#but if I see any of it tagged as ship I’ll melt you with my laser vision I am not kidding

[gizmogirz]

The Puppytons!!

[cirtusmistress]

Hurricane

Authors Note: I wrote this about two years ago and posted it to AO3, and never cross-posted it to Tumblr. But given I want to get back into writing, I may as well start by posting what I got! So enjoy my first fic, two years late.

Ship ~ Brahms Heelshire x GN Reader

Tags ~ Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Reader is Competent, Storm prep, Brahms is Scared of Storms, Touch-Starved Brahms Heelshire, Reader Replaces Greta Evans, Minor Injuries, Doll Brahms Heelshire, One Shot, Gender-Neutral Pronouns

AO3 Crosspost

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

“A storm? Like, a thunderstorm? Or is it worse?” You asked. You’d been working for the Heelshire’s for around two months now. And though they’d left you with very detailed instructions on how to care for their beloved son, they had never brought up things such as house care. Honestly, you hadn’t planned on staying this long. Not into Autumn.

“A full on hurricane.” Malcolm answered, setting the last of the grocery bags down. He continued, “The worst one we’ve had in years apparently. They’re predicting outages and downed trees. I can help you secure the windows and doors if you’d like?” He offered. A sweet gesture. An olive branch of friendship. But you knew better than to take it.

During your short time at the Heelshire estate, and caring for Brahms, you’d learned a great many things. The most crucial being that whenever someone stayed around too long and stole your attention away from the doll you cared for, there was hell to pay. In one instance you found the dining room in complete disarray after simply inviting Malcolm in for tea, during a rare social moment for you. The worst case was when a friend of yours stopped by. They were a globetrotter, and seeing as you already had residence found it simpler to just stay with you. A mistake. One night was enough to send Brahms into the worst tantrum you’d ever seen. Multiple rooms destroyed, a window had been broken, and he had stolen your friend's passport. Your friendship didn’t last long after that. After all, who was to believe that a doll could cause so much harm?

“Thank you, Malcolm, but I’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with a few storms in my life, I’ll manage.” You replied. Malcolm studied you for a moment. Likely trying to read you, sniff out any signs of dishonesty. But, there were none. Just that warm smile that could melt anyone's heart. He gave a sigh of defeat and nodded.

“If you say so. Just give me a call if you need anything. I’ll come check on you when the hurricane passes.” With that he gave you a wave and headed back to his truck. You muttered a soft thanks, finally returning to your chores.

Brahms sat in the kitchen where he’d been waiting. Like he was listening to your conversation. You’d grown used to this odd job of yours. Caring for a doll as if it were human. Though you’d always figured there was more to this situation then most believed. You’d heard of people using dolls to cope with loss, the concept wasn’t lost on you. But for a couple well into their later years? And there were just.. Too many small things. Even in the rules. Playing music loud, reading in a loud clear voice, leaving food in the freezer. Food which you knew was going missing.

But the biggest tell was an accident. It had been about a month into the job. You’d actually begun to believe Brahms was a child's spirit trapped in the doll. What with him moving around on his own, and leaving you little offerings, and once saying your goddamn name when he was upset. But then, just by accident as you were putting Brahms to bed, you hit your foot against the wall. It had hurt so badly you thought you’d broken a toe. But what stood out in your mind even now was the sound the wall made. It didn’t make the thud you knew from stubbing your toe time and time again in youth. The wall sounded hollow. There had been an echo. Now you knew some older houses had hollow walls. Normally the cavities between the two layers were used for insulation. But that echo.. That wasn’t a normal hollow wall.

After that you’d started paying closer attention to the house and Brahms as you went about your day. Watching and listening. Countless nights where you’d lay in bed and just listen. You’d hear shuffling, the rare footstep like someone had stumbled. Once you swore you heard breathing. You noticed how many rooms had large paintings or cabinets, your size or larger. For a while you thought you were going mad. There was no way in hell that an elderly couple had been keeping their son in the walls for twenty years. But then you learned of the Heelshire’s deaths. Suicides. So many things pointing to something you didn’t quite know how to feel about. On one hand, you were now basically the sole guardian of a doll who was actually a stand-in for the hypothetical twenty-eight year old man in the walls. On the other, Brahms was now completely alone after twenty years of isolation. Alone, save for you. Sweet, kind, loving you who treated a porcelain doll like a real boy. Who read to him every night and tucked him in with a kiss. You couldn’t just leave him. No matter what Brahms was.

“We’re in for a storm, Brahms. I guess that means we’re having a slumber party downstairs tonight.” You cortled, putting the last of the groceries away. You took note of how little perishables Malcolm had dropped off. Thinking ahead. You wouldn’t be able to cook for however long the power was gone, if it did go that was.

You turned back to the doll, scooping him up and taking him with you. You figured the downstairs office would be the safest place. The windows were relatively small and were less likely to break. It would do for your purposes. You sat Brahms in the corner and got to work moving the desk out of the way. You’d have to lay down blankets and things to sleep on. You doubted the old fashioned Heelshire’s were going to have something like an air mattress.

You spent a good hour doing basic storm prep. Dragging some old blankets and comforters out of wardrobes and laying them down on the floor. Filling up buckets and the tubs with water. Getting crossword puzzles and cards. By the time that was all done, it had begun to rain outside. The calm before the storm you supposed. The last thing on your storm checklist was lanterns. This was an old house, you were certain that the Heelshire’s would have oil lamps somewhere. Naturally the first place you wanted to check was the attic.. But you knew better. After all, if your theory was right you didn’t want to scare the poor man by invading his space. So you settled on checking the cellar first.

Only issue was, you really couldn’t bring Brahms. You knew he was never meant to be alone but taking a fragile doll into a dark cellar was too risky. He’d have to stay upstairs. You were hoping he wouldn’t be too upset.

“Brahms, I’m headed to the cellar. I’ll be quick, I promise.” You hummed. With that, you headed down alone. You had been right, it was dark and musty and damp. You started to wonder if there was mold down here. You flicked on the old dingy light which surprisingly still worked. You began digging through the clutter. Old things like furniture, clothes never worn since the sixties, even some art pieces. It was like a time capsule. You didn’t have time to walk through history though, you needed to find anything that could give light without the use of electricity. Lower and lower you went through the piles, until finally you found something. A pair of old oil lamps and a small can of oil to go with it. You muttered a soft thanks, pulling them out from beneath wicker chairs. But what was behind them gave you pause.

The bricks were singed. Dark burn marks that showed age. Your eyes followed the marks. The furniture in here had covered them, but now they were exposed after your rummaging. They flowed over the bricks going upwards. They almost looked beautiful. But that beauty hid a tragedy that plagued this home. You knew why they’d been hidden with so much clutter.

Your thoughts were interrupted when something crashed behind you, making you scream and jump. When you turned you saw one of the mirrored vanities stored away had been smashed. The mirror shards now littered the floor. And on the steps sat the Brahms doll, staring you down. It took you a moment to catch your breath, realizing your error. Brahms didn’t want you uncovering his painful memories. And he’d made sure you knew that. Gathering yourself, you pushed the lamps aside and began to put all that you’d moved back into its place. Covering those painful memories back up, letting them remain hidden and forgotten. Once finished you picked the lamps and the can up and approached Brahms. Kneeling to his height you gave an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry Brahms,” you spoke with such a genuine tone of sincerity, “I shouldn’t have snooped around. But look! I found the lamps we’ll need!” You held up the lamps, jostling them a little so they clinked together. Of course the doll remained frozen. But just faintly, almost missable under the sound of rain pouring down, you heard panting. Like someone coming down from a rage.

“I’ll clean up the shards, then we’ll head back upstairs, okay?” You’d started speaking to Brahms out loud more after you’d learned about the walls. Feeding your own delusions some would say. You held your word, starting to pick up the larger shards and resting them on top of the vanity. The smaller ones you just brushed away with some loose fabric you found. You didn’t really plan on coming back down here anyways, not after that outburst.

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

You always found time moves slower when there was a storm. The day seemed to drag on as the storm became worse and worse. The wind had picked up and those raindrops just kept getting larger. It was loud, even on the bottom floor. You had settled on just simple sandwiches for dinner, making sure to put a ‘spare’ in the freezer. And after that you’d just settled in to do a crossword. It was.. Probably the first time in weeks where you felt safe. There was something about the dim lighting and blankets that just felt right. Secure. Warm. Brahms sat under the covers and you’d even given him a crossword book of his own. Slightly cruel, knowing he couldn’t move with you there with him. But at least you’d been talking to him. Funny, you always struggled talking with real people. But this doll turned you into a chatterbox. Maybe it was the simple fact no one was attempting to speak over you. Like someone was actually listening.

Your tranquility was disrupted by a large gust of wind, followed by a crash that made the manor shake. And what sounded like a scream. It had come from upstairs. Something inside you just knew. That crash was in the attic. You were running upstairs before you even had time to think. Up the stairs, and finding the attic ladder down. You were unsure if it had come undone itself or if someone had moved it. That didn’t matter as you climbed up. It was your first time in the attic but you didn’t get a chance to explore. A branch had flown off a tree and crashed through the wall, opening it up to the elements. You could only act, no time for clear thoughts. You grabbed a nearby blanket and started to desperately try to cover the hole, but another gale blew you back. There was nothing you could do to patch it right now, not unless you wanted to risk injury or worse, death.

Your rattled mind returned to the scream you had heard. Or at least you thought you had heard. Looking around you didn’t see a body but there was a bed up here. A tv, a sink.. Someone was living here. You didn’t have time to celebrate your theory being proven. Where was Brahms? Your eyes flitted around, finally landing back on the ladder. Somehow you had missed the very clear bloody handprint on it during your panic. But if Brahms was bleeding.. Oh God, how badly was he injured? Quickly you descended the steps, trying to find any sign of him. You were too panicked to even fear this man who was hiding from you for so long. All you knew somewhere in this house he was hurt and bleeding.

“Brahms?” You called, starting to check every room. Could he have climbed back into the walls? Fearing you discovering him? You checked everything on the top floor and worked down, calling his name in a more desperate tone with each exclamation. But finally you found him. Turning the corner back into the downstairs study. There he sat, in place of the doll. It wasn’t what you expected to see. The mask was shocking at first glance. You were momentarily stun locked. He was bigger than you anticipated, even sitting down. Finally you snapped out of it when he looked at you, and held out his bleeding hand. It had a sizable gash across the palm.

“It hurts,” He spoke in a child-like voice. The voice you’d heard months ago. His head drooped a touch as he spoke, “Can you fix it?” He asked. Finally, after another beat, you nodded. Your mouth felt dry. Too dry to speak. In the kitchen you found the first aid, and took it back with you. He hadn’t moved from his place on the makeshift bed. You knelt beside him, and carefully took his hand in yours. Up close you could see the burn scars that ran along his entire right side. Suddenly his outburst in the cellar made much more sense.. Carefully you applied some rubbing alcohol to the cut. That made Brahms whimper and pull his hand back. The look in his eyes behind that mask was murderous.

“I’m sorry, Brahms, but I have to.. To clean it.” You choke out. Your mouth is still far too dry. You hold your hand out for his again, giving him those warm eyes again. He would trust you wouldn’t he? After all, you had been the one to care for him all this time. He looked at your hand, then back to your face. For a moment Brahms almost seemed entranced by your eyes before conceding and resting his hand back in yours.

“Good boy..” You said, starting to clean the wound. He made a noise akin to that of a moan at your praise. You supposed you were the first person to touch him or give him praise in years. He was likely touch starved. Once the cut was clean, you grabbed the bandages and began to wrap his hand. He kept watching you. His breath was heavy behind that mask.

Finally you were done, and you let his hand go. Brahms examined your work, how carefully you’d wrapped him, and the cute little bow you’d tied it off with. As he studied his hand, you studied him. Despite the childish voice he put on, he was very much an adult. You could see his beard poking out from beneath the porcelain. He was actually rather handsome, you’d admit. The rain picked up again, and the lights began flickering. Brahms jumped and quickly moved closer to you. Before you knew it his head was hiding in your lap. Apparently he was afraid of the storm. Made sense, it had attacked him after all. Carefully you began to stroke his hair in an attempt to soothe him.

“We’ll be okay. Just a little wind and rain, that’s all. Maybe we can play cards? Or I can tell you a story?” You offered. Just trying to find anything to distract him from the weather outside damaging his home. Slowly he nodded, not lifting his head from your waist. Actually his grip seemed to grow tighter. You could feel him inhaling a little too deeply, and his hands started to squeeze your thighs as he held tight. You felt bad thinking how unsurprised that made you. But he had lived in the walls for twenty years.. And you were likely the first person he’d had stick around.

You settled back on to the makeshift mattress, Brahms never letting you go. He shuffled up a bit, so his face was resting against your chest. You kept stroking his hair, picking your brain for a story to tell. Something romantic as you had a wild feeling that was right up his alley. You recounted the story of Pride and Prejudice, not skipping any details of the classic story. Brahms seemed all too enthralled by the tale. He even began to kick his feet in the air when you recounted the climax between Elizabeth and the beloved Mr.Darcy. Just before you could finish though, the lights finally gave out. Brahms tensed up against you and again hugged you tight against him. You let out a wheeze. You needed to get the lamps but he seemed content just smothering you until the lights came back themselves. Finally you managed to sit up as he continued to cling like a baby koala.

“Brahms, sweetheart, I need to light the lamps.” You manage to get out. But that seems to make his grip tighter. He shakes his head, face pulling your shirt back and forth.

“No. No lamps. I don’t want any fire in the house.” He whimpered. Your heart broke a little. That night seemed to have never left Brahms.. You stroked his back soothingly before trailing your hands to cup his cheeks.

“Brahms, we need light. It’ll be okay, I can work an oil lamp-” You were cut off as Brahms slammed you back down against the floor. Even with the cushioning it knocked the air from your lungs. Your hands fell from his face beside yourself as his own gripped your shoulders.

“No fire in the house. Never again.” His voice was no longer that high falsetto. Instead it was deep, aggressive. He sounded his age. You gasped for air, before nodding. Tears had pricked your eyes. You felt a twinge of guilt as you questioned whether or not he’d hurt you.

Finally you found your voice again, “Okay Brahms. No lamps, I promise. Do you want another story?” You asked in a feeble attempt to calm him back down. Lucky for you it seemed to work. Brahms grip on your shoulders loosened, and he returned his head to your chest. He nodded and urged you on to tell your story.

A shaky sigh escaped you. You thanked your lucky stars that you could calm him so easily. As you began telling another story, the rain and wind outside crashed into the manor. You knew Brahms would never harm you. Not you. Not his caretaker. But you began to wonder. How long would this storm last? Suddenly, in the dark, the room no longer felt secure.

[deadratdonoteat]

Roronoa Zoro x reader

The worst he can say is no

Tags- Angst, heartbreak, crying, self-hatred

W.C.= 1.1k

Part 1/3

The sea left a salty taste on my lips. I licked them with nervousness. Today was the day. That stupid swordsman has plagued my mind for far too long.

“Just do it!” Nami says as she looks up from the map. She’s the only one who knew about my crush. Usopp once asked but I was able to distract him from it.

“I’m so nervous,” I sighed into my palms. My hands cradling my face, sitting on a crate. Nami laughed at my worry. She has been so helpful.

“I’ve seen how he looks at you, the feeling is definitely mutual,” the ship's navigator chimed. She has been telling me some things about Zoro. How he’d look at me when I wasn’t or always protect me from any size threat. Nami is convinced that he likes me too, if not more.

“I’ll do it tonight!” I planned while straightening my posture. My nervousness was melting away. Nami has convinced me that he likes me back or she just fed my delusion.

“Worst he can say is no,” Nami said in a sing-songy tone. I hopped off the crate and stretched my legs. Tonight was the night I finally spoke my mind. That mosshead will know how I feel. And he might or might not reciprocate the feelings. Either way he’s a good friend of mine.

“Thanks Nami!” I shouted at her, she gave me a thumbs up without looking away from the map. The sun wasn’t too high in the sky. Night will fall soon.

-

Sanji cooked such a mouth watering meal, like always. I sat at my usual spot next to Zoro. We made light conversation. Usopp stole Zoro's attention with a totally true story. I was able to see Sanji yell at the captain for nearly eating all the meat.

Once the crew settled down, it was time for my plan. Usopp and Luffy went to bed. Sanji was cleaning dishes. Nami was reading in our room, waiting for me. Me and Zoro remained on the upper deck. God, he is breathtaking. I hoped I looked just as good. Nami had helped me doll up a little for today.

“Why are you still up?” The swordsman asked. My heart fluttered at his concern. God, I was nervous again. I hadn’t even said anything yet. He was staring at the sea, leaning on the railing.

“I wanted to tell you something,” I faked confidence. I held my shaky hands behind my back. He took his attention from the water and turned to me. He straightened his posture a bit. He nodded his head in my direction. Signaling me to continue. I swallowed back the rising fear. I met his gaze.

“I have feelings for you, Zoro. I’ve had them for a while,” I said with more nervousness than before. My palms began to sweat, face turning a shade of red. My words seemed to still be connecting in his head. He tilted his head a bit, brow furrowed slightly. My crooked smile slowly faded.

“Okay?” Was all he said. There was a tone of uncertainty. My heart was racing.

“I-I just wanted to let you know!” I stumbled over my words, internally facepalming. His hands folded across his chest. I gulped.

“My goal is to become the best swordsman,” he began in a degrading tone. Taking a small step towards me, “Not to become your boyfriend,” his words held venom.

My world was crashing. It felt like everything around us was being consumed with darkness. My eyes widened. He had never been this mean to me. It was a common joke on the ship that he had a soft spot for me. My breathing became uneven. My chest was heavy. the weight hadn’t been taken off my shoulders.

“R-right! Sorry,” I spoke, my head hung low. My eyes began to water. How stupid of me. I turned around. Slowly making my way to Nami. Making my way away from here. Of course he didn’t like me. I’m not strong like him. Not smart like Nami. Definitely not as beautiful as her. My thoughts were cloudy.

I opened the shared room. Nami sitting on the couch waiting for the news. I closed the door. Head still looking at the floor. I dragged my feet to my bed.

“Y/n?” Nami's voice cut through my cruel thoughts. I slowly looked at her. She gasped. I was crying. I was pathetic. I am disgusting. No wonder he hates me.

“It’s okay, everything is ok,” She wrapped her arms around me. She pulled away, holding my head in her hands. Making me stare at her. She gave me a soft smile. My heart was broken. It was stupid to think he liked me. Thee Roronoa Zoro, The three sword bounty hunter turned pirate.

I cried in Namis arms.

Zoro’s POV

That stupid long nose stole me away from my conversation with Y/n. I didn’t care what we were talking about, as long as I got to talk to her.

The ocean looked darker than usual. I had a bad feeling about something. Footsteps came up the deck. I didn’t need to look to know who it was. Why was she awake? She needs to get some sleep.

“Why are you still up?” I asked her.

“I wanted to tell you something,” that piqued my interest. I looked at her. God, she’s beautiful. She had changed since dinner. She looked a little fancy, but beautiful. I fixed my lazy posture. I nodded my head for her to continue.

“I have feelings for you, Zoro. I’ve had them for a while,” she confessed. My heart skipped a beat. Did she really just say that? I didn’t let my composure falter. Do I tell her my feