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di-kut · 4 years

Text

Fairy Dust

Pairing: Fem Reader x Ezra (Prospect)

Word Count: 16k i kNOW

Rating: MA (Extremely explicit sex scenes I don’t know what else to tell ya)

Summary: While collecting rare gems on an unpopular prospecting planet you are both infected with a sex pollen. (Porn with a mild attempt at plot?)

Warnings: Ok saddle up boys here we go Dirty talk, oral sex (m/f receiving), sex pollen, elements of dub con implied (although they do not do the do while under the influence!), non-established dom/sub dynamic, masturbation, orgasm denial, pharmaceutical drug use, saliva/cum play, nipple play, breath play, overstimulation (sorta), multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering, clit slapping, unprotected sex, pleading, general kind of explicit sexual things

A/N: This is 29 A4 pages of absolute porn. I really can’t make a single excuse for this. As always this started as something much smaller and got way WAY out of hand. There is lots of yearning and pining in this for a sex pollen fic, and also lots of sex so there’s that. Um pls be kind to me?

The ground is soggy from the downpour. Your boots sink into the mud and stick. It’s hard going to climb out of the valley, even now, long after the rain has ended. You hike your case higher against you, have to pause and flex your hold around it. Heavy with a cargo which has made the whole descent worth every sodden footstep and fighting against the rain. A rare aquatic gem encased in a bloom which only surfaced during complete submersion. A field of water flowers, nothing but green swaying grass under the sun, suddenly appearing after the rain flooded the valley. The whole planet covered in flora which changed with the weather, almost terraformed with the climate.

The hill is steep, green except for the worn path of mud you had tracked into the grass on the way down it. The peak is near now, grass swaying lazily against a brilliant blue sky. The pod is over the rise, down in the next valley. You dig your feet into the sliding earth, feel it try to pull you back down the hill and into the gorge below, still filled with crystalline pools of clear water. No longer glistening with the purple heads of the gems, those are stowed in your cases. Enough to set you up for months. A year maybe. Rare enough that they will fetch a high price, high enough to have a holiday even. You smile at the thought, forget to check your steps and you shift your weight onto a patch of sliding mud. You stagger, yell, nearly drop. The earth beneath you keeps shifting down, pulls you with it. A hand catches your elbow, stops you from your inevitable fall back down the hill.

“Are you alright, Starlight?”

Ezra’s voice sounds distant through the earpiece. Crackles with static. Your heart is pounding, you can feel it sitting at the back of your throat. You twist your helmet around far enough to look at him and nod. He helps you right yourself, lets you hold onto his arm until you get your balance again.

You continue your climb. The hill wants to slide out from beneath you. Every footstep less steady than the last as you reach the top, the landscape more battered by the rain so close to the peak of the hill. But you don’t slip again, and Ezra is steady on his feet behind you. When you crest the top of the peak the sun emerges from the clouds still curled around the horizon, a halo of threatening grey, the cracking of thunder just audible, carried over the endless lulls of valleys and peaks. A surface of craters – each one filled with a forest, or a lake, or a jungle, on and on, disappearing into the distance. The storm seems far away, but the planet is not just unpopular for prospecting because the gems are hard to find. The weather systems fluctuate quickly, and change can happen in minutes. You eye the clouds with distrust, even as the valleys all around you are bathed in golden afternoon light.

Your breathing bounces around between your headsets, the echo of your own breathing reverberating back to you through the Ezra’s mouthpiece. He stops beside you, balances his case between his feet and sighs. Puts his hands on his hips and stares out with you. A beautiful planet, really, if you can forget the threat of the weather.

“One certainly does crave for the smell of dampened soil.”

“Ezra…” You warn.

“The atmosphere is perfectly breathable, I checked multiple times.”

“Don’t – ”

But he is lifting his arm and releasing the helmet. Movements sure and easy with his only remaining hand. He had been clumsy at it still, when you had first met him, just months after he had lost his right arm. But he no longer avoids your offers for help – doesn’t need them. He holds his helmet against his cocked hip and makes a show of sucking in a long breath. Turn his head to peer at you from the corner of his eye.

You sigh. “It might not be safe.”

“You shall have to take your helmet off, Starlight, without the assistance of our earpieces I cannot hear you.”

“I know you can hear me,” you mutter.

He chuckles at you and the sound curls the familiar sensation of tingling deep in the pit of your stomach. Ezra lets his eyes slip closed, a light breeze ruffling his hair, pushing it up and away from his face. Without the helmet you can see the shape of his profile, strong against the distant clouds. Skin glowing golden in the sunlight, blond streak almost white. You study the lines of his brow, the hook of his nose. Give yourself this moment while he is distracted to commit this memory of him to the same place you keep all precious memories of Ezra. Secret and deep. Almost let yourself think for a moment what it would be like if you took your helmet off too, if you gave in to him. But his eyes are fluttering open and you turn away.

You start the trek back down the other side of the slope. The pod is within sight now, nestled in against the tree line, facing out over a sodden field. Ezra is laughing at you, at your stubbornness. He calls something teasing you ignore, do not let the flood of colour rush to your cheeks. Concentrate on the squelching of your boots through the mud, and the sounds of his joining you as well, never far behind.

His voice marks a constant melody behind you, a soothing sound after almost two years. It’s deep and clear without the static of the helmet to interfere, rings out around you as he chatters. Content mostly just for you to listen, as he always is. The way down is easier than the way up had been, not so steep as the other side of the hill. Your case is heavy enough that you have to lean against its weight at steeper parts. The gloves of your suit are covered in mud from the extraction, so are the knees and fronts of your legs. You are glad a second trip won’t be required to make the journey worthwhile. Glad you will be able to wait out the departure safe from the rain and the storms from the inside of the pod. You glimpse at Ezra, can’t help the fond smile you don’t let him see. Think he was made for this, really, to be always exploring under the shine of the sun.

“We shouldn’t stay out here too long, Ezra.”

He has stopped at the base of one of the trees. Almost fifty metres from the pod. It’s not a tall tree, only Ezra’s height twice again, but its trunk is thick, broad enough that if you stood on either side of it your hands would not touch his. The bark is a smooth grey, covered over with glistening moss, still wet from the downpour. He’s close to it, staring up at something in the canopy above. His helmet pressed between his arm and his hip, the case hanging from his hand below. Small droplets of water occasionally fall from shuddering leaves, catch the light as the drop, the air filled with gems all around him.

“The flora of this planet truly renders one speechless.” He ignores your warning. “A blossoming kaleidoscopic gallery which changes with the weather.”

He places his case on the ground, then his helmet. Tilts his head at you to come closer. You step towards him, close the distance between you with sticky steps. He points up at something, whatever had caught his attention. You stop next to him and turn to see it. The canopy is not far above your heads, a dark leafy green shade from the blue of the sky. Drooping under the weight of the rainfall. Nestled in the green there are buds, yellow and small. They are what has captured Ezra, flowers unopened. Invisible when you had passed through hours before on your way from the pod, but now under the bloom of the sun they are opening. You stand together, shoulder to shoulder under the leaves, watching as dozens, hundreds of them appear above you. More of the local plants which change with the weather, just like your gems. Hidden away, something secret and magical. You can’t deny him this, this little piece of wonder in such a cruel world. Couldn’t deny him anything, not really. You will never tell him that, because the world is cruel, and has been cruel to you both. And you trust him. Know you will never find another partner like him. So it stays within you, locked away, with the little pieces of happiness you find with him. His smile, face turned towards the sun.

He’s watching you, when you turn. His skin golden in the sunlight. Magical himself. And then the blossoms open above you, not flowers after all. Petal-less buds which release a floating snow of yellow pollen which drifts through the air. Settles against his shoulders and into his hair. His smile is soft, changes when you catch his eye. He lifts his hand and knocks his fist gently against your helmet.

“Rather like fairy dust,” he says quietly. Pinches some of it from where it’s settled on your suit and holds it up between you. Blows it away. The pollen in the air between you comes to life, from a drifting snow to a dance, twisting and writhing through the air on his breath. “Do you think it would heal our wounds, Starlight? Bless the paint which brushes our lives with luck as well?” His eyes glimmer, playfully conspiratorial. Drawing you in towards him, in the way Ezra has of making you feel a part of something. A confidant. “Shall we bottle some, do you think?”

“We’d need a lot.”

He laughs. “That we would.” He closes his eyes and inhales. Exhales. Makes the yellow clouds of pollen chase each other through the air. “The aroma is divine. You ought to smell it.”

You sigh. “Just because the atmosphere is breathable…”

“The helmets were merely to protect our persons from the deluge and keep us from discomfort.” He hikes his own helmet up on his hip as if to demonstrate. “I have not come to harm from the removal of my own.”

“Yet.”

You fidget for a moment, think about saying no. But you can’t, not when he is smiling at you like that, like maybe if you remove the helmet you can make him happy. Like you are someone important. He doesn’t hide his emotions like you, he wears them open and honest on his face and in his eyes. A trait so at odds with his profession. You think he might want you, sometimes, when he looks at you like this. But know him well enough to know he is a wanderer, and that craving your body, after weeks alone in space, is very different to wanting you forever. The way you might know you want him, if you would ever let yourself think about it.

So you place your case carefully between your feet as well and lift your hands to your helmet. It releases with a soft hiss of the pressure and a click and you pull it away. The air is cool and sharp. The soil smells of rain. Ezra is right. The smell of the pollen is incredible. Sweet and sharp and bright. Unlike anything you’ve ever smelt before. Intoxicating, almost. Even more after the staleness of the air in your helmet and in your pod. You can smell him as well, a more familiar smell through the pollen. His eyes are catching the sunlight, the brown shifting between shade and light, sometimes golden sometimes orange and sometimes almost black. More beautiful than the trees and the dancing yellow pollen and the gems in your cases.

“Wonders of the universe, hey?” Ezra murmurs. He’s studying your eyes as intensely as you are studying his.

You throat closes a little. He leans towards you and you shrug away from him. Turn your head to hide your blush. “We should get back to the pod.”

You pick up your helmet in one hand and your case in the other. Ezra is quiet the rest of the walk. Your hair becomes coated with a fine yellow dust, your eyelashes, the tip of your nose. It lands on your shoulders and sticks to the mud on your suit. You feel the gnawing of guilt in your stomach, know you were too quick to turn. Too sharp with him. You turn back several times, get so far as opening your mouth to apologise. But he is staring at the ground beneath his feet, brows furrowed. As he has been other times when you have broken away too soon, when there has been a moment building between you. Only for you to shut it down. Close yourself off.

The pod is cool inside. You brush off the worst of the pollen outside it in silence. Awful, unfamiliar silence. Step inside and remove your suits without a word. But the tension breaks when you giggle at the cloud of yellow which puffs into the air when Ezra shakes his head. He laughs with you, and you settle back into normal, fall into your easy routine. Ezra stores the gems away while you pack the suits, try to get the worst of the pollen off them by shaking them out the door. Pack them away. Dinner; protein bars and supplements and flasks of water. Ezra has a field guide up for the planet, is flicking through the local flora and telling you anything which catches his fancy, reads out descriptions with a melody they do not deserve. It lulls you, makes your stomach turn more than normal. You catch his eyes resting on your face or your body several times before he looks away. It makes your skin break out in goosebumps.

“Ah look,” he says, kicks his feet up onto the bunk. You are still wearing your undersuit, a thick warm lining, but Ezra has shucked his, is wearing only his compression clothing. Your eyes linger where his shirt has ridden up and reveals a sliver of skin over his hipbone. “Our magical tree outside. Not a remnant of some fairy civilisation I’m afraid, and rather well documented.”

You hum encouragingly, distracted.

“Wide trunk… short height… a wider family of flowering trees which covers the planet’s surface. Names after a botanist… species is known for its pink flowers – ”

“It’s flowers weren’t pink.”

“Let me finish, if you would be so kind. Known for its pink flower which do not pollinate, as the pollen is enclosed in a separate yellow bract rather than the sepals of the petals. The pollen is of renown – maybe we should have bottled it – due to its – ”

He cuts himself off. You are fiddling with the zip of your undersuit, still staring at the gap between his shirt and pants. It takes several long moments of silence for you to be able to draw your gaze away from his skin and up to his face. “Renown due to?”

He is gone pale. Stares blankly at his screen.

“Ezra?” You straighten. “Ezra, what’s wrong? The pollen, what is it?”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Is it poisonous?” You are oddly calm. Start running an inventory of the contents of your med kit, try to remember how long since you’d been exposed to it. “Ezra, are we in danger?”

“No,” he croaks. “It’s not poisonous.”

You deflate back against your bunk. Throw an empty protein bar packet in his direction and huff. Want to kick him in his shin for the dramatics. “You scared me. Don’t – ”

“It’s an aphrodisiac.”

You blink at him. “A… A what?”

“An aphrodisiac. It’s harvested for its high potency but it difficult to acquire because of the plant’s unique quality of blooming in certain conditions. The buds are only visible when exposed to extended periods of rainfall, and release pollen only under UV light.” He’s still reading the article aloud. His face slack in horror. “It contains hallucinogenic properties, and is known to create both psychological and physiological – ”

“Ezra, plain English, please.” You say. “So it’s – it’s what? We’re going to be horny?”

“Incomparably aroused.” He looks at you and then away again. Starts to flick through other articles with desperation. “It’s a hallucinogenic. It will not simply make us feel horny, we will be unable to think of anything else. It will make us feel things, phantom sensations, we will experience corporeal responses without other stimulation.”

You blanche. “Maybe it’s the wrong tree, maybe it’s – ”

“It’s not the wrong tree.”

“So what do we do?” You feel too hot, the space around you is suddenly too small and your undersuit too heavy. You think it must be a trick of your mind, but paranoia makes the flush worse.

Ezra clicks through article after article. He estimates you have maybe an hour before it takes effect, maybe less. The pollen was generally harvested, and the chemicals extracted to use as additives for drugs. There is next to nothing on direct inhalation. Not documented, not tested. He tells you it should only last a few hours – three to four. But you can feel your hands shaking, are only half listening. He’s speaking so quickly now, and you curl your feet onto the bed in front of you, wrap your arms around your knees. Was the flush from nerves or from the pollen? Were you shaking because of it as well? Ezra is still talking.

“What?” You say. Head shooting up.

“It does not seem to matter if you… if you finish. The effects of the pollen will not dissipate until it leaves your system.”

Your face colours. “Okay. Okay. Four hours though, that’s what you said.” You think you must look sick. You feel sick, as if all the blood has left you. “We’re both adults, we can just,” but you can’t even finish the sentence. Stare down at your knees.

Ezra makes a pained noise in the back of his throat.

It’s getting harder to breathe. Harder to see. The walls around you have started to blur. The bright white lights in the pod are too much, hurt the space behind your eyes. You shuffle to the edge of the bed and swing your legs to the ground. Feel the buzzing in your hands and feet. The switch has never felt so far away, and yet the air around you keep compressing, the walls closing in. It hasn’t been anywhere near an hour. Twenty minutes at most and you feel like your mouth is full of wool and your head too. Ezra has turned on his side, his back to you, the quiet sound of his long deliberate breathing the only noise he makes. You finally reach the switch, grasp at it with shaking hands. Ezra turns over his good shoulder, and you catch the sight of his hair – wet and flattened to his head.

“Don’t – ”

But you already have the lights dimmed. Still bright enough to see, but not painful anymore. Ezra seems vivid even in the dim, like he’s brought into hyper-focus, safe and solid in the pulsating world around you. Without thinking you begin to shuffle towards him. Lick your lips. Think maybe it would be better to stay close to him. Would make you feel better.

“What are you doing?” He pushes himself up on his arm, half facing you. The prominent muscles of his neck straining at the twist.

“I – I – ” You shake your head. Try to clear it of the fuzzy feeling which has settled over your thoughts. Suck in a deep breath which doesn’t reach your lungs. “I don’t know.”

“It’s the pollen.” He’s short. You can hear the tension in his jaw. See the ticking of the muscle under the skin. It distracts you. He kicks his foot to get your attention. “Lie down. Over there.”

You listen without question; the commanding tone sends a lick of heat up your spine. Your knees buckle when they hit your bunk, and you fall against it, boneless. Suddenly weak. It’s so hot. You can feel sweat forming along your top lip, sink over your brow and into your hair. You push the strands away with shaking hands, shove it back off your face. It’s too hot in the pod. Your mouth is so dry. So hot. The undersuit, you’re still wearing it, and your compression clothes beneath. Ezra has lowered himself back to the mattress, stares at the wall ahead of him, but his whole body jerks when he hears the pull of your zip. You turn your head to the side to watch him, stare at his back. Watch his shoulders pull tight through his thin compression shirt, damp with sweat. Watch the muscle tense. Catch your tongue between your teeth. His neck is so tight you can see every dip, see the veins stand out beneath the skin.

You get the zip undone and start to wriggle your arms free. The cold air of the pod is a relief until Ezra groans, deep and pained. The sound shoots down your spine, sparks across your lower back and into your stomach. Makes your cunt pulse. You echo the sound back at him, feel your body temperature climb again, impossibly. You slump, half out of the suit, your skin feels like the crackle of static, alive and humming. You are on fire. Can feel your chest and stomach and the creases beneath your breasts growing slick with sweat. You shift in the suit, still halfway down your waist, and the inseam of the crotch catches against your underwear. Without thinking, without meaning to, you are bending your knees, digging the heels of your feet into the bed and pulling yourself down. Feel the thickness of the seam, too much and not enough all at once dig into you and your back curves. Relish in the feeling of friction, and the release which dribbles, stick and warm, down your slit.

You choke on another moan.

Ezra is so stiff he is almost shaking. Pulled so taut he might snap. You can’t take your eyes off him, watch the way his ragged breathing fills him and rushes out again. Like he’s been running. Sweat soaking through his shirt now, making it cling to him. His voice is cracked and hoarse. “Be quiet.”

You can’t help it. Another moan slips out before you can stop it, louder at the sound of his voice. You bend your knees again and work your hips against the inside of the suit. Become aware of how swollen your cunt is, tingling. Worse than tingling. Somehow better. Your legs are shaking, breath coming in fast pants. It’s too loud in the pod, bounces around and comes back to you. Makes you dimly embarrassed, a small place in the back of your mind is mortified. But you can’t concentrate on why, can’t hold any thought in your head long enough to remember why you shouldn’t give in. Can’t remember why you’re holding back from the throbbing need in the first place.

“Ezra.” It’s too breathy. Too soft. That’s what you want, you realise. The taste of his name in your mouth makes it fill, hot and wet. Ezra, Ezra, Ezra. “It’s hurting.”

“It’s the pollen.” His voice is tight. He turns his head enough that you can see a sliver of cheekbone. “A few hours, remember? Then it will be over.”

The pod is getting hotter. You are getting hotter. Your breasts ache, you feel your nipples hardening, feel them catch against the sweat drenched fabric of your singlet and it stings. Another throb, so long you think it won’t end, makes you whimper. And then. Wet. Not dribbling, leaking. Flowing. The suit is still tangled around your legs. Your hands are shaking so badly you have to kick at it to get it off, manage to catch it and have it twisted around one ankle. Finally kick it onto the floor. Your compression pants are slick, and you are vibrating. Weak. The heat is still growing even now the suit is gone, like you are on fire. You still haven’t looked away from Ezra.

“You were in it for longer,” you say. Barely get the words out. Can’t think. Can’t breathe. “You had – had – ” a barely stifled moan “ – had your helmet off. For so long. Why aren’t you like this?”

He swallows loud enough that you can hear it. “I am well practiced. This feeling is one I am quite used to concealing from you.” His voice is like honey. Fills your head and your mouth and your body with syrup. But the words. The words make you weak. Make you utter another quiet whimper. “The effects of the pollen will wear off in a few hours, Starlight.”

You have to put a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound which threatens to escape from it. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You realise you can smell yourself. It makes you dizzy. And him. The sharp scent of his sweat on hot skin. Familiar. Unbearable. You kick your legs out, hit your head back against the bunk and fist your hands into the sheets. Struggle to hold on to the embarrassed part of your mind, feel it slipping away. Try to stop your hands from reaching between your legs at his confession.

“Ezra.” It’s almost a sob. “Ezra, please.”

“I ask of you only that you are quiet,” he says. Tight, pained. “Whatever you do to deal with – with this, just do it quietly. I can’t – it’s – ”

You have never heard him stumble before. Not with words. Never with words. You think sometimes that he must know them all, certainly knows many more than you. So much of your time together has been filled with his voice, wrapped in them, the way he rolls them in his mouth and holds them. But now he has none. And instead of being filled with his words, the space between your is hot and pulsing. Fills with other things. Aching.

You forget your embarrassment.

“We could, we could help each other.” You lick you lips. Pull yourself up onto your elbows with shaking arms. “We could deal with it together.”

“No.”

“Ezra!” It’s a petulant wail. His chest is heaving. The smell of him is everywhere, all around you. Mixing with the smell of you. “Please. Please, please, please.”

“I said be quiet.” He snarls at you. Full of venom. This is the Ezra he is with other prospectors. The Ezra that steals and kills. Cruel. Mean. The sting of tears in your eyes well and slip and fall. And still you feel your cunt weep with you.

“Do you… do you hate me?”

“No.”

“You do! Why else would you make me hurt like this?” A full sob works its way up your throat. Nearly chokes you. Makes your breathing stutter. “I only want you to touch me. You hate me so much you won’t even touch me.”

He says your name. Not Starlight. Says it with a bite which stings and clears your head long enough for you to finally wrench gaze away from him. You turn your head, press it against the cool wall of the pod nearest you. Close your eyes so tightly white bursts behind your lids and crushes your lashes against your cheeks. You try to breathe, but every mouthful is full of the taste of you both. You try to concentrate. And Ezra is panting as well, ragged and loud. Sounds closer, and you turn your head back to him, and realise your mistake. He has pushed himself back up onto his good arm and twisted to stare at you over his shoulder. His eyes are dark, face dripping with sweat, hair wet with it. Compression shirt almost transparent against the heaving mass of his chest. His mouth hangs open with his breath. You have to bite your lip, roll it into your mouth and dig your teeth into it hard enough to sting.

He is furious. “Do not speak to me as if I have no heart. It is because of my heart I am denying you.”

“Why?” You don’t understand him. “Why don’t you just – ”

“Stop.”

He twists fully now. Rolls onto his back. Your eyes follow his length, slip over his chest and stomach and – you think you might die. Think you will explode. His cock is tented in his compression pants. Even in the dim you can see the shape of it pressed against the grey fabric. The thickness of it. See the dark patch around the head where it leaks precum. Such a huge patch you think surely, truly, he must have already come. Know he hasn’t. You press your legs together with a strangled moan.

“Be quiet!” He squeezes and his eyes shut at the sound.

You writhe against the mattress. “All I want is for you to touch me Ezra, please, please, why don’t you want – ”

“Do you know how badly I crave you?” He cuts you off. “Do you know how often I have dreamt of you, like this, begging me to take you? How many times I have dreamt of fucking your cunt? Of the taste of you? God,” he makes a sound, half deranged. It might have been a laugh in a different time, a different place. “Have you any conception of the ways I have imagined having you? How many nights we have laid here while you sleep, and I bit my fist to stop myself from waking you while I come all over my hand?”

You heart must have stopped. Must have swollen until it was too large for your chest and been crushed. Outgrown its place. Blocked your lungs as well because you can’t breathe.

But he’s still going. Still talking.

“I have had to fuck my hand for months. Pretend it was your pussy. Or your mouth. Your pretty little mouth. And every night you are there, not four feet from me, oblivious and dreaming. I think of you licking up all my cum, cleaning it off my fingers. Fucking it straight down your throat. Fuck.” His words become lost in the deep groan which forces its way out of his mouth. His dick jumps in his pants. “Fuck.”

You are clenching around nothing, the tightness in your stomach and centre coiled so badly now it is painful. You pull your feet up nearer to you so you can lift your hips off the bed and grind them into nothing, into the air. Tears of frustration slip, never so frustrated before, so desperate and shaking. You hold the sheets tighter, know once you touch yourself you won’t be able to stop, but coming won’t help. The symptoms won’t stop until the pollen leaves your system. You drop your hips back to the bed with a harsh sound, something between a sob and a gasp. Ezra is breathless, groaning in response to every sound your make. You are so wet it has soaked through your compression pants, down around the crux of your thighs and into the seat of your underwear. Mixing with sweat. Sliding between your lips and your cheeks and making the drag of the fabric against you almost painful.

“Keep going. Ezra, please.”

“Don’t. Don’t make me… not fair.”

“Love your voice.” You twist. Jerk your hips forward against the bunk. “Could… could come to just your voice. Wouldn’t – wouldn’t even need to touch myself.”

The sound he makes is tormented. Guttural and deep. Sparks through you. “Fuck. Fuck. Shit. This is torture, it must be. Condemned for every lascivious thought I have had of you. Punished more my lewd cogitations. Every time I have pictured your pussy. Thought of what my dick would look like filling you up.” He chokes on the words. “I have imagined fucking you on every surface of this damnable pod. And the pod before that and the one before that.”

“Please Ezra. Please. I want you to fuck me. Anywhere, anywhere you want.”

You are looking him when he opens his eyes. He looks wild. Almost unhinged. He sucks his lips between his teeth and hisses when he rolls them back out. Is staring at the hardened buds beneath your drenched singlet. His breathing cracks, and for a moment, a second, you think he is going to break and move towards you.

“No.” It’s drawn out. Hard for him to say. He closes his eyes and faces the ceiling. “No. Do not make such requests of me. Not now. It’s not fair to ask me to take you now when you will surface from this haze and hate me for it. You will hate me for all of it.”

“I won’t.” Quiet. Timid. Desperate.

“You wish to hear my fantasies? Do you want to know what all of my fantasies of you have in common?” He waits. He is looking at you again, and he waits until you have focused on him. “In every way I have imagined you, in every way I have dreamed of taking you, you have wanted me as badly as I want you, Starlight.”

