#... made them black and white - and changed their colors. They always make Pain too deep a shade of purple...

[stargazerlillian]

Transparent PNGs of Pain and Panic for your blog decorating needs!

(Please like and/or reblog if you save or use!)

[mackjlee9]

Thank you for requesting~ ☺

Smut Prompts; 'Take your clothes off. Right now', 'I'm going to fucking ruin you' & 'Again! Please, again!'

Fluff Prompt; 'You look really good in my clothes'.

(Changed the prompt since it's already been written here)

Warning; cosplayer!idia, reader calls idia 'princess' once, slight edging, praising, belly bulge.

Idia Shroud [Twisted Wonderland]

Please, enjoy the event~

Idia was excited, really happy actually. He looked at himself in the mirror that he usually kept covered and he smiled.

He loved cosplaying his favorite characters, wearing cool or cute clothes, and of course, showing them to his boyfriend. Idia had been preparing this new cosplay for the past few weeks, and now he was done, spinning around and giggling as he saw the skirt lift as he did so.

Now, he just had to wait for (M/n).

And almost fifteen minutes later, he heard knocking on his door. (M/n) was kinda glad that Ortho was just outside the mirror room when he came through, otherwise, he probably would've had more issues getting to Idia.

"Come in," Idia said in a louder tone than he was used to, and he stood up from his bed, nervously fidgeting with his skirt. (M/n) opened the door, keeping his eyes on the floor as he closed the door behind him. Idia's cosplays were always something he wanted to see and appreciate, it took some time for him to open up about what his hobbies were, so he always wanted to take in the sight of the long-haired male doing one of the things he loved the most.

Slowly, (M/n) raised his vision, starting from Idia's legs, covered by black thigh highs socks, followed by his exposed skin and immediately turning into a black skirt with a white apron over it. He stared surprised at the male who was nibbling on his lip, impatient about what (M/n) had to say.

But (M/n) was speechless, flustered at the sight of Idia wearing a maid outfit. He looked so good... maybe a little too good, and he could barely take it. But Idia felt worried when he saw how (M/n) looked away from him.

He anxiously started thinking that maybe he didn't like it, and that made him a little sad, but also embarrassed. He turned around to hide from him when he saw that one of the pillows from his bed fell on the floor, and he didn't think much about it when he reached down to pick it up.

(M/n), who had glanced back at him, caught a glimpse of the pink panties he was wearing, and he couldn't hold back.

He walked closer to Idia, making him turn around and pining him to the wall, causing him to gasp out loud. "Take your clothes off. Right now," Idia started babbling apologies, his shaky hands trying to get his gloves off as he continuously said how it was obvious that he didn't like his cosplay, he probably looked stupid in it and- "It's not like that, baby," (M/n) whispered while pressing his body closer to Idia's, who flinched when he felt how something hard was pressing against his thigh, "I'm going to fucking ruin you."

///////

Idia's quiet cries and whines were mixing with the sound of their skin slapping, the only noises echoing in the room. Idia's body was trembling under (M/n)'s hold as he ravaged his insides, his stomach stained with his cum from all the times he's already orgasmed. His hair flared up in a hot pink color every time his prostate was stimulated, his yellow eyes rolling into the back of his head with tears sliding down the corner of his eyes whenever he came.

"You came so much, princess, look at you... So pretty covered with your cum," (M/n) praised him, slowing down his thrust, reaching deep enough to see the visible bulge showing in Idia's lower abdomen. (M/n)'s eyes noticed how his pretty cock was leaking all over himself again, and he wrapped his hand around the tip, pressing his thumb on his slit and slowly rubbing circles on it, Idia whimpered when he was denied his orgasm. "You wanna cum again, baby?"

Idia nodded frantically, not really caring about the slight burning feeling and subtle pain he felt in his cock, he wanted to keep cumming, "Again! Please, again!" He mumbled between whines, and (M/n) held back a smile, giving him what he wanted.

///////

(M/n) placed sweet kisses all over Idia's face, and down his neck, gently caressing his waist before backing away enough to push his hair back.

"I'm sorry if I was too rough..." Idia just chuckled, wrapping his arms around (M/n)'s neck, a wide smile on his face.

"I don't mind it, I quite like it actually," (M/n) laughed before deciding it was time to get cleaned up. He sat on the bed and put on his underwear and pants, soon after standing and helping Idia clean his body.

He grabbed the hoodie/shirt he was wearing when he came in and placed it over Idia's head, gently dressing him with it.

"I'll change the sheets," Idia nodded and walked with wobbly legs toward his dresser, looking for another pair of panties to put on under the hoodie/shirt, and he lay in bed while (M/n) tried to fix a little the chaos in his room.

When he turned around ready to go to bed, he saw Idia laying on his side, staring at him. He looked him up and down, seeing the end of the hoodie/shirt lifted slightly, just enough to show the red panties he was wearing now. (M/n)'s heart started beating fast, and he turned off the light, walking to the bed and laying on it, wrapping his arms around Idia's waist and pulling his slim body on top of his, placing a kiss on his hair.

"You look really good in my clothes, you know?" He whispered, and Idia looked up at him, "And in those panties too, baby, you look beautiful." He added, earning a laugh from the long-haired male.

"That, I agree with you."

[southerndragontamer]

Egotober Day 19: Silver

There was something about looking into mirrors that just made Partner -that was all they remembered being called, they couldn’t have a name or anything else like Friend or Captain could they?- uncomfortable. They didn’t know why either…it would’ve made getting dressed a nightmare if they didn’t have one that didn’t stop at the neck. Their hair getting done was managed with a smaller one that they held above their forehead.

But they’d often heard that they were beautiful and gorgeous though they didn’t know how to take the compliment when they couldn’t exactly see it for themselves. But Partner had also been told that their eyes were silver, like glass. Like a mirror….that they changed color but there was always a ring of silver around the edge.

It left them simultaneously flustered and also nervous to hear this. Conflicted. It made them wonder how others saw them. What was reflected…Partner’s mind went back to their encounters with a pair of strangers on the last adventure they’d had with their friend…

One classically tall, dark and handsome in a white suit that he’d traded in for black at some point…he was so frustrated at them but not angry, his eyes were black at first glance but they had gotten a close look last time. When he’d cornered them against his desk, when he’d pressed close to them as their ears rang from the darkness creaking and their face heated up from how his deep voice rumbled close to their ear. His eyes had bits of red, blue and purple swirled throughout the black, like obsidian. They were so pained those eyes…angry but not necessarily at them.

Whatever Partner had done to upset him they wanted to fix it, they wanted to make it right-they couldn’t as much as they wished to, nothing could fix a broken mirror-they wanted to stay with him and help. But they’d been called by someone…someone in red…and it all got fuzzy…

The other man was the first’s opposite with his hair messier, in a pink shirt and khakis and suspenders. He was like a big puppy on a sugar rush Partner decided. He had pulled them close to him, talking about an interview they couldn’t remember. His eyes were pink, different shades of it almost spiraled or cracked with a sweet dark brown like whiskey. He was very warm, affectionate and unaware of personal space but not in a creepy way. He’d chuckled when they’d flushed, voice a low, sweet drawl.

They had the thought that though pink suited him the Afro had been too much-when had he worn an Afro? How had they known that? Why did the way he got confused easily or trailed off like he couldn’t think of words make their heart ache?- They’d been about to answer, fascinated and eager but again they’d seen the man in red and everything got….fuzzy…

What Partner couldn’t figure out…was why they looked so familiar. They could swear they’d known them. As they concentrated there were flashes, memories that were so fragmented and scattered that they couldn’t place the events clearly.

On a date with a friend who could’ve been, was more? It felt like both at once and made their head hurt, a man wrapped in darkness spoke like he knew them and offered his hand to them, the sound of gunfire made them want to scream but they had no voice-and then the taste of ice cream as they sat with their date like nothing happened….

A manor filled with levity for the first time in years, old friends making up for lost time….a tragedy and suspicion and emotions boiled over as pain filled their being. As they felt a man trying to frantically slow the bleeding as his mind fractured, blue and red spirits grabbed their hands as everything went dark and a mirror shattered like opened ripples in the universe….

Being in a museum after midnight, security distracted around the shadowed exhibits…brazen curiosity and ignorance. The sight of a crystal that felt familiar, out of place…the shadowed man again, being told they’d likely seen him a hundred times and just forgotten it…the chaotic man that was broken yet whole spoke with more knowledge of things than he understood….

A spaceship stuck in a loop, the weight of being tasked with stopping something that could end the universe….the power that came from being able to travel dimensions, a crystal glowing in their hand. Going in again and again and again-desperate to find a way to get everyone alive, everyone safe as familiar faces whirled around in their head and haunted them…as the opened ripples of the universe looked like a shattered mirror…

Partner-where they Partner? Or Friend? Or Captain? Who were they? Why didn’t they have a name?-gasped for air like a surfaced diver. Tears ran down their cheeks, pain and grief and regret and guilt engulfed them like a tidal wave for all they’d lost, the feeling of being more than what they were, more than who they thought they were began to feel sickening as they clutched their head.

A door creaked open, the sound made them jump and they whirled around only to freeze. It was Mark-but it couldn’t be Mark was kind, he was gentle always had been, who was this that had taken his face? Who was in his body?- the actor in their friend’s skin-boyfriend? What was their relationship again? What loop was this?- smiled at them, his voice was like oil slick, it made them think of a snake coiling around poisoned prey.

“Oh Partner, what’s wrong? Did you have a bad dream? Don’t worry, I’m here. I can take the pain away just trust me~”

As much as the words made them want to vomit, as much as they wanted to smack the actor-how long had he been playing with them like this? How many times had he done this when they’d remembered, when they’d gotten close? How many times had he pulled them from happiness with Dark, with Will or someone else?- Partner couldn’t make themselves move as he wrapped them in his arms. As he held them close in a facsimile of a lover.

“Shhh, Shh I know it hurts. Don’t worry, it’ll go away soon. When you wake up, I have an idea for a project you can help me with Hmm? A Heist…it’ll be fun I promise….”

Their head ached, it felt like someone driving broken glass to fit in a way it wasn’t ever meant to and they wanted to scream-it felt like a million different people screamed with them, screaming in rage and denial and defiance- but it wouldn’t leave their throat. Everything slid into darkness as the actor’s words slithered into their ear with twisted affection. As silver shards reflected back a sickening, decaying red…before the mirror shattered again.

[to-star-lake]

one & only

sanzu haruchiyo x f!reader { you're sanzu's one and only. }

18+ minors dni | murder, drug use, dark themes, rough sex, choking, toxic relationship, character death, bonten sanzu

a/n: sanzu's name { 三途 } is written the same as 三途の川 { sanzu-no-kawa, “river of three crossings” or “sanzu river” } which is the japanese buddhist version of the river styx.

sanzu doesn't call you his girlfriend. he'd never use such pedestrian language to describe what you are to him. soulmate is closer. but still, to take everything he felt about you and edit it down to a single word? it wouldn't be possible.

the best he could describe it is perhaps that you were made for him.

the day mikey introduced you to the other executives as bonten's newest advisor, sanzu stood in the back of the room, unconsciously biting his lip as he stared at your clean and crisp white tee shirt, tucked neatly into a pair of black slacks. your perfect skin. your shiny hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. your delicate hands. and the sharp glisten of your eyes. you looked so sincere.

a top scholar and graduate of the national university. your parents had been foreign diplomats. you spoke five languages. all this brilliance packaged neatly behind such a pretty face. oh, you were so perfect. so pristine. i'll make you regret playing with monsters, little princess. sanzu thought he couldn't wait to break you.

it didn't take him long to realize how wrong he was.

he'd stare at your hands, the ones he thought were so delicate, as they beat mercilessly into the skull of a traitor that lay limp beneath you. being a bonten advisor meant you never needed to get your hands dirty. but you didn't mind. and sanzu felt a trickling heat of excitement shimmy up his spine watching the blood splatter across your perfect skin, staining your clean shirt.

he'd listen in awe in the war room as your fingertips traced gracefully over blueprints of the city, and you'd describe plans for a new building downtown. a new shell business to run money through. a merger with a smaller, weaker gang simply as a means to procure disposable foot soldiers for mikey.

on one particular night, he'd sat back and watched you, transfixed, as he pulled the car up beside a dark tinted suv at a stoplight on a deserted street on the outskirts of shinjuku. you'd pointed your gun out the open window, so fast and precise on the trigger, taking out all the passengers in the car. he would've missed the shots with a single blink.

he couldn't recall all the details of the rest of that night. but he woke to find you in his bed the next morning, your naked body tucked comfortably under his sheets beside him.

his head pounded and he tried to remember what happened but all that he could recall were a series of blurred images. of the two of you leaving the war room together after receiving orders from mikey to take out the heads of a rival gang. a vision of your bare thighs, exposed under a short, plaid skirt as you sat in his passenger seat, and the quiet rattle as you attached a silencer to the end of your gun.

he remembered the sound of indistinct chatter and an image of you sitting across from him in a dimly lit restaurant. a vague recollection of a bottle of scotch, of him staring at himself in the restaurant's bathroom mirror as he wiped some white residue from his upper lip. of you, bent over the sink with a straw in your nose. a blurred reel of your legs wrapped around his waist, of him pushing you up against the mirror so hard the glass cracked and you moaned into his open mouth. you sounded as sweet as you tasted.

in the grey winter light here in his bed, he looked at the blotches of blue and purple bruises that lined your neck and chest. at the edge of your perfect lips, a little swollen and the skin a little cracked. at the indentation of teeth marks on your shoulder, red with coagulated blood under the surface.

your eyes fluttered open and for a moment he was afraid. afraid that the cold light of day would be too harsh for you. afraid that all that was mystifying and beautiful in the night would be destroyed by the light. afraid you would leave.

but you'd looked into his eyes for a moment, and your lashes fell closed and you'd snuggled into his side, languidly dragging your arm across his chest.

let's sleep a little more, my head hurts and we still have at least another hour before we have to go meet the others.

oh, your voice sounded so sweet, still raspy with sleep, a lullaby to his ears.

as bonten leaders, he knew a relationship with you was strictly forbidden. he knew what mikey would do if he or any of the others ever found out. and he knew you knew too.

but you simply shrugged your shoulders as you picked up your clothes that were scattered across the floor of his bedroom. like you knew what he was thinking, and said i'm not afraid of them. are you?

he'd laughed at himself then. just who was corrupting who? he wondered.

the time he had with you began to envelope his heart. and the love he felt for you; small, crackling embers at first, had grown into a fire so bright and wild and twisted it could not be extinguished.

you were his partner; his chosen one. he loved the way your knuckles looked when they were bruised and red; such a beautiful contrast against your delicate and soft skin. he loved the way your fingers graced the handle of your gun, the dead calm of your eyes when you pulled the trigger. he was intoxicated with the knowledge that you were watching every time he carried out his duty as executioner.

his infatuation with you burned in his chest when he'd glance up at you, standing in the distance, eyes fixed on him and you'd slowly drag the palm of your hand up your thigh; testing his willpower to not pin you to the ground and tear you apart right then and there in front of his men.

under the cover of darkness, the two of you came alive. going on sprees, speeding through the bright streets of tokyo, the lights around you a blurred spectral of color to your bloodshot, medicated eyes.

in the midnight hours, your bodies would be intertwined, and in your arms he found a sanctuary. your body was the most addicting drug of all. you made all the pain disappear.

the quiet hours of the early morning, when time teetered on the edge of night and day, he'd lay on your chest, and for just a little while, his world would fall quiet. the air around him felt still. he would be coming down from his high, and he could feel everything. but he didn't mind. these small hours of lucidity shone brilliantly in his mind. when he could hear your breathing. feel your heartbeat so vividly beneath your bones. smell the lingering and sweet scent of your skin on his.

he'd become so possessed by you, so possessive of you that one night when he had you laid out beneath him, your legs spread wide for him, and he thought you looked so beautiful like this. so perfect like this for him. your skin, slick with a layer of sweat, luminescent in the moonlight. your lips, parted and choking out shaky pleas for him, begging him not to stop.

he buried himself so deep inside you, nails clawing into your skin, so desperate to be one with you. and he thought no one, no one else would have you like this. he was so intoxicated by the medley of pills in his system, completely unhinged in the euphoria of being inside you, he'd reached for his gun on the nightstand and held it to your forehead, point blank between your eyes.

you didn't even flinch. he watched you knock the gun from his hands, and slide your fingers up his wrists, and pulled his hands to your neck, letting him wrap them around your throat. if you're gonna kill me, do it with your own hands, you'd said.

god, he loved you so much. he wanted you so much, he needed you so much. he'd closed his hands around your neck with the gentlest force and watched your eyes roll back.

say my name, he'd command. and when you did, he closed his hands more forcefully around your delicate neck so he could feel the vibration in your throat as you choked out his name over and over. you'd clenched down so tight around him and he came harder than he ever had, collapsing into you.

he'd slowly let go of you, chest heaving, and gently caress at the skin of your neck, red and starting to bruise.

y/n...if i died, would you die with me? he'd whisper into your skin.

mmh, yeah. you'd whisper back.

i don't want anyone else to have you. i want you to be mine forever. he'd kiss the corner of your lips.

he'd feel your fingers laced up into his hair, your legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him close.

what am i going to do with you...i might really kill you one of these days.

he'd lift his head to look at you. and your expression didn't change a bit. your eyes held the same resolve they always did, and you said, then i'll wait for you by the sanzu river.

this was what flashed through his mind when he walked into one of bonten's warehouses late one evening for a meeting of the executives, and he saw all of them standing in a circle around you, bound and tied, blood streaming from your hairline, your bruised body limp on the concrete.

he fell to his knees then, watching mikey shove the end of his gun against your temple.

did you think i wouldn't find out? mikey's thumb clicked down on the hammer.

he saw your eyes flutter open and find his. you smiled.

the muzzle flash was bright, and the shot rang through the dark, open space.

he stared at the blood pooling from the side of your head into the dust. he felt a single tear roll down his cheek. shit, am i really crying right now? he laughed at himself.

WHO ARE YOU LOYAL TO, SANZU?! mikey demanded.

i'll wait for you by the sanzu river. your words echoed in his mind.

mikey may have been his king. but you were the redeemer, his messiah, his salvation.

the choice was simple.

he pulled his own gun from its holster and held it up to his temple.

i'm on my way, love.

[neesieiumz]

Sorry {Izuku Midoriya x Reader}

[Pro-hero!Izuku Midoriya x Former Pro-hero!Reader]

[P A R T O N E] [P A R T T H R E E]

L E A V E.

Based on the song Sorry by Beyonce

Summary: You couldn't hold your tongue after all. It was a long time coming anyway. A long time coming.

A/n: So I still have special plans for this one! However, this became so long that I had to switch my original plans! So there's actually gonna be a third part to this one as well! I'm turning this into a limited series, like those shows on Netflix. So enjoy this part two of Pray You Catch me!

Word Count: 5.2k

"Now you want to say you’re sorry, now you want to call me crying"

“Good Morning sweetheart.”

You stiffened at his gruff morning voice, hearing him walking barefooted into the kitchen. YOu currently cooking over the stove, fluffy omelets currently cooking through butter, and a plate of pancakes sitting on the counter beside you. YOu glanced over at him ambling into the kitchen, wearing no shirt and his pajama pants hanging dangerously low. You glanced over his half-naked body, glancing over the many healed scars from all the villain fights he’s been through. You shook your head and turned back to the food you were making. You could hear Izuku stop in his tracks, his eyes raking over your slightly hunched-over form over the food.

“Y/n? Is everything alright?”

“Her? Oh, you don’t have to worry about her doll.”

You took a deep breath and shook your head, turning off the stove and turning towards him, giving him a half-fake, half-real smile. Pulling your robe tighter, you walked over to your husband, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling yourself up along his tall stature. He responded by wrapping his own arms around your waist. He smiled as you placed a longing kiss on top of his lips.

“Everything is perfectly okay, are you staying for breakfast?” You asked him, tightening your grip around him as he carried you back over the stove.

He hummed positively, “I have some time to kill before I head, so I thought why not finally join my wife for breakfast?”

“She and I… haven’t been working out for a while. That’s where you come in.”

You took a deep breath, taking the pan from the stove as he put you down. You asked Izuku to get two plates and two glass cups for juice so you could ration out the pancakes and eggs. As you put the food onto the table, you could feel Izuku wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you towards his own body. He placed his head in between your shoulder and necks and rifled his face in the crevice, blowing raspberries into your skin. The action caused you to giggle, nearly dropping the serving spoon you were young to pate the eggs. Izuku looked over your shoulder and noticed that you were done putting the food on the plates, so he let go of you, and reached over to take them off the counter.

“Here, let me help you.” He turned around swiftly, heading towards your dining room.

“The way you walked, it just…. pulled me in.”

You reached up to set your neck, popping some of your joints to relieve some of the tension slowly building. You then turned to the cup cabinet, reaching down to turn on your kettle, at the same time as you reached for your favorite cup. You stopped mid-way of grabbing it, remembering exactly what the cup looks like. It was a custom, gifted to you by Ejirou for you and Izuku's own wedding anniversary, it was a mix of both your and his hero colors. He got you both one, the designs were so intricate that no one could get them from anywhere, they were one-in-a-kind pair. Yours was dominated by Izuku’s hero colors, which were green and white, while Izuku’s was dominated by your own hero colors, (h/c) and black. You took a deep breath before continuing the reach for the cup, wrapping your fingers around the handle.

“Izuku, can you get the sugar cubes from the pantry, please? Along with a packet of tea?” You asked him as the light went off in the kettle, the water already bubbling and boiling.

You heard a hum of acknowledgment before hearing him drag his feet over to the other door in your kitchen. You poured the hot water in the mug, hearing Izuku come up beside you placing the small bag of sugar cubes, and teabag packet beside you. As you took the packet the teabag was in, placing it on your tea, Izuku leaned towards you and placed a kiss on your cheek, the feeling of slightly chapped lips leaving a slight tickle.

“You’re so beautiful.”

“Of course you know I enjoyed our time together.”

You just smiled softly at him, grabbing the small bag of sugar, and the mug, before falling into step with him to your dining room, which was connected to your kitchen of course. You looked at the rectangular table, finding Izuku placed the plates on the long side of the table, opposite of each other, making the usual gap between the two of you much shorter. You took a deep breath, pacing your mug and bag of cubed sugar beside your own plate. You took your seat, sweeping your robe from under you to allow you to sit comfortably. Izuku took his own seat opposite of you, deciding to drink orange juice with his food.

You made sure to say grace, before beginning to dig in.

It was quiet, nothing the sound of metal forks and knives hitting scratching against plates. You liked the silence, but all you could do is wait. Wait for that one thing to ruin this small vacuum of sweet yet sullen silence you haven’t had with him in so long.

You knew it was coming. It always did.

Ding!

Izuku jumped slightly as the ding came from his pocket. You followed his hands as he reached down and pulled out his personal phone from his left pocket. Your gaze shifted from his hands to his face as he unlocked the phone, to see who exactly texted him. His facial expression changed into a soft, long one, and that was it.

“Of course you know I enjoyed our time together.”

“God you look amazing tonight, and you wore my favorite color too.”

“The way you walked, it just…. pulled me in.”

“Her? Oh, you don’t have to worry about her doll.”

“She and I… haven’t been working out for a while. That’s where you come in.”

“With you… I feel a breath of fresh air, something new.”

“I love you too Doll, I have to go before she sees I’m not in bed.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow, good night doll.”

“Is that her?”

Izuku froze. His head slowly craned up to look up at you, to find you looking straight at him with cold, dead eyes. You slowly placed your utensils down and reached over to grab the cup of tea, the bag of sugar cubes, and the long teaspoon you placed on the table to stir.

“You still didn't answer my question, Izuku.” You looked down, twirling the spoon in between your hands.

“What,” he cut himself off as he swallowed some spit, “what do you mean by “Is it her?”?”

You couldn’t help the cackle that echoed throughout the entire house, dropping the spoon onto the table as you hunched over onto the table. The air was only getting tenser and tenser with every dry chuckle that escaped your mouth. You used the table as support, placing your hands on top of your forehead.

Izuku’s heart was racing, there was… there was no possible way that you knew about them? He could feel himself start to sweat from all over, the once impeccable taste of the syrup and eggs from the breakfast you made now beginning to taste like ash. He could feel his mouth drying up, and his fingers started to twitch involuntarily. A telling sign of his nervousness from the overuse of his quirk. He slowly placed his phone down, waiting for you to actually finish laughing. You were laughing, right? Which means that you were just joking with him. Right? Right?

Once you finished with your laughing spell, you leaned back into your chair, taking a deep breath before looking back at your overly anxious husband. You smiled wickedly at him before picking up your spoon once again.

“I heard you, last night, in your office.”

Izuku’s heart dropped to his stomach. It was inevitable really, he, out of all people knew that he couldn’t keep a secret. It only reminds him of his time in U.A and how Bakugo found out about his true quirk.

“Sweetheart I-”

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

The air was tense, you pulled up the robe you were wearing, you could feel it slipping with every movement you made. Deku could no longer look at your eyes, those eyes which were once filled with joy and love for him and for him only. They were now cold and filled with pain, anger, and disdain for his every being.

“What’s her name?”

Izuku continued to look down refusing to speak, while you just sat there waiting for his answer. You then grabbed the spoon next to the cup of tea that you made for yourself, dropping a couple of sugar cubes in the small mug before stirring it slowly.

“Well,” Izuku jumped at your sharp tone, “I’m waiting? What’s her name? Who was able to “snatch” you away from me?”

You slowly placed the spoon down before picking up the cup and taking a small sip of the calm, sweet liquid. You looked on at your trembling husband, whose tears were slowly falling from his eyes. You could feel your heartache at the sight of your love but you also knew that your stare had to remain cold stare. So it did.

“Her name-her name is… is…”

“Spit it out.”

“Do you… do you remember Melissa?”

Melissa…

“Y/n, you have to meet someone!”

You had just transferred into Class A, and you and Izuku hit it off just as friends, for the time being, You had already found your place in the class and it was like you were always with them. The two of you decided to arrive at this private hero gala on I-Island, him tagging along with All Might and you tagged along with Mirko. Some of your classmates were here as well, Bakugo, Kirishima, Jirou, Mina, and others. This was your first time here on the island, only hearing about their adventure from their own time on the island from Izuku and the others. You were wearing a black, ruched t-shirt that had long, flowy sleeves along with some simple black, leather pants.

Izuku pulled you over towards another girl, you had long, blonde wavy hair pulled into a slicked-up ponytail. She was wearing a lavender, silk dress that stopped right at her ankles. She saw Izuku coming to her and you could see her perk up, before following her hands and seeing that he was also pulling you over. You saw her face fall once her eyes landed on you, making you narrow your eyes at her.

“Y/n, this is Melissa Shield, her dad was All Might’s first sidekick when he worked overseas! Melissa, this is Y/n L/n, she just transferred to our class at the beginning of the year.”

You looked over at her, her face no longer fallen, giving you a softer smile as she held out her hand. The weird feeling that you got from her faded away as you smiled back at her. You took her hand and the two of you shook hands, moving into a conversation about hero support gear for you and Izuku.

You slowly nodded your head, the blond girl you haven’t seen since that time on I-Island during summer vacation in high school. You took another sip of your tea, continuing to nod your head.

“How long?”

“How-how,” he stammered and stuttered over his words, “how long have we been “seeing” each other?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, taking a sip of your tea. He blinked and leaned back into his seat, grabbing his right hand with his left to stop the nervous tics. You could see him slightly rocking in his seat, showing his anxiety was increasing. Usually, you would find yourself on the other side of the table, trying your best to calm him down. But this time, you wouldn't move an inch until you got the answers that you need.

“We’ve been talking to each other for six months, it didn't turn physical till-till about three months.”

You dropped your cup. The tea spilled all across the floor, along with broken pieces of your mug. You looked down at the cup, seeing the liquid slowly spread across your hardwood floor. You then looked up at your husband, who was just looking down at his bare feet

Three months ago was your wedding anniversary.

You just nodded your head, you could do nothing but nod your head at the words. You then stood up, the chair scraping against the floor. You turned around, and headed towards the kitchen, ignoring the way your heartfelt heavy, like lead in your chest. Ignored the way you felt tears swelling up at your waterline. You grabbed a rag and a plastic bag and walked right back to your seat in the dining room. You got on your knees, beginning to clean up the spilled tea while picking up the pieces of the mug.

Izuku peeked up and got out of his seat, walking over to you, “let me, let me clean this up.”

You swiftly turned towards him, no longer holding back tears, your piercing glare stabbing a hole into his heart. He took a couple of steps back as you stood up, your chest heaving up and down. You threw the wet rag and the plastic bag at his chest, he immediately caught it. He looked on as you broke down fully, falling to the ground. He immediately rushed over to you, trying to hold you but you summoned a thunder cloud filled to the brim with lighting. It struck him and threw him back to the kitchen. His body slammed against the dishwasher, leaving an Izuku-shaped indent. You gasped, sitting up on your knees. You wrapped yourself with your arms as Izuku groaned, as he tried to push himself off the floor. He slowly stood to his feet, swaying slightly from the impact.

“I gave up EVERYTHING for you! My life, my job, everything I worked for most of my teenage life! All for YOU, my parents cussed me out deciding to become your stupid, little braindead housewife! My brother didn't speak to me for months after I decided to not go back to being a pro hero! All for you!”

Another storm cloud shot out from your hands, this time going behind you and sending a harsh lighting bolt against the dining table. The bolt sliced the table in half, leaving behind a charred, rigged, broken table. Izuku saw the damage you were causing, and slowly approached you, hands out in front of him.

“Y/n… y/n… let’s talk about it.” You saw the look in eyes, apprehensive, as if he… as if he was approaching a villain.

You shook your head vigorously, slowly unraveling your arms from your body. Eyebrows furrowed and angry tears falling down your face at an even faster pace. You summoned a black cloud, one of your most powerful attacks back when you were a superhero. You would enclose it into a perfect sphere before throwing it at an assailant, which set off a bomb of lighting, both blinding and stunning the villains. It was effective and would get the job done when other attacks wouldn't. The black clouds swirled around to create a sphere, still as round as back on those days. Izuku's eyes widened and immediately powered, green lightning surrounded him. Teary-eyed, you swiftly throw the stunning attack, aimed straight at your deceitful husband.

Only for a wall of ice to cut between the both of you, catching the attack and surrounding the dark cloud spree with ice. It muffled the lightning as much as it could and caused it to dissipate within the ice, however, the ice couldn't fully contain the attack and so the ice broke but luckily it only was able to give a weak lighting stroke, only leaving a charred mark on your kitchen counter.

“What the hell is going here?”

Standing towards your now opened front door would be the number 2 and the number 3 heroes. Izuku’s best friends, and parents. Katsuki Bakugo and Shoto Todoroki. Shoto was huffing and puffing, gaining between the two of you. Katsuki came up beside him after closing the door behind them, his face slowly turning to his usual anger.

“The hell Y/n?! What the fuck are you even doing? You know what that attack could do to someone!”

You took a deep breath, reaching up to your face to wipe your tears. You glanced over the uninvited guests who suddenly appeared into your home. You turned your back towards them, walking back to your broken dining table, picking up the spilled breakfast that was splayed across the floor.

“Are you not going to answer our questions? Y/n? Izuku? What’s going on?” You could hear Todoroki come up behind you, waiting for one of you to speak.

You turned your head and looked up at the bi-colored hero, taking another deep breath as you leaned slightly to look at Izuku who was now kneeling on the floor staring at the charred mark left on the kitchen floor.

“Ask your best friend over there.” That was all you said before using a cloud to carry the destroyed breakfast into the sink.

You said nothing as the two of you just stared at each other, the silence between the two of you saying everything and nothing all at the same time. Bakugo and Todoroki glanced at each other before looking at the distressed husband and wife.

That’s when a noise rang through the air, a ringtone. And it wasn’t Izuku’s this time. You turned towards the counter in the kitchen and saw your own phone ringing, vibrating against the counter. You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding and pulled the robe belt tighter across your body. You stood and walked over to the counter, taking your phone from the counter, turning away from him. The screen showed that it was Mina calling you. You smiled at the picture of the two of you on a weekend vacation, it was just the two of you, back when you were in the same agency. You clicked the answer icon and walked out of the kitchen, not wanting to acknowledge the uninvited guest in your home, and wanting privacy while you talked to your closest friend.

Meanwhile, back in the kitchen, Shoto and Katuski stared down at their friend slowly succumbing to his sobs. They glanced at each other once again before walking over to him, each taking one side of his body. They both did a silent countdown before carrying his buff body up by his arms. They carried him to the living room, laying his body across the expensive leather couch. His body just shook with sobs. He rolled over to his side, facing the back of the couch. They just let him cry, remembering the last time Katsuki interrupted his crying sessions.

Soon enough, Izuku turned towards the two of them, making them perk up. With teary eyes, he finally spoke.

“Shoto… Kacchan… I did something stupid.”

---

It had been a couple of hours since you went upstairs, leaving behind the three men to talk things out between themselves in the living room/kitchen. Mina had just invited you to a private brunch, and you figured it would be the perfect excuse to get out of the house. You need all the space you could get after all. You took a long, hot shower before getting ready, choosing to wear a more classy outfit. You pulled out a sage green satin slip dress, pairing it with a pair of ankle strap heels. You pulled your hair out of the night scarf you tied on your head last night before sitting at your pure white vanity, turning on the mirror lights. You did your makeup next, choosing a simple look with a deeper brown eyeshadow with a liner in your waterline that matched the color of your dress. Coming to your fingers to unstick your braids, you pulled them into a very high bun, leaving two pieces to frame your face. Topping your lips with some lip gloss, you looked at yourself in the mirror. You twirled around a couple of times, loving the way the satin gave you a loose yet form-fitting look around your body. You grabbed your matching purse, making sure you had all your necessities before heading out the door.

You slowly walked down the stairs, your heels clicking against the hard floors with each step. The arguing you were hearing from the living room slowly ceased as you began to peak through the steps. The three of them turned and saw you, all dressed up, their eyes slowly taking over your body. You looked at Shoto and Katsuki, giving them a soft smile before landing your eyes on your husband. His eyes, filled with all different emotions, shame, guilt, and also admiration, couldn’t tear themselves away from your form. You took a deep breath before starting to walk past them, headed towards your front door.

“I’m going out, Mina invited me out to brunch, when I get back, you better not be here, Izuku.” With those final words, you opened and closed your door behind you, not bothering to stop for both Shoto’s or Katsuki’s exclamations for you to wait.

You unlocked your car, quickly starting it, and reversing out of your driveway as soon as possible. You reached in on your phone, pulling up the address of the restaurant Mina saved reservations for the brunch, placing the device on top of your dashboard before driving down your neighborhood's street.

Back in the house, Shoto and Katsuki look at Izuku who was once again looking down in shame.

“Izuku Midoriya, what the fuck did you do?”

Izuku just said nothing.

---

Arriving at the restaurant, you parked in the accompanying parking space to the very expensive restaurant, before grabbing your purse and phone. You stepped out of the car, holding the bottom half of your dress as you did. You locked the car with the remote before heading towards the restaurant. You entered through the doors before being greeted by the hostess, who simply smiled at you before asking for your name. You saw a look of recognition shine in her eyes but she obviously held back due to her job.

“Oh no, I’m here on behalf of Ashido, the brunch?”

She gasped before nodding her head, grabbing a menu and a couple of other things before guiding towards the back of the restaurant, taking you up the stairs. Hiking your dress up slightly, you followed the worker to the second floor. She led you past the other tables, who were whispering as you passed by them.

“Look its H/n, god she looks amazing.”

“Deku is so fucking lucky, imagine coming home to that after saving heroes.”

You rolled your eyes, shuddering at the forced image of the false world in which you and your husband were actually happy together. The hostess opened the private patio doors, revealing copious amounts of chatter and laughter flowing through the balcony. She moved out of the way slightly, as you thanked her, entering through the doors. As you walked in, you saw all eyes turn on you. You smiled as they all yelled out your name, even some getting up out of their seats to come and greet you.

“Y/n! You actually came! Mina yelled, jumping up and wrapping her arms around you.

You smiled widely, as you wrapped your own arms around her waist, holding her close. You looked over at the shoulder to see the rest of your classmates, Yaomomo, Tsu, Uraraka, Jirou, and even Hagakure. You even saw some new faces, remembering them from Class B. And then you saw her, sitting in between Uraraka and Tsu, engaging in conversation with the two of them. Melissa Shield. Her long wavy hair was straightened and from what you could tell, she was wearing a dark red and black plaid dress, with a slight ruffle in her skirt. You glanced over her before taking in her body language, fidgeting fingers being hidden in the ruffles of her dress, and her face was looking everywhere but at you. Mina let you go, leading you over to the table. She had an empty seat beside her, saying something about wanting to with her best friend after being busy for so long. Luckily, or unluckily, depending on what you thought of the situation, that seat happened to be the one that was directly in front of Melissa’s own seat.

You could see her freeze up as you took your seat, seeing her slowly turn around to face you. You simply smiled in her face, taking a sip of the complimentary water sitting in front of you. She smiled back, nervously albeit, taking her own water with shaking hands as well. Uraraka, being as ever-attentive as she is, noticed Melissa’s shaking hands and the cold sweat running down her face.

“Melissa?” Uraraka started to question, reaching up to grab her by the hands, “Melissa is everything okay?”

Melissa hummed, putting down her glass of water and nodding her vigorously at Uraraka. Your face shifted into an annoyed one, rolling your eyes and as you glanced to your right and noticing the waiter and another waitress came in with notepads and a round of champagne. You put your water down before grabbing your menu, looking over all the options before deciding to eat the red velvet waffles, topped with strawberries, whip cream, and icing. Once you ordered your food and received your own flute of champagne, you heard Uraraka call your name.

Taking a sip of the bubbly, sweet alcoholic beverage, you turned towards her and gave her a smile, nodding your drink and your head towards her.

She giggled before gesturing towards Melissa, lifting and holding in her hand within her own, “you remember Melissa? From I-land? Her dad was All Might’s former sidekick? She helped out my support gear when Hatsume was out for a whole.”

You weren't the only one she was assisting.

“Hmm? What do you mean by that?”

Your eyes widened as you glanced at Uraraka, who was looking at you in confusion, as well as Tsu who heard what you said as well. Glancing at Melissa, who was taking a sip of her own water, although her hands were now starting to shake and sweat even harder in nervousness. You just shook your head and gave them a fake smile, holding up your glass,

“She and Izuku have been working together on some support gear together, and so I hear about her whenever he comes home.” You lied, taking another sip of your champagne.

Tsu and Uraraka simply “oohed” before pulling you and Yaomomo into a conversation about your daily lives, and new things you all were working on. Meanwhile, during the whole time, you and Melissa locked eyes multiple times, causing her to quickly look everywhere but at you.

---

You finally cornered her in the bathroom.

She had left, a couple of minutes before you, saying she had to use the bathroom. So you waited a moment before faking an excuse to use the bathroom as well. You found her hunched over the sink, taking deep breaths, her body shaking, from her head to her wobbling knees all the way to her heeled feet. You just leaned against the door, waiting for her to acknowledge you. You saw her slowly raise her head, before looking at herself in the mirror. She glanced to her to the left, locking eyes within the mirror. She let out a scream, turning around and jumping back into the sink. You said nothing, just stood up straight before standing at the sink beside her. You could hear her breaths sharpening up, as she just stared at you washing your hands.

“Thank you.”

It was you who said that. In the corner of your eyes, you could see her face twist in confusion. You could basically hear exactly what she was thinking. Thank you? You know that I’m sleeping with your husband, and all you can do is say thank you?

You took a deep breath and turned to face, looking deep into her blue eyes.

“Usually in these situations, I don’t blame the other girl. Most likely they didn't even know that the man was married or already had a significant other. It would all rest on the man’s shoulders. That’s not the case for this though, everyone and their mother knew that Izuku was married. To me. I am pretty sure he invited you to our wedding. So I do blame you. However, I also thank you, because I don’t care who advanced first, whoever made the first move, but all it confirmed is that Izuku never truly loved me the way I loved him. No matter how much I gave up for him, he threw it all away for… you.”

You reached over the towels sitting in an intricately fancy box, wiping your hands before placing one of them on Melissa’s shoulders. You smiled at her and she just shrunk away from you. Your smile tightened before landing a swift right hook on her face. She stumbled slightly from the force of the punch as you let go of her shoulders, walking around her to throw away your crumpled-up paper towels. You looked back at her and your fake smile face fell, your eyes narrowed in a viscous, vile glare and your mouth fell in a frown.

“If I ever see you again, it’ll be more than just a right hook.”

You opened the door and took a couple of more steps before turning your head enough to be able to look at her again. She was nursing her bruised cheek, turning her head so you heard her call out her name one more.

“You can have him, by the way, better hope he doesn't cheat on you next.”

With that, you leave the bathroom, head back to the table to leave your own split of the bill, and pick up the take-out tray of your food. You said your goodbyes to t]your old peers, mention a lie about having something to do later at the Foundation. You left the restaurant, waving at those who would wave at you. As you walked to your car, you pulled out your phone, taking it off silent mode. You noticed a couple of texts from Shoto, and Katsuki, asking you to call them asap. Well, that’s not exactly how Kats worded it, but it basically was what he said. You ignored their texts for now as you scrolled through your contacts, before finding your mom’s contact. Letting out a shaky breath, you entered your car and closed the door behind you. You clicked her name, allowing your phone to ring.

“Hello? Y/n?”

You sniffled as you could feel the tears from this morning begin to fall all over again, “M-mom, ca-can I come over please?”

-

Taglist: @introvertatitsfinest @tremendouswolfsaladranch @lazymooneye @yzviea @fan-girling-over-everything @chscklvr @simi0603 @dragonsdreamoffire

If you liked this! Please support me on my Kofi, also commissions are open! Click the link in my Bio!

[shadowsinger11]

Inspiration

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Requested by anon: Could you do a Fred Weasley imagine where he falls in love with Harry’s younger sister. (Maybe a after the war where he lives)

Word Count: 3.3k (my hand slipped oops)

Genre: Fluff, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining etc.

Warnings: Slight innuendo, Fred being cute and hot simultaneously

Tags: @self-ship-love @susceptible-but-siriusexual @hufflexpuff @neovannii @jenniweasley @elf-punk @heart-of-tempered-steel @itseatyourdamnapples

Message me if you'd like to be added!

Masterlist

Ottery St Catchpole, Devon, England, July 16, 2000

It was a chilly Sunday evening. The summer air buzzed with excitement and the tender aroma of magnolia as tiny white and pink petals were gracefully falling from the huge cherry trees, carried by the light breeze. Twilight painted the horizon in liquid gold and fiery red, soon followed by mellow shades of dark blue that brought countless sparkling stars.

It was getting the slightest bit colder, but it did not matter; nothing else mattered but the loud cheers and cheerful music, celebrating the official bond between a Potter and a Weasley under the wide night sky.

You couldn't have been happier for your older brother, Harry, who was currently dancing with Ginny, his now wife - now and for the rest of his, hopefully, but not really likely, peaceful life. For the longest time you've been wondering how he'd always manage to get into trouble even as a small First year with no experience in the wizarding world whatsoever. Or, perhaps, that was the exact reason as to why evil-battling and rule-breaking were such common practices when hanging out with him.

However, there was no fighting that day. There was no room for worry and fear when the entire Weasley family and their loved ones were gathered on the clearing in front of the Burrow, chatting, laughing, dancing, singing, drinking, celebrating and living for what seemed to be the first time since Lord Voldemort's fall. Danger was practically nonexistent in that blissful moment which was frozen in time, once having looked agonizingly distant and impossible to hope for. But that dream was no longer just a foolish fantasy to heal wounded hearts. It was there, and it was happening in the most beautiful way imaginable.

And suddenly, all those clichés of a married life weren't even clichés. They were simply humble wishes of people who had witnessed far too many horrors in such a short period of time, and only craved stability among the massive chaos. So when you glanced at Ginny, a twirling blur of flaming red hair and a gorgeous wedding dress, you didn't feel the need to comment on how banal the color white was. You genuinely smiled, admiring the pure, exuberant joy, visible in her eyes and scarlet cheeks. Harry looked just as, if not even happier than his wife, dancing in the ridiculous but wholehearted way that only he could, and old memories of him winning the golden egg, training Dumbledore's Army and kissing Ginny in the common room for the very first time flooded into your mind.

It had truly been a long time since you had seen Harry careless and free like that.

You yourself had spent an ungodly amount of hours preparing the yard for the ceremony all day; rearranging chairs, decorating, making sure everything was going by schedule, only to then dance your tired feet off, and though you wanted to continue having fun with Hermione, Luna and the rest of the girls waiting for you, you really needed a break. And a drink.

Excusing yourself to leave the particularly interesting conversation you were having with distant Weasley relatives, you slipped off your black flats that, despite looking absolutely stunning, hurt your feet terribly after an entire day of fussing over the color of napkins and flower bouquets. Barefoot on the grass, you walked over to a chair next to a table which seemed to have been occupied, but judging by the mostly empty glasses and plates, the guests weren't coming back anytime soon.

You tossed your shoes aside with a sigh and rushed to rub your aching toes, hissing from how sore they were.

How has Ginny been dancing like that for hours?

"Enjoying the party, I see?" a familiar deep, slightly husky voice commented, causing you to look up.

It was none other than Fred Weasley, dear friend from childhood, staring down at you, his ever-present charming smirk resting on features and hands shoved into the pockets of his dragonskin suit. But it was his flaming red hair that made your eyes widen - it was carefully smoothed back, shining under the moonlight like liquid iron.

Fred's eyes still contained their famous, loveable mischief, except now slightly tamer and calmer. His firm biceps had visibly grown in size, stretching out the fabric of his coat just a bit to give you a prominent silhouette that caught you off guard.

It had been two years; he had changed so much.

And you were afraid to admit you had too.

You blinked in surprise, processing his uncharacteristically sophisticated appearance before realizing what he had asked you.

"Would've enjoyed it far more if my legs weren't killing me," you groaned half-heartedly and leaned back on your chair. "What's with your hair?"

"What's with your feet?"

"I asked you first," you cut him off. "I bet Ginny is responsible for this."

"Actually…" Fred trailed off, and, whether on purpose or not, ran a hand through the ginger locks to keep them in place, unaware of how you suddenly wished the hand doing the graceful motion wasn't his. "Mum insisted that I looked my best. What can I say, it's not like George and I usually listen to her, but we thought we'd make an exception this time; our sister doesn't get married every day. But honestly, Ginny couldn't care less about how we looked as long we showed up."

"So like usual, you mean?" you giggled. "Showing up is an achievement for you even if you're underdressed?"

Fred beamed, pearly white smile complementing his formal outfit. You wondered if he used that exact smile to effortlessly allure costumers and business partners at work.

He rested an elbow on the table as he leaned forward.

"Come on now, darling. I know you find my messy hair irresistible either way."

His cockiness only caused you to laugh, though Fred was quick to spot the flash of nervousness in your eyes; it brought him immense pride to know he was the one to turn you from confident to adorably bashful and flustered in the matter of seconds.

He was looking at you intensely, expectantly waiting for you to deny his flirty accusation despite your shyness.

"Nah, Weasley. It only reminds me that even at twenty-two you still do not know how to use a comb."

Fred's eyebrows shot straight up to his hairline, mouth agape. For the first time, he actually needed a second to form a reply.

"Didn't see that coming, I give you that. Courageous one, you are."

Your heart fluttered with joy and you openly grinned, shrugging in half-hearted humbleness.

"Perhaps I am."

Speaking to him felt unusually energizing, as though you had jumped headfirst into a chilly lake. It was unfamiliar and it set your nerves on fire, causing your stomach to twist and turn with sensations that left you dizzy, but unbelievably thrilled. And you wanted more of it, you wanted more of him.

"Fancy a drink?" Fred offered, already pouring champagne into a glass before handing it to you, and you keenly took it.

"Thanks, I've been thirsty with all the preparations I was doing."

"Is that why your legs are killing you?"

"Exactly, I've been running around all day, making sure everything was in order… you know, a lot of organizing and the like."

"It must hurt quite a bit then," Fred commented with a pained grimace. "But I absolutely get you, Georgie and I are just like that when it comes to the shop. It's a lot of accounting if I'm being honest, though I admit he's way better at it. We need to be completely precise; we can't allow any mistakes."

"Woah," you laughed. "Control freak much?"

He wettened his lips, never breaking eye contact.

"Perhaps I am."

You tilted your head to the side, gaze piercing into his in hopes of finding out what those gorgeous brown eyes were hiding. The tiny playful flames in them were eloquent.

Shifting slightly in your seat, you smoothed out your bridesmaid dress and raised your glass, the ghost of a smirk playing on your lips.

"Cheers to us control freaks then."

Fred mirrored your smug expression and your glasses met with a clink. The bubbly liquid tingled your throat, undoubtedly refreshing you and cooling you off. You glanced at the people dancing in the centre of the clearing and giggled - Ginny had apparently thrown away her white shoes long ago, bare feet stepping elegantly on the grass.

"You see, I'd like to chat a bit more with you, but I'm afraid it's a bit too loud here. What about we go to the pond across the field?" Fred suggested, pointing at the woods behind his back. You had visited them countless times when staying with Harry at the Burrow during holidays years ago; the tall trees and the glistening waters had never ceased to bring you comfort.

The noise started to become bothersome, and you felt it even more necessary to continue your conversation somewhere private, the unknown causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach. Fred's presence could only be compared to a shot of whiskey, or the sensation of anticipating a tidal wave to crash into you in less than a second. It was wild and the tiniest bit terrifying, but oh so tempting as it pulled you in.

"I'd love that, but… you know," you grinned and playfully swang your sore feet. "Can't really walk."

But this didn't at all seem like a problem to Fred Weasley who only shrugged and stood up, "You don't have to. I'll carry you."

"Merlin, no! Please, it's not necessary."

Fred frowned, but his confused expression was soon replaced by an amused one.

"You said it yourself that your feet hurt like hell. And even if carrying you around isn't necessary, it doesn't mean I don't want to."

You attempted to tame the butterflies.

"No, no! You seriously don't have to, I promise," you frantically protested as you held up your hands in front of you to reassure him, but he only gave you a weird look. "I can walk on my own. I'll be too heavy for you."

"There's only one way to find out."

Fred walked over to you and leaned down, one hand sneaking around your waist and the other slipping under your knees. You shrieked in terror, arms flying to clutch at his shoulders, and heat rose to your cheeks from the abrupt contact. Your chests were pressed together, and you were afraid he'd be able to feel your racing heart. His skin was warmer than you had thought, and it successfully fought off the night summer chill.

"Are we going?" Fred whispered down at you, lips so close to yours that you recognized the nuance of champagne in his breath, mixing unbelievably well with the scent of cinnamon and sandalwood of his cologne.

Not only is he sinfully attractive, but he smells heavenly too?

"Yes," you breathed and let Fred effortlessly walk across the meadow with you in his arms. They brought this new, odd, yet familiar sense of security, and you allowed your head to rest against his chest, nervous gaze wandering off into the distance in hopes of not meeting his. Nevertheless, curiosity eventually took the best of you, and your eyes would occasionally flicker to his, which were now completely black under the night sky. They could swallow you whole, you swore.

Minutes later, you found yourselves in the company of old, enormous willows which surrounded the pond you so vividly remembered from your teenage years. You thanked Fred as he carefully let you down, and took a few steps forward to look around and drench in the misty moonlight that enveloped the area. The waters were crystal clear and completely still, reflecting the moon and its majestic silver glow. The bushes had grown significantly over the time you were away, and you fondly looked back at the moments when you would pick up colorful wildflowers in the summer before your fourth year.

"Shall we sit?" Fred asked quietly from right behind your shoulder, and you followed him with a nod. You found a comfortable spot on the fresh grass to sit, a few feet away from where the water met the soil and moved back and forth ever so slightly.

"It's more beautiful than I remember," you noted, lips curled up in a barely visible smile. Fred hummed in agreement.

"That's why I always make sure to come here every chance I get when I return. But, unfortunately, that's very rare in my case."

For a moment, there was only the chirping of crickets and the soft bubbling of water.

Fred turned to you.

"Remember when mum used to call for us to de-gnome the garden and we'd hide here? We could stay in the bushes for hours before we eventually came back," he recalled, seeming deep in thought. It was an extraordinary sight; for once the playful spark in his eyes was more mellow, there was no cockiness seeping into the way he was holding himself. He was just Fred, the man who was currently thinking with so much adoration and love about his childhood, the most significant memories of it being marked by you.

You wondered, given you ever had the chance to spend with Fred as much time as your older brother did, if the charismatic prankster would have fallen for you like you had done. You wondered, given the chance you had let Fred get to know you better all those summers ago, if his heart would have belonged to you by now just like yours did to him.

Had you possibly missed your chance?

"Oh, I do," you sighed, the tension in your chest vanishing as warm nostalgia crept in like an old friend. "I also remember when I got this really bad nightmare that night. I was so terrified that you took me on a ride with your broom in the middle of the night to cheer me up."

"That's true! My parents don't know about it to this day," he replied smugly. "I can still hear you screaming like a lunatic."

You jokingly smacked his arm, "I was twelve!"

Fred's grin grew wider.

"Excuses…"

This only caused you to stare at him in disbelief and cross your arms, managing your most serious expression, but Fred was aware you were on the verge of failing to keep your stern facade. He squinted his eyes as a teasing attempt to provoke you, smile threatening to split his face in two.

"Alright then, that's enough about me," you announced, and Fred nodded in mock agreement as he studied your playful pretence. "If you're so much better than me, Mr Darcy, what else do you do aside from stealing ladies away?"

"Stealing their hearts," he said confidently, flashing you a seductive smirk, reserved only for special girls back in your Hogwarts days. You giggled, finding his antic utterly ridiculous, but you hated to admit that it still turned your blood into liquid fire. Fred apparently saw right through you, because when your eyes landed on his, they appeared completely dark once again, but, you suspected, for a reason other than the lack of light.

Your throat went dry, and you found it hard to swallow down the lump that cut your breath short.

He ran a hand through his ginger hair as he began to explain, "I'm kidding, you know. But to answer your question, George and I have been working on this potion that should be able to change the color of the eyes and hair. Fun for those who enjoy experimenting with their appearance, but it can also be useful to the Ministry. They're actually going to send a team of a couple of aurors to visit us next month so we can update them on our progress and negotiate the details."

"Wow! That's certainly exciting!"

"Is it? I mean, it probably is, but I've been having second thoughts lately if I'm being honest." He scratched the back of his neck, and you realised you had only witnessed him being anxious when it came to his greatest passion. "I'm afraid we might not be done on time, there's still plenty left to improve."

You put a hand on his shoulder to get his attention, and said, "I'm sure you'll figure it all out eventually. Keep working as you normally do, try not to stress too much over the deadline, and even if things go wrong at some point, don't go too hard on yourself. It wouldn't take away any progress you've made so far."

Fred's body relaxed just a bit and he looked down at you. He couldn't deny the sense of serenity that he felt only when he was with you. Even as a careless young boy, he was able to pinpoint the way his midriff would clench every time you'd laugh at his jokes or ask him to play with you, without knowing what it all meant.

But now, as a grown man, he had a word to describe the bittersweet fire within.

"You know what?" He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "I could really benefit from having someone like you around to give me motivation."

"Motivation, huh?" you raised an eyebrow, fighting back a smile. Fred sneaked a hand around your waist and pulled you closer.

"Yes, motivation."

"Motivation for what?"

"Marketing strategies, work projects…" he shrugged nonchalantly, "...among other things."

You quickly caught on, suddenly becoming way too self-aware of the way you were practically cuddled into Fred's side, hand resting on his shoulder while his were wrapped around your waist. But his shining confidence seemed to rub off on you, because you asked.

"What's with you offering me a job all of a sudden?"

His bottom lip was tucked between his teeth as he took his sweet time devouring you with his darkened gaze. You didn't know whether you wanted to hide from it, or expose yourself even further to the way it burned its way straight to your core.

"Well…" Fred dragged out in his low, hoarse voice, and caressed your cheek with his thumb before slipping it under your chin to guide it towards his face. You could nearly taste the remaining flavour of champagne on his lips. "I've certainly been feeling…"

Fred went quiet as he got lost in the way you fit so perfectly in his arms; you had always meant to be there, he realised. His mouth crashed into yours, hands tightly gripping your waist, and you let out a gasp. Fred's lips were soft, although slightly chapped, and they moved gently but firmly against yours, turning you into their slave. Your palms naturally slid up his chest and he closed any remaining distance between your bodies by placing you to straddle his lap. The kiss was a dance of pushing forward and pulling back, two lovers having finally found their rhythm after years of living in fearful desire. You were positively drunk on his taste, on him, and you wished to never become sober.

When your need for air overcame the one for physical contact, you pulled away. Your chests were heaving with rapid, shallow breaths, hearts beating in synch like they had always done. You let a finger tenderly trace his cheekbone down to his jawline, then it came back up to draw different affectionate patterns on his face.

"What were you saying?" you asked, clearly out of breath. "How were you feeling?"

He fondly took your hand that was caressing his skin, and lifted it up to press feather-light kisses on your knuckles. His lips retraced their path until they reached the tips of your fingers, and he kissed those with the gentlest of touch.

You heart ached pleasurably from the way he was handling you with such care, much more than you ever believed he was capable of.

After minutes of worshipping you by the moonlit lake, Fred looked back at you as though you were his entire world. And replied with a smile.

"Inspired."

Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated!

Masterlist

[darktangledwhispers]

There is collected horrors upon me. (Kurapika X Reader) N-S-F-W

𝕿𝖂: 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖘 𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝖘𝖊𝖑𝖋-𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖒, 𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉....

I am randomly here now. Don't mind. Just read why don't you?

☂ Collecting your thoughts, racing through your head, you hated this horrid nightmare that kept replaying over and over. He always managed to be one step ahead of you, in everything. His color-changing eyes delved with the witness of torture beyond no imagination, blonde and never-ending soft hair that practically glided through his fingers every time he was stressed. That's what lured you in and now he is right there. In your reach. But managing to look so far away. The pain in his eyes was like no other. How could you manage to fall for someone that's barely there in their own mind?

He looked up at you, his attention not set on the wet cement anymore, but on your apprehensive figure. His lips were parted, you seemed to be staring at them for too long because once he spoke, the movement had startled you.

"Did I interest you that much?" His slick voice escapes his mouth, sounding deeper than before. "I was worried you would stop following me." He stood up, managing to almost tower over you.

You scoffed, feigning disinterest before turning your head back to him. "Why would I ever stop? You're my only lead." You look at him with desperation almost, hoping he won't run this time. Although that was a silly thought. He rarely stayed long enough for you to collect yourself. He always left you breathless. The scent of him caught in your throat as he leaned forward, his eyes flickered down to your lips before looking back up. Kurapika had never once smelt anything around bad. He always smelled like the fresh crisp smell of honey drizzled all over redwood, a sweet but harsh scent, it always made you picture a beautiful forest that had the best dark secrets.

"Why haven't you tried to make me tell you anything yet then?" You didn't expect to hear those words come from him. It left you a little shocked. How hasn't he disappeared yet? It used to be so easy for him too. Now he hit the nail on the head... And so unexpected.

"Why haven't you told me anything if you knew?" You managed to come back with a witty response, a raindrop hitting your nose but you never let your gaze move away from him, afraid that if you even blinked, he would be gone. A smile appeared on his face, only for a split second before he went back to his usual deadpan expression. It tugged at your heartstrings, your knees feeling a little heavier than usual.

"You're right. But what if I liked seeing your skill (F/N)?" Once your name left his lips a shiver ran down your spine.

"How do you know my name?" Your voice wavered now, a little frightened at how he managed to find out. It would've taken a lot for someone to find your name, if not years. You barely told anyone your name.

More raindrops found their way onto your burgundy coat and on Kurapika's reddish-pink nose. It looked like he was really cold from the flush on his cheeks. He looked down, not giving an answer.

Thinking that he would escape now, you sighed and your shoulders dejected, looking at the grey bricked sidewalk. You turned. "You've seen my skill enough then. We weren't supposed to get close like this. I have an objective. So do you." Before you knew it, cold harsh words left your lips. Kurapika's eyes showed a tinge of discomfort to them, the curiosity leaving and replaced with what could only be described as worry. His newfound interest, leaving him? Oh, that wasn't a good thought at all for him. But you didn't know your effect. You thought it was just your silly mind... Playing tricks...

Your dark cerulean boots hit the scattered puddles on the ground, leaving the traumatized blonde on his own, his mouth agape slightly. Was he the one being left behind now? No. That couldn't happen. That wasn't happening. He tensed up as he chased after your disappearing figure, a new feeling taking over him, desperation.

His black dress pants were getting wet on the edges and his shoes becoming littered with water droplets. Your confused (E/C) eyes entered his sight as soon as he came to a halt, only three feet away from you. The boy was confused, it was jumbled all onto his face. Why was he following you? He did have one objective. He needed to focus but you were the only thing on his mind lately. That's why he led you here... Right?

"You can't leave. I haven't said-"

"Yet you can when it's me the one talking." You interrupted him, a glare sent his way. He looked down and then back up, his breathing rigid, his brown eyes flickering to a scarlet which made you stop everything altogether.

"I was afraid." The truth practically dripped from his lips from that moment. His eyes showed all the vulnerability. Why was he opening up to you like this now? Why is he trying to mess with you? You gritted your teeth, shaking your head. "Please leave."

"Why?" He asked, stepping closer to you, realizing he's managing to get through to you. He knew it was wrong to slowly force you to open yourself to the idea of letting him talk but he needed to speak his mind. You were giving in to his little trap.

"You're making a mistake Kurapika. You're making me make a mistake." You shook your head and backed away, trying your best to understand what he needed to say so badly but there were no clues. "You're giving me the wrong idea..." You muttered, your heavy breathing could be seen in the cold air, letting off a fog.

He slowly walked to you until he was only a couple centimeters apart, his scarlet eyes staring deep into yours. You were getting lost in them, your breath hitching. His face... So close... It reminded you of when you first saw him, standing on the rooftop, peering down at the auction house. It was only until later on, you had realized that he had become the Mafia leader. You knew then he could help you but you didn't realize that he was going to try to help in multiple ways. Especially like this.

"Who told you it was the wrong idea?" He had no idea what he was saying, he just followed what his heartbeat was telling him and it was pointing to you in over a million different ways and languages in his head. His lips were slowly coming closer to yours, the rain had picked up but both of you were too distracted to notice. His nose touched yours, the excitement erupted in your stomach as the Kurta pushed you against a wall of one of the buildings. Good thing he picked this time... The city had no one wandering around at this time.

"Back away Kurapika..." Your voice gave it all away, how unsure you were, how much you wanted this boy's lips on yours. It expressed everything to Kurapika at that moment and he took it as a sign to move forward, his lips crashing onto yours.

They were soft, the slight taste of liquor was on them but not enough to cringe at. You made a note of that. 'Guess he likes to indulge in his own regrets...' You gripped onto the lapels of his suit, a groan muttering out his mouth and into yours. You could feel the wetness of his hair against you from the rain, the raindrops mixing in with the kiss before you pulled away. There was a relief of some tension as you looked into his eyes. But they were still burning red.

It was obvious. He didn't just want one simple kiss...

He wanted more.

Everything from then on was a blur, from the trip to his place, to how your clothes slowly littered his marble living room floor, to where you were getting observed by him... Underneath him... His intense gaze never left you, every little inch he observed of your skin, littering kisses, a little lovebite. You'll never get the feeling of his teeth lightly grazing and latching onto your skin ever out of your mind. Never. He was intoxicating. Everything about him was intoxicating you.

"Keep looking at me like that... So I can keep it in my head forever..." He whispers, his lips pressing against your neck now as his hands explore the sides of your body. Rough and still soft... It made you shiver as you looked at the white ceiling. His bed was huge and it made you wonder how he even slept in it lonely but that thought quickly got suppressed in your mind as he found your sweet spot. A moan left your lips unexpectedly, his grip tightening on the bedsheets once he heard what he'd been waiting for. He continued to abuse that spot, his teeth pressing in now, the taste of your skin messing him up slowly. You groaned.

He stopped once he knew left quite the mark on you, his kisses becoming rougher and his hands clearly impatient as they started to travel more. Sounds kept slipping out of you, driving him to slowly lose it. He couldn't take it anymore.

He gripped onto your wrists tightly, marks were going to be on them later, a foreign feeling pushing into you and before you know it you were screaming because of him. He changed his rhythm every time he knew you got comfortable, his own expression twisted in pleasure. There was a little blood surrounding his mouth. You knew he didn't mean to... He couldn't help it.... He just used his canines too much... And you didn't care.

"Kurapika..." You muttered against his collarbone, your nails pressed against his back. He sucked in a breath through his teeth as he tried his best to not hurt you again. He was afraid he would go too rough.

"I... love you..." Kurapika looked into your eyes, both of you shared your feelings through a kiss, his grip tightening fully as he couldn't hold back anymore, using all his strength until he made you tremble underneath him... Until you made his back bleed with scratches... Until he knew you wouldn't be able to speak that clearly the next day... He wanted those little reminders of this night to stay with you for a little longer and to stay with him too. He never wanted to forget this.

As soon as your second time flooded through your body, that's when he let go himself, letting everything out inside of you. The feeling making you shake before he collapsed next to you.

Both of you panting. You looked at him, his hair was sticking to his forehead and his eyes back to that beautiful hue of brown. Not that his scarlet wasn't just as beautiful.

"You d-didn't let me say it back..." You huffed, pulling yourself closer to him, trying your best to recover, and like he predicted, your voice was raspy.

"Your face was saying it for you." His laugh danced through your ears like a sweet melody as he moved some of your hair behind your ear before kissing you on the forehead and getting up. "Let me get you cleaned up." His arms were felt under you before you were lifted into his hold, his smile staying on his features longer than before.

You couldn't say anymore, your vocal cords were already strained enough and he understood. He didn't even question why you didn't speak while he cleaned your body. He kept a sincere gaze, washing every single spot, not missing anything. That was until he came across your old scars, a finger tracing them before a concerned gaze met with you.

"You hurt yourself?" Kurapika's voice held a hurt but gentle tone, of course, there were multiple scars on him but he could automatically tell when it was self-harm. He couldn't just leave that.

A sad face decorated yours, looking away, and he decided to bring it up another time. "You're still beautiful." He reassured you. "I won't think anything less of you. Just informing you." He looked up at you with a warm smile and you looked at him in awe, tears brimming your eyes at the sweet words. It was like he read your mind. With that, he pulled you into a hug, soon dressing you, making sure you're comfortable and then laying with you. And as you started to fall asleep, he comforted you on the way there.

"Your secrets are safe with me... (F/N)..."

[in-ky]

An Old Scent [1] - Negan x Reader (A/B/O AU)

Summary: During summer break, you decide to come back home to visit your dad, Rick. Over the course of your stay, you realize that your dad's friend is pretty hot.

Warnings: Eventual smut, A/B/O dynamics, cheating, age gap, Negan

A/N: yay first fic! this will have four parts! i hope everyone enjoys. this is an au where the apocalypse never happened. 3.2k words

I squinted as I stepped out into the bright Virginian sun. People swarmed all around me, creating the steady hum of airport ambience that I had grown accustomed to over the years. I had just gotten off a four-hour flight home from college and all I wanted to do was shower and curl up in bed. But I couldn't. Oh, no. First I had to endure a fun thirty-minute car ride with my best friend since second grade. I scanned the curb in front of me for her small black car and caught sight of a tall woman waving at me. I grinned and walked forward, tugging along my baggage behind me.

"Ugh, it's so good to see you, Bee." I sighed as I enveloped my friend into a large hug. She let out a laugh and swayed us gently.

"It's good to see you, too," She hummed, rustling my hair "I forgot how short you were." Bee was an alpha; tall, muscular, and very quick to remind me of our differences. Of course, it was in a 'joking with love' kind of way. I was an omega; small, rounded, and very quick to punch her gently in the abdomen.

"I forgot how much of a jerk you are." I quipped, huffing and wheeling my bag to her trunk.

"Oh, come on, babes, don't be like that," Bee laughed, opening the driver side door and waiting for me to walk back to my side. "Now get in, we've got a lot of catching up to do."

---

"How are your heats going?"

"Jesus, that's what you want to start with?" I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest. Bee shrugged.

"We don't have to if you don't want to," She clarified, turning out onto the street "I'm just saying, I know they've gotten pretty bad as we've gotten older. Did you try out those tips I sent you?"

"Yea, I did," I said quietly, looking at the trees rushing by on the side of the highway "They worked for a while but..."

"But you need an alpha," Bee sighed, finishing the sentence for me.

"That's the plan for this summer," I agreed "Might finally settle down."

"You know, I'm always here if you need me." She said with a wink. I scoffed at her.

"I'm not that desperate," I laughed, shoving her lightly "Not yet, at least."

"Anyone take your interest back in Colorado?"

"Not really," I hummed, tilting my head in consideration. "There was this one guy. We dated for a few months but towards the end he became a total knot-head. He couldn't keep his hands off me. I thought it was cute at first, but after I started to miss a few classes...well, that shit got old pretty quickly." Bee made a disgusted noise.

"Ugh, men," She grunted, wrinkling her nose "I'm glad I never went through that phase. I'm perfectly happy with chicks, thank you very much. Much less of a pain in my ass."

"Oh, they're not so bad," I smirked "I think it's just alphas in general." She glared at me momentarily and I stuck my tongue out at her. We drove in a comfortable silence for a few moments, just enjoying each other's company. That was always something I loved about Bee. We never had to fill every second with chatter, we could just exist together in the same space and be just as content. She started to hum along to the song that buzzed softly from the radio and my eyes tracked a hawk. Soon enough, we reached our exit and Bee turned the car onto a smaller road, starting the countdown to my arrival home.

"Are you excited to see your dad?" Bee asked, killing the silence.

"Yea, I am," I smiled. We hadn't always had the best of relationships, but the distance that college gave had done wonders for us. A few texts and calls had worked perfectly for us. When he invited me to stay a few weeks during summer I gladly accepted. I wanted to see just how well our relationship had strengthened. Plus I knew he really needed someone.

"How's he doing?" There was genuine concern in Bee's voice. A few months ago, my mom had revealed that she had been having an affair with one of dad's work buddies. She left with him and took my brother down to Georgia.

"I think he's okay. But you know dad, he's not really an emotions guy. He was starting to get some closure but then the divorce papers came in the mail. That really hurt him," I told her, twisting a strand of my hair around my finger. "I just don't know how Lori could do that to him, you know? She won't even let Carl up to visit. The new baby's cute, though. Looks just like Shane." Bee hummed in acknowledgement.

"Well, tell him I said hi, alright?"

"Will do." A few more seconds of silence passed. Until we stopped at a light. Bee looked up and spotted a billboard that sported a very familiar, very handsome face.

"Holy shit!" Bee shrieked, slapping my arm.

"Ow, what the hell?" I hissed, grabbing my shoulder. She pointed frantically at the sign.

"That guy! Isn't that, shit- the hell's his name?" Pulling my eyes from my lap, I let them settle on the object of her excitement. All of the color drained from my face. It was an add for a law firm. There was an old geezer posing proudly on the left, and to his right, was the man who haunted my wet dreams for the majority of high school.

"Negan." I gulped.

"Yea, your dad's hot friend you never shut up about." Bee groaned, pressing on the gas and moving us away from the sign. Negan was a lawyer/make-shift-law-professor and baseball coach at the local community college. He had a sort-of contract with my dad's department. Many times I had come home after school to the two of them puzzling out a case on the kitchen table. Negan was an alpha of alphas, something that got my little omega heart (and other things) pumping until I couldn't breath. His humor and dominating persona made me blush a deep crimson color any time I saw him. Sometimes I would spend hours sitting on the stairs just listening to him talk to my dad. His voice was something else. I had gushed to Bee about him countless times during our times at high school. But I hadn't seen him since my graduation party.

"I wonder if you'll see him again," Bee teased, nudging me again to pull me out of my trance of memories. Then, she did a dramatic gasp. "What if he's your mate?" It was my turn to slap her in the shoulder.

"He's older than my dad!" I squealed, burying my now-blushing cheeks in my hands.

"You're an adult I don't think it matters."

"I think he's engaged."

"Just 'cause there's a goalie doesn't mean you can't scoooore." Bee pulled a face at me and I returned her grimace.

"Whatever, you're lucky we're almost at my house." I huffed, falling back into my seat with my arms crossed over my chest.

"Oh, yea, omega? What are you gonna do?" I rolled my eyes as she laughed off my grumpiness. We rolled to a stop in front of my driveway and a leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek.

"Thanks so much, Bee, I really appreciate you," I grinned, popping open the door.

"No problem, babes," She winked, unlocking the trunk "But I swear to the gods, you better fucking call me and give me updates on everything, especially if you run into Mr. Hotcakes." I rolled my eyes once more and promised her I would before closing the door. I retrieved my bag and gave her a wave as she drove down the street. When she was out of view, I took a deep breath and turned around, walking up the driveway to the front door.

I knocked heavily on the dark oak door. While I waited for someone to answer, I decided to look around at the home I had left behind about a year ago. My childhood home had changed now and then over the years, but there were still some iconic pieces of memories in the front yard that could never be forgotten. My personal favorite was Eddie the garden gnome. He was a standard gnome: small and stout with a large white beard that led into a pointy red hat. His eyes were shut and his mouth was curved into a smile. However, he was missing a nose. I grinned as I recalled the unfortunate mishap that caused Eddie to become deformed. I was about twelve, and carl was five. He had gotten a kid's baseball from Negan for his birthday and had begged me to teach him how to play, since I was on the local softball team at the time. I relented and set it up in the front yard. Eddie was our outfielder. Eddie didn't have a mitt. Well, he did, but it was his face. Carl absolutely smashed the first pitch I tossed at him and hit poor Eddie right in the face, shattering his round, pink nose into pieces. Carl bursted into tears and I had to promise him that he did not in fact kill our precious protector of our house. Lori ran out frantically and comforted her son before giving me a thorough chewing out for damaging Eddie. We never used the set again. That she knew of, anyways. Negan always let us play in his yard, though. I smiled at the memory, but the clicking of the lock to the door pulled me from my train of thought. The door swung open and I was met with the smiling face of my father.

"Sweetie, I'm so glad you made it!" He laughed, pulling me in swiftly and squeezing me tight.

"It's good to see you too, dad." I croaked, letting out a small chuckle. I tapped on his shoulder as a signal for him to let go.

"How was the flight?" He asked as he stepped out to grab my bag. I told him it was good but that the screaming kids had given me a bit of a headache. He gave a small laugh and gestured for me to enter. I thanked him and he rolled my bag in behind me. We exchanged a few words but as soon as I walked through the kitchen into the doorway of the living room I was hit by a wall. Not literally, no, but rather a wall of overwhelming scent. It was a delicious swirl of campfire and whiskey, with a hint of cigarettes and leather. I paused for a moment, my eyes forced closed and my lungs taking a deep breath of the intoxicating air. Colors danced across my eyelids. My whole body was flooded with warmth and my toes tingled. I felt safe and calm, and there was something else; something deep within my stomach that I couldn't quite identify, something I never felt before. My eyes snapped open when I felt my father's hand rest firmly on my shoulder.

"I hope you don't mind, sweetie, but I invited company over while I was waiting for you to arrive," He smiled at me. I got a good look at him then. He looked the same, his hair was a bit longer, a bit greyer. But his eyes were different. They were darker, rounder, rawer. I gave a soft smile and told him it was fine. He guided me into the living room. It was then I realized where that deadly smell was coming from. Or, rather, who it was coming from. "Negan, you remember my girl." In that moment, I held my breath as I scanned Negan. He looked fucking amazing, just as he always had. Perfect dimples guarding a charming smile, all surrounded by a gorgeous salt and pepper beard. His hair was longer than it was when I had left, not slicked back, but it still framed his face perfectly. Negan's body was draped casually over the sectional couch, legs crossed at the ankle on the ottoman. His arms were on the top of the couch and his wrists were dangling. He knew he was hot. That bastard. I suddenly became aware of his eyes raking over my form and I shifted from one foot to the other.

"'course I do, Rick," Negan said, voice silky and deep. I couldn't help but let a small shudder run down my spine. All I wanted to do was kneel down in front of him and curl up at his feet. I forced my inner omega down, shaking the thought from my head. "How could I forget the little slugger?" I cringed inside at the nickname. Especially the use of the word 'little'. I begged that he didn't still see me as the kid down the street. Instead as a grown woman. A grown omega.

"Hi, Negan." I greeted with a small smile, swallowing to relieve my dry throat. Now that I was next to him, his scent was clogging all my senses. I gripped onto the couch and lowered myself onto the cushion, hoping to ground myself. It helped, just barely. My heart was pounding, my instincts telling me to submit to this man in front of me. Why, though? Why now? He had never smelled this good before. No alpha had. Was I getting close to my heat? I did have a stomach ache, but that could be from Negan alone.

"Hey, sweetheart. How's college goin'?" Negan asked, sipping on his drink. He kept eye contact with me the whole time. Rick handed me a glass of soda and I thanked him.

"It's good!" I said after taking a sip, thankful for the hydration in my coarse throat "Towards the end it got a little hectic, but I was able to stay on top of everything, thankfully."

"You're studying film, right?" He asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

"That's right," I grinned, crossing my legs to relieve some of the pressure the movement caused to build up in my lower abdomen "You still teaching law?" This caused him to chuckle. Literally music to my ear.

"If that's what you want to fuckin' call it." Negan sighed, falling back to his original position, hands resting in his lap "I talk, the kids kinda listen. I just do it for the coaching job, really. You remember how much I love that damn sport, right?"

"Baseball?" I asked, raising a brow "You mean the only thing you talked about at all of the Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners you were invited to?"

"Touché." Negan grinned. Goddamn that smile. Butterflies erupted in my chest, beating hard against my ribcage, begging to throw myself at his chest and bury myself in him. Rick cleared his throat and smiled at me to get my attention.

"I want to know more about your college experience!" He beamed, rubbing a hand through his beard "Any special alphas you've got your eyes on?" I heard Negan choke slightly on his whiskey. A small bubble of pride rose in my chest. I laughed at his words.

"Dad, I don't think Negan wants to hear about my love life."

"Shit, doll, I don't mind," He grumbled "I don't get to hear any drama now-a-days"

"What do you mean?" I giggled, tilting my head "You argue for a living. Your job is to literally deal with drama."

"Yea, but that's complex drama," He growled, waving his hand dismissively "I wanna hear simple, schoolgirl 'he loves me, he loves me not' kind of bullshit."

"Well sorry to disappoint," I snorted, running a hand through my hair "but no, there's no one I have an eye on." Dad's smile turned into a frown.

"Shame." I heard Negan whisper. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to hear it. It was quiet, barely above his breath, and he said it while twirling his whiskey, following the words with a large gulp.

"You really should start looking, dear." Dad said with a sigh "You know it only gets harder as you get older."

"Dad please, I don't..." I cut him off "Listen, I appreciate you trying to understand this stuff, I really do, but I don't really want to talk about it with my father." He looked at me with an understanding smile.

"Sure," He nodded "But if you ever need anything, anything at all, you just let me know, alright." I nodded.

"Well, this sure has been fun, Ricky-boy," Negan grinned, getting to his feet and stretching his arms far above his head. "We do have that big court case in the mornin', though, and I need my shut-eye."

"Big case, eh?" I asked, rising from my seat as well. Dad nodded and excitement sparked in his eyes.

"You should come! It's an open court and I would love for you to see what I do. I know you always wanted to as a kid, but your mom made you wait until you were older. Well, now's the perfect time!" He rambled, grasping my shoulders.

"W-Well, I dunno, I don't want to be a distraction," I stumbled, taken aback by my father's display of enthusiasm. I turned to Negan, as if asking for permission. He just laughed.

"Oh-o, doll, I don't get distracted. Not in there, not anywhere. Don't you worry about a goddamn thing. You should come, Rick seems like he really wants you to."

"Okay, then," I grinned, nodding in commitment "I'll see you there in the morning then." I looked up to Negan and we locked eyes for a brief moment. But in that moment, something within me quivered. He brushed up against me and smirked down at me.

"See you tomorrow, sweetheart. It was nice to see you. You're lookin' great." It took all my willpower not to let out a whimper as he walked past me, taking his glorious scent with him.

My dad said that he should also get some rest, but that I could stay up as long as I wanted to. I was pretty wiped from my flight so I opted to follow him up the narrow staircase, tugging my bag behind me. I hugged him goodnight and stepped into my room. It hadn't been touched since I left last summer. The forest green bedspread was still perfectly tucked into the mattress and two plump pillows were perched at the head of the bed. My muscles ached for the soft release of sleep. I put my suitcase down by my dresser, taking a moment to smile at some old photos of me and Bee as kids. I showered and brushed my teeth before getting into the comfortable bed. I looked up at the ceiling and giggled softly at the glow-in-the-dark stars shining overhead. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I wasn't thinking of anything in particular, but for some reason, all of my dreams were plagued by the sweet smell, sound, sight, feeling, and taste of Negan.

[yelenasgreenvest]

Chemtrails (Yelena Belova x reader)

Summary: You and Yelena are finally free from the mind control of being a black widow. How does everything fare out as you both return to Ohio to start a new life?

Pairings: Yelena Belova x reader, Natasha Romanoff x Steve Rogers (Kinda platonic, kinda not), Alexei Shoskatoff x Melina Vostokova

Word Count: 1,862

Translations: Malishka (Baby), Krasotka (Beautiful),  Liybimaya (My Love)

Masterlist

There were some people who had the idea that being on the run meant being scared, lonely, always on edge. Perhaps that is how it should have felt. You just felt like you were free. Free from being used in any way. They treated you as if you were just another pawn on the chessboard as if you were just another number to them. It is a piece that no one will remember.

Yelena too. The two of you had freed yourselves and the others from the harsh crutches of being a black widow. A killer and a trained spy in all the fields that a spy could be. Sly, sneaky, conniving, and murderous. There had never been a time when you had any control over your actions. Never being able to be yourself. Living life on the edge, skirting all over the world in a number of days. Killing people without a second thought, because you weren't able to control your mind. You weren't in control.

Until Yelena came along. Till she abolished the control over your mind and cut the tracker from your leg. Till she held you while your body wracked with sobs of finally being free.

She stayed with you, helped you recover physically and mentally. Patching up wounds with medical bits she found in gas stations. Driving stolen cars and motorbikes through the darkness of the night. A new city each day, hiding in rundown motels on the side of highways. Each one of them smelling worse than the previous one.

In the aftermath of Dreykov's death, you would keep your eyes on the news to make sure the black widows left over weren't doing any harm. Once you both reached Ohio, where she planned to meet up with her family and establish a base to free the black widows, you both could be free. Over the long nights of traveling and the days of laying low, you went from strangers to lovers very quickly.

You weren't sure when it happened, but she fell first. A glance at you that was once cold has become a loving gaze. As she learned what food you liked, she would be sure to bring it back from her grocery store runs. It was something you didn't notice at first. She changed her attitude towards you suddenly and when her touches on your wounds became lighter and she began to tell you more about her life, you too began to fall. You discovered why she was aiming for Ohio in the first place. In other words, she did not want to be what she was made to be. Both of your skills would only earn you dirty money, and she desperately just wanted to settle down. You did not talk about children between the two of you, but you frequently talked about a dog shelter.

As soon as you reached a small suburban home on the outskirts of Ohio, you and your partner quickly went into undercover mode. Posing as a newlywed couple, with her sister who is a part-time science teacher and her parents who are coming to welcome the new family. In the morning it appeared like bliss to the neighbors, but really it was at night when the family seemed to sit around and play Monopoly that they planned their roles for recovering the last of the black widows. The rest of the widows who had been freed would come over under the guise of being friends, but Yelena and you would give them money and new identification provided by Mason, so they could start their new lives. The widows wanted their chance to live a normal life, just as you and Yelena did. Many of those who rely on doing what they know only too well, choose to work with Melina in St Petersburg.

In less than a year, everyone was free. With the last of the widows freed, Dreykov's remnants were abolished. You and Yelena were finally free. As soon as the word was given you and Yelena marched straight down to the shelter where she picked a gorgeous American akita and Yelena straight away called her Fanny. When Natasha heard the name, she rolled her eyes and asked, "Really Yelena? I hate that name. You know how much I hate it. In response, Yelena hit back with an infamous "HA!"" and Fanny had now become a part of your dysfunctional family. Alexei and Melina flew in and out every few months, checking up on both of you or on some wild mission to find Captain America. It was much to Alexei’s surprise the day Natasha brought Steve Rogers home, posing as her husband.

“Papa, you remember Steve. My adoring husband" Each word spit back as fast as possible while making sure Alexei didn't start a mini war among them right under their noses. Natasha was extremely coy at first and you didn't know whether there was anything more than just friendship between them.

During their time at the Ohio house, Yelena and Natasha would relax in the small pool that is located out the back. Their tanned skin became more obvious as they raced in laps of the pool against one another under the scorching summer sun. The whole family had a good laugh when Steve wore swim trunks with the American flag on them and then had another fit when Alexei wore ones with the Russian flag on them. “I feel like all my dreams have come true” Yelena said hazily as she kissed your hand on the lawn chairs.

“What dream is that Krasotka?” you asked, smiling as you didn’t fully take in her deep words. “I have my family back” you felt the strings of your heart being pulled at the softness of the girl's words.

She pulled on your hand and led you to join her on the lawn chair, sitting in her lap. As she wrapped her arms around your waist, you looked up into the clear blue sky to see a distant plane leave a long white trail in the clear blue sky. “What are the white lines made of?" It was a question you asked aloud. "Maybe the government is slowly poisoning us with Dreykov's toxic chemicals," she said in a funny way, but you knew it was on everyone's mind. What if he wasn't really dead after all. What if the dream turned into a nightmare and you were no longer yourself. Your panic caused your breath to quicken its pace, and you touched the beautiful gemstones you wore around your neck. Some eastern culture your therapist had thrust onto you, rubbing some amethyst and turquoise would help ease the pain of the memories. In a manner of speaking, it did work, as it eased the nightmares little by little. There were times when holding those tiny stones felt like clutching a lifeline. You desperately try to hold onto this reality with Yelena as long as possible. The blissfulness of it all. Yelena became restless after losing the constant sense of action that had been part of her life. The excitement of going to the farmers market only lasted for a limited amount of time. It was one of those days when the rumble of an engine and the smell of gas broke your concentration from doing laundry, and you were met by a gorgeous vintage red Chevy pulling into the driveway. The look on Yelena's face was incomprehensible, which made you hard to believe that she had just went out and bought such an immaculate, expensive-looking vehicle. The car was a convertible and fanny sat in the back, her tongue hanging out, panting in the golden sun, as she sat there. "We are supposed to keep things on the low down" you whispered to your 'fake' wife, scolding her.

It's time to enjoy yourself, Malishka!"

You knew it was worth it when the rouge on her lips matched the color of the cherry red car. When she opened the passenger side door, she motioned for you to get into the car.

"No no, I think it's time for me to take this baby for a spin". You pushed her across the white leather as you got into the driver's seat and sat in it. There was a soft white leather under your grip on the wheel. "Don't you like it, sweetheart?" Yelena smirked at you as you adjusted the mirror while Yelena was chatting. Upon turning the key, the engine roared to life. "Shhh sweetheart, you'll pay for this later" and you took off racing down the avenues of white picket fences, passing children playing in the front gardens.

Families who seemed perfect on the outside but you knew that each one had their problems. As you reached well over the speed limit, with your hair blowing wildly behind you, you felt as if you were at liberty. It was impossible for those families to stop you from doing what you did. You could not be stopped by Dreykov. At that moment, all you wanted was to keep speeding along the winding roads while Yelena put her hands up, grasping at the invisible air. She was your sweet love. Your happiness. She made the freedom worth it. The winding roads soon gave way to a small clearing where you were able to park your car on the side of the road. The engine died slowly, and her smile was beaming back at you, pure happiness oozing from both of you. Fanny jumped out of the car, her paw pads crushing the gravel under her feet as she jumped. She trotted around sniffing at the new surroundings. In the company of Yelena, you made your way to a small bench that overlooked a valley. The sun was looking low and heavy as it was making its way towards the horizon for yet another day. The silence was relaxing, settling over you as you stared out at the sky. Yelena spoke openly from the heart or perhaps her soul when she said, "I am not religious, but if there is a god out there somewhere, I hope he lets it stay like this forever.". The truth is, she was never one to think of such things in this way, especially in regards to god, religion or even something as grave as losing what you had. "It's not going to happen. We have made it. Nothing could break us apart, Liybimaya”

I know, I know, I feel silly thinking about it when this perfect paradise is all around us; but I cannot help it.

"There is nothing wrong with contemplating God…. or our paradise…. If you have second thoughts-”

“No. God no.” She took a deep breath and replied, “That's not what I'm saying. I am terrified that I will wake up back in the red room. That all of this was just a dream"

You scooted over to her side of the bench and cradled her against you and said, "I'm real, baby.". The sun set, leaving you and your partner in the darkness, the streetlight flickering behind you. It is time for us to go home"

[mandoinevarro]

NO APPOINTMENT, NO MEETING

Rule Maker, Rule Breaker: Chapter 4

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Words: 9.4k

Rating: E

Warnings: so ok descriptions of blood (it’s only one sentence and I don’t think it’s too bad but just in case), remembering trauma/triggering memories, angst. now for the fun part: SMUT, one (1) thigh spank, a sprinkle of dirty talk, a dash of praise kink, spitting, oral (f receiving), vaginal sex, maybe cockwarming but for like two minutes

a/n: happy 2021!!! only one chapter left after this one so enjoy. for the hornies who only want fun and sexy times: scroll to the bottom and work your way up, smut is like 3/4 in.

……………

In the blue morning light, Nevarro is almost beautiful.

The deserted lava fields spread in flat terrain as far as the eye can see, bumps and dips where magma cooled creating waves like a black ocean. Among the tide, obsidian turtle shells shimmer like dark mirrors, where Din Djarin studies his face. It startled him when he crawled from the tent to take the pram inside; when he glanced at the ground and the ground glanced back. His face cloudy and warped by irregular volcanic rock, he barely recognized it. It’s not rare for his features to blur in his memory sometimes, especially when he’s out working for days at a time unable to catch a glimpse of himself. Vanity is not one of his many shortcomings—hiding your face for decades is a mighty vaccine against it.

But today something’s different. The reflection peering up at him belongs to a stranger. Relaxed eyebrows, a hooked nose (has the curved always been so pronounced?), lips that faintly curl up. Content brown eyes. His mirrored counterpart is a sentient being below him, plump with blood and oxygen. Alive.

He looks happy.

However, morning weighs heavily on Din, he can see it in the bags below his eyes. It stings like a hangover, like the only hangover he ever had, back when he was an eighteen-year-old idiot and used the credits of his first bounty to get a flask of spotchka from some seedy bar. He remembers sitting in his crammed quarters at the old Covert, chugging the bottle on his own, methodically forcing himself to swallow against the burn. Waiting. Waiting for the alchemy to kick in, for the magic toxins that flushed drunks’ faces, lubricant that oiled their scowls into easy smiles. Waiting to feel what everyone else felt, just for a moment.

Lifting his head, Din peers ahead. Shadows of the city’s buildings creep above the horizon like a bad omen. The opposite of a promised land. Hunchbacked buildings stain the blue-gray sky, abruptly interrupt the intricate lava patterns, Nevarro the planet versus Nevarro the city. Din’s stomach crumples. One, maybe two hours by foot. One, maybe two hours, and last night will fade into a distant memory, a collection of ghost sensations.

But not yet. Right now, last night is still real. You are still real.

Crawling back into the tent, he licks his lips for the millionth time today. He can still taste you: that thick, salty-bitter taste, so much better than he could’ve imagined. He hopes it stays on his lips for a long time; or, at least, that he can replace it soon.

Inside, you’re curled up with his cape, a blooming bruise above your shoulder peeking out, the baby’s pram hovering next to you. He sits down, careful not to awake either of you, and runs a finger down your shoulder, feels the skin prickle. He buries his nose on the back of your hair and inhales: rain and earth as usual, but his soap too, a part of him that clings to you. Lips on the crook of your neck, Din smells himself on you, wonders if you’ll want to wash his scent away, or if you’ll want it to stay on you. You stir, your soft exhales gain a rasp. Din smiles. You do snore, after all.

He’ll have to wake you soon. He knows. He knows. You need to talk about last night. You need to have the frank conversation that you’ve both been postponing for way too long, back when you floated in dead space, no deadlines, no rush at all to make decisions. But things have changed, and he knows what he wants now, and he knows it can’t wait. Yet every time his fingers brush your shoulder to nudge you awake, he pulls them back. He’s never seen you so peaceful, not moving except for your expanding and contracting chest, the light fluttering of your lashes. All the fight in your body gone, those tall bridges around you down and inviting. So different from when he met you.

If there’s one thing Din’s good at, it’s sniffing out trouble. He had to be, if he wanted to make it in the Fighting Corps. In the Bounty Hunter’s Guild. He can sweep a room with a mental black light, spot the people who flare up white and bright, the ones he needs to stay away from—or approach, depending on the situation. And that day at the cantina, the first time he laid eyes on you? You glowed with it. Talking big game in Karga’s booth, laughing with your pretty smile and shuffling cards, you beamed with trouble, bright as radiation and just as dangerous. What needed to happen was clear as day. The Mandalorian needed to turn on his heels immediately, strut out of that bounty hunter hive without a second look, and never, ever, ask about you.

He’d been there before.

Mandalorians, despite common belief, are not made of beskar. Not on the inside, at least. They’re all warm blooded organics, burdened with flesh and internal organs and skeletons; pain and pleasure receptors. Older Mandalorians cautioned younger ones when they came of age and finished their training, when they were ready to become providers. Tall stern warriors, his superiors, warned that there would be temptation, situations that would make him doubt the Way. “Even the briefest taste,” Din’s former Alor said with that cavernous voice he had, “can be the point of no return.” And he was right.

Outside the Covert, there was so much…stimuli. Voices and colors and movement, a twenty-four-hour beehive, the galaxy buzzed and vibrated to no end. It was equally wonderous and grotesque, like a circus. The strenuous noises that rattled his ribcage, the strong smells, the different food, his senses had never felt more exhausted. The faces…stars, the faces. How muscles stretched in a big smile, the glint of teeth, the deep creases between eyebrows that signaled anger. Always moving, always changing, Din hadn’t seen so many uncovered heads since he was a child. His first few weeks outside he’d stare at people for hours until they scurried away or tried to fight him. Tried.

Then, when the initial shock wore out, he noticed other details. The way children’s eyes filled with admiration when they’d look at their parents, how that dimpled girl in Alderaan would blush and stutter whenever he bought something from her stall. And Din would wonder, despite all warnings, what it’d feel like to be one of them. To share so much of himself with the outside world. With time, curiosity morphed into obsession, obsession into desperation, and soon enough he found himself with Rand and the others, running rampant in an already chaotic galaxy.

One war, two decades, and a thousand regrets later, the curiosity died down. The helmet helped him tune out the outside world, made it easier to retreat into his memories. The galaxy seemed duller by the day, emptier. Lonelier, though he didn’t dwell on it.

That is, until he met you.

Until his resolve circled the drain and he asked Karga who you were and where to find you, walked into your store without an idea of what he’d say. Behind the counter, eyes shining and that silky voice asking what you could do for him, you reset the galaxy for him. Every time he visited you felt like his first day outside all over again.

But last night—that was stronger, set in stone. It felt like commitment. Something was born last night, something burgeoned in his chest and took root. Din can feel the fullness in his body, like he grew an extra limb, similar to the swell that tangled in his insides when he went back for the kid. He doesn’t have a name for it yet, but it reminds him of the day he swore the Creed. The fresh sense of purpose, the carved-out path in front of him, knowing what needs to be done:

When the siege is over, he’ll take you with him.

“Are you watching me sleep?” you mumble, cotton mouthed. “Kinda creepy.”

Din chuckles, then remembers. Stars, his heart stops beating for a second. Dread and natural reflexes throw his palm whip fast over your closed eyes. Maker. What the hell was he thinking, sitting next to you without the helmet. Maker, one second too late and you could’ve opened your eyes and—

“Didn’t see anything. Promise,” you say with a smile and pull his cape over your face. “Cover up.”

He pats around for the helmet (where the hell did he drop it last night?), finds it abandoned by your feet. When he fits it around his head, the familiar padding hugging his skull, he swears it feels heavier than it did yesterday.

“You decent?”

“Yeah.”

You lower the pseudo blanket, sleepy eyes and easy smile. As if you purposefully want to make it harder for him to strike up a conversation. But do I really need to— Yes. Yes, he does. He has to know where you stand and ask the big question: If you’d be willing to leave with him once the siege is lifted. Stars, his hands are sweating. But he can’t imagine you’d say no. Not after last night.

“Listen…”

As if on cue, whimpers and sniffles float from the closed pram. Great timing, kid. The baby’s ears droop like wilting leaves when Din places him on the ground, and the little bundle waddles with his eyes cast down until he reaches your ankle.

“What is it, kiddo?” you ask softly, your voice gentler than Din’s ever heard, sitting up as you hug his cloak tighter around your shoulders.

“I think…” Din begins, watching the baby sniffle and hug your bandaged calf. “I think he’s apologizing.”

A pair of eight-ball eyes blink at you, shiny with unshed tears, and Din feels an ache deep in his chest. This sweet little kid, all he’s been put through…

“Oh, don’t worry,” you coo, as one of your hands wriggles out the cloak and cradles the baby’s cheek. Your thumb brushes away a fat tear. “I’m tougher than your dad.” You wink at Din: Just kidding. But it’s true. Living in this planet for so long, all on your own. “Tough” is a survival skill for you, not a choice.

Also…dad. He should probably correct you. Din is not the kid’s real father, even though he’s caught himself thinking about the baby as his son once or twice, when he’s not too aware of his inner monologue. But he can’t bring himself to tell you the truth. Actually, he belongs to a race of wizards that I’ve been quested to deliver him to. Can’t adopt him if I’ll eventually give him up. Not when the kid’s shedding quiet tears into your leg and you’re doing your best to soothe him. Nevarro’s not child friendly, and Din can’t imagine you’ve got much practice with baby stuff, but he can tell you’re doing your best. And that’s enough to spread warmth through his chest.

What a troop you must make: Mandalorian bounty hunter, black market dealer, magic green baby. You could set up a three-person circus and retire. Yet the image tugs at a memory tucked away in his mind, something familiar but blurred.

His rumination’s cut short when Din notices the kid’s pudgy hands extending strategically on either side of your right leg, his eyelids beginning to flicker. Shit, shit, shit.

“She forgives you,” he tells the kid hastily as he scoops him and lays him on the open pram. He doesn’t need to be the little womprat’s real father to tell he was about to whip out his favorite party trick: healing witch powers. So far it doesn’t look like it permanently harms him, but it does weaken him, and Din can’t take chances. Plus, he skipped the part about the baby having supernatural powers when he told you his story, and there’s not a hell of a lot of ways one can explain fresh wounds disappearing.

“So,” you say after the baby’s settled in his pod. “What are we going to do,” you start, and Din’s throat knots with dread and excitement, “about the jammer.”

Oh. Stars, straight to business

“You said you have one.”

“I said I might have one,” you answer, grabbing for your discarded skirts. You fumble with them under the cloak, one hand clasped tight around it. It’s funny—after everything you’ve shared, you won’t undress in front of him during the day. “I mean, jammers aren’t picky like motors, they’re more one-size-fits-all.”

“But we still have to rewire it,” Din completes, wiping dry drool from the kid’s cheek with his thumb.

“Right.” Holding the cloak with your chin while you clasp your tunic, you seem to slowly draw your way out of a maze. That restless abacus in your head adding and subtracting. Your brows relax, and Din knows you’ve figured it out. “But I’ve got my equipment in my workshop, and we’d save time not having to remove it from a ship. And, no offense, but the Crest’s jammer was an antique. Way more complicated than newer models.” You finish dressing and hand him the cloak. “Only problem is the potential trooper stakeout outside the store.”

“I’ll take care of troopers.” Din takes the cloak and hesitates. It’s day nine, that time bomb still ticks in his head. Could it be that easy? Could you really do all this in one day? “What if we don’t finish on time?”

“Then,” you say, “we’ll figure something out.”

We, Din thinks, and smiles. Somehow, that’s all the reassurance he needs.

≈

Nevarro couldn’t look more deserted if tumbleweed rolled in the streets. The city’s a populated ghost town, no man’s land that’s filled with men. Well, men is a strong word. How did Viszla put it that time? We live hidden like sand rats. Yes, rats seems more fitting. Packs of them, scurrying around the former Covert, stealing Mandalorian armor to be bartered for scraps. Karga didn’t have to spell it out when he told him about people finding the Covert. Mando is familiar with the ways of the Outer Rim: Anything unclaimed is up for the taking, and beskar’s too tempting to resist. Knowing doesn’t make his blood boil any less, though. If Din focuses, he can almost hear their squeaking echoing from the sewers, the scavengers of this gray rock serving themselves to the abandoned armor of his people.

Movement to the left. The Mandalorian draws his blaster and bars you with his forearm, to see…a tunic. A short tunic. Tiny red lights. A Jawa. He exhales and sheathes the blaster. Stars. With the vembrance turned off, he has to rely on bare eyesight to scan for danger.

The Jawa drags a sleigh behind him. On it lies a dead or unconscious trooper (it makes no difference to these creatures), its gloved fingers drawing traffic lines on the mud and ash of unpaved streets. Red stars below the cowl focus on you for half a second, the bounty hunter’s hand approaches his blaster, and…

…and the Jawa waves at you, says “hello” in its squeaky language. You wave back, smiling, and the lump of shadow continues on its way. A neighborly gesture that in this context is plain bizarre.

“Old friend of yours?” Mando asks, walking again.

“Associate,” you correct, running a finger along the kid’s left ear until it twitches and he giggles. “Jawas scavenge parts straight from the wreckage, eliminate the middle man. And they don’t report to the New Republic.”

You mean steal from the wreckage, Din almost says, but bites it back. He supposes he can’t judge you for trading with Jawas. Prospects on the Outer Rim are bleaker than ever, and everyone’s got to eat. Especially during a siege.

Maker, sometimes he can’t believe he convinced himself to leave you here. Marooned in the type of place Core World citizens only talk about with shaking heads and disapproving voices. The type of place that makes people feel better about their lives, because hey, it could be worse, at least I don’t live in Nevarro. Granted, Din didn’t know then there’d be a siege. After the fight, after he bid goodbye to Cara and Karga, he hovered on the atmosphere for longer than was safe, gazing down at your store’s roof from the Razor Crest’s cockpit. His head a seesaw, weighing his options and unable to make a decision. You were still so close. He could fly back down to the surface, knock on your door, and take you away with him like he did with the kid.

Would you say yes? Reject him?

But most importantly: what about his quest? What kind of life would you lead travelling with him, a fugitive of the Empire and the New Republic? Life for Din has been defined by survival. Every day he’s had to get up and fight; fight to an inch of his life, fight with concussions, frostbite, shattered ribs. Knife wounds, blaster wounds. Personal wounds. He didn’t want that for you. You’re young, clever, resourceful. After that day, maybe you’d decide Nevarro was too dangerous. Maybe you’d pay your passage on a cruiser and start over in the Core Worlds, make your luck own there. Find a good man, if that’s what you wanted.

So he started the thrusters—the same ones he bought from you so long ago—and jumped into hyperspace with a semi clear conscience. This was best for everyone. You probably wouldn’t have accepted his offer, anyway. For five months he lived with his decision. And then he learnt about the siege.

In the sky, a string of river pearls forms a pattern like a necklace. Imperial cruisers, tie fighters, every ship that Guideon commands, solemnly presiding over Nevarro, itching to shoot down runaways. They’re too far up in the atmosphere to make out anyone in the surface, but Mando grabs your arm and coaxes you behind him all the same, his grip on the pram tighter. The memory of that imp’s blaster on your forehead is still too fresh. The dried blood on your legs.

Din glances back at you briefly. You catch his eye and smile—not grin, not smirk—but smile, a pretty, kind smile that would put to shame any of the imaginary Naboo girls you were so worked up about two nights ago. He should know, he’s been to Naboo, and none of the women there had your kaleidoscopic face, those hints of life that send his pulse on a sprint. The Mandalorian wonders what else you could be hiding under that sharp tongue, behind those clever eyes.

“Mando,” you call and point at a blackened mass to your right. “Nursery’s this way.”

All buildings in Nevarro emerge from volcanic rock, pushing away from clumps of hardened magma. They’re half-manmade, half-volcano hybrids—it’s a useful layout that gives their structure grip against constant earthquakes. It also, however, makes the buildings look like tumors growing on the navel of an ill planet. Your store’s the only one that’s never looked malignant, more like a sprouting flower than a parasite.

And now, the cantina too. Burned to a crisp, blacker than night, the former Church of Nevarro seems to have been swallowed by its unwilling host: the volcanic rock it was built upon. It’d be near impossible to know there’s a cantina inside, if not for the wide window peering inside. And it’s far from impossible for you or Mando, who know by heart where all the doors stand. He pushes one open for you, and together you walk inside.

“Thumb on the bottom, middle and ring fingers on the top, index to the side,” instructs Cara from behind the cantina’s crisp black counter. “The other side.”

Greef Karga sits on a stool opposite her, fumbling with a deck of cards. “Got it. Then what?”

“Then…” The veteran moves aside a flask of ardees and places a matching deck on the bar. “Pressure with your index, release the thumb.” She acts out her instructions and creates an arched ribbon spread on the surface. The Mandalorian can’t remember the last time he walked into the cantina and didn’t see the hypnotic patterns on cards, didn’t hear the wing-flapping noise of their shuffle. Although if he thinks about it, it makes sense that sabacc is the local sport around here. Dumb luck is the only god in the Outer Rim, where inhabitants gaze perpetually at their uncertain future and never look back. Tomorrow they’ll get a better hand, yesterday’s lost credits are forgotten. Everyone here seems to shed their past like snake skin.

“Nice spread, Dune,” you call. Greef and Cara follow your voice, realize they have visitors. “You should job hunt at Canto Bight.”

“Oh yeah?” replies the ex-shock trooper with an impish grin, both elbows on the counter and a rag over her shoulder, all bartender swagger. “What do you know about Canto Bight, hot stuff? Heard you’ve never been off this rock.” She spies a sly glance at Mando, enough to confirm that she’s annoying him on purpose, openly flirting with you. He squares his stance, rolls the helmet to pin her down with the visor, but (he really should know this by now) it does little to intimidate her.

“No trash talk before nightfall, ladies,” quips Karga, walking towards the pram. “And certainly not in front of babies. Hello, little one!” Said little one coos and lifts his skinny arms to be lifted by the Guild Leader, who sits back down delighted at having the baby’s favor, the little rascal on his lap. “He likes me!” Greef Karga smiles wide, flashing those white glinting teeth that’ve always reminded Din of a wolf’s. He’s not happy to leave the kid here, but he can’t take him if there’s a stakeout in your store. Beggars can’t be choosers and so on. But Cara’s here, and Din knows he can trust her with the baby. Though not with you, evidently.

“Tell you what, Mando,” Cara continues, apparently not done peacocking around you. “We arm wrestle, just like last time. Winner gets a flask of spotchka and the opportunity to take the lady to Canto Bight after you lift the siege.”

“Help us lift the siege and I’ll consider winning that flask.”

Dune lets out an long whistle, giving you a complicit look. “Big words.”

Your eyes rake along the Mandalorian’s armor slowly, boots to helmet, a dark tint in your eyes. Din flushes, the oppressive heat of his clothes suddenly thicker.

You shrug and answer, “Big man.” Your fingertips dance idly around the nape of your neck, which makes Mando think about last night, about his tongue on your neck and the purple bruises he sucked, the salty taste of flesh, the heady one between your legs. The memory steers blood into…into awkward places. Which, knowing you, was your intention. Maker, he needs to talk to you about teasing him in public.

“Help you how?” asks Greef, lifting the baby into the counter, whose six little claws hold on to two of his gloved fingers.

“Look after the kid, we won’t be more than a few hours.”

“Sure thing!” booms Karga, at the same time as Cara says, “Fuck no.”

You fold your arms at the veteran. “You scared of an infant, Dune? It’s only one of him, and…” you squint at the cantina’s black shell, like something’s out of place in its burned remains, “…two of you. Where’s—” you start, before glancing at Mando and swallowing the second half.

“Duma?” supplies Karga, tapping the corners of the deck on the counter. “Don’t know, probably boiling beskar to make broth. Rumor has it she’s running out of supplies, fast. Did you ever take her up on that deal?”

Your eyes shoot vibroblades at him, your mouth a flat line.

“What deal?” Mando asks.

“Nothing,” you reply, still glaring warnings at Karga, who sighs, shakes his head, and tickles the baby’s tummy. The kid giggles and kicks half the deck off the counter. “Nothing important. We should get going.”

Outside, you guide the Mandalorian through a maze of back alleys, the ugly underbelly of a planet that’s already the galaxy’s own underbelly. Mando glues a palm to his blaster’s grip, lifting it only as muscle memory to turn on the vembrance and activate the setting to scan footprints, frustrated when he remembers his own piece of equipment would immediately snitch on him. Yet you glade past dark corners that beg for their own knife-brandishing mugger with the grace of someone frolicking in D’Qar’s moorlands, postcard-calm.

Once in your store’s backdoor, the Mandalorian ventures a glance at the front street. Empty. Like the rest of the city, it’s like curfew was declared, not an imp in sight. Certainly not a stakeout in process. Behind him, you push the door open, the busted security panel no more than a prop to discourage robbers.

“What?” you ask when he doesn’t walk inside.

“There’s nobody here,” he answers, studying the connecting alleys like a web of arteries, waiting for a trooper squadron to materialize and ambush you.

“It’s quiet too quiet?” you tease with a lopsided grin. “Lay off the thrillers, Mando. Come on.”

You step inside, he hesitates. “Could be a trap.”

Hands on the doorframe, leaning forward, your face almost touches the helmet. “Then you’ll shoot them and we’ll be back to square one. Not much of a choice here, Mando.” Those pretty eyes, your shining, wet lips. It’s a siren’s call he knows he shouldn’t answer.

The Mandalorian follows you inside.

It takes him a moment to recognize his surroundings.

Your store hibernates in the dark, stale air floating around its vault. Your store, which used to buzz with drills and neon lights and life around the clock, looms like a beast’s hollow belly, crypt-still. Lights off and furniture wrapped in sheets, it looks abandoned, the way all those family houses in deserted villages were hastily vacated during the war. He wonders how long you’ve been out of business because of the siege. Because of him.

You walk across the reception in tomb silence. In the reception signs hang next to the front desk—store policies that gave Mando more than one headache—dark and colorless, like they turned in their badges and no longer preside over this place. Only “NO IMPS” twitches, one or two agonizing flashes of neon green, before it shuts down like its colleagues. Six rules in total, although in Din’s opinion there’s a seventh that foregoes the need of a sign: “NO QUESTIONS”.

That’s a rule that everyone in Nevarro—bounty hunter or not—subscribes to. It’s the rule you followed when the Mandalorian walked into your store, still crafting some half-assed excuse about thrusters when he came face to face (helmet to face?) with you. You never asked about New Republic guidelines or what he wanted them for. Not even for his name. No questions when he came back two weeks later. No questions as weeks passed and then months, as tension thickened between you until his internal barometer cracked.

No questions when his thinning resolve broke one night. That night. He pushed you onto your workbench, you undid each other’s belts, pawed at each other’s sides. No questions when he slid into your wet heat, when he had to stop for a second to avoid a heart attack. No questions when he finished inside you, blood roaring in his ears, your sighs clouding his visor, your hand gently pushing him back.

And then, his question: “Where are you going?”

“Upstairs,” you answered, pulling your trousers back around your hips.

It dropped on his head like freezing water. Upstairs. Upstairs to your apartment, to rest. Alone. Meaning your encounter was a one-night stand, a shortcut to let off some steam. Stars, you were basically swinging the front door wide open for him, putting away a couple of wrenches and switching off the lights to signal the night was over. The Mandalorian didn’t need questions to know he’d overstayed his visit.

But…what if he’d spent the night anyway? Maybe the next morning he would’ve been upfront with you, confess he’d wanted you for so long and that he wanted it to evolve past one furtive encounter, that he wanted it to be real. No, he probably wouldn’t have. As a bounty hunter—as Mandalorian—there are things he simply can’t have. Things that are better off unspoken, better off—

“Tucked away,” you say behind him, making the Mandalorian jump.

“What?”

“The planner.” You walk behind the front desk. “I was saying I don’t remember leaving it here. I thought it was tucked away in some box.”

Oh.

It is strange. A light sheen of dust covers the counter, yet the planner is glossy clean, a painted depiction of the Manarai Mountains on its cover. A souvenir from Coruscant. He wonders who brought you that. It tugs at something sweet but sad in his chest, the fact that you have to rely on others’ cheap souvenirs to explore the galaxy. That’ll change as soon as this mess with the siege is settled.

You flip through the planner, empty for the most part but for a few scribbles on the first pages. It’s dated 5 ABY, four years ago. The Mandalorian knows from experience that your appointment rule works mostly to turn away unsavory clients. Or to get on his nerves.

“Look at that,” you murmur as if reading his mind, your finger pointing at nothing on a page. “You don’t have an appointment, Mando.”

“We don’t have time for this,” he answers, though he knows he’ll make time for it anyway. It used to drive him up the wall whenever you refused to see him using that stupid excuse. But, as with everything with you, it was more complicated than that. It took longer than he’s willing to admit to understand that it was a game. That you liked him riled up, after the push and pull, the hot and cold, the challenge. You had a taste for difficulty. Although it didn’t take as long to figure out that he liked it too. “Just let me in.”

“I don’t know,” you drawl, glancing at the dull signs on the wall. “Rules are rules.”

The Mandalorian has played this game with you enough to know what you want. He thinks of all those memories in this building. You, pinned between his armor and the doorframe; him, sitting on that battered couch upstairs with your hands on his knees. Even those calm nights, when you’d only sit and talk and make him laugh, and sometimes he’d get a laugh from you too, if he didn’t try too hard. All the sweating and the panting and the talking that these walls have witnessed. Maybe there’s time for one last memory before you both leave this planet for good. Not maybe—there’s definitely time. If this were an ambush, you’d be dodging blaster shots by now.

“So bend the rules,” he says slowly, gripping his edge of the counter and dropping his voice to the low register that gives you goosebumps. “For me.”

Your eyes twinkle like copper at the fact that he’s playing along. “And what do I get in return?”

This time, he doesn’t hesitate. “Whatever you want.” Perhaps he’s known for a while, in the back of his head where he could ignore it, but last night the idea rushed to his front lobe. He’ll give you anything you want.

“I want…” you begin, mischief shining in your eyes, before a shadow clouds them. Slowly, your face goes soft, a special kind of longing in your pupils. You swallow, your voice becomes throaty, and the words sound truer than anything Din’s ever heard: “I want you. I just want you.”

He almost trips on his feet when he rounds the counter, his head already swimming. The hunter crowds you with his body, backs you up against the counter until you’re caged and looking up at him, hooded eyes and parted lips. Hot stuff. Cara’s shallow pet name. When he heard it he thought it was inappropriate. But now. As your mouth nestles on his clothed neck and breathes hot, damp air through the fabric—a mild sensation for most people, he guesses, but almost a mating call for him—he realizes it’s not untrue. The name fits you like a glove, hot stuff. It’s just…incomplete. If he’s learnt anything these nine days is that there’s so much more to you, enough sailor knots of emotion and personality inside you to loop around the galaxy if unraveled.

“Touch me,” you breathe, rubbing up against him, searching friction. “Please, please, touch me. There’s nobody here, we—we have time.”

Gloved palms on your waist, down to your hips, lower to your ass, Din tries to fondle you as best he can. He pins you between the counter and his hips, your leg curls around his back and holds him closer. His erection starts to bulge against your belly, your breaths start quickening, your hearts start pumping faster. The tell-tale signs that indicate you’re both ready to go hit all their usual beats. But something’s missing. There’s a step you’re skipping, something…something he’s not doing right.

Tentatively, you press a small kiss on his covered neck, and he can only feel its frustrating whisper, a promise of more.

A lightbulb flicks on.

Mando holds your hips and spins you around, the desk’s edge on your waist. “Bend over,” he grouses next to your ear, his voice sand-coarse. “Don’t turn around.”

Gloves off first. One palm cradles the back of your neck, feels you shiver. His left hand runs down your back and around to your tummy, savoring all those warm, secret places on you, the way your body opens up to him on instinct. The power trip when he cups your heat through your skirts and you moan into the counter. You nestle your hips on his lap, and he stiffens on command, a tug between his legs that he knows is far too insistent for foreplay. Stars, it’s like he’s conditioned to get hard in this store.

“Don’t—” he chokes out “—not so fast. Or I—I won’t—”

“What?” you pant. Din hears the grin laced in your voice and knows it’s bad news for him. He drops to his knees and both hands walk up your bandaged calves, squeeze the tops of your thighs. “You…you don’t…” He throws your skirts over your back. You inhale sharply at the cold air—or at his hands pulling the soft flesh of your backside. When he removes the helmet, your pitch sounds broken up, more desperate. “You d-don’t want…”

It’s a small victory when he parts his lips against your clothed core and it’s you, for once, who chokes on words. Small victory, but he’ll take it, especially after the way his cock twitches in his pants when he smells you. He kisses you again, just a peck over your clit, and your legs shake. Fucking…stars. If this is how you feel when you tease him…well, he gets it. You mewl and push back on his face, but he hardly thinks you want it that easy.

“Stop moving,” he tells you sternly, with a voice he’d use on quarries.

A shiver runs down your spine. “But—” You break into a whine when his open palm slaps the side of your thigh. It’s probably the surprise rather than the sting that makes you inhale sharply, and a combination of both that dampens the cotton between your legs.

“Stop moving,” he repeats, mouth pressed against your core so you can feel the vibration; that, he learnt from you. “Or you don’t get my mouth.”

Above him, you let out a displeased little grunt, too throaty to mean much. But you open your legs wider and brace yourself on the front desk, grant him full access to you. His index hooks on your underwear, moves it aside, and he buries his lips deep into the softest part of you. Din barely hears you gasp. He circles both arms around your thighs and pulls you closer, until his tongue is buried between your folds and you just have to take it. Fuck, it’s just…decadent. The taste, the smell, how soaked you are already, your little purrs and whimpers when he sucks on your lips. They’re not things he ever thought he’d get to feel. He doesn’t deserve any of it.

“Mmm, stars, Mando,” you sob, sneakily rutting your hips like you just can’t help it. He allows it, but only because he’s so rock fucking hard he’s practically doing the same thing. His cock trapped down one pant leg, he squeezes his thighs to try and soothe the ache. “Move—move up a b-bit.”

“No,” he grunts, and licks a slow line from the spot right below your clit to the back of your slit. It wasn’t so long ago that it was your mouth on him, you teasing him mercilessly inside this very store, him moaning and grunting and losing his mind. That’s how he wants you: sloppy, desperate, begging.

“Maker, don’t t-tease,” you moan, but it only encourages him. His tongue slides deep inside you where you’re hotter than sin, enjoying how your walls swell and tighten around it. You’re so fucking wet, he could push into you right now and relieve the pressure building between his legs. But not yet.

“Beg me,” Din groans, mouthing at the inside of your thighs and sucking tiny bruises there. You moan above him, deep in your throat, and he wonders which one of you is more turned on right now. “Put—fuck—put that smart mouth to use. Beg me.”

For a moment all he can hear is your labored breathing, the wheels turning in your pretty head, laying out a plan to make him give in faster. Then, soft and sweet, you hum, “Mando.”

One word. Probably the word Din hears the most, so generic and impersonal that everyone from friends to strangers to enemies call him that. That word coming from your lips makes his heart sprint, his cock pulse and scream at him to hurry up. Stars, but if it was his name—his real name—on your lips, soft and purring like you pronounced his nickname, he knows he wouldn’t be able to hold back a second longer.

“You always make me feel so good,” you continue, arching your back a little to test the waters. “You’re so—so good with your mouth, stars. Want you to kiss me again—kiss me everywhere. Taste me like yesterday—” Your breath catches when he sucks on your inner lips again, closer to where you want him. Maker, if you keep talking like that… “Used to th-think about it all the time, how—mmm—how your—your tongue would feel. Never, ngh, never thought you’d use it th-there, though.” Din laps at your cunt, drinks from it. Fuck, he can’t remember the last time he got this hard. An airy laugh before you continue. “You can be so d-dirty sometimes. I’d let you do—do anything to me.”

Really, Din doesn’t know what pushes him to do it. He doesn’t know what makes him pull back and spread you open with his fingers, stare at your glistening, deliciously swollen folds, and spit at their very top. You moan raggedly above him, a complete mess of sobs and whimpers, as Din simply stares. He watches the trail of spit run down your slit, the lower it goes the more precum he feels sticking to his trousers. Half-drunk on your words and your slick, Din thinks: What did you do to me? Maker, you have him wrapped around your finger.

Saliva trails down until it teardrops on your clit, clings to it, and he doesn’t need another sign. His lips latch on to your bundle of nerves and suck. You sob and whine and cry, rocking your hips hard against his mouth, and he continues sucking through his teeth. Your knees give out, but he holds them before you can hit the ground, holds you in place as he feels you give him everything, your pussy clenching around nothing. Slick trails down his chin, all the way to his neck, and—shit. He’s going to burst in his pants just from feeling you cum in his mouth.

It takes every last ounce of self-control he has left to detach his lips from your cunt and stumble to his feet. You’re still shaking, still panting, but he can’t hold it back a minute longer. Fuck, not even a second longer, he needs to have you right now.

It’s a struggle to get a hold of his fly, fingers trembling and teeth grinding. When he finally pulls the zipper down, the sound snaps your head up.

“Are you—Mando, are you going to—”

“Yes,” he grunts, digging into his waistband for his cock, lining it up against your cunt. Stars, he’s so pent up, it hurts to touch it. “Is it—is it o-okay, can—can, I—”

“Oh, fuck, yes,” you mewl, pushing your hips so tightly against his groin the head of his cock catches against your entrance. Fuck. “Please, please, please, put it inside, let me feel your big, thick, co—”

One hard shove, deep enough that he feels himself poke your cervix, and he’s cumming—hard. His spine doubles over and he grunts and moans into your hair, giving you short, stunted thrusts as he fills you to the brim. You were already so swollen before, now you feel unbearably tight, squeezing his cock so harshly his eyes roll back on his skull. And his balls keep pulling up and giving you more of his load, his teeth grinding so hard they might crack. One last thrust, nice and deep so his cum stays inside you, and his palm presses down on your eyes. Din uses that hand as leverage to turn you around and tilt your head like you showed him, just enough so he can reach your lips. And he kisses you.

Your bodies spasm and throb against each other, you clench around him involuntarily and he flinches, too sensitive to handle the aftershocks of your orgasm. Still, he could stay like this for days. Gently sucking on your tongue, running his along the roof of your mouth, feeling how your lips curve against his in a smile. Then, an alarming thought. Maybe this is the only way to do it that feels right now—sex, he means. With the helmet off, his lips on yours, his nose on your hair. Bare hands drawing circles on your hips. Every sense devoted to you. Even the briefest taste can be a point of no return.

You peck his lips and flutter sweet, short kisses around his jaw, working your way up to his ear, where you whisper, “We’re running out of time.”

The jammer. Those words are quickly becoming the bane of his existence. “I know,” he whispers back, but presses one last, long kiss to your lips that feels inexplicably sad, like a kiss goodbye. Din shakes the thought off his head. He’s too pessimistic sometimes.

You both hiss when he pulls out, slowly so he won’t hurt you.

“Keep ‘em closed,” he tells you before removing his hand from your eyes. For all he knows you could open them right there, and there’d be nothing he could do about it. Somehow, however, he’s certain you won’t. His trust is rewarded when he pulls the hand back, and your eyes are screwed shut beneath it.

It takes an awkward choreography to straighten yourselves. You try to pull your own underwear back on, but in your position it’s near impossible. So Din kneels behind you once more, fishes his helmet from the floor, tucks himself back into his trousers, and lifts your panties until they hug your hips. You push your own skirts down before Din’s upright, which results in the long fabric covering him like your furniture. You share a quick laugh before standing straight and facing each other.

“You can open them.”

Now, he tells himself, watching your sated smile and blinking eyes. The words are on the tip of his tongue: When this is over, would you like to come with me—

“If there’s a jammer here,” you say, before he can get a word out, “it’s in the workshop.”

You walk around him and open a door behind the reception desk to reveal the staircase that leads to your apartment. Din’s still telling himself that he’ll just ask you later, when you climb one step—and stop. You turn around like you can sense he’s about to ask, for the second time in this store, where you’re going.

“Gotta get some stuff from upstairs, but I’ll be down in a second.” Your voice wobbles, your foot hesitates on the step. You’re nervous. “But if you find the jammer before I come back, don’t…don’t leave.”

“Of course not.” Maker, of course he wouldn’t leave without you. Do you really think he would?

The workshop is darker than the reception. A single window, currently boarded up, so he has to use the helmet’s light. The cone of white light creates a sinister effect, like creatures lurk everywhere it doesn’t touch. Rubber tubes hang from the ceiling like lianas, circuit boards glimmer green like leaves, and yellow sensors blink from several components. Your own little ecosystem watches him dig into boxes of clutter to search for a jammer. Stars, he’s never known how you manage to find anything here. It’s probably best if he waits outside; he wouldn’t be able to find his own ship in here without you.

He’s turning to the door when the helmet’s light catches on a dark glint, like it reflected on a mirror. It stops him on his tracks. Din’s not sure what prompts his feet to carry him toward your worktable, where the mystery item lays center-front. He sees himself reflected on the dark T-visor. It’s a helmet. It’s a blue Mandalorian helmet.

At first he’s confused. Surprised to see a Mandalorian helmet here—and is it even a Madalorian helmet? Yes, yes it is. His brain lags behind his eyes, goes through different scenarios, each less likely than the last.

Is there another Mandalorian here? Did the Alor bring this? Is the Alor a client?

And then, truth.

It falls abruptly on his back like atmospheric pressure, gravity that crushes. A hot rush of blood enveloping his head, poisoning his thoughts, a ringing in his ears so sharp he thinks he might pass out. A million thoughts in less than a second—convoluted, scrambled, furious. Then an image, so clear that the Maker himself might’ve played it for him like a holo: Thieves, scammers, criminals scurrying through the tunnels of the Covert, the empty halls where his people built a refuge, where they could feel safe. The pile of beskar armor unguarded—the high price that brave Mandalorians paid to help Din, help the child—served in a silver platter for these scavengers, these fucking honorless lowlifes.

His gloved fingers grip your worktable so hard his knuckles might crack—or the table. But the Mandalorian can’t feel the pain on his joints, not when his bloodstream’s turned to acid, when it feels like somebody jammed live wires into his head.

This fucking place. This planet with its fucking people, their fucking cynicism, this fucking landfill for hazardous waste, this piece of shit skughole—

Above, the Mandalorian hears footsteps. Your footsteps. You.

He looks down at the helmet, the empty T-visor limp and black, dead. You did this. Thinking of you clears the red cloud from his mind, trades it for a gray one. A headache creeps behind his eyes, his shoulders go slack. He feels hollowed out. Like a spoon reached inside his chest and scooped away everything essential, left him a carcass. Like something died here today.

You did this.

And then the helmet is not a helmet, but a severed head. A head with a pool of blood around it, guts sprayed all over, and there’s the corrupt smell of blaster residue coming from his neighbor’s house, the taste of copper after biting his tongue running, the durasteel giants shooting red death, the deafening explosions, his parents’ screams, his school going up in a cloud of smoke, his father holding him, whispering one last sentence that he can’t hear through the sounds of war and carnage, his mother’s cheeks stained with tears and dirt and blood, their blurring faces, the darkness, the fear.

Holding the helmet, Din feels tears sting in the corners of his eyes, then hot on his cheeks. Nobody understands, why can’t anybody understand? The warrior that owned this helmet is lost forever, condemned to live like a phantom, empty without the Creed, without the Way. It’s worse than death. It’s the curse that most of the Covert was forced to carry, to walk this galaxy like living dead, violently stripped of everything that mattered. And the relic of their sacrifice sits in your workshop next to the rest of your junk, ready to be sold off to the highest bidder, somebody who’ll want to hang it in their wall like game they hunted, and how could you do this to him, how could you, how could you do this—

“Find anything yet?”

When the Mandalorian turns, his helmet’s white light locks you in place like quarry. Like guilty quarry.

You squint and raise a palm to shut out the bright beam. “Stars, Mando,” you laugh. “Are you trying to blind me? Turn that off.”

Your words are muffled by the rushing blood that wraps around his ears, loud as a waterfall, but he can understand them. The Mandalorian grips the helmet tighter between his hands and keeps the light on so you can see what he found, what he knows about you. The ugly, festered truth about you.

Once your eyes adjust to the bright light and they’re able to stay open for more than three seconds, you give him a quizzical look. The visor gives you nothing, so you drop your gaze to the hard evidence between his hands.

And you have the nerve to look even more surprised. Furrowed eyebrows and everything to add to the performance.

“Where did you get that?” you ask.

A thousand responses climb into his head in a savage, foul clutter, like army ants. I should ask you the same, where do you think?, how much are they giving you?, was it worth it?, what’s wrong with you?, what’s wrong with this fucking planet? He opens his mouth, but they swarm in his throat all at once and tie a knot around his windpipe. More tears on his cheeks, another attempt at words—nothing.

Finally, quietly: “How could you do this to me?”

The crease between your brows digs deeper, and there’s genuine worry in your eyes. Of course you’re worried, he just caught you red fucking handed. “Mando, I really don’t understand—”

“Me neither,” he hisses through his teeth, “because this is a Mandalorian helmet, and you’re no Mandalorian.” The first insect out, the rest follow like a waterfall, crawling out his mouth. “How long did you wait after I left to steal this from the Covert? An hour? Five minutes?”

Trapped under the light, where you can no longer hide in shadows, you look stricken. The harsh light shines on circles under your eyes, creases where you frown. Bleak features he never noticed before.

Your voice is low and icy when you say, “I never stole anything from the Covert.”

“Scavenge, loot, I don’t care what you people like to call it.” How could you, after everything, how could you.

“Listen to me,” you say steadily, but your eyes are hot coals and your jaw is set, your own anger rising. Good. Masks off. He wants to see who’s been hiding under his noses these nine days. All those fucking months. “I didn’t take a thing from the Covert. I have no idea where that helmet came from.”

The Mandalorian is barely listening. He’s heard more than enough lies for two lifetimes, he sure as fuck doesn’t need yours. Instead, he focuses on the one thought that manages to float in the red sea of anger and despair. He holds on to it like an anchor, clutches it until his palms bleed, but truth hurts.

“Duma.” He doesn’t ask this time around—he tells you. He knows and there’s nothing you can do about it—nothing he can do about it. Greef Karga’s words shine painful light on fog. Boiling beskar…did you take her up on that deal? “You’re selling it to her.”

“Stars, of course not.” The stoniness of your features melts for an instant, hurt revealed underneath those layers. You look devastated, tired. Maker, you’re good. Those hours of sabacc are sure paying off. “Why won’t you believe me?”

“How can I believe you?” he snarls, his head suffocating in dark quicksand—grief, anger, betrayal all clogging his nostrils, making his head throb. How could you how could you how could you. “When I know what type of people sprout from this planet, I make a living hunting them. I know you—” his voice breaks, but the words keep flowing and he hardly hears them “—I know the kind of company you keep, I know you have no principles, I know you can’t commit to shit—”

“Commit?” you snap, face hardening cold and twisted like the magma outside, but he knows too well what lies beneath the surface. Lava, hot and bubbling, your anger as raw as his. Rawer. “You wanna talk about commitment? I waited for you for five months!” The light from the helmet no longer makes you squint, but it turns your eyes red and watery. “You left. You left me here to starve through a fucking siege that you caused—”

“I came back for you!”

That gives you pause. Then you shake your head. “No, you came back because that piece of shit official asked—”

“He asked to meet me in Belderone.” Belderone, same sector as Nevarro, not even ten minutes away in hyperspace. “Told me Nevarro wasn’t safe because there was a siege, so I insisted we meet here.” The memory drains him. How worried he was about you, the type of worried that stirs bile in the stomach. How guilty he felt. “To see you again. Make sure you were okay.” The Mandalorian looks down at the helmet in his hands, a strange mirror staring up at him. Harsher than the one from this morning. His ears ring, his mouth tastes sour, his rising headache plateaus into an unbearable, incessant throb. A ghost limb aches somewhere in his body, all over it. He wants to leave your store, your planet.

How could you?

Mando doesn’t raise his head to look at you when he walks out the workshop. You don’t stop him when he reaches the main door. You don’t stop him when he walks out to the street.

The sky is jaundice-yellow when he steps outside. Gone are this morning’s blue hues, suffocated by the sickly coughing of a million volcanos, by their fumaroles and their sparks. For all the Mandalorian cares, this planet can burn.

On his way to the cantina to pick up the kid, he stares at the marker that identifies the entrance to the city: that crooked, arthritis-ridden arch. Beyond it, he spots the outline of a ship. A sleek civilian shuttle, probably a rental. The official isn’t stupid enough to fly a Republic starship past siege lines, so if the tiny shuttle fooled Guideon’s platoon in the atmosphere, well, it’ll have to do it again. Tomorrow, they’ll just have to tempt fate and avoid tempting the batallion of Imperial cruisers. Or fly out in the Crest and hope they can jump into hyperspace before imps pulverize them. All he wants is to put as many lightyears between him and this planet.

Din’s head pounds when he walks inside the cantina. The only thought hammering against his skull: How could you.

…………

Edit: Chapter 5…’tis the end

Taglist: @rosetophighlander @hellomothermoon @newyorksins @leo-moon @benedrylcumbersnatch @corrupt-fvcker @seratoninforyouseratoninforme @multifandomlife22 @justanotherblonde23 @abysshaven @equalstrashflavoredtrash @16boyfriends-and-me @ihaveashield @dinispunk @bananaagurl @mstgsmy @absurdthirst @cowboy-kylo @roxypeanut @heyitmelexie @readsalot73 @krazykatkay456 @elusive-danger-noodle @lola-wolf @nikkiparthena @lifeisapitch15 @teaofpeach @auty-ren @anewrule @hyp-oh-critical​ @pascaliprincess​ @geannad​ @coaaster​ @frietiemeloen​ @yourbucky084​ @brynnstudies​ @elfwoodfae​

im pretty sure i forgot someone so please message me if i did!

[adxmparriish]

everything he needs - read on ao3 track 3 of DEDICATED - a jurdannet roulette collab fic with @hazelsheartsworn @figonas @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @laequiem

SIDE A: TRACK ONE -> TRACK TWO -> TRACK FOUR -> TRACK FIVE SIDE B: TRACK ONE -> TRACK TWO -> TRACK THREE MASTERLIST

writer: lizziebxnnet words: 3.2k rating: explicit -> dom/sub undertones, light bondage, orgasm denial, overstimulation, cock ring

Instead of Faerie bowing to us both, I bow to her. I’m all too willing to oblige. All the anxiety I felt earlier, the rapid beating of my heart I so hated, is replaced by something else. Want, need, pleasure, pain… I am nothing but Jude’s. There is no more room in me for anything else. “Let’s play,” she says. Yes, my evil seductress, let’s play. I am your pawn.

tags and fic under the cut

I am edgy.

Anxiety rolls around inside me, a living monster with claws and fangs crawling beneath my skin.

It’s no secret that most days being High King brings me little joy. I’d much rather laze about, drink wine, kiss Jude until I’m senseless, or simply be. The duties, while not always unbearable, drive me over the edge more often than I’d like to admit.

As the moon rises and filters silver light into our chambers, I glance over to our bed. Jude, beautiful as ever, is draped over the sheets looking at me. There’s a glint in her deep brown eyes that scares and arouses me. Her grin is mischief reincarnated, and I stare back at her with intent. Adjusting the crown on my temples, I turn to face her completely.

“I think I’d rather be on the other end of your knife than deal with any of this,” I say.

“I’m inclined to agree,” she replies, flopping over to lay on her back. She still wears her silk nightgown, some flimsy black thing she purchased at the sex shop. The straps are barely there, and a low neckline leaves little to the imagination. It hardly covers the mocha skin of her thighs, although I can hardly complain. “How would you feel about… a little game?”

I raise a brow. “Should I be worried?”

“Of course not,” she says with a wink, rising from the bed and moving to the dresser. It does nothing to calm my anxieties.

She opens the first drawer, rifles through it, and then pulls out one of our new toys. In her other hand, she holds a remote. The skin of my face grows warm. She pads over and shows me what she has.

It’s a cock ring, but there’s a small attachment on the side of it. She flips a switch on it, then presses a button on the small black remote. Immediately, buzzing reaches my ears and the ring begins to vibrate. I reach out to touch it, feeling the vibrations under my fingertips. Jude looks up and when we meet gazes, I can feel her excitement thrumming through her.

The ravenous beast under my skin loosens its grip, and I find want growing in its place. Wanting her, wanting this, wanting to try something new. To be under Jude’s control would be the most wonderful of changes — a much-needed release from duties and being High King. I want to just be hers, to be Jude’s husband, her plaything. I smile at her, my beautifully wicked wife, and surrender to her.

Not bothering to wait for a second longer, she pops the buttons of my pants and yanks them down. I’m half hard already, the mere thought of what this day will bring exciting me. She sits our new toy on the floor beside her as she kneels in front of me. She scoots closer, then looks up to meet my eyes. I stare at her, transfixed by her beauty. Chestnut hair, long and lush, falls down past her shoulders. Her legs, so strong and powerful and covered in soft, tan skin, fold underneath her. Her hands, callused and sneaky, reach out and grip my cock. My breath hitches in my throat.

She strokes me lightly, teasing. I close my eyes and my head falls back, exposing my neck. When I feel the warm heat of her mouth on me, I gasp her name. Her plush lips swallow me down, her tongue tracing the line of a vein that runs down the shaft. I reach out to touch her, to twist her hair between my fingers, but she swats my hand away. She’s such a treacherous, wicked thing.

I feel a fire begin to burn in my belly, my release within reach, but as if she can read my mind, she stops. She pulls off with a pop, and I open my eyes to look down at her. She has the toy in one hand, my cock in the other. She strokes me a few times, then slides it over me, securing it at the base. The pressure is slight but still intense. She licks the tip, collecting a bit of come that has collected there. Damn the meetings, I think. Nothing is more important than this.

She presses a button on the remote, and I see white. The vibrations rattle through me, making me groan. Pleasure ripples in my blood, and then as soon as it begins, it stops. I don’t know if I’m relieved or aggravated. I glare at Jude, but she seems emotionless. I know better, though. I know she’s relishing in the game of her own creation.

She’s switched masks. She’s the same Jude, the same woman I love so dearly, but she is a different version. She’s always High Queen, but now she’s mine, and I am hers. Instead of Faerie bowing to us both, I bow to her. I’m all too willing to oblige. All the anxiety I felt earlier, the rapid beating of my heart I so hated, is replaced by something else. Want, need, pleasure, pain… I am nothing but Jude’s. There is no more room in me for anything else.

“Let’s play,” she says.

Yes, my evil seductress, let’s play. I am your pawn.

* * *

Sweat collects on my brow, and when the vibrations finally stop, I fear I might come purely from relief alone.

I look to Jude sitting beside me and notice the smallest of smiles playing at her lips. The Living Council is either clueless or pretending to be, and I’m not sure which is more ridiculous. I can feel the redness on my skin, and hear the panting breaths leaving my mouth. For more than an hour, I’ve sat in front of all of them and been brought to the brink of ecstasy more times than I can remember, only to be denied over and over again. I feel deranged, manic, unhinged. I want to come so badly that it is all I can think of. My hand longs to grab myself and rip off the wretched ring, but I don’t. I sit. I obey.

I know that, late into the night when Jude and I are in our chambers, I will be rewarded. It’s the only thing that keeps me grounded.

“I don’t think it’s wise to trifle with the Court of Teeth,” someone says, and I should know the voice but I don’t.

“High King? What do you suggest?” someone else questions me, and I turn my head to the sound.

As fleeting as a strike of lightning, the vibrations start again. I grip the table, knuckles going white, as sensations rock through me. My eyes are open but unseeing. I can hear nothing but blood rushing in my ears, the pounding of my pulse. I shiver as everything aches, my cock almost sore from being denied for so long. I think someone says my name, but I can’t respond. My normally sharp tongue denies me.

“Are you alright, darling?” Jude asks from next to me, her hand laying on my forearm, and I almost come undone. The mere touch of her fingers against my skin causes a cascade of feelings, all of which crash into me roughly.

The buzzing stops and I deflate, my breathing ragged and slow.

“I fear I am not, my Queen.” I look up and the entire table stares with looks of concern on their faces. My already warm face flushes darker, embarrassment flooding to the surface.

“Excuse us,” Jude says, gripping my arm and pulling me upright. “Cardan needs to lie down and rest.”

I can hear people bidding us farewell but I don’t look at them, don’t even acknowledge that they spoke. I am led forward by Jude’s firm grip and sure steps. All I know is her and my own desire that swims through my veins. We walk for what feels like hours but I’m sure is only minutes, and then we reach our chambers. When we’re inside, Jude makes quick work of my clothes, stripping me carefully. When my pants are off and thrown to the side, I look down.

My cock is bright red, almost angry. Jude’s hand grasps it and I choke on a moan, my hips bucking in her grip. She looks up at me in wonder.

“So good,” she says, stroking me twice before letting go. “My beautiful, obeying husband.”

I ache at her praise. She leads me to the bed and I fall on my back. Jude begins stripping her own clothes, but when she pulls off the belt holding up her trousers, she tosses it on the bed next to me. She climbs on, pushing my arms up to the headboard. Involuntarily, my hands grab the wooden bars.

Jude straddles me, her body completely naked now, and bends forward. If I tilt my head forward just a bit, I could capture a nipple in between my teeth. I don’t, though. In this game, I don’t touch unless Jude instructs me to do so.

“Remember our colors?” she asks, and I nod. It’d been the first thing we established when we uncovered this new world, this new game. Green for go, red for stop, yellow for let’s slow it down.

She takes the belt and wraps it around my hands, then the bars of the headboard, before fastening it and pulling it taut. I pull and nothing budges. Our eyes meet and the glimmer in hers captures me in a trance. She leans down and kisses me.

Her tongue traces my lip and I open to her immediately, letting her consume me. When she takes my bottom lip between her teeth, pulling gently, I melt into her touch. Her hands are in my hair, fingers tracing the sharp point of my ears. My tail thrashes, then wraps around her leg. The tuft on the end strokes her inner thigh, right below her core, and she gasps into my mouth. I breathe it in, bathe in it.

I cry out as the swell of her ass brushes against my cock, and it twitches, aching for release. Immediately she sits up, pulling away and denying me.

“Jude,” I beg, pulling at the belt that holds my wrists.

“What?”

“Take this damned ring off,” I demand. Her brows raise, and I know at once I’ve made a grave mistake.

Her strong, threatening hand grabs my throat and squeezes, just hard enough to catch my breath. My eyes widen, my arousal grows even more, and my hips undulate. I fight for some kind of release, some relief of the pressure and pain growing, and find nothing. The lack of oxygen makes my head spin, but I force my eyes to stay open.

Jude leans down, her lips brushing against my ear. “You, my dearest Cardan, are not in charge.”

She eases on my throat, releasing me. She traces the line of my jaw with her fingernail, slowly and carefully. I can’t tear my gaze away from her, not that I would want to. In her element, she is ethereal. I shrink under the power she holds in the palm of her hands.

“You want to come?” she asks. It feels like a trick question, but I nod regardless. She shakes her head, disapproving.

“Use your words.”

“Yes, my Queen,” I say.

“That,” she declares, “is too bad.”

Despite her words to me, she turns and reaches down, removing the ring. I groan at the small release. She shimmies back so her sex looms over me, and I lick my lips. She is dripping, heat radiating from it. Any other time, I’d lean forward and taste her, my tongue dipping between the folds. Instead, I wait, my cock practically pulsing as it aches between my legs.

The warmth of her mouth engulfs me and I groan, her name a curse on my tongue. My hands yank at the belt holding them, the leather digging into my skin. I feel crazed, so much pleasure and pain swimming together and making me drown. I can’t focus on anything except her mouth, her tongue, the slick of her core tantalizing as it hovers over my face.

She hums as one hand roams, pinching the skin of my thigh, and tears prick at my eyes. A shock runs through my system and it takes everything I have not to release into her mouth. I am dizzy with desire.

“Baby,” Jude murmurs against my cock, her tongue licking a long stripe, “taste me.”

Like a starving man at a feast, I don’t waste a single second.

I lick at her, tasting every sweet inch of her. It distracts me from the wicked ways of her mouth in the most pleasing way. She moans at my ministrations, her hips bucking when I catch her clit between my teeth lightly. I devour her, unable to satisfy the hunger growing inside me. She is a long drink of water after a hot day, and I am parched.

Every inch of me burns for her, and I feel my orgasm building in my spine again. I moan into her center as it climbs, higher and faster and stronger.

“Jude,” I plead, “I’m going to come.”

Her wet mouth moves away from me, and my eyes sting as I’m denied again, my climax crashing to a halt. Every part of me hurts, longing to release. I feel like a bow, stretched taut and thin. Tears leak from my eyes and through the mist, I can see Jude’s face hovering over me. I blink the wetness away, and her hands brush the tears from my cheeks.

“You’re doing so well,” she murmurs, kissing my face. I almost forget about my throbbing cock through the haze of her words, but it’s still there.

Jude places her hands on my chest and then lowers herself, her sex wrapping around me as she moves down. I whimper at the feel of her, so warm and tight and lovely. Her mouth hangs open at the sensation, and her eyelids flutter closed. Again, I am struck by her beauty. She is radiant as sweat curls the hair by her face, drips down her neck, and pools in the swell of her breasts. I long to reach up, to cup one in my palms, but the damned belt still holds my wrists. She opens her eyes when she’s fully seated.

She wastes no time. She bounces in earnest, taking me under her power even more than I already am. I buck my hips to meet hers. The sound of our skin slaps together, and it makes the sweetest song. She leans forward, changing the angle so I go deeper, and my eyes roll in the back of my head. Pleasure like I’ve never known rolls through me like a wave, and I make an embarrassing noise in the back of my throat. My mind is nothing but Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude. It recants through my brain like an enchantment.

“Jude please — “ I begin, but a moan cuts me off when she rolls her hips.

“Not yet,” she replies to me, already knowing my request. I slam my head back against the bed, jerking my wrists against the belt tying me down. I want to come so badly it blinds me, makes me crazy. I whine and Jude looks at me.

“Color, Cardan.”

“Green,” I say immediately, sure as ever. She denies me but I relish it. I will come with her permission or not at all.

She smiles at me, and I glow under her approval. I am nothing if not her servant.

“Harder,” she commands.

I plant my feet against the mattress and bend my hips, pounding into Jude with reckless abandon. She forgets herself, crying out and gripping my ribs. Her nails dig into my skin. She closes her eyes as I meet her, over and over, the slapping of our skin ringing through our room, although I can hardly hear it over the pounding of my heart.

“Cardan,” she shouts, throwing her head back, “Gods, you feel so good.”

“Fuck,” I chant, slowing down and fucking her slower, deeper, hammering into her so hard that it jolts her.

Finally, a sweet release comes as she fiddles with the belt, untying my hands. I immediately have one hand on her hip, the other at her clit. My thumb circles and flicks it, making her groan loudly. Her hips falter as her own release threatens to overcome her. If I can’t come, I’ll be sure she does.

I can tell she’s close. Her breaths are short, her eyes are closed, and her legs shake. I grip her hips and flip us over. I pull her close, letting her legs dangle over my shoulders, and take her roughly. I pick up the pace, grab her by the back of the neck and kiss her hungrily. It’s clashing tongues and teeth, but it drives me wild regardless. Her warm breaths tickle my lips as she pants, completely overwhelmed. I circle her clit with two fingers, and a throaty sound rips from her throat.

“Come for me Cardan,” she demands, meeting my thrusts with her own.

In an instant, my body responds to her command, and like a wave crashing on the shore, I come. My vision goes black, then I see stars. It’s blissful pain as it rocks through me and leaves me breathless, every inch of me completely spent. Jude, delirious all the same, follows me. Her hands grip my back, nails digging into my skin as she unravels. We moan into each other’s mouths, kissing until we’re dizzy with it. I fuck her through the aftershocks of our orgasms, then collapse against her.

I clutch her, desperate for her closeness. She returns the grip, pulling me into her chest. I nose her neck, leaving wet kisses down her pulse. She hums happily as I cradle her in my arms. She rubs my back gently, and when I roll us so my back hits the mattress, she lays her head on my chest.

When I push her damp hair from her forehead, she grabs my wrist. It’s red, lines from the belt creasing the skin. She kisses it, then grabs my other wrist and does the same. My heart, so often cold and hard, is warm. I touch her face, my thumb brushing the soft skin of her cheek. She smiles at me, and I can’t help but smile back.

“Your games are evil,” I say to her, making her smile wider. “Although I should have known. You’ve never been an innocent one.”

She laughs. “Neither have you.”

“I cannot argue with that.”

My fingers play in her hair, brush against her skin, and trace the round curve of her ear. Moonlight filters through our curtains and casts shadows across her face. We are both exhausted but I kiss her anyway, slow and sweet. She melts into it, wrapping her arms around my neck.

I love her, devastatingly so. Not telling her seems criminal.

“I love you, darling Jude.”

Her lips meet my jaw, and she kisses me there.

“I love you too,” she says.

As always, I wonder how I got so lucky to win her affections. When her fingers graze my neck, touching my pulse point, I realize for the first time, I don’t much care how we got here. What truly matters is that we are in this moment, basking in the love we’ve built. Whether I’m lucky or blessed, or somewhere in the middle — all of it fades to black in the warmth of Jude’s embrace.

.

.

.

.

.

@slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @figonas @laequiem @hazelsheartsworn @jurdannet @jurdannetrevels @thefolkofthefic @kingandfireheart

[solomonish]

My Personal Simeon Fall AU Headcanons

These are within the same realm of this fic - and it is intended as a Simeon x MC universe! These HCs will focus on his time in the Devildom rather than why he fell, but maybe that information will come eventually...

*some things regarding this war I keep mentioning may not be entirely clear - still working on that! However, I’ll try not to put out too much contradicting information, hehe!

WARNING: some angst, brief mention/implication of torture. forcibly removed memories.

First Days

He came to the devildom in a blaze, much like the brothers did, hurtling down like a shooting star. At the core, encasing him as his wings charred to soot, was a brilliant light blue, rimmed by a dazzling white and platinum gold. At his impact site, parts of the dirt and stone have crystallized in the same colors. The site is still roped off for investigation.

He fell, acting as a white flag for both sides to signal the end of a war very few people knew was raging. The impact sent the last of his holy energy into the surrounding area, and demons near the sight complained of itching and general irritation for weeks after.

The only people at the site who looked into his eyes when he struggled to get up were you, Diavolo, Barbatos, Lucifer, and Solomon. A few curious Devildom citizens were scattered about, too, but Diavolo's authoritative vibe kept them too far to see anything.

Diavolo and Barbtos kept him in one room in the castle as he adjusted to the sudden demonic energy inside him and learned to contain his wrath. You were allowed to see him, but only if supervised by Barbatos or Diavolo in case Simeon tried to hurt you.

He was despondent most of the time, sitting curled up and stiff in the middle of the bed that looked untouched. He spent days without sleep, simmering with rage. You never found out if he bottled it up or if he destroyed the room but Barbatos put it back together before you appeared.

(You might not ever learn that some of the methods Diavolo and Barbatos used to bring his memories back were...extreme. They had no intentions of torture or pain, but they desperately wanted to get to them if they could. That’s where his anger was used up - as he screamed out in agony, either from the extraction method or the feeling of having lost everything yet not quite grasping what that meant.)

Satan suggested books and sent some of his personal collection that helped him gather himself when he was created. Diavolo and Barbatos tried to jog his memories, both for personal reasons and to get information on the Celestial realm, but that was exactly why they were gone. His memories had been magically extracted, but haste made him forget most everything instead of just sensitive information regarding the realm.

Eventually, he was free to roam the garden and some hallways, and when Diavolo and Barbatos concluded that regaining his memories was impossible, he was housed.

Power & Standing

He was a powerful angel, so he is a powerful demon, yet not quite as powerful as the brothers.

Simeon, for the majority of the war, was fighting on the side of the Celestial Realm, so he's generally disliked among the citizens of the Devildom. Our cast are all weary around him for multiple reasons - aside from Satan, Beel, Solomon, and MC (obviously).

He isn't an official member of any student council or governing body, nor does he really have a final say in anything, but he does frequently act as an advisor of sorts. He tends to work with Barbatos on that front, discussing in the background anything that might need discussed or worked on separate from the brothers.

Simeon is a wrath demon, though the change in his temper is hardly noticeable at first. He resembles Lucifer in how strict he is, mostly when he is in charge of something, and his anger that releases when he isn't listened to mimics Satan's.

If they are near each other and angry about the same thing, Satan and Simeon can actually feed off of the other's anger and boost their power. Satan does NOT need the boost, but you bet he brings chaos and destruction tenfold is he has it. For Simeon, though, it practically puts him on par with some of the brothers, if only for a short while.

Socially, he is generally ignored, and nobody runs away from him if he initiates conversation - but he doesn't. Simeon turns into a bit of a loner, a large chunk of his personality and memories gone and replaced with anger.

He's still learning how to deal with it.

His demon form consists of black deer-like antlers (not small but just small enough to avoid being entirely cumbersome) and long wings with bone-tipped feathers. His wings are almost always folded against his back and hanging low, the dangling feathers reminiscent of his angelic cloak with the golden charms. He does have a little black deer tail but doesn't like it being commented on.

(Don't worry about aerodynamics or which animal he represents, it's a magical universe its fine uwu)

General Information

He lives in modest home on the outskirts of the Devildom, somewhat close to the castle in case there's some type of emergency that needs to be taken care of but not so close he gets a super nice house and causes some social uproar. He has a small yard and a garden he tends to meticulously.

I imagine the house as a sort of townhouse (although not a for real townhouse because its it's own thing), two stories tall. The downstairs has a small living room, kitchen and bathroom while the entire upstairs is an open bedroom/office type deal. It gives off a gothic cottage type of vibe. No idea if this is helpful so maybe one day I'll build it in the sims.

He keeps his house tidy but has many bookshelves filled with equal parts books and knickknacks.

As stated before, he is a wrath demon, and because of his memories being almost entirely erased, he had a similar fall and adjustment period as Satan. Also, as a writer, he has an intrinsic appreciation for books. He and Satan get along the most out of all the brothers - the fact that Lucifer has mixed (mostly negative)(?) feelings about Simeon makes the deal sweeter for Satan.

Beel doesn’t dislike him, and while he doesn’t trust Simeon yet he’s willing to see if Simeon is on their side now considering none of his family got hurt. Solomon still trusts him though, but he does get a little downtrodden when he has memories that Simeon doesn’t.

When angry, Simeon smiles sweetly but his voice turns dead cold. Whereas Satan goes feral and seeks destruction like a bomb, Simeon feels more like a sniper rifle that needs careful aim and precision with just as devastating consequences. Shouting and immediate carnage are rare and only come after a severe transgression.

Otherwise, Simeon allows himself to be more playful than before. He doesn’t exactly have snide remarks, but he is an expert at stating the truth in a way that feels like a blade cutting through your confidence.

In true "flaunt what ya got without really making it seem purposeful" Simeon fashion, he wears button-down shirts that are almost entirely unbuttoned. They are always patterned and funky, and he wears them tucked into black pants. I'm thinking something like this (he also has patterns that are more "groovy" than vacation)

Will also occasionally sport a deep v like this

He still acts just as naive and confused if you bring up how exposed he is to him, so its best just to suffer in silence.

When making a pact with MC, he makes sure the mark covers a scar he left and doesn't remember from the war on your shoulder. It feels like a longer-lasting apology.

He still calls you "little lamb," but instead of smiling gently at you like a loving shepherd, his smiles look like a predator baring his fangs at his prey. In a sweet way. In a hot way.

What Does He Remember?

At first, nothing. Demonic instinct claws at him and he lashes out at everyone and everything.

He is still a nightmare with technology. Nobody knows if this is residual from how he was before, a result of his memories being taken, or just a trick.

Occasionally, he’ll remember an inside joke, but only halfway. You’ll say something you don’t realize is from before, and he’ll laugh, almost like an impulse. But then his laugh trails off and he gets contemplative, wondering what, exactly, was so funny about it.

The brightness of the Celestial Realm is hard to forget. The rainbow framing the palace and vast fields appear in dreams. He never remembers anything ‘important,’ but it’s enough to remind him that he was discarded.

The Celestial War hasn’t gone away, not in its entirety. There are certain things like battle strategies that he can’t for the life of him conjure up in his mind, but he remembers the bulk of it. It helps him realize why some of the brothers were/are so aloof towards him - nothing was ever as simple as he thought it once to be. Fighting a losing battle isn’t a choice you make when its for love - its simply the only path available.

(Apologies are so, so hard to dish out when you can’t remember most of your transgressions, though.)

He remembers Luke and will worry himself to inconsolable tears at night just thinking about him. Those thrown away don’t get the privilege of knowing what happens to their friends - and even if he did, Simeon wouldn't be so stupid as to put a target on Luke's back by proving that he was still important to him.

But he can only remember Luke's terrified, teary eyes when he realized Simeon was going to turn on the Celestial Realm in the middle of a war, and how he pleaded with Simeon not to. Luke asked what he would do all by himself, and Simeon hopes to his Father for only one thing - that he figured it out.

This is his sore spot. Nobody is allowed to be privy to these thoughts, not even you. But some days he comes to RAD looking worse for wear and you KNOW something is bothering him. He'll just never tell you what.

[zellerysworld]

『 Comfort 』

Sukuna x F!Reader

Word count: 2.1k

Tags: Fluff???, Established Relationship, Angst, Mentions of death, self hate, and abuse, slightly insane reader, slightly soft Sukuna

A/N: Readers abilities are touching people to make them sleep, transfer memories, and see past (for those with DID, talk to the souls within the persons mind). She serves as a informant by going inside victims heads to look in their pasts for curses that were around them; informing her teammates of location and grade level. She can also gain powers from whomever she touches for a short period of time.

Ex: Sukuna can give Malevolent Shrine to her for battle, but after one use/within five minutes, it vanishes. If she uses powers that are harsh on her body, (domain expansions or strong cursed manipulation) she faints/gets nose bleeds.

Your feet dragged against the brutally cold floors of the first-year dormitories at Jujutsu Tech. Everything around you was dark, dim light being provided by the full moons reflection through the windows. The corridor felt like a never-ending strip as you silently sobbed under your h/c locks.

Today was… hard. Usually, you can handle the painful endeavors of reaching into the depths of stranger’s minds, but today was different. Todays victim was a young boy, not even a teen, who was abused by his own parents. When you grazed his swollen cheeks as he lied motionless on the floor, the fear he felt as his mother raised a hand to him engulfed your body. Then and there on the scene, you began to cry uncontrollably.

Doing the same thing every day, seeing the same pain in people’s memories, reliving all of their fears within seconds- it was beginning to rip your soul apart piece by piece. At first, it was manageable. However, over the past year of being at this damned jujutsu school, all you seem to feel is excruciating aches in both body and soul.

Recalling the child’s memories, you fell against the wall of the corridor while burying your tearstained face into the same shaking, gloved hands that touched him. Gojo Satoru picked you to be a student because of your “Stability”, yet you were turning into the opposite. The way you viewed death and the nature of It was what impressed Gojo and everyone around you the most, though you have never seen yourself as impressive. All you do is touch people and relay information, nothing too complicated, right?

A door creaked open after your fall emitted a loud thud in the room behind you. When you lifted your head to apologize, you noticed it was none other than Yuji Itadori- Sukuna’s vessel in other words. The young sorcerers’ eyes widened at seeing you in such a distraught state, hastily running over to you. Yuji scanned your body for wounds but was only able to find a pair of empty eyes. “Y/n? Are you alright? C’mon, lets get you to your room.” He scooped you into his arms, carrying you as a mother does with her sleeping child.

Yuji opened the door, gently placing you onto the silk sheets of the rooms bed as you silently cursed yourself for being so weak. The expression you bared made him pained, so he attempted to make you comfortable by taking your shoes off. After doing so, he sat to side of the bed. He held your shielded hand into his bare ones before recommending, “How about talking to Sukuna?”

Your voided eyes closed as you slouched into the headboard. Sukuna would be disappointed to see you in such a state, him possibly refusing to secretly work with you anymore if he saw this mess. Or even worse, he’d stop loving you. From that thought, your mind continued to spiral.

While stuck in your self-pity, Yuji was removing a glove from your hand. “Gojo makes you talk to Sukuna for information, but I know you enjoy talking to each other. He thinks about you a lot.”

Hearing Yuji’s words made your eyelids flash open like lightning as he removed the glove completely. Gojo assigned you to become an informant for him by touching Yuji to go into Sukuna’s domain, however that plan backfired. Overtime, you began to tell Gojo you couldn’t get anything from him, while secretly falling for and scheming with Sukuna. There was a pact made between the two of you: In exchange for touching Yuji to temporarily gain sukuna’s abilities, you must kill with those powers.

You grew to hate violence over the years; having seen multiple forms of it through people’s memories. But you made an exception, being that violence should be used against those who use violence with malicious intent. Although it is a bit of a hypocritical way to think.

When going out with Yuji and others, you take advantage of the surroundings by stalking your next prey. You do this by “accidentally” bumping into people on the streets and reading their memories to search for any abusers, cheaters, or murderers. Although you were technically a killer too, you knew one day you’d have to pay for your sins. Lately, that day seems to be snaking its way closer to you.

“Y/n?” Yuji questioned with a slight tilt of his head; his voice snapping you from your train of thought. Raising the hand he ungloved, the fingertip of your index finger tapped against his forehead. With the tap, his body relaxed before falling into a deep state of sleep. His head fell onto your lap, giving a perfect opening to use your ability. You took the smooth palm of your bare hand, and cupped Yuji’s jawline. This was how you opened communication into someone’s memories, or in this case, into someone’s personalities.

Although you were nervous to see what sukuna would think of you in such a ruined state, Yuji’s words made you feel relaxed. Sukuna was your partner after all, he should be able to see you like this. But then again, he was the king of curses, not just some human guy you picked up on a dating website. In the end though, your want of Sukuna’s comfort overlaps your fear.

Your eyelids shut, then reopened in a different place. It was still nighttime at this location, but it was not the physical world that humans are used to- even if it felt like it was. A vast plateau of flowers swayed in the man-made dream you were in. Constellations of multiple forms helped the moon light up the colorful night sky. The cool air caused you to slightly shiver as it brushed through the grass.

“Why did you bring me here, brat? I was sleepin’ on my throne.”

Sukuna’s rugged voice didn’t seem to faze you as you gazed upwards to the moon. Instead, it oddly comforted you. Although most are terrified of his presence alone, it did not budge your already cracking mind in any shape or form. It slightly annoyed Sukuna that he couldn’t scare you, but it felt comfort in knowing that there is at least one person in this world who doesn’t flinch at the sound of his name.

When you didn’t respond to his question, he lifted a brow in confusion. The robed man slowly stepped through the tall grass, his hands staying in his pockets of course. “Hey,” he started as his warm palm gripped your right shoulder, “Answer me.” His tone became serious, but if you squint, you can see the worry in it. The sound of your silence was so damn loud.

Sukuna jerked your shoulder, revealing your heartbroken expression to his red pupils. You leaned your head downwards, feeling embarrassed that he had to see you like this, but who else could you have gone to? “Yu-Yuji told me y-ou,” you hickuped while trying to speek, trying to hold back your tears from him, “He t-told me you… think about me.” Your tears looked like melting diamonds as they fell from under your locks and into the moonlight.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=3qrKjywjo7Q

(For those that want to feel the moment.)

He didn’t know what to feel, nor what to do, until you muttered out, “I’m sorry…”

In that moment, you felt your knees go weak. Your legs gave out, making you fall into the grass. Sukuna quickly grabbed your waist, falling into the grass with you as your cushion. He nuzzled his tattooed face against your puffy cheeks while whispering, “Show me what happened.”

You lifted a hand, cupping his jawline to open communication into his nervous system. Through the line, you showed him the memories you saw and how they hurt you. Sukuna couldn’t have been less fazed, seeing as he is the king of curses and was a mass murderer. But when he saw the expression you made when ripping your hand away from the boy, his spirit felt like a nail went through the center of it.

He sighed, moving loose hairs from your forehead so he could have a full look at your bloodshot eyes. Your e/c orbs told him how drained you were beginning to feel from the mortal world. He cooed, “I wish I wasn’t trapped in this brat. I would destroy the entire world for you, Y/n… You wouldn’t have to deal with any shitty pains like this.”

Sukuna hated everyone, except you. As the saying goes, Heroes would sacrifice you for the world, while villains would sacrifice the world for you. He enjoys telling himself the lie of “Y/n got on my good side”, but Sukuna always knew the truth of why he couldn’t help but care for you so much: You changed him. Out of billions of people just on this planet alone, you were the one to take his heart, mind, and philosophy and then mold it.

Killing was killing to Sukuna, and that’s all there was to it. But he found his goals shifting when he meant you. The insanity that filled your eyes as you’d hold a fresh blade against the neck of your enemies. Human or curse, it didn’t matter to you. Bad was bad, good was good; things were black and white to you as they were to him, but in a different manner. Your bravery was another factor to his care for you. The fact that you went unarmed into Yuji’s mind after he ate the finger just to get a view of Sukuna’s throne without any care for consequences was such a curious thing to him.

You both saw things the same way, yet not. The complexity of your careless philosophy was something to applaud in his eyes. But as you lay in your despair, Sukuna is grimly reminded you are still a human that must endure the torture that is a fleeting life. He wanted you to be a curse like him, enjoying the comfort of eternity in a paradise he could build for just the two of you.

But in the end, you were just a human. And although it sounds like something he is absolutely disgusted by, it’s not. If anything, the fact you are just a human girl catches him off guard even more. A human girl managed to move a god’s heart. A human girl somehow has the power to see people’s pain and was never moved until many years later. Sukuna didn’t know if he should have been happy or terrified to find someone like you.

His thoughts were cut off by the sound of your silent sobs, making him close his eyes in uneasiness. It took him a few minutes, but he soon realized what he could do to relieve your pains. He saw what you saw and felt what you felt, therefore he knew just how helpless and weak you were feeling. To him, you werent weak at all, and he needs you to see that.

“Y/n.”

Your crystalized eyes looked to his blood-colored ones.

“Let me show you what I see.” His voice was soft, yet still had a rugged tone to it.

He pulled you upwards, making you sit up across from him while waving grass continued to surround the two of you. Leaning into you, his forehead leaned on yours as you snaked a hand across his palm, entangling your wrist with his fingers. The hand you were snaking tightly gripped at your forearm before you gripped onto his. Using this technique is a more intimate way of opening a line of communication. Both of your eyes closed to open it completely.

In Sukuna’s memories, you view things how he views them and see things through his mindset. It felt like a wave of ease flow throughout your body as you became comforted in the way he sees you. Most of the moments you saw were when you would smile, fight, or annoy Sukuna in general. Which, by the way, you were the only person who could ever taunt Sukuna and live to see the sun rise.

When your eyes fluttered open, he felt your lashes against his skin. This prompted him to open his eyes as well, and he found a pleasant surprise upon opening them. “What?” You questioned with a hint of sass, feeling your tears dry as your aching mind became soothed. Sukuna smirked, enjoying seeing a temporary tint of red over your normally e/c orbs.

Usually, your eyes don’t change colors after a connection, so it struck him as pleasant while it lasted, “Nothing, you are just a giant ass baby.”

“Oh shut the fuck up. You are the same person who got mad and came out when I ate a croissant that was meant for yuji!”

“I can taste whatever this brat eats, you realize that right? Those butter ones are tasty…”

Your eyes reverted back to their normal state as you bickered with your partner in the moonlight lit field. While back in the physical world, Yuji was snoring away on your bed in a very unflattering position. Although you don’t get to see Sukuna in the physical world, you still find comfort in feeling his soul In the spiritual world.

⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈⥈

My request are open. <3

Edit: on my god thank you guys to much. ❤️❤️ I’m getting so many requests! I’ll start working on them when I get home from work today. They will be posted within 2-3 days because these requests are actually pretty good ones that are really long 😂. But my requests are still open so don’t be afraid to submit something!

[lordabovehelpme]

Tied to You - Bucky Barnes x Reader

For my lovely best friend. Happy birthday my dear, I hope you are having a wonderful morning and this puts a smile on your face. Trust me, it’s been hard to keep this a secret from you for so long, but I hope you enjoy. I love you, and I will see you later!!! 

Summary: You’re so happy to be standing before him, but something on his wrist brings you back to the very first time you met.

Warnings: f! reader, marriage

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Excitement sends thrills up and down your spine, tingling through your toes and pooling in your stomach. You clutch the simple bouquet between your hands tighter and take a deep breath, trying to calm your frantic nerves.

Finally, after what seems like both an eternity and a millisecond, the classic “here comes the bride” starts to echo. Taking one more quick breath, you let your shoulders relax and start to turn the corner.

There you emerge from behind the doors of the little church in Brooklyn. Family and friends stand as you start your descent down the aisle. You meant to smile at the crying relatives, to give them some sort of comfort, but you can’t take your eyes off of him.

He stands before the altar, adorned in a black suit with a black tie. His hands stay clasped before him, but his striking blue eyes meet your own. They soften at the sight of you and his shoulders slightly shift towards you.

However, once you offer him a small smile, his eyes rack down your form and back up before meeting your gaze again. Usually his gaze causes you to fluster and try to hide away, but today you stand tall as you approach him.

He offers you a hand as you climb the few steps and you gladly take it. Handing the beautiful bouquet to your maid of honor, you look down at your clasped hands.

No longer does he shy away from you touching the metal, and no longer do you hesitate.

But something catches your eye as you settle before him. Right there on his metal wrist is a bracelet of thread. The one you made him all those years ago; bright yellows and blues, with tan and green. They all compliment the vibranium perfectly.

The sentiment is overwhelming and a gasp gets caught in your throat. “You wore it.” Your voice is small and he doesn’t need clarification to know what has puzzled you.

“Of course I did, doll.”

***

He can’t take his eyes off you. There you sit with some older ladies, spools of brightly colored thread by your side as you try and explain how to make a bracelet.

“Yeah, you’re starting to get it, this just crosses over here… see?” You lean over and point at one ladys horrible excuse of a friendship bracelet. They all laugh at one another and point out each other's mistakes, but become very defensive when their own flaws are pointed out.

“You should go talk to her!” An elbow is pressed into his side and Yori smirks.

“No I should not.” His eyes snap to face the older man, but not even a second passes before they beg to find your form again.

“Why not? She’s not getting any younger, and neither are you.”

Bucky sighs, but a small smile breaks onto his lips. “Haha, very funny. But I don’t even know what to say.”

Yori shrugs his shoulders. “Flatter her, girls love that. Tell her you love her eyes, her lips, her hair. Anything.”

A scoff falls from his lips as his head shakes. “I’m not going to suck up to her in hopes of a date.”

Yori places his hands over his own and he offers a smile to the soldier. His long white eyebrows twitch in the classic sign that the next few words will be uncharacteristically wise. The older man's eyes meet blue eyes and he gestures for him to lean in. Bucky follows and leans his head down.

“You will.”

Before the words even process in his head, Yori has already walked off, laughing loud as he clutches a hand to his chest. Once again, Bucky shakes his head at his antics.

“No I won’t.” He utters under his breath, before walking over to your little circle of mischievous old ladies.

You look up at him and he swears he might legitimately melt. “Hi!” You offer him a smile and he is already making funeral plans in his head.

“Oh, uh, hi.” Subconsciously, his flesh hand finds itself on the back of his neck, trying to rub away his nerves.

“Can I help you?”

He swears in his head, what does he need? He needs you. But he can’t say that. Swearing again, he tries to think of anything that would make sense to a normal human being.

“Yeah, I…” His eyes flicker around and land on one ladies bracelet. “I wanted to make a bracelet.”

Well great. Now he’s done it. He must look like the biggest dork in history. What was he thinking? Why couldn’t he just admire you from afar?

“Oh.” You genuinely look surprised. “Of course!” A wide smile breaks onto your face and you pat the empty seat next to you. “Come sit down and we’ll get you some thread.”

He can hear Yori’s laugh from the opposing corner. But, he follows your command and takes a seat next to you. Blue eyes follow your movements as you reach for a plastic container holding an entire rainbow of thread.

“So, what color are you thinking?”

He gives the rainbow one good look before sighing. “I don’t know.” You look at him as he offers a small awkward smile.

“Oh, okay. Well… do you know what type of bracelet you want?”

His fingers anxiously pick at the hem of his jacket. Shaking his head he murmurs, “Sorry, I know nothing about thread.”

Things seem to click in your mind that he has literally no idea about this stuff because you smile and slightly laugh. “Ahh, I see. That’s alright! Do you want me to choose some colors for you?”

His stomach flutters and he smiles at your soft laugh. “Yeah, doll, that would be nice.” The pet name slipped before he could even dream of stopping it. Once again, a long, loud, strand of curse words flood his mind.

Your movements stop, but quickly resume. In fact, you were so fast he’s not even sure you caught his slip. He watches with quizzical eyes as you pull brightly colored threads and measure them with your arms. Your fingertips move with ease as they tie the strands together and then hold it out to him. He reaches out and purposefully slides his fingers over your own.

“H-” your voice breaks out suddenly and he just smiles as you slightly fluster, clearing your throat you continue, “Here you go.”

He throws you a smirk and takes them from you. But then his plan of seduction hastingly halts when he realizes he has no idea what to do with the strands. So he just lets his hands rest in his lap as he stares down at the colorful strands.

“Do you need help?” You ask.

His head slowly tilts to meet your gaze and soft smile. He swears his heart stopped. Taking a gulp he prays you don't notice, he offers you a smile back. “Umm yeah.”

You scootch your chair next to his and reach over to grab the thread. Now he knows his heart stopped. You start explaining how to start a simple design but he can’t focus.

He means to focus, he wants to focus, but the smell of your shampoo wafts to his nose and makes his breaths longer. The subtle heat flowing from your skin to his where your arms slightly touch makes him want to close his eyes and lean in further to your touch.

“Are you paying attention?”

His eyes shoot open and heat rises to his cheeks. “Yes!”

One of your eyebrows twitch and amusement twinkles behind your eyes, but you continue where you stopped. He forces himself to listen and not be distracted any longer.

After about an hour of small talk and you helping him, finally the bracelet is long enough to tie off. Everytime your hand brushed his heart would skip a beat.

Now you tie the bracelet onto his wrist and cut the long ends. “There!” You smile at him and he nearly melts into a puddle beneath your feet.

“Thanks doll.” This time he doesn’t miss the way your body slightly stiffens and your eyes widen a tad.

“Umm, yeah.” You clasp your hands before you and open your mouth, but before you can say anything the older ladies call for you that they need your immediate help. You give him an apologetic smile, “Sorry, I have to go, but it was nice to meet you…” trailing off when you realize you don’t know his name.

“Bucky.”

Nodding at him, your smile widens from remorseful to joy. “Bucky, it was nice to meet you.”

He watches as you walk away, laughing and giggling with the old ladies. “You too doll, you too.” Little did you know, but you walked off right with his heart. The once stone cold piece of meat, now fluttering and happily beating beneath your gaze and care. And for the last time that day another flood of curse words plagued his mind.

***

His hands squeeze your own and he takes a deep breath, blue eyes meeting your own. The bright bracelet proudly on display for anyone to see.

“Doll, there were many times I was lost and you found me. There were days which were heavy, and you picked me up and lightened my heart. Through it all, you were always there for me.”

His voice wavers a little and you can’t deny the water pooling at the corners of your eyes.

“And I know that will never change. I promise to love you as you are and to respect our differences while still supporting and encouraging you. Whatever the future holds, know that I will stand by you and love you. Through pain and passion, sorrow and hope. Through death and through life I will love you. Everyday and with whatever we face I promise to love you because I am tied to you.”

You have to drop one of his hands to wipe away your tears as you smile up at him. Then you say your own vows. And finally after the classic I do’s, the officiant says, “You may now kiss your bride.”

The two of you lock eyes before he swoops down and captures your lips within his own. One of his hands wraps around your waist and holds you steady. The crow erupts in shouts and glee for the two of you but neither of you care. He leans back and you both just smile at one another for a while, both holding the widest grins you have ever had in your entire life.

“I love you.” He says.

“I love you too.” You say back.

Later in the night, as the two of you sway, your arms wrapped around his shoulders and head on his chest, the final words in his vow finally make sense. You play with the string bracelet on his wrist.

“Tied to you huh? You were proud of that one, weren’t you?”

He chuckles and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Was it obvious?”

“Dork.”

He smiles. “But I’m your dork.”

“Oh my god!” You sigh, “James Buchanan Barnes,” landing a poke to his chest to emphasize your point, “you are the most cheesiest, handsomest, loveable dork out there.” You stand on your tiptoes to catch a kiss from him. “And you're all mine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yes yes, I know. “Lordy what the heck? Why are you writing for Bucky?” Well this is a birthday gift for my friend who loves Bucky, so yeah. 

Disclaimer!!! I will not write for Bucky normally!!! This was purely a gift!!!

But please, if you liked it, consider reblogging or leaving a comment, I love hearing what you all have to say! (And maybe y’all can convince me to write for him more. Idk, I’m not promising anything.) 

Love, Lordy :) 

Masterlist

Everything tags: @jedi-jesi​ @along-the-lines-of-space​ @madsvano4 @golfmarshal​

If you want to be added/removed from my taglist- please fill out the form below or just give me a holler! :) 

Taglist Form 

[mochiusagifanficchaos]

Gabriel x Reader lemon/smut •Let me heal you•

Warning: adult content

It was one of those nights after a long hunt at the bar again.

Tired you sipped at the cocktail in front of you.

Hunts had been much easier with the Winchester brothers but you had to go your way, didn't want to play the little girl who needs to be protected anymore, so you left.

Sometimes you still wished you haven't but this was your life now, alone on the road.

You were so deep in thoughts that you didn't notice that a man sat beside you and watched you with an amused smile.

"Well if this isn't (y/n).", he said and you jumped in surprise.

The man with the golden brown hair and whiskey-colored eyes grinned at you. He was wearing a white collared shirt and the first buttons of it had been left open.

You knew him from the time with the Winchesters and even so, they didn't quite like him, you had come along with him pretty well.

"Gabriel!", you shout happily, placing the cocktail glass in your hand back on the counter.

"Long time not seen, cupcake.", he said and gave you a peck on the cheek. "So, I heard you finally left the brothers?"

"I wanted to go my own way.", you admitted. "Why are you here?"

"I was bored and wanted to pick some girls up.", Gabriel wiggled his eyebrows and you rolled your eyes as a response.

"You haven't changed at all.", chuckling you pushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

"And you're still as beautiful as always."

You blushed slightly: "Oh shut it! You're too cheesy."

Gabriel just smirked at you, but his smile faded as he noticed a big red cut on your neck which disappeared under your black t-shirt that your hair had been hiding.

"What happened with your neck?", he asked with a worried tone in his voice and pushed some more of your hair back to get a better look at the wound.

"Just some stupid werewolves.", you lied. "But I got rid of them, don't worry."

It had been an Angel who had tortured you with his angel blade. He wanted to know where Gabriel is but you couldn't tell him and even if you had known where he was your mouth would have stayed shut.

After over a week he finally let you go but you had cuts all over your body now, not to speak about the psychical damage he had done.

"You are lying.", Gabriel stated with an angry voice and you felt caught.

"I-I am not.", you tried to sound as convincing as you could but the look in his eyes showed you that he already knew what had happened.

Suddenly you felt dizzy and the next moment you blinked you were in a different room, sitting on a soft sofa.

Gabriel was kneeling in front of you:

"You can't lie to me. I can read your thoughts if I want to."

Awkwardly you looked down at your feed: "...Right. I'm sorry."

"I can't believe my brothers did this. I'm sorry, (y/n).", he said with a guilty voice. "How bad is it? Let me see, I'll heal you."

You hesitated for a moment but then pulled your shirt up and undressed in front of him.

He had healed you often back then and saw you in your underwear multiple times already so it wasn't such a big deal to you anymore but it still embarrassed you.

With red cheeks, you tried to cover yourself up.

Gabriel admired you and your body, he always had, and sometimes he even had found it hard to keep his hands by himself when he healed you but today he just felt pain as he looked at you.

You've gotten skinnier and all those red cuts over your body made him feel guilty. After all, this just happened because of him.

"I'm so sorry...", he apologized again and pulled you into a tight hug, laying his chin on your head.

"It's not your fault, Gabriel. Stop apologizing and heal me already.", you said with a soft chuckle on your lips, trying to overact the embarrassing and sad situation.

With one quick movement, he lifted you and sat you down on a big wooden table next to the sofa.

Carefully he caressed over the wound on your neck with his fingers and followed it to your shoulder, letting it fade away.

You first flinched at his touch and the stinging sensation but quickly got used to it and started to enjoy the feeling of his fingers stroking over your body.

You had to admit that you had missed this.

His hand slide over a cut on your stomach and you watched his face, his eyes shining blue for a short moment whenever he touched a new wound, making it fade away.

Melting into his touch you closed your eyes.

Suddenly his hand wandered over a scar that went from your hips to the inner side of your thigh and you sharply sucked some air in, gasping at the sensation.

Puzzled he looked up at you and locked his eyes with yours.

You blushed furiously and wanted to look away but his whiskey-colored eyes hypnotized you in a way you couldn't explain.

It seemed like he was searching for something in your eyes and your thoughts went crazy about the intense gaze he gave you.

It seemed like he had found what he had searched for because his mouth formed a little grin before he leaned forward and pressed his lips onto yours, kissing you softly.

Surprised about his action it took you a moment to return the kiss.

But the moment you did he grabbed your thighs and pulled you closer, deepening it.

A small moan escaped your mouth. Gabriel chuckled: "I wanted to do this for such a long time, cupcake."

A shy smile crept on your lips and Gabriel started to travel his kisses down your neck, his hand wandering behind you, softly pulling at your hair.

Your hands clenched into his shirt as he sucked at your neck, having found your weak spot.

Slowly he grazed more kisses down your shoulder, healing cuts on his way until his lips met the hem of your bra.

Before he could take it off you took his face between your small hands and kissed him harshly, swinging your legs around his waist and pulling him closer. You could feel his hard member and rubbed yourself against him. A low groan came from his throat and the next moment, he pushed you backward.

You expected to fall on the hard desk but instead fell on a soft mattress.

That little jackass had shifted you both again.

His lips crashed onto yours and his hand wandered down your stomach to your panties, rubbing you through the thin fabric while his other hand pinned you down by your wrist above your head.

"I'm not a little jackass.", he growled against your lips before he attacked your neck again and trailed down to your breasts. With one finger snap your underwear was gone.

You hissed as you felt his hot breath over your breast and your eyes fluttered shut as he licked over them, before sucking at your nipple.

His free hand caressed your inner thigh, slowly moving closer to your faults before he slipped between them, massaging your clit.

Moaning you arched your back, overwhelmed by his touch.

Gabriel loved the view of you being a moaning mess underneath him.

He had pictured you in his lonely nights like this so often and finally, you were his. 

Without a warning, he pushed a finger inside of you and scratched your walls.

He added a second finger and your hips bucked against his hand as he found your spot, asking for more, moaning and wriggling under his touch.

His lips left your breast and found your mouth again, kissing you roughly, muffling your moans.

Suddenly he pulled away from you and started to slowly unbutton his shirt, never breaking eye contact with you. Once his shirt was open he teasingly slowly unbuckled his belt and let his trousers slide down his legs, smirking as he watched the growing desire in your eyes.

As soon as his boxers followed his jeans you yanked your hands forward and grabbed him by his open shirt, pulling him back on top of you and kissing him while tangling your fingers in his golden brown locks.

A little off-guard about your sudden action he nearly forgot to kiss back.

His member rubbed your faults and a wave of heat rushed through your body.

You felt him position himself at your entrance before he pushed inside of you, carefully and slowly, giving you time to adjust to his size.

You whimpered, his golden eyes stared into yours, wanting to make sure that everything was okay.

Soon the pain was fading into pleasure and his slow thrusts became faster and harder.

His hands found your waist, and he grasped it tight while pounding inside of you, hitting your sweet spot over and over again, making you cry out and arching your back.

Gabriel leaned down to you, his lips only millimeters away from yours, too occupied to actually kiss you.

You felt the knot inside of you tightening with every thrust and you clenched onto Gabriel's shoulders, digging your nails in his skin. Moaning and whimpering you threw your head back as the knot burst and the overwhelming feeling of your orgasm rushed over you.

He groaned, your walls tightening around him bringing him further to his own climax.

His thrusts got sloppy and his breath shorter until he released himself inside of you with one last hard thrust.

Exhausted he let himself fall on top of you, burying you underneath him.

"Looks like I still picked a girl up tonight.", he said proudly and you could feel the vibrating of his chuckle.

Snickering you pushed him down from you and gave him a quick kiss.   "Took you long enough.", you whispered and cuddled to his chest...

I'm not really used to writing smut, I hope it's not too cringe haha

But anyway, I hope you enjoyed this story!

Let me know if you did and much love from a certain archangel to you ❤

[freakynct]

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: sub college student!yangyang, mentions of bullying, slight angst, oral sex, very slight mommy kink, fingering, pegging, praising, slight degradation

"hey beautiful, looking real good today." yangyang said, chuckling along with his asshole group of friends while eyeing you down as he passed by you in the hall. you never understood why he wanted to be associated with people like that, going around pretending like he only had two brain cells. you knew him since middle school. you grew up in the same neighbourhood and everyone saw him as the sweet cute kid that always helped and befriended everybody. because he really was. but once he got into college everything changed. you guessed the pressure of wanting to fit in and being afraid of getting left out scared him and he felt like he had to mold to the likings of the college assholes to be somebody. but you knew better. you knew who he really was and you were the only person he could not fool. and all thanks to the tutoring lessons you gave him in algebra. he could be as much of an asshole as he wanted on campus but once he was inside your dorm, you made the rules. and that cheesy line from earlier would serve him right tonight.

you looked at the clock, marking a quarter past six. normally at this time your roommate would be studying in the library, which would give you some privacy for yangyang's tutoring lesson. and only a couple minutes later, there he was knocking on the door. you opened up, revealing a wet haired yangyang, fresh from the shower, carrying his basketball equipment bag on his shoulder still.

"you're late." you simply said as he kept his head low, his wet bangs dangling over his forehead and hiding his eyes under them. 

"practice ran late. not my fault." you liked this. he was still trying to put up a front and act tough.

"just come in." you stepped aside, letting him enter your room and set his things on the bed. now that he was standing a little further away you could take a closer look at him. he wore baggy basketball shorts with an oversized sweater that gave him the cutest sweater paws, white ankle socks and his black and white skechers d'lites. you never got tired of seeing him wearing this. it was in fact your favorite outfit on him, made him look even tinier.

"brought your books?" you asked, setting yours on your desk as yangyang sat on your bed.

"mhm." was all he murmured as he unpacked his books from his backpack. you chuckled at his behavior, stepping closer to him slowly, watching as he followed your footsteps with his eyes, his body frozen in place until you were standing right in front of him and that's when his head lifted up carefully, his big shiny eyes looking up at you in a mix of confusion and neediness.

"i liked that line you used this morning. very charming." you smirked, watching him quickly look away but being stopped by your hand on his chin, squeezing his cheeks together and forcing him to look at you. "what is it? you're getting shy now, xiao yang (little sheep)? you were so confident with your friends, what happened?" you could see the red tone building up on his cheeks and even though you were holding his head in place, his eyes still couldn't look at you, wandering around the room and shyly avoiding eye contact. you chuckled, finally letting go of his chin and dropping to your knees so you could be at the same level with him. your hands slowly raised up his thighs and you felt him squirm and shiver, noticing how his eyes would look down at you and immediately drive away as soon as you made eye contact, his bangs still hanging freely on his forehead.

"can we start studying?" he mumbled, almost inaudible if the room wasn't so quiet, his stare fixed on the dark wooden floor.

"well that's a first." you answered surprised, your fingers dipping under his shorts and caressing his thighs. "you always prefer to do something else. what's wrong, xiao yang?" you cooed at him sweetly but was caught by surprise when yangyang suddenly moved your hands away, getting up more quickly than you could react.

"can you stop? lets just study, ok?" you could tell that he was angry but his voice was weak, almost breaking at the last part and you realized that he was on the verge of tears. your heart ached inside your chest and this was the first time that you didn't know what to do. he stood by your desk with his back turned to you, flipping the pages of the algebra book as if looking for something but only paying attention to not letting you see how red his eyes were turning.

"yang..." you softly called out, getting up and walking slowly towards him. "really, what happened?" you didn't dare touch him or come any nearer, afraid that it would only make him more upset.

"it's just... it doesn't matter what i do, it's never good enough." his voice trembled and you saw the wet mark on the white page where his tear had landed and suddenly you felt like crying too. "i'll never be one of them." he sniffed, his finger nervously playing with the edge of the page.

"what did those jerks do?" this time you moved forward, placing your hand on the back of his head and gently caressing his hair while you stood by him, your eyes trying to read any facial expression from him. he stood quiet, a knot forming on his throat and all he could do was stare at the useless book in front of him. "yang... have they been bullying you?" you tried to be as gentle as possible, your hand sliding down his neck and your thumb caressing his cheek lightly, not letting another tear fall from his face. he just nodded at your statement and you sighed. it was as if you could feel his pain and nothing could hurt you more than that. "xiao yang, look at me please." you asked softly, drawing him closer to you, his red shiny eyes looking shyly at you. "you're so special. and sweet... so sweet." you whispered the last word, yangyang's eyes closing as he felt your hands gently grabbing the sides of his face and the tip of your nose touching his. "they don't deserve a boy like you." his warm breath made you feel at home and you felt him relaxing under your touch, placing his hands shyly over your waist. not another word had to be said as your lips softly touched each other, feeling each other's presence before connecting in a passionate yet slow kiss.

as you moved away you saw his eyes sparkling back at you, this time not from his tears but from excitement. "please." he whispered, his head leaning forward in search of your lips again but you just gave him a warm smile, your hand coming up to run through his brown hair.

"are you sure? don't want you to feel like we have to do anything." you reassured him but he just moved closer, his arms tightening around your body and his head nodding softly.

"yes... i really want you... please." his words were getting desperate and you could feel his fingers pressing harder over your waist in anticipation. if it was any other day you would’ve teased him for longer but after what he had told you, you decided he deserved to get exactly what he was asking for so sweetly. 

“come here.” you smiled warmly at him, taking his half covered hand in yours and pulling him gently towards your bed, inviting him to sit on it. in just a matter of seconds you were both back in the position from earlier, yangyang sitting shyly on your bed as you kneeled in front of him, your hands caressing his thighs as his eyes wandered in excitement. 

you chuckled as he reached down to kiss you one more time and you loved how desperate he gets when you touch him and the deceiving innocent look on his eyes that makes the little puddle on your panties grow.

"what if we try something new today?" you smirked up at him, your fingers slowly wandering under the hem of his basketball shorts, feeling his thighs tensing up at the question. 

"uhm, like what?" his voice was unsure but deep down he was just as curious to find out what you had in mind. 

you dragged your hands over his stomach and chest until you reached his neck, cupping his face with both of your hands, and you noticed how his breathing got heavier as you moved your face closer to his. "have you ever been fucked, xiao yang?" you couldn't help but chuckle as you felt his cheeks burning up under your palms and his eyes immediately trying to avoid yours. 

"y-yes, you do it all the time." his voice came out as nothing more than a whisper and you held his chin in your hand, prompting him to look at you. 

"no yang, not like that. i mean, actually being fucked." you raised your eyebrows in a playful way and even yangyang couldn't help but smirk at your comment, chuckling softly as his cheeks turned a bright red color. 

"oh… in that case no, i haven't." you bit your lip in excitement, he looked so cute like this in front of you, the tips of his bangs still wet and sitting shyly on your bed, at your mercy. you could tell he was a bit nervous but he was intrigued by your idea. 

"do you want to?" you asked as your thumb slowly ran over his bottom lip, always so soft, and you had to fight against the urge to kiss him. he hesitantly looked at you and nodded his head softly. “you know nothing happens if you don’t use your words.” you said as you moved your thumb to caress his burning cheek.

“i want to.” it was his turn to bite his lip but this time more in nervousness than in excitement. “do you think it’s gonna hurt?” his fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shorts as he looked down but you were quicker to hold his head up.

“you know i would never hurt you, xiao yang. and we can stop whenever you want to.” you lifted yourself from the ground a little, planting a sweet kiss on his lips before looking in his eyes and murmuring “but something tells me you’re gonna love it.”

you smirked as you stepped away from him, leaving yangyang with his mouth slightly open examining your next move. 

“take your clothes off baby.” you said as you moved closer to one of your drawers, shuffling between your clothes as you heard yangyang behind you quietly removing his clothes as you asked. you turned around to be met by a half clothed yangyang, patiently sitting in your bed waiting for you, his hair all messy from undressing. “are you getting shy now? i meant all your clothes.” you chuckled as you slowly moved closer to him again. “or are you leaving that part to me, hm?” as he was about to answer your question, he was quickly distracted by what you held in your hand.

“is- is that a strap-on?” he almost whispered the last word as if it was a sin to say it out loud and you couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh at his innocence.

“of course. how do you pretend me to fuck you? i don’t have one of my own.” you chuckled and you watched as his cheeks returned to the bright red color that suited him so well.

“lock the door.” he quickly said, almost startling you and you rolled your eyes as you placed the strap-on next to him on the bed and walked to the door to do as he asked.

“you can relax yang, i already told you we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” you explained softly to him as you stepped in front of him again, smirking as you noticed the little bump under his underwear. “but it looks like you’re enjoying it already.” you smirked and as soon as he realized what you meant, his hands moved as fast as light to cover the evidence of his excitement, causing you to laugh.

“no one can know about this, ok?” he warned as he watched you start to strip away from your clothes until you were standing naked.

“why? are you scared your friends will make fun of you for liking to be fucked like a little slut?” you chuckled as he let his bangs cover the clear look of lust in his face but the growing boner inside his boxers gave everything away. 

before he could even say anything you moved to straddle his lap, your lips finding his in a passionate and intense kiss as if you hadn’t done it in a really long time. his hands shyly touched your thighs, his fingers although warm creating shivers down your body. his lips slipped from yours, hungrily kissing the skin of your neck, down to your collarbones until you were feeling his warm tongue evolving one of your nipples, sucking it in his mouth. you couldn’t help but roll your eyes back as your fingers intertwined with the freshly washed locks of his hair.

“hm, you’re such a good boy, i don’t even have to tell you what to do, do i?” he only hummed in response, too fixated on your breasts and how good they felt in his mouth. he had been thinking about this exact moment since last week when you were still in spring break but his mom had insisted he invited you over to his house to study but it’s needless to say you both ended up fucking in his childhood bedroom instead. his poor mom is probably still wondering how her son’s grades are still  so low when you two join up to study so much.

“i missed you so much.” he gasped as he finally let go of your nipple to look up to you, lips just as rosy and plump as his cheeks.

“i know you did xiao yang.” you pulled him in for a kiss before you stood up to grab the strap-on that patiently waited next to both of you. “and we’re gonna have so much fun, aren't we?” you smirked as you put it on, yangyang following your every move with his eyes and you were caught by surprise when you saw him falling to his knees in front of you, his eyes big and shiny and his tongue running through his lips. “what is it baby? you wanna suck it?” 

“yes please.” nothing could sound sweeter than yangyang begging and how could you say no when he’s kneeling so pretty in front of you. you didn’t need much convincing and he didn’t give you much time either as he stepped forward, his tongue shyly catching the tip of the strap-on, sucking it into his mouth and it didn’t take much time for him to have more and more of it inside is mouth, his cute little eyes fluttering shut as he tasted it and as your hand locked in his hair once again, incentivizing him to continue.

“i didn’t know you liked sucking dick this much.” you said biting your lip and you watched as his eyes opened for a little bit and he let the dildo slide away from his mouth.

“i like it when it’s yours mommy.” it wasn’t exaggerating to say that those words almost made you cum right there. he always had an impact on you that you couldn’t explain and before you could say anything in return he was back to wrapping his lips around the strap-on.

you let him have his fun for a few more minutes until you were pulling his hair back, ripping a whine out of him as the dildo fell from his mouth, a string of spit still attached to his bottom lip. you looked down and you chuckled as you noticed the little wet stain in his boxers.

“is that all excitement xiao yang? i bet you can’t wait to be fucked.” you helped him get up and moved him to the bed, laying him down gently as you kissed his now wet lips. you couldn’t help but move your hands down his torso until you were palming his boner over his underwear, causing him to softly moan against your mouth. “i think it’s my turn.” you smirked and lowered yourself, hooking your fingers on the hem of his boxers and pulling them down slowly, his cock hard and leaking pre cum. he had the prettiest cock you had ever seen. 

yangyang’s eyes rolled back and he let out the cutest moan as soon as you wrapped your lips around him, bobbing your head slowly and swarling your tongue around the tip of his cock. you watched him try to grab to the sheets as he moaned softly, his eyes closed shut and his chest rising up and down heavily as you felt the pre cum leak more and more onto your tongue.

“i’m not gonna last like this.” he moaned out, his hand weakly trying to grab you to stop you but he was way too out of it to do anything and you gave him a last suck before taking his cock from your mouth, watching it glisten against his tummy.

“i’ve barely started.” you said before reaching over to your bedside table, opening the drawer and taking out a small bottle of lube. as you leaned over him again you saw him biting on his bottom lip hard, his eyes wandering between the bottle in your hand and the strap-on you had attached to you. you ran your nails softly over his thighs, his cock twitching at the touch and you chuckled. “lift up your legs, xiao yang.” and you didn’t need to ask him twice as he eagerly lifted them, giving you a full view of his ass. 

you opened the bottle, letting some of the thick liquid fall over your fingers. you heard him hiss as you slowly rubbed the lub on him.

“is it cold?” you chuckled and he resorted to nodding his head, biting his bottom lip and letting his head fall back and sighing as you slowly started easing a finger inside him. 

“you think you can do two?” you asked and he quickly nodded his head again causing you to smirk at his eagerness. you slid a second finger in and this time yangyang could not hold a moan that sweetly fell from his lips. “that’s my good boy.” you cooed as you started moving your fingers slowly inside him, stretching him out and preparing him for what was coming next. 

you watched as the pre cum dripped from the tip of his cock and stuck to his bare tummy and you suddenly had the urge to have him in your mouth again but this time you had to focus on something else. he whined as you retracted your fingers from him and you grabbed the small bottle again, this time letting the liquid fall on top of the strap-on and you used your hand to spread it all over it. you lowered your body down and gave yangyang something he was craving so much since the beginning, evolving your lips with his in a intense and wet kiss, noticing how his breathing picked up pace.

“you think you’re ready baby?” you asked softly as you stared into his eyes and you couldn’t help but melt at the sweet smile he gave you, murmuring a small “yes”. god he was so cute, you couldn’t wait to destroy him.

you gave him one last kiss before positioning the tip of your strap-on at his entrance and slowly starting to make your way in. you could see his chest moving up and down as his breathing got heavy and his hands trapping the fabric of the sheets between his fingers. you gave him a moment to adjust to the new object inside him before starting moving at a slow pace, examining his every expression to make sure you were not hurting him but he was always so good for you and you weren’t surprised at how well he was taking your cock. eventually small moans started falling from his soft lips that he couldn’t hold back anymore, his head thrown back and small little droplets of sweat starting to form on his forehead and neck. 

“you like it? hm?” you smirked. “want me to go faster?” he tried answering you, you heard the start of the yes word starting to form on his mouth but there was no way he could say it, he was way too far gone into the new feeling he was experiencing. 

you picked up the pace of your hips, thrusting faster into him. you held his cock in your hand and ran your thumb over the tip, ripping out a whine from him that made your clit pulsate. you stroke him at the same time you fucked him and that seemed to hit the spot for him. his moans turned louder and his cute little hands found place on the back of his own thighs, holding his legs in place as he let you use him in every way.

“you take it so well, xiao yang. such a good little fuck toy.” you bit your lip as you watched the flustered yangyang in front of you, cheeks redder than before, his lips plump and his mouth slightly opened, letting escape the sweetest moans, his bangs now wet from the sweat, sticking to his forehead, and his cock hard and leaking in your hand, as you stroke him faster.

“f-fuck…” he moaned out, his body squirming as you realized you had found his prostate and that was your queue to not stop no matter what. 

“you can cum baby, don’t hold back.” you said as you hit his g-spot over and over again and moved your hand up and down on him, running your thumb over his red and now swollen tip and it didn’t take long until he was moaning out and cumming over your hand and his tummy.

“good boy.” you said as you slowly stopped your movements, letting his cock rest against his stomach and carefully removing the strap-on from him. yangyang’s legs slowly fell on the bed, his body tired and you smirked at him, quickly removing the strap-on from your body and discarding it somewhere next to you.

“you’re ok, yang?” you asked softly, placing a kiss on his still burning cheek and he was prompted to finally open his eyes as a cute smile appeared on his lips.

“that was the best thing ever.” you chuckled at his response, running your fingers over his messy hair. “wait.” he suddenly said, startling you. “did you cum?” you couldn’t help but laugh at how concerned he looked but that still didn’t seem to relax him.

“no. but don’t worry, seeing you like that made up for it.” you reassured him and kissed his lips but as soon as you looked at him again he still had the concerned look on his face. “yang i’m serious, it’s ok.” you chuckled as you got up from the bed, extending your arm out to him. “c’mon, let’s go take a shower.” you smiled and that seemed to finally make him let go of his worry. 

he held onto your hand and both of you walked to the shower. you loved these moments with yangyang too. the hot water running through your bodies while you kiss, washing each other up, laughing when one of you almost slips, those were always priceless moments.

“what are you doing?” you asked as he pressed you against the shower wall and started running kisses down your body.

“what does it look like i’m doing?” he said as he looked up, now kneeled in front of you, his lips placing a kiss over your hip bone. “i wanna make you feel good too.”