your tears and supplications, the sound of your desire for him and the rushing whoosh of Din’s own breath in his lungs, he pulls his hips back and slams into you roughly. Yes, yes.

“Fuck me hard. Please, Din.”

“No. How I say.” But he does so anyways, seesaws his hips back and forth with a strength that is perhaps too much for the overwhelmed and overwrought state of your cunt, but he can’t seem to help himself. He watches the way you part for him, take him in, hold him. Your body making space for his inside of you. He feels you ripple around him with another orgasm, and he wants to plant himself inside and live there forever and ever so that you’d never leave him, never forget him. Something pinches and hisses within Din, and he’s about to come. He rips himself from you, gripping you by your hair and pushing you gently to your knees again. His sensitive, little thing, he must handle you with care. “You’re going to suck my cock now,” he tells you, and you open your mouth for his dripping cock. Pressing in and sliding to the back of your throat, feeling the tip of him reach the end of you and holding there, the swallow and cinch of your muscles around him, fucking Maker, you’ll be the end of him or the beginning or everything in between. The whole thing, you’ll be everything. Unhinged and changed and a different sort of man now.

This was supposed to be your lesson in restraint, in obedience, but Din feels at this moment like he is the only one being, not only given a lesson, but punished.

He holds your head and fucks your throat, your watering eyes gleaming up at him with so much satisfaction, hands coming up to fondle his sac and grip his ass, and he wants to bark at you to wipe that smug look off your face, but he thinks that you’re so fucking beautiful right now, bringing him to his knees even though you’re the one on yours, that it’d be wrong to interrupt. With his fingers twisted in your hair he jerks your head back, open mouth wet and panting, the red gleam of your tongue presented to him like an offering. You bring your hand up to squeeze his balls tightly, the other going to the tip of his cock to twist and jack him, and he’s coming, your hair in his grip to angle you just so, so that the thick white of his spend spurts onto your open waiting mouth and lovely face, and even though you cannot see, he bares his teeth at you as he comes. “All of it, I want all of it,” you whisper up at him, and Din’s knees tremble and jerk so that he has to reach for the edge of the flight deck to remain upright.

When he’s finally finished painting the canvas of your face with himself you lean forward to press a soft kiss to the softening length, licking soft and gentle up the side of him, along the thick vein there, forcing a whimper up his throat. You pull back, sitting on your heels to look up at him and bring your thumb to your cheek, swiping a thick glob of semen from there and bringing it to your mouth, closing your eyes, humming in bliss when you taste him on your tongue. He falls to a crouch in front of you, watches as you methodically gather the come on your face and eat it infront of him. How he loves to watch you.

Altered now, he asks you: “What do I taste like?”

And again you answer: “Still, like I need you.”

“What a good girl you are,” he says gently, caressing the soft of your cheek, cupping the side of your face as you nuzzle into him. And when you look up at him with a vein of tender vulnerability in your gaze, Din knows that he’d do anything for you, give anything you asked of him, be anything you asked him to be, and he wonders if you’ve read his mind just then, when you ask in the softest and smallest voice, as if afraid he’d deny you, “I want to kiss you,” pressing up on your knees sightly to kiss the front of his visor, tips of your fingers dancing over the dome of his helm, “Will you let me?” Another soft kiss, and who is he to deny a perfect thing like you anything she’d ever want? But before he lays himself at your feet, he remembers his earlier anger and says, or begs, softly, “I didn’t like seeing you out there like that. Please, promise me you’ll not do that ever again. Promise me you’ll let me keep you safe.”

Your whispered promise and closed eyes is all he needs to remove his helmet and press his mouth to yours.

After your stop in Nevarro for an exchange of bounties and pucks, he takes you to Jakku; you’d found yourself there once, at the start of your freedom. Looking, perhaps, for some sort of punishment, something painful and uncomfortable. You’d chosen the perilous desert planet, a barren and desolate thing, with the secret, shameful hope that you’d die suffocated in the sand and heat. But it had, after all, proven to be stronger than your own self sabotage. It had been too easy to die on that sand blasted planet – even for you; fauna, heat, dehydration, injury, poison, murder by competition, the perils were endless and despite all the rest, despite the fact that part of you had already felt dead, there was also a larger, more rational part of you that did not actually want to die. A part of you that had still hoped, that rejoiced at your newfound freedom. The wounds of your past were deep, but you were not yet moribund. You could still yet remember how to live.