You can’t say anything. Your tongue is lead in your mouth. You are throbbing so relentlessly it’s almost impossible to think of anything else. The pain at the base of your stomach is growing, spreading, and you feel like your limbs are beginning to lock down. You have to roll onto your side and curl around yourself. More fluid moves at the action, leaking over your lips and thighs and soaking into the sheets below you. It somehow makes everything worse. It’s too much. So much. You are too full and not full enough. All you can think about is the feeling of him pushing inside you, tearing you apart, pounding into you as relentlessly as your cunt throbs for him. You sob again.

“I want you Ezra. I do, I do want you.”

“You would want anyone,” he spits. “It’s the pollen. You’ve been drugged.”

“But I want you! I always want you!”

“You think you do but you will live through this and then you will not want me anymore.” He turns over his good arm again and rolls onto his side. Faces away from you again. “This is torture enough for a lifetime of sins. I can’t – ”

You aren’t sure where the strength comes from, but you know you must move. Your body screams to move towards him, almost convinces you he will make the pain fade. You hold onto one thought, the sound of the pain in his voice, hold it tight as you can and roll yourself out of your bunk. He flinches away from you at the sounds of movement, and you almost forget yourself when you see his hips jerk involuntarily. Mouth-watering, knowing he must feel the need for you as desperately as you need for him. But you can’t. You burn the sound of his pleas across every thought you have and stumble to the corner of the pod, struggle to open the compartment with shaking hands, and when you do you drop the med kit on the floor. You are vibrating, and if you had thought you couldn’t see before then now it is blindness. You blunder through the kit, splaying its contents half onto the ground around it before you find the packet. A packet full of pills the size of pin heads, but powerful. Meant to be for adjusting to new planets time cycles. Getting back to Ezra’s bunk is easier than moving away from it, invisible strings inside you pulling you to him.

“Here,” you say. Voice hoarse like you’ve been screaming. Grates at your throat. “Ezra.”

“What?” He doesn’t turn.

“Sleeping pills. They… they can knock us out.”

He turns his head, just enough to see you. Up close he looks worse. Better, so much better. His pupils are blown so wide the brown around them is barely visible. His pillow drenched in sweat. His face is flushed, the back of his neck and ears and forehead are red. His mouth open in wet pants. You crumple, drop to your knees in front of him, or risk throwing yourself into the bed with him. You drop the pill on his pillow, think if you touch him you will snap and give in. He’s looking at you the same, like if you move wrong he will not be able to stop himself. You lift your pill to your lips.

“Wait – ” He says. “The pollen, the pills, we don’t – we don’t know if it’s safe.”

“Ezra.” You feel a hot tear slip down your cheek. Your singlet and your compression tights hurt your skin where they touch you. The cold of the floor is burning against your legs and hand. The air around you is almost too much. “I won’t get through this. It hurts too much.”

You swallow the pill before he can stop you.

He says something, but the sound of his voice is too much. You stumble off your knees and towards the wet room. Your control is stretched taut within you, about to snap. Kneeling next to his bunk you can smell more of him, see more. You get to the door and it takes your shaking hands two tries to get it open. You catch him slip his pill between his lips and swallow, and the flex of the muscles in his neck nearly has you trip over yourself to get back to him. But you slam the door closed between you. Slump immediately into a cold wall and slide down it until you’re crouched against the plastic floor. The wet room is tiny, nothing more than an insulated storage cupboard with a hose and shower nozzle. The pills are strong, you lean back against the wall, feel them mixing with the effects of the pollen so that the world swims before your eyes. You close your eyes. Try and count your breathing. You try to count three times and lose count every time. You can’t feel the floor beneath you. Can’t feel the wall behind you. The world is slipping so that it is only the fire of your muscles and the throbbing between your legs. Time warps into a tunnel, feel like you are suspended and falling through it at the same time.

There is no world around you when you finally shove the heel of your palms between your legs. Don’t care when you start moaning, writing against it. You couldn’t remember your own name if someone asked, where you were. Anything. Your knees drop out, one against the floor and the other shoved against the wall in the tight space. You head knocks hard against the wall behind you. You shove your other hand down, unwilling to stop rocking your hips into your palm until you can get the tips of your fingers down your compression pants and find your clit. The first roll over the bundle of nerves makes you scream. Forces it up out of some place in your stomach and up, up through your chest and throat. You do not ease yourself forward, you rub against the throbbing spot with enough force that your arm shakes from the effort. Stop long enough to pull the tights down your thighs so you can rub your clit and sink your fingers into your pulsing cunt at the same time. The knot in your stomach becomes unbearable. Your cunt spasms and clenches around your fingers, three of them, and still you feel empty, and yet somehow so full you are almost sick with it. Keening. Desperate. You are speaking, blabbering nonsense. Your hips jerk off the floor.

But there is no release.

You have no idea how long you lie there, rubbing yourself, fucking yourself with your fingers before you give up. Boneless and whimpering. Sobbing. You can feel how wet you are, feel it all over the floor beneath you and smeared up over your wrist. You drop your hands, the blackness closing around your peripheries enough to dull the burning. The sleeping pill clouds the last of your consciousness and you slip.

When you wake the first time it is sweating and with the dream taste of Ezra in your mouth. An imaginary taste you have conjured many times before this but made to feel so real by the pollen. You’re panting so fast they begin to run together, your body trembling and shaking. The wall of the wet room is hard and cold against your back. You don’t even have to touch yourself to come when the memories of your drug induced sleep return to you, the dream of Ezra’s cock heavy on your tongue and full to the back of your throat. Your release is so long and intense you slump further into the ground. Your forehead against the door. You are barely conscious of the shock tremors afterwards, of the jolting aftershocks of the pollen and dream induced orgasm. The place just below your stomach is still as tight as before.

You fade in and out, the sleeping pill enough to keep you under most of the time. You wake a few more times, coming or on the edge of it. Have slipped into a dark place where everything except the buzzing of your body does not exist. The pollen continues to conjure hallucinations, the feel of hands all over you, impossibly hot and rough, of being filled and fucked, again and again. Ezra. Always Ezra. Haunting you.

Hours after crawling into the wet room, your sweat has broken. Shivering, drenched and pressed against the cold walls in the tight space. You are dizzy, can taste the sourness of dehydration coating your mouth and the back of your throat. You yank the door open again, can’t walk, so you fumble on hands and knees to the water and raise a flask with shaking hands. Drink three of them. You get to your bunk and pull of your clothes – wet and dripping with cold sweat – throw them at the foot of your mattress. Defeated and exhausted when you pull the sheets over yourself. Cold. Ezra is quiet, a still ball on his bunk, still facing the wall. You wait until you see him breathe, watch his chest rise and fall. Let yourself give into the relief of exhaustion.

When you wake next it is to the sound of rain against the roof of the pod. There is a deep aching in your limbs and the muscles around your stomach, but no burn of satisfaction to ease the pain. You are still dehydrated. Eyelids like sandpaper against your eyes, so you don’t open them. You can barely roll over you are so stiff. The rain sounds heavy. Another torrential flood.

You drift for some time in the place between wakefulness and sleep. You can hear Ezra, awake and moving around the pod, bare feet against the floor. He stops near you and he pulls the sheet higher over your shoulder where it has slipped, covering your bare back from the cool air. Pulls a heavier blanket over you as well. You continue to wander, sometimes dreaming. Sometimes listening to the sounds of him moving about, the hose turn on in the wet room. Turn off again sometime later. Smell the soap when Ezra emerges and feel the waft or warm, steaming air against the top of your head. Not long after his hand is on your covered shoulder, gently shaking.

“Starlight.” He says. “You need to drink. Wake up.”

He waits until you start to move, wraps his arm beneath you to help you to sit. Holds up the blanket when it falls and tugs it tighter around your shoulders. Gives you water and a protein bar and leaves you. You stare at the things in your hands, then at his back. Feel like you are floating.

And then the day before begins to bleed into your thoughts like a poison, and as you wake the horror of embarrassment makes it impossible to sit still. You can’t look at Ezra, where he crouches with his back to you not three feet away. Digging through the med kit you had left on the floor. You force yourself to eat but the protein bar tastes like cardboard in your mouth. You are hyperaware of your nudity, feel small and exposed, and you pull the thin blanket around your shoulders as high around you neck as it will go. Think of Ezra opening the door to the wet room to find the mess you had undoubtedly left there. Think of yourself begging him to fuck you while he desperately refused. You feel sick.

He brings the med kit to you. You can’t look at him, can feel his eyes searching your face. He sighs and gently reaches for the blanket. You flinch before he can reach it and he drops his hand.

“I will not hurt you. I assure you.” He shows you his empty palm. “I only wish to ensure you are well. I need to check if you are still suffering any effects of the pollen.”

You shake your head, hold your hands against your chest beneath your shield of bedding. “I’m not.” Your voice is raw from screaming and then hours of sleep. You think he must hate you. Must hate you for being so weak.

“I need to check.” His voice is so gentle. So soft. “May I please have your hand?”

You do not move, can’t look at him. And then you slowly release your hold on yourself and worm one hand out through the blankets, careful to keep yourself covered and let him take you by the wrist. Lay your hand palm up on your lap. His fingers make your blood spark where they touch you and you wish he wouldn’t. Wish you hadn’t been so awful to him while he tried to refuse you. He clips a small device to your fingertip, warns you of the prick of it taking your blood. Checks your pulse, checks your temperature. When the device beeps he removes it and compares the reading with a small manual in the med kit.

“The pollen is out of your system.”

“How… how long has it been?”

“Nearly two days since we were infected.”

You look up in shock. He is staring at you, warm eyes soft and tired. Marred by the dark circles around them. His hair still damp from his shower. You burn red and look away again.

“Two days?”

“You’ve been unconscious for some time.” He packs everything away and moves. You glance at his back when he goes, watch a droplet of water from his hair drip a slow path along the back of his neck and disappear under his soft clean shirt. Images of the days before rise behind your eyes before you can stop them, memories of dreams. Memories of hallucinations and fantasies. Your stomach churns. “Do you need more water?”

You shake your head. “No.”

He nods and comes to sit opposite you on his own bunk, his arm braced across his knee. You try to hold his gaze but humiliation crawls its way up your throat and you squeeze your eyes shut. Keep remembering trying to convince him to fuck you through the effects of the pollen, remember the hazy, sordid details of everything you said to him. You don’t know how you will ever face him again, every be able to meet his eyes. Its all made so much worse by the memory of how badly you wanted him, a desperate need which tore you apart. Feelings which you had supressed and kept dormant before now refused to be ignored and you are full of guilt and affection, tearing you apart. Feel them push up against your heart when you look at him and twist.

“Ezra…”

You hear him sigh, lift your eyes to look at him. He’s smiling, soft and sweet and sad. “It’s quite alright, Starlight. We do not have to talk about it if you do not wish to.”

You fidget you fingers beneath the blanket. “I… I think.” You pause and swallow. “I think we have to talk about it, Ezra. I said – I said – ”

You wish you didn’t have to think about what you said, but you do. And Ezra’s words chase each other around and around in your mind and tangle inside your head. You can’t ignore those. Can’t ignore everything said between you and go back to the way things were. Can’t look at him without remembering the throbbing ache between your legs at the way his voice wrapped around his words and filled you up with fantasies of fucking you in the pod. You need to apologise to him.

Ezra shakes his head. “The pollen was very strong. It put us under extreme duress, and we acted against our natures.”

“Against our natures?” You stomach drops. You know you should not hurt so badly at the implication but your heart begins to crack. Of course he did not want to tell you those things.

“I quite understand.” He looks to his hand, clenched into a fist on his knee. “And you do not need to explain your words to me, I understand they were brought on by the pollen. I shall consider the things which you have said to me to be banished from my mind if,” he releases his clenched fist and inhales slowly, deliberately. “If you will extend to me the same courtesy.”

Your mind goes terrible, horribly blank. Your head begins to throb and you lift your hand to press against it, massage the tightness between your brows. Ezra wants to you forget it all, to forget the whole thing ever happened. Everything said between you was a terrible mistake, and it was, and he is giving you an out. You understand that much – no apology required, no rehash of the painful events. Ashamed when the burn of tears threatens behind your eyes. You should say yes, you think. You should agree to forget it and move on with your lives. But there is the awful feeling, a gnawing in your gut, that if you turned away from him this time it would be the last time. That the space between you would grow and grow until you could not find your way back together. And you owe him an apology.

“Ezra I… I don’t know if I can.” You pick at the blanket in your lap. “I don’t think I can just forget.”

He’s silent. Unnervingly silent.

“I have spent so much of our time together trying to forget.” You whisper. “I don’t want to forget anymore.”

He frowns. “What have you tried to forget before this?”

You shift in your spot. Glance at him and then away. “You know. You must know. All the times… all the time when we could have,” your nerves fill your throat and you have to pause. “Like before this. When we were outside. When you helped me up the hill. When you said – when you said we were seeing the wonders of the universe.” Every moment I could have told you I loved you. You can’t say it. “I can’t forget them anymore.”

Ezra is staring at you. You look to him, find his eyes, because he deserves you to look him in the eye while you say this to him. He deserves more than your cowardice – the cowardice you have given him for the better part of two years. His face is slack at your revelation and then crumples. Collapses in on himself. He looks like he’s in pain.

“These are moments you wish to forget?” His voice is hoarse.

“No! No, Ezra they aren’t!” And you realise what he has thought. “I… they are my favourite memories. But I can never let myself have them because – because – ” You suck in a shaking breath. “I’m not good with words like you. I don’t know.”

“Tell me. Try.”

He is leaning towards you, guarded. Hopeful, maybe. You feel your heart beating so hard you can barely concentrate. “Every time there is something between us, I try to crush it. Because – because I’m scared. But I save them all and I think about them later. I – I think about what you look like when you’re smiling in the sun, or what words you use when you’re happy. Or when you… when you look at me like how you looked at me under the trees outside.”

Ezra pushes himself from his bunk and crosses the space to you. Sits close enough to touch you, but he doesn’t. You are looking into his eyes and can’t look away now. Transfixed. He is so wide and open now. His eyes so warm. You did that, you think. And you swell with the pride of it. So you take a breath and continue.

“I’m scared one day you’ll leave me.” You confess. “Or if I… if I say anything then you will want me to go. And I can’t – I don’t want another partner. I just want you.” Your cheeks go brilliant red. And Ezra smiles, blooms, so bright it’s like looking at the sun. Your hands are shaking again. “I’m scared if I let myself feel everything all at once I might break. And I don’t want to break. And I don’t want to lose you. I want to – I want to have you forever.” You’re talking faster now, more urgent. Your voice drops almost to a whisper. “That’s why I try to forget them, every moment, and its chipping away at my heart Ezra, and I’m worried I won’t have any heart left. I think it…” You close your eyes. Breathe. In and out. Open them again and look at him. Really look at him, and let yourself be seen. All of you. The parts of you which you try to hide. “I think my heart already belongs to you.”

Ezra shifts again. His thigh presses against yours now, burning and hot. He twists his body towards you. Stares at you, his face crinkled in a blinding smile. “Your heart belongs to me?”

Your breath shakes on your exhale and you nod.

He inches closer. “I find myself without words, Starlight. Of course, it would be you that renders me speechless.”

You lean towards him again, pulled by his gravity. His body leans to yours. Not touching anywhere except along your thighs, still pushed together below you. But you grow towards each other, closer and closer, until you can feel the almost press of his body against yours. His face is so close you can see every line, every freckle and mark.

“Surely you know how I feel for you,” he says. His quiet words wash over your face, you could catch them on your tongue you are so close, but you do not, you hover. Just away. “You conceal your heart so well, but I have not concealed mine. Every word I spoke to you while under the influence of that pollen was true. I only wish I could have told them to you in some different way.”

Your heart kicks in your chest. “Ezra, I’m so sorry, I tried to make you – I said awful things when you told me you didn’t want – ”

He shushes you gently. Closes his eyes and shakes his head so minutely. “You did not act on them. I said far more depraved things to you.” He sighs softly. “I truly am sorry it had to happen that way.”

You hesitate. Nod and relax back towards him. He smiles so softly, opens his eyes.

“I dream not only of your body. Everything that I am is yours. The pieces left of me belong to you. Only to you, Starlight. They have for some time now.”

Ezra presses his forehead to yours, his hair tickling your skin. You let your eyes slip closed. Twist slightly and push back against him, rub your nose closer until his cheek brushes the tip of yours and you feel his eyelashes flutter on your skin. His lips close and open and trace the shape of a kiss ghosting against your mouth. Not quite touching. His hot breath mixing with yours. Less than a hair between you. You push you chin just enough to catch his bottom lip with your teeth, tug it down and let it go with a sigh. Lick against the imprint of the bite to soothe it.

He groans your name.

“Ezra,” you say into his mouth. Try to catch him in a kiss but he shifts and move away. Retreats from you so that his eyes can find yours.

“Are you sure?”

You carefully move your hands, touch them against his chest and move them up, lightly over his shirt. Clutch the back of his neck. “I don’t need pollen to want you, Ezra. I never have.”

He stares down at you, his eyes fill up everything around you, until he is everything. Just Ezra. Only Ezra. For a moment you are worries he doesn’t believe you but then he surges forward. Teeth and noses clash. His mouth hits yours hard enough to bruise, is hot and open. His tongue inside you, no building, no warning. He pushes against you and you let him, twist your hands into the damp hair at the nape of his neck and pull him to you. Tighter. Nearer. Can’t get him close enough. He yanks himself away and you gasp at the sudden loss. Remember to breathe. His arm readjusts its hold around you back and he shifts himself, uses his knee to shove your legs apart and move between them. You lift yourself off the bed to your knees and he pulls you forward again so that you fall into his lap, still wrapped in blankets. Brings his mouth back to yours. Kisses you until you’re dizzy.

He moves his mouth sideways, open and wet and drags it down your jaw to your neck and back up again. Panting. “Can I touch you?”

“Please.”

He leans all his weight forward and tips you backwards. You fall against the bed, the blankets bunched under your back. Naked. He is staring, transfixed, between your legs. You try to close them, but he catches your knee, pushes his body into the space and forces them open. You burn, conscious of the dried mess which must still be there from the pollen.

“Don’t try and hide yourself from me, Starlight.” He is still staring at your cunt. Uses his torso to push against one of your legs and his arm to move the other. He forces your leg down by the inside of your knee, so slowly, until it touches the bed. Pushes it outwards slightly just to watch your pussy better. “And the other one.”

His hand stays on your knee, his eyes stay between your leg as you do as he says. Watches as the stretch makes your lips part and reveals the almost purple inner flesh of your pussy. He coos, and the sound changes to a groan when you flutter around nothing, a bead of fluid forming at your hole and then dribbling outwards. Your hips jerk at the sound and when your knees lift away from the bed Ezra holds the one he can with such forcefulness that you make a soft cry.

“Can I still touch you?” He asks. His voice surprisingly soft, at odds with the iron grip he has around your leg.

You nod.

You think he means your cunt. You think his hand will dig straight into you with the way he is staring at it. Hungrily. Instead he releases you knee, draws around it with just the tip of his fingers, a featherlight circle over the soft skin and then trails his hand along your thigh. Your hips lift when he approaches the crux of it, traces the crease between your centre and your thigh and then back up over your hipbone. Makes you whimper when he leaves you aching and untouched. He flattens his palm over it, grabs a handful of the flesh of your hip and kneads it gently, before releasing it, moving his flattened palm over the curve of your stomach. Feels it move with every shortened breath. Drifts up slowly and spreads his fingers over the shape of your ribs. Up again and beneath the crease of your breast.

“I imagine you all the time,” he says idly. His eyes look up finally, sees that you have twisted your head to the side and squeezed your eyes closed, trying to hold yourself together. “Look at me, Starlight. There’s a good girl. I imagine you often, when we are outside and you are covered by your suit, and I think of what you look like beneath it. Think about the shape of you when we are supposed to be harvesting our livelihoods.”

You keen. Writhe upwards and try to lift yourself towards him. He shushes you and flattens his palm over your sternum, long fingers push up between your breasts and his thumb and pinky hook beneath them. Not touching them. Forces you back to the mattress, keeps his hand on you and smiles as you gasp. Feels the vibrations of your moaning, exposed beneath him. He waits until you still and look back to him. Dark eyes watching you.

“Keep your legs open.” You realise you have pushed them up off the bed again. It makes you pink and splotchy over your chest and neck and face but you slowly, shakily part them again. Let them drop on either side of him. “You are more than I deserve, Starlight. More beautiful than I could have ever painted you in my mind’s eye.”

His hand moves again, up over your chest and along the lines of your collarbones. Out over your left shoulder and then down the length of your arm. Lets his fingers rest still at the velvety soft skin at the inside of your elbow and then follows the path of your veins through the skin to your wrist. Encloses his hand around yours and brushes his thumb over the pulse point at your wrist. Presses in and feels your blood sing in response. And then he lifts your arm up over your head and rests it above you. Presses it once into the mattress and fixes you with a look. Do not move it, he doesn’t have to say. He releases it again and this time his fingers trail the other side of your arm down and gently through your armpit and over your ribs to your other arm. You are already lifting it and he catches it to and finishes the motion for you. Holds your wrists together in one large hand. Surprises you by pushing up onto his knees and pressing a soft kiss to your mouth. Sweet. Chaste.

He pulls away. When your eyes flutter back open, he is close and smiling. “Starlight does not do justice to how bright you are,” he whispers gently. Presses a kiss to your temple. “There is no star in any galaxy which could pit itself against you and come out the victor. You would put them all to shame.”

Your eyes are wet. You have to swallow the lump in your throat. “Ezra.”

His mouth brushes your temple again. Your brow. The bridge of your nose and your cheekbone. Hovers hot and open over your mouth but when you move towards him he is gone, his mouth open along your jaw. He tongues the length of your neck, dipping into the pit at the centre of your clavicle. You lift off the bed again and his mouth moves down, finally to your breasts in wet kisses until he reaches your nipple. Looks up to catch your eyes when he gathers saliva in his mouth and licks it. Makes your toes curl into the sheets. He coats you until the bud is shining with wetness and then pulls away and blows on it, a gust of cold air, freezing against your wet flesh. You groan, both watch the way it grows hard and pebbled, the skin around it pulling together. Then his hot mouth is around it, burning after the coolness and you whine and arch into his mouth. Use the leverage of your knees on the bed to push yourself into him.

He releases you with an obscene noise, deliberately wet. Lays his cheek against your heaving breast so that your nipple is being brushed by the tip of his nose and smiles at you. Saccharine, like he hadn’t just been suckling at you. Like he wasn’t forcing you to stare at the painfully hard nipple between you. And then he moves and gives the same treatment to the other side. Warm and cold and hot. Until you are desperately trying to lift your hips against his stomach and roll your centre against him for any relief. Can feel the wetness dripping from you, running down your slit and back. Probably staining the already ruined sheets.

“Please Ezra,” you are panting. “Please.”

He chuckles and pulls away from your tits. Admires the two wet and hard peaks of them. Leans down to peck your right nipple so lightly you might not have felt it if he hadn’t just driven you to the point of overstimulation.

“I am sensitive to your plight, my sweet Starlight. But I hope I cannot be expected to rush this. I have many months of painful imaginations to fuel this encounter and I want to enjoy you.”

He lowers his mouth to the centre of your breasts. The heaving, solid spot there and leaves another wet kiss there. And then licks a long, hot stripe through your middle and readjusts his one arm beneath your middle, and you lift to make room for it, his forearm completely covered to the elbow beneath the mass of your body. Has to wrap it up under your right thigh and pulls the leg up higher to your side, stretching you so far open your thighs shake in protest. Then resumes his path of kisses over your stomach and down. You are clenching viciously around nothing, hips jerking even though you try to still them. His chin tickles the hair at the top of your slit. His eyes look up at you, smile at you even though his mouth is open beneath your naval, his tongue making lazy circles against the skin.

“Don’t move,” he says. “Or I will lose my balance.”

You bite down on your lip. Can’t speak, because you can feel another desperate noise building at the back of your throat. You nod.

He finally returns his gaze to your neglected cunt. Watches your hole flutter and spasm at the attention, watches as it leaks more wetness out and as it sinks down your slit and your crack. Makes a patch of wet beneath you. He leans closer and breathes you in. Smells you. It makes your head spin, makes your face so red you have to close your because you can’t think. You feel his nose almost against you and then his breath, hot and his tongue wet, so close to your hole you jerk before you can stop. But he doesn’t enter you, instead just barely lets the tip of his tongue run the length of your inner lips, all the way to where they encase your clit, stopping agonisingly just before it. First one side and then the other. Almost the same feeling as his fingertips had been over the rest of your body. But so much more.

You choke his name and he wraps his lips around your clit. You think you might black out, the attention so much more intense after the neglect. You feel a sob work its way from the back of your throat, force your hips to stay flat on the bed, try not to clench your right thigh around his arm in case he falls. He alternates sucking you, drawing patterns with his tongue and sometimes, when you release more wetness, he will lick a long broad stroke up your whole length and moan with his mouth stretched around as much of you as he can. Gather you on his tongue and dribble it back over your clit and pull away just to watch it slide back down your pussy. And then his mouth will be on you again, relentless. You feel his teeth more than once, grazing, experimental nips. Never hard enough to sting but enough to make you clench at the promise of it. Makes you leak more.

He pulls away.

“I have dreamed of the taste of you many times, Starlight. It is one of my favourites, one which I will often indulge myself. Look at me.” You have to force your eyes open, heaving from the effort of breathing. Tilt your head down and the sight of him makes you clench again and cry out. His hair is a mess, his blonde streak stuck straight up, and his face coated from his nose to his chin in your juices. The pink of his lips gleaming with fluid. “I will lay in my bunk long after you are sleeping and I will conjure ways in my mind to imagine how you will taste. I will try not to look at you, but I always do. And my hand is never enough when I think of how perfect I know you are, and so close, always so close to me, that I can hear the gentle undulation of your breath. I like the imagine you like this, beneath me, coming for hours so I can taste you and imprint the memory of it forever in my mind.”

