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itsjaywalkers · 7 months

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a lil smth under the cut for u guys (part 2) <3

part 1 part 3

Regulus gives himself one last look at the mirror in the locker room, cheeks tinted pink and brows furrowed.

James’ clothes look ridiculously big on him; the black t-shirt reaches his mid-thighs, and the collar is so low on him his collarbones are on full display. He had to tie the basketball shorts quite tightly, and they still feel a bit loose, even if not at risk of leaving him exposed.

And really, the point of this is being comfortable, not looking pretty, but Regulus is used to always wearing outfits that fit him like a glove, that don’t have a single crinkle and are perfectly pristine. He feels too out of his element like this.

There’s also the fact that he’s not very sure about how to deal with the fact that he’s wearing James’ clothes, his scent cloaking his senses and making him dizzy, but he refuses to focus on that side of things. Regulus is already feeling restless enough as it is.

With a tiny sigh, he sets his shoulders and makes his way out of the locker room, raising his chin slightly as soon as James appears in his sight. He’s leaning against the side of the ring, lazily checking something on his phone with his lips pulled up in half a smile.

Regulus hates the little flip his stomach gives. Despite how very little he can stand to be around the other man, it’s impossible to deny how attractive he looks. Regulus especially likes him right now, away from the spotlight and without all those flashes lighting up his face. No shirt, still a little sweaty after today’s training, dark hair even messier than usual and shorts riding low on his hips. The laces of his right trainer half undone, and that little golden ring he only takes off during fights shining in his ear.

He does miss the glasses, though. James barely wears them, because he’s vain like that, and also because boxing isn’t the best place for them, but Regulus has caught him with them a couple times. He doesn’t think James is very fond of them, but Regulus thinks they suit him, even though he’d rather die than let the other man know.

They make him look more real. Tangible. Less like a character created to please the masses, and more like a normal man. The kind of bloke you’d cross paths with at Tesco while doing some last minute shopping before it closes, instead of an internationally famous boxer that hasn’t lost a single match since he seemingly appeared out of nowhere, a little over a year ago.

Regulus doesn’t like James, regardless of the version of himself he chooses to show, but at least one of them doesn’t feel scripted.

James raises his head all of a sudden, and Regulus isn’t quick enough to avert his gaze before he’s caught staring. Heat climbs up his neck just as a scowl twists his features, a couple of excuses and snarky responses appearing inside his brain, already ready at the tip of his tongue to argue against whatever arrogant bullshit James decides to spout this time.

However, it never comes.

The other man seems to have frozen in place, watching Regulus with parted lips and wide eyes. The blatant gaping makes him want to squirm, but he refuses to give him a single reaction, so he opts for arching an eyebrow and closing his arms over his chest, waiting patiently for James to make the first move.

“Fuck,” James murmurs, the word sounding almost like it’s been punched out of him. “Come here.”

Regulus considers refusing, or being difficult about it, or even demand that James comes there himself, but it wouldn’t make much sense, considering he needs to get in the ring for what they’re about to do.

Arguing with James, disagreeing with everything that comes out of his mouth, it’s second-nature to Regulus at this point. Sometimes, he has to take a moment to turn that side of his brain off. Not like he has the necessity of doing so often.

He huffs a little, but Regulus still does as he’s told, walking slowly and with some wariness in his step, but never faltering. It doesn’t take him long to reach the ring, but he keeps a little distance between his body and James’.

This has nothing to do with the way James’ gaze follows every single one of his movements, or the way his pupils dilate when his eyes fall onto his exposed legs. Regulus’ hands twitch with the need of pulling the hem of the shorts down. He can only hope that the heat he can feel climbing up his neck isn’t showing in his face.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Regulus grumbles, after a few more seconds of complete staring and a lot of intense staring.

James’ eyebrows shoot up and he blinks at him. “Can I?”

Regulus sputters a bit, losing his proud stance and even taking a step back. His cheeks feel like they’re on fire, and he’s unable to look away from James’ sparkling gaze.

“What? No!” he exclaims, hugging himself tightly. “I was teasing! Why would you even want a picture in the first place?”

James blinks a bit more, as if he’s waking up from a daze, and then he grins widely at Regulus, cocking his head to the side.

“You’re wearing my clothes,” he says, like that explains everything.

“And?” Regulus questions, incredulous.

“And I want to fucking devour you,” James responds without missing a beat, tone calm as if he’s merely commenting on the weather.

Regulus chokes on his own spit, and he opens his mouth, ready to curse the other man out, but his voice refuses to cooperate.

“Shut up,” he ends up mumbling, too aware of the red that must be covering his whole face. Even his ears feel hot. “I thought you were supposed to be teaching me how to punch.”

James snorts, shaking his head softly, but he turns around to grab the ropes of the ring and pull himself up, slipping inside with an ease that Regulus refuses to find attractive.

Every single boxer gets in and out of the ring the same way, with the same naturality that can only be born from habit. If he doesn’t get affected by watching Barty doing it, he shouldn’t feel anything when it’s James, either.

If only his brain could get with the program.

James offers him a hand, the other one holding onto the ropes to keep his balance, even though he can probably lift Regulus without breaking a sweat. Regulus stares at his palm for a couple of seconds, lips pursed, before he takes it with a sigh, barely repressing a yelp when James pulls him up with a harsh tug.

He stumbles forward, and the only things that keep him from falling onto his ass are the ropes he crashes into and James’ hand grabbing him by the waist. Regulus is too dazed to appreciate the other man’s raw strength, the way he holds him up easily even after letting go of the ropes himself. Regulus is still trying to make his heart slow down while James helps him inside the ring, not letting go of him for a second until he’s sure that he can stand on his own, and he's far away from the ring’s edge.

“Careful,” James murmurs, squeezing his waist before he finally steps back and stops touching him.

Regulus can’t help but send a glare his way. “A bit late for that, isn’t it? And it was your fault, anyway.”

“How was it my fault?” James questions, a disbelieving laugh slipping between his words.

“You pulled me too hard!” Regulus retorts, pointing an accusatory finger at him, uncertain if his embarrassment is due to almost falling in front of James or to having had him so close, manhandling him with such ease. “None of it would've happened if it weren’t for you!”

James rolls his eyes, a smile already pulling at his mouth. “I was just trying to help you, love. But I didn’t expect you to weigh so little.”

Regulus scoffs, pointedly ignoring the urge of rubbing at his very warm cheeks. “I weigh a perfectly average amount for my age,” he hisses, eyes never focusing on James, always jumping from the floor, to the ropes, to the door that leads to the locker rooms. “It’s you who’s—”

“I’m… what?” James cuts him off, shit-eating grin already in place. Regulus can’t wait to be able to wipe it off his face with his fists. “Incredibly strong? Insanely fit?”

“Desperately trying to overcompensate,” Regulus finishes drily.

James huffs, but it sounds amused, and instead of responding with something snarky of his own, he shakes his head a little and begins rolling his shoulders. It takes Regulus a beat too long to realise that James is stretching.

He rushes to do the same after the other man arches an eyebrow at him, still doing his best to keep their gazes from meeting. Regulus focuses on James’ movements, on the way he rolls his ankles and how tightly he pulls his arms over his head.

They both work in silence, and despite it not being uncomfortable, it does feel a bit heavy. Tense. Like there’s a sword swinging over their heads, waiting for the right time to be dropped down.

Regulus isn’t sure if that’d be a good or a bad thing.

By the time James finally starts to slow down, shaking his limbs to loosen them up, Regulus is already feeling some soreness in his muscles. James’ stretching wasn’t exhaustive, or even that intense; Regulus has seen what his actual routine looks like, as well as his daily training, and this was nothing in comparison.

But, well. James is a professional athlete, while Regulus sits behind a computer to write his articles. He likes to think he’s in decent shape, despite having what’s mostly an office job, but this is making him start to doubt it.

“Okay, love,” James begins, and his voice startles Regulus a little. This might be the longest they’ve been silent in each other’s presence. “The first thing you need to understand about punching is that you don’t do it with your arms, you do it—”

“With your whole body,” Regulus intervenes, grinning a bit smugly. “I already knew that. Sirius told me ages ago.”

James rolls his eyes so hard he even tilts his head back, and Regulus has to make an active effort to repress a snort.

“Good. I see he’s not completely useless,” James sighs, and Regulus narrows his eyes at him.

“I also know that you shouldn’t tuck your thumb inside, unless you wanna end up breaking it, and that your lead foot should be forward for jabs and crosses.”

James sighs, his smile slowly becoming less genuine and more strained. “Fine, then. Since you’re such an expert, I’ll skip the basics. Show me your stance.”

Regulus lets out a quiet exhale and nods, a furrow setting between his eyebrows as he tries to remember Sirius’ lessons back when they were teens. If he’s being honest, he doesn’t remember that much, because they were quite young, and his brother wasn’t even half as good back then, but he’s too proud to admit this to James.

He spreads his legs slightly, always making sure that his right foot remains forward. Regulus pushes his shoulders back and crouches slightly, raising his arms enough to adopt a defensive position.

When he’s satisfied, he raises his head, sneaking a glance at James, who’s looking at him with an unreadable face.

“So?” Regulus questions after a moment.

“Wrong,” is all that James says, his tone neutral.

Regulus does a double take. “Excuse me?”

“Wrong,” James barks again, his focus shifting from his body to his gaze. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“How is it wrong?” Regulus demands, losing his stance just so he can properly scowl at James.

“It just is.” James shrugs, always so nonchalant it makes Regulus sick. “Spread your legs a little wider.”

Regulus scoffs, but he listens, even if a bit begrudgingly.

“Wider,” James instructs again, and Regulus huffs loudly, but he still does as he’s told. “Okay, no, that’s too wide.”

He throws his arms up in the air, already more than done with James’ stupid lesson. He’s about to let him know what he thinks of his shitty teaching skills when James closes the distance between them with two long strides. Regulus snaps his mouth shut even before the first syllable has left his parted lips.

It takes him a lot of effort to keep his body from taking a step back.

James’ eyes slide down his body, slow and careful, and Regulus bites the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes blood. There’s none of the usual interest in James’ expression; he’s focused on the task at hand, looking for flaws and ready to correct Regulus’ form like a surprisingly stern teacher.

That doesn’t mean he can’t feel the weight of James’ gaze on him like a brand, Regulus’ skin burning in every zone where the other man’s eyes stop.

“Close your legs, we’re starting again,” James instructs, and Regulus hesitates momentarily, trying to blink himself out of his daze.

He does, rolling his eyes for good measure, and then waits for James’ next order with the most deadpan face he can muster.

James walks around him, deep in thought.

“Open,” he murmurs, frowning slightly. “Like you did the first time.”

Regulus gives him a very pointed look over his shoulder, but he complies, and this time, he doesn’t try as hard to get it right. He’s had enough judgement for the day.

When he stops, James squints his eyes. “Open more,” he presses, attention never leaving Regulus’ legs.

“How much more?” Regulus asks, with a bite in his tone. “Because I also did that last time, and apparently it was wrong.”

“Just a little bit, Reg,” James sighs, and he has no business sounding so exasperated when Regulus is the one dealing with that attitude of his. “It’s not rocket science.”

“Well, that’s what I thought too, until you started to criticise my stance as if we’re doing something actually complicated, instead of just throwing a stupid—”

James interrupts him with a groan, and before Regulus can tell him to fuck off, the other man is moving forward, extending his hands and making Regulus go completely stiff.

Noticing the sudden tension, he stops right before his fingers wrap around his waist, so very close Regulus can already feel their warmth.

“Can I?” James wonders gently, and Regulus swallows thickly.

He considers refusing, kind of curious to see what James will do, how will he react, especially considering that he’s a master of casual touches, and he usually never asks before wrapping an arm around Regulus’ shoulders, or patting him on the back and letting his hand linger for a few seconds too long.

In the end, though, he’s also too tired of arguing.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, looking away from James’ hovering hands.

James seems to doubt for a second, before he finally grips Regulus’ tightly, squeezing for a moment and dragging a tiny gasp out of Regulus. It earns him another squeeze, this time, longer than the other one.

The other man sneaks a leg between Regulus’ thighs, and he kicks softly at his feet until he opens the slightest bit wider, murmuring a breathy “good” when he likes the width.

Regulus is helpless to the shiver that racks his frame. He’s sort of expecting James to make a teasing comment about it, or maybe just laugh a little, but he stays silent, still holding onto Regulus.

Somehow, that’s even worse.

#here it isssss #3rd part with the actual fun (and a lil bit of spice) coming very soon #in a few hours hopefully #but like always . we'll see #it's so long lmao im sorry #i need to learn how to shut up #whatever im actually having so much fun with this #boxer james agenda

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tiredassmage · 2 years

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can we hear more about in dreams, hopes to die... 👉👈 those lines are so tasty..

CHOMPING AT THE BIT, AYE AYE CAPTAIN!!!!

Would you believe me if I reveal that this snippet is from the same piece? It's obviously an overall not very good time kind of piece, so I felt a tiny bit bad about it for once and decided to throw Tyr a bone. Valkorian and Tyr's own conga line of bad times couldn't be the only thing in five years worth of dreams, I figured, lol.

Also, that very scene is where the banger In the dark, it’s easier to hide and easier to tell the truth came from, lol.

Don't get too excited though because that's... very short. And also it's mentally set to Eyelids by PVRIS, so uh. It still punches me in the face.

Eventually I'll hopefully throw him another bone and give him and Theron's time on Rishi or Yavin IV a little pass because I'd like to think Theron's at least a little right and something came up. And stars know Tyr needs a fuckin' break, good gods almighty anlkfdnafldsf. Says she who continues to put that man in Situation after Situation after Situa-

And it was very hard to stop at just the first line for that initial post because the three lines that follow it are the meat and potatoes of what is currently the opening sequence of what I hope will eventually be a coherent fic. Or at least kinda coherent. It's still a very nebulous piece and I kinda like that, so I might not really do much more setup because it seems fitting that there wouldn't be a lot of setup and transition in something like the carbonite dreams era.

And, perhaps unsurprisingly given the nature of the setup of that chapter, but a lot of these scenes flirt with the concept of death. Tyr's dangerous dedication to "finishing the job" isn't anything new to those of us who have been here a while, lol, but this is a good character study piece if you're newer to my favorite blorbo, though it's an undeniably heavy one and obviously a bit fucky and nebulous by nature.

Also, fair warning, yes I'm giving you lines, but also I am going to give you a ramble and a half about Tyr lore because this is the piece I'm stuffing some juicy tick-tock workings into because I realized it was good for that and I love my boy so much, he's so fucked up. I love him though.

Anyway, I teased, so the next three lines of that scene, as foretold beneath the cut:

At first, it’s a firing squad. Mud cakes their boots and the rain pelts heavy on worn, drawn faces.

Tyr pushes to his feet unsteadily. A flash of lighting breaks overhead, glancing off of leveled blasters and hollowed eyes.

It will end as it should: without a soul remembering his name. He’d prefer it that way.

Okay, so... this is also not necessarily a piece I intended to write, but I realized there is... almost no better place to do a deep dive into some of the things that tick inside of Tyr that maybe aren't best portrayed in dialogue alone. This also wasn't meant to be in present tense, but it didn't feel right in past, so I ended up caving and that's... been a theme of the week, I guess, lol.

This is also like. I always chuckle a bit in that scene from Visions in the Dark later where Valkorian threatens you to meet his challenge and grow stronger or die alone and unremembered because wouldn't that just be ideal for a former Cipher. Wasn't that how the story was supposed to end? He didn't ask for your bullshit, grandpa.

There's currently two other scenes I have - they're all relatively short as I try to keep with that sort of drifting feeling. But the other one that might [Large Eyes Emoji] be of... relevant interest...

What’s been done has already been done. It doesn’t matter what it was. Maybe it won’t matter to anyone else.

Because it’s going to end here and now. Such were the decrees of the Sith - of the Empire.

Absolutes.

It matters to him that he tried. This is one of the kinder ways this could go - quietly, without the fanfare of blood on his teeth and a fire in his eyes.

“For what it’s worth, sir?” Nine exhales long and slow as he closes his eyes. “I’ve always admired you… You did your best.”

Finally.

No.

More.

Running.

“But I’m not going back.” The old man’s one of the few he could ever hope to ask this final favor. “Finish this - what we started.”

The Minister of Intelligence pulls the trigger.

It’s over before Tyr feels the ground beneath him.

Also topical given the "are others concerned about their sleep schedule" tag post reblogged earlier today, lol, and the idea of chronic nightmares. That Tyr and I haven't talked about. To each other. Or the world. Possibly not with the people he cares about, either. I'm sure Theron knows nebulously that he can have some troubled sleep - you don't share a bed with someone and not notice how consistently they have trouble falling or staying asleep.

But I think the fuckiest part of the whole Castellan Restraints period for Tyr is how he doesn't want to let the old man down. The Minister is more a father figure in Tyr's eyes than his own father, quite honestly [Tyr has a... kind of non-existant relationship with his entire family, unfortunately - and it's not because he went into Intelligence], and there's absolutely a part of that dynamic that is mentor and protégé.

And it's important to me that he sees this scenario with the Minister and not Shara - at least in Chapter Two, where it first haunts his nightmares with some consistency. Because I made a conscious choice in Shara knowing as Keeper about his Restraints - not because that ever comes up in-game, but because it adds something very crunchy to their already doomed narrative. And the background to that decision is that I decided it's... the kind of silent acknowledgement that the Minister can afford to give of their more intimate relationship. It's damage control, mitigation. With a heavy heart I imagine he tells her this in private, off the record, because Nine was her Cipher. And both of them still hold him in high regard.

Nine's given a possibly unusually loose leash to pursue the SIS investigation because of the Minister and Keeper's word; Watcher Three mentions this in broad strokes when he questions you about the blackout in records.

Anyway, the point to me mentioning this is actually that Tyr makes a very conscious effort to not think about this in the midst of the Restraints causing problems. He's reluctant enough to cede that he should hold the Minister responsible for this gross violation of his privacy and trust, but he's even more reluctant to give that the woman he loves has any knowledge or hand in the process - unwittingly or, especially, wittingly. Ultimately, he stubbornly doesn't hold them responsible. It hurts less to place the blame elsewhere. And he never loses the inescapable nostalgic kick to go home in the sense of the old paradigm - him and Keeper and the Minister.

He gave them everything.

And there's something in here about his regret at not being able to say all of this respect in better words or more directly. There's that acknowledgement that there's one person he trusts to understand why this was his breaking point. And, ultimately, there's the acceptance of the likelihood that none of this is going to end well, that he's living on borrowed time stolen from fate or destiny, or hell, maybe the Force. Tyr doesn't give a whole lot to whatever higher powers might be out there - relying on them hasn't ever saved him and he doesn't expect it to.

It makes it very interesting to watch him knowingly and willingly lie about the Black Codex after he lets Ardun walk with it and promises to double for the SIS. In a way, he's committing the greatest failure and throwing away everything the Minister has fought so hard with him to maintain and keep, especially when both of them have spoken of ideals instead of goals, etc. But it's necessary. It's what's best for Tyr, mentally, at that point. And even one of the figures he loves and respects the most can't override that desperate intrinsic need to fight for himself. The old man is, after all, one of the largest advocates of it throughout his career as Nine.

And, I suppose speaking of the nostalgia for Intelligence, my favorite set of lines from the final scene so far:

She’s sobbing against his shoulder. Dust and blood stain an almost unfamiliar uniform - he hasn’t worn uniform on Dromund Kaas in months, maybe years…

Everything’s been such a blur since Intelligence was disbanded…

so YEAH. I uh. I have a lot of feelings and this is where I'm sniffling and sobbing and word vomiting them into one doc but in story format, I suppose, lol.

Also completely unrelated to this particular fic but I am. Still thinking so intently about Eight x Tyr thoughts. They're now living rent free in my head and all of this.... absolute devotion stuff... hrhrhghghghghghghghrhhg. Brain vibrates because this is obviously all related to it because of the few people who could ever possibly understand any part of this series of events and feelings, it'd be another Cipher.

Tyr really does mourn Intelligence like... ghhghg. I'm unwell about it. He gave everything to it and its success. He doesn't regret it. The SIS investigation and the following fall of Imperial Intelligence were some of the worst fucking years of his life and it's destroyed him, really. He's living in and with the ruins like a bombed out city. It destroyed his everything and he'd almost gladly let it finish the job and destroy him to finally get his retribution. And he'd just as gladly let love destroy it all and rebuild it from the rubble when he has the right person beside him. Something something doesn't realize that he doesn't want or need to continue that destruction, he just needs fucking... idk validation or something. Acceptance. Acknowledgement. And then they can work on what "okay" looks like in the aftermath. He needs to be just as responsible for someone else's "okay" to even begin figuring out what the hell it looks like for him. hOUgh anyway.

I'm fucking normal about Cipher Nine, obviously. Thanks for comin' to my TED Talk.

#answered #ch: tyr #wip ask meme #in a way lel #my poor fucking BELOVED glowstick man...#also: just. when he HAS the right people with him how fucking. like yea yea devotion that corrupts #he'd still go to the ends of the fuckin GALAXY bro but also #it's so much easier to realize. oh. maybe we'd like to live. maybe we'd like to do that together. what's that look like #happy half a month early fool's i'm never normal about tyr #crunchy cat scream react jpeg y'know #tyr needs to be told to stop. to gently but forcibly be stopped. then he might be okay.#it might start there #i'm gonna fuckin write about that too just you wait until i have free time and a solid concept that consumes my entire soul again #gripping the edge of the sink #agent on agent romance call that a healing cycle #i'm.. s- no no i was gonna say i'm sorry i'm like this but no #i love him so much ur honor this is the love ur blorbo website #oh and obligatory bitching about ask editor style yada yada stop throwing the indent weird how do i style fic readibly in ask replies hghgh

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kaiwewi · 2 years

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Guilty Conscience

[Masterlist: Renegade Rescue Squad]

Synopsis: a rookie hero has been taken prisoner. Other Villain is looking forward to torturing them. Villain very much isn't.

tw: whump, captivity, talk about torture, gore mentioned

The little hero was a lost cause.

No one ever made a full recovery from Other Villain’s torture dungeon.

Anyone who had been lucky – or unlucky – enough to survive the encounter was in some way irrefutably and irreversibly distorted, physically or mentally. Or both.