Silly or naive or arrogant, who knew. Greedy, perhaps. What right had you to life? After the things you’d done, what you’d been, but you’d clung to the thing of it, hope or salvation or something you’d never really known intimately before, the idea of it, the promise, and you’d left Jakku. Gone off in search of gentler horizons, but you’d not forgotten the threat of that place, the danger that lurked there, and you’re reminded of that, painfully, upon your return there with Din.

“Hello, beastie,” the chipped voice croaks.

Chapter VI

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ronearoundblindly · 1 month

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I just want to start this off by saying you are one of my favorite Steve writers of all time I can’t believe I just randomly found you one day. Every time I read something I think “oh this is her best” and then I go to something else and literally the same reaction so thank you of sharing this for free. The comfort reading your Steve stories give me is unexplainable.

LOL the funniest thing is I found your works on ao3 first and at first I didn’t click the tumblr there so when I found the CEO au here I was like “um excuse me who tf is plagiarizing — oh wait no same person. Thank god”

So I don’t know how you feel about writing about pregnancy and kids but Steve having to deal with that especially in the Sun Salt and Shield AU is so hilarious to me. Is there a hc you have about that? Or just in general about them getting more serious. I love that you didn’t take the easy way out and just “Splash”ify the mermaid reader.

Um🥹😚, all of this is great, and I'm not trying to just skip over all your lovely compliments (also, good looking out on the plagiarism because that issue's going around again 🥲). I just want to jump right into the headcanon of pregnancy and kids for Sun, Salt, and Shield.

This is mostly rambling. Sorry it's not well-formed, but there *might* be a chapter of fic percolating from this. No warnings. No detailed talk of pregnancy or birth, only vague reference.

Just the other day I revisited an ask about MissG/Doll not having the more humanoid body of idk-what-to-call-them classical mermaids?? And I wondered if that (the classic look) could have been a blended species from way in the past between deep sea mermaids and humans--essentially, would Doll and Steve have children that looked more like what we typically see as mermaids?

It's an interesting train of thought, and, frankly, perfectly logical. If they had a kid or kids, that's likely how I'd do it.

However--and this is a big HOWEVER,--I am admittedly not a big fan of pregnancy, kidfics, and all that 'adorable' parenthood stuff. Sounds a little cruel that way, but there you have it. I'm me. I make things more complicated than they need to be.

I would make pregnancy a different experience from humans. Doll's kind would have a different mentality toward offspring than humans. Some hilarious and/or angsty misunderstandings could ensue.

For example--because I don't think too deeply into these matters, shhhh--based on the sheer size of her whole species, I don't think deep sea mermaids visibly look pregnant like humans. Their hips simply get wider and they sort of thicken all the way through their torsos to mid-tail. Honest to goodness, humans truly just think Miss G is getting fat, but just in a 'putting on weight' way, not a nasty judgy way. In this event, and since you/G do not have the vocabulary to explain, your pregnancy goes unnoticed until it is very advanced.

To you, this is a common inevitability in the sea between mates, but there isn't the type of hoopla--for lack of a better term--surrounding the process.

So you're pregnant? Big deal?

Ummmm, wow, the wheels are really starting to turn on this, but also your species doesn't have a calculated sense of time. You live in mostly darkness (and the ambient/changing light of other mermaids' tails), so you wouldn't have any real way of explaining how long gestation for a baby is. Likely, the kid would grow super fast, too. Means Tony still doesn't know the average lifespan of your species because there are no common/known markers to describe how long your 'elders' have been alive.

Stuff I haven't worked out yet: would the child of a deep sea mermaid and a human be able to live in either native environment? That's where I'm thinking the lower-depth, classic mermaid comes into play; still has fins, can breathe air for short periods (but longer than you), probably can't handle heavy pressure for very long though (since you spend far longer in a pool, not the pressure chamber asleep, than most deep sea-ers while pregnant), and is lighter colored in scales and features than you due to the shallower water (more affected by sunlight).

I do think it would be cute for the child to have Steve's blond hair and blue eyes simply because that is unheard of in your species (as are the paler scales and armoring. I should mention that since you have lavender eyes--i.e. very light sensitive--human blue eyes are comparatively dark.

You'll notice I'm not saying son or daughter. When newborn young...I don't think anyone can tell if the child is male or female. I don't thing G's species cares, and I think you'd be very confused by how intently Tony and Steve try to figure that out. Conceptually, it simply doesn't matter at all what sex the kid is until puberty, and even then...it still sort of doesn't??

Hmm. That's all I got on this for now, but I sense I could probably come up with some interesting angst with a happy ending from it.

Thank you for asking!

A/N: Not that it matters, but I love 'Splash.' I've learned that it's fine to explore fantastical things to all sorts of degrees, and as almost all of fandom can tell you, fluff is great, fluff is necessary, and fluff keeps us afloat. Big HOWEVER, it is not okay to wash away anyone's race or heritage (in this case--obviously fake--a species' culture). Be respectful. It's that easy.

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#sun salt and shield series #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #captain america x you #marvel au #steve rogers x female reader #deep sea mermaid #deep sea mermaid!reader #mermaid!reader #mermaid!au #ro answers

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askdacast · 9 months

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Life Series SMP/Eyes and Ears AU Thematic Discussion + Theorycrafting (pt. 1)

WARNING: Extremely long post

Kachow what’s poppin fellas, I’m back at it again talking about boomer block Youtubers and their surprisingly in-depth improv series. Now that the Life Series’ 5th season has finally concluded, I’m back on the lore train and poor Scar is left to suffer the consequences, and Martyn’s concluded yet another lore stream, I decided to compile a long master post of lore notes and theories about what we have so far.

Obviously all the ‘lore’ of the Life Series is purely unofficial; Grian has not approved any of it as being actually official/set in stone for what he intended the series to be. Most of it has been us in the crazy fandom extrapolating their really good storytelling, and also “semi-canonized” by Martyn in what he calls the Eyes and Ears AU (and this post assumes you are familiar with it). As someone who’s been a fan since the beginning way back in 3rd Life, I’ve pretty much hopped on the lore train since the beginning as well (if casually) and enjoying all the different extrapolations/analysis/angst written around the players. Rather than just theorizing lore details in a vacuum, however, I’ve always liked imagining the lore based around the reoccurring themes, symbolism and arcs we’ve seen across the series. I’d been bouncing my various thoughts and theories around these themes for a while, and finally I decided to compile my notes together.

This post is basically my imagining what the Life Series/Eyes and Ears AU story is “about,” as if it were a fleshed-out, long-running and story-driven tv show. Initially this post started as simply a gigantic “Eyes and Ears Theory,” me trying to sus out my own theories/ideas of what the Life Series’ mysteries were based on Martyn’s lore. However, considering that Martyn is ALSO writing the lore on the fly, and I have some details I would interpret differently or change, this ended up less a ‘theory’ and more ‘me writing an entire AU/interpretation of the Life Series as a whole.’ My intention is NOT to ‘correct’ Martyn’s lore, nor to claim my theory as the ‘right’ interpretation; rather, this is my personal interpretation of what the Life Series story is about, based on information shown in the original SMP and in Martyn’s AU.

One last disclaimer: I am ONLY drawing on lore details from the Life Series, Martyn’s lore streams, and Minecraft EVO, and also references to the iRL creators. I am not drawing on any story from other SMPs such as Pirates or Empires; there may be some Hermitcraft references here and there.

This is going to be very long, and a multi-parter, because I can’t summarize to save my life. And I promise I’ll come up with a proper name for my series of posts another time. If you’ve stuck around to read, I thank you.

Part 1: The Overall Plot + Understanding the Watchers

Recap of official lore details

Although Martyn hasn’t given specific details on the Watcher + Listener species (he hasn’t come up with a name yet), we know the following details for sure (from EVO, lore streams etc.)

Watchers + Listeners + The Council are all deity-like beings of the same species, and they all consume human emotions

The Council are the upper ranks/possibly leaders, whereas the Watchers + Listeners are separate factions

The Watchers are at LEAST two high-ranking members of the species (the two dots being outcast from the wider circle, as is their logo)

The Watchers were behind Minecraft EVO, where they gave all the players tasks (much like Secret Life) and eventually ending in them fighting the Ender Dragon separately

While the Watchers may not have been evil in EVO, they certainly became so AFTER, when they began to crave more negative human emotions, viewing them as “tasty” (Martyn’s words), s p i c y

They first kidnapped Grian at the end of EVO season 1, turning him into a Watcher to possibly have him join their ranks, but he’s gone rogue after realizing what their plans for the Life Series were, and plans to rescue his friends from them

The Life Series was the Watchers’ ploy to trap the players in an infinite death game where they betray and cause each other pain, all to harvest their negative emotions. Grian, in defiance to this, takes control as the ‘game master’ to make the whole thing…well, a game, so that his friends can enjoy, have fun and ease their anguish. In Martyn’s words, this is like “pouring ketchup all over the Watchers’ sundae.”

The Listeners (EVO season 2) are an opposing faction to the Watchers who disagree with their methods, although why is unknown. They’ve attempted to contact some players (e.g. Jimmy) before back in EVO in order to oppose the Watchers, but it’s not known how successful they were. They’ve also tried to swap in players in the Life Series before (e.g. subbing Lizzie and Gem for Pearl and Cleo in Lim. Life) in order to sneak them in and try to subvert the game. The Watchers kidnapping Gem for Secret Life is partially in retaliation to the Listeners. The Listeners may not be good and may have nefarious intentions also, it is as yet still unknown.

There’s potentially a third faction, the Speakers, but very little is known about them and Martyn doesn’t want to elaborate on them yet.

Okay, but what are the Watchers even after?

"Accept your fate."

From here on out is my real conjecturing/theorizing. The main question on my mind has been why are the Watchers doing what they’re doing? Obviously Martyn has confirmed that they are malicious deities who find negative human emotions tasty, but this raises further questions. Why exactly do they desire such emotions, or need them to survive (if they do, anyway)? Why do they favour negativity, when the other members of their species consume a wide range of emotions? They were confirmed to be outcast in some way from the other factions for this ploy, so what does that say about them then?

The whole species fundamentally do not understand human emotions (or perhaps do not even possess them)

This seems to me the most logical conclusion. These are powerful deities who can create miniature worlds/dimensions, life, and time to an extent (death loop). They should theoretically be self-sufficient, so I doubt that their consumption of human emotion is for survivability reasons (i.e. I don’t think Watchers will literally die if they don’t consume emotions, the same way humans die without food). What seems more likely is that human emotions bring them some benefit to their intelligence or power that they’d otherwise be quite non-functional without. (Think like the demons in The Promised Neverland, who regress to feral natures/lack of sapience if they don’t eat humans)

The Watchers’ powers and their lab-rat experimentation on the players gives a huge vibe of not being able to understand human emotions in an involved way, but only from a distance. They know methodically things like murder and betrayal cause panic and anguish, so they enforce these experiences through the game, mechanics like the Boogeyman, the Secret Tasks etc. But they don’t really know internally why these emotions come about the way humans do. Being above time, they probably don’t understand why the funny small animals have so much attachment to their transitory experiences and memories (more on this later).

world's angriest pumpkin

The Watchers are Losers, Actually

Going further, don’t you think the Watchers have a very misanthropic mindset all around? “Anguish and panic are s p i c y.” They conversely have a complete disgust for positive emotions, and can’t stand Grian making things fun for everybody. It almost feels like they have the mindset that only things like hatred and fear are exciting, bringing motivation and life to the humans, whereas things like happiness and fun are ‘useless’ because they don’t bring about the same results. Let’s also not forget their name – Watchers – and that Martyn’s confirmed them to be symbolically based off us, the audience. It’s almost like a commentary of the worst of the entertainment industry, of an audience who crave watching anything and everything to satisfy their own desires, even at the expense of the privacy and safety of the entertainer. Given the current state of the internet and social media, I don’t think I need to elaborate how awful things can get.

In other words, I believe the main motivation the Watchers are eating humans emotions is because they WANT to understand and ‘take into themselves’ such emotions. I don’t think they’re totally emotionless – Martyn does portray them with moments of glee and anger. But their understanding of emotions is superficial (self-centered, if you will) at best. As deities with no needs, being above time, they have nothing to be afraid of and nothing to feel sad or anguished over. It’s a boring, dull and empty existence. And that’s precisely why they’ve set up the Life Series game: by kidnapping a few humans and putting them through the artificially constructed wringer of panic and betrayal, they think they can create a human farm of such rich, complex and exciting emotions, all for themselves to enjoy at their own pleasure and fill the void they have.

(Listeners’ side note: If all that is the philosophy of the Watchers, it’s probably not difficult to see how/why the Listeners oppose them. The Listeners likely disagree that negative emotions are the most optimal state of humans, and unlike the Watchers do not think human suffering is just tasty popcorn one can eat at one’s pleasure. Their name – Listeners – implies they’re a more sympathetic faction, as in they listen to one’s troubles and heart rather than take delight in suffering at a superficial level. But if they are the same species, it’s very likely they have the same lack of instinctive understanding of human emotions that the Watchers do, and this could cause…problems.)

Why turn Grian?

All this is also why I believe the Watchers kidnapped Grian + turned him into a Watcher in the first place. Firstly, if they were going to concoct their plan to trap humans, they needed a collaborator from the humans in the first place. Secondly, and most importantly, this collaborator was going to be their only direct source of how human emotions work/feel like, and therefore what were the most optimal conditions needed to ensure their death game would generate the most pain and anguish. They picked Grian because he’s always the ‘leader’ of the SMP players, the person gathering and organizing everyone, so logically, he is the most ‘representative’ of the humans, and the one with the greatest ability to control them.

Of course, it’s also true that Grian was a little $#@% throughout EVO and actively rebelled against the Watchers’ tasks, so making him their collaborator might seem strange. Ignoring the meta reason that the ending was written to explain Grian’s exit from the series. But I figured in this case, they considered the benefits more than the costs. Grian’s chaotic nature is not unlike the Watchers’, considering how much he loves causing pranks and trouble to others. So, as a huge oversight, they think Grian is just like them: he loves to see people suffer, so they think. Additionally, the Watchers are desperate to understand how Grian gets his fellow humans to follow him and do what he asks with little effort. You’ll notice the Watchers have very direct, authoritative ways of trying to wrest control (e.g. the tasks, “do this or you fail”), and they get very petty and upset when people rebel against them (re: Scott’s refusal to be the Boogeyman, their motto is a very demanding “OUR WILL BE DONE.”) They see Grian’s charisma as yet another aspect of human emotions they fail to understand and thus WANT to possess for themselves.

Pictured above: The Watchers, coping and seething

Of course as we know, the Watchers believing Grian would help them is a major oversight. Becoming a god doesn’t just fundamentally change who Grian is, and he definitely doesn’t want to consign his friends to an infinite death loop of suffering. That being said, I don’t think Grianhas truly gone ‘rogue’ so much as taken as much advantage as possible of his ‘deal’ with the Watchers. We can guess the Watchers promised to him some kind of control/leadership over his friends’ circumstances as long as he worked for them, which led to them giving him the keys to the Life Series. In other words, so long as he fulfils their requirements of things being a death game that will generate ‘food’ for them, and lets them revive everyone each loop, he gets to decide how the games go.

And we know exactly what Grian’s done with this: he created the green-yellow-red lives system, he creates a fun gimmick each season, he inserts himself into the game as a player, all to bring out the best and most creative side of his friends rather than the worst. The Boogeyman probably is the only gimmick the Watchers added on their own initiative (re: Martyn’s POV in Last Life) in order to make things more spicy. Probably Grian’s conversation with the Watchers each time goes, “hey, I got an idea on how to bring out the most creative ways for everyone to cause pain in each other, [comes up with some bullcrap justification for the game’s fun mechanics].” I like to think the Watchers were going to make the death games even more vicious, cruel and competitive, but because of Grian’s wrangling he’s convinced them that a slow burn from joy to horror creates better results, and they tolerate it as long as they see him useful.

Memories and Emotions

There is also one BIG detail of the Watchers’ plan I’d like to mention: Martyn claims that the Watchers do NOT erase the players’ memories. At the end of each season, they consume everyone’s emotions so that there’s no more angst/ill will towards each other, and they start each season afresh. The players remember what’s happened in past seasons, but they don’t continue to hold the pain and negative feelings they had towards each other.

I don’t buy this, for numerous reasons.

For one, Martyn has confirmed the Watchers ARE capable of removing people’s memories. The one memory they have outright altered was the ex-EVO players’ (Martyn, Jimmy, BigB etc.) memory of what happened to Grian: they don’t remember that Grian was taken to be turned into a Watcher, and instead remember it as him either going missing or dying after the Ender Dragon fight. All this presumably to not give away the Watchers’ schemes and to ensure they still listen to Grian as if nothing ever happened.

More importantly, however, memories are vital to humanity’s emotional experience and mental health. I am not an expert by any means, but there are studies showing how people with amnesia, PTSD or other conditions affecting memories have flashbacks/emotional reactions to trauma they don’t remember consciously. The Watchers have (supposedly) done something far more simplistic yet fantastic by just eating up everybody’s emotions. All this, even though they see humans as emotion factories, constantly able to generate emotions just by existing, by their ability to draw and create meaning through emotional experiences, and by creating memories – the clearest embodiment of a mortal’s attachment to time (which if you remember, I believe the Watchers have no concept of).

You cannot just tell a human to stop feelingcompletely (under normal circumstances anyway), but especially not if they remember something very very traumatic.

Besides, there ARE clear instances when some of the players remember the events of past seasons and are STILL not over them! Impulse and Tango still being bitter/distrustful after Bdubs betrayed each of them separately, Cleo distrusting BigB for the same reason, Scott referencing Flower Husbands a lot, Pearl feeling betrayed by Cleo/Scott when they supposedly broke up the Gaslight/Gatekeep/Girlboss trio at the start of DL, Bdubs’ “I wanna be your favorite son” in Secret Life, the list goes on. Note that I’ve only listed negative/bittersweet instances; there are plenty more cases of the players remembering past seasons and alliances positively which the Watchers may have ignored. The point is, if the Watchers truly consumed everyone’s emotions to the point of a clean slate, they haven’t exactly been thorough. Nor do I think it’s very conducive for them either – don’t they want players to have enduring, unending, unresolved pain, the sweetest of all (to them)?

No, I think the Watchers HAVE been erasing/suppressing the players’ memories – they’ve just been very selective which ones. Martyn’s said that the Watchers do not care what families or connections they separate so long as they get the people they want and the plans they want. I’m going to assume the players in my theory/the Eyes and Ears AU are exactly the same as their CC counterparts. In other words: they’ve stolen Grian away from his wife. They stole Martyn away from his and his daughter. Ditto with Skizz, Impulse, Tango etc. They stole Scar away from his family. Joel and Lizzie are the only couple they didn’t separate, perhaps because they needed both for their plans, and also so they can inflict the most torture on them by ripping them away from each other, over and over again. And in order to ensure the complete submissiveness of the players to the game, the Watchers have taken away their memories of their past lives, their families, basically anyone who isn’t a fellow player in the game. The Watchers don’t erase the memories of bonds between seasons, because it’s a pain to have to teach the humans how to play all over again, but they erase any memories they find disadvantageous to keeping the game running.

They might even go one step further: while they haven’t erased the players’ memories of who each other are (so as to not cause confusion), they do try to suppress important memories. Things like how they met, the times they confided in each other after a bad day, cried on each other’s shoulder, laughed in each other’s successes, the times they hung out with each other’s families. Imagine the different alliances constantly gravitating to each other, but never being able to remember why they care about each other so much. Imagine Bdubs’ “Come on, you know you and I go way back!” when trying to justify taking Cleo’s stuff, and Cleo laughs back, even though she can’t quite remember what exactly Bdubs has done to warrant that. Imagine Joel or Lizzie trying to remember why they loved each other so much.

They fight and kill some of their friends, and protect others, because…because why again? It’s for survival value, surely, so the Watchers whisper. It’s because the strong must congregate with the strong and leave the weak to die, surely. It’s because Martyn’s always been a loner, and always will be, and should remain so. So they tell him. So they whisper, this is a deathmatch for a reason.

Grian’s Fundamental Rebellion

I think all this is the real reason Grian is rebelling against the Watchers. The most immediate reason is obvious: he wants to free his friends from this death loop. But the deeper reason as to why he’s rebelled is that the Watchers are torturing and robbing his friends of their humanity. They’re taking a tight-knit group of friends who love and would do anything for each other, and turning them against each other in a cruel and unescapable death game. On TOP of this, the Watchers have constantly messed with their heads in order to make them obedient and submissive to their schemes and the worst of their human nature, trapping them in fear, pettiness and paranoia. Of course Grian is upset. Of course he wants to save them from this fate. It’s an insult to who he knows these people to be.

This all leaves Grian in a pretty precarious position. While outwardly the Watchers want to make him a lackey as the “game master”, both he and they know he really wants to save his friends (they probably see it as their ‘cattle’ showing a bit of resistance, which once again they need to suppress). And while on one hand he’s making the games fun to ease his friends’ pain and bring the best out of them, this is just a hotfix rather than a real solution. In order to really rescue the players, Grian’s got to get them to rebel against the Watchers as well. Refuse to play by the rules, by the expectation that they must murder and kill without mercy, without any attachment to their alliances or past friendships. Make everyone like Scott refusing to be the Boogeyman, or Skizz constantly trying to be wholesome (until the bloodlust gets the better of him anyway).

Ironically in order to achieve this, Grian’s best bet is to try to jog everyone’s lost memories of each other and the things they lost, both good and bad. But ultimately, this is going to make them (in the short term) suffer more. This is where you can insert all your Desert Duo/Flower Husband/whatever alliance you like most angst. But more practically, I like to imagine when “the cameras” are not watching, when Grian knows no one will notice or catch him, he sneaks around to the different alliances, even the ones he’s not part of, to ask them how they’re doing, if they remember anything from the past etc. (in a meta sense, the players edit and cut stuff from their videos all the time; who’s to say he isn’t trying to catch a quick chat while everyone’s mining?!) It also reflects in why Grian is constantly trying to make alliances with different people instead of just gravitate to one person, he needs to check on everyone and capitalize on every single opportunity. (besides the meta reason, being that cc!Grian wants to be creative, and sticking to the same person all the time isn’t very entertaining from a content creator perspective)

One last detail about the winners: I don’t have much to say about the fragments yet, because Martyn (sneaky boi) hasn’t yet revealed the significance of the fragments nor of their healing, although he has hinted Bad Things™ will happen if a player gets too fragmented. But I do think the winners are important: with the game finished, they give Grian a very short window of time to talk to one person directly, without Watcher interference. They’re always the last to be killed/swept away/revived by the Watchers, and I can imagine there’s a brief period of time when their souls are being transferred to The Void w/e where Grian can step in and interfere. In my theory, Grian passes on some sort of clue/push to the winners, as like a subtle message about what they can do to stand up to the Watchers. I’ll detail on what I think these individual messages were in part 2. Needless to say, 3rd Life was a traumatic experience for Grian for many reasons, but the nail in the coffin was the fact that he won, and therefore there was no way for him to pass a message onto anyone.

Conclusion

Hooooooo jeepers that was long @A@; Thank you so much for your patience reading this if you made it to the end, I really appreciate it. As I said, I’ve had these lore ideas bouncing in my head for a LONG time, and with the end of Secret Life I couldn’t get out of my head the different trends/symbolism that was popping out of an improv series. It honestly speaks a lot to how genius our favorite block dudes are at improv, that they can turn their improv nonsense into a coherent narrative. I really wanted to try my hand at fleshing out such a narrative, and with Martyn constantly drip-feeding lore to the fans, I had more than enough material to not just put out guesses but construct something a full XYZ. As I mentioned, I enjoy workshopping themes and characters a LOT more than just worldbuilding or “what if this or that” details in a vacuum, hence why I’ve written all that I have, so this was a fun exercise for me all around!

Next time in part 2 I talk about Character Development™, or character specific notes and details I’ve noticed and extrapolated from what we’ve seen of each individual player, as well as what their different arcs across the seasons mean for them within the lore. Stay tuned for another wordbarf!

Bonus list of works I was inspired by for this loredump:

Log Horizon

The Promised Neverland

Danganronpa (ironic as I’m not really a fan of this franchise, but the first game has an otherwise solid premise which I found really similar to the Life Series)

The Fate franchise (when Martyn asked “what’s Fate?” on the latest lore stream, let me tell you I couldn’t stop laughing; NO MARTYN DON’T GO INTO THE WEEB RABBIT HOLE)

Various amazing animatics from the Traffic fandom: Earth, Bang!, most of Melloz Heist’s works, and of course all the amazing fanart

Way too many conversations with my friends about fantasy species

#what have I done #trafficblr #traffic life #traffic smp #life series smp #life series #eyesandears #eyes and ears theory #inthelittlewood #thematic discussion #theorycrafting #3rd life smp #last life smp #double life smp #limited life smp #secret life smp #long post

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