He ducks his head back and licks up your length again, gathers you up and works his cheeks to mix you with his own saliva in his mouth, and then leans over your clit. Dribbles it over your clit, lets it land on the bundle of nerves and the skin and hair around it. And then blows on it like he had on your nipples. You let out a shriek and your head falls back at the cold air. Makes you draw up deep in your belly. Pulling tighter and tighter. So close. So close.

“My other favourite is that you will sit on my face, allow me to let myself be of use to you, let you fuck yourself on my tongue and rub yourself against me until you come.”

“Ezra,” you can barely speak. “Ezra, I’m going – I’m – ”

Your thighs are shaking so badly it hurts. Your arms straining above your head.

“Come.”

He latches his mouth over you as you do. Finally puts his tongue inside you and his nose brushes against your clit. Laps at you as you finally break and release over his face. You see white burst behind your eyes. Your whole body shakes at the force of it. You sob, hot tears streaking down your face. But Ezra doesn’t stop his ministrations, fucks his tongue in and out of you the whole time and when you think you might finish he moves his mouth back to you clit and moans against it, the vibrations of the sound pulse through your cunt and you scream.

“Ezra, no, I can’t – I can’t – I won’t – ”

You break again, not sure if it’s a second orgasm or the first. So, so wet. You can feel your pussy weeping. It lasts somehow, impossibly, longer than the first. You are boneless when it ends. Legs jerking, shoulders twitching off the bunk. Ezra laps at you until it almost hurts and when you flinch, he pulls back. Kisses your clit gently and slowly extracts himself from beneath you. Eases your leg around his body and pushes your knees together so you are on your side with your back to him. Kisses your thigh, and then your hip. Your shoulder. Lowers himself onto the bunk behind you and wraps his one arm around you and tucks his knees up behind yours. Flush and warm against you. Cradles you through the aftershocks of the orgasm with soft kisses to your neck and shoulder.

You turn slowly. Feel like you’re moving through water. You twist to face him and nuzzle you face into his neck. Let his arm pull you closer and his leg wrap over yours. “I love you,” you say into his skin. “Ezra. I love you. So much.”

He kisses the crown of your head, his hand gathers your hair and brushes his thumb over your scalp. “I would pour all that I am into you if you would give me the chance. I have spent my life in the pursuit of collecting treasures and now I have found one which I wish to keep always for myself. I would hoard you away from the world. I would give you the world if you asked for it.” Another soft kiss. He hums against your head. “I love you, my Starlight. My beautiful girl.”

And you are content to lay there, listening to the rain outside and the sound of his breathing, laboured at first but evening out into a gentle rhythm. You let your eyes close, press yourself between his neck and the mattress and sigh against his skin. Feel him tighten his arm around you and press his mouth into your hair. He’s wearing clean underclothes. Smells of soap. You know you should move and clean yourself from days of sweat and cum but you can’t bring yourself to leave him.

You jolt when you feel him unwind his legs from yours, had almost fallen asleep against him. There’s an awkward moment of shuffling before he can get untangled enough to push himself to sitting. You moan, reach for him and he chuckles. Leans over you again so that he can press another lingering kiss to your shoulder. And then he pushes himself from the bed and pads away. Comes back with a small towel, damp with hot water and settles himself by your feet. Tells you to sleep with a gentle voice and begins to gently scrub your skin. Your feet, your ankles, up and around your calves. All the way up your legs to your centre, wiping away the sweat and then very gently the cum which is drying between your legs and over your thighs. Your hips jerk away from the action, still sore and oversensitive, but you settle and allow him to work. He rinses the towel and returns. Sits you up and rubs your torso and your arms. You are aching from coming and twitch at the rub of the sheets against your centre. But your nipples still pebble at his touch and he chuckles.

“Come now, Starlight. To the other bunk. The sheets are clean.”

He helps you to stand and catches you when your legs buckle. Seats you in his bunk, against the clean sheets and leaves to discard the towel. You can see the tent of his dick in his pants when he returns, another patch of precum on the clean fabric. Your mouth fills at the sight.

“Ezra,” you breathe. “Ezra. I want to – ”

You fidget. Can’t say it. Years of keeping your feelings bottled deeply within you make the habit a hard one to break. Suddenly shy even after he had just made you scream. Made you orgasm twice. He stands before you, cock at your eye level and you can’t look away. Tiredness fading, soreness fading into something else. You lick at your lips and he groans.

“Can I please, Ezra?” You look up at him. Shuffle yourself closer to the edge of the bunk, and closer to him. Back down at his cock and then to his eyes. Dark and hungry and watching your mouth. “You’re not the only one with fantasies.”

He lets out a pained noise and nods. Chest heaving. “Yes. Yes.”

You scoot forward and slowly, carefully brace your hands on his thighs. Watch his dick kick slightly at the contact. Squeeze the thick muscle in his legs and bring yourself closer to him. Glance up at his eyes once more and he is watching you. Transfixed. You graze the head of him through his pants with your nose and then your mouth. Soak up the choked groan he makes, let it fill you up. Press open mouthed kisses to the already wet fabric, make them loud so that he will hear them. Let your mouth fall open further and further until you can almost close it around him. Hum in quiet satisfaction. He’s big. Just the tip of him makes you shiver.

You pull away and reach for the waistband of his pants, slung low on his hips already, and pull it slowly down. Take your time watching as his smooth skin is revealed, the patch of thick, dark hair at the base of him, and then the length of his cock. Just enough that he comes over the top of his waistband. Stare at it, slack jawed and nervous. Eager. Your mouth watering. He is big, bigger than you had realised. You hear the slap of skin against the pod and look up. Ezra has braced his elbow and forearm against the low roof and is leaning towards you, seeking your mouth.

You grant it to him. Lick the slit at the tip of his dick and then around it. Make sure you look into his eyes when you open your mouth and suck him in. Pause while you work your jaw to accommodate for his thickness and test the heavy weight of him against your tongue, taste him. Feel against him and massage your tongue against the shape of the prominent vein on the underside of his cock. He groans, stutters his hips forward into your mouth. You slacken your jaw as best you can, have to open your mouth so wide to fit him you can feel it stretch at the corner of your lips. You pull back, try to relax, take him back in again. Watch the way his head tilts back and the soft shape of his stomach heaves under his shirt. You lift your hand to work at his base, easing it up over the path of your mouth to spread the mixture of saliva and pre-cum down to his base. Bob your mouth over as much of him as you can, relish the feeling of his stuttering hips trying not to choke you. Trying to allow you to set the pace.

You move your hand from his thigh, up around to his ass, dig your fingers into the firm muscle hard. You push him forward from behind, force his hips forward and his cock deeper into your mouth, almost into your throat. More than is comfortable, but it makes you hot and aching, the feeling of the thick head of him pushing into you so hard you can barely breathe. You push again when you feel him try to fight another jerk of his hips, use your hand to show him you want him to fuck into you, still your head when he gives in to the feeling of it and groans. Lets his head all back and sinks himself into your mouth. His whole cock pulses hard and you moan, as loud as you can, to make him feel it. His hips hold in your mouth, almost too long, almost stops your breathing for too long. And then he pulls out and thrusts in again and again and again.

He’s cursing softly, using your mouth, his thrusts becoming stronger and deeper. Hitting the back of your throat. It brings tears to your eyes. He pulls out, rests just the head of his dick inside your lips and the sight of him, of his dick hanging just over the waistband of his pants and his thermal shirt covering him while you sit before him naked makes you thrill. You swallow him down, so far back it stings your eyes and makes you choke on him, sputter.

His knees half buckle and he yanks himself away. His dick falls from your mouth with a wet noise and a trail of saliva connecting you. He stares at it, swearing and panting until the string of fluid breaks. You whine, reach forward, try to pull him back again but he twists away.

He is breathless. Heaving. “I need… but a moment to collect myself.”

“I don’t want you to collect yourself.” You push yourself up onto both knees and sit on your ankles. Grip the clean sheets on either side of you. “I want you to fuck my throat. Please Ezra, please.”

His dick jumps again. Leaks a steady track of precum down the underside of its length and you moan again, twitch in your spot and mourn the loss of tasting it. Of the feel of it running down your throat. He closes his eyes and breathes, his fingers gripping against the ceiling so hard his hand turns white at the knuckles.

“I want to taste your cum, Ezra.” You blink up at him. Tears of frustration in your eyes.

You reach for him again and this time he catches both your hands in his. Yanks you from the bed with a yelp and pulls you to your feet. Turns you both and shoves you back, lands you on your own sullied sheets. Your bare ass bounces against the covers and you scramble backwards. Ezra is kicking out of his sweats and tugging off his shirt. Joins you on the bed. Bronzed skin exposed and dick hard and pink and pointed upwards. Shining with your saliva. You pussy begins to leak again.

“I want to cum down your throat, my beautiful Starlight,” he says, kneeling in front of you. “I want to fuck your throat until you cry and I want you to drink down everything I have to give you.” He grabs your ankle and yanks it towards him. You slide across the covers. “But first I want to cum inside your pretty little pussy. Is that okay?”

You nod. Nod so fast you dizzy yourself with it. He sits back onto his feet and yanks your ankle again, shoves your legs apart with his hand. Then his hand is on your clit. He is not soft or gentle this time. He pinches the bundle of nerves hard enough to make your cry out in shock. His hand leaves you, spans the width of your chest and forces your back to the bed. Then he is at your clit again, drawing harsh circles around it which make you scream. He doesn’t stop, not even when you can barely breathe, except to scoop your own juices from where they leak and smear them across your lips and clit. His finger is inside you, fucking you, and then back out. His hand disappears and you blubber, crying and humping your hips towards nothing at the loss.

The light slap against your clit makes you yelp. Makes you jerk your whole body in surprise, and then utter a low moan, feel the dribble of wetness down your slit and over his fingers.

“You have the prettiest pussy I have ever seen, Starlight.” Ezra grits. Sweat beading at his forehead and dripping around the curve of his brow. “I could watch your spasming little cunt clench around nothing all day. I could rub you like this and see how much your pretty pussy wants my dick in it. I could not give it to you, just make you lie here for hours and watch you and every time you almost come I could stop.” You are uttering fast, breathy little moans. Feel your pussy sputter and more wetness ooze from it. Your thighs jumping. He slaps your clit again, the sting much harder this time. You think if he doesn’t stop you will come again without having him inside you and the thought makes you want to scream. “You like this, don’t you? You like hearing me say what I wish to do to you. You like me spanking your cunt.”

“Please, Ezra.” You’re blubbering. Shaking. “Please, please, please!”

His hand lifts away from you again and you cry out. It comes back, but not between your legs. His hand is on your hip, holding you down. You start to push against him, start to whine.

“How long?” He asks. His voice almost conversational.

You’re panting too hard to answer him. Can’t figure out what he means. “H-how… how long w-what?”

His fingertips dig into your skin. “How long have you wanted me to fuck you?”

You groan. Leak. Can’t think, can’t form any words. Everything is bright and buzzing around you, your clit throbbing. And he wants – he wants – you toss your head to the side, screw your face up, try to think.

“S-since Arla-7,” you gasp. “Arla-7.”

He goes still. His hand turns to stone, pressing into you so hard. You sob, loud and needy. But he doesn’t move at all, just sits there. You turn your head back and open your eyes, have trouble seeing him through the tears caught in your lashes. He is not how you expect him to look. He is no longer harsh and snarling and telling you what to do. His face is soft. His hand moves from your hip to brush a tear from your cheek and then cradle your face. Tender and sweet.

“So long?” He whispers. “Arla-7 was – ”

“Nearly two years ago.”

He groans and then is crowding you into the mattress. Looms over you, his weight skewed, so he has to slide his arm beneath your head to keep himself balance. You feel the weight of his dick rest against your lower stomach. Let out a whimper. He rubs himself slowly along you, catches himself between your wet lips and drags his dick between you. You lift your hips to help, seek out the tip of him. Realise his arm is shaking in exertion. You drop back to the bunk.

“Would it – would it be easier if we swapped?”

He blinks down at you. Then nods and rolls onto his side and the back, over his good shoulder. Uses his arm behind your neck to pull you up off the bunk and with him. You swing up and gingerly sit yourself next to him. Loop your leg over his hips and balance your hands on his shoulders. For a moment there is a settling feeling, something softer and more peaceful works its way between you. Ezra lifts his arm and pushes your hair from your face and he smiles at you. One of his rare, small smiles. Like you are the centre of the galaxy. Makes you feel like maybe you actually are starlight. You smile back, press your lips to his wrist.

He drops his hand, grabs himself and you feel the blunt head of his cock push up against you. You moan, test your weight back and forward slightly and start to sink slowly. Feel the stretch of him inside you, so, so big. You sink lower and have to stop, feel your thighs shaking, your eyes fill with tears. Then lower again and you feel him at the back of your throat. You still, both hands on his shoulders, quaking at the effort of just having him inside you. The burn of the stretch doesn’t stop, and holding yourself up hurts too, so you lower again, couldn’t go any faster even if you tried, the friction of his dick against your walls so intense from the tightness of the fit. He’s murmuring to you, telling you to breathe, asking if you are okay. You keep sinking, feel a sob break your lips as you finally, finally cover him completely. Sit your thighs over his hips.

He’s holding your hip, his thumb drawing light circles against you. Still talking, still saying something. Your brain has blacked out, completely shut off.

Slowly you start to swivel your hips, gently rocking forward and back again. Feeling the burn turn slowly to something easier, something better. His words of concern turn into words of encouragement. You lift yourself off him just slightly and drop again. Feel his moan reverberate through his whole body. Feel his dick twitch inside you. You lift again, further this time and drop slowly, start to feel your toes curl again, start to ride him properly. He shifts beneath you, starts to match your strokes. Follows your pace with every thrust of his hips. Gentle at first and then faster. The wet sound of slapping skin fills the pod, drowns out the sounds of the rain outside. When you can finally open your eyes Ezra is staring between you at where his dick disappears inside you, brow furrowed, face red and damp with sweat. You groan and he grunts beneath you, tightens his grip on your hip and steadies you. Holds you still. He braces his feet against the bed and starts to thrust into you. Each hit jolts your body, you feel the slap of him under your thighs, against your ass. Bouncing your whole body at every impact, moans turn to sharp cries as he fills you, pumping into you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you pant with each thrust.

He’s out of breath. “Touch yourself.”

You do. You lean to one side so you can reach a hand between your bodies and rub at your clit. It makes you cry loudly and buck into your hand, back against his cock. He’s staring at your bouncing tits, down at his dick sinking into you. You rub vicious little circles around your clit so hard your arm is shaking.

“Where – ”

“I-in-inside me.” Your words break with every slap of his balls against your ass, sending you scooting forward on your knees. “Inside me. Please Ezra, please, safe – ”

He yanks your hips down over him, not humping anymore, almost vibrating. You watch him come undone beneath you. His jaw locks, neck bulges and tips back. Covered in sweat, slick with it. His chest heaving. You feel the hot pumping of his release inside you and tweak your clit, panting until you join him. Stars burst behind your eyes and you slump forward. Clenching so tightly around his dick you wonder how he fits. It only makes Ezra groan beneath you, surprisingly quiet when he comes. You slump into him.

You lay panting together, chests heaving and slipping, pressed against each other. His dick still inside you, your trembling thighs wrapped around his hips. You can’t think anything, except for his twitching length inside you, the last of his release mixing with yours and starting to swell at the place where you meet but trapped, because his cock fills you so completely that there is no room for anything else. You let your head fall into the crook of his neck, drop completely into him. Feel his arm slowly lift and wrap over your shoulders. Hug you into him while he tries to catch his breath. When you gain enough sense to think anything it is that you must be in heaven with him. He is hot and alive beneath you. And in love with you. You sniffle and kiss his collarbone, hug your arms around him as best you can.

You must lie there for some time because you feel the sweat dry and cooling against your skin and Ezra tugs the meagre blanket over you both. You are boneless against him, happy at the feel of his warmth trapped beneath you and inside you. He tries to shift, and you feel him start to slide out of you. You tighten your thighs around his hips and squeeze your cunt around him with as much force as you can muster. He groans and stills. Hot breath fanning against your cheek.

“Stay,” you whisper. Face burning hot with embarrassment at this request. At admitting how good he feels, soft inside you. “Just for a little while.”

He hums and stills. Drops his hand to your hips and pushes you down further into his crotch. Lifts his hips a little to sheath himself inside you to the hilt. You groan into his neck.

“Who am I to deny you anything,” he says into your temple.

“Was – ”

He waits, and when you don’t continue. “Was what?”

“Was it…” You squirm, and still when you both groan at the feeling of your releases trickle out of you and trail down his dick and over his balls. You still before anymore can escape, red at how much you resent any of it leaving you. You suck in a deep breath. “Was it as good as you imagined it?”

“Better, Starlight. Better.” He brushes hair back over your shoulder, lets his hand linger on the skin and trace the length of your spine. You feel his smile when your skin lifts into goosebumps beneath his fingertips. “No phantom conjuring in my mind will ever compete with you.”

Your eyes well with tears and you are as usual left without words. So unlike Ezra. So you show him in your own way. You turn your head to press a kiss to the thick column of his throat. A chaste one first, and then open your mouth and breathe over the spot. Press another wet kiss to the same spot. You feel his dick, still inside you, jump.

“You are truly fortuitous we have made our fortunes worth on those aquatic gems.” His fingers trail further down your back. Lower. Ghost the bump at the base of your spine and lower still. Almost, almost touching. Glimpsing against the top of the crack of your ass and then retreating. Tracing over the swell of it and back over your hip. His breath his hot against your hair. “I do not think I could be convinced by anything to leave you. I have two years of craving to account for, my Starlight.”

Permanent tags: @btillys @vercopaanir

#I have been shamed forever #i cannot ever leave my house again #will never be able to face my family and friends again #ezra (prospect)#ezra prospect #ezra x reader #ezra (prospect) x reader #fan fiction #prospect #smut #pedro pascal #fic #my fic #my writing

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mari-beau · 3 years

Text

GIVE ME A REASON: PART FIVE -A Rogue One fanfic

I honestly don’t know this was going to take the detour it did, but hey, that’s fine. Anyway, Jyn is very confused about her attachment to Cassian, and his own messy feelings.

Also on AO3

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Title: Give Me A Reason: Part Five

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Characters: Jyn Erso POV, Cassian Andor

Pairing: Cassian/Jyn (mostly pre-ship?)

Spoilers: Rogue One; Episode IV A New Hope

Setting: Post-Rogue One AU (Cassian & Jyn live); Also during/post A New Hope

Warnings: Implied Bi!Cassian; References to Naked Times in the Shower; Characters being hot messes and confused about Feelings

Words: 3,226

Story Summary: Jyn’s entire universe has been turned on its head, so maybe she’s clinging a little too hard to the one thing she feels certain of (strangely enough) as she tries to figure out her place in the galaxy. And maybe she’s being a little overprotective of a wounded captain.

Also can be found on AO3.

The energy level in the large mess hall was an incongruous mix of highs and lows. Quite a number of people were congregated at various tables, but it wasn’t at capacity. Some groups were chattering away, with a happiness and lightness Jyn honestly couldn’t recall witnessing in anyone in a long, long time, on any planet or moon. But there were other groups, and individuals, that were quiet, lethargic, mostly just nursing cups of restorative drinks and pushing bland food around their plates. Hungover.

Jyn supposed that made sense. Either way, no one was really in a down mood. They were either still excited about the Great Victory, or suffering the consequences from being too excited about it the previous night.

Why did she feel like Cassian and herself were the mopiest pair in the entire mess hall? Yes, it was really gratifying to know that their suicide mission hadn’t been entirely in vain. They had more than succeeded, the plans had been transmitted to the rebels, and the rebels had used them to destroy the Death Star. But still… The feeling of loss weighed heavily on Jyn. And she sensed it was yet another burden laid on Cassian’s shoulders. In a vulnerable, pained moment, he’d told her that maybe it would’ve been better if she’d left him on Scarif when they’d miraculously been spared from the blastwave. And perhaps near the end there (what should’ve been the end), he’d embraced the release from his conscience as hard as he’d embraced her.

She understood. She’d felt the peace there on that beach, as well.

The thing was, she still felt it, with him. Even when filled with other confusing emotions, some of which he was the cause of, she still felt… content… even happy? Was this what happy felt like?

Well, no, maybe not this, not still half-mourning a father she’d lost decades ago but then lost again, mourning the loss of the friends she’d made in just a matter of a day but who had been truer than any others in her life, coming to terms with the guilt of leading so many on a suicide mission, which she then survived.

And Cassian had survived.

“I’ll get the food,” Jyn said after they’d found a table tucked in a corner and Cassian claimed the seat that allowed him to put his back to the wall. (Of course). Jyn would’ve chosen it herself, but she didn’t protest that she would be forced to sit with her back to the entire mess hall. He was rubbing at his leg. The memory of the surgical scars running down his hip and thigh, barely a week old, a fresh pink against olive skin, popped abruptly into her mind. She shoved them aside. “Is there anything specific you want?”

“No.” He was smiling even as he shook his head. “Beggars can’t be choosers. I’m not picky.”

“Me, neither.” Force, sometimes they were so much the same, their lives filled with the same sort of deprivation, that it hurt. It hurt to think of the little boy Cassian had been, not having a favorite food, because having food at all was something to be grateful for. Something Jyn had known herself, still knew, and would never unlearn her associated habits of eating too much (if given the opportunity) and too fast.

“I’ll be right back,” she said and headed towards the serving line.

A couple people stared as she added more than two helpings of everything to her tray, but she thought it was more out of shock over the disproportionate amount of food to her size than anger that she was maybe taking more than her share. By the time she’d collected enough to feed an entire unit of Wookies and headed back to Cassian, two humans in non-uniforms (which wasn’t uncommon for the rebels) had sat down at the table.

They were the type of people who took up more space than they needed. An amateurish attempt at intimidating others through establishing dominance. Jyn had learned to be more wary of those who drew no attention, who lurked in the shadows, who had unassuming appearances disguising a lethality the brazen could never hope to possess.

So it was really just instinct that had her assessing gaze passing over the two trying-too-hard-to-have-swagger rebels to the slight man sitting quietly in the corner. He was a killer, undeniably. But not by choice. And Jyn knew something she thought most didn’t remotely suspect; Cassian Andor was soft deep down inside. And every terrible thing he’d done tortured him. Which made him even more dangerous, especially to Jyn, who she feared may be the only one to have ever seen his vulnerability, his humanity. To everyone else, he was just some Rebel super-spy-assassin, a good little soldier.

He’d locked eyes with her, but neither of his companions had seemed to notice, instead going on about some miraculous feats of badassery during some mission or other.

“You’re in my seat,” Jyn said, interrupting the bigger of the pair mid-sentence.

The man who was easily twice her size froze, puffing himself up when he looked at her, not that he needed to with that bulk of muscle, but his first instinct was obviously to meet her firm tone with aggression. She knew the response of those who’d survived on the streets well. And even if this was no seedy back alley or dive, this was her territory. And she wasn’t going to be the one to back down.

“Am I?” Big man said.

Before Jyn could respond, Cassian’s quiet voice cut in.

“You are.”

The big man looked at the wounded captain and his entire demeanor changed. Apparently, the soldier knew Cassian for the dangerous creature he was.

After a brief moment in which the expression on Cassian’s face gave nothing away, Big Man’s attention returned to Jyn.

“Uh, sorry,” he said, vacating the chair. Setting the heavily-laden tray down, Jyn plopped into the spot opposite Casian as the big guy lumbered off to find another chair, seemingly to rejoin them. Ugh.

Jyn slid the tray across the table in front of Cassian, then dragged her chair to sit directly beside him. There was no way to lift any of the dishes off the tray without losing some of the impressive pile of food. They could share.

She reached across Cassian and grabbed some sort of bread roll and- oh, force, he smelled good, like the cleanser from the shower and freshly washed skin that was silky smooth except for the scars and- she shoved the roll in her mouth before she did something embarrassing like hop onto his lap and bury her face in his neck.

The very large rebel’s companion had remained at the table, and was staring. Yes, at Jyn, but also at Cassian, at the pair of them, at the pile of food she’d torn into but Casian was contemplating eating with an actual utensil like some sort of civilized person. And the man’s gaze dropped, but Jyn knew it wasn’t to assess her attributes, none were visible beneath the loose-fitting clothes she was wearing, Cassian’s clothes. Oh. Right.

“You must be Jyn Erso,” he said and held out a hand, which was surprisingly clean, so Jyn shoved the last bite of roll into her mouth and shook it. Firm but not too firm, and his dark brown eyes were surprisingly soft as they met her gaze, a little guarded and very curious. This one was obviously the more intelligent of the pair.

“That I am,” she said after swallowing the large piece of bread that threatened to lodge in her throat. “And you are…?”

“Oh,” he laughed self-consciously. He had a nice, easy going smile. “Sorry. Yeah. I’m Tarrek Zin.” His large friend returned with a chair. “And this is Utto.”

The giant known as Utto nodded, grunted in response, before sitting down in the chair that was obviously ill-equipped to handle his bulk. A man of even less words than the spy.

“And you’re… friends of Cassian?” she asked, trying not to appear too interested. Who were these people? Cassian didn’t have friends. Not that she’d known him all that long, but she was pretty certain the man was a resolute loner. Aside from K-2SO, who was lost to him now.

“Yes,” Tarrek said at the same time Cassian said, “No.”

She withheld her laughter because Tarrek Zin seemed genuinely a little hurt by the terse captain’s response.

“We’ve worked together before,” Cassian gave as further explanation. “They’re…”

“Freelance,” Tarrek said.

Cassian gave a little snort of laughter. “That’s one way to put it.” He took a larger bite of the mystery protein.

“Oh, what does that mean?” Now, Jyn was intrigued. They were an odd sort to find on a military base, even amongst the ragtag collection of rebels that formed the Alliance. They were both human, Jyn thought, although there could be a bit of something else in the big man, who was surprisingly not unattractive for a bruiser type, with thick brown hair and a symmetrical face with a square jaw and only a small crescent scar on one cheek. The smaller man was by no means small, taller than Cassian, well built with flawless brown skin and a friendly, appealing face with just a hint of scruff neatly trimmed into a goatee. And a charmer’s grin, which he turned on Jyn.

“We find things.”

Again, that ironic little half-laugh from Cassian, who finally looked up from the pile of food.

“They steal things,” he said, pointing his fork at them. “Don’t let Tarrek try to pretty it up. They’re nothing more than thieves.”

“So’s your girl, from what I hear,” Tarrek said. “Didn’t you all find her in Wobani, serving time for forgery and assault amongst many other crimes?”

“She’s not my girl,” Cassian said, not denying her criminal record. And Jyn would be lying if she claimed the denial that she was his girl didn’t hurt a little. Even though it shouldn’t. She wasn’t a possession. And neither was Cassian, so she could stop feeling possessive of him, as well, really-

“Then you’re a free agent?” Tarrek flashed that charming grin of his again, with an edge of mischievousness. And a bit of something else in his eyes as he lookd at Cassian. “Because with the Empire scrambling after the destruction of their favorite new toy, no one’s going to notice if some stray things get found. We could use your skills on at least a dozen different jobs I can think of…” Tarrek shot a brief glance to Jyn before returning his attention to Cassian. “And Not Your Girl for that matter.”

“I think I’ve made it very clear I will not be going on any jobs with you,” Cassian said. “Even if the Alliance thought we’d need someone with your skillset again for some reason, I’d find someone else.”

Oh, wow. That seemed a little harsh, even from the jaded captain. The hurt on Tarrek’s face was blatant, and he looked away. Jyn couldn’t help but think there was some sort of complicated history at play.

“May I…?” Utto asked, indicating the crispy poultry leg sitting near the edge of the tray, the big man oblivious to the undercurrents of the conversation.

“Uh… be my guest,” Jyn said and large, burly fingers snatched it right up. Unsurprisingly, the whole drumstick fit in the man’s mouth. He ate even faster than Jyn, chewing a bit then pulling the bare bone out, picked absolutely clean in less time than it took Cassian to cut another bite off the brick of vegetable-thing or whatever it was. Food. That’s all Jyn needed to know.

“Well, we better get going if we want to get a good seat at the ceremony, seeing as we’re not guests of honor,” Tarrek said, seeming to have recovered from the hurt feelings enough to tease. Cassian made a displeased noise but said nothing as Tarrek got to his feet and locked eyes with the rebel captain. Some sort of weird exchange passed between them, that seemed almost- “The offer always stands if you change your mind.”

“I won’t,” Cassian said, then went back to studiously eating.

Tarrek rolled his eyes but then gave Jyn a broad grin, leaning over to whisper loudly, “You think about it, too, Jyn Erso. Maybe you can convince the captain here not to throw his life away for the rebellion.”

Jyn just gave him a nod, disconcerted about the man’s extremely accurate knowledge of Cassian. Or maybe his unwavering loyalty was just that obvious.

“Let’s get out of here,” Tarrek said to his large companion, who appeared about Wookie-size when he stood up, only beefier.

Utto lingered a moment as his friend walked away, and Cassian frowned at him, that furrow forming between his brows. Jyn’s curiosity was also piqued as the moment stretched out awkwardly long, Utto’s fierce blue-grey gaze scouring Cassian’s face.

Cassian broke first, dropping his fork onto the tray with a clatter and sighing loudly.

“You have something you want to say, Utto?” he asked.

“You hurt Tarrek,” he said. “Don’t change your mind about joining us. Unless you mean it.”

“Understood,” Cassian said. “Is that all?”

“Yeah. That’s it.”

Utto glanced at Jyn, then gave Cassian another assessing look before grunting and shaking his head, then stalked off after his partner.

Cassian returned his attention to the food in front of him, like nothing had happened at all.

“What was that?” Jyn asked, her mind racing, trying to put everything she’d just witnessed into some sort of context.

“Nothing,” Cassian said. “Just two of many I’ve pissed off.”

“But they’re angry because they want you.” Jyn was pretty sure about what she’d just witnessed, albeit confusing.

“The Alliance used them to break into an Imperial facility. We were after intelligence stored there. Tarrek and Utto made out like the bandits they are by stealing the tech stored there and selling it on the black market. It was their most lucrative job ever. They still pick up odd smuggling tasks for the rebellion, but they want me to help them with more heist like that again.”

His face was closed off, but Jyn needed to know if she was right, needed for Cassian to continue to let her in, needed his trust and confidence.

“I get that,” she said, “but they want you… like physically. At least, Tarrek does.”

Cassian met her gaze, slowly closed his eyes, sighed and shook his head.

“I never should’ve kissed him.”

“Oh.” Well, that explained both the heat and the chill in Tarrek’s gaze when he looked at Cassian. Apparently, it hadn’t been just one-sided. And maybe she’d been reading Cassian’s looks, the way he touched her, all wrong. Maybe the intimacy they’d shared in the shower, naked but not uncomfortable, washing one another with tender caresses, had only held sexual undertones on her side. Maybe he wasn’t attracted to her in the same way she was to him. Maybe he- “You er… kiss males?”

“Sometimes,” he shrugged. “When it’s necessary to complete a mission.” He licked his lips. “Sometimes just because I want to.”

Jyn stared at the pile of green puree of what she hoped was a vegetable of some sort, trying to swallow down the stupid feelings clashing inside of her; jealousy and possessiveness, hurt, and even a little bit of titillation contemplating Cassian’s sexual history.

Long fingers skimmed the back of her hand and curled around hers, squeezing gently until she met those rich, dark eyes of his.

“Sometimes I kiss females, too.” He held her gaze so she resisted the urge to stare at his mouth.

“When it’s necessary to complete a mission?”

“And just because I want to.”

Did he want to? Jyn felt like he did, thought everything in the way he looked at her indicated a deep affection and need for her. But at the same time, she knew he wouldn’t, not here in a public place, not when he hadn’t even kissed her when they were alone. Not even when they were naked, standing under the spray of water, his hands buried in her hair, rinsing out the cleanser, her hands wrapped around his waist, helping to support his weight, her skin prickling with the closeness of his body, the caress of his fingers on her scalp, the feeling of his-

“We should get moving,” he said, releasing her hand to push his chair back and stand, looking only a little unsteady on his feet. “We need to find you some clothes that fit.”

“Why?” Jyn said, standing as well and brushing her hand over the front of the loose shirt. At least Cassian wasn’t an extremely large man, or else his clothes would fall right off her. As it was, she’d had to roll up the sleeves of his shirt and tuck as much as possible into the fatigues that she’d belted to cinch in at the waist, which would’ve been entirely hopeless if he wasn’t a lean man. She’d also had to roll up the hems to her ankles. She had no other option than the infirmary shoes. Okay, she looked ridiculous. But she didn’t care. The clothes smelled like Cassian and made her feel perpetually wrapped up in him.

“It’s not exactly fit for being presented to a princess.”

Cassian reached to pick up the tray, which Jyn felt a little bit of guilt for not having completely cleaned of its contents and wasting food, but there had been unforeseen interruptions. She grabbed it before he could, doubting his ability to walk and carry a laden tray a few days after major surgeries and with bones still healing. But had he said,

“Princess?! What princess?”

“Princess Leia will be hosting the ceremony.”

“Oh.” Jyn headed across the mess hall to bus the remains of their meal, perhaps moving a little too quickly for her wounded companion, a sort of panicky nervousness fluttering in her stomach as their potentially being the center of attention approached. It would be brief if they were, she tried to tell herself. The last time she’d been the center of the Alliance’s attention hadn’t gone well. Had, in point of fact, ended in a rogue suicide mission.

“You’ll be fine. She’s Bail Organa’s daughter. Sensible woman. Fierce.”

Jyn shoved the tray into the reclamation unit a little harder than necessary. “And how do you know her?”

Cassian laughed, light and genuine.

“I don’t know her, not personally.” His hand went to her shoulder, seemingly to guide her but she knew the request inherent in it and snaked her arm around his waist to let him lean a little of his weight on her. “Let’s see if we can track down your missing clothes.”

Jyn didn’t care if they couldn’t. Let the princess see her in Cassian’s clothes, let everyone think they were together. Because whether or not he kissed her, whether or not it was romantic, Cassian Andor was hers. Even if he sent her away and she never saw him again while she lived, he would always be hers.

Force, she needed to get a handle on this possessiveness. Because it owned her. He owned her.

His palm came to rest on the back of her neck as they left the mess and headed towards the storage and supply wing of the base. His thumb stroked along her nape and she leaned into him, relaxed as a Savarian cat being petted.

Dank farrik, did she ever belong to him.

#fic: give me a reason #Rogue One #fanfiction #rebelcaptain #Cassian x Jyn #Cassian Andor #Jyn Erso #my fic

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dirty-holy-things · 3 years

Text

The Space Between (your heart & mine)

Chapter 19 has been posted to Ao3, and below to Tumblr.

Catch up on chapters 1-18 on Ao3.

Notes: This fic is 18+ and explicit. This chapter is VERY heavy on the smut, with soft feelings at the end. This chapter does contain anal play. Some dirty talk and maybe the slightest bit of degradation, if you squint, but most definitely a praise kink. Please exercise caution in reading, if any of the above is a sensitive subject.

Words: 6.0k update, 92.8 total.

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But the very brief moment of connection and insight that you did have, albeit unintentionally, caused your heart to hammer against your injured chest. There was a maelstrom of emotions and images that tore through Din; relief, terror, joy, trepidation, sorrow, hope, trust, love. You felt each emotion as Din had, images coming forward to accompany the feelings.

Relief, as he had arrived to the scene to see that you were still alive and fighting.

Terror, as Bragant’s body crumpled within your invisible grasp.

Joy, as your eyes opened after uncounted hours spent by your bedside.

Trepidation, as he was worried that any misstep on his part could take you away from him.

Sorrow, as he had watched your body retract into itself, always on the defensive.

Hope, as he knew that the galaxy had kept you together to allow for this story to go on.

Trust, as he had removed his helmet and left the light on.

Love; and that needed no explanation or image.

Tears flowed from your eyes as you took on all of this insight and imagery, having finally gotten a look at what went on behind the beskar. You didn’t know how to begin to process all of this information — it was overwhelming in its wide nature, fully capturing the entire spectrum of human emotion. You pushed it away for a moment, trying to focus on your original goal of understanding what had happened to land the two of you here, injured and terrified.

"I'll love you always." "I'll love you in the rain and in the snow and in the hail and -- what else is there?" "I don't know, I guess I'm sleepy." "Go to sleep, darling, and I'll love you no matter what it is." Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell To Arms.

Despite having slept for several hours, you still felt as though all of the energy in your body had been sapped, having spilled out into the stained alleyway that Din had rescued you from. He was still sleeping soundly next to you, a snore escaping his perfectly soft lips with each inhalation; his arms held you securely against his broad and fantastically warm chest, and his legs had entangled with yours beneath the familiar grey wool blanket. It was almost as if he was attempting to anchor you to him, to make sure that you couldn’t ever be taken from him again. You didn’t have much of a recollection of the previous day’s events, and how Din had come to be so heartbroken; but seeing as how you were now awake and had a moment of silence and peacefulness, you decided to use this time to meditate and see what insights could be obtained, knowing that ignorance was not bliss.

You focused in on the repetitive and stable sound of Din’s breaths; you allowed your body to feel the sensations against it; you relaxed your muscles and paced your breathing. Reaching outwards into the Force that swirled and flowed around you, you sought clarity about what had transpired that you had previously repressed or shut out. You could recall Bragant’s attack, and you knew this memory to be true as you could still feel the cut on your chest that he had made there with his evilly sharp axe. You were also certain that you had fought back in some manner — the fact that you were alive was evidence of that, knowing that Bragant was not a merciful man, not particularly inclined to allow individuals to escape from his grasp. And as your attention had now been brought to the wound on your sternum, you felt another ache in your body as well — your palm was burning, and you could tell that there was a bandage present there. What had happened to your hand, of all things?

You opened yourself further to the Force, your mind reaching out with trepidation to probe for answers — and then you ran into something that was so surprising, it threatened to disrupt and break the tenuous concentration you held to the Force around you.

From the moment you had met Din on Chandrila, he had always been closed off to you, as if the barriers around his mind were made of beskar as well. You were historically quite good at reading other people, being able to gauge their feelings and occasionally their inner thoughts; but Din had been the first one to throw you off your rhythm. You had been able to communicate and gain insight with Grogu with relative ease, as he was Force-sensitive and receptive to your inquisitions, but Din’s mind had propped up an insurmountable wall against your abilities. You had never made a real, concentrated attempt to work past these barriers, not wanting to violate the trust you shared or intrude where you were not welcome; but as the man that you loved rested against you within the small bunk, you could somehow now access these inner thoughts as you never had been able to before. Instinctively, you pulled back from this non-consensual access, knowing that you had absolutely no right to the knowledge and possession of these thoughts; you wouldn’t want someone else digging around in your head while you slept, and you weren’t going to subject Din to that either.

Relief, as he had arrived to the scene to see that you were still alive and fighting.

Terror, as Bragant’s body crumpled within your invisible grasp.

Joy, as your eyes opened after uncounted hours spent by your bedside.

Trepidation, as he was worried that any misstep on his part could take you away from him.

Sorrow, as he had watched your body retract into itself, always on the defensive.

Hope, as he knew that the galaxy had kept you together to allow for this story to go on.

Trust, as he had removed his helmet and left the light on.

Love; and that needed no explanation or image.

As you sorted through the context offered by both the Force and Din’s thoughts, you were able to come to a rough understanding of what had transpired after you had lost control in that alleyway, succumbing to the red and black rage that overtook you. It had felt like an avalanche on Hoth, or a sandstorm on Tattooine — incredibly, undeniably powerful, and you were stripped bare by the sheer force of it.

You had killed Bragant, without mercy, and you had enjoyed it. You had no regret for it, even now. And yet... that violent indulgence took something from you, almost took you from this life entirely — and your indulgence of violence had hurt everyone who loved you, as they wondered if you would ever recover from the trauma of it.

You had come to the point in which you had to confront the horrible, undeniable truth — when had you opened yourself up to the Force on Bardotta, you had opened yourself up to both the light and the dark. And on this day, the dark had won out, snuffing out the light within you during its destructive and decimating onslaught. There had been very little resistance to this darkness and its arrival; it had blown through your walls and sense of humanity, just as it had blown through the alley wall that crumbled with the weight of your anger.

You hadn’t been able to stop it, and you were gripped by the terror that this experience may repeat itself, that the uncontrolled darkness could rear its ugly head again. For all of the efforts you had made to learn about the Force, to learn about yourself, it was still not enough to be able to master and control that which warred within you. You had exhausted every known avenue, and it was still not enough. You needed help, more help than you could find for yourself.

It was a daunting prospect to try and wrap your mind around, but you knew that it was not something that could be resolved at this exact moment — so ruminating on it would do very little to help you move forward. Choosing to be present in this moment with Din, in this moment of serenity and security, you pushed these thoughts aside, knowing that the two of you would navigate this new and uncharted course together but at a later time.

Another thought came to mind, as you filed away your worries for another day; when you had gotten a glimpse of Din’s thoughts, you had seen something that had surprised you. He had chosen to remove his helmet before bed, just as he had many times before; that in and of itself was not shocking. What was shocking, however, was the fact that he knowingly made the choice to leave the cabin light on. The small, faraway yellow light did little except allow for one to see an outline or a general shape, but in his moment of relief and exhaustion, he had left it on. You knew that this was no accident — Din had always been exceptionally careful about these things before, even when he was in the worst of states. It was not like him to forget or be careless, as it was simply not in his nature. He had chosen to leave the light on, while he was uncovered and exposed.

Although you had been cuddled against his chest, swaddled securely in his strong arms and the warmth of blankets as you rested with eyes closed, you could tell from the slight glow that the light in the cabin was still on. He had placed an immeasurable amount of trust in you from the first night that the two of you had shared the small bunk, trusting you to not take advantage of the opportunity and seek out something that he was not yet willing to share. And now, the nature of that trust had shifted, had it not? Would he have left the light on intentionally, unmasked in your presence, if he did not feel secure in you seeing his uncovered face?

The prospect of finally being able to look into the eyes of the man that you loved more than life itself was daunting. That word couldn’t even begin to describe the significance of the moment, but it was the best you had. The weight of a moment such as this could not be overstated; you knew that nobody had truly looked into his face since he was a child, and how could you possibly bring yourself to be the one to do so?

You had moved past the point of believing that you would someday need to see his face. You knew the soul that resided within, knew the kind of man he was underneath the armor; that intimate knowledge of his personhood could not be altered, marred, or improved by the sight of a face. And you also understood that the armor was just as much a part of him as his favorite color, as much a part of him as his love for you and the kid. While the armor did keep you apart from him in some regards, it was an extension of himself as well, and you loved it for being a necessary and foundational part of the entire man who you had grown to love.

Din had given you the opportunity to make this choice for yourself, to make the choice about whether you were ready or willing to see his face. But at least for today, you were going to continue to keep your head down, pressed into his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart — and for today, that was all you needed.

***

You were unsure exactly how much time had passed before you woke up again, but you recognized the familiar sensation of Din’s hands running across your body, and tangling within your hair. You sighed contentedly, your hand finding its way to his chest to play with the soft hairs that were scattered across his collarbone; you continued to keep your head down, giving Din the answer to the question that hung heavily in the air around you. He hummed beneath you, his large hands and long fingers splaying across your lower back, the tips of his fingers pressing into the soft curve of your ass. You pushed yourself up onto your forearms, draping your body across his as you leaned in for a kiss, keeping your eyes dutifully closed; and despite the lack of sight, the lack of direction, you knew him so perfectly that your lips landed on his without faltering.

You kissed him softly but passionately, loving the way his lips molded against yours; his body responded underneath you, and you could feel the growing erection that pressed into your abdomen. You grinned into his kiss, loving the familiarity and the predictability with which his body reacted to your touch. Your hands traced their way across his chest and upwards into his curling hair, pulling on the tangles at the nape of his neck as you licked into his mouth, needing to taste him, needing him in your mouth and in your body. You were so incredibly lucky to be here with him, the two of you having continually survived for one another; you would never take this for granted again.

He smiled into your kiss, his tongue tangling with yours as he responded with enthusiasm; his fingers dug deeper into the pliant and soft skin of your ass, a hand moving lower and lower beneath your pants before he unexpectedly dipped his middle finger into your already-wet center. You gasped at the sudden intrusion before sitting back onto his hand, taking the exploratory digit further inside you. A low rumble came from Din’s chest, sounding like a far-off thunderstorm; and as he began to slide his finger in and out of you, you turned your kisses to his neck, loving the rough feel of his stubble against your smooth lips. You pulled away from him just enough to allow you to shimmy out of your clothes, before you tugged his away as well; feeling the heat of skin on skin, you sighed contentedly into the languid kisses that the two of you exchanged.

“My sweet girl, my perfect girl,” Din whispered, his other hand moving up your body and cupping your breast; he toyed with the already-hardened bud. He sighed into the dip of your collarbone, covering you with sweet kisses that stood out in contrast to the sinful ministrations of his hands. “I was so worried — so worried I’d never get to kiss you, to touch you like this again— I never thought I’d get to feel this, to feel like this, and the thought of losing you —“

You could hear an edge of sadness in his voice, the unwelcome emotion being intrusive and painful like a rock in your shoe; and you wanted to take away all of that sadness and fear. “You’ll always have me, Din; nothing in this galaxy could ever take me away from you.”

He hummed in agreement and satisfaction before inserting another finger into your tight, soaking center, working to warm you up and stretch you out for him. He continued to kiss you sweetly while you gasped against him shallowly, feeling the way that his long fingers curled within you as they dragged against your slick walls and that one perfect spot that made your vision go white. “My girl,” he whispered, his breath tickling at the nape of your neck. “Always be my girl — love you —“

You felt his hand withdraw from its place underneath you, and you whined reflexively before he grabbed you by the waist and turned you onto your back gently, his hand coming up to rest between your head and the pillow to cushion you during the change in position. You were now laying on your back in the small space of the bunk, and you could feel the evidence of his desire pressing against you; needing to feel him inside of you, your hand reached down between your aching, needy bodies to cup his balls before giving them a slight squeeze. He groaned at the sensation of your hand against him, his head dropping down to your chest as he enjoyed the sensation. His mouth placed scorching hot kisses all over your torso, not leaving a single inch unloved; and when he came to your breasts, he took your sensitive nipple into his mouth, his tongue tracing torturously light circles against the peaked, swollen bud. Desperate for more of him, desperate to encourage more contact, you moved your hand upwards to wrap around his throbbing cock, before rolling your wrist to bring your hand up, down, up, down.

He hissed in pleasure as you continued to touch him, but then his hand came to rest unexpectedly on yours, stopping your movement. “Want to show you how much I love you, how much I love this pussy — lay back for me, let me take care of my good girl.”

The deep baritone of Din’s voice was now rough and burning with desire, and the gravelly tone of his words sent a shiver down your spine. You let him take control, willingly following his directions; you regretfully pulled your hands away from the warmth of his body, already missing the contact. He shifted lower into the small space of the bunk, and his head came to rest between your thighs; you could feel the messy, overgrown curls tickling you, his closeness heightening your sense of anticipation. Hovering right above your center, you could feel the heat of his breath on your sensitive skin; a soft whine escaped from you as he left you laying there, waiting for him to touch you, taste you, feel you.

He hmmm’ed in pleasure before bringing a gentle but calloused finger up and through your dripping folds, his whispered voice blatantly showing the amusement that he got from teasing you and making you wait for him. “Such a pretty fucking pussy, my sweet girl. What a shame I’m going to destroy it.”

As soon as the explicit promise had left his lips, you felt his mouth come down to cover you whole, his hot tongue licking thickly and thoroughly through you; you could feel him smiling against you as your back arched upwards with the sensation of the heat of his mouth against you. He slowly moved upwards to your clit, lips gently wrapping around the sensitive collection of nerves, and he began to suck gently, his tongue flicking against you, sending white-hot waves of pleasure echoing through your body. With each flick of his tongue, you felt the pressure in your abdomen beginning to build higher and higher; and in response, your thighs pressed harder and harder into the man that rested between them as you chased that high.

Din’s mouth moved away from you to bite at the soft skin of your thighs; a choked sob escaped from you at the loss of contact and stimulation, but he didn’t have you waiting for long. You felt two fingers enter you, spreading you open as they sank deeper; Din’s blaster-calloused thumb came to draw pressured circles onto your clit, and his pinky finger probed at a previously-unexplored entrance. You whimpered at the unexpected sensation, but it didn’t feel bad — just different, unlike anything you had ever experienced. You had never done anything like this before, had never experienced anything like this before; but you trusted Din, trusted him to take care of you and not hurt you.

You started to gasp as you felt his last finger push into you fully; the tightness and feeling of fullness was new but fucking incredible. You cried his name out repeatedly, as your body responded to this new combination of sensations —you could hear the evidence of your enjoyment, the slick and sloppy sounds filling the small space offered by the bunk. You could feel that familiar pressure and heat building with in you, as if a blazing ocean were battering you with its tides; your body was clamped tightly around Din’s hand, keeping him in place and ensuring that he wouldn’t be able to extricate himself away from you again. “That’s a good girl, such a good girl — what a sweet fucking pussy, and that ass — so tight for me, bet nobody’s ever touched you like this before —“

Din’s words served to catapult you higher and higher, your body shaking and writhing beneath him as for a second it almost became too much —

“That’s good —you’re doing so good, just a little more — want you to cum for me, want to feel your tight pussy and your ass when I make you cum—“

A half-choked scream escaped from your shallowly breathing chest, the sound just barely taking the shape of Din’s name as it echoed in the bunk; although you had kept your eyes closed, your vision was still overtaken by waves of blazing red and white fire as your orgasm rocked through your body. You felt an almost otherworldly tightness and pressure as the lower half of your body clamped down and spasmed on Din’s hands, the resulting wetness soaking the two of you completely as you continued to make unintelligible cries and whimpers of pleasure against his burning skin. Din continued to stroke his thick fingers through you as you rode out the undulating waves of your orgasm, and the overstimulation felt as though all of the nerve endings in your body had been run through with a near-deadly course of electricity.

You entire body quaking and shivering, you pulled away from Din and the continued onslaught of his now-dripping hands. You could feel a grin on his face as he reverently kissed your knee, his teeth barely grazing against your skin through the soft gesture. He gave you time to recover and catch your breath before moving away from his place between your thighs, coming to rest next to you. You heard the unmistakeable sound of Din’s fingers in his mouth, licking away your wetness that had covered his hand.

That insistent gesture of adoration did things to you; and as you felt his cock pressed into your stomach, you wanted to give him the same sense of adoration and pleasure that he always gave you. You hummed and planted a kiss onto his wet lips, tasting yourself on them; you opened your mouth to his, and the combination of your shared fluids was exquisite. You reached up to grab his hair roughly, appreciating the resistance that the tangles offered as you pulled, eliciting a groan from the man next to you.

It took some creative movements and positioning of your body, but you managed to find yourself on top of him; you gave his hair another rough tug before your hands moved to grab the throbbing cock that was pressed against your wet and aching center. You could feel him twitching at your touch, growing more erect with the stimulation, and you positioned the tip of his cock right against your folds, letting your slick heat drag across the end of him. He grunted in pleasure as his hands moved to your hips, trying to bring you down to sit on his cock, fully enveloping him; but you resisted his movement, continuing to tease him as you rocked your body across the tip of him. Leaning down to whisper into his ear, you could feel him shudder beneath you. “I want you to be good for me, Din.”

He nodded slowly, almost nervously, and you felt his calloused hands drag themselves up and away from your body.

“Good.” You crooned gently. You continued to drag yourself across his cock, occasionally taking the tip inside you, or allowing your folds to glide across the thick, veined length of him. You seared every grunt, every groan, every please into your mind, loving to watch this fearsome, dangerous man come undone underneath you.

You moved to cup his balls in your soft hand, and a vicious-sounding “Fuck,” escaped from Din’s lips.

“Can you ask me nicely?” You teased, a sinister grin on your face as you felt Din’s muscles contracting, fighting for more stimulation but also wanting to obey your instructions.

“Please, sweet girl —“ Your hips dipped lower, taking him further inside you than before, but not quite giving him everything he wanted. “Please, be my good girl, ride my cock —“

The desperation in his voice made your resolve crack, and you decided you wouldn’t tease him any longer. Your small hand barely wrapping around him, you guided his throbbing erection fully into you, before sitting down a bit forcefully onto his lap, the resulting impact making the both of you cry out. “That’s so good Din, you waited so nicely for me,” you whispered, and you brought yourself back up and away from him, before sitting back down on his cock again. You found a steady rhythm, riding him with relentless force, skin slapping against skin, offering the perfect cacophony of sinful sounds to accompany the cries and hisses that expelled from both you and Din.

You paused your rhythmic motions for just a moment, long enough to turn around so that your ass was thrust forward into Din’s face as you returned to riding his cock. “You feel so fucking good, Din, love the way that cock stretches me out — gods, look at that, look at me taking your cock like a good girl —“

As the words tumbled from your lips, you felt a sudden stinging sensation on your ass cheek, a shockwave running through you as you realized what had just happened — Din had spanked you. And fuck if that wasn’t the hottest fucking thing. Trying to egg him on, to get him to do it again, you slowed down to a torturous pace. “Really, Din? Is that what I get for being a good girl?”

You felt his hand come down on your ass again, a stinging heat radiating across your backside. You cackled in response; he had played right into what you wanted —

“That’s what you get for being a dirty fucking girl,” he grunted. “Sitting back on my cock like that, saying all those naughty things—“ He grunted as he grabbed your hips in his large, strong hands before beginning to fuck upwards and into you, pulling your ass back down and into him with an almost bruising force. And gods, did it feel fucking incredible as he drove himself deeper into you than you’d ever thought to be possible, your body crying out at the fullness but also craving it desperately every time he pulled away.

He spanked you again, the sound of his hand cracking against your backside sounding like music to your ears, before his hand came to rest on your steadily bouncing cheek; his thumb moved inwards to allow him better access to those previously-untouched parts of you, and you felt him trace slow, pressured circles around the tense rim. You whimpered into his touch, sinking yourself down deeper onto his cock, your free hand finding its way to gently squeeze Din’s balls; the two of you giving each other the contact that was needed but unspoken.

“Oh, that’s so good, my perfect girl — you’re so fucking good at this, so good at taking my cock — Gods, love watching your perfect pussy take me so well —“ His praises continued to become more and more fragmented, as his thrusts became more erratic and forceful.

“Yes, Din,” you cried out, as his exploratory thumb breached the tight ring of muscle, the combined feelings of fullness and stretching threatening to send you over the edge once again. “Gods, fuck, Din, don’t stop — please, oh please —“

He growled, a low rumble rolling through him like thunder. “Yes, my sweet girl, you’re so perfect — want you to cum for me again, c’mon, be a good girl for me.”

“Yes sir,” you gasped, almost deliriously, a bit of laughter mixed with the burning tension and desire coursing through you. At this, Din’s left hand pulled away from your hip where he had been holding you steady, and you felt another sharp crack on your ass as he spanked you again. Your entire backside was stinging and radiating with pleasure from his blows, and the feeling of Din’s finger in your ass, coupled with his cock thrusting and twitching inside of you, brought you right back to that familiar and dangerous edge. Your nerve endings still ravaged from your previous orgasm, this one felt as though it was charged with electricity, the simultaneous stimulation and desire causing your muscles to tense to the point of actual pain — and then it hit you. You tumbled over the edge of that waterfall, the sound of your blood rushing in your ears drowning out every other sound as you felt your body being absolutely pummeled and beaten by wave after wave of excruciatingly blissful pleasure.

You could hardly catch your breath as you experienced the aftershocks of your orgasm, the feeling of Din’s cock thrusting inside of you being too much — but from the way his hips snapped upwards into yours, you knew that he was getting close to his orgasm as well, and you desperately wanted to feel him cum inside of you — so you pushed away the feelings of overstimulation and focused in on the man who had just wrecked your body with ecstasy.

“Fuck, Din, love it when I cum for you — you’re so fucking amazing, making me cum on your cock like that — want you to cum for me now, wanna feel you cum inside me, please, please—“

His grunts became more guttural and breathless as he continued to bring your aching body down onto his. “Yes, fuck, I love you — I’m going to cum in that perfect fucking pussy,” he moaned, and only seconds later you could feel the heat of his release inside of you, the mixture of your orgasms and Din’s having filled you entirely. His thrusts slowed and then eventually came to a stop, but he remained sheathed inside of you, enjoying the shared warmth and glow of this moment of satisfaction. His thumb pulled away from your ass to swipe across your folds, coating itself in the cum that dripped from your throbbing and exhausted cunt.

The two of you were left breathless and exhausted; you were still positioned in a sitting position above Din, his softening cock still inside of you, but the fatigue that resulted from your tension and release made you sway a bit before you slowly moved to extricate yourself from your current position. You whimpered a bit as Din slid out of you, having gotten accustomed to the stretched feeling; the loss almost felt more intrusive than the penetration. You allowed yourself to roll onto your side unceremoniously, tucking yourself in against Din’s heavily breathing and sweaty form. He draped his arm across you, his hand coming to rest on the soft skin of your stomach, and you turned over to place soft kisses on his chest; you could taste the salt of his sweat when you pulled away.

Sighing contentedly, you focused on bringing your racing heart back to a safe pace; your mind felt completely wiped with bliss, and it seemed as though Din’s earlier fears had been dispelled as well. His rough, stubbled chin rested atop your head, tangling within your hair as he kissed you gently, murmuring your name into this beautiful moment as though he was carving it into memory.

“You did so good for me, sweet girl. Love it when you let me take care of you.” He paused for a second before speaking again, the tone of his voice shifting slightly. “I will always take care of you.”

You could feel the wholesome weight of that promise settle into the air around you, quelling the indecent and explicit energy that had previously resided here. You loved Din with your whole heart, your whole body, your whole spirit, in a way that you had never loved anybody before. It felt as expansive and endless as the Force, as timeless and infinite as the galaxy, and you knew without a shadow of a doubt that you would contentedly spend an infinite number of lifetimes with him, if only given the opportunity. You fully intended to spend this entire lifetime with him, and you believed — no, you knew — that he felt the same towards you.

Allowing yourself the momentary entertainment of some self-indulgent daydreams, your thoughts turned towards the future and what it may hold for your odd little family; you didn’t know anything about Grogu’s aging or development, so that would be a perpetual wild card, but you and Din were both human, and would presumably continue to grow older together, building up years of shared experiences. Maybe one day the three of you could go away for a bit, shrugging off the weight of your respective work and obligations, and take the time to truly enjoy one another’s company without the threat of a deadline or violent interruption. Maybe Grogu would like to climb ancient and towering trees; maybe Din would like to hear the sound of the ocean, without the interference of his helmet. Had he ever heard the unfiltered roar of the ocean before? Having spent so many years next to the ocean, as torturous as those years may have been, the comforting sound of constant and unyielding waves was... unrivaled. It was one of the few things that had kept you grounded, that had reminded you that did in fact exist, and you were an integral piece of the universe that you existed within — and that truth could not be contested.

Maybe one day, the three of you could settle in somewhere both solitary and cozy; have a shared space that was both private and familiar.

Maybe one day, you and Din would find the right time to be wholly seen, in the light. Maybe one day, you and Din would commit to each other in an irrevocable and distinct way.

You were admittedly ignorant about the significance, or even prevalence, of marriage for Mandalorians, but regardless of the nature of your current and future union, you knew that it would continue to be unbreakable just as Din’s beskar. You loved him fully, and intended to stay by his side, come hell or high waters; a piece of jewelry or a paper contract wouldn’t change the nature of your love, and the bonds you had forged with this family you had found. Thinking on it, the idea of marriage somehow almost seemed too pedestrian for a Mandalorian, for a man like Din Djarin; but somewhere deep down, you knew that would he ever ask, you would say yes with your whole heart. As you laid against his steadily-beating chest, your mind wandered to places it had not tread in quite a while.

You had heard stories before about oceanic planets, and the dangers that the seas and shorelines presented to their inhabitants; you recalled stories of strong tides and hidden stones, that would lure ships into their seemingly-safe grasp before crashing them against the unforgiving rocky coastlines. The thought of nature possessing that kind of power, and that kind of indifference, was terrifying to many; but the inhabitants of these unyielding planets had found ways to subvert some of nature’s destructive tendencies, erecting lighthouses along the shorelines that guided incoming ships to safety. These lighthouses were manned and maintained by solitary individuals, who had made the decision to dedicate their lives to keeping others safe; but they did not seek out this isolated role, this solitary lifestyle, to be recognized as a hero — they chose it because they believed it to be the right thing to do. They guided others to safety, through dark and treacherous waters, and did not seek or need any praise; the only reward that was needed was to see that life went on to live another day, to know that they had guided another person to safety with their light.

Din Djarin was your lighthouse-keeper.

In that moment, laying there against his steadily rising and falling chest, you decided that one day, you would find a way to bring Din to an ocean, to let him sit amongst the whirling winds, and the roaring and crashing tides. You would allow him the security to remove his helmet, to experience everything wholly, to feel the salty breeze and sand, to feel the stinging cold saltwater, to feel the impossibly strong tide and infinite weight of the ocean extending against eternity; and maybe then, you would be able to tell him that ‘this is just a glimpse of how much I love you.’

TAG LIST: @knivesareout @tanzthompson @stageleftlauren @greatcircle79

#din djarin x reader #din djarin #pedro pascal #mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian #fic rec

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bestie-enthusiast · 3 years

Text

A Means To An End

Summary: After chasing a lead into a neaby building, Sam and Bucky get to see a more... vunrable side of the Baron.

This fic is inspired by @morganbritton132

They had been chasing a lead, one of the cars that supposedly belonged to the Flag Smashers had been spotted outside of a small theatre. They had speculated it was a supply stop, or maybe a place to lay low. Zemo had taken them, in a surprisingly non-attention-drawing car, to about a block away from the theatre, and they started to walk the rest of the way there.

“It is privately owned, from what I understand.” Zemo explained to them. “The owners, most likely powerful and influential individuals, are either unaware of what's going on, or are actively supporting the group.”

Sam nodded, “Makes sense to me. Do we have to worry about them being there?” Zemo shook his head.

“Most likely not. They would have no reason to be inside unless they are also super soldiers.�� Sam hummed in agreement and turned to Bucky, who had been silent.

“Are you good, man?” He asked quietly as they grew closer to the theatre.

“This feels like a trap.” Bucky grumbled, glaring at the small, but lavish, building that they had stopped in front of. “They’ve been staying at the camps and keeping supplies there. This feels out of character.”

Sam frowned, “Well maybe they needed a place to lay low, they know we’ve been tracking the houses they’ve been staying at, so maybe this is how they're trying to throw us off?” Bucky nodded, but didn’t look convinced.

Zemo led them into the theatre, effortlessly navigating the building. It was much larger on the inside than it appeared. As they wound their way deeper and deeper into the building, Bucky seemed to grow more and more agitated, until he froze.

“Bucky?” Sam asked worriedly, looking at the range of emotions passing over his friend's face.

“Shh,” Bucky hissed quietly, tilting his head towards a wall. Sam barely had the time to open his mouth when an explosion rocked the building. He felt something hit his head, and passed out.

Sam blinked awake, groaning at the dryness of his mouth. It took a few moments for him to remember what happened, but he didn’t feel too bad, so he assumed everything was good. He wasn’t completely covered in the ruins of the theatre, which is good, and after relieving himself of the rest of it, everything seemed to be intact, aside from some bruising and some cuts.

He looked around and spotted Bucky, who seemed to be just waking up as well, and walked over to help him up. Not that he needed it.

After the two of them had (somewhat subty) looked over the other for any signs of damage, they set about scouring the building for anything of use. Bucky was walking with a limp, and Sam had a minor concussion, but they were both still breathing and alive. They stumbled through, leaning on the other or on the nearest (standing) wall whenever they needed it.

That was when Sam remembered Zemo, and Bucky heard a voice.

“Fuck.” They said in unison, looking at the other in surprise.

“Zemo,” Sam explained in a single word, watching as Bucky let out a tense sigh.

“I heard someone.” Bucky said back, looking in the direction he had heard a whimper. It was very faint, but still present. “We don’t know who was in here. Could be a civilian.” Sam nodded and Bucky led them in the direction he heard the cry. As Bucky and Sam grew closer, Bucky was able to discern the voice as a sort of pained mewling, someone on the edge of hysteria that threatened to consume them. Sam also grew more concerned as Bucky led them into a more unstable and ruined part of the theatre.

The pathetic cry’s grew louder as the drew near to the source, and the weakness and vulnerability in them was the reason neither Sam nor Bucky thought that it could possibly be the missing Baron until they laid eyes upon him.

Zemo, in short, looked like a mess. A cut on his hairline was pouring blood down his face as the man curled in on himself. His hands were bleeding, the skin on his fingers rubbed raw after being used to scratch as concrete and metal. His appearance and injuries weren't the worst part though, no the worst part was what he was saying.

“Heike, Carl, Papa.” Over and over, like a mantra. Even as he choked on dust he continued to repeat the phrase. His voice sounded wrecked, ripped to shreds by screams no one had heard. It was very clear that Zemo just wasn’t there. He was not present as he repeated those three words even as he gasped for air and his voice cracked and crumbled.

Sam reacted before Bucky, gently calling out to Zemo. Even as he raised his voice Zemo did not respond, not even a flinch at the volume. Bucky tried next. He gently prodded at the Baron’s hands, once again not even eliciting a flinch. Bucky tried again with more force, pressing both of Zemo’s hands tightly against his chest. It was a very tense few moments as the Baron because lucid once again.

The usual sharpness returned to his eyes, although the tears were still present. Zemo blinked at them, and for once the Baron looked ashamed of himself.

“Apologies, you should not have seen that.” The man quietly apologised, wincing at the way his voice cracked. Sam and Bucky both just shook their heads, helping Zemo up. They all stumbled out of the rubble together, and Zemo spared himself a glance at the two men helping him. Bucky had a sort of empathetic understanding in his eyes, eyes far too soft to be looking at a criminal such as himself. Sam gave him a look of understanding, although it felt more like pity than anything. Zemo knew both men had experience with PTSD, but he never wished for them to know he struggled with it as well.

They staggered through the streets, Zemo carefully keeping quiet about the sharp pain in his ankle every time he took a step. It would be better if they just left him alone for some time once they arrived back at his safe house, and they would not leave him alone if they knew the extent of his physical injuries, let alone his mental ones.

And so he kept quiet. When they made it into the safehouse, Zemo let out a breath that he hadn’t been aware he was holding in. He let himself relax minutely now that they were in a safe location. It had been a taxing experience, and all he wished was for some space to once again grieve and mourn for his family. Unfortunately, it did not appear that Sam nor James would be giving him such a privilege, and so he continued to do his best to hold apart his now fragile mask. “So.” Sam said once they had all settled on the couch in the main room of the house. It was a tense, but not unwelcome intrusion into their silence, nevertheless Zemo flinched at the sudden noise.

“So.” He repeated quietly, knowing that as long as he spoke in quiet, quick sentences they would not be able to tell his voice was still quiet ruined and cracking. Zemo resisted the urge to curl up, to bring his feet into his person and rest his chin on his knees. It would be a very childish position and not to mention, vulnerable. It was a very tense few moments before Zemo decided to speak again.

“Do I have your permission to sleep or-” his voice cracked again as he thought of sleep. No doubt it would be nightmare filled. “Or do I have to sit in this st-stifling silence longer?” He could feel himself flush at his simple inability to speak a proper sentence, but silently hoped it would convince Sam and his sympathetic and pity-filled body to let him go.

“Oh, uhh, sure man. Whatever you want.” That was all he needed. He walked as fast as he could, without making it obvious he was eager to leave, to the closest bedroom. He locked the door behind him, relishing in the comfort the simple click brought him. He toed off his shoes and shrugged off all of his clothes sans boxers, and collapsed onto the bed. He started shaking with the effort that it was taking to hold everything, and so he let it out. Every single bit of pain and grief and anguish that he felt as he was relieving the memory. He could taste the dust in the air, remember the pain in his hands that he ignored as he dug his family from underneath the rubble.

It all felt so real, like it was happening again. Like he was truly relieving the worst moments of his entire life again. Like he was- he was experiencing the destruction of his whole world again, he could physically feel the pain in his heart as he recalled the memory.

He sobbed and screamed into the pillows on the bed, shaking like a leaf in a storm all the while. It didn’t take long for the pain to turn into exhaustion and numbness. For the grief to turn into mourning. He let out a shaky breath as his tears started to slow and his shakes turned less violent.

He felt nauseous but all too tired to even think about expelling energy to have something to drink, so instead he focussed on just passing the fuck out.

And hey! It worked.

Or at least he thought it did. He was pretty certain it did. Especially when he opened his eyes to see his papa’s ruined mansion in front of him. He inhaled the scent of dust and smoke, eyes already watering as he stared at the remains of his once luxurious childhood home. He stumbled down to the basement where he knew his bodies would be, solidifying the fact that this was a dream. In reality, it had taken him much longer to search the basement, holding out hope that the caved ceiling wouldn’t be covering their bodies. He stumbled down until he was directly in front of the spot he knew their bodies were buried, and started to dig. He dug and dug even as his hands screamed at him (or was it him screaming?) and the pain became near unbearable, until he was able to make out a small, pale wrist underneath all the rubble.

He clutched it like a lifeline, checking for a pulse for a very long moment. He already knew there wouldn’t be one, but every time he had this dream he still held out hope. He continued to claw at the remains, more careful now, until his entire family was uncovered. And just like every other time he had this nightmare, he carefully checked for pulses, breathing, anything, and just like every other time, there was nothing.

He allowed his tears to fall in the privacy of his family’s ruined home, and hoped to wake soon. If the dream continued on like this, he would be testing the theory of whether or not dying in your dreams can make you die in real life.

Thankfully, he woke up soon after. Although the way in which he woke up was not the most pleasant. He awoke to a loud thudding on his door and someone shouting his name. He felt somewhat delirious and wondered if he had picked up an infection. He grabbed a neatly folded bathrobe off of a chair and pulled it on, tying it loosely as he unlocked and opened the door.

Sam Wilson stood before him, looking uncharastically concerned. Well the man regularly looked concerned, it was just that he was concerned with Zemo that was abnormal.

“What?” Zemo asked tonelessly. He was too emotionally exhausted to use any snark or sarcasm.

“You were screaming,” Sam replied, stuffing his hands in his pockets awkwardly. Zemo suddenly felt awkward as well.

“Oh.” He was usually silent during his nightmare, but the day's events appeared to have affected his subconscious more than he had thought. “Apologies.”

“No it's fine, I just… you got me and Buck real concerned earlier, and I thought maybe…” Maybe he had gone into another flashback.

Zemo shook his head, “Just nightmares. I should recover just fine in a few days.” Sam looked nervous, but didn’t push it. He left soon after. As soon as he was out of sight Zemo let out a quiet brief, sagging against his door frame. He knew that the right thing to do would be to talk, to open up and spill out all his vulnerability so that they could pick through it like vultures and decide whether or not he was worth helping. He did not believe he was worth helping, and so he would not do the so called right thing.

He would not bear his soul only to have it crushed.

He would not let himself believe that maybe people did care after all.

Because he was only a means to a necessary end. And there was no need to complicate things further by adding his own emotions into the mix.

No. He would stay strong. This wouldn’t affect his performance on the field, and he would not let it affect his newly acquired acquaintanceship with the two men who assisted him in his escape from prison.

A means to an end. That was it.

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zootopiathingz · 3 years

Text

Thrill of the Kill

Part 2/2

A little over a week passed since the incident at the museum. Now that Bellwether's plan was exposed, she was put in prison along with the rams that helped her, and everyone knew the real reason for the predators' savagery. Doctors were quick to start working on an antidote for the Night Howler serum, so that all the affected predators could be rehabilitated. It was first tested on Mr. Otterton—the otter that Judy was assigned to find, and it seemed to be quite effective.

Judy had to stay in the hospital as well due to her injuries. She had stitches all over her upper body and on her leg, and it was going to take a while for her to completely recover from what happened. But she didn't care much about her own health. She was more focused on Nick and if he was being properly cared for. To her knowledge, he was fine, physically at least. She wasn't allowed to visit him for the past week, but when she heard that he was going to be given the antidote, she just had to be there to see him.

It took some time for the antidote to kick in, so he was sound asleep in the hospital bed while Judy waited at his side. She refused to leave even for a moment. After spending so much time apart, she wanted to be with him for as long as she could right now. Plus, she didn't want him to wake up while she wasn't there.

After a couple hours, Nick slowly began to regain consciousness, this time with normal-sized eyes and non-threatening behavior. Judy lifted her ears as she heard him move, and for a moment she felt her heart stop. He appeared to be back to normal, seeing as how he awoke like he usually would. But there was only one way to be sure.

As he raised his head and sat up in the bed, he started to become aware of his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was that he was in a gown of some kind, and he could guess that he was in an ER. But what was most important was the bunny sitting right in front of him.

"Carrots?" He asked quietly as his eyes met hers. She looked so relieved to be with him, like she hadn't actually seen him in ages. He began to wonder how long he was asleep for, and what even happened after he was shot in the museum.

"Hey, Nick." She said, placing her paw next to his, hesitant to actually hold it. "How are you feeling?"

Nick blinked a couple times, having to think about her question. How did he feel? Overall he was exhausted, but much better than he was before. Otherwise he was confused and in need of answers sooner rather than later.

"I— I'm fine." He nodded, now getting a better look at her. And honestly, she was in a worse condition than him. Her fur was matted and out of place, there were bandages covering her shoulders and neck, and there were spots where it looked like they were bled through. Not to mention there were small bags under her eyes that made it seem like she hadn't slept in days. He observed her appearance with concern, knowing damn well this was the work of Bellwether. But the question was who exactly did this to her?

"What happened to you?" He asked worriedly, although he was afraid he already knew the answer.

Judy froze, now staring at the floor. This was the one thing she had been dreading about his recovery. How was she supposed to tell him the truth? "Uh, what do you remember?" She asked, deciding to start with that.

Nick thought for a second, recapping the last thing he could remember before he ended up here. "Well, we were at the museum, and the mayor had us cornered, and then she shot me with a—"

He stopped, coming to the realization that this was caused by him. It had to be the only explanation. After all, that was Bellwether's plan; use him to kill Judy.

"W-was it me?" He asked uneasily, narrowing his eyes. "Did I do this..?"

Judy remained quiet, reluctant on how to answer. She couldn't lie and say that it wasn't him, but she knew how hard it would be for him to hear her say that it was. However, her silence was enough for him to figure it out.

He lowered his head, taking a couple deep breaths as he took in the reality of it all. So it was true, he did this to her. He hurt her just like a savage predator would do. It was miracle she even survived, and though he was grateful for whatever saved her life, he was now having to face the heavy guilt of knowing he almost killed her. If she wasn't afraid of him before, she surely was now, right?

She noticed his reaction, and immediately she regretted her lack of response. It was probably worse than just saying the harsh truth. "Hey, it's okay." She said gently, scooting an inch closer to him as he closed his eyes. He clearly didn't want to see the condition she was in, the damage he caused. But she had to comfort him somehow. "Nick, look at me. It's fine. It wasn't your fault, okay?"

"How can you say that?" He asked, shaking his head while shutting his eyes tighter. "I nearly ate you alive and you're seriously gonna say it's not my fault?"

"It wasn't your choice." She said, trying to remain calm for his sake. But seeing him so distraught like this brought tears to her eyes. "You would never hurt me, I know that."

Nick scoffed bitterly, finally opening his eyes to look at her. "Well, obviously I did." He said, gesturing to her wounds, specifically the one on her neck—that one was the most prominent.

"No, you didn't. It wasn't you." Judy said assuredly, gently touching his arm.

Nick went quiet for a moment as he glanced down at her paw, feeling strangely comfortable with the affection. Then again, it was because of her that he was better at expressing his emotions, through words and actions. He just didn't think she would be at ease when this close to him. Hell, he wasn't even sure she would want to be his friend after all of this.

"What do you mean?" He asked confusedly, furrowing his brows.

Judy took a second to try to word her explanation correctly. It might not have made sense to others, but maybe Nick would understand. "A couple weeks ago, when I came to the hospital to check on Mr. Otterton and to see how his wife was doing, she said something to me. She said it wasn't her husband, that it wasn't her Emmitt." She began, glancing to the side for a moment. "Obviously he was, but he wasn't himself, and she knew that. She looked at him and she didn't see any of Emmitt in him."

Nick nodded as he listened attentively, but he was still lost as how any of this had to deal with their situation. Up until she faced him again, staring right into his eyes with a soft expression. "The same thing happened to me at the museum. I looked at you...and it wasn't you."

It wasn't hard to understand what she meant. Even though he didn't experience realization like that, he knew exactly what she was trying to say. Though the guilt didn't fade completely, it wasn't as crushing as it was a while ago. Maybe she was right, and that's why she didn't blame him. But still, damage had been done, and she was in bandages because of him.

Nick sighed, lowering his gaze once again. "I tried to fight it. I really did."

"I know." Judy frowned solemnly, slowly bringing her paw down on top of his. "I can't imagine what it must've been like."

He stared at her paw as he tentatively held it in his, suddenly needing more physical comfort than usual. "I'm so sorry, Carrots." He whispered vulnerably, "I know you keep saying it's not my fault, but..."

"No, I get it." She nodded, squeezing his paw in return. "And it's okay. I forgive you."

Nick took another deep breath as he realized they were holding paws, which kindled a feeling of warmth on his face for reasons he didn't know. "So, you're not afraid of me?"

Judy was taken aback by his question, since she thought he would know the answer by now—the real answer. But he obviously still needed the reassurance. She smiled faintly and gave him a quick kiss on his cheek, "There's not a thing you could do that would scare me away."

They embraced each other tightly, leaving little to no space between them. Judy wiped away her tears from earlier as she nuzzled her head against his shoulder, feeling immense relief and comfort while in his arms. "You know, my offer still stands." She said, a little out of the blue, "I'm still looking for a partner, if you're interested..."

Nick chuckled softly, squeezing her against him. He couldn't deny that they made a great team, that they worked better when they were together. Besides, getting to be by her side all day didn't sound too bad.

"I'd love to be your partner, Carrots."

#zootopia #judy hopps #nick wilde #zootropolis #wildehopps #judy x nick #angst #zootopia angst #zootopia fanfiction #alternate universe

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shirtlesssammy · 3 years

Text

5x12: Swap Meat

At a bar, a woman sits alone, enjoying her margarita, when one Sam Fucking Winchester wanders over and asks the barkeep ---NOT at all awkwardly--for a banana daiquiri. He’s either deep undercover or something is seriously hinky. There’s a lot of sugar in banana daiquiris, Sam. Crystal introduces herself and Sam introduces himself as Gary! She then propositions him, much to his cluelessness.

The poor dumb boy puts it together and “would love to have the sex with [her].” We then pan over to see Sam REALLY isn’t Sam at all.

Housatonic, Massachusetts

36 Hours Earlier

Sam and Dean visit Donna, an old babysitter --well, she was a maid at a motel they’d stay at while John went hunting. She looked out for them. It seems that her family house has a poltergeist problem. Bumps and broken items have led to the thing attacking their daughter, Katie.

Katie lifts her shirt to reveal “Murderd Chylde” carved into her abdomen. I'd get some serious vaseline on those wounds if you don’t want scarring, Katie. Yeesh. Sam and Dean tell the family to skedaddle while they take care of things.

They stop at a diner for food next. Dean picks up their order from the counter from Banana Daiquiri Gary! He’s not impressed with Sam’s salad shake, and neither is Dean (but when is he ever?)

They talk about Donna and how she’s got a good thing going. Dean asks Sam if he’d want to settle down at all and have a family, and Sam answers, “no.” Dean looks contemplative about it.

Sam finds lore on the house. A Samuel Pickett owned the house in the 1700s and hung a woman, Maggie Briggs, there for witchcraft. As the brothers talk, we watch Gary hyperfixate on Sam.

Sam goes to check out the town’s archives for where Maggie Briggs was buried. As he’s walking back to the motel, he hears a noise and then gets shot in the neck with a dart. Lights out, Sammy.

He comes to later, wearing Gary’s work uniform. He starts walking but the cops pick him up claiming his family is worried about him. “My brother called you?” Sam asks, incredulous.

No. The cops take him to a suburban house where a worried couple pops out and hugs Sam in relief. He asks who they are and in return they want to know if he’s drunk.

They keep calling him Gary. It’s then that Sam looks in the window of the cop car --and sees his reflection. He looks like Gary!

Meanwhile, Gary is checking out his hot new bod. Dean shows up and wonders where he’s been. Gary placates him with food. He also tells Dean that the maid saw all their weapons and they better get out of there. While Dean uses the restroom, Gary gets rid of all Dean’s phones.

THEN he has the NERVE to ask to drive. He doesn’t get far. And quite frankly, Dean’s spidey sense should be spiking through the ceiling at this point.

Sam keeps trying to reach his brother, with no luck. He calls the motel to learn that the two dudes in room 102 left in the middle of the night. So, Sam starts digging through Gary’s stuff and discovers items of witchcraft. Before he can dig too much further though, he’s called to the family breakfast.

His “dad” starts grilling him about getting drunk the night before. Sam’s got better things to worry about than placating some dude he doesn’t know. He also needs to learn more about Gary, so he starts interviewing the family about what they've noticed in him lately.

The dad wants to know if Sam’s “smoking drugs”. Sam then asks if they’ve ever seen him with a black book recently. His sister, Sydney, reacts to that question. The mom reacts to him eating toast --his allergy to wheat gluten!!

Sydney later reveals to Sam that there IS a book.

Gary and Dean are still working the case. Dean informs Gary that they have to search graves for Maggie’s body. Nerd of Nerd’s Gary knows exactly where Maggie Briggs is buried: Isiah Pickett’s basement. He also reveals that he murdered her and her unborn child before burying them in the basement. Dean connects the ‘murderd chylde’ clue.

Once in the car, Bob Seger starts blasting, and Gary tells Dean to turn it up.

Sam continues to leave messages for Dean. He ALSO has to navigate the tortures of high school again. Sam meets two of Gary’s friends and asks where his locker is (he’s still drunk, after all).

For This is a Look TM Science:

(And let’s pause for a moment to enjoy Sam’s striped hoodie. Definitely one of the top 5 wardrobe choices on this show.)

He finds the book in the back of Gary’s locker.

Gary and Dean find the grave in the basement of the Pickett house. Dean gets to digging while Gary aims his gun at Dean. Before he can shoot, the ghost comes out to play. It starts beating up the both of them but Gary’s able to burn the bones.

Gary’s extremely nosy friends follow Sam out of the school. While it looks like we’re gearing up for some good ol’ Ferris Bueller shenanigans, Trevor shoots Sam in the throat (GAH) with a sedative dart.

Meanwhile, at a bar, Dean orders a burger with extra bacon and a fried egg on top. Excuse me...I need to go eat an entire branchbouquet of kale in retaliation. Mysteriously, Sam orders the same thing. “Who are you and what have you done with my brother?” Dean asks. But it’s just a lighthearted comment and they raise a toast to a successful hunt.

Gary’s over the moon overabout the day he just had. His joy makes Dean suspicious the way nothing else has. Oh, you sweet sad sunflowers. Gary lays out Sam Winchester’s happiness list: 1) gun 2) getting drunk 3) looks like Sam Winchester.

“You ever feel like your whole future is being decided for you?” Gary asks. OH YES, Dean tells him. I forget for a minute that I’m watching a season 5 episode as the Dean-Winchester-feels-trapped-in-the-narrative-sorrow threatens to overwhelm me. But there areis no time for FEELINGS when the narrative must go on! Cut to later in the night, when Gary gets picked up by the woman in the bar from the cold open. Dean puts his thinking face on while Gary ecstatically leaves the bar.

Back at Kid Kidnapperz clubhouse, Sam’s tied up. Trevor calls Gary and asks him if he’s killed Dean yet. “I’m working up to it,” Gary replies while sitting shirtless under a leopard print bedspread in the cougar’s lair. (Just...no on SO MANY LEVELS.) Sam listens to this with great alarm.

Sam demands to know how these rando teenagers know Dean. “Everybody knows Dean. He’s Hell’s most wanted,” Trevor retorts. Sam puts two and two together and comes up with a coupla dumb kids who took a deep dive into witchcraft and started talking to demons.

“You’re just kids,” Sam laments. Trevor and Nora fill in more blanks. They were messing around with a Moste Dark Booke of Witchcraftery, as one does, and suddenly Gary went into a trance and drew a fairly decent picture of Dean. Gary also heard a voice - it was setting a bounty on Dean’s head, and apparently broadcast through the witch trance network.

Gary heard a voice in his head - it was setting a bounty on Dean’s head, and apparently broadcast through the witch trance network. Nora now has second thoughts, so Trevor ups his stupidity game and starts to summon a demon.

That night, Gary creeps into the motel room and grabs Dean’s gun up from a nearby chair. He cocks the pistol. . He aims it at the shape under the covers...and Dean grabs him from behind and demands to know who he really is. (Silly Gary, Dean stopped sleeping under covers after he got back from Hell.)

Back in Trevor’s basement, he finishes the demon summoning. Nora looks up with black eyes.

She’s very interested to learn that they’ve got Dean Winchester in their sights. Trevor tells her where Dean is immediately. She absorbs this and swings her attention to Sam. She realizes it’s Sam “Boy King of Hell” Winchester sitting there and is suddenly VERY interested. Trevor asks her where his reward is, and when he pushes for it she first taunts, then kills him. (All the while Sam is in the background GRINDING HIS TEETH.)

Gary weeps, tied up in the motel room while Dean listens to voicemail after voicemail from Sam. Gary babbles about Sam’s whereabouts but it’s too late. Demon!Nora saunters in and lobs Dean across the room. Wherps. She offers Gary a powerful future but first he’s got to meet “the boss.” All he has to do is say “Yes” and they can have a nice chat together! Very sneaky! Dean attacks her while she’s cooking up her big plan and then Gary and Dean tag team an exorcism, freeing Nora of the demon. Later, Gary performs the incantation to swap bodies with Sam again. (I shake my head yet again that THIS is the ONLY body swap episode we got in the whole fifteen season run. What a goddamn waste of comedy potential.

With Sam restored to normal (or as normal as a Winchester can get), Dean confronts Gary. He tells him that if he were just a little older, he’d be dead right now. With those comforting parting words, they bring Gary and Nora back to their lives. Sam tells Gary to quit his whining about his life. It’s possible to rebel in a “healthy, non-satanic way.” Furthermore, he tells Gary that he wishes he had his life. Once the kids are out of earshot, Dean comments on Sam’s kind words. “Totally lied. Kid’s life sucked ass.” The apple-pie family crap is stressful, Sam decides.

Maybe they just don’t know what they’re missing, Dean rejoins, and I calmly tie an anvil around my ankle and drop it off a cliff into a dramatically large canyon.

They head out into the rainy night...to fight another day!

Doppelquöter:

You ever think that you'd want something like that? Wife, rugrats, the whole nine?

No matter how much you fight it, you can't stop the plan. The stupid, stupid plan

Um, I wouldn't exactly call praying to our dark overlord “goofing around”

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #dean winchester #sam winchester #spn 5x12 #swap meat #supernatural season 5

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yandearest · 4 years

Text

May The Odds Be Ever in Your Favor (Hoseok x Reader Hunger Games AU) Chapter 3: The Assessment

Summary - Living in District 4 you never thought you would have to worry about being selected for the Hunger Games. With a training centre right near the dock of the houseboat you lived and fished from, your district was known for volunteers who trained their whole lives for a shot at glory and riches. But at age 18, your name is called and no girls volunteer to take your place. Your devastation is answered when Kim Namjoon volunteers for the males shortly after. Tall, muscular, highly intelligent and charming, the years of diligent preparation have bestowed Namjoon with the expectation of being the next District 4 champion after Finnick Odair last won 3 years ago.

Fishing for a living has granted you skills with a knife but, as your mentor Finnick is quick to describe, your beautiful face may well be your best asset.

Upon arrival in the Capitol you are quickly faced with the reality that Namjoon may not even be the biggest danger inside the Arena. Especially when you capture the obsessive attention of District 2′s own volunteer, and killing machine, Jung Hoseok. Hope soon fades from ‘survival’ to ‘the mercy of a painless death’ but Hoseok certainly has other plans.

Pairing - Hoseok x (fem)Reader

Genre - thriller, angst, yandere

Word Count 7K

Warnings - [in later chapters] major character death, graphic depictions of violence, swearing, obsession, dubcon-smut (smut will be marked so reading is optional), gore, unrealistically beautiful oc because I’m a sucker for that shitty trope and want to live vicariously through my writing (sue me)

The following is a dark fic featuring a yandere character, violence, obsession, and coercion. By no means does writing about this in a fictional setting condone any of those behaviours, much like Stephen King writing horror doesn’t mean he approves of psychotic killers in reality. Please avoid reading if any of these warnings makes you uncomfortable.

Previous Chapter: 1, 2

Cross posted on A03 so people can subscribe for updates/notifications

Throughout the course of your life you had found that the more you dreaded something, the faster it arrived. As you sat in the waiting room, waiting for the call to go into the training center alone for your final assessment, you couldn’t help but think of just how fast the training process had gone by, and that in less than twenty-four hours you would be inside the dreaded arena.

During your knot tying session after your incident the on the first day, you had formed a slight friendship with Krystal, who had asked if everything was okay. You had lied, saying you were fine, too afraid of telling her the truth after Namjoon had just blown up on you, and she simply had nodded in acceptance. But you could tell she didn’t buy that answer from the way she seemed to treat you with a little extra kindness. You stuck to her like glue for the rest of the training period, refusing to separate within the career pack without Krystal by your side. It was an odd dependency given she was the smallest of the lot of you, but she had taken to it rather well. She never asked you about it, but immediately went along, making sure you were always by her side during any activity. You could tell Hoseok was furious – constantly shooting glares in Krystal’s direction – but there was nothing he could do without disrupting the whole alliance, and proving that he was indeed the psychopath he had revealed only to you in private.

You had spoken briefly to Finnick about things the night after the incident with Hoseok. As a mentor he wasn’t happy, but his hands were also tied as there was nothing he could do to interfere with another district. He had suggested he could speak to District 2’s mentor to try and get more information on Hoseok’s background but you had immediately shut that down, terrified that it would somehow get back to Hoseok and he would think you were reciprocating his own interest. The idea was also dangerous because it would expose just how threatened you were to their mentor, who could easily use that to their advantage when coming up with game tactics. Finnick had reluctantly agreed not to do anything, but turned the topic of conversation onto your remaining training time. He had suggested a focus on weapons, particularly knives given you already had some experience with them.

“Focus on what you already know,” he had said “Don’t waste time trying to learn new things that others are already experts with. You cannot hope to beat a master with only a few days of training. Hone the skills you already have.”

So that’s largely what you had spent the rest of your training time doing. By her own admission Krystal’s report card had suggested training with a weapon that could compliment her own agility, which worked out well with knives too, so you spent a lot of your time training together. You found out that despite being a District 1 tribute, she was also reaped, and not a volunteer, like yourself. But unlike you she had been trained at an academy, which was standard practice in 1. A far more interesting detail you had learned was she was Yoongi’s younger sister, and he had volunteered after her reaping. You filed that detail away in the back of your mind for future reference, grateful that some sort of partnership already existing in the alliance could potentially lessen the target on yourself later when it came to splitting.

You played off each other, regarding your knowledge of knives. Krystal was far more skilled in close range combat, and she gave you pointers when you trained in sparring using a prop version (made from a material of the same weight, which still caused some bruises, but wouldn’t actually cause stab wounds). She also helped you improve your skills in countering attacks and using a larger opponents’ body weight against them. Looking at Hoseok and Namjoon respectively you were terrified to know her lesson would very much be a life or death skill you needed to learn. In return you talked to her about your experiences with spear fishing and occasionally using a knife instead in shallow waters, passing on what you could about how to throw a knife. It was a skill you had picked up when you much younger, after being taught by your father when you were seven. Your mother had been furious when she found out and immediately banned you from knives until you were old enough to be working on the boat, but your father had still snuck in training sessions whenever the two of you were alone. It was never something you thought you would be using to potentially kill a human, rather than a salmon or tuna. You hadn’t even thought of it then, but it was likely his way of trying to prepare you for if your name was ever drawn from the reaping. Even though it was essentially impossible, a part of you desperately hoped you would survive in order to be able to thank your father in person.

You and Krystal worked well together, you had a natural chemistry, and both of you didn’t feel a need for wasting oxygen with meaningless small talk or chit chat. Your skills both complimented one another and you found yourself learning a lot. It wasn’t much of a bond from merely a couple of days, but you hoped whatever you had worked to build would translate into some sort of partnership in the arena.

The remaining of your training had passed as well as you could have hoped for right up until the final moments of the last day. You and Krystal had taken a bathroom break. Afterwards, when you were about to walk out of the washroom and back into the hallway outside, you could hear familiar voices beyond the door. Frowning, you opened the door just a crack to hear Namjoon talking to Yoongi, Hoseok and Athena.

“Seriously, she thinks you’re in love with her,” Namjoon laughed, clasping his hand on Hoseok’s shoulder. You felt the blood immediately drain from your face and a stone cold chill run throughout your body. You had seen Namjoon and Hoseok getting on better within the last day, but you weren’t expecting Namjoon to be at a level of already throwing you under the bus.

“Really? When did she say that?” you could hear Hoseok ask, although you couldn’t see him from the crack in the doorway.

“First day, back when she was in tears over that pathetic report,” Namjoon replied with a scoff. “Asked her what happened and she went on some crazed rant that you were going to save her. Honestly lost her mind on day one, why the hell we’re supposed to drag her around the arena is beyond me.”

“She’s not that bad, have you seen her throwing the knives with Krystal? Could be useful,” the only female voice had to have been Athena, and you made a mental note to thank her later.

“Please, she’s a baby. Wouldn’t be able to hurt a fly,” Namjoon scoffed. You wanted to storm out and show him how willing you would be to hurt him, but remembering a warning from Finnick held you back, ‘play along and act dumb so they think you trust them and are too stupid to make plans for yourself'. You couldn’t wait for the chance to stab Namjoon in the back at this rate.

“So why are we keeping her around then?” A bored voice you had rarely heard asked. That had to have been Yoongi.

“Her brains may be non-existent, but the empty head that carries her around isn’t too bad to look at. I say we keep her for the sponsors, get us some supplies from her capital fans. Maybe if we can get her to flash those perfect tits she’s covering up we can get extra out of them. Plus, if the arena gets cold I’m sure she can also make herself useful as a bed warmer too.” Your jaw dropped open at the vulgar way your supposed teammate was talking about you. You hadn’t even spoken to Namjoon since the incident on the first day, ignoring him whenever you were in the same living quarters and spending your training time with Krystal. Like hell you would be going anywhere near his ‘bed’ in the arena. Krystal looked equally as disgusted.

“Gross,” Athena deadpanned.

“What? It’s not like what I’m saying isn’t true, and it’s better her than you, right? Beautiful face, hot body, but not the sharpest tool in the shed. Throwing knives from a distance isn’t much of a threat in close combat so we can easily take her out at the end. Hey, Hoseok seeing she acts like you’re going to be her precious Romeo you can be the one to take care of our dear Juliet when the time co-” before you could snap and storm out to attack Namjoon yourself, Hoseok beat you to it. Like a viper, his hand shot out in lightning speed to grasp Namjoon by the throat and slam him into the nearest wall.

“Or how about I take care of you?” he practically purred, springing a jackknife he had somehow slipped into his clothing out and holding it against Namjoon’s throat, until you heard a scuffle of someone trying to pull him off. Yanking the bathroom door open you rushed out into the hallway, Krystal following quickly behind, to see Namjoon leaning against the wall rubbing his throat, as Athena and Yoongi restrained a livid Hoseok.

“What the hell is going on?” Krystal asked, looking between everyone. Even if you had overheard everything, you just stood there next to her, wanting to play up the ignorance they dismissed you as having.

Nobody answered, looking between each other as if waiting for them to be the first to talk. Of all people, it was surprisingly Yoongi to be the one to break the silence.

“Put that thing away,” Yoongi snapped, nodding at Hoseok’s flat knife. “Do you want us to all get beaten to a pulp by the guards before we even get to the arena?” Hoseok complied without any words, smoothly placing the knife back into a hidden pocket in the front of his pants.

“What the hell do we do now?” you asked, staring at the others. “A day before the games and a fight breaks out? How are we meant to work together in there?”

“Nothing changes,” Hoseok spoke. You frowned back, like hell nothing had changed.

“You just pulled a knife on my district partner,” you replied. You weren’t complaining but he didn’t need to know that.

“Nothing changes,” Namjoon repeated to your surprise.

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. We’re men. Men fight. Shit happens but we get it out of our system. Logically we’re still each others best bet in the arena.” Namjoon continued. You had to physically restrain yourself from rolling his eyes at the ‘men’ declaration.

“He’s right,” Hoseok agreed and all you could do was stare dumbly, wondering how the hell the two of them had gone from pulling a knife a second ago, to now suddenly agreeing.

“Like hell I’m leaving you, Athena isn’t leaving me, your district mate isn’t interested in leaving you either, and I assume Krystal has interests in working with you from all that training you’ve done together. Yoongi’s not going to leave his sister, so we’re all stuck together.”

“What if I don’t want to work with any of you?” you challenged.

Namjoon scoffed.

“If you really had the balls to walk away, you would’ve done it on day one. Especially given how I treated you when you were telling the truth.” You glared back at him for blatantly exposing you.

“If you split, you’re the easiest target for all the other tributes.” Hoseok stepped away from Yoongi and Athena to walk towards you. “That’s 18 other people trying to kill you, so you know I’m not going to let that happen. As I just told you, I’m not leaving you.”

You hadn’t heard much from Hoseok since that moment in the hallway on day one. A part of you had managed to convince yourself it was all a stunt, just like Namjoon had said, to psych you out and cause division in your alliance. Hearing him bluntly announce his intentions to the whole alliance, as he came to stand directly before you, caused the delusion to shatter.

“Leave her alone.” You were becoming so entranced by Hoseok’s presence that it took you a moment to process Krystal’s voice as she moved herself closer to you, standing so her shoulder was slightly in front of yours. Your heart momentarily warmed at the gesture before it was doused in the cold ice of your conscious as you remembered his sickening threats from the last time you and Hoseok were alone ‘I don’t care about the others… I’ll slaughter every one of them in cold blood… I’m going to kill them all for you baby and I’ll make you watch so you can see just how far I’ll go for you’

“No Krystal, don’t!” you cried in a panic as you reached out for Krystal and pulled her into a protective hug, putting your body in front of hers before Hoseok. “You don’t understand,” you whispered in a rush to try and explain. “He’s crazy, he said he was going to kill all of you. I tried to tell Namjoon and he didn’t believe me so I was too scared to tell anyone else, because I was scared you’d think I was crazy.”

You were trying not to cry, you couldn’t panic, you couldn’t be weak again like the state they had found you in last time, but it was so fucking hard. Why did you have to be reaped? Why did one of the tributes have to form an obsession with you? Why was your own district mate an asshole who had invalidated you when trying to protect the alliance? All you had wanted was to not be alone in the arena, and now you had a hope of someone you could trust and she was in danger because of you.

“It’s ok, I’m ok,” Krystal whispered back, patting your lower back reassuringly. But a sudden grasp on your waist from behind pulled you away, causing you to lose your hold on Krystal as you slammed backwards into a hard chest with a cry.

“Yoongi take care of your sister unless you want me taking care of her in the arena,” Hoseok’s voice hissed from behind your ears, making your blood run cold.

“No, don’t hurt her, please, please don’t hurt her,” you begged, twisting in Hoseok’s hold but his arms were locked around you tightly. Yoongi didn’t say a word, walking over to Krystal and putting his hand on her shoulder to lead her away. She initially moved to shake him off but you vigorously shook your head and mouthed ‘go’ to get her to leave.

“We’ll see you at the cornucopia tomorrow,” Yoongi turned back to say, before you exhaled in temporary relief as Krystal reluctantly left with her brother.

“Whatever you do with her, I don’t want any part of it. We’re aligned until six and then that’s it,” Athena sneered, drawing your attention over to her as she glared between Namjoon and Hoseok.

“Fine with me,” Hoseok shrugged. Namjoon who was now leaning casually against the wall merely nodded. You could swear you saw a torn look of sympathy from Athena in your direction, but it was gone in a second as she shook her head in disgust and walked off to re-join Krystal and Yoongi.

With Athena gone the tension that hung in the air was so thick it was suffocating. Namjoon continued to rest against the wall, his arms crossed over his wide chest watching as Hoseok still held you by the waist. With Krystal now safe with her brother away from him you realized there was no longer a need to stay compliant in his grip.

“Namjoon, help,” you hissed, trying to move your arms to shove Hoseok off but they were both pinned to your sides by his hold. Hoseok merely chuckled, instead flexing his muscles and causing his grip to tighten.

“No can do little dove,” Namjoon mocked with a pout, moving off from the wall to stand to his full height. “Your boyfriend here’s the one with the knife in his pocket, and I’m unarmed.”

Namjoon raised his hands in mock surrender, his long legs taking lazy steps to walk around the two of you. Hoseok turned, forcing you to turn with him, to avoid his back being left open. Namjoon ignored him, keeping his eyes on you.

“But don’t worry, because in that arena I’ll be armed, and I’ll take really good care of you then.”

“Like hell,” Hoseok scoffed causing Namjoon to laugh.

“Oh, would you look at the time?” Namjoon was now further down the corridor that separated the bathrooms from the training center, where he could see the large clock on the wall.

“Only five minutes left until end of training before they start preparing for our grading. I’ll leave you two alone for now, but don’t expect this generosity again from me in the arena, 2. I trust you won’t harm our little dove until then…”

And with that lingering comment, Namjoon was gone, abandoning you when you needed him.

You felt Hoseok’s arms beginning to loosen, briefly you thought he was going to release you. But instead you found yourself being turned around to face him and backed against the wall. Any thoughts of pushing him off vanished upon feeling the hard metal of the folded pocket knife pushing against your hip as he caged you in.

“What are you doi-” your question was cut off by Hoseok raising his hand to the side of your face and pushing his thumb over your mouth in warning.

For a moment Hoseok was still. He relished the feeling of your plump lips falling silent beneath his thumb, so pliant, like a kiss against his finger. He watched the rise and fall of your chest as you tried to regulate your breathing, inhaling deep breaths in through your nose causing your lungs to expand and your full breasts to push against his chest. Every little detail about you was so soft, so warm and inviting, like you had been designed purely for him. He was absolutely enamored by you and could spend the rest of his life in this exact moment, feeling you against him, but time was not on his side.

“Look at how they all just left you,” he maliciously purred, his eyes narrowing into a focused glare, “you know they’re going to do the same thing in the arena, darling.”

“That’s not true,” you hissed back, “Krystal tried to stay.”

“And yet all it took for her to leave was a simple pocket knife and her brother. And really, when it comes down to it, who do you think she will choose, Her brother or you?”

You tried to swallow the growing lump in your throat and stayed quiet… he’s just trying to psych you out.

“Meet us in the cornucopia tomorrow, you’ll be much safer with us six than left to fend off eighteen others on your own. You’re smart, you have to know they will chase down any career left alone.”

You frowned but nodded, you had already agreed on this, so you didn’t know why he was bringing it up again.

“Good girl, then you know you have to stay with me once we’re all together. Yoongi sees you as a threat to his sister. Your friendship makes her judgment weak so he will take you out if you’re alone with him. And like I just said, do you really want to side with Krystal when she would choose her brother over you at the end anyway? Athena is threatened by you; thinks you’re distracting me from protecting her in the game as part of our district alliance. I don’t blame her for that though, she is right. I would choose you over her. You know I’d choose you over any of them. And then of course there’s your own district partner, who I’m sure you just heard before… would you trust a man who wants to use your body to sell you to fans from the capital for supplies? The one who didn’t believe you when you tried to warn him about me? The one who just walked away and left you to me now?”

An aching wave of hopelessness washed over your body as you slumped back against the wall. If it wasn’t for Hoseok’s arm holding you upright, you would have just let yourself fall to the ground.

“Please stop,” you whispered, the lump in your throat felt like a golf ball choking you inside.

“I can’t, darling,” Hoseok murmured, his fingers over your lips moving to smooth the faint hairs that had come loose from training back behind your ear.

“Not until you understand that you need me in that arena.” His hand came to rest on the side of your cheek, cradling your face in his palm.

“I’ve trained for this my whole life, I’m the only one you can trust to protect you.”

“But how can I trust you? Like you just said you spent your whole life training for these games, training to kill people like me. It’s all hopeless, no matter who I choose.”

“Don’t say that,” He scolded, shaking you by the hold on your waist.

“You saw me pull that knife on Namjoon before, and I didn’t even know you were there. It’s exactly like I told you on the first day of training, I’ll kill anyone who tries to harm you. No one in that arena matters to me, only you. You’re mine.”

“How can you keep saying that!? We don’t even know each other. I don’t understand how you could possibly feel this way about me. It all just sounds like a cruel way for you to take me to the e-”

Hoseok’s mouth silenced your protests, his lips pushing against yours and hands holding you in place. His kiss was searing and dominant, offering no chance for refusal, though as you felt the shivers running down your spine, you didn’t know if you would have been capable if a chance were provided. You had found him physically attractive the moment you had met, and somehow it was like the passion you had seen in his eyes was magnified a hundredfold through his kiss. He was strong and powerful, yet simultaneously gentle. His arm supporting your waist held your body impossibly close to his, whilst the fingertips from his hand on your face were tenderly stroking the skin on your cheek.

Your eyes had unconsciously closed when his face had moved in to meet yours, which only seemed to heighten your other senses. The places where his body made contact with yours were tingling as if flames from a nearby fire were licking against your skin. Everything about Jung Hoseok was warm; his sun kissed skin, copper hair and the heat radiating from his body into yours. You were stunned, and in your frozen state Hoseok moved his lips against your pliant ones to deepen the kiss, the tip of his tongue dancing along the line of your mouth before sliding inside to meet your own tongue and try to coax it to return with his.

What somehow felt like an eternity was in reality a mere few seconds before an announcement echoed through speakers throughout the training center, instructing tributes to cease everything and make your way to a designated area for the mandatory final assessments to shortly begin. Hoseok broke the kiss, leaving you breathless as he whispered upon your lips,

“If you can’t believe my words, then believe that.”

Pressing his lips back to yours quickly once more, he finally pulled back.

“Come on, we have to go.”

You mutely allowed Hoseok to lead you out of the corridor and back into the training center where a Capitol representative with a clipboard was lining everyone up to be taken to the waiting area. There was no talking from anyone as you were all put into your lines and made to follow the representative into a smaller room, whilst the training center was to be rearranged. The waiting room was small and cold with metallic coloring. Black chairs were organized by districts and you were told that one by one you would be brought before the judges to present your chosen skill, where you would then be graded on a score out of twelve. The scores would be announced later in the afternoon, before your final interviews with Caesar Flickerman in the evening.

You wordlessly sat beside Namjoon, not even looking in his direction even though you could occasionally feel him trying to catch your eye. No doubt he would want to dissect your conversation with Hoseok but you had no interest in telling him about anything that had happened. Especially not after how he had treated you the last time you had tried to warn him. Instead you kept your eyes solely on the ground, nervously bouncing your leg as you worried about your upcoming grading.

Everything was happening so fast. It felt like only moments ago when your name had been reaped, since then you had already travelled by train, appeared in the parade and completed your three days of training. You felt sick in your stomach at the thought that the short time that had passed between your reaping and this very moment could possibly be longer than the time you had between now and when you would meet your end in the arena. You immediately tried to stamp that thought out, trying to hold back the overwhelming wave of grief threatening to crash over you. You couldn’t let yourself go down without a fight and giving in to the misery would only reduce you to a walking corpse.

“District 1, female.”

The man with the clipboard had returned to the room to officially begin the assessments. You noted how he didn’t even call for Krystal by her name, just a district number and her assigned gender. How cold and clinical, much like the room they were keeping you in. You wondered if reducing tributes to numbers without names made it possible for the man to sleep at night, knowing he was part of a system that sent innocent children to the slaughter every year.

“District 1, male.”

As Yoongi left with the clipboard man you couldn’t help but notice Krystal didn’t come back into the room with him. So you would be allowed to return to the dorm and prepare for the interviews as soon as you were done. You were grateful this would at least mean a few hours’ break from Hoseok, you would just have to lock yourself in your room quickly before Namjoon would finish after you, and try to interrogate you in your living quarters.

“District 2, female.”

No one had spoken since the line up. All too focused on mentally preparing for the assessment. You felt for the younger tributes who had never picked up a weapon before a week ago, now having to present themselves as fighters before a panel with only 3 days of training. Once again you were grateful for your father for his insistence on training you with a knife, which at least gave you somewhat of a starting point to work with.

“District 2, male.”

You kept your head down and eyes on the floor, watching as two pairs of shoes walked directly past you on their way out of the room.

“No kiss good luck?” Namjoon snickered next to you, deliberately keeping his voice quiet enough that only you could hear him.

You ignored him.

“What’s the matter, trouble in paradise?” he mocked again.

You continued to ignore him, making sure your eyes were pointed on the exact same spot you had been staring at on the ground since you had sat down. Your knee continued to bounce at the exact same pace. You didn’t want to give him a single flinch, not even a minute sign of a reaction, given that was exactly what he was trying to get. You wondered what he was trying to achieve by riling you up. Did he want you to snap back at him and get in trouble? There had been no specific instruction not to talk, the weight of the occasion had instead resulted in the silence, so you doubted it. Most probably, he wanted to get in your head and psych you out before your assessment, likely trying to lower your score. Internally you scoffed, it’s not like you were a major threat to him anyway. You both knew you weren’t a trained career like he was. He was already going to outscore you anyway.

“District 3, female.”

Namjoon had gone from dictating your alliance, to spitting in the face of your concerns, to now mocking you. You wondered if he would’ve treated an actual trained career better if someone had volunteered for the females of 4. Perhaps it was to do with his ego that Hoseok had singled you out and wanted to work with you, even though he was clearly the more powerful tribute between you. He had taken it as a threat. A threat to his chances if you did side with Hoseok given Hoseok and Namjoon were on near equal footing, and the thought you had chosen Hoseok could have been seen as some act of betrayal. Never mind the fact you had done everything you could to try and avoid Hoseok, including telling Namjoon himself and asking for his help. Was he really that stupid enough to be mad you didn’t continue to beg him after his rejection?

“District 3, male.”

You supposed if he hypothetically succeeded and did psych you out into getting a terrible score it would be his own way of re-establishing himself as the desired tribute from 4. A reminder over your head that you weren’t a real career, and being brought into their alliance was an act of charity. A mercy killing to grace you with their presence before taking you out later in the game as an easy option. You longed to prove him wrong. Not just him but Hoseok also, the both of them for thinking you were pathetic and in need of their protection. His mockery and attempted sabotage was only acting as fuel to your fire.

“District 4, female.”

Your head snapped up to see the clipboard man standing in front of you. Wordlessly you nodded and got to your feet. You ignored the feeling of the eyes from the other tributes in the room staring at you as you had to walk past them to the exit. You were lead back down the same pathway you had taken from the training complex to the waiting room, only this time when you re-entered the training center you were the only person inside. Clipboard man hung back in the corridor and the only other people you could see were the game makers through the window in their viewing room. The center layout had been rearranged, with dummies and targets placed in optimum viewing range from the game makers’ vantage point.

“L/N, F/N, District 4, Female, 18 years of age” a voice crackled through the speakers overhead by means of introduction, as you walked over to the marked spot on the floor you had been instructed to stand.

It was a strange feeling looking up at the pompous judges dressed in their flamboyant outfits with pretentiously fluorescent dyed hair and beards. It was as if they were dressed up for an expensive night on the town and you, and the other twenty-three, were their performers for the evening. It was weirdly easy to put the judges in the back of your mind, despite being able to clearly see the room of around twenty people intently staring at you with interest. The all looked so fictional and outlandish that it was easy to dismiss them as some sort of strange figment of your imagination. They didn’t look like real people, which somehow made it possible for you compartmentalize them as imaginary, and instead focus on the task at hand.

Looking at the assortment of weapons on display, you mostly ignored the large range on offer and went straight for the knives. Running your fingertips along the handles you picked out a hunting knife with a blade that would have been around 8 inches long. There were smaller, thinner, knives specifically made for throwing on offer, however the ones you had practiced with back at home were the larger kind on your boat. Gingerly you bounced the handle in your palm, trying to get a quick feel for the weight. Looking up you examined the range of targets that were on display – some quite close and others much further.

You went for the closest target, that was five meters away, as a warm up.

Thwack

The blade sailed easily through the air landing in the yellow zone, on the first circle outside of the bulls-eye. You shrugged your shoulders and rolled your neck with an exhale, not a bad start and a good way to get the nerves under control.

You retrieved a second knife from weapons trolley and took your aim for the next target that was ten meters away.

Thwack

Another yellow circle, except this time your knife landed in the second circle outside from the bulls-eye. Your pursed your lips with a shake of your head. It was still in a decent range but you were hoping to improve on your last throw rather than getting further from the bulls-eye.

You went back for another knife, choosing another one like the last two you had thrown, and lined up for the fifteen-meter target.

Thwack

Red zone, just outside the yellow. If you were aiming at a person, rather than a circle, that would have been lucky to connect. You let out a sharp exhale with a sigh, you weren’t doing bad – you’d made contact with all three targets so far – but you weren’t establishing yourself as a threat either. Not on the level that you knew the other careers were going to be scoring.

Returning to the weapons rack you found there to be one knife left that was in the same size range as the others you had used so far. You turned the knife over in your hand weighing up your final options. There was a final target twenty meters away, but with the rate you were throwing, you’d highly likely just continue to move further away from the bulls-eye. You could always try to throw on one of the other targets again and work to improve your existing result, but it would be difficult to improve much on the first impression of being ‘good, but not great’. Your last option would be the dummies. The dummies were situated on the opposite side of the targets and provided a more human edge to demonstrations. You had elected to use targets in the hope of showcasing solid aim through a bulls-eye, but that hadn’t exactly worked out. With one knife left you decided to try and showcase something a little more realistic.

The dummies were grey and faceless, just human shapes of rubber, which was a lot different from what you would be facing in real life within the arena. If you couldn’t land a shot on a stationary figure you were practically as good as dead. Not only did you need to prove a score to the judges, but you wanted this for your own confidence. With a frown, you turned and launched your blade ten meters across the room into the head of a dummy with a satisfying Thwack.

You didn’t bother to look up to the balcony and see their whispers and nods of approval, instead walking straight over to the dummy and pulling the knife out from the rubber. You weren’t finished yet; you were going to show them what a fishing district knew how to do best…

Grasping the handle, you plunged the blade into the sternum, deep enough to reach what would be the back bone of a human, and dragged the blade down to the pelvis. Pulling the knife out you made horizontal slashes along the chest and the hip where your line down the body had began and ended. Tossing the knife aside, you reached your hands inside of the dummy, pulling it open.

Granted the physical anatomies between a fish and a human were quite different, but the concept of gutting was quite easy to get across.

Once the assessment was over you were lead back to your living quarters. With the pressure subsiding and adrenaline wearing off, you found your hands beginning to tremble. You were thankful to have your water bottle as some sort of distraction, shakily taking sips to try and calm yourself down. By the time you finally arrived back to the dorm you were only able to answer Finnick’s “How did you go?” with a quick “fine” as you hurriedly rushed to your bedroom, not wanting to stick around and see Namjoon again until you absolutely had to.

The assessments were scheduled to run until 4:00pm, with the results being broadcast at 4:30pm, before tributes were due to report at the auditorium at 5:00pm to begin preparing for interviews. You were grateful to be from one of the earlier districts, which left you with more free time between the conclusion of your assessment and your next schedule. Your bedroom contained its own en suite bathroom so the first thing you did upon entering was strip off your clothes and head for the shower.

You spent a long time under the hot running water, sitting on the tiles and letting the shower cover up the sound of your crying. It had become somewhat of a routine for you to return from training and cry under the safety of your showerhead where no one else could see or judge you for it. The emotional toll it took to bury your feelings and avoid crying in the training center, in front of the career pack, in front of the judges, or out of fear every waking moment of your life now was strenuous. The shower was your haven, a place where you could wash away the sweat and grime from your day, and allow some form of pent up release. Today’s shower would be the longest one you had taken since entering the capital.

A knock and Finnicks’ muffled voice through the door told you it was after 4:00pm and the results would be broadcast soon, so you reluctantly turned off the taps and began to dry off. You were told that hair, make up and styling would take place in the auditorium later, so you dressed in the most comfortable clothing that you had been provided with; a cashmere sweater and matching sweatpants. You waited in your room as long as possible, before putting on a pair of slippers and walking out to the lounge room at 4:30pm.

Finnick, Periwinkle and Namjoon were all seated on the sofa facing the giant television, which was currently displaying Caesar Flickerman and a co-host you didn’t recognize behind a desk. Wordlessly you joined them, choosing a spot next to Periwinkle on the lounge, the opposite side of where Namjoon was sitting.

“And now for the moment you’ve all been waiting for, the scores!”

You frowned at how enthusiastic Caesar seemed to be over his job. His mouth was spread into a wide grin, showing off his artificially white teeth, and his emerald green eyes (that had to be contact lenses) were practically glowing with excitement. You all sat in dead silence, if it weren’t for Caesar’s voice reading out District 1 you would have been able to hear a pin drop. The results weren’t surprising to you in the least. Krystal and Yoongi both scored 9s, Athena a 9 too and Hoseok 11. The girl from District 3 who had fallen in front of you on the monkey bars only managed a dismal score, the same as her district number. Her male partner only fared slightly better with a 5.

“District 4, F/N, L/N! Oh, she certainly captured many people’s attention at the parade, but is she as deadly as she is beautiful?”

You rolled your eyes with a scoff.

“You better not do that when he talks to you on stage,” Finnick warned.

You sarcastically put on an overly fake smile and fluttered your eye lashes back at him, until your expression was wiped blank by Caesar’s next words.

“Miss L/N, 10.”

Your jaw dropped as Periwinkle burst into enthusiastic applause, Finnick cocked an eyebrow with an impressed nod and Namjoon let out a low whistle.

“Someone’s been hiding something~,” Namjoon sing-songed as you closed your open mouth and took in a deep breath. You shook your head.

“Just the same knife throwing I’ve been practicing,” you replied.

Technically that was not a lie, just an omission of the gutting part. You wondered what it was about your little stunt that had pleased the judges so much. You were hoping to bump yourself to an 8 or 9 to at least try and blend in with the careers, instead you had somehow managed to establish yourself as a threat amongst them. With how much you had been pushed around so far you were glad to at least have one moment of impact. But now you had to be worried about the extra target being a threat could potentially put on your back.

Namjoon didn’t reply further as Caesar read his name and announced his score of 9.

You blanched. There was no way in hell you were more skilled than Namjoon was with a weapon. You looked over, expecting him to be furious, but he merely sat there with a content expression on his face nodding at the TV.

“Someone’s been hiding something,” you repeated Namjoon’s words back to him.

Namjoon’s only response was a smirk.

You didn’t like the way he looked like he knew far more than what he was sharing.

I'm a bit annoyed because I planned to combine the final training day and interviews into one chapter. But I found it was starting to get too long, as this part was already hitting 7000 words.

Next chapter will be the interviews and fallout from certain things the characters say in them

Chapter after will FINALLY be what everyone here wants (especially me) - the actual Hunger Games in the arena

Sorry to keep dragging it out, my brain hates me.

#yandere hoseok #yandere bts #yandere #yandere bts fic #yandere jung hoseok #bts x reader #dark bts #dark bts au #y!hoseok #hoseok fic #hoseok x reader #hoseok au #dark jhope #HUNGER GAMES AU

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kunikiiida-kuuun · 4 years

Text

A Promise in the Moonlight (Kunikida x Reader)

In a world that went pitch dark, I hear a voice.

Kunikida was seeing them again.

Those detectives and their bereaved families.

Rokuzo.

Sasaki.

Those little children.

That little girl who died before his eyes. Her tiny hands pulling the string, eyes full of a single, undeniable emotion; fear.

They asked him repeatedly, why didn't he save them? Why?

In the dream, he shot them down with his own hands. And then he screamed until his voice was hoarse.

He woke with a jostle; his body was sweating all over, his own breath coming out in heavy pants and blankets strewn apart. It was just a dream. Or was it? No, it was the reality. He had failed to save them. They had died, right in front of him. He had been responsible for their all their deaths. His ideal, everything- It was his own fault.

His body felt heavy and paralyzed as if he was being tied down. No, no-

His attention was drawn to a soft knock on his door.

You stood hesitantly outside the door to Kunikida's room, drawing your shrug close to you. You had heard someone scream. No, you were sure it was him.

A whole minute passes, and there is no sound or movement from his room. You wait for a few seconds more, and then sigh. Perhaps it had been your imagination, or maybe you were dreaming.

Before you can go back to your room, the door slides open, and Kunikida's tired form is revealed in front of you. He was sweating, and his hair was in disarray. But there was an unmistakable pain in his eye. With a slight jolt, you realize he had been dreaming.

"Kunikida... I heard someone scream..." You start with uncertainty, as you didn't want to do anything that would upset him more. "Is everything oka-"

Kunikida draws you into a tight hug. His form is shaking slightly, shoulders quivering, so you pull him closer, understanding his pain.

The frightful rain that doesn’t seem to stop, stops.

You fill a glass of water and hand it to Kunikida, who sits at the dining table, lost in his thoughts. He thanks you curtly and takes a sip.

A whirlwind of thoughts swirl around in his head and every thought seems to threaten his ideals, the foundation of his life. They threaten to knock him down, and he is afraid and maybe, in the depths of his hearts, he deserves it. He deserves to be struck down because he let those innocent people suffer. How could he repent for those valuable lives?

He draws back as he feels you touch his shoulder, and he is immediately pained because he doesn't want to hurt you. He couldn't get you involved in this; you who remained untouched by any pain or misery. He was painfully aware of those worried glances you were sending his way. He doesn't want you to look at him like that. More than anything in the world, he couldn't bear to see you sad or worried because of him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" you ask Kunikida softly.

He stiffens up a bit and doesn't reply. He was afraid that if he tried to speak, he would break. He doesn't want to scare you. He was a member of the Armed Detective Agency. He couldn't let himself be vulnerable like this. He had to be strong; for you, for everyone.

Besides, he couldn't let you carry his burdens. It was his alone to face.

After a few moments of silence, you speak up, "You know what you look like to me, Kunikida?"

This seems to pull him out of his thoughts, and he wonders why you were asking this out of the blue.

"A flower."

A myriad of strange expressions passes over Kunikida's face at once and you can't help but laugh. He looks at you incredulously, at how you could possibly associate a brusque, not to mention ideal man like him to a flower out of all things in the world.

"Kunikida, have you ever looked after a plant?" You smile at him innocently. Without waiting for an answer, you continue, "You need to water it sufficiently...provide it lots of sunlight...and you need to give a lot of love and patience..."

You drift off for a few moments and he looks unsure of where you were taking this conversation.

"Just like how you don't rip out it's leaves when a flower doesn't bloom according to your expectations, you can't keep punishing yourself for your failures.” He stares at you, absorbing the depth of what you said.

"It's okay to grieve. After all, tears are only water, and flowers cannot grow without water.” You give him a small smile, “But there must be sunlight too. A wounded heart will heal in time, and when it does, the memory and feelings of our lost ones is sealed inside to comfort us." You steady your voice, pulling him out of the darkness of his thoughts before it absorbs him completely.

You take his hand in yours and grasp it firmly, "Until then, please let me be there for you."

I was hiding and trembling with fear, crying all alone.

But when I woke up, the sunlight that was welcoming me was,

Kunikida remains speechless, eyes clouded by the shine of his glasses. Slowly, he takes his glasses off and brings both your hands close to his face. Closing his eyes, with a soft smile on his face, he utters only two words, conveying the only thought reverberating the immense warmth in his heart.

"Thank you."

You.

You’re my sunshine.

-x

As Kunikida settles into his bed, you finally let go of his hand. You throw him a smile and adjust your shrug around your body, "I'll see you in the morning."

"Yeah, thanks." He replies, taking a deep breath.

Just as you turn to leave, Kunikida grabs your hand, "Y/N, will you stay with me?" he requests.

You purse your lips in surprise at this. To begin with, it was one of Kunikida's ideals as specified in his notebook, that unless married, even if they are in an established relationship, man and woman cannot stay in the same room. That was the reason you stayed in the same apartment but slept in different rooms.

You are silent for way too long and Kunikida quickly changes his mind, "No, sorry just forget-"

"Okay."

He is silent as you settle down beside him. You feel your heart pound too loudly in your heart as you look into his green-grey eyes and he stares into yours. Dim moonlight streams into the room and the night is tranquil. His messy blonde locks almost appear brown and you resist the urge to immediately weave your fingers through it.

There is a tense silence as neither of you move, while you wait for your heart to calm down.

Strangely, you found yourself feeling a little nervous, and you felt clueless about this feeling. He was your boyfriend, you remind yourself and besides, he was the man you trusted the most. As a result of your heightened nerves, you blurt out weirdly, "I-I hope I don't snore tonight."

You want to punch yourself for saying such a stupid thing. Why were you such an expert at ruining good moments? Relief washes over you as Kunikida lets out a low chuckle.

"That's fine by me, so don't worry about it at all." He entwines your hands with his. With his other hand, he tenderly tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. You feel a blush creeping up your neck at his gentleness. Kunikida may be strict and focused at work, but his affection and tender attitude towards you behind closed doors never failed to surprise you.

But tonight it was a little different. When he asked you to stay with him, it feels like he has broken away from his standard protocol; temporarily abandoned his outer shell and let you in. And it truly made you happy, because he was finally putting himself first and allowed you to be there for him.

You squeeze his hand back in reassurance. "Tonight, I will protect Kunikida!" you say with such sudden sureness, you surprise yourself.

"Since, Kunikida is always protecting me, tonight it's my turn. I'll protect you from those bad dreams. I'll make sure they don't come back to bother you." you say in an almost comical manner. You expect him to laugh it off or ridicule you for saying such a thing. After all, the mighty Kunikida requiring protection of a powerless non-ability user as you?

But he does no such thing.

Instead he closes his eyes and brings your entwined hands to his lips and kisses your knuckles, a peaceful smile gracing his face. "I'm sure you will."

Your heart skips a beat and you find tears gathering at the corner of your eyes. At that moment, you forget everything, and your head is clouded by a single thought; a wish for only his happiness.

You wrap your arms around him, finally closing the little distance between the two of you and bury your head in his chest.

Please, make all this man's pain disappear. Let him find happiness again. You wish in your mind to any existing divine power out there.

He strokes your head softly, running his fingers along your hair, and it is the most soothing feeling in the world, steadily lulling you to sleep. You decide that this is now your favorite place in the world; wrapped in Kunikida's arms, safe and secure. You don't know how much time has passed when you manage to get out the words.

"Promise me, Kunikida. Promise me that you will forgive yourself."

You don't know how long it took for him to reply. You are barely aware of anything, aside from the warmth from being close to him. But after what feels like an eternity, he whispers back, "I promise."

#kunikida x reader #kunikida doppo x reader #kunikida doppo #kunikida imagines #bsd imagines #bungou stray dogs imagines #kunikida doppo imagines #bsd fanfic #kunikida fluff #bsd x reader #reader x character #lmaooo i worked so much on this still i find it meh asaojkl #i kept revising it so much #this was inspired by a lovely tumblr post i saw sometime back #and a nice song i was listening to

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graceverse · 3 years

Text

Oh there's a third part?!!!

Please note that this is post "The Final" movie. This happened around 2 months after Kenshin and Enishi's fight.

An Unexpected Invitation

Part III

There was no letup in the heat, which unfortunately had gotten worst the moment they arrived at the burning warehouse. The air simmered as flames licked and climbed through walls and roof. They could hear the woods creaking and groaning before finally collapsing with a loud crash, like the sound of booming thunder moments before the storm hit. It didn't take long before feathery-light as snow but dark and acrid soot started to rain down on them.

They were told to move back and Kenshin and Yahiko, shifted with the small crowd that had gathered to watch the conflagration, the largest they've had this summer. There were whispers of apprehension that the warehouse used to store gunpowder, but fears of a possible explosion was allayed when Police Chief Uramura assured them that the old building had been unused since spring and was definitely empty when it had caught fire.

The police around them grumbled about ruffians who were last seen loitering around the vicinity, though it was still unclear how or who started the fire. The day was thankfully saved by the quick and able response of Tokyo's fire department, but the building alas, was unsalvageable.

There really was no need for them to stay behind but they waited until the fire had been completely put out; better be safe than sorry. They kept watch of everyone, particularly looking out for possible suspects. Arsonists are almost always caught observing their crime, finding some sick sort of pleasure in watching that which they have turned turn into ashes.

Frowning, Kenshin moved his head for just a fraction of an inch, confirming that Saitou was among the curious onlookers, standing just a few feet away from them, and as always, smoking a cigar. The Mibu Wolf was consistent at least when it comes to his nasty habit, regardless of the weather or the place. He'd probably still be smoking while trapped in a blizzard. Kenshin gently nudged Yahiko and nodded over at Saitou's direction.

If he hadn't known any better, Kenshin would have thought him the guilty pyromaniac; the dour expression on his face and the usual dangerous air about him made for a perfect suspect. Of course, burning empty old buildings would be too boring for Saitou, who thrived in the quiet kind of chaos. He liked the mental games and the manipulations, which was how he undoubtedly secured his position as a government spy.

As though feeling their eyes on him – not that they were trying to be discreet anyway – Saitou glanced over at them, sneered and rolled his eyes before carelessly tossing his still lit cigarette. He let out a satisfied smile, lips curling to bare his teeth, as Yahiko yelped in surprise, frantically trying to brush the cigarette out of his hair.

Narrowing his eyes, Kenshin glanced down to find that it had fallen right in front of him. He quickly squashed it, its embers winking out underneath his sandals. When he looked up, Saitou was already gone, disappearing with most of the nosy town folks who were already dispersing, bored now as the police started clearing away the debris that littered the streets.

What are you doing here, Saitou? Kenshin didn't particularly liked that last sneer sent their way. He had a feeling it was directed at him and not at Yahiko. He hadn't seen Saitou since last winter, when he had still been recuperating from his wounds. Under the wrathful eyes of Kaoru, Saitou had come to the dojo to ask him what he knew about Yukishiro Enishi before he had become a smuggler of weapons and battleships.

It had shocked Kenshin to find out that Enishi had sold the ironclad Rengoku to Shishio. That some sort of transaction had transpired between the two had sent a chill down his spine. He had tried to hide the shiver that went through him, but sharp eyed as always, Kaoru had caught it and had immediately proceeded to kick Saitou out of their house, official police investigation be damned.

"Come back when he's all healed. Or maybe just do you job and not come back at all!"

For a moment, Kenshin had actually been worried that he'd have to try and physically restrain Kaoru from punching Saitou when he had arrogantly replied that his job would be so much easier if people like Kenshin didn't do stupid things that would eventually come back to bite them in their ass.

And anyway, it wasn't like he could give Saitou helpful information. He had barely known Enishi. He'd been a quiet boy who skulked every time they were together in the same room, fiercely glaring at him from the fringes of his dark bangs (back then his hair was as dark as Tomoe's). Kenshin had been slightly bothered by the blatant dislike of his young brother-in-law; they weren't so terribly far in age and he had harbored some secret hope that one day, they could become a family. Him and Tomoe and Enishi. That he all but abandoned him when Tomoe had died shattered that hope.

It was a constant guilt that nagged at him: why hadn't he tried to find Enishi? If only he had – but he hadn't been in the right frame of mind; his grief had prevented him from even thinking about anything else. And Enishi had hated him and Kenshin had hated himself – and two boys (because he had been a boy back then) living together filled with hatred – it would have been impossible even back then, for him to have taken Enishi under his protection. How could he, when he couldn't even protect his own wife?

Kenshin felt Yahiko sharply elbowing him, pulling him out of his own dark reflections. He hadn't given Enishi any thought since last winter, odd to suddenly start thinking of him now. But yes, Yahiko was trying to catch his attention. Plastering his usual smile, Kenshin realized that some of the police were giving them small nods of thanks, in obvious acknowledgement of their effort to come and check if they needed any help.

This was a common enough occurrence, assisting the police and they have always been appreciative. It made up for, well not exactly bother – more like an inconvenience that he did actively sought out. After all, it was something that Kenshin he had sheepishly looked forward too.

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

There wasn't anything wrong with finally settling into the peaceful, daily rhythm of the dojo. It soothed him like nothing else; he loved how mundane his life had become of late. A welcome blessing, truly. But a small part of him still harkened for some way to help, no matter how unexceptional it may be. Indeed, he rather preferred assisting in the more common struggles of their small community as opposed to the much more dangerous tasks of trying to save Tokyo or as before, the whole of Japan. Those involved too much politics and he hated becoming a part of that, even if it was for just a little while. Politics felt too dirty.

Helping out their neighbors was highly fulfilling and best of all, it didn't endanger the person most precious to him. And this was something he was certainly tired of. Having to constantly worry about the threats from his past coming to drag him and everyone else into a fight for whatever reason they have: vengeance, to right a perceived wrong, a quest to best a legend. The list of his transgressions and his victims are endless and there was no telling what would motivate any of his enemies to kill him. Kenshin had long ago accepted that this will be a frequent occurrence in his life, given his past. It troubled him to a certain point but what he couldn't find acceptable was that it also meant that the people he cared for were also threatened, turned into targets. A pawn to draw him out.

It made him angry. The kind that he could quietly hide, but the burn of it, the sting of it, could not be completely extinguished. It was a worrying realization but he understood that it was part of who he is: that deep seated rage, always just below the surface. He just needed to control it – not fight it, not deny it, not be ashamed of it, but harness it – as best as he could. That understanding didn't come so easy but he had, over the years, learned this lesson. He had to treat it just like every other emotion that he was capable of feeling.

Sadness. Fear. Pain. Love. Joy.

His thoughts immediately drifted and he could feel his lips curling up in the smallest of smiles.

Kaoru.

She would sometimes help out too, mostly when the police needed to stop some petty criminal or drunkard making trouble, much to his silent dismay and the loud complaints from Sano and Yahiko – which was done mostly for his sake, because he'd always have that tense look whenever Kaoru insisted on joining in on the fray. Surprisingly perceptive, Sano and Yahiko would use it to redirect Kaoru's annoyance and help alleviate the tension-filled moments of stare down between the two of them.

It was fine if Kaoru and Yahiko fought. It was amusing when Kaoru and Sano argued. But it was different when it was the two of them. It made everyone else uncomfortable and everything was done to try and diffuse the situation.

He didn't want to fight with Kaoru but it was inevitable, they were both too stubborn for their own good. He didn't think it could ever truly be called as a fight anyway as he would never explicitly tell her of his disapproval; would never be vocal about his displeasure. Kenshin would make non-committal grunts whenever Kaoru dared him to make her stay at home and do nothing while they were out helping the police. He'd long since memorized her arguments, all of them valid: she is a capable fighter; could easily and effectively hit the more harmless offenders without permanently injuring them. She was definitely the most level headed, the least hot-tempered and wasn't prone to doing foolish things. She'd fought with the Oniwabanshū in Kyoto and they had let her.

Kaoru found it deeply insulting that she would not be allowed in any of their adventures. It wasn't that he didn't trust her or her abilities. He just couldn't stand the thought of her being hurt – he could bear any kind of pain and for her, he would – all except for her pain. It was maddening sometimes how couldn't say 'no' to her, despite his better judgement. To not agree with her would be to disrespect her and Kenshin would rather swallow glass. He just had to allow all the fear and worry settle at the pit of his stomach, take hold of his heart and steal his breath and then do everything he can to protect her.

I'll let you come with us, Kaoru. I'll let you fight but Kami help anyone who would dare hurt you.

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

Kenshin always made sure that she was well within his line of sight and if any idiot ever got close enough to touch her, well – bodies flew, as promised. He had had enough of men taking her. Jin-eh. Soijuro. Enishi. Once was already unbearable, but for it to have happened three times was just down right unacceptable. No more. Never ever again.

In complete contrast to his quiet temper, Kaoru expressed her exasperation by running the opposite direction of wherever he was. It never failed to stir in him equal amounts of trepidation and admiration and sometimes – sometimes, there was a strange hint of eroticism in the way Kaoru would fearlessly charge at members of the yakuza; her battle scream and ki something he could almost taste and this, he secretly savored.

He would, of course, pivot to follow her, sending death glares ahead so that by the time Kaoru had faced their opponents, mindless thugs mostly but the smarter ones at least had enough sense to run away from her, out of sheer terror at the red-haired demon just idly standing behind the screaming girl carrying a bokken.

Kenshin knew that it made Kaoru feel more like a child and oh, how she hated the constant, worrying attention that he couldn't help but shower her. That he still called her Kaoru-dono seemed an even greater sting to her pride. Even though, in truth, in his mind he had learned to call her just by her name. Or at times, even beloved.

Kaoru beloved, I understand. I do.

It all came back to being repeatedly taken against her will. She wanted it made clear that she was not a weakness but a source of strength. That she was his equal and together, they can move forward and face the future. He could see it so clearly in the proud way she'd tilt her head, chin jutting out in defiance.

Kaoru wanted to prove that she would be a suitable partner for him. Homemaking skills aside, she could take care of him and protect him too. And really, Kenshin didn't mind the housework. It made him happy doing the little things for her. It meant that she could find time to rest or indulge in the things that she liked. It mattered little to him that she wasn't the typical Japanese wife who stayed at home doing wifely duties. He wouldn't be a typical Japanese husband to be certain, what with his tainted past and its shadow always looming down on him. What right did he have to demand that of her?

She was strong willed and modern and knew exactly what she wanted and how to get it. He admired that in her. And she had as much right as all the men to pursue her interests and dreams. It was the kind of life that he had wanted, dreamed and fought for. This world, this era where anyone could freely aspire to become better versions of themselves.

And it touched him to the very core of his heart that this girl – no, no this woman, so strong and so filled with light, found him worthy enough to want to share the warmth of her home and her future, so bright with possibilities, with him.

Kaoru really didn't need to prove anything; his heart already belongs to her. All of him belongs to her. Kaoru is his home now and will always be, but Kenshin was also aware that trying to show her worthiness wasn't really for him but for her. After all, he felt exactly the same way, this need to be worthy of her kindness, of her devotion, of this life of joy that she was offering him, his to take.

Not that their relationship had significantly progressed enough for Kenshin to initiate anything other than taking her hand and holding it clasped inside his or to even stop calling her Kaoru-dono. Frankly, he didn't think he could ever be so bold as to call her just by her name in front of other people, but there has been a silent understanding between them that eventually, it will happen.

It wasn't a question of when he would be brave enough to tell her with words and not just with actions. Kenshin will always find courage in her smile, in the way she'd look at him: all fierce and gentle and promising. It was that he rather enjoyed this time they had together, this gentle unfolding of their affection.

He had only ever experienced this once in his life and it had been sudden and abrupt. The swiftness of his romance with Tomoe had been borne out of his own impetuousness; he had been young and desperate for warmth and companionship. Being a shadow in the dark, a dreaded secret, a rumored monster – it made him feel cold and inhuman. And maybe, that it had stared out so quickly was why it had ended the way it did, with the silver arc of a sword and violence of death.

He wanted to savor it this time: the shy glances, the soft look in her eyes, the tenderness in her smile, the way her cheeks would turn dusty pink whenever they caught each other's eyes, the way the smallest, lightest of touches could send his heart racing like he had just performed a Ryūtsuisen. That thrill of launching himself up to air and then free falling - it was getting all the blood pumping exhilaration from a fight without the fight.

It was all so new to him and even in his age, he found himself feeling as though he had reclaimed a part of his youth he thought he had lost so long ago.

Just moments before the alarm for the fire had sounded, Kenshin remembered feeling so utterly relaxed and clamed, just quietly sitting by the engawa, Kaoru's presence always a soothing balm to his weary heart. He had his eyes closed, inhaling the subtle scent of jasmine, listening to her breathing and smirking at the annoyed snort she'd let out as she tugged at the collar of her kimono. The heat made him feel almost drowsy, on the verge of falling asleep and dreaming wonderful dreams of Kaoru and the warmth of her skin, the slide of her hair against his calloused fingers -

But damn that fire for breaking that spell.

Kenshin was looking forwards to coming home and finding Kaoru right where he had left her. He hoped she had gotten a nice afternoon nap and now that he had spent so much of his time thinking of her and their burgeoning relationship, Kenshin thought perhaps he was taking things a little too slow.

Later, after dinner he'd invite Kaoru to sit with him at the engawa, just as they had done earlier. But this time, no matter what kind of alarm would sound through the night, he would not leave her side.

Tonight, he will choose her.

It was time that they moved forwards and Kenshin was ready to tell her everything that he has been keeping inside of him.

Tonight, will be the night of tender confessions.

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

It was nearing twilight when they rounded the corner towards the dojo, the summer sky the color of over ripe oranges and peaches, streaked with the same shade of dark blue that reminded Kenshin of Kaoru's midnight colored hair. And as though his thoughts had the power to conjure her, they spotted her standing just outside the gates, clearly waiting for them.

Kenshin frowned. Even from a distance, he could tell that she was not in the best of her moods. Her hands were resting on her waist; back rigidly straight, her shoulder a tense and angry line. He stretched out his senses, like a net being thrown into the ocean and felt only the spark of annoyance from Kaoru and just a hint of fear – small enough to not make him worry. They had been gone for a while and he could understand her anxiety, it was just like her to -

Wait.

There was no other ki that he could sense but - there -right there! Kenshin tensed, coming to a sudden halt, Yahiko almost stumbling beside him. A blankness. Deliberate. Like small punched hole against a span of blank canvass. Someone was trying to hide their own ki. The effort to smother it, to prevent its detection was barely palpable. It can only be done by someone who was like him. Someone as strong. Maybe even stronger.

He lengthened his stride, hurrying over to where Kaoru was standing, already feeling the familiar sharpened claws of fears sinking into his chest. And with that, the ever-present anger stirring inside of him, enough to wake up the coiled, slumbering dragon.

"Kenshin! Wait, what's going on?!" Yahiko shouted after him and Kenshin fought the urge to turn his head and glare at the boy, whose yell would have undoubtedly alerted their presence to whoever was trying to hide from him. He warily glanced at the ginko trees that lined the streets. (Where are you hiding, you bastard? No matter, we will settle this.)

"Hey, slow down!"

This made him do just the opposite. He had to bite his own tongue so as not to yell at Kaoru. He wanted very badly to tell her to go inside, bar the doors and wait for him. She probably wouldn't understand him, he was still too far, so he kept his mouth shut, sending a silent prayer that Yahiko does the same.

Yahiko could not have known, Kenshin reminded himself. Clamping down at the frustration that he felt, he only quickened his pace yet again, now practically running towards Kaoru who had turned her head towards them, no doubt having heard Yahiko's voice. Kenshin grimaced. He wanted to get to Kaoru now and drag her back inside the dojo. Hide her away from everyone who wished him harm, who wanted to steal and ruin the precious happiness that he had found after years and years of misery and loneliness.

Never again. He reminded himself. Never. Again. It was a silent chant that kept his anger in check. He was close enough now to see the alarm in Kaoru's face and his momentum almost made him run right into her, but he turned just slightly to his right, grabbing Kaoru's hand and nudging her to her to his left side, where she would be safe if he needed to draw his sakabatou. He started wordlessly pulling her inside, but she tugged back, feet firmly planted on the ground, effectively stopping him from moving forwards.

Yahiko had caught up with them breathing heavily. "Wha—" he started but this time, Kenshin silenced him with a look. Understanding finally dawning on him and Yahiko quickly took out his shinai.

Kaoru glared at both of them. "What is going on?!" She hissed; her wrist still caught inside his grasp. He could feel the jumpiness of her pulse and when he glanced down, he saw it: a faint blue-violet bruise. A circular band around her wrist, someone who had held on too tightly. And it was fairly new. It had not been there this morning. He was certain of this because he had been discreetly admiring her hands and how strong it looked, not at all bird-like or easily broken. But now, it was marred by the slight discoloration on her skin and he was angry.

"Who did this to you? Are you hurt elsewhere?" He questioned, his voice hardening. Kenshin searched her face, the wonderful shades of sunset that he had admired earlier cast an almost eerie color on her skin and he swallowed hard. "Kaoru-dono, please –" He wasn't sure what he was begging from her: to come inside with him and be safe, to tell him who had hurt her, but before he could ask anything more, he was suddenly surprised by the color that rose from her neck, spreading up to her cheeks.

A deep dark flush of embarrassment.

She bit her lip and turned away. That she wouldn't meet his eyes, it hurt in a new, almost physical way. Like a pinch inside his chest. She had never been evasive, had never tried to hide her feelings. It had always been him who would place the rurouni mask on every time he had to withhold information from her, for her sake mostly – but also really, his. But this was not the time to be thinking these thoughts! He couldn't sense any danger right now (how strange!), but that blankness was still ever present. Swallowing down his panic, sliding his hand from her wrist, he pressed her fingers together. Firm enough to get her attention back to him. He needed – was desperate for her to look at him. To see her face and her eyes.

She seemed to have read something in the expression he was wearing and she squeezed his fingers back. "I'm fine Kenshin, really. I just –" She shook her head and took a deep breath. "I'm not hurt. I'm more," she paused, muttered something dark, too low for him to hear. He could feel his frown deepening. He thought he heard what sounded like, 'so humiliated' but he couldn't figure out why she'd be so.

"I'm not hurt. I promise." She insisted and this was spoken with clenched teeth, her eyes suddenly flashing. "I'm actually really, really, pissed off." And then as though having chosen that emotion, she grabbed on to it and shook her head, snorting with surprising disdain. "You are not going to believe who is inside, visiting me – us."

An unexpected visitor, then. Having realized that Kaoru wasn't in any immediate danger, she wasn't acting like it anyway, Kenshin reluctantly dropped her hand and faced her. "It is Shishou?" He asked with growing trepidation.

Kaoru puffed up her cheeks and let out a soft, 'pfffft' of what sounded like regret. "I wish."

Yahiko rolled his eyes, "Well spit out already, busu. The suspense is killing me."

Kaoru narrowed her eyes at Yahiko before taking another deep breath and then looking alarmingly apologetic, eyes filled with worry, she winced and murmured softly, "It's your brother-in-law, Kenshin. Yukishiro Enishi."

Kenshin felt everything inside of him freeze, like he had suddenly been submerged into an icy lake and he had swallowed lungful of cold water. He couldn't breathe. "Oro?!" He sputtered hopelessly. That would explain the suppressed ki. He didn't know Enishi was capable of doing that. Kenshin didn't want to be impressed by it, but it was a skill not very many could accomplish. What had Enishi been doing all those years in China?! This was a terrifying revelation, one that his mind still couldn't quite grasp.

"WHAT?!" It was Yahiko who screeched this, breaking Kenshin's thoughts. "Where is he?" he demanded, pausing to look at Kaoru up and down, clearly noting that she was still wearing the kimono from earlier. "What are you doing here outside? Is he inside the dojo?!" Yahiko was nothing but spluttering rage, now. "How could you invite him here? I'm going to smash his face in." He made a move to enter the gate, but Kaoru was quick to snatch the collar of his gi, pulling him roughly back.

"I didn't invite him. He just showed up, kicked the gate too! He's going to pay for that and just - I woke up and found him staring down at me! Almost gave me a heart attack. Mou! I'm too young to die of a heart attack!" Kaoru complained, miserably.

Yahiko sent her a look even Kenshin couldn't decipher.

"Anyway, I threw my favorite tea cup at him." Kaoru continued, ignoring the bewildered look that Yahiko was giving her, "He crushed it inside his hand and you can bet your ass, he's going to pay for that too. Damn him." Kaoru ended her rant by angrily shaking her fist in the air.

Yahiko didn't look too impressed. "Please tell me he's inside only because you knocked him unconscious and you need help moving the body."

"I tried, okay. He broke my bokken." Kaoru clenched her face, eyes glittering in rage, "He broke all of the bokken inside the dojo, the stupid fucking bastard. He's doing to pay for all of that as well! I am definitely making a list!"

Kenshin had to wince at her language, mentally blaming Sanosuke for teaching her all of the swear words known to man. Thank Kami, Sano hasn't gotten out of Japan yet, because he could just imagine their friend writing Kaoru letters just to tell her how to say "fucking bastard" in six different languages. But he was getting distracted. "He didn't hurt you, Kaoru-dono?" He asked again, remembering the tiny bruise inside the tender flesh of her wrist.

Kaoru sniffed. "I kind of – he was asking me I was – if I wanted to – and I just - I punched him in the nose. He briefly lost his mind after that. The dojo is a mess. I swear to Kami, by the time I'm finished making him pay for everything he would be as poor as Sanosuke!"

"But he didn't hurt you?" This was important. Kenshin needed to know.

"He grabbed me by the wrist when I tried to pick up his eyeglasses. Jerk." Kaoru grumbled. "Bu no. He couldn't really hurt me anyway. Even if he wanted to." The reminder was more for his benefit than anything else and Kenshin recalled that day so long ago when Kaoru had told her what happened when after she'd woken up inside Enishi's mansion and had attempted to escape. He tried to shake the vision of Enishi's hand wrapped around Kaoru's neck, squeezing and squeezing…

He couldn't do it. Kenshin reminded himself. He couldn't. Kaoru's fine. She's fine. She said so herself. But still - Enishi, what can you possibly want?

"Let's go and bash his stupid head in." Yahiko suggested rather gleefully.

Kaoru winced. "I -" she let out another great big sigh. "We can't. I mean," she blinked realizing her apprentice's proposal. She glowered down at him. "Yahiko! We don't just beat people up for showing up uninvited."

Yahiko looked at her as if she had lost her mind. "Well, we should. And we do, if it's that bastard." He said this with the casualness of someone stating a mere fact.

Kaoru looked aghast. "There will be no bloodshed in my house. I just had that floor mopped!"

"You're worried about your stupid floor? I'll mop it again, then. What is wrong with you? This is the guy that hurt Sanosuke. That hurt you and took you. The guy who wanted to kill Kenshin? Did you forget about that?! This is the guy who bombed the Akabeko and hurt Tsubame!" There was a note of hysteria in Yahiko's voice and Kenshin couldn't help but cringe.

Kaoru let out a scream of frustration. "I know that! I remember all of that! I'm sorry but I already told you, I tried to make him leave. You think I want him – just sitting there, like a complete ass – like he belongs here and he has all the right in the world to ask me dumb questions! What exactly do you want me to do, you brat?"

The argument was increasingly becoming loud and Kenshin winced, knowing fully well that Enishi who was apparently inside the dojo, could probably hear everything. "Ano I think we should –"

"Don't call me brat, Ugly!"

Kaoru almost lunged at the boy whose anger perfectly matched hers. Kenshin had enough sense to restrain Kaoru, keeping a hand on her shoulder as he finally turned to Yahiko. "That's enough."

But Yahiko didn't seem to hear him. The kid was just too worked up now. "Kaoru, how could you?!" He wailed at her.

"He didn't want to leave." Kaoru repeated almost desperately. "What am I supposed to do?! I've no weapon left. He didn't want to fight me! He just sat there and - and-he-"

"And what, Kaoru-dono?" Kenshin asked, feeling his gut clenching in sudden fear.

For a moment, Kaoru seemed like she was in pain, her blue eyes watering. She looked slightly, inexplicably guilty. "And said he was hungry." Her voice was small and sad.

Oh no. Not that. Kenshin thought, shoulders slumping. Kaoru had a penchant for feeding the hungry. It was one of those things that she just couldn't allow to happen. Of all the things that Enishi could have said, why did it have to be that?! Now he could understand why Enishi was still inside the dojo.

"So you poisoned him, then?" The hopeful tone in Yahiko's voice wasn't loss on Kenshin, who winced at how incredibly inclined Yahiko was too violence. At least concerning his brother-in-law, which he also could understand. It had traumatized Yahiko to not have been able to stop Enishi from taking Kaoru. It had clearly wounded his pride more than he had let on.

"What? No, Yahiko. I - I invited him for dinner."

Kenshin watched as Yahiko's jaw dropped. "You what?" He staggered backward as if Kaoru had physically struck him. "I must be dreaming." Yahiko announced, not waiting for Kaoru's response. He stood very still and then nodded his head in confirmation. "This is a dream and I just need to wake up and everything will make sense again." He then proceeded to close his eyes, grimacing and then snapping it open after a few seconds, "Wait. Should I be closing my eyes to wake up?" He asked out loud and from beside him, Kenshin heard Kaoru's own gasp of surprise.

"Kami-sama." She murmured wretchedly.

"I am not having dinner with that freak! You can't make me!" Yahiko told her, crossing his arms against his chest.

Kaoru mirrored him. "Fine. Go to the Akabeko."

Yahiko gave her a look of pure disgust. "And eat what? I don't have any money."

"Then you can stay here and act like a civilized human being."

"I refuse." Yahiko all but screamed, stomping his foot. He whirled around and turned towards him. "Kenshin, do something!"

Kenshin swallowed hard. What could he do?! "Ano," he glanced at Kaoru who was a picture of misery and regret and anger and something else entirely that he'd never seen before. He shrugged his shoulders helplessly, "This is Kaoru-dono's home, Yahiko. If she, if she has -" he glanced back at Kaoru who was refusing to look at them, her eyes blankly gazing straight ahead, jaws silently working. "If she says that – that is, if she has told Enishi," he couldn't help but choke a little. He cleared his throat, "That he could - that we should-"

"Ah, goddammit!" Yahiko interrupted. "Let's just fucking get this over with." He proceeded to go inside, but stopped midway and slowly turned to look at Kaoru, eyebrows arching up. "You did cook, right? Please tell me that you at least cooked."

Kaoru made a face, understanding what Yahiko was saying and quick as lighting, she made a grab for Kenshin's sakabatou. Never been so thankful for his god-like speed, Kenshin moved his sword out of her reach. He tried taker her hand, but she slapped his fingers away and without another glance at him, followed Yahiko inside, both of them grumbling what sounded like a list of painful ways to die.

Kenshin closed his eyes, counted to ten and when he was certain that the urge to hurt someone had passed, he let out a huge sigh.

This was going to be long, long, long night.

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Author's note:

Ahhhh! I had fun writing this and now I want a Yahiko POV. HAHAHAHA. Ugh. For the nth time: what have I gotten myself into?!

This has also totally messed up this whole One-Shot Repository thing I have going on. Should I just like, move this story?! Or move the one shots somewhere else?! But then the comment section is going be so messed up if I do that. I guess we'll have just to stick this story here. Anyway, comments please :)

#ruruoni kenshin #rurouni kenshin fanfic #an unexpected invitation #part iii #himura kenshin #kamiya kaoru #yukishiro enishi #myojin yahiko #yep still doing this #kenshin x kaoru #enishi x kaoru #kenshin x kaoru x enishi love triangle of death

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