Most who’d found themselves here, however, had simply been killed.

From his corner of the too small room, Villain watched Other Villain mock their tied-up captive. The little hero remained stoic, even after the beating they’d received, they still glared up from their no doubt uncomfortable position, slumped on the metal chair.

If only they weren’t this stubborn.

“You’re going to sing for me, pretty bird. Everyone does, sooner or later.” Other Villain dug their claws into the fresh wounds blemishing the hero’s cheeks and wiped the blood dripping down from the hero’s split lip off their chin.

The hero wrenched their head back, out of Other Villain’s grasp.

So much defiance in a body so small and beaten. Any semblance of fight should have forsaken the rookie the moment they’d realised whose clutches they’d fallen into. But the hero had refused to cave, to beg, to give information freely while they’d had the chance to emerge if not unscathed at least with only the few bruises to show for from kicks and punches.

This hero was a fiery thing, a phoenix caged and stripped of its magic, yet still so proud.

Their courage might have been inspiring if it wasn’t so dooming.

Other Villain leaned over the hero’s shoulder from behind and held up something small and metallic for them to see. “I love these neodymium fridge magnets,” they said. “So tiny, so practical, and so strong. Imagine swallowing a few, one at a time, every other hour.” Their mouth twisted into a manic grin. “Doesn’t that sound fun, all those magnets joining together on the inside and turning your guts into a sieve…. I saw that on TV once, wanted to try it on someone ever since.”

They pointed at the hero’s abdomen, purred into their ear. “Aw, just picture it, pretty bird: perforated intestines, digestive fluids leaking out into the body, the bacteria, the cramps, the vicious infections. Absolute agony. What a gruesome way to die.”

Villain rubbed his arm against the sensation of something crawling across his skin beneath his shirt. He tasted bile and swallowed.

Oh god, he could picture it. Magnets clamping together gut walls, tearing holes through soft flesh yielding under the pressure, a subsequent contamination of the abdominal cavity leading to sepsis and death…. It was sickening. Horrible.

It would work.

How depraved did one have to be to enjoy such a notion?

Other Villain’s laughter echoed from the tiled walls. “I'd estimate, it might kill you within a day or two. But that should leave you with enough time to sell out your team’s lovely little secrets for a few painkillers.”

They ruffled the hero’s hair, almost affectionate.

Some of the colour had drained from the little hero’s face – too pale skin now standing in even more striking a contrast to contusions and blood splatters. They stared up at Other Villain with big terrified eyes and gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head.

“Not to your liking? Pity.” Hand still playing with their captive’s hair, Other Villain circled around until they stood in front of the hero. “But don’t you fret, songbird. There are still so many other fun activities the two of us could try together.”

The two of us. So this was between Other Villain and their victim only? Then at least Villain wouldn’t have to play an active role in this sick game.

He hated himself a bit for feeling relieved.

[Part 2]

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h0neypjm · 4 years

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Just for practice | kth

↳ Summary: “I think we should normalise giving head to your friends as practice.”

↳ Pairing: Taehyung x Reader, slight Hoseok x reader

↳ Genre: Smut, pwp, some plot i guess, best friend! Taehyung

↳ Rating: 18+

↳ Word count: 5.3k

↳ Warnings: swearing, lip biting, hickies, oral (both female and male receiving), rough blowjobs, spanking, fingering, squirting, big dick! Tae, possessiveness/jealousy, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap pls), dom/sub themes, Taehyung calls reader lots of pet names (sweetheart, darling, good girl), degradation, biting, slight cockwarming

↳ a/n: I’ve been having major writer’s block while writing confident :( however, i saw this tweet which prompted this lil oneshot hope you enjoy

Jung Hoseok [ 2:15 PM ]

Am I gonna see you at Seokjin’s tomorrow?

You [ 2:16 PM ]

I’ll be there :)

Jung Hoseok [ 2:18 PM ]

You’re not gonna run away from me this time, right?

You [ 2:20 PM ]

No of course not haha

Jung Hoseok [ 2:21 PM ]

Is that a promise princess?

A sigh flies out of your mouth like wind through a window and you’re shucking off your glasses in an instant. Hoseok’s texts bringing back a flurry of memories that you wish to forget.

“Do you need help with your essay again?”

Your eyes are strained when they try to focus on Taehyung, your shoulders shrug in defeat. “No, I’m fine. It’s just-”

Taehyung knows immediately, he is your best friend after all. “Let me guess, It’s Hoseok isn’t it?”

You slump in your seat while a pout is cutely drawn onto your face, you nod with dismay. “I really like him Tae, and every time we see each other, It’s like the universe has it out for me and tries to make sure I embarrass myself in front of him.”

Taehyung shuts his laptop because he knows there's no use in trying to write an essay while you speak about your utterly tragic love life. He thinks about your situation for a minute before he speaks.

“Yes, you might’ve spilled your beer on him and accidentally punched him in the eye, more than once. But, if he’s still texting you he’s obviously still into you. It’s a good sign sweetheart.” Taehyung pats your hand across the coffee table, a comforting smile adorning his handsome face.

Taehyung doesn’t know the full extent of your problem and the more you think about it the more embarrassing it becomes. So you smile back at him uttering a small thank you before turning back to your laptop.

Taehyung raises a brow, “wait, wait, hang on, something is still bothering you.”

You frown, “it’s embarrassing.”

Taehyung shuffles around the corner of the coffee table as if you’re about to tell him a secret, though it’s just the two of you in his small apartment. “Just tell me, it can’t be that bad.”

“Taehyung it is that bad.” You tilt your head at him, pulling up the sleeves of your sweater around your tiny fists. “You’re gonna laugh at me.”

Taehyung feigns shock at your words, his hands placed on his heart for dramatic effect. “I would never laugh, and frankly I’m offended you think that low of me.”

You roll your eyes, turning your body more towards him, deciding it wouldn't hurt letting Taehyung know the thoughts plaguing your mind. “Well, you know how Hoseok and I have been kind of flirty lately, right?” He nods in understanding.

“I can tell he wants more than that, you know? His touches are small but I know exactly what he’s suggesting, and don’t get me wrong, the feeling is completely mutual because trust me I want that too. Really bad.”

Taehyung hums, interrupting your soon-to-be graphic rambling. “I totally get it Y/N. Now let’s stop beating around the bush so I can help you.”

If Taehyung were a girl, this would be so much easier. You curse your eight-year-old self who just had to become friends with a boy because God, how do you even start?

Taehyung is a patient man, always giving you space before helping you but, in this situation, you feel it’s best to just rip the band-aid off. Taehyung if you can read my mind, please don’t laugh at me.

“I’venevergivensomeoneablowjob.”

You speak so suddenly, Taehyung’s not so sure he heard you correctly. “Huh?”

“Goddammit Tae”, you rub and your temples and avoid his stare. “I’ve never given someone a blowjob!”

His eyes are wide. “Oh”

You hide your face into the table while your body internally cringes. At least he didn’t laugh. “See! You do think it’s bad.”

“I’m just surprised to be honest”, he reassures, leaning back onto his palms, strong brows pulled together in thought. “Shit Y/N, have you really never sucked a dick before?”

Sure, you’ve had sex many times (most of which have been extremely disappointing) but, it seems that most of your hookups want to get straight into fucking. No foreplay, no nothing. Just unseasoned, pleasureless fucking.

A groan rumbles out of your throat, “It just never happened! They were all about that hump and dump lifestyle I guess.”

Taehyung is utterly baffled at your statement. In Taehyung’s books, It is compulsory to treat every women like a queen. Preparing and edging them the perfect amount of times to see them crumble so sensually by his very doing. To Taehyung, seeing a woman cry out his name from experiencing the most explosive, leg-shaking orgasm was always his favourite part.

This is why Taehyung is absolutely shattered for you. “So, you’re also telling me no one has ever eaten you out?” You miserably nod, “that’s actually fucking evil!”

His words do not ease you one bit as you throw your head onto the seat behind you. “The way you say it makes me feel even worse. This is the sole reason why I run away from Hoseok and make a fool out of myself.”

Taehyung doesn’t say anything, the air floating around carrying an awkward silence. You don’t really care and you don’t expect Taehyung to think of a solution. Plus, you’re already embarrassed enough.

You might as well leave and ask one of your girlfriends for help, maybe finish your essay while you’re at it. You sigh, shutting your laptop and stacking your books together.

However, the next sentence that flies out of Taehyung’s mouth makes you stop dead in your tracks.

“I think I’ve figured out how I can help you.”

Wiggling back into a comfortable seating position, you lean into Taehyung with interest. “And how might you help me, dear Taehyung?”

He eyes you nervously, his fingers fiddling with his chunky rings, “You trust me, right?”

You smile, “yeah, of course, you’re my best friend Tae.”

An exhale puffs out of his mouth. “Why not practice on me?”

You almost choke on your spit. You definitely did not expect him to say that. “Could you repeat that please?”

A new glint of mischief sparkles in his eye. “Why not let me teach you how to give Hoseok the blowjob of his life and in return, I’ll eat you out”

Your brain is having a meltdown.

“You’re fucking crazy”, you wail. “You actually want me to suck your dick?”

He brings his hands up in defence, “I think we should normalize giving head to your friends as practice, I don’t think it’s such a bad idea. Think about it, you get to learn and cum at the same time.”

You won’t lie to yourself, the proposal is tempting and in all honesty, Taehyung is hot as fuck. You will forever thank the Gods above for blessing you with the delicious sight that is your best friend. However, the proposition puts you in an odd spot.

Apprehensive about your thoughts, you state your unease, “I-I don’t know Taehyung, don’t you think this might ruin our friendship?” An exhale, “have you seriously thought of me that way?”

Taehyung chuckles, it’s deep and totally unexpected to your question. “Sweetheart, there are many things that go on inside my head involving you. And to answer your question, they’re not completely innocent.”

A startled gasp is ripped from your throat and your stomach flutters with a dangerous mix of nervousness, thrill and dare you say arousal.

Never in your life would you have imagined Kim Taehyung, your best friend since grade school, seeing you in such an inviting way. To make matters worse, It was intimidating to think about his fair share of experience and the long line of women backing up the fact that Taehyung was indeed some sort of sex demon.

Of course, you felt the same way. How could you not! The man was practically an incarnation of a Greek God. Broad sturdy shoulders that sat atop thick muscular thighs, and how could you forget his gorgeous fingers.

You’d die before you admit it, but there have been many nights where you have found yourself thinking about what his pretty long fingers could do to you. Those nights always ended with a mess of your sheets and a wetness between your thighs. It was your dirty little secret, however, it seems Taehyung also had some of his own.

His sharp eyes storm with darkness when he speaks, “don’t lie Y/N, I know you’ve had some dirty thoughts about me up in that pretty little head of yours.”

Pink blossoms over your cheeks like wildfire because he’s so terrifyingly right. “I don’t even need to touch you sometimes, one look and you’re a goner.” You gulp. “Look at you right now.” His gaze drops down to your thighs. “All my talking making you so needy, you need to clench your thighs to keep it together.”

He smiles, though it’s not his usual boxy, boyish smile. It’s dangerous and seductive almost smirking and shit when did he get so close to you? Your breathing is erratic and you have no idea how you could be so anxious yet so amorous at the same time.

Your heart beats rapidly in your ears. “This is just for practice, right?”

Taehyung curses under his breath, “just for practice sweetheart.”

You don’t get to respond.

His lips are hesitant at first when they meet yours, yet his hands say the opposite. They start at your waist and tickle their way down to your stiff hands. Ever so gently, he pries them open, intertwining his long fingers with yours, and God, did his hands feel so right.

Your nerves dissipate slowly but surely as you allow him to explore your mouth with his skilful tongue.

Much to Taehyung’s dismay, he finds you releasing your fingers from his own. Your hands flying to the nape of his neck, ultimately bringing him closer to you, deepening the kiss. Taehyung moans in delight when you tug at his long curls, you bite his lip in reply while lust paints your vision and dampens your panties.

Taehyung never knew he would miss the feeling of your lips against his when he painfully pushes himself away to situate himself comfortably on the couch. It was time for the lesson to begin.

You pout at the distance, trying to wiggle close until he motions for you to get into a particular position. Your insides swell with eagerness.

His voice is sweet and his hands are delicate when he tucks a few strands of hair behind your ear. “Get down on your knees for me sweetheart.” You obey immediately. He smirks at your sinking form. “Good girl.”

You swear right then and there your pussy had gained a working heartbeat at his words. The unfamiliar pulse thumping as if it were trying to break loose from the constraints of your sweatpants.

Your eyes are big and expectant, slowly drinking up the sight of Taehyung’s delicious figure seated above you. He sits on the couch like it’s his throne, legs spread to accompany your kneeling figure, and dominating stare pinning you down. A shiver runs down your spine.

“Wh-what do I do now?” You utter, making it known to Taehyung that he is in charge. He is in control.

Taehyung cocks his head to the side, using a decorated pointer finger to hither your hands towards him. Hesitantly, you raise both hands, lightly placing them down on his thighs.

A click of his tongue makes its way to your ears and you know you’ve already made your first mistake. Taehyung’s brows furrow, it’s obvious you need to make the next move but your brain is fuzzy and flustered.

He sighs at your confused silence, bringing your small hands onto his belt. Oh, you know what you’re supposed to do now.

“I thought you were smarter than this, how else are you meant to get my dick out, hmm?” The blush across your cheeks has definitely spread profusely from his teasing. Its once peachy pink tone deepening into an embarrassing cherry red.

The buckle of his belt jingles under your fingertips as you nervously undo them. You’re apparently too slow for his liking, Taehyung finishing the job by pulling his belt off his pants, leaving you to stare down at the large bulge covered by the fabric of his tight jeans. You thought you had your nerves under control but the way your hands start to shake is an indication that this is real. You’re really about to suck your best friend off.

Ever the observant friend, Taehyung is quick to notice the slight shake in your fingers. “Wait, stop.”

You do as he says, quickly settling your palms back on the thickness of his covered thighs. “Are you sure you want to do this? your hands are shaking sweetheart.” His voice is laced with concern, a total switch to his previous words.

Clearing your throat you reply, “oh, no, no I’m fine.” You lock eyes. “I just want to make sure I’m doing good so I can be good for him.”

Possessiveness flares within Taehyung’s chest and he has no idea why. Although he doesn’t let it show, he can’t help the swell of his ego at the knowledge that he’s the first to get you like this. Not Hoseok. Him.

So, he grins his wide boxy grin, dragging a finger down your warm cheek. “Don’t worry darling, you’re in great hands”

The commanding smirk etched onto his lips sparks a surge of confidence through your veins, begging you to finally touch him.

With a tug of your small hands, Taehyung’s constricting jeans are pried off the taut muscle of his thighs and are left to pool around his ankles. The excitement of finally being able to suck dick coursing through your body like lighting, and just like his jeans, Taehyung’s boxers are off in a second.

His cock springs, tall, hard and proud. Your jaw drops, Taehyung chuckles at your reaction. You feel an ooze of wetness pooling in your panties.

His size is nothing you’ve seen before, thick and girthy with an impressive length to match. You wince at the thought of fitting him down your throat.

The cold metal of his rings against your hands brings your attention to Taehyung’s handsome face. Without breaking any eye contact, he wordlessly wraps your hands around the thickness of his cock.

It’s warm and swells in your palm, your two dainty hands stacked on top of each other. Fingers trying so hard to wrap themselves around the sheer girth of his cock.

You’re not dumb, you know what comes next. With a sharp inhale you begin to stroke up his length, paying close attention to his facial expression to get an idea of how well you’re doing

Taehyung’s head tilts to get a better view at your hands, “grip it tighter for me… yeah fuck that’s it.”

His praise boasts you on, holding tighter onto his cock and gathering the slick of his pre-cum with a twist of your wrist. Your eyes remain focused on the way the skin moves with your hands and the way his tip glistens with arousal. You want to lick it.

“When you’re ready you can put your mouth- Ahh shit Y/N!”

He didn’t need to finish his sentence when you’re already so eager to have him in your mouth. You do what you think would feel best, sucking on the head of his cock like a sweet ice lolly on a hot summer's day. Your tongue tracing the thick circumference before dipping into his slit.

A light groan falls from his mouth as he watches you lap at the remaining pre-cum that glistens in the afternoon light. Taehyung almost forgets why he’s here, lost in your plump lips wet with saliva.

Right, he’s here to teach you how to give a blowjob. “Try and take my whole length in darling.”

You nod, taking a deep breath, your mouth opening wider to take him in as far as you can. You try to keep your throat relaxed taking him inch by inch.

“That's a good girl”, he praises, “you’re doing so well for me.”

Your knees squeeze together, acting to relieve some pressure on your aching heat. It had truly been a while since you got some serious action.

Surprisingly you’re able to make your way to the hilt of his cock, a choked gag sputtering from your lips.

A few strands of hair fall in your face, blocking your eyes in the process. Swiftly, Taehyung brushes the hair from your eyes while simultaneously lifting your head off of his cock.

You release him with a satisfying pop, your eyes wide and makeup a little smudged. Taehyung coaches you through the next steps. “I want you to try and do that again, but when you come back up, lick the length of my cock and look at me while you do it.”

Humming in acknowledgment you grip the base of his cock before pausing. “Isn’t this what you like though? What if Hoseok likes to be touched in a different way?”

An unintentional growl bubbles out of his mouth. Oh how he wished he could take your mind off Hoseok and have you screaming his name, thinking about him instead.

He pushes down his discontentment with the other man on your mind, “men are simple creatures Y/N, just making out sometimes can get them going. And judging by the way you’re sucking my cock right now, I’m sure Hoseok will be crazy for you.”

As Taehyung explains the ins and outs of a man’s brain, you don’t make an effort to stop the teasing of his cock. His words sound slurred, they go in one ear and out the other, and besides the delicious length in front of you is much more fascinating.

For the time being you stare up at him, your eyes wide feigning interest in his words, all while you grip his cock in one hand and continuously lap at his tip with a kitten-like flick of your tongue.

Taehyung finally realises that you’ve stopped listening when he feels the small yet downright sensual pleasure shooting through his cock. He grunts, pushing your hair back once again, “fuck, that’s hot. You’re so fucking good.”

His preoccupied hand squeezes the pillows beside him, the veins of his hands popping out. You do what he taught you, seductive eyes laser focused on him while your wicked tongue leaves a hot trail up the prominent vein on his dick.

“Shit Y/N you’re doing so well-”

You release him from your mouth disrupting his sentence, “can you fuck my throat?”

Taehyung swears his whole body just convulsed at your request. He looks away just so he can contain himself because holy shit.

Obviously Taehyung has thought about you being in this position, saying those words. Yet, no matter how many times he fantasizes this scenario, nothing would ever prepare him for those words to actually come out of your mouth with the most bewitching grin plastered on your pretty face.

He stutters, “I- no, I don’t know if you can take it darling.”

You grip his thighs, pout forming on those dangerous lips of yours, “please Tae, I want it. Want you to use me.”

Taehyung pushes the curls of his bangs away, a hiss steaming from his lips. “Alright, but if you feel any discomfort pinch my thigh, okay sweetheart?”

You’re impatient, “yeah, yeah, I can take your monster dick.” You place a small kiss on his thigh, “do your worst.”

His movements are all too fast, all too sudden. His fingers securing a death-grip on the mess of your hair before holding his cock up to your mouth. “You asked for it darling.”

Your mouth automatically widens, welcoming the rough intrusion of his cock as it slides all the way down your throat. A lewd gag fills the room.

A dark cloud of lust of dominance fogs Taehyung’s vision, his biceps flexing when he brings your head up and down his thick velvety length.

The room resounds with the filthy wet noises of your saliva covered lips pumping repeatedly. Taehyung breathes heavily through his nose, tilting his head against the cushions behind him. He keeps his hips still, yanking your hair at an obscene pace. A slew of curses and moans fly out into the air as he revels at the complete state of ecstasy you’ve put him under.

The heat of his member burns the back of your throat but you fucking love it. You open your teary eyes, gazing at his chiseled jaw and the way he shivers and groans above you. It only spurs you on when he glances back down, meeting your mascara ruined eyes.

It’s like a knee-jerk reaction. Taehyung harshly pushes your head all the way to the base of his cock. Your face is met with his abdomen, the hairs of his happy trail tickling your nose.

He leaves you there, and the burn in your throat rises, leaving you gagging, your throat tightening around him.

Taehyung believes after this he could never get the image of your messy docile eyes and tarnished lips out of his brain. He feels your throat constrict, “sh-shit, fuck Y/N, breathe through your nose.” You inhale. “That’s my good girl.”

He releases you from his member only to push your lips back onto him, going back to his beastly pace. “You look so fucking pathetic, you think Hoseok wants a messy girl like you?”

You gurgle around him, tears freely falling down your cheeks as you try to shake your head no. He only mumbles out a groan, his cock abruptly pulsing under your tongue like a steady heartbeat.

It's all too sudden when he releases your head off his length, a glob of drool dripping down your chin and onto your shirt.

“Fuck sorry I was about to cum.”

Although your heart swells with pride you wonder, “why didn’t you?”

He runs a hand through his messy locks, “the purpose of this was to teach you, don’t you still want to practice?”

You’re smug with your answer, “I think I’ve got the hang of it now.”

He swipes a finger under your tear stained eyes, “getting cocky now are we.”

You were cocky indeed, “well I did get you shaking under my touch didn’t I?”

He rolls his eyes, “get up you brat, I’m gonna show you what you’ve been missing out on.”

Fucking finally.

You won’t lie, you were probably most excited to finally know what it feels like to receive head. Your mind is still fuzzy from Taehyung’s rough ministrations as you slowly get up. You wobble slightly and Taehyung is quick to stabilize you with two strong arms holding the curve of your hips in place.

With his arms already around you he pushes you towards the couch, kicking his jeans off in the process.

Back flat against his plush couch you’re already stripping off your sweatpants and panties together in one. “My, my aren’t you eager”, he teases, a glint of shamelessness twinkling in his brown orbs when he drinks up the plushness of your thighs leading to your dripping cunt.

Holding your knees in the palm on his hands, he spreads them open to reveal the glossy folds on your heat. He kisses his teeth, satisfaction and hunger clear on his face. “Fuck, isn’t this a pretty sight.”

His words bring back a blush on your cheeks, you pull him forward, your lips inches away from his own. “Shut up please.”

And he shuts you up real good. Smashing your lips to his, he envelopes you into a feverish kiss, your tongues dancing the devil's tango.

His hands are adventurous, feeling the mounds of your breasts over your shirt. “Why the fuck isn’t your shirt off yet huh?” He tuts, pulling on the cotton fabric.

“I want yours off too.” You cutely mumble tugging at the hem of his shirt, to which he complies, tugging it off in one fluid motion.

You peel your baggy shirt off just in time to see Taehyung's arm flex as he takes his very own shirt off. “Have you been working out? My God Tae, you're as big as Joon.”

He inwardly smirks because yeah he’s been working out and it's clearly paying off. He doesn’t want to show his glee however, “can we not talk about other men when I’m about to eat you out.”

You chuckle, eyes trailing down his buff arms to his v-line that leads to his dick like an arrow directing you to his treasure. You bite your lip, unclipping your lace bralette, “sure, sure, let’s get the show on the road.”

It’s Taehyung turn to drink up the sight of your body. “Fuck, always imagined what these tits looked like under all those tight clothes you wear.”

He’s really feeding into your praise kink. “Well, were they what you expected?”

He sucks on one immediately and you arch your back at the unexpected pleasure. “Even better”, he squeezes them in his palms, “they’re fucking gorgeous.”

He sucks a deep hickey under your left breast, leaving you whimpering with a hand tangled in his hair. “Always imagined what you sounded like moaning for me.”

You can’t reply, his touches burning through your skin. He kisses down your sternum to your stomach until he’s hovering above your aching clit, a tantalising grin on his face before he’s diving in.

“Fuck!” You wail at the unfamiliar yet mesmerising feelings. His tongue is stiff and pointed, flicking quickly up and down your bundle of nerves.

The grip you have on his hair is deathly but it's the only thing in your reach that can ground you. He licks a long stripe down your sopping slit, keeping his sharp eyes on you the whole time.

“F-feels so fucking good Tae!” You almost scream. He cups his lips around your swollen nub sucking on it with a shit-eating grin on his face.

You’re too dazed to comment on it, reeling in the new pleasures you’re experiencing. You stare down at him, your eyes half opened and so close to rolling to the back of your head.

However, they almost completely open wide at the sight presented before you. With two long fingers, Taehyung is shoving them in his mouth, soaking them with his spit before rubbing them onto your sensitive folds.

You beg. “Put them inside.. Please.” Taehyung doesn’t make a sound only kissing your clit as he plunges his ring decorated fingers into you.

You’re so wet his fingers slide into you with ease. He groans at the sensation, his view focused on the way your cunt greedily sucks him in.

“Look at you, getting my rings all dirty you filthy girl”, he scolds watching the way your essence drips into the crevices of his intricate jewellery.

Taehyung increases the pace of his long fingers, finger fucking you into euphoria. He doesn’t stop there, his lips returning to your desperate clit in a wet mess of your juices and his saliva.

You can feel your orgasm bubbling in your stomach. It's hot and feels so unlike any other upcoming orgasm you’ve experienced. His fingers curl inside of you, his palm slapping your folds with his rapid pace and his lips don’t give any sign of stopping.

“Taehyung- Tae, I’m cumming!” You really scream this time, your orgasm taking control over your body like a demon.

You swear your eyes black out, your body shaking, a warmth gushing out of your cunt as it spazzes out.

Your chest heaves and you blink, feeling a damp pool around you. Oh God, Did you piss yourself?

“Holy fuck Y/N, I can’t believe you just did that.”

You sit up, embarrassed, an apology falling from your lips.

“You just squirted on me.”

You’re flushed, “I- what?”

Taehyung almost looks akin to a wolf hunting down his prey. “That was the hottest fucking experience of my life, holy shit I’m so hard.”

Well at least you didn’t pee on his couch. There’s a surge of overwhelming need for his cock to be inside of you. You’ve never felt this way before, it’s scary but so is this whole experience. It’s definitely one for the books.

Getting up on your knees you hold onto his shoulders, Taehyung raises a brow. “Fuck, I need to ride you, can I ride you?”

You think you just saw his dick twitch at your words. He grins, “just for practice?”

Your smile is sickly sweet, “of course, just for practice.”

His arms are strong when he shuffles into a seated position all while holding your hips above his awaiting cock.

He pauses, a flash of his normal self resurfacing. “You’re on the pill yeah?”

You peck his lips, “yes, now stuff me full.”

That’s all the confirmation he needs before he’s sinking you down onto his length.

You both let out moans of pleasure at the feeling of being complete. The stretch hurts so bad but hurts so good. He fills you up so well it has you speechless, the air trapped inside your lungs refusing to be released until your walls are comfortable around his impressive girth.

Mumbling a soft curse, you swivel your hips in slow circles, getting used to his large size. Taehyung watches you, hunger written on his face as he licks his lips and examines the way you fit so perfectly on his lap.

You test the waters, holding onto his shoulders for support. You lift your hips and settle back onto his lap. He groans at the wet squelch it makes and slaps your ass, grabbing it in his hand to squeeze it.

You pick up the speed, pumping up and down, whimpering at how well he fills you up. You keep your gaze trained on the image of his dick disappearing in your heat and pulling out with a wet sheen.

Taehyung tucks a finger under your chin, bringing you close to his face to push his soft lips onto yours once again.

It’s weird to say, but you don’t think you can get tired of kissing your best friend. He knows exactly what you want and knows exactly how to make your head spin.

With his large hands of yours, you pick up the pace, slamming your ass onto his hips. You leave his lips, kissing the side of jaw and suckling a few lovebites behind his ear.

His voice is deep and sultry, “fuck yeah, that’s it.” You wail in his hold, pushing yourself to meet his thrusts below. Your thighs burn but the pleasure burns so much hotter.

You feel your second orgasm of the night rising within you and can tell Taehyung is close too. Taehyung assists you, using his thighs to push up into you. Your juices drip down onto his pelvis and both of your breaths get heavier.

His thrusts are fast and rough, creating loud slapping noises that echo around his empty apartment. He grunts, folding his head into the crook of your neck. He’s about to cum and so are you.

With one final gasp your release hits you like a truck. Your thigh shakes in his lap and Taehyung bites at the delicate skin of your neck. His warm seed shoots inside of you, eliciting a small sigh from your lips.

Taehyung releases his hold to lean back onto the couch. He keeps his softening cock inside of you, lazily staring at your fucked out expression.

You play with his rings, “well, how did I do?”

The shit-eating grin is back. “Hmmm, I think you may need more practice.”

#ficswithluv #bangtaninn #bangtanuniversity #bangtansorciere #taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #bts #bts x reader #taehyung fanfic #jimin #jungkook #seokjin #hoseok #namjoon #yoongi #h0neypjm #mine

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milliedazzledust · 3 years

Text

Even When It Hurts (Clark Kent imagine)

Request by @icyhollands : Clark comforting the reader after she got hurt by someone pretty badly, and him comforting her from a anxiety attack after she gets hurt

Words: 2009

A/N: I know a lot of you were waiting for this so I’m sorry it took so long to write - thank you for your patience and I hope you’ll like it :)

“Clark, you need to come down, now!”

Flying across his enemies on the battlefield, he faintly heard the sound of a voice, even with the distance. As soon as Bruce had found the aliens associated with Darkseid, they had been quick to act and the whole team had made the trip to fight.

While the others were keeping most of their opponents on the ground, he had taken upon himself to divert their attention from the precious object they were trying to steal by attacking from the sky. Too focused on the task, he had missed Arthur and Y/N going after a bunch of them. When she had seen her friend in bad posture, she hadn’t hesitated to put herself between him and the alien, taking the full blast of his hit. Her body had flown across the field before landing on a large tree trunk, breaking it in half. Her vision had been blurred for a moment, too disoriented as her breath was knocked out of her by the hard impact. She hadn’t been fast enough to notice the monster running toward her until she had felt the pain. Arthur had come to her rescue and killed him, but it was too late. The damage was already done.

When she looked down, all she saw was the tip of the weapon he had used, the other half was deep in her side, buried between what she guessed was her ribs.

“Y/N’s been hit!” Arthur yelled as he grabbed her when she fell on her knees.

High above their heads, Clark looked down and quickly spotted the wounded woman. He wasted no time in making his way to her, sending some of the aliens flying with a flicker of his hand. When one of them launched at him, and conjuring up all his frustration and his anger, he punched him with a force that knocked him out instantly.

His eyes remained on her, always. He felt his heart clenched when he saw pain twisting her features and instantly understood the gravity of her situation. She was holding onto Arthur, clutching her side, holding the weapon steady in her flesh. Fear is all he could feel when he landed on the ground, staring at the large gash of blood around her wound. He could even hear her heartbeat getting faster by the second.

Furrowing his brows in concern, he kneeled in front of her and grabbed her face. For a second he just studied her, softly brushing a tear with his thumb, until his eyes landed on hers.

“How bad is it ?” She asked him, her voice a weak whisper.

“You’re gonna be fine” He assured her.

“You’re a terrible liar, Clark” She tried to smile but even that simple movement seemed too much in her state.

She knew if she didn’t feel a thing yet it was purely because of the adrenaline. Tiny little molecules running through her veins, urging her body to fight back, to survive and fix what the foreign object had torn. She could sense fluid pouring out of her injury, the hand clutching her side was already covered in red. She was waiting for the moment the hormone would stop working and she would feel like a bomb had exploded inside of her.

She closed her eyes and a sob escaped her mouth. Her breathing was getting irregular and she was losing her grip. She was exhausted.

“Y/N, stay with me” The superhero tried to motivate her, slowly shaking her head. “Show me those pretty eyes”

She was starting to lose consciousness, and that observation alone terrified him. He kissed her forehead in a sign of encouragement and laid his hand over hers so she wouldn’t let go. She cried out in pain and glanced down. It only took a couple seconds before he was covered in blood as well. He pursed his lips, forcing himself to keep his eyes on hers and not look at the wound. His face was betraying him and he wasn’t even aware of it. She could so easily see the reflection of his own fear in his gaze, the depiction of worry over his features that she lazily traced with her fingers. The shadow of a smile appeared on her lips knowing only she could read him like an open book.

“It’s alright, baby” He comforted her.

“You should work on your poker face” She tried to joke. She was glad it made him smirk.

He turned his head toward Arthur, still holding the woman’s body.

“We’re gonna lay her down” He told him.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea” Y/N warned him, grabbing his biceps to stop him.

“Do you trust me ?” He muttered, stroking her cheek.

“You know I do”

“Then trust me”

She faintly nodded and let the men handle her wounded body. Arthur was behind her, holding on her shoulders, and Clark was in front of her, one hand on her wound, the other behind her neck. As gently as they could, they started to rotate her. Clark never moved his gaze away from hers, not even when her hand gripped his shoulder in pain or when her tears flowed freely as the pain started to become unbearable.

The moment her head touched the ground, she began to cough blood. Her eyes widened at the realization and her heartbeat hastily palpitated.

“We’re alright” He reassured her.

“We’re alright” She repeated in a whisper. She could no longer focus on anything around her. Anxiety was creeping up and threatening to take over. She knew it would do no good but she couldn’t stop it. Her hand tightly clutched the fabric of her man’s costume and her chest started to rise more rapidly as bile rose in her throat.

“Clark” She called for help in a single breath.

“I’m here, baby. I’m not leaving your side”

He wiped the blood on her mouth with his finger.

“You and I have a date tomorrow, remember ?” He spoke, smiling when she faintly nodded. “So you’re not allowed to fall asleep. I haven’t even introduce you to my terrible cooking yet”

Her laugh started a coughing fit, bringing more blood out of her mouth.

“I have to take it out, Y/N” He said more seriously, motioning to the weapon in her body.

Her eyes widened in panic and she shook her head, ignoring the pain.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s alright, beautiful. I’ve got you”

“A .. plan ?” She asked.

“Yes, I do have a plan” He understood her question. “But you’re not going to like it”

“Tell me” She murmured.

“You’re hemorrhaging,” He explained. “If we let it in, you’re risking an infection”

“And if you take it out, I’ll bleed out” She weakly responded.

“Not if I cauterize the wound”

“How ?”

She understood the moment she saw his eyes flashing red. She gulped, mentally preparing herself for what was to come.

“I trust you” She repeated the words she had said already.

He nodded and gave her one last encouraging smile before motioning for Arthur to come closer. He explained his plan in a hurry before standing up, letting the King of Atlantis take his place.

“Ready ?” He questioned the woman.

“Do it” She said, clenching her teeth.

She averted her gaze toward Clark, mouthing one last ‘I love you’ before Arthur pulled out the weapon in a very fast movement and held her down. Superman’s eyes immediately started glowing and he directed his heat vision to the open wound. The moment the high temperature laser touched her skin, she screamed in agony. A horrible, searing pain suddenly invaded her body and she was convinced she was going to die right there. She felt the urge to get away from the source but Arthur had a good grip on her. She kept shouting, as if it would ease the burning sensation. Clark’s jaw tightened and a tear rolled down his cheek, hating to be the one causing her pain.

After only a couple of seconds, she could no longer handle the torture and lost consciousness. The superhero stopped his ministration when he was sure the wound was closed properly and no blood was leaking anymore. Ignoring the smell of burned skin, he silently picked her up in his arms, listening closely to her heartbeats to make sure she was alright.

“I’ve got her” He told Arthur before bolting in the air.

She woke up hours later in a bed, completely disoriented. It took her a solid minute to recognize Clark’s bedroom inside the Kent farmhouse. She felt a throbbing ache on her side and muffled a scream when she touched it. When she looked down, she realized Clark had taken off her suit and had replaced it with one of his shirts. She lifted it to inspect the damage but all there was left of her wound was a small scar made by the man she loved. She shuddered at the memory and swung her legs off the bed. The moment her feet touched the ground, her body crumbled and she lost her balance. A pair of strong arms caught her before she could injure herself.

“You’ve not healed yet” A voice scolded her.

She didn’t answer. Her eyes closed, she let her head fall on his chest and circled his waist, squeezing him in a tight embrace that she so desperately needed. He was her safe line when she was spiraling down, which was happening now that she remembered she had almost lost him.

“How are you feeling ?” He inquired, kissing her head

“Alive” She replied. “I got … I really got scared for a minute”

She brushed a tear and tried to stop the hurricane of negative thoughts hitting her. He felt it too when her body started shaking and ran a hand on her back to calm her down.

“I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you” He swore, holding back the anxiety creeping in. “And I hope you know I won’t let you out of my sight for at least a week”

She knew it was his way of lightening the mood when he could feel her darkness hovering above both of their heads. He had a way of guessing when it was coming and always reacted quickly, diverting her attention to anything else but her mind playing games.

“Do I, at least, get to spend that week in your arms ?” She smirked, raising her head so only her chin was resting on his chest.

“I have conditions” He replied with a smile.

She rolled her eyes.

“Name it”

She saw the change in his attitude and tilted her head in confusion when he took a step back. Cupping her face with both his hands, he stared deeply at her. She could see his quiet emotion through the way his eyes bore into hers, his fear and his devotion.

“Never say I love you like it’s the last time I’ll ever get to hear it” He told her, his lips quivering as a shaky breath escaped his mouth.

Instead of answering, she led him to the bed behind them and together they laid down. He pulled her close and she raised her head until her lips found his. She didn’t need words when she could condensed a million loving thoughts into this moment. The emotion of that kiss alone spoke volume. A simple gesture that meant ‘you’re my home and I won’t leave’

“I love you, Clark”

She repeated the words again and again, making him laugh with happiness. He tightened his hold around her waist until she was almost laying on his chest. Her ear against his heart, she listened with a smile and closed her eyes, soothed by the steady rhythm.

“Thank you” She whispered after a while.

“What for ?”

“Bringing my head and soul back home to you when they get lost”

“Always” He promised.

Her face nuzzled in the crook of his neck, she kissed his cheek and peacefully fell asleep in his protective embrace.

#clark kent #clark kent x reader #clark kent imagine #clark kent imagines #clark kent fanfiction #superman #superman x reader #superman x you #superman imagine #superman imagines #superman fanfiction

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luci-voracious-blog · 3 years

Text

Sonic E.X.E Vore

An history trade for @junothewolf, sorry if it’s an little shoter but i don’t know how to make it more longer and i know my grammar kinda sucks.

It was an very dark night on the Green Hills, you were shivering of cold and fear due you’re tiny size, you have no idea what to do to warm yourself before you could die for hypothermia, it was very VERY COLD!.

For a normal person it was only a normal cold night but for an tiny person it was like you were living on the pole north, you were alone, without any friends or family, you really hate your life because since you were very tiny, nobody notices you and many times you try to interact with people they almost stomp you, you start to cry a little, you only want to end with your awful life.

Suddenly you saw from afar and weird shadow form that was getting closer more often. Until it was finally in front yourself, it was an blue hedgehog but he wasn’t normal, his eyes was whole black, he was like crying blood and showing an big creepy smile.

You were totally stunned and freeze due his appearance.

Who are….? Before even say anything else, you stars to levitate like a mysterious force was moving you, you can’t even move any muscle of your body.

When you were in front to his face, he slowly get out his tongue and licks you a little, he didn’t say anything but he makes an little evil smirk, like he was saying “Such an perfect midnight snack”.

You tried to fight and move for getting free from that force but it was impossible, soon he sowly opens his mouth, put you inside his maws and quickly closed it.

You feels his breath coming from his gullet, it was like an windraft,he slowly starts to taste your flavor as he also munch a little, his teeths were you sharp, similar to an knife so you start to bleed a little, finally he evilly laughs a little for then make an big gulp for send you to your wishful death.

You feel how the throat muscles gives you and soft massage, that must be an reward after been munching by teeths who are mostly knifes.

Some seconds later you already reached to the stomach, it was a very dark and wet place, nothing to expect in a stomach but it was something who makes you feel very shocked and paralyzed, you saw some human bones all around, it looks like it was from previous preys who that monster eats before, you already know what that means, the first thing you think to do it was punching his stomach so hard for see if he could pukes you out from there, but it was useless, it looks like he wasn’t feeling any pain on his stomach.

Then the stomach walls starts to shift and squeeze all around, that only means one thing….it was already the time, the acids starts to trickle in but instaned to been green or yellow they was black and when you start to feel they on your hurted feets, they feels very gooey and not splashy and the weirdest thing, you don’t feel any pain you just feel like you step on a puddle of mud on a rainy day.

You already face up that you may going to die getting drowned by that weird acid, but at least that means you’re going to ending with your lonely life and the best thing without any pain.

You lying over the stomach floor, waiting for your wishful fate, when that acid was getting more often all around, you just make a little smirk and close your eyes for the last time.

Slowly all the black acid filled all the stomach and starts to digest that poorly lonely soul.

But something weird happens…..

From the pig pool of black acid and hand starts to raise up fulled of an black goo, soon an creature starts to raise up as the acid was disappearing as it stills full of that gooey substance, suddenly that creature flew out of the stomach.

That heghehog starts to coughs a little until he spills out that creature, then he cleans up an little to reveal that creature was yourself but very different.

You’re eyes was black as your pupils was very red and bright, you’re skin was darker and your hair color instaned to be “H/C” it was black.

When you saw that giant hedgehog again instaned of feel scared you just smiles to him very happy as you’re teeths was very sharp too.

“It looks like you no longer dislike to been a mouse right?” He says with an evil smile

“Yes, my master” You said with an deep voice

The old yourself who very scared and lonely already die the only thing left from him it was his old skeleton who now is going to live inside the stomach of that hedgehog forever, now you have an new life and a new friends, you’re never going to be alone anymore.

#sonic.exe #sonicvore #pov vore #gooey digestion #not painfult digestion #digestion #vore writing #vore history #male pred #sonic the hedgehog #monday night munchin #fnf sonic.exe #fnf #friday night funkin #g/t vore

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psychdelia · 3 years

Text

billy felt his eyes before he found them. felt the unmoving stare, gazing into the back of his skull. at least that’s where he thought he was looking.

he turned around expecting to find steve glaring at him, the same glare he always gave him whenever he messed with him in the halls, shoved him a little too hard during practice. just like he had today. sent harrington down on his ass yet again, but this time he snapped. got right back up just as fast as he fell and shoved billy hard. steve got in his face, fists clenched at his side and ready to start swinging until coach blew his whistle and demanded he sit out. take the rest of practice to cool down before he ends up suspended for throwing the first punch.

but he wasn’t met with a glare. well. not fully. steve was still glaring, but there was something else. some fire. something billy was too familiar with, especially with the high school girls. steve was checking him out. didn’t even realize he was caught staring, eyes wandering over billy’s chest down to his ass and thighs in those tiny green shorts, and right back up again. his eyes lingered on his lips before they finally met blue, pausing once he realized he’d gotten caught. billy felt his cheeks burn up to the tip of his ears, quickly looking away.

he wasn’t used to male attention. sure it was fun to have the girls drool over him. flirt with them only to not act on anything. he loves the attention. doesn’t love reciprocating it. but steve? the guy whose attention he’s been longing for since he got to this goddamn city? well he didn’t know what exactly to do with that. so he looks away. pretends he didn’t even notice. he should put up a front. start a fight. accuse steve of something, throw the same nasty words in his face that his fathers been yelling on repeat as long as he could remember.

billy keeps playing the game. keeps pretending he doesn’t feel steve go right back to watching him, anger laced with heat and want. he hasn’t received attention like this since his dad caught him kissing a boy then nearly killed him and dragged him halfway across the country. he should be scared. should ignore the heat pooling and butterflies fluttering in his belly. but fuck does he want.

like the little bitch he is, he nearly runs to the showers when coach sends them off. ignores the other guys as they talk. keeps his back to harrington, who’s still fucking glaring. the tables have turned, their roles have switched. it’s now steve demanding billy’s attention. steve with his eyes locked on him, just waiting to be met so he can punch or slap or kiss billy if he’s lucky.

steve takes his time showering, eyes wandering over billy’s broad shoulders and strong arms down to his ass as his hands work the shampoo into his hair as slow as possible. the guys pile out one by one and he’s still on conditioner. watches the way billy washes his hair and body, pointedly ignoring steve. steve hates being ignored. so he waits until they’re alone. until billy can’t ignore him anymore and is forced to face him when he turns around to leave. steve steps closer to him, hands twitching at his sides to reach out and touch.

“you’re such a fucking asshole,” steve finally breaks the silence, stepping closer and closer until they’re sharing air. “what’s wrong hargrove? can’t handle a taste of your own medicine?”

billy’s never noticed their height difference until now. he gulps.

“and what are you gonna do about it?” he breathes.

then steve’s shoving him into the wall just as rough as his lips are on his, hands tight and bruising on his hips. billy submits too quick for his own liking, kissing steve back with a hand on the back of his neck. he moans into his mouth when steve’s tongue finds his, one hand squeezing billy’s ass, nails digging into his skin.

billy lets go of any negative thoughts and little voices in the back of his head telling him that this is a bad idea. can’t focus on them when he feels steve’s dick, huge and hard against his thigh. he doesn’t think about it when he breaks the kiss, letting out a soft groan as steve’s lips latch onto his neck. he doesn’t think about it when he grabs steve’s hand and slips two fingers into his mouth, soaking them with spit. he doesn’t think about it when he slides steve’s hand down, shuddering as they slide over his dick before they find his hole. he holds steve’s hand in place, tightly gripping his wrist as he slides one of his fingers into himself. he feels steve gasp into his neck, pulling back to watch as billy slides down to his knuckle.

“holy shit.” steve pants. the sight before him is so fucking hot he almost forgets to take charge.

almost.

he’s quick to bay billy’s hand away from his wrist, using his free hand to hoist billy’s thigh up and around his waist, giving him room to finger him open. he’s quick to slide the second finger in, fucking him fast. billy drops his head against the wall, mouth open and panting like a bitch in heat as steve curls those long fingers just right into his spot. the stretch and burn is delicious as he slides a third one on. doesn’t even ask before he slides his tongue back into billy’s open mouth, now panting and moaning into steve’s.

“you’re so fucking annoying. and hot. fuck.” steve huffs against his lips. “you like this, huh?” he kisses down billy’s neck, sure to leave marks. “you like fucking yourself on my fingers? getting nice and open and wet for me, baby? huh? that why you never leave me alone?” he asks with a particularly rough thrust of his fingers. “been begging me to fuck you this whole time. gonna give it to you so good, baby, so good.”

billy’s thighs are trembling and the only things keeping him up are his hands on steve’s shoulders and the way he’s holding him against the wall.

“please,” he gasps. “steve - fuck.” he moans.

“that’s right. say my name.” steve’s dick is painfully hard at this point, leaking all over their stomachs. “please what?”

“just,” he groans, biting down on steve’s shoulder. “just fuck me already, steve!” he digs his nails into his back, feels steve shudder beneath his fingertips.

and steve must be full of surprises today because suddenly billy’s not on the ground anymore. steve’s arms are wrapped around his thighs, holding him against the wall as he lubes his dick up with more spit and pre. billy’s quick to wrap his legs around steve’s waist, surprised and so fucking turned on at steve’s display of strength. he barely has time to react, though, because steve’s lips are on his again and the head of his dick is slipping into him with no resistance.

they gasp into each other’s mouths as steve slides home, slowly filling billy up with his huge dick. every time billy thinks he’s done, steve stuffs him even fuller. he lets out a moan mixed with a cry when steve bottoms out, and steve swallows it right up.

“king steve.” billy pants as steve starts off with slow, shallow thrusts, fingers digging into the meat of his thighs. “fuck you’re big.” he groans, clenching around steve.

“jesus, billy,” steve shivers as billy tightens around him. “can’t fuck you when you do that.” he whines, thrusting into him sharply. billy’s chuckle cuts off into a moan.

steve doesn’t give him anymore time to adjust before he’s fucking into him hard and fast. it’s filthy. their hips are smacking with every pound into him, billy grinding down against him. his toes curl when steve hits his prostate, nailing it with every hard thrust.

“right there,” billy cries, dick leaking against their stomachs. “don’t stop. harder. faster.” he demands, digging his nails into steve’s shoulders, down his biceps and back.

steve obliges. he’s never fucked anyone like this. pounding into them, rough and hard. there’s always been hand holding and gentle kisses, shallow thrusts. never biting and scratching and railing the guy he’s supposed to hate the most. he’s so fucking big billy’s sure he’ll feel it the next day when he wakes up, sore with a funny walk. he can’t care about that with the way steve’s lifting him up and down by the tight grip on his thighs, impaling him on his dick. steve fucks him so good and hammers into his spot, billy swears he’s seeing stars. swears he can go out like this, stuffed full of steve’s big dick, pounding him hard and unrelenting, and he’d die a happy man.

but there’s no time to die when steve’s hand is brushing against his nipples then sliding down to wrap around his dick, both of them moaning as billy shudders and clenches tight. he uses billy’s pre as lube, pressing his thumb into his slit before roughly jerking him off in time with his thrusts.

“oh fuck.” billy groans, heat pooling low in his belly. “steve - ah - gonna,” he pants. “gonna cum.”

“do it.” steve moans. “come on, billy. cum for me, baby. feel so good.” he cups and squeezes his balls before jacking him off again, keeping his thumb pressed into his slit.

that’s all it takes to set billy off. clenching almost painfully tight around steve’s dick, moans bordering on shouts as he cums into his hand and all over their stomachs, nearly reaching up to their chests. steve doesn’t last very long, can’t with the way billy’s body trembles beneath his fingertips and his ass tightens around him. he kisses billy when he cums, giving a last few harsh thrusts before he’s buried deep inside him, and billy gladly swallows down steve’s moans. shivers and shudders when he feels steve’s cum inside him.

steve stays put for about a minute, panting into billy’s mouth, foreheads pressed. he slowly slides out of him, both of them hissing as he sets billy down. he falls right into steve who catches him, legs trembling. steve’s arms latch around his waist, holding him upright. one hand gently rubs the small of his back before sliding down. he easily slides two fingers into billy’s used hole, stopping any more cum from dropping down his legs.

billy groans with a, “you’re gross,” but his hips betray him as he weakly grinds down against pretty boy’s fingers.

“that’s all you.” steve smirks, licking billy’s bitten pink lips. “you busy?” billy buries his face into stages neck, shakes his head. “round two at my place?” billy quickly nods, placing soft kisses to his moles.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #lemon #anyone ask for confident steve and flustered billy??#no?? oh well!! you got it #i just wanted to write shower hatesex #so i did #enjoy 😎

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dragonsareourfuture · 3 years

Text

Death Note As Unus Annus Quotes

I still haven’t been able to cope with Unus Annus being gone, so I’ve decided to compile a list of quotes from various videos and use them for Death Note incorrect quotes because idk why not. I had a ton of fun doing this and I hope it shows! Some of these aren’t the exact quotes word for word but I can’t exactly go back to find them now. ⚠️Warning for mature language.

Misa: you think I can fit my thicc ass through there!?

•

Mello: if I lube myself up I’ll slip right through hell and get into heaven

•

Near: I can’t.

Mello: I know, I know. You’ve got that condition where you’re...a bitch.

•

L: stab right here.

Matsuda: right here?

L: yes.

Matsuda: *stabs right there*

L: What the- why’d you stab next to my face that’s a horrible idea!

Matsuda: Ryuzaki, I don’t know I— I’m so sorry!

Light: I think you’re gaslighting him, L...

L: I didn’t think he’d actually do it.

•

*at L’s funeral*

Light: L was a humble — eh, humble? I don’t think we’d call him humble. L, he was a man. A strong man. Strong willed and strong bodied. What he lacked in intelligence he made up for with his charm, his smile, and his ... okay penis.

L, inside the coffin: ??????

•

Light: you’re not mad at anything?

L: no

Light: why?

L “Light-Kun is my first ever friend” Lawliet: well, because I got to spend the entire day with you ^-^

Light:

Light, internally: I am mad every time I hear your voice.

•

Near: *reading* “people can rarely upset you”

Near: yeah I would agree-

Mello: FUCK YOU.

Near:

Mello: are you upset?

Near: no.

•

Matt: I don’t like it when you use knives so aggressively! That is NOT a good idea!

Mello: no, you cut away from the body and then it’s safe...cut away from MY body, at least.

Matt: OH MY GOD

Mello: What?

Matt: you’re gonna fucking stab me!

Mello: why would I stab you?

Matt: because you’re an idiot!

Mello:....I am not an idiot. I am college educated.

•

Mello: So I’ve won once...and you’ve won twice?

Near: yes.

Mello: but I’ll come back for you

Near: it is statistically unlikely

Mello: “iT iS sTaTiStiCaLly uNLiKeLy”

•

Mello: I always feel like it’s fight o’clock

•

Light: are you making an accusation?

L: no...are you getting defensive for no reason?

•

Roger: how do you act in problematic situations?

Mello:

Mello: I remain calm—

All of Wammy’s: *distant laughter*

•

L: I’m not gonna do that, because I’m smart...but you’re an idiot. I think you should do it.

Matsuda: oh, no...

L: I’m just kidding-

Matsuda: No, you’ve got a point!

•

The entire Task Force @ Matsuda : bitch.

Matsuda: I’m just trying to strike up a conversation-

The entire Task Force: bitch.

Matsuda: I’m not gonna listen to you if you’re just gonna belittle me and be a big bully-

The entire Task Force: BITCH—

•

Light: I get the sense that they’re not talking to me because they sense how much more powerful I am than you.

L: I think they just like me more.

Light: why would that be a thing? Nobody likes you.

•

Matt: GAMERS ARE VERY MATURE!

•

Tiny Mello: what’s that?

Roger: this is a chalk line.

Tiny Mello: a what?

Roger: chalk line.

Tiny Mello: ch...chocolate!

Roger: chalk line.

Tiny Mello: Chompus!

•

Misa: I’m gonna die beautiful! Do you know what that’s like? No, you don’t. You have the luxury of being ugly.

L: Mhmm

•

Matt: are you a happy bimbo?

Mello: I AM AN ANGRY BIMBO!!!!

•

Matsuda : *exists*

L: oh my god, even when you’re quiet you’re mostly annoying.

Matsuda : what are you talking about? I was completely silent-

L: get the fuck out.

•

Matt: *asks Near a question*

Mello: why don’t you ask ME? Why would I not know? Piece of SHIT.

Mello: I am a man with an extensive wealth of knowledge and you are not taking advantage of me while I’m STILL HERE.

Mello: *flips hair dramatically* GOD

•

Beyond, dreamily: I forget what happens when you’re on fire...

•

Light: What’s my most incredible feature?

L: the bags below your eyes aren’t that big so that shows you get a good amount of sleep.

Light:.....wow, thanks man.

•

Beyond: a lot of people have this dream of dying in their old age, passing away in their sleep, very peacefully.

L: yep.

Beyond: what a basic bitch death.

•

Misa, finally snapping: you know what really grinds my gears?

Light, very uninterested: what

Misa: you! Because whenever I try to give you a friendly “hey, now” you say “don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!” Well you know sometimes maybe I wanna be touched! Maybe I wanna be touched, Light!

•

Near: it’s a little loose...

Matt: what, they didn’t sell a child’s size?

Near:

Near: hey—

•

(Matsuda, taking his mandatory polygraph test)

Chief Yagami: so this machine is borrowed—

Matsuda: oh my gosh, somebody else’s lies are in here!?

•

This isn’t Unus Annus, I just really wanted to add it here—

Chief Yagami: Who broke it? I’m not mad, I just wanna know.

Light: ....I did, I broke it, dad—

Chief Yagami: No, son you didn’t. Matsuda?

Matsuda: don’t look at me! Look at Aizawa!

Aizawa: what!? I didn’t break it!

Matsuda: Huh. Weird. How’d you even know it was broken?

Aizawa: because it’s sitting right in front of us and it’s broken!

Matsuda: Suspicious.

Aizawa: No, it’s not!

L: if it matters, probably not, but Misa was the last one to use it.

Misa: Liar! I don’t even drink that crap!

L: Really? Then what were you doing by the coffee cart earlier?

Misa: I use the wooden stirrers to push back my cuticles! Everyone knows that, Ryuzaki!

Light: lets not fight, I broke it. Let me pay for it, dad.

Chief Yagami: No. who broke it?

Aizawa: Chief....Mogi’s been awfully quiet-

Mogi: REALLY?

Aizawa: yeah, really!

Everyone: *screaming*

Chief Yagami: I broke it. It burned my hand so I punched it. I predict in ten minutes from now they’ll be at each other’s throats with war paint on their faces and a pig head on a stick...good. It was getting a little chummy around here.

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pascalpanic · 4 years

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Blood, Sweat, and Tears (Javier Peña x f!Reader)- Chapter One

Summary: You live in Bogotá in the ‘90s, and work odd hours. No, you’re not a DEA agent, but a nurse. These odd hours prompt odd habits, like working out at 2:03 A.M. after a shift. Odd hours attract odd people, and you have a chance encounter with one DEA agent by the name of Javier Peña. Warnings: language, blood and violence (both graphic), descriptions of death and gun violence Chapter 1 W/C: 2.3K A/N: you guys! I am so in love with this fic. I already have quite a bit more written and can’t wait for you to read it! I hope you love it as much as I do! Javi deserves some softness... but not too much. this can’t all be fluff when you’re Javier Peña. Okay, this is not super canon-fitting of Narcos, I’m just gonna be honest with y’all. This is between the time of Escobar’s escape from La Catedral and his final capture and death, but also… Connie’s still in Colombia. Additionally, I don’t really have a year in mind, it’s just somewhere in that period. Please note that this is not a very lighthearted story- it begins with a death, though not of a significant character. Javier and reader both have some trauma, so please check the warnings of each chapter before you start reading. If you’re continuing on, I hope you like it! For the most part, if I use italics here when someone is speaking, it’s indicating that it’s in Spanish. I’m okay at the language, but I don’t want to butcher anything, so… just imagine it. Otherwise, it’s just the way anyone would use italics I guess.

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Chapter One

You watched a woman you didn’t know die in your arms tonight.

She was beautiful, all dressed up to go out and party, her makeup running down her face with tears. Her lips were the painted the color of the blood that trickled from the side of them, eyes glazing over as she coughed and coughed and ruined the beautiful dress she wore. The nurses had asked what happened, and she had told them, through gurgles of blood: she had slept with one of Escobar’s men. She got too close, learned too much, and they tracked her down.

She flatlined not long after telling the nurses around you. You had stood in the corner, paralyzed at first. You were an experienced ER nurse, nothing was new. You had seen patients die, but something about her was different. Maybe it was the way she reached out to you right before her body went limp. You didn’t make it to her bedside in time to calm her, the panic holding you down, but you finally took her hand right as she took her last breath.

After she passed, you threw up in the bathroom, shaking and clutching the toilet. The night air had grown unbearably hot and humid, causing your scrubs to cling to your skin, and the sweat from the heaving of your stomach didn’t make things easier on you. Lorena, a fellow nurse and your best friend at work, had found you and comforted you, rubbing your back and bringing you water. It didn’t matter. It couldn’t reverse what had happened.

Now, you sit on a bench in the staff’s locker room, redoing the ponytail holding your hair from your damp face. Your shift ended a few minutes ago, but you don’t know what to do now. You don’t feel like drinking; that would only make the visions swimming in your head worse. You know you can’t go home, can’t attempt to find sleep tonight. You look up and spot a bag with tennis shoes and spare clothing and settle your mind on at least one thing: the gym could do you some good. You change into the clothes and put the blood-spattered scrubs in the laundry pile.

As you leave, you give Lorena a little wave goodbye and exit the building. You’re hyper-aware of your surroundings tonight, and you groan as you look at your watch and notice that it’s precisely 2:09 A.M. here in Bogotá. The walk to your fitness club is short, but your step is slightly extra hurried and your hand is on your pepper spray the entire time, extra vigilant to the fact that a hit went down somewhere around here just a few hours earlier. Surprisingly enough, no one catcalls or bugs you tonight.

The little gym is run-down and dilapidated, and there’s no working air conditioning, but it’s the only one near you. You paid the small monthly membership fee to gain access, and you were going to use it to get in shape, you’d decided. As you swipe in and enter, the tiny fitness center looks more depressing in the fluorescent lights, no daylight to sugarcoat the atrocities of the center. There are two of every machine, a punching bag and a speed bag, two weightlifting racks, and a couple of benches.

It’s nice that you get to work out alone tonight, you tell yourself. Even better is the fact that you now get to control the music. Desperate for a taste of home, you flip the large boombox in the corner on and begin scanning the airwaves with the dial. There’s a station in town that plays American music, and you need it more than anything tonight. You listen carefully and nearly start sobbing again as you hear Billy Joel’s voice through the speakers. With a sigh of relief, you lock your bag in the rusty lockers in the corner and head to the treadmill. It’s a beat up old thing, but this is the one you always use. It provides a little bit of comfort tonight, the familiarity of it. You turn it on low and start walking. A few moments later, you up it to a jog, mouthing along to the words of the familiar song.

As the song ends, you push the buttons enough to enter a running speed. Your feet slam into the treadmill harder than normal tonight, feeling as overwhelmed as when you left the hospital. Your body finally works up a sweat, the physical stress overwhelming the mental stress.

As the events of tonight replay in your head to some other song from the late 80’s, your eyes start to water. Everything was so overwhelming, and your mind is just starting to process it. You finally allow the tears to fall, mixing with the sweat coating your cheeks. It’s hard to tell which is causing more of the mess, but you let yourself cry it out as you run for the next few minutes.

The next song that comes on is Venus by Bananarama. You almost chuckle at the fact that it’s a few years old by now, but the song is comforting. It reminds you of home, of a time before you had issues like these. You slow down the treadmill a little, singing to the words aloud once you catch your breath enough. Daring to do a little spin on the rolling surface, you groove along to the music, chuckling a little

After the first chorus, you hear a creaking noise and whip around to find a man standing in the doorway. “Jesus fucking Christ!” You shout before you can stop yourself, hopping off the treadmill and onto the non-moving one before you get flung off. Your heart is pounding from the running, only intensifying the adrenaline rush from the scare.

The man chuckles a little, but the smile on his face doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s tired- of course he is, it’s now 2:30 in the morning. “Lo siento,” you offer in Spanish, cringing at yourself and your reaction just now. “I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be here this late,” you stutter, still panting from the running. He shakes his head lightly. “You’re American,” he says simply. In English, in a beautifully American accented voice.

Your sweaty brow furrows, a glimmer of hope sparking inside your chest as you notice that he speaks like an American himself. “So are you.”

He nods at that. “That I am,” he says as he puts his things in a locker, snapping it shut behind him. He looks at you for a moment. You’re not working at the Embassy, or he’d know you. It was rare to find an American down here that wasn’t working for the government somehow. He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair, looking at how tired he appears in the big mirrored wall. He’s curious, but he’s exhausted.

You look at him for a moment. “You going to explain anything, like, tell me about yourself? Or do I have to go first?” You ask, hands on your waist as you hop back on the slowly moving treadmill, back into moving. He doesn’t respond. “Fine. I know you’re government. I’m not an idiot.”

He chuckles and tugs on his t-shirt, moving to the treadmill next to you and getting on. It’s been ages since you’ve held a conversation in English, and you missed this, missed how easily your first language flows from your mouth. “And you’re not.”

“Correct,” you nod, turning up the speed a little on the machine until you’re at a light jog. “My bigger concern was going to be why you’re here at 2-fucking-30, but I’m guessing I know the answer. You get called in around here for the hit?” He nods, starting the treadmill up and walking on it.

“You don’t have to be so guarded, Jesus. I fucking hate Escobar, I’m on your side,” you scoff before turning up the machine until you’re running once more.

Javier shrugs. “Makes sense. How did you know-”

“She died,” you say quickly and firmly, keeping your eyes straight ahead and looking at the room around you. “Add that to your file.”

He nods, understanding a little more now. You knew her somehow. He doesn’t say a word either, cranking up the machine and heading into a jog too.

A few more minutes pass of the two of you silently running next to each other, the American music still playing throughout the gym. It’s a comfort to Javier too. Tonight was shit for the DEA- they had known Escobar’s men would be around here. They had the intel, they had everything ready, but the men somehow had escaped and left a victim in their wake.

The frustration of everything, of the man being something close to home for you yet being a brick wall, threatens your eyes with welling tears again. “I just wanted to talk with an American,” you sigh and cross your arms, moving back into the walking stage of a treadmill.

The man next to you gives a similar sigh, stopping his treadmill completely and offering you a hand. “Javier Peña.” You take it reluctantly, feeling the sweat of both of your hands mix, and tell him your name before retracting it and stopping the treadmill too. “So, what brings you to the gym at 2:30?” He asks, crossing his arms and leaning against the center part of the treadmill.

“I’m a nurse. I work the graveyard shift. Bad night, a patient died because she got fucking shot for having a boyfriend and not knowing he was a narco, I need to get something out, I come here,” you shrug, unconsciously mimicking him by folding your arms as well.

He nods at that. “I’m here for the same. Shitty stakeout, I’m pissed off, I come here.” He leaves out the part about his favorite call girl being taken, and how he needed another way to get the rage inside of him out. He walks off of the treadmill and to the weight rack, pulling a bench beneath the bar.

You turn again and turn the machine back on, slowly jogging. “I see. Odd hours to be here, that’s why I asked,” you say simply. “And to see another American at such a time. I haven’t interacted with one since I came here.”

Javier nods, adjusting the weights on the bar. “Yeah. Weird,” he nods. “And that you’re an American who isn’t working for the government and you’re down here. What, you got a husband who works for us?”

You shake your head, swallowing hard for a moment. “No, don’t have a husband in the first place,” you admit, adjusting the ponytail holding your hair up. “It’s a long story.”

“We got time,” he shrugs as he gets on the bench beneath the rack, looking at you in the mirrored wall. Even with the sweat and the stress of working out, he notices that you’re gorgeous. You have a nice body, and even your face is pretty while you’re working out.

You shake your head. “Fine, if you really want to hear it.”

“Might as well. It’s that or more of this fucking Wham! music, and I’m sick of George Michael.”

“First of all, first person here gets the music, so mind your manners.” This finally earns a chuckle from the man, and you want to smile but it just can’t come. “I came down here with a man. He’s a citizen here. We were going to get married, but he left me. That was a couple of months ago now,” you admit, the tears beading in the corner of your eye again. “My work visa was still valid, and I renewed it so I can keep working at the hospital. I don’t really have anyone down here except the girls I work with, but I like helping out. They need me.” He nods a little as he listens, breaking his focus as he starts his reps with the bar.

“And you’re government, so that explains everything I need to know about you,” you continue to babble. “One of the girls I work with has a husband who’s at the Embassy. Murphy,” you say offhandedly.

Javier’s attention is caught, and he sets the bar on the rack. “Murphy?” He asks, and you turn your head to look at him and give him a nod. “No shit. That’s my partner.”

You chuckle slightly and look back at him, stopping the treadmill. “So you know Connie?”

Javi nods. “Yeah, great gal. She could do better than Steve,” he says, sitting up.

You laugh softly at that. “From what I’ve heard of him, I agree. She’s a really great girl, you’re right,” you nod in agreement, looking back at him. “She’s never mentioned you. She says her husband’s in janitorial, but we all know that’s not true. What, you guys CIA? DEA?”

Javier nods again. “DEA.”

“I see,” you say, folding your arms and leaning against the machine. “Can’t make you many friends around here. I learned pretty quickly to keep my mouth shut about being a gringa. They can usually tell though.”

“You’re right,” he chuckles and cracks his back.

You bite your lip as you look at him, your voice watery when you can finally speak again, suddenly overwhelmed by emotion again. “It’s nice to talk to someone in English again,” you admit with a forced smile.

He can read your eyes easily. You’re a nurse, and you told him that the victim died. You saw it. “It is,” he nods, reading your pain and trying to show you he empathizes with it. Your eyes are beautiful, he notices as he looks into them. So much more hope and trust than anyone else he works with, but the pain in them is unbearable. He looks away, leaning back on the bench to lift again.

“So where you from in the States?” You finally ask when the silence is too long.

“Laredo, Texas,” he chuckles. “Yourself?”

#javier peña x reader #javi peña x reader #javier peña #javi peña #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pascalpanic #narcos #narcos fanfic #blood sweat and tears

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jangofctts · 4 years

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Sink Your Teeth In (Part 2 of Are You In Or Out?)

Rated: Explicit (Paz is in the next chapter DONT WORRY)

Word count: 7.5k

Warnings: mentions of violence, blood, the cold?, reader is in PERIL YET AGAIN, vaginal fingering, oral female receiving, unprotected vaginal sex (wrap them schlongs yall), brief hand jobs, swearing, angst, very VERY light choking, din is a sub sorta?? bottom energy

Summary: Well. At least you aren't dead. After a solo hunt gone wrong, you’re dumped in a cave on Csilla. Hopefully someone finds you before you freeze to death.

a/n: hey…so uh. HOW ABOUT THAT EPISODE HUH?!? aheM anyway--yall I just wanna thank everyone first off for all the love and support!!! I see all of your comments and tags and AH IM SO LUCKY TO HAVE ALL OF YOU GUYS. ALSO SPECIAL SHOUTOUT TO @djxrxn THIS WOULDNT HAVE BEEN DONE WITHOUT YOU BB GORL

Well—

Here you are.

Taken by surprise by another bounty, further proving how irrevocably incompetent you are at this line of work. You blame the binders. An older, clunkier model—easy to pick if you’re clever enough and yes. Maybe you should’ve asked to borrow a carbonite chamber, but hey—where’s the fun in that?

Not much, as it so happens.

Your feet had been kicked up on the dashboard, dozing and unaware of the freed bounty creeping up behind the pilot’s seat. Something delightfully blunt smashed against your temple, jolting you into a brief conscious state where the only thing you could think before passing out again, was a resounding—

Oh, fuck me sideways with a fucking lightsaber—

The rest is hazy. A blur of colors and the fuzzy shapes of your bounty’s face sneering in amusement when she bound your wrists and ankles and left you in the cargo hold. Vaguely you recall your ship being commandeered, swung into an unidentified atmosphere and landing on said unknown planet Or planets. Planet hopping to cover up a trail.

The bitter cold, sharper than a needle through skin is what shook off the last dregs of unconsciousness. The bounty’s hand was hooked into the collar of your clothes, dragging your limp body through drifts of snow and ice. You would’ve fought back—should’ve even though each extremity felt like a numb block of lead. Not very useful in a fight…

Soon, the snow turned to mud and the mud to stone as a mouth of a cave slid over the impossibly blue sky. Dumped in a cave, and left to die—perfect way to bite the dust. Your bounty turned captor lands a sharp kick to your ribs, mouthing some curse in a language you don’t understand, and left without a second thought.

Seems about right. You have a knack for lying helpless and half dead in places you ought not to be in.

Two days and counting, you’ve been holed up in this blasted cave with no food, no supplies and no comlink. It’s going be a fucking chore to find you—nearly impossible. You’re lucky in that aspect you guess—you know enough bounty hunters to sniff out a a needle in a whole stack of needles, so all it is is a race of time against the elements and how long it takes for one of them to notice.

Aeris is no help. He left a day before you had—hired as personal protection for some syndicate leader halfway across the galaxy. Ives is in a similar boat, off-world and unavailable to drag your ass out of the hole you’ve dug. Which leaves…

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose between your forefinger and thumb. Anytime you even think of those two a migraine cumulates behind your eyes. It’s…it’s not like anything bad happened in the aftermath—there’s been no fallout or arguments with barbed words as weapons. It’s been quiet. Like stepping onto a sheet of cracked transparisteel in a library full of tight-lipped academics.

The questions lurk under the surface of every conversation and longing look cast your way. You’ll need to clarify and sort things out eventually, but fuck—it’s such a mess of frazzled heartstrings and fine strands of impossible thoughts that lead into an endless void of doubt. You’re shoving that emotional time bomb to the very back of your mind—everything is still so raw…

So you ran.

Picked up any and all jobs that the Guild provided just to escape the looming decision of confronting a certain pair of Mandalorians. That and with them having their own tasks to complete, it was rare to see them, let alone together in the past few weeks. A simple run in here and there in the halls of the Covert, but you were too busy to stop and chat—forced a chaotic schedule upon yourself as an excuse to avoid staying in once place at a time.

Coward.

The word knots in your stomach like gnarled tree roots escaping their prison of dark soil on untrodden land.

Maker—how did everything become so tangled?

You draw your knees up to your chest and release a long, drawn out exhale that echoes through the cave. You sniff and force the swell of tears that prick at your eyes away. You’re pretty sure they’ll freeze and you’re not hoping to find out.

The only good thing about being dropped on this Maker-forsaken, wasteland devoid of anything but snow, is the free ice for the nasty gash on your forehead. A nice little parting gift.

It’s shallow…you think—it stopped bleeding the night before and is now just a scabbed over, tender wound that throbs whenever you move your head too fast. Concussion maybe—a mild one.

Maker willing when someone finds your sorry ass they’ll have bacta. Or a blanket. Either would be peachy.

Sitting up with a wince, you shuffle to the mouth of the cave for the thousandth time and scour the skyline for a familiar ship. Or, any ship really. The only thing you do see is a lonesome wisp of cloud against the grayish blue sky much to your chagrin. You scowl and stalk back into your little hovel and slump back onto the ground.

The hours drag on, the watery light of the dying sun barely doing anything to warm you. Sulking is hardly what you should be doing—not great for the burdened mind and all that, but ah, it’s so fun to wallow in misery. You curl your knees up to your chest and you must slip into a doze because when you’re snapped back into the present, footsteps punch through the frozen tundra outside your cave.

Adrenaline crackles down your spine—the bounty changed her mind. Ultimately decided she’d be safer in the long run with you dead. Fine.

If this is where your grave is going to be, might as well get in one or two punches. What’s another black eye anyway?

A shadow flickers at the mouth of the cave, curling around the wall as she draws closer. A brown boot kicks through the snow and—

“Changed your mind? I—“

Your words die on your tongue as relief floods your veins. Din Djarin stands before you, a sight for sore eyes in these trying times.

Frost glitters on the burgundy chest plate, glinting in the dim sunlight that touches the mouth of the cave. A delicate feathering of the dainty crystals that no high end lace maker could ever hope to mimic curls up the front of Din’s visor and eats away at the edges of his cloak. His heavy step forward reverberates off the walls, some of that ease replaced by the prickle of dread. His silence is unnerving.

“Din,” you say again, just so he’ll say something. “I can—“

You move to stand, but he interrupts with a halting;

“Sit.”

Your mouth snaps shut and you drop back on the floor. This…is not good. His footsteps are heavy as he approaches you and every muscle in your frame tightens like a fist wrapping around your ribcage and squeezing. The precise edges of his helmet are not a forgiving sight and even when he kneels onto one knee you have to resist the natural urge to flinch. Like this, despite hunching over, Din is broad. All hard muscle and sinew amplified by the bulky layer of beskar.

Your tongue runs over the insides of your teeth as you track his hand that he thrusts foreword. You hiss and jerk away at the sudden needly pain when his gloved thumb finds the edges of your head wound. A low sound of disapproval filters out through the helmet in a low metallic buzz.

“You won’t need stitches,” he says. Din reaches into one of his various supply pouches and pulls out a tiny vile of bacta. He casually pulls off his right glove, unscrews the vile and smears the bacta over his thumb. This time you don’t make a sound, even though your nerves scream at the razor like sensation of his thumb working the bacta into the damaged flesh. He doesn’t ask how the injury happened and you don’t care to tell him. There’s a time and place for stories about battle scars and near misses—it’s much too fresh to be spoken of right now.

The brief torture finally ends after once last glance over for other presenting injuries. He finds none, replaces his glove and stands with a muted grunt. You know what’s next. You’d rather avoid it—you aren’t keen on the berating lectures—as deserved as they are.

“I found your ship on Sato 3,” Din begins with a growl. “Imagine my surprise when I found your bounty selling it for parts.”

Ah, there it is. You wince and study your fingernails. “Pile of junk anyway…”

“I thought you’d be smarter about these things,” he snarls, his sharp tone deadly enough to slice through bone. “Was the hole blown into your lung not enough for you?”

You swallow and bite your tongue.

The bristling Mandalorian, continues and jabs an orange tipped finger at you. “You are reckless.”

Your chest constricts as you look away, shame blooming in the pit of your stomach.This is a new facet of Din you’ve never encountered. You aren’t naïve—even the most docile of people can harbor a temper, you know that. And you know Din is by no means passive—he’s an elite warrior equipped with a small arsenal at his disposal. You don’t expect him to coddle you or treat you different than any other companion; but…but it’s hard not to take his ire to heart. Not when it’s the kind of anger that boils deep in your chest and erupts with molten streams that leaves scathing wounds and blistered feelings.

You chew your lip hard enough to taste blood and avoid his piercing gaze. You think if you do you might catch fire and burn to a crisp. “I’m sorry.”

The meek apology settles in the air like a heavy fog. Din’s anger still brews, looming and dark but he reigns in his temper and switches out the searing cadence of his words with chilly informality. You’re not sure which is worse.

“No more bounties.”

“What?” Your brows knit together. The fuck does he mean.

“No more hunts alone—“

You interrupt with a scoff. “You’re grounding me?”

He strides across the small space and plants himself on the opposing wall. “Until you’re competent enough, you have no business being out in the field. You might as well be bait at this point.”

“Competent.” You echo through clenched teeth.

His helmet dips, leveling a steady glare of indifference. “The Crest is a half cycle’s walk from here. In the morning I’m taking you back to Nevarro.”

“I’m not a child. You can’t just,” you throw your hands up in dismay, “ban me from bounty hunting.”

Din’s armor clinks together as he moves to sit. He rests one elbow on his propped up knee, extends his other and rolls his helmet to meet your eyes. “Your actions reflect the Covert now. We can’t risk discovery because of one stupid mistake or a careless loose end.”

That hadn’t even crossed your mind. Stars, you want to smack yourself. Your ship, as shitty as it was, hosted a good chunk of sensitive information, all encrypted and translated into binary. A mediocre slicer could hack through it in hours. Not exactly foolproof but hey, at least you had something. Good thing your bounty wasn’t in the market of selling stolen ships to the Empire.

“Din?”

The Mandalorian makes no noise of affirmation that he heard you. You sigh and take his silence as a go ahead and clear your throat. “How long was I gone for?”

Here, in the cave it’s been nearly three days, but the rest of it you’re not exactly sure. Hunting the bounty down took up at least a week or two and even longer to capture her and there’s no accounting for the time lost after your ship was commandeered. Your teeth roll over your bottom lip as you wait for him to respond.

“Almost two months.” He replies evenly. “Your transmissions were cut three weeks ago and I didn’t think anything of it. Comms are always patchy in Wild Space."

Leather creaks as his fist balls at his side. “You didn’t answer for days. Paz and I tracked the ship to Sato 3, but you weren’t there. Do you know how difficult it was to pick through all the planets recorded on your log?”

You blink and return to picking at your fingernails.

“You weren’t easy to find, I—“ He severs the rest of his sentence with a crackling sigh and tilts his head back. “You’re lucky.”

The hesitance lacing his words makes you bite your tongue, the snarky retort crumbling to ash in your mouth. Din doesn’t bother to filter his words—he’s blunt. Efficient and to the point when he does decide to speak. That…well that was different.

He was worried—

You rub at your cheek—numb with the cold and curl into yourself. Din was worried. Easily the most feared bounty hunter in the parsec, worried that he couldn’t find you.

A different cold—one that settles deep into the marrow of your bones and hugs your soul with a sheet of frost, makes a home in your heart. The severity of what could’ve happened replaces that sheen of hilarity and fuck. You were closer to freezing to death than Din finding you here—alone in some stupid kriffing cave.

Somehow the idea of that is worse than the brief brush of eternal slumber you had on Nar Shaddaa. Up to that point you expected to die young—no harm and no foul in it either. You had no attachments, no debt to pay—a drifter in an endless galaxy.

Now you’re here, buckling under the weight of mismanaged friendships and your uncanny skill at weaseling into any and all trouble.

Neither you or Din jump to fill the silence. The ashes of disaster settle in nicely with the frozen echo of an endless winter.

It’d been a couple hours shy from sunset when Din arrived, the sun providing weak light that hardly touched the mouth of the cave. Now as the shadows grow longer and with the temperature dropping, the two of you are swallowed up by the unyielding darkness of night.

Din shuffles and fishes out the solar light from his supply bag. It clicks on and warm, orange light illuminates the cave. It bounces off his beskar, fracturing the light like a million tiny suns in the tempered metal and in the impossibly dark visor. He looks up, and tosses the light over.

You catch it easily and despite the warmness of the light it emits, it offers no heat for your chilled fingers. You set it to the side and tuck your hands into your armpits.

By no means is the cave warm—the natural thermal vents kept the ground dry and free of the ice and snow that rages outside, but it doesn’t protect you from the occasion chilly draft that cuts through each layer you wear. Then again, you weren’t planning on taking an unexpected vacation on Csilla. No time to plan really.

You sigh and pull your knees up to your chest and cast a glance at your ever radiant ray of sunshine across from you.

He looks nice and cozy—leaned back against the cave wall, one leg crossed over the other while his hands sit intertwined just below his navel. The beskar must provide insulation—maybe a fancy heater in that bucket of his, or maybe he’s just too stubborn to show anything other than indifference.

Another bout of shivers tear through your frame and you’re certain Din can hear the enamel of your teeth clack together. You shove your hands deeper into your armpits and tuck your chin into your chest to preserve heat and pray that sleep isn’t far off—can’t be cold if you’re unconscious.

Metal scrapes over stone as Din readjusts himself and you can feel him looking at you. It’s not a terrible weight to bear; intense and analytic, sure and in the past it would’ve unnerved you. Now, instead of it feeling like he were peeling back each fibre of your soul each time he stares, it’s familiar. A pattern of sorts—

It happens each time Din wrestles with an uncertain question. He deals in absolutes, and it’s no surprise he rarely knows what to say to you.

“You’re shivering,” he states. You roll your eyes. “Are you cold?”

“Boiling, actually,” you snip. “Why else would I forget a jacket?”

A sharp hiss of air crackles through the vocoder. “Don’t get mouthy with me. It was a simple question.”

“Well—there’s not much to do about it,” you sneer, watching your breath condensate in the air. “I’m freezing, exhausted, and hungry.”

You know you’re being snide—but your nerves feel like they’ve been severed at the root with a dull vibroblade. You have neither the time nor energy to spare for simple questions. Din should understand that—seeing as he’s a man familiar with short temperament.

The space between you is ripe with crackling tension, and maybe—if you weren’t so fucking cold—you’d play the mediator. Thread stitches into the gash you both sliced into your friendship, as small it may be. You’ve lost friends over less—this could end up no different.

You sigh and turn your head. This is a problem for tomorrow.

Irritated and upset, you squeeze your eyes shut and chase after sleep. You slip in a doze faster than expected, any and all discomfort fading away a you toe the line between a deeper sleep and waking dreams. You think you imagined Din saying your name—Maker you can’t even escape him in your own fucking head—

It doesn’t end—like a nagging buzz that swells until it’s right near your ear. Spite spurs you to ignore It and exhaustion convinces you to drift further away. That is, until a hand, gentle and warm curls around your shoulder. You once again hear your name rumble low through Din’s helmet, but it’s much too difficult to open your eyes. Why can’t he leave you be? You barely feel the cold now…

“Stay awake.” Din sounds distant, in some other plane of existence despite the steady hold he has on your arm. “Maker—you’re colder than kriffing ice.”

“Go away,” you grumble through numb lips. Such a pest.

He’s talking—but the words don’t make sense. Muddled—split between that hazy line of dreaming and consciousness where you can’t decipher what’s real. His hands however—you can feel those plain as day. A bare palm cups your cheek—shreds through the layer of frost you’re positive has crystalized over your skin and rouses you to a more coherent level of presentness.

“Don’t quit on me yet—“

“Nah,” you mumble. “I’m hard to…to kill. L-like a scrap rat…”

Din grunts in response. “Rat is a compliment. You’re more of a spider-roach.”

The ends of your mouth quirk. It’s the best you can do—a full smile just might push you to the brink of death.

“C’mon—I won’t let either of us freeze,” Din sighs. His fingers find the magnetized latches on his cuirass and it slips off with practiced ease, the armored thigh plating following a moment later. He neatly sets it to the side and grabs his cloak to fasten it around you. With another sigh, Din shuffles in behind you and wraps an arm around your middle, nestling his legs and body snuggly around yours.

Maker—you don’t have time to bother about the intimacy of this because all you’re drawn to is the furnace like heat. Fuck, he’s so warm. You have only a second to enjoy it before your body begins to thaw—bringing forth waves of achey pain.

His chest molds to your back, both arms curling over your own arms that are scrunched up tight around your chest. You shake in his hold, vicious waves of cold clashing against his body heat—it hurts—like sticking your bare foot into hot coals.

You squirm, little gasps of discomfort slipping out that echo around the cave. Din shifts, tucking you further under his body until he’s nearly crushing you. It’s a bit tricky to breathe like this but hey—you’re not complaining. Not when your nose is buried in his soft undershirt that smells purely of Din.

Your fingers and toes still throb as they thaw, but it’s working. Cuddling Din Djarin to stave off hypothermia—sounds kriffing ridiculous.

“You’re still shivering,” he says. “I might…”

Your breath catches in your throat as he trails off. “Might what?”

Another shiver wracks through your body as his frosty helmet catches on bare skin when he dips his head in embarrassment. You don’t quite catch what he says and he doesn’t bother to clarify. “Forget it.”

You turn your head as much as you can, straining your eyes to meet the strip of visor. “Tell me.”

He mumbles under his breath again and cuddles closer, slotting his hips against your ass. “Might know…know another way to keep us warm…”

Oh.

A spark breathes to life in the pit of your tummy. You wiggle onto your back, your nose brushing the vizor. “Does it involve me taking off my pants?”

Din huffs, his hands, previously latched onto your hips, starting to crawl up your waist. “It could…”

You smirk and rock your hips back, eliciting a low growl that rumbles through his chest. With your whine of approval, Din’s hand slips between your legs and gives the meat of your inner thigh a squeeze. You let your knees fall open as far as they can in this position and it’s all Din needs to cup your cunt through the thin material of your trousers.

Crackling pleasure flood your veins as the heel of his palm grinds into your clit, and while the pressure is nice, it does nothing to satisfy. Only feeds the growing flames of desire with brittle kindling.

You pull at his undershirt and whimper, thrilled once his deft fingers, calloused and thick unlace your pants and yank far enough down to fit his hand. His fingers trace your outer lips, a ghost of a touch as arousal swells in your stomach. He parts your folds once your wetness begins to dribble out and coats his fingertips with your arousal.

Stars—you need him. You arch into him and whine. “Touch me. Din, please—“

You jerk as Din’s thumb swirls a slow circle over your clit, a rush of endorphins surging out like unrefined fire whiskey. Din’s head tilts to watch you writhe over his fingers and the sudden chill of his helmet touching the inside of your flushed neck steals away your next inhale. Goosebumps race down your entire being, adding to the influx of your excitement that pools in your lower belly.

Your hands tangle into his undershirt, pulling him closer until you can’t find where he begins and you end. His heart pounds in his chest, thrumming to the dance of your own heart that yearns to break free from your ribcage. Your breath catches when two of his thick fingers tease at your entrance. Your walls flutter around him as the slip in easily.

His fingers roll forward and stroke against something devastating inside of you, and he when his palm rolls back, it bumps against your clit with that divine firmness you need. Your cunt tightens around the two digits as they curl.

“Fuck. Can you hear yourself?” He pants, groping your breast to elicit a high pitched wail. “You always make—make such pretty noises.”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach at his words and fuck. You’re already dipping head first into release. A moment later you’re arching into his chest as every muscle stiffens in a crescendo of bliss, your stuttered breathing harsh even to your own ears.

Your quick pants fog up his visor as Din rests the crown of his helmet on your forehead, the metal a cool relief to your flushed skin. He slips his fingers out of your dripping cunt, your chest still heaving with exertion as the last strands of your high fizzle and ebb away. Din shifts and and snakes his fingers, still shiny and wet with your arousal, beneath the lip of his helmet and sucks them clean with an appreciative groan.

“Fuck—“ You breathe, pushing your face into his hand as he cups your cheek. Din’s thumb brushes over your cheekbone and swings his leg over your hips to hoist himself over you.

“Do you remember...” He starts, his voice buzzing through the vocoder. His fingers tickle down your cheek and trace the parted outline of your lips. “When you let me taste you?”

You nod, and it’s all you’re able to do. You’re not even sure you can formulate words, let alone voice them right now.

Din’s thumb pulls at your plush bottom lip, and you can’t help but slide your tongue along the digit. He grunts and slips his thumb into the wet heat of your mouth. “I think about you every night…how you came on my tongue—”

Your stomach flips as a rush of arousal sweeps through your tummy. You groan and you’re half sure you’re gonna dissipate into the floor from how hot your cheeks burn. “Din—"

He continues without missing a beat.

“You were so fucking wet for me—dripped all over my hand,” he murmurs, nuzzling his helmet, still chilly and frosted over, into the crook of you neck. “I want to do it again—can I?”

You’re nodding before he even finishes his sentence. He wasn’t the only one longing for his head between your thighs on those long nights apart. Remembering those plush lips and addictive touches could only get you so far and well—he’s here now. You said it once and you’ll say it again—there’s no chance in hell you’d be passing up this opportunity.

Din lifts his head and as you watch the light glitter in the reflection of the beskar, a sudden stray thought ricochets into the forefront of your mind. “Din, the light—your helmet.”

He pauses, his body tensing as he mulls over his options. “It’s—I—it’s ok…It’ll be ok.”

Din inhales a stuttered breath and casts a brief glance over his shoulder. It’s a dim light, kicked into the corner and laying on its side. From this angle, his face would be partially obscured in shadow…but still. There are easier ways to go about this. Ways that don’t risk jeopardizing the very foundation of who he is—what he stands for and what he so devoutly follows.

To say you know anything about his religion is laughable. Everything you know can fit on the back of a thumbtack and even still, you’re sure that half of that is still based upon rumor and speculation. But this—what Din is hinting at, you know is not something to be taken lightly.

He’s stripping his soul bare for you—allowing you to glimpse at that bleeding heart of his he guards so securely within layers of flesh and bone and impenetrable beskar. Din is gifting you his trust and there’s no where else to put it except for the space beneath your breast bone.

Yet, even still—this could mean nothing at all. You have no way to know the exact magnitude of what this means to him. If he’s alright with this, who are you to question?

He mumbles one last thing about the light and sits up. Goosebumps rush up your bare skin at the loss of the heavy warmth of his body. You whine and curl up closer to his legs, greedy for any spare iota of heat like you’ve been denied it your entire life.

Maker you hate this fucking planet—

Your attention snaps back to Din when he makes a noise of uncertainty. His hands are cupped around his helmet—hesitant, nervous and you suspect if Din’s hands weren’t plastered so tight around the metal, he’d be shaking. You chew on your lip and prop yourself up.

Cautiously, so as not to startle, you reach up and curl your fingers around his wrist. You can feel his pulse thrumming through his veins—alive, flesh and bone like you. Not some heap of sentient metal built for the horrors of war. You don’t know why you do it—just seems right to pull the fragile and vulnerable skin of his inner wrist to you mouth. You plant a gentle kiss there and smile when he cups your cheek.

“You don’t owe me anything, Din,” you say, staring into the darkened depths of his visor. “Least of all this.”

Some of that tension held in Din’s shoulders melts. He utters something in that clipped language of his people, and the only thing you can make out is your name. He lurches foreword and fuck—you’re terrified for a split second he’s gonna cave your skull in but instead he lightly bumps the crown of his helmet over your forehead.

“I want to. For you—only you.”

Din doesn’t leave any time to unpack all of that. He sits up again, wraps his hands around the beskar—

The metallic thunk of the helmet reverberates through the cave like a crack of thunder.

You were right.

You can barely see his face—if you really look, you can see the murky outline of his nose, dark hair and a sliver of his tan skin that the light touches. Attractive—but you knew that already. You touch his cheek and smile, your thumb catching over wiry facial hair and soft skin. Din makes a sound low in his throat and pushes his cheek into your hand.

“I still want to taste you,” Din says, his voice richer when stripped of that tinny vocoder. You like listening to him speak without it, you think, and it’s a damn shame you never get to hear it. “Please.”

Before he can escape and fulfill that fantasy, you yank him into a blinding kiss. He kisses the same—all wild edges and with desperation lining each motion—but there’s a new found tenderness here. Like he’s savoring each gasp and every brush of skin you grace him with like it’s your last night left in the galaxy.

He breaks away from your mouth and peppers kisses and nips down your jaw, then lower as you arch and expose the bare skin of your throat. There’ll be a plethora of bruises tomorrow, and with no hope to cover them either but fuck it—Din can leave as many hickeys and teeth marks as he wants.

If not for the cold still latching onto your very soul, you’d ditch the shirt; give Din better access instead of him needing to shove a hand up under and grope at your breasts. He gives the fabric an annoyed tug, but it’s fruitless. There’s no use when there’s better things to be sought.

He shoves your shirt as far up as it goes, shivering as he mouths down your stomach, licks around your bellybutton and sucks a bruise onto your hipbone. Your pants are already pulled halfway down—one sharp yank and they’re around your ankles and off in the next breath.

Cupping your knees with both hands he gingerly spreads your legs and drapes them over his muscular shoulders. Din rubs his patchy haired cheek along your thigh and hooks his hands under your ass, his ivory white teeth catching the light as he smiles.

“Fucking perfect—“ He groans, planting his lips over your inner thigh. His tongue swipes a wet line up, stopping just before your aching cunt to dig his teeth into the sensitive flesh. You jump at the burst of pain and shoot a hand down, tangling your fingers into the soft curls atop his head.

Din grunts and jumps to your other thigh, leaving no inch of skin neglected and without evidence of his teeth and lips. By the time his thumbs touch the outer lips of your cunt, the aching need for him is burning you from the outside in. He has to still your twitching hips with a calloused palm, and only after you settle does he surge forward.

His tongue meets your swollen clit, ripping a tangled cry from you vocal cords. He’s just as eager as the first time he tasted you, if not more—every action backed by needy abandon. He sucks at the bundle of nerves then sweeps his tongue lower. Din’s thumbs part your lower lips as he runs his tongue though your soaked folds, the tip of his nose bumping against your clit that send delicious sparks throughout your whole body. Little noises and breathy gasps fill the cave, encouraging Din to push his tongue deep into your aching entrance.

Your hand fists into his hair as your hips stutter and rock into the searing heat of his mouth. The noises you make are obscene, and Din is no better. Each pass of his tongue over your pussy is matched with his own deep moans that vibrated against your clit. Fucking hell he’s devouring you alive.

Your orgasm sneaks up on you, robs you blind and crashes over you in deep waves that drag you out to sea and never to be found again as you spill onto his greedy tongue. Your fingers are threaded tight in his hair as you squeak and press harder into his mouth, riding out your pleasure until it shifts and becomes raw and sore.

Din doesn’t pause for even a second—all too happy to stay put between your thighs for eternity. Your legs are trembling when you force his head away, a nice, tingly warmth settling into your limbs

A dark thrill rushes down your spine when he looks up, wild hair and mouth covered in your slick. If not for the low lighting you imagine his eyes would be glazed over and Maker you want him again. Din swoops down and presses his mouth to yours, the taste of yourself heavy on his tongue that slips past the seem of your lips.

You whine after he breaks away and sits up—an opportunity for your eyes to roam down his body. He’s still got his trousers on, a considerable bulge tenting the front. With a smirk you reach up and grab a handful, delighting in Din’s startled grunt. “Easy.”

You flash him a wry smile and give his clothed cock a playful squeeze. “Take them off.”

Din huffs and pulls at the drawstrings. “Needy.”

He says it with no bite and no coquettish retort on your end springs to mind—especially when his thumbs hook into the waistband and pull. A slow reveal of sun-kissed skin and a sparse happy trail that your eyes eagerly drink up.

Din’s cock bobs as his trousers fall around his knees, tip shiny and wet and curling towards his navel. You bite the inside of your cheek and reach out, a rush of arousal pulsing through your core at Din’s low moan. He’s heavy in your hand, deliciously thick and throbbing—and all of it for you.

Din gasps out your name as you lightly squeeze and stroke down, your pace dreadfully slow and teasing. Who knows when you’ll get another chance like this—a Mandalorian willingly on their knees for you.

Your other hand slips up his chest as you stroke him, intent on grabbing a handful of his thick hair that curls softly against the column of his neck. Your fingernail lightly scrapes across his nipple and he sways, pitching forward before he catches himself and straightens. Din’s eyes are squeezed tight, chest heaving with shallow pants as a smirk tugs at your lips.

“It’s ok, Din,” you whisper. “I won’t break.”

Your fingers twist into the hair at the base of his skull and guide him back. He slumps forward with a sweet moan, laying his weight onto your body that you’re all too happy too bare. His nose is nestled into the slope of your neck as his hands lock around the dip of your lower back while the other cradles the back of your head, drawing you into a loose semblance of a hug.

Something snaps and crumbles deep in your soul that bleeds the heartstring blues, humming with broken chords in the presence of Din’s soft fragility. Your hand moves from between his legs to instead wrap around the wide expanse of his back, squeezing him tight to your chest. You hold each other like there isn’t tomorrow to look forward to and you wonder if this is how it feels to fall apart. Two spinning halves of a supernova torn apart and destined to collide and shatter into a million fragments of dazzling light.

Yes, you’re scared he might blind you or burn you with his brilliance, but you can’t look away.

Your fingers crawl up his muscled thigh and settle on his hip. “Lie down for me?”

There’s no hint of hesitation or complaint as he maneuvers himself onto his back, patiently allowing you to clamber over his legs and straddle his hips. His cock rests on your inner thigh, pulsing and leaving a dribble of wetness every time it twitches.

“Good boy.” It’s subtle but it ripples out like a heavy stone thrown into a still lake. Din shudders and says your name in a cracked whisper. He rolls his hips, both of you groaning at the sensation of his cock running along your dripping center.

Another time for that game maybe.

Your desperation is running hot and wild to have him inside you and you know he’s in a similar boat. You grab the thick shaft of his cock and grind the tip of him through your lips, breath hitching when it extracts such a perfect moan from the man below you.

“Ride me,” he pleads, clamping his large hands over your hips. “Fuck—I need you.”

How can you deny such a request?

You line the wide head up with your aching center and slowly work him in. Shivers wrack through you, and Maker—he’s splitting you apart, molding your insides to the shape of him. Beads of sweat dot your hairline by the time you’re seated fully on his member, the both of you pushed even closer towards madness.

Din squeezes your ass and props his knees up, rolling his hips up into you. You whimper and tip forward, propping your palms over his chest as he sets the pace. You may be on top but there’s no changing the bold colors of power and lust that cloud his mind, fueling the brutal movements of fucking up into you. Your thighs burn already and Maker—why the fuck are you already tired? You’re not doing any of the work.

Quicker than lightning, Din curls forward and manhandles you onto your back. You squeak as he grips your thigh and yanks it around his narrow hips, thrusting in deeper. His right hand crawls up the front of your shirt and wraps his fingers around your throat in a loose hold. His thumb hovers over the dip at the base of your neck but he makes no move to press down—just allows the weight of his palm to do the work. And fuck—it works.

Choked garbles of his name pass through your lips as you buck and squirm in his hold, feeling your arousal begin to drip down the back of your thighs. You’re skirting the edge of sizzling release that alights your nerves with liquid wildfire. Your nails harpoon into the meat of his shoulders as your eyes squeeze shut. Din won’t allow it.

“Look at me,” Din snarls, yanking your head back by your hair. “I want to—to watch you cum for me.”

A blush scalds your cheeks but you listen. Your eyes flutter open for him, sliding to the dark shadows of his eyes that sweep you into their own gravity well with no hope to escape. You don’t mind.

“You’re so g-good for me—always so perfect.”

White hot light bursts behind your eyelids, and that’s all it takes. Your body seizes, your cunt squeezing impossibly tight around his cock as you cum. This one is different—steals your breath away and leaves you a broken husk of a person lost in most delectable forms of agony and pleasure. The cry of his name pierces the air only spurring the Mandalorian into a jarring pace to seek his own peak of ecstasy.

Din’s nose nuzzles into your neck, his pants hot and sharp against your flushed skin. “You f-feel so—fuck. Say—say my name.”

You leap to his request and with a playful nip to his earlobe, you whisper it to him with the sweetness of starcherrries and the promise of better things.

He tips over the edge, his hips faltering into no discernible pace as he cums. Din buries his teeth into the skin below your jaw, a mess of whines and begging gasps of nonsense as he fills your cunt to the brim.

Your harsh breathing mingles as you both lazily slip down from your high. He rests his head over your sternum, listening to your beating heart that drums in a wild staccato as your fingers carefully comb through his hair. If not for the ache in your hips you’d keep him here forever. Din pulls out and you both groan at the loss.

He doesn’t completely move away and you’re glad for it. He brushes his knuckles down the expanse of your cheek and dots a tender kiss to your hairline. Your name rumbles low in his throat as he shifts lower and gives your ear lobe a playful nip. His stubble scrapes along your neck, and you can’t help but giggle and squirm—but the weight of his body keeps you pinned. Your name slips from his lips a second time, breathy and drawn out in a sweet sigh, like he’s savoring the sound of each syllable and roll of the tongue.

Din lifts his head, only slightly—near enough that his nose bumps into yours and his lips scrape along yours that are still parted and wet. “I—can I tell you something?”

You cup his cheek and steal a kiss. It’s supposed to be quick—but instead he leans into it, guiding your mouth into a slow dance of sticky sweet movements that are caught in a slow draw, like crystalized honey abandoned in a glass jar. You’re enraptured by his touch—his skin mottled with scars yet somehow still unfairly soft. He smells of snow—like metal and soap and something gentler, that’s uniquely Din.

Fuck—you can feel your mind slipping away, wrapped up so snugly in his presence you almost forget to answer. “Yeah—anything.”

Crackling static suddenly rips through the cave, startling you both. A distorted voice chatters on the comlink that lies forgotten beside your pants. It blinks and the transmission ends just as abruptly. With a sigh Din brushes it off and tilts his head to tempt you into another kiss but—

Whoever’s trying to patch through is persistent.

His lip curls in a scowl and snatches the comm. “Jorhaa’ir.”

You only catch your name being mentioned twice as rapid Mando’a is exchanged. Aeris maybe judging by the tone, but no that’s not right.

“Wait—is that Paz?”

The muscles in Din’s shoulders tense, confirming your suspicion.

“Is everything ok?” Din doesn’t resist you when you pry the comlink out of his fingers and patch in. “Paz?”

Your heart skips a beat.

“There you are,” the comlink crackles and you smile. “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?”

Stars—you didn’t think you’d miss hearing Paz’s voice. Your chest aches.

The conversation is short, he asks you how you are and when you’re coming home and in the time it takes to answer, Din is peeling himself from your body. While you're distracted, he pulls on his pants and sits at the edges of your vision.

You both pretend when you say goodnight to Paz, return the comlink and crawl into his arms that nothing has festered with savage detachment. You don't remember to ask him what he was going to say and he lets you forget. The golden heart that bleeds molten ichor slips from your sight and becomes shut behind walls of beskar and bushes of thick thorns and overgrown ivy.

He still holds you, but it’s the coldest you’ve ever been.

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cryoaquila · 3 years

Text

the cost

prompt; you see something you weren’t supposed to see...

pairings; tartaglia x gn!reader

themes; established relationship, genshin universe, death (no major characters), descriptive death, blood, angst, break-up.

wc; 2k

you were in over your head, but that realization came far too late. now, every little sound, like the creek of your house or the sounds of people walking outside or the knock at your door like the one you just heard all cause your heart to skip a beat. you peek through your window, something that had become custom for you, and there he was; tartaglia was standing at your door, waiting for you to answer and explain to him why you’ve been avoiding him. as you look him over you notice he’s wearing a sorrowful expression, but your eyes could not unsee his expression before, the one you saw during the 'accident’, as you refer to it. it was a terrible event you wish you could forget or not care about, but no, instead it changed your relationship with him forever.

the ‘accident’ occurred at his house. he wanted to treat you to a nice dinner out and asked you to come by his place in the evening. having gotten ready a little early, you decided that you’d just go to his house to hang out before the date. but as you approached you noticed his front door was slightly ajar and you heard angry yelling coming from inside that made you both curious and fearful. you hurried up the steps and let yourself in, your mind racing with possibilities from the tame to the quite imaginative. the entrance hallway was dark save for a light shining from the dining room all the way toward the back of the hall. quietly, you walk over to peer into the dining room, pressing yourself against the wall to stay in the shadows. tartaglia was sitting in one of the dining chairs, dressed and ready for the date tonight, but there was someone else in the room that you had never seen before. a man, who was pacing around the table, dressed in black and red and wearing a mask, muttering about something. it was strange, while you’ve never seen him before, his clothes looked… familiar as if you saw them once stuffed somewhere in the back of a closet or drawer. your train of thought ended as the man began to yell once more.

“you can’t just vanish without saying a word and expect us to accept it without consequence. you know how our organization deals with deserters.”

“i know how your organization deals with people who want to leave, too.” tartaglia scoffed at him before letting a sigh out, resting an arm on the table beside him, “i can do what i wish, my past ranking should allow that much.”

“but why leave? you were at the top of your game and you loved what you did, i don’t understand.”

“i owe you no explanation,” he replied coldly.

“then,” the man in the mask muttered, “let me show you what we owe you.” suddenly, the gleam of a dagger appeared from one of his pockets. you reached out a hand, about to say something, but it was too late. he lunged at tartaglia. you gaped, watching as he skillfully jumped up from the chair before you could even get a single word out. the candlelight flickered as the dagger slammed into the back of the wooden chair, getting stuck. tartaglia grabbed the chair before the other man could retrieve his weapon, and, in one swift motion, he slammed the chair into his attacker before taking the dagger for himself. he threw the chair at the masked man who staggered backward against the wall behind him. the masked man managed to punch tartaglia in the face as a last defense, but this only made him stagger sideways a little. he looked back up, a smirk on his face, and you heard him chuckle, almost as if he enjoyed the futile effort of his attacker. you slapped your hands over your mouth, trying to hold back your scream as, before your eyes, tartaglia stabbed the man directly in his throat without hesitation. you watched in horror as the attacker’s body spasmed for a few seconds along with a horrendous gurgling sound that scarred your ears. he clawed at the dagger impaling him, desperate, but tartaglia didn’t let go and instead his grip on the weapon only seemed to tighten. you continued to watch in horror as the life left the masked man’s eyes and his body went limp. once he made sure the man was dead, he yanked the dagger out, blood splattering across his attire and pooling on the floor below.

“damn,” he muttered as the body fell to the floor with a loud thud, “what a mess this was.” you swallowed hard before taking a few small steps backward toward where the front door was, wanting to leave without alerting him but unable to take your eyes off the scene before you. a small creek from the floorboards echoed from one of your steps and you paused, noticing that he was now looking toward the hallway you were in. he held the dagger out in your direction and asked, “who’s there? come out, or do you not want to die like your ally here?” that’s when you saw his expression. he had a small grin on his uncaring and unafraid face and he looked strangely determined, as if he was ready to stab the next person who dared confront him without any mercy. and his eyes. dear archons, his eyes were that of a killer’s - not the wide bright blue eyes that you were used to seeing. you were sure if you stayed, if you showed yourself, he’d act without thinking and that single thought sent a shiver down your spine. with your heart now racing your flight instincts kicked in and you turned and booked it out of his house and headed back to lock yourself inside your own home, terrified of what you witnessed him do and terrified of… well, him.

that was the reason you had been avoiding him for a while and, currently, why you weren’t keen on opening the door. he knocks again and you see him roll his eyes as you duck back down. “hey, i’m worried about you. i haven’t seen you in weeks, just, talk to me? please?”

you knew you couldn’t keep avoiding him, even though you wanted to. you rise to your feet, letting out a shaky sigh before heading to the front door. you crack it open only a tiny bit, enough to show him that you were somewhat alright. you decide to rip the bandage off and confront your fears and let him know what the issue was, “i saw.” was the first thing to come out of your mouth.

“you saw?” he pauses to think over your reply before responding quicker than you expect, “oh. you mean... that day, before our date...? you weren’t supposed to see that...” he stayed silent for a few moments before trying to justify himself to you, “it was nothing but self-protection, i didn’t want to harm him.” he connected the dots so easily, you wondered if he had expected that you saw what happened but hoped you hadn’t. at the very least, that... uncaring killer you saw at his house was gone and the tartaglia you fell in love with was before you.

“i know it was self-protection.” although, you couldn’t help but feel like a part of him took a little joy in killing that masked man - a mixture of self-protection and a liberating form of pleasure seemed more like it to you. “who was he?” it was difficult to even look at him, afraid that the next time you glance up he’d be covered in blood with a dagger in his hand.

“he was an old... colleague from a past i’m not happy with, but that doesn’t matter right now. i don’t understand why you avoided me if all i did was protect myself. it’s not like i was in the wrong.”

“no, you weren’t in the wrong.” you shake your head, “but i’m so afraid of seeing someone die like that or... seeing you kill like that again. you did it so easily, without a second thought, even when he lost his weapon. and how you looked when you did it.” you notice he flinched as soon as you said that. “what... did you do before i met you?” your voice was barely a whisper at this point.

he put a hand on his chest, “what you saw wasn’t me, or, i mean, isn’t what i want to be anymore. it’s just... an after affect, i guess, but i’m done with that life. however, if death is the cost of protection, i’d rather the death be someone else’s than yours or mine.”

“no! i don’t want there to be any more death. yours, mine, theirs, a stranger’s, i can’t...” you mutter in a shaky tone, resting your forehead against the cold door in-between the two of you. your words were jumbled together, your thoughts equally so.

he leans to the side, trying to get a peak of you, his face distraught, “that... might not be a possibility. this organization i used to be a part of doesn’t look kindly on deserters like me. that’s why i didn’t mention it to you, i know you aren’t used to... such a lifestyle since you’ve lived in town your whole life. but that doesn’t matter, they don’t matter. i swear, they won’t touch a single hair on your head, i’ll die before they harm you.”

tears form in the corners of your eyes, “please don’t say something like that! i can’t see you... die.” just saying the word out loud felt like you were bringing it into fruition and you can’t help but grit your teeth and hold your breath, ready for an archon or even someone lesser to come and end his life before your eyes. but nothing of the sort happens. letting out the breath you were holding, you continue speaking, your voice shakier than before, “and not just dying, i can’t handle you killing either! seeing you like that, with blood on you, ready to kill or be killed...”

he looks just as confused as you felt, “i’m sorry, i’m really, truly sorry. you weren’t supposed to ever see me like that. tell me, how can i make this right so we can be happy together once again?” his tone went from worried and confused to practically begging.

“i… i don’t think i can... i’m terrified...” you wrap your arms around yourself before muttering, “i’m terrified of you and what might happen to you.” the words felt strange to say, to be terrified of the man you once hugged and kissed freely, and now watching his hopeful expression drop off his face was not helping your own conflicting thoughts.

“no, archons no, i don’t want you to be terrified of me, i want you to see me like you used to see me and how... how i want to see myself now that i’m not with them. i love you, please i don’t want this to end, i can be good-”

“i just, i need time for myself, time away from... you. maybe that will help me come to terms with... everything? i don’t know... i just don’t know...” your head was hurting, but not as much as the ache in your chest like someone ripped your heart out.

“i…” he sighs, looking like he was on the verge of tears. he rubs his eyes, trying to keep the tears from building up, before looking back at you, completely defeated, “ok… i can give you some space if that’s what you need now.” his words cause your bottom lip to tremble.

“i think it will help me figure things out.�� you try to keep your voice from cracking, but couldn’t. and his response only made your stomach churn.

“i won’t ever stop loving you, though.”

you shut your eyes tightly, trying to keep the tears from rolling down your cheeks, “... i know.” you whisper and, with that, you shut the door before letting the tears flow freely.

#genshin impact #childe #tartaglia #tartaglia x reader #childe x reader #genshin impact scenarios #genshin x reader #childe x gn!reader #written #death cw #blood cw

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jd-loves-fiction · 3 years

Text

➤”I’d like one order of Mando adventure angst with a side of fluff and a dash of spicy bickering. Enemies to lovers or friends to lovers flavor (whatever’s on the house) and a nice hot bowl of ‘there was only one bed’

Give my compliments to the chef”

➤ genre: Fluff, Adventure, Comedy(?), Enemies to Partners, Angst

➤ wc: 4.9k (holy shit might be my longest request🥴)

➤ 🌙 Requested: @batarella ❤

"Listen, buddy, I got here first." You attempt to reason with the wall of beskar currently pointing his blaster directly at you.

Maybe not the smartest thing to say when first meeting someone of his reputation, but he can only be doing this for one reason.

He's after the bounty squirming nervously at your feet. And you're in the way.

Why else would he be out here, in the middle of a rocky desert on some faraway planet?

"Step away from him." The voice you hear startles you with its modulated dept. It's more surprising that he even spoke at all, given what you'd heard of the Mandalorian. Although his stature and the silent tension he brings with him is no doubt intimidating, you will not give up so easily after following this bounty so far out from the nearest town. “No.”

His visor tilts to the side, like a frustrated twitch, at your answer. “Maybe.” You rectify, which makes him raise his head in interest. “Do you have a fob?”

“No, I don’t.”

Not that it matters anymore considering yours is broken, but at least now you know he can't follow you if you make a break for it with the bounty.

“How did you find us?”

“I have my ways.” You nearly roll your eyes at his cryptic response, not like you expected anything else from a Mandalorian.

“Do you know why they sent you?” Knowing your employers, you had a clue on what the reason was. They got impatient.

They’d been pretty determined to get a maximum time needed out of you. You’re almost sure you overstepped it.

But to send a Mandalorian? Seems like a bit much.

“They were afraid you’d run off. That you gave the bounty away to the Resistance.” Of course, those bastards can barely trust themselves, let alone a foreigner.

“Well I didn't, and I won't. So you can lower your blaster and we can do this together.” You offer amicably, not yet loosening your grip on your weapon upon his lack of movement.

“You’re out of time. Your deal is off.”

“That’s just-!” You're cut off by a shot buzzing past you.

"Last warning."

Your jaw drops. How can someone be so damn cold?

You raise your finger assertively, about to give him a piece of your mind, when you notice something move by his hip.

And it's green. With gigantic ears. And huge dark eyes that blink at you curiously.

Your head tilts, mirroring the creature. The Mandalorian follows your eyes to find you looking at the child he’s supposed to be caring for.

“Huh. And who is that cutie?” The blaster already pointed at you raises from where it had begun to slouch, alert and cautious. Noticing this, you readjust your grip on your own weapon.

You and the creature continue to study each other, until the Mandalorian pushes the brown bag to where it rests behind his body protectively.

“Are they yours? I mean, doesn't look like the ears would fit.” You speak just to make conversation, stepping closer with miniscule steps. His gloved hand tightens around his blaster, hoping to remind you that he can still shoot you point-blank.

But he hasn't.

"Can you really do much in front of a kid?" You challenge smugly, still advancing slowly.

"He's seen me do worse."

"That right?" Another step. "You planning to shoot me today or would tomorrow work better?"

"Are you always this difficult? Just put the gun down-"

You jump towards him, hooking your foot around the back of his knee which makes him fall to the rocky ground immediately, dropping his blaster. Unfortunately, taking down a Mandalorian is no easy task, so he takes you down with him.

He throws his satchel to the side in the nick of time, it lands on a sand pile. His other arm grabs hold of you to pull you down with him.

You point your blaster at him as he lays beneath you, except it is no longer in your hand. Shit. He punches you in the face hard enough that something will turn black soon enough.

As you fall to the ground he gets on top of you, or tries, as you place your feet against his firm chest to keep some distance. You kick him in the helmet, silently thanking the stars your shoes are steel toed.

Your hand only scrapes against dry, red, sand covered rock as you search for a blaster, either would serve. Despite your momentary advantage in light of the Mandalorian’s confusion after being kicked, his hands quickly come down to cover your throat. You feel the creases in the leather as they’re pressed against your skin, and the beskar over the back of his hands against your chin.

But you still attempt to reach a weapon, a rock would do at this point.

Your arms flail wildly with no real direction, only the need to stay conscious, as if movement would help it. You do, however, notice that he’s purposely avoiding your traquia.

He still does not want to kill you. How sweet. Probably just wants to take you back to the bastards who hired you. They’d surely kill you, and much faster too.

Just as the spots in your vision start becoming overpowering, his grip loosens. You inhale greedily, desperately, gasping and coughing at the released pressure.

You can see his visor move to and fro, searching for something. Once you look to the side, you the child safe in its pile of sand, so it can't be that.

"Dank farrik! He's gone." The bounty. Right. Shit.

"Now," you pause, heaving as your lungs struggle to fill up again, "what?"

He places his hands on his hips, thinking for a moment, before turning his visor to where you lay clutching your sore - but not yet bruised - neck. "I'm going after him."

"I'm sorry-?!" You cut yourself off with a cough as you sit up, feeling grains of sand make their way inside your boots and other places. "You're going after him? This is my bounty! I had him, and I would've been fine if you hadn't shown up."

He keeps his stance, probably glaring disapprovingly beneath his helmet. You huff at his unyielding silence, getting up in his personal space and jabbing a finger into his chest plate.

"I'm about to give you a piece of my mind, so you better listen very carefully. I had it! It was my catch. And from what I can tell, it still is. So you better back off, Mando." Venom drips from your lips as you glare at the tin can on his head as if you could put a hole straight through it.

He relaxes, raising his hands again peacefully, palms up, "Alright, I get it. But do you think they'd take him from you now? Let alone later when you actually catch him? They seem pretty vindictive."

"Well, what do you suggest? You're not going on your own."

"And why not?" He scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans towards you.

"You don't have a tracking fob." You retort, leaning towards him as well with your hands on your hips.

The Mandalorian pats himself down where he believes to have stored the small device, only to find all those pockets empty. "You little thief!"

"And you're a liar! Plus, you think I'd just let you take my credits? Come on, with your reputation, you should know better than that." You shrug and suddenly Din is acutely aware that the beeping now comes from your hip instead of his.

"Alright, fine, let's do it this way. We'll look for him together and once we catch him, I'll hand him in and we'll split the reward." He explains slowly, carefully, afraid to set you off.

"Seems good to me." You speak resolutely, thrusting your hand forward firmly, expecting a handshake.

His helmet tilts down slightly as he looks down at your hand, before he reaches out with his own. Just as the leather meets your skin - in a now less life-threatening way - a coo sounds from somewhere at your feet, making you both look down to see the little green creature looking between the two of you curiously.

You look back at it, mirroring it once more, before it smiles wide revealing its tiny little teeth and, oh, your heart might just actually melt.

It's large eyes move down from your face, towards your hands.

You suddenly realize neither you nor the Mandalorian had let go of each other's hand and that a large grin has formed on your face due to the adorable baby. It is promptly wiped off as you pull your hand back just as he does. He looks away while you shrug at the child's inquisitive stare, unaware that the bounty hunter had been watching you and marveling at the bond you'd both formed already.

And so you set out together to look for your target, back towards town, where you had begun your chase.

He can't have gone far or in any other direction, not with the unbearable heat and certainly not while handcuffed. He'd die for sure, you just have to hope he's smart enough to know that.

You walk through town with the fob in your hand, just out of sight. No need for unnecessary attention. The town is tightly crowded, much to your chagrin, so you move slow and are barely able to see over the moving bodies. There’s just too much going on, too many people moving back and forth, shoving past you rudely. If it’d been anyone else - not an experienced bounty hunter - you would have probably been knocked down by the last two men that had scurried past you in a rush.

Without warning, you feel a hand grip your bicep. You immediately ready yourself for a fight, before you realize it belongs to your associate. Once he has your attention, Mando nods towards the edge to the street, against red stone buildings, urging you to follow him. You do, nudging anyone out of the way as you walked against the crowd’s stream.

You’re about to shout over the noise to ask just what the hell he pulled you aside for, considering you’re running out of time, before you follow his visor. Right to a wanted poster of a very familiar scoundrel. From the Resistance? Wanted alive for 8,000 credits?

“That’s one big fish, huh?" You continue to shout in order to be heard over the crowd, which you immediately regret, looking around, paranoid. "Must be important." You comment to yourself.

You look up to see the Mandalorian's back disappear behind the corner. You quickly follow, catching up to his long strides, "What are you thinking?"

He ignores your inquiry, continuing to practically stomp his way through town. "Hey. Hey!" You call out to no avail. Well, you asked for it.

You reach out, grabbing the man by the back of his cape, tightening it around his neck and making it so he had to lean back to follow your hand in order to keep breathing. Your heart beats faster at the rush of power you feel for a moment. "You better tell me what you're thinking, or this is not gonna work."

He taps your hand repeatedly until you let go, rising to his full height and you're back to feeling slightly intimidated as he stares you down, silently.

"I'm thinking that with a price that high you might actually take the bounty yourself."

"Why-?"

The tracking fob. The small object suddenly burned a whole in your pocket.

"Oh come on! You were trying to kill me!"

Your voice raises, arms flailing about. You know you're making a scene, considering this street is so much emptier and therefore quieter than the main one, but for the moment, you don't care. Right now, all you want is to put Mando in his place. Something you know is foolish given that he nearly killed you before and could actually do it this time.

"Yes, but it's still stealing." He spoke with that know-it-all, I'm-better-than-you, tone that just gets on your nerves. Bastard.

You raise a finger in the man's direction, fully intending to continue this conversation and clear your name in his eyes - the reason why is unknown even to you - when a shrill giggle cuts through the air. You look to Mando's hip, where the creature (who's name you have yet to learn) sits, pointing ahead to the entrance to the cantina.

Right at the man of the hour.

What? How?!

The man looks back at you and Mando for a moment, eyes widening as he recognizes you and the fact that this might be it.

Before he takes off running.

You start running before Mando does, easily catching up to the stout man, who's no longer in cuffs. As you get too close to his liking, he takes out a blaster (that you know isn't his) and tries to shoot you in the head. Only to miss and hit your forearm instead.

Hurts like a bitch, but it's better than death.

Out of the corner of your eye you see a steel rope of some kind shoot out and wrap around the fugitive's leg, sending him stumbling face first onto the ground.

Mando walks over to him, barely winded, standing over the panting man and blocking the sun with his body. You can only imagine the man's terrified expression.

You quickly take care of your wound as Mando ties the man up enough that he can't move, wincing as you look at the damage made on your skin. The burning nearly stops the bleeding and it hurts so bad you can barely process it, so you don't think about it, you simply level your breathing while wrapping a cloth around the wound and hope for the best considering it's not too big.

You clutch it to your chest as Mando approaches, pointing at your arm, intending to ask you if you're alright, but you move it to your side before he can. "Are you-"

"We should give him to the Resistance." You speak resolutely, holding back from wincing as your injury rubbed against your pants. It hurt even from beneath a (barely) protective cloth.

“I said ‘we’, so don't you start giving me shit, alright?” You tell him sternly after he crosses his arms, probably getting ready to call you a thief again. “You can't give him to the Resistance because they’ll arrest you, correct?” He nods.

“Well you know bounty hunting isn't exactly legal.”

“You don't have to tell me that, Mando.” You remind him firmly. “So, if we give him to them, we can ask for them to clear your name! And we’ll get double the reward. Two birds with one stone!”

“Do you really think they’d just do that?”

“If someone’s paying 8,000 credits for one guy and specifying they want him alive, then I’d bet they’d do anything to get him, even something as seemingly insignificant as clearing your name.” You explain, gesturing avidly as you do.

A long moment of silence passes before a modulated sigh crackles through Mando’s helmet. “Fine. I’ll go get the Crest.”

“Wait, woah woah woah. Why are you going? How do I know you wont leave me out here?”

“How do I know you wouldn't?” You take a moment to consider his words. He did lie to you, but you did steal from him in a way.

You look down in contemplation, eyes meeting the creature’s. Right, Mando has the kid, who probably isn't fit to be out in this heat for as long as it has.

“He got a name?” You point to the child, who smiles and giggles gleefully.

“Grogu.” You nod, sighing and rubbing your temples. Stars, it’s so hot it feels as if your brain is melting and you can feel a headache coming on.

“You can go. But I want you to swear on your,” You pause for a second, searching for the right word, “honorable code. Swear you’ll come back.”

“You-” The Mandalorian starts, before giving up on protesting at your determined stand, crossed arms and raised chin. “OK, alright. I swear that I’ll come back for you and the bounty. That we need.” He whispers the last part.

“Get to it then. I’m sweating bullets in this heat!”

You sit, back against a nearby rock, searching for as much shade as possible. You don't want to move the bounty back into town for a multitude of reasons, so now you’re stuck just outside of town. Sweat making your clothes stick and it gathers while the headache gets worse and more blood soaks your makeshift bandage, but at least it's silent. That's what you thought about 20 minutes ago, now, you’ve changed your mind.

“The hell did you do to get 8,000 credits on your head?” You ask suddenly, seemingly startling the man who seems to have accepted his fate already.

He sighs, probably just as bored as you, “I have some information they want. That's why they want me alive.” You purse your lips in interest, humming in understanding, before silence falls over you two once more.

Stars, it's hot.

You could cry from relief once you hear the sound of a loud engine getting closer and closer. The 'Crest', as Mando had called it.

You grab the bounty by the shirt, hauling him to his feet rather roughly and shoving him towards the flying hunk of metal that had just landed.

The ship. Mando doesn't come out to greet you.

As the ramp closes and the air is blanketed in a sheet of silence, your mind starts to wander without your permission. You know he has to be handsome under there, what with his broad shoulders and slim waist, deliciously thick thighs and a wonderfully smooth and deep voice that seems to caress your very soul as you hear it. You caught a glimpse of his skin when you pulled at his collar, delightfully tan just begging for you to sink your teeth into it.

Must be the heat. Surely that is the sole reason why you're fantasizing so vividly about a man whose real name you don't know, whose face you've never seen and oh, a man who tried to kill you. But didn't.

Sick of your own thoughts and the loud snores of the bounty, you rise to your feet, climbing the ladder that leads to the cockpit. You wince as you put part of your weight on your injured arm, deciding to climb the rest of the ladder one handed instead.

“Are you decent?” You shout through the thick metal door, hoping Mando can hear you inside the cockpit. When the heavy doors hiss and open, you’re sure he must be.

You sit down in the passenger seat silently, looking up at the stars above for a long moment. The mesmerizing, endlessly dark sky is all that you see at first, from being partially blinded by the fluorescent lights inside the Crest, before the stars come to you, bright speckles that dust the planetary systems all around you. Breathtaking.

You look back in front of yourself to find Grogu already staring at you, head tilted with a smile that shows the slightest hint of tiny teeth. You smile, leaning forward with a raised brow. He leans closer to you, eyes lingering in the side of your face, the one already darkening from Mando’s blow, before dipping down to the arm you hold close to your chest. You let go of it immediately as he does, wanting to shield him from seeing the blood you know can be seen through the cloth.

The child steps closer, as far as he can while up on the dashboard. Mando has to be avoiding you, before he would've seen that movement otherwise.

It reaches out his small hand, squeezing his eyes as tightly as possible while the green limb twitches. You furrow your brows in confusion, what?

The ache on your skin lessens gradually, as if the wound was being lifted from your skin. You can feel it on your arm, it tickles as your skin connects itself around the wound while the burn disappears as if you’d just placed ice over it.

At some point, your eyes close, lulled nearly to sleep by the lifting of the pain, the feeling left behind makes your skin tingle with energy just beneath, your head feels light for a second, as if the blood moved from there down to heal the wounds.

When you open your eyes, you’re met with Mando’s visor trained on your face, silent in a way you can tell he’s speechless. “Eyes on the road, Mando.” You tell him cheekily, voice cracking unexpectedly.

He turns back forward, pausing his steering to pull Grogu forward and away from the edge, before his hands return to the commands. “So, is it far still?”

“No, just a few more hours. The closest Resistance base is just on the next planet.” His fingers flick switches and pull levers, before he seemingly puts the vehicle on autopilot and turns to you. “You can take the cot, you must be tired.”

You blink at him, “And what about you?”

“I’ll be fine.” He answers gruffly, not sparing you a glance.

“No, it’s gonna be a few hours, and you’ve been awake for about as much as me so if anyone is taking the cot, it’s you.” You argue back firmly.

He sighs, loosening the cape around his neck as a way to calm himself down, you and your selflessness.

“Alright. No promises that I’ll sleep though.” He acts like it’s a huge burden, as if it pains him deeply.

He takes Grogu in his arms and towards his sleeping nook. The small child smiles at you from over his guardian’s shoulder, and you smile back.

Once he’s safely put away and the bounty checked on, Mando leads you to a space just off the main hull space, where a bed - with the thinnest mattress you’ve ever seen - is pulled from the wall. Oh boy, you can already feel your back aching, but it’s better than sitting in the cockpit on those hard chairs.

So you lay down your weapons while he takes off the bulkiest of his armour. You lay down, curled on your side and away from him, knowing he’ll have to cuddle close to fit. You feel his warmth against your back, but you don't feel his touch quite yet, only the ghost of it. Your gut tightens with pity as you know he can’t take his helmet off. That has to be very uncomfortable.

The lights are dim enough that there is no shadow from your bodies on the wall. You can tell by the space he’s put between you, that he’s about to fall off.

“Are you scared of me, Mando? Can I call you Mando?”

“Sure and no.”

“Which one?” You ask mischievously, smirking to yourself while knowing full well what he meant.

He sighs in exasperation, so you let him be. For only a moment before you're back to being snarky. "Surely you've been this close to another human before, perhaps in a more compromising context."

"Yes and it's usually quieter." You think he might not realize what he just said.

You snort, "Must mean you're doing something wrong."

"That's not-! Just, get some sleep." He says tiredly, giving up on the banter you're pushing. You do as he asks, closing your eyes as you feel the heat of his body move closer to you.

You wake up to a rough whisper of your name and a shaking of your shoulder. Eyes open slowly, squinting against the light shining right at them, before something blocks it and eases your discomfort. The large hand on your shoulder doesn't yet move from its place, gently perched and waiting for you to wake up fully.

You look up to see Mando's helmet over you, seemingly way too close (not that you're complaining), as you can clearly hear him breathe through his modulator. "We're here and we need to talk before you go in."

You follow him to the hull without question, stopping just before the door that leads to it. You rub the sleep from your eyes before blinking up at the bounty hunter, trying to nonchalantly fix your messy hair.

And though he'd never tell you, he thought you looked adorable in that moment. Rosy cheeks, a faraway gaze, lips pursed to hold back a yawn as you brushed down your hair. He was certainly thankful for his helmet in that moment, considering the heat he felt crawling up his neck and settling on his cheeks.

"Plan?"

You clear your throat before speaking, "Right. So, it's easy." You raise a hand to his face when Mando sighs deeply. "Simple, really. I go in, tell them I have the bounty and ask for a little something as compensation along with the credits. See? Easy and simple!"

"Do you think they'll take it?" It doesn't sound as skeptical as you would've expected from him. It's sort of hopeful. Even Mando has to admit to himself that getting chased around and having to avoid and run from x-wings at every turn, got pretty exhausting.

"Let's try it before we start getting doubts." You tell him, determined. "Besides, nothing to lose if you stay hidden, right?"

The planet you landed on is small and green - perfect cover for a Resistance base. You walk along the dirt path leading to it and away from the Crest, coming up to a clearing where you can see the humongous metal doors of the base which seemed to have been dug into a small mountain.

"Stop! State your business." A voice says through a speaker once you get close enough.

"I've come to deliver a bounty!" You keep it simple, no use even attempting to be charming with these folks.

Not long after, the doors part to let someone through, who you presume is a general or something of the sort given their intimidating presence and the flock of guards with their weapons trained on you that follow them.

"We have your credits. Thank you for bringing him to us." You keep your face neutral even as it urges to tremble beneath the pressure of their gaze. You feel the man in question squirm against the arm that grips his bicep. Must really not be a fan.

"That is not all I want." The supposed general, no need to try and figure that out considering you don't want them to remember you more than necessary, raises a delicate brow. "I would like for you to clear someone's name."

"That is not what we agreed on."

"Yes, well, I didn't agree to it myself, so." You shrug, impressed that the general's face remains stone cold, especially considering how much they probably would like to dispose of you given you're dragging out this exchange for longer than what's really necessary.

"You are in no place to make demands." One soldier tells you, pulling out his blaster and pointing it at you, getting more of a reaction from the bounty than from yourself as he flinches.

"Oh, I am in the perfect place to be making demands." You tell him venomously, grip tightening on the man's arm.

"We have you surrounded."

"Just the way I like it." You respond with a wink just to hear the person's stuttering over the modulator on their helmet.

"Very well." The general calls out in order to gain their minions' attention, "Just tell me what name they might be under in our system."

"The Mandalorian. Mando for friends."

Epilogue

"Fuck! Shit, fuck! What was I thinking?!" You yell out in frustration, standing before what remains of your ship, the rest most likely taken by Jawas, who must be long gone by now. "Of course someone would take it apart, why not?! Oh, stars." You wail miserably, crouching into a ball in search of some comfort.

"Hey, it'll be alright. Don't panic." Mando tells you gently after pulling you to your feet and grabbing your shoulders tightly to ground you. "There's two ways we can do this: we go after those Jawas, get your pieces and fix the ship or," Mando hesitates for a moment, fingers drumming along your skin as he turns the words over and over in his tongue until he feels as if he'll get them right once he says them. "you can come with me until you get enough credits for a new one. 4,000 might not be enough yet, but it's a pretty solid start."

His rare optimism brings a small smile out of you and makes your anger settle down almost completely. You'll no doubt have an even deeper hatred for the little shits, but you don't feel as if you'll punch the next living thing you see.

"I guess catching a ride with you can't be so bad, huh, Mando?"

#din djarin #din dijarin fanfiction #din dijarin x reader #din djaren #the mandalorian #the mandolorian x reader #the mandolarian #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x y/n #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x oc #mando x reader #mando and grogu #mando #din

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rebelhan · 4 years

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linger

pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

word count: 2k+

warnings: fluff

a/n: just frolicking in a field with a touch starved mandalorian...

masterlist

ao3 link | gif credit: @rexahsoka

You press a kiss to his cheek, or where his cheek would be. At the curve of his helmet. The action is so quick that he barely registers it before he sees you bounding down the Crest’s ramp and into the grassy field beyond. It was so fast that he finds himself racking his brain to remember if you had done it before, if it was a normal habit and he had somehow forgotten it.

If he concentrates, he thinks he can feel your lips against his cheek. And if he concentrates a little harder, he can feel them at the stubble of his jaw, and ghosting down the side of his neck, lingering at the point where his heartbeat can be felt at the surface of his skin. Then you turn around and face him, surrounded by a halo as the setting sun lights your silhouette. The grass swallows your figure up to your hips. “You gonna stand there all day?” your voice calls to him. It’s enough to break him out of his trance.

He takes a second to compose himself and in a moment he’s back to the version of himself he usually offers to you. Silent and stoic as he follows your footsteps down the ramp. When you see that he’s moving towards you, you turn your back to him again and wander further away from the ship. With the child fast asleep inside the Razor Crest, the Mandalorian taps a button on his vambrace to seal the ramp of the ship before tracing your steps through the field.

He can’t pinpoint where exactly you intend to go, your path crisscrosses through the field aimlessly, and he dutifully follows, unable to do much else while he’s fixated on the way your hand trails over the taller stalks of grass.

Four standard days ago, you had told him the Crest needed some repairs. “I’ll take us to the closest inhabited planet,” he had said.

“I have everything we need,” you shook your head. “We can go somewhere else. Maybe somewhere that isn’t populated. Where we can stay an extra day.” That last part was posed more like a question. He had turned his head towards you silently. In the dark cockpit, you could see the stars reflecting off the metal of his helmet.

You knew that he would prefer an uninhabited region. His armor made him a spectacle every time you stopped for food or refueling, and that made protecting the child from bounty hunters quite difficult. Word of a Mandalorian sighting always spread fast.

“An extra day?” he had asked.

You shrugged noncommittally. “I want to stretch out. We’ve been flying for so long.”

“There’s plenty of room in the cargo hold for stretching.” You would’ve thought the remark was an attempt at a joke if not for his perfectly serious tone and the nature of every conversation you had ever had with the man.

“That’s not what I mean.” You huffed out a breath in frustration.

“What do you mean then?” The question was cautious. Like every conversation was. It always felt like he was scared to learn too much about you. And he always offered even less about himself.

You mulled it over for a moment before settling on how to describe it to him.

“I want to see a sun. Not from the Razor Crest where the light is blinding and I have to hide out in the cargo hold until we pass it because I don’t have a helmet with polarizing filters. I want to see a moon peeking out from between clouds. I want to feel a breeze that isn’t just the Crest’s circulation system. Just for a day.”

You must have sounded really desperate because he turned back to the console and punched some buttons before responding to you.

“Okay.”

The smile on your face didn’t disappear from that moment until you stepped into the grass on a planet whose name you had already forgotten.

Your shadow grows longer and longer as you meander, the sky darkening with each passing moment. Before he’s realized it, you’ve led him back to where the Razor Crest stands. He’s far away enough that when you sit down, the tall grass obscures you completely from his vision. For a moment, he’s alone on this planet with nothing but his ship. The thought sends a bolt of panic through his heart, though he can’t understand why it sparks such terror. Long before either you or the child were with him, he traveled alone. The feeling should be familiar, not terrifying. But his heart is still eased when he comes to stand next to where you lay in the field, grass stalks flattened below your back and softening the ground.

You look giddy, he thinks, like the face you get when you finish a particularly complicated repair, but somehow more. You gesture to the grass beside you in invitation. “Join me?”

He doesn’t have to accept. He could say he needed to check on the child, or that he should eat inside the ship now while you spent time outside. You’re just the mechanic he hired. There’s no need for him to spend time with you outside what is necessary. But he knows that hasn’t been true since he started noticing the faces you make during repairs and it’s certainly not true after he’s imagined your lips on his neck.

The Mandalorian lays down beside you as gracefully as he can whilst covered in armor and you turn your head to face him. Your clothed shoulder rests against his pauldron. There is still enough light that he can make out your features but the details are disappearing as the sun falls lower and lower below the horizon. “I’ll get started on repairs at first light tomorrow. They shouldn’t take more than a day of work,” you tell him.

“You don’t have to,” he says before he can stop himself. “We can stay here a few days longer.”

Your smile disappears and reappears as something softer. It’s timid. Surprised, even. It’s an acknowledgement that he must be fighting his instincts to keep moving; after all, staying in one place for more than a day would be out of the norm for the pattern he had established while protecting the child. You turn your head back to the sky and he follows suit. Three moons form an arc across the sea of stars. Thin clouds float slowly across your vision.

You stargaze in silence. It’s peaceful. A different kind of silence from looking at the same objects from the cockpit of the Razor Crest. That silence was always anxious and frantic. Even hours of floating through space was not enough time to enjoy the stars when you were on the run, constantly thinking about the next seven steps, always planning for the worst. But for once, the Mandalorian finds that he’s losing track of time, and he’s not worried about it in the slightest.

Before he’s realized, so much time has passed that the largest moon is at its apex, bathing the field in a silver glow from directly above where you lay. There’s a question on the tip of his tongue, though he doesn’t know how to ask it. There’s a chance you’re asleep after hours of silence under the night sky, but he can’t bring himself to turn his head and check if you are awake. If your eyes meet his through the slit of his helmet, he knows the question will die in his mouth.

“Earlier today,” he begins, then stops. His voice rings clear in the empty field. He waits for a sign that you heard him.

“What about earlier today?” Your voice is quieter than usual and slow with lethargy. It has his heart beating harder beneath his armor and him even more unsure of the words he’s about to say.

The question is jumbled on his lips and he’s calculating the best approach, the most careful phrasing. He’s always cautious, but you could never figure out if it was because he was worried he’d scare you away like a skittish deer or if giving up too much of himself or learning too much of you might somehow trap him.

“Why did you kiss me?” He asks the question in a rush of words. Then he holds his breath. He thinks he’d die if he looks at you.

If he did look at you, he’d find you with a gentle smile on your face, eyes closed as you try to fight sleep. Maybe if you were a little more awake and a little less lighthearted from the afternoon of frolicking, you might find it in you to be embarrassed at the action, or at the very least acknowledge that it was unusual. Instead, you’re shamelessly honest as drowsiness strips away any inhibitions you might have had during the daylight hours.

“I was happy,” you tell him. It’s perhaps too simple an answer, but your mind is too far gone to formulate a better response.

You feel him shift beside you. His head is turned to you now, mapping the features of your face he can see in the moonlight. He notes that your eyes are closed.

“Are you still happy now?” he asks. You barely register the question as you linger at the edge of slumber. It’s a whisper at the corner of your mind. Words escape you in the moment so you do the only thing your muddled brain can think to do.

You turn your head until you can feel the metal of his pauldron cold on your cheek. Another small movement brings your lips to the piece of armor and you place a kiss there. It’s so quick and so gentle that he would have missed it had he not been staring at you.

You still completely and he would have thought you had fully fallen asleep, but your quiet, uneven breaths are picked up by the sensors in his helmet.

Then suddenly, your hand is feeling along his vambrace, searching for something. You seem to find it when you grip his fingers and pull his hand towards your face. Sleep has destroyed all command of your impulses and he feels you tracing the material of his glove near his wrist.

Your fingertips brush his bare skin and you stop your movements. His heart stutters. Your skin touches his at the gap between his glove and his vambrace. A tiny patch of skin he’d always been a little bit careless about. The sensation is wholly unfamiliar, but it lights a fire in him that screams for more contact. He doesn’t want you to move. His nerves are buzzing with the new feeling and he swears that when he checks next morning, your fingerprint will be burned into his wrist.

Then the feeling is gone and immediately replaced with something he’d only come to crave earlier that day. Your lips touch his wrist and Maker, he’s gone. He’s ascended. The moonlight feels impossibly brighter. His helmet is suddenly suffocating and his chestplate too tight. The breeze rustling the grass around your bodies is delightfully cool, but every inch of his skin prickles with heat.

You drop your hand, still clasping his, to your stomach. “I’m always happy when I’m with you.” And with that, you promptly fall asleep, seemingly unaware of the turmoil you had just caused in the man lying beside you.

Long after your breathing has slowed, he continues to watch the rise and fall of your chest in silence. He sees only what the moonlight offers to him, refusing to activate his helmet’s night vision. He can barely make out the outline of your hand tangled with his, resting on your stomach. Though the skin at his wrist is covered now, his glove having shifted back over it, he can still feel the ghost of your lips brushing over it. When he closes his eyes, the sensation grows stronger. If he concentrates, he can imagine what your fingers interlocked with his would feel like without the leather that separates them. It feels like a secret, hidden from even the night sky by layers of leather and beskar. But it’s a secret he’ll share with you in the morning.

#the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #mandalorian x reader #din djarin imagine #the mandalorian imagines #the mandalorian fluff #star wars imagines #star wars fanfic #linger

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thetaoofzoe · 4 years

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FIC: Syverson the Protector Pt 4

* Syverson The Protector - Part I (pairing Syverson x YOU)

* Syverson the Protector - Part II (pairing Syverson x YOU)

* Syverson the Protector - Part III (pairing Syverson x YOU)

Summary: You are an embedded journalist and on a mission, everything goes wrong. The two of you have made it to safety and now it’s time for the healing to begin.

Rating for this part: Budding romance, Fluff, medical related content, I’ve picked ‘Henry’ as Syverson’s first name and he’s grown his hair out :D

Must be read in order, no part can stand alone. I expect to have at most, two more parts, 5 and concluding in 6.

Word count: 2293

Want to read more? Click for my Masterlist

Lying flat on his back, Syverson stared morosely at the ceiling and listened to the gentle thwapping sounds of the bedside machine that was currently and eagerly siphoning fluids out of his intestines. He let his mind tick over what the machine was actually doing to him and blearily considered why he wasn’t in constant pain from the electronic manipulation of his own vulnerable flesh.

Surely those plastic tubes driven into his guts should hurt, right?

Sure, you’re right, his mind chattered, a little giddy to be imparting an unknown bit of information, but consider this: morphine – a wounded man’s best friend.

My best friend, he thought and then as if the devil knew it was being called, another machine beeped and a flood of soft luscious haziness rushed into his bloodstream and he immediately relaxed. This tired mind drifted and it didn’t take long for him to slip back into sleep.

Hours later, Syverson startled out of a clinging and sticky dream with a desperate gasp. He felt hot all over, stiff and aching and the very thought of trying to move elicited a terrible pain response. Hot, oily bile crept up in his throat and his mouth watered in that awful familiar process of preparing him to violently empty his stomach.

I have to sit up, his brain screamed. I have to sit up. I don’t want to puke still lying on my back!

A broad cool hand pressed down on his chest and another closed about his shoulder. Someone was speaking but he couldn’t make out the words through the heavy veiling fog that enveloped him. He tried to speak to the person, and tried to tell them that he was going to be sick.

‘It’s ok, Henry,’ a voice was telling him. ‘You’re ok. I’ll help you roll onto your side if you need to vomit.’

Swallowing jerkily, throat working hard to force the urge back down, Syverson clamped his teeth and shook his head.

‘All right. How about we move you a bit. Are you ok with that?’

Move? God no. I can’t bear that. Moving meant pain.

He shook his head again, but the warm voice came back to him, sounding much more insistent this time.

‘I can help you, Henry, or I’ll put the positioner in bed with you and it will make you move. We want to prevent pressure sores, remember?’

Syverson took in a breath and after a moment nodded to show that he understood. When the man leaned in close, Syverson could smell his cologne. It was a pleasant and fresh woodsy scent that reminded him of his cabin back home. A sudden homesick ache tightened his chest and tears wet his dry eyes. He didn’t like feeling that way, but everything seemed to be out of his control now. He hated it.

Nevertheless, he put his arms around the man’s shoulders and gritted his teeth when his body was repositioned and stretched out again on the stiff mattress.

He gasped and couldn’t believe how out of breath such a small exertion had left him. But, he noted, he did feel better and the nausea had subsided.

The urge to eat suddenly struck him and he blinked up at the nurse.

‘What time is it?’ he rasped, voice rusty from disuse.

‘You hungry?’ asked the nurse with a grin.

‘Yeah, I could eat,’ he answered, wriggling a little to get more comfortable in the pillows under his head.

‘I can get you something, but it’s after breakfast and not quite lunch.’

Syverson nodded. He didn’t care. He just wanted to eat.

‘Fries and a coke, then,’ he said closing his eyes and grinning a little.

The nurse laughed and gently patted his shoulder condescendingly. With the state of Syverson’s gut, there was no way he was going to survive ingesting any amount of carbonation. That little fact didn’t stop the cravings though.

‘I’ll see if there’s some soup still left. I think it’s chicken.’

When he was alone again, the memories came back. After the jeep explosion, he was sure that he was going to die out in that sandy wasteland. Had it not been for you, he was sure that he would have died. Had it not been for the beautiful, plucky reporter, some stony faced military man would be paying his parents a visit to inform them of their youngest son’s passing and that his body would be flown home for burial.

Instead, he had been saved. And when he found that you’d been housed in the civilian wing of the hospital, he wanted to see you. He wanted to thank you for saving his life. When visiting you was denied, considering the fragile state of the both of you, Syverson had instructed that the well stocked gift shop be bought out and carted to your room, all with his heartfelt thanks.

He owed you his life. A few flowers and a couple of teddy bears was the least he could do.

The plastic and faux wood table rattled next to him and snapped Syverson out of his muse. He opened his eyes and watched as the nurse positioned the table over his bed and put down a ceramic bowl of steaming soup. He groaned and strained a little to help himself up into a sitting position.

The nurse was distracted and looking down into his other hand.

‘I ran into your girlfriend’s nurse in the hallway and she gave me this to give to you.’

God, he sounded so smug and Syverson wanted to punch him square in the face.

Girlfriend?

His brain searched for a face to put to the name but came up empty. He’d broken up with his ex more than five years ago, right before his latest deployment. And then it clicked.

The reporter. You.

The nurse handed the card to Syverson and upon seeing it, his heart sank. It was the same envelope that he’d sent along with the gifts. Had you refused his outpouring of affection? He slowly opened the envelope and breathed out with relief when he saw the new message that had been written for him.

He didn’t want to smile at the note in front of the gossipy nurse, as he didn’t want to encourage any nonsense rumours, so he kept his elated reaction to himself. But inside his heart soared and the soup tasted better than anything he’d ever eaten before.

The day that you both championed and dreaded finally arrived. The day you could get out of bed on your own and walk down to the men’s wing to pay your captain a visit. He had come a long way, you’d heard from the nurse, but would still have trouble doing any taxing travelling. However you were well enough to make the trip.

‘That is, if you still want to,’ said your nurse with a glint in her eye.

Oh, she thinks she’s funny, does she?

You sighed luxuriously and stretched back on your pillows. You’d managed to wrangle an extra set so that you could prop yourself up like a royal lady taking in visitors for the afternoon. You ran the edge of your thumbnail across the thick scar skirting the side of your left palm, scratching it lightly but thoroughly. You had recently had your bandages removed and the sight of your hands was shocking. The backs of your hands had taken the brunt of the burns and they were wrinkled with scar tissue which butted up against new skin growth. A daily cream was a must to keep the tissue from tightening up and preventing normal usage of your hand. You scooped up a handful of the waxy smelling stuff and massaged it into your hands as your nurse watched you expectantly.

Her expression fell a bit when you didn’t answer right away.

Serves her right, you thought, casually kneading fingertips into the palm of your opposite hand.

‘I mean, you don’t have to, if you’ve changed your mind.’

She picked at a bright yellow rose bud that had fallen off of one of the new crops of flower bouquets. Henry had made sure to keep you flush with fresh beautiful flowers. You had to draw the line at the character balloons, and had to tell him that he should stop sending them because the hollow sounds of them knocking together at night was creepy and it kept you awake.

‘I haven’t changed my mind, Barb,’ you said and gave her a smile.

I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life to see him again.

‘Well, good. He’s been asking after you… like… constantly now.’

You said nothing, but a tiny grin stretched your lips.

Constantly?

‘We can whip out the chair and wheel you over there after lunch.’

Your heart leaped with sudden and visceral terror.

It’s soon. So soon. Too soon! Today?

You swallowed hard and felt your face heat with uncertain embarrassment.

‘S-sure.’

‘Ok, I’ll reserve one and be back in a few hours.’

Barb turned around and left the room. You could hear her chuckling as if this matchmaking was the best thing that had happened to her all year.

You sat up in bed, greasy hands limp in your lap and you made a face when you sniffed at yourself under your hospital gown. No way were you going to present yourself to Henry, or anyone else who would be in the day room, looking like you’d been in an accident.

Heaven forfend.

So, you washed carefully and put on the pale peach coloured long-sleeved pyjama set you’d received from the Ladies’ Supply. The Ladies’ Supply was an organisation of volunteer women who ensured the dignity and comfort of women at the military hospital through social visits, clothing donations and other feminine needs.

You did your hair the best you could and whiled away the hours until you heard the squeaky wheelchair being rolled into your room. With heart crashing excitedly against your ribs, you perched delicately on it and Barb rolled you away.

The day room was spacious and welcoming and abuzz with activity. Some of the men were still hooked to IVs and sitting by the wide windows and others who were more capable were dispersed amongst the tables either reading or playing cards or just talking with each other. There were also some women in there, so you didn’t feel like you were entering the lion’s den. You spotted Henry by one of the card tables and you wanted to put your feet down on the floor to stop Barb from rolling you right up to his side. Unfortunately, you didn’t do it in time and when you squeaked to an unceremonious halt at the edge of the table, he glanced up from his cards.

The look on his face when he recognised you was one that you would store in your memory for an eternity. He put the cards face down on the table and made to stand up. You immediately put up your hands to stop him.

‘No, no, don’t get up, you don’t–‘

But, he had already struggled to push himself up and out of the chair and you didn’t want to take that victory from him. You stood up as well, ready to give a firm friendly handshake, or a paltry pat on the shoulder but he had other intentions. He dragged you into his arms, and crushed you to his meaty chest, before you could manage to say, hello.

When he finally let you go, you both went back to your respective seats, feeling overwhelmed by the perfect greeting.

Grinning at him, you made a gesture to your own head.

‘Your hair… it’s all curly!’

The last time you’d seen him, his hair was shorn right to the head, and there was really no hint as to the texture or really even the true colour. So it surprised you to see a neatly clipped mop of glossy brown curls. Henry put a self conscious hand into his hair and ruffled his fingers through it.

‘I like it,’ you assured him, hoping to put him at ease. ‘I like it a lot.’

Grabby hair, your brain chittered. Perfect length for grabbing.

With that the two men who had been playing cards with him at the table, picked up and left, taking the not so subtle hint that they should leave the two of you alone.

‘I’m glad to see you. Finally,’ he said, wincing a little when he shifted in the chair.

‘Does it still hurt?’ you asked, reaching out to put your hands over his on the table.

‘I’m getting over it,’ he said, dodging the question effortlessly.

He turned his hands up to hold onto yours and you felt as shy as a virgin on a first date. So, what could you do but make a joke the break the tension.

‘I mean… if I had to get blown up to get a date with you in a hospital day room, don’t know if I would do it again. Ehh, I probably would.’

Your eyes swept up to his and he stared at you a moment, puzzled and when you gave him a little hesitant smile, Henry started to laugh. The sound it lit you up with happiness and then the awkwardness was broken.

You spent about an hour chatting and if you were honest, most of it was spent flirting, until you started to feel tired.

You didn’t want to overstay your welcome and he seemed disappointed (much to your juvenile delight) when you said that you were leaving.

‘Tomorrow then?’ he asked, big blue eyes bright and eager, his hands unwilling to let you go again.

‘Yes, tomorrow.’

-End part 4

#henry cavill #captain syversion #syverson x you #henry cavill x you #captain syverson x you #syverson the protector #reader insert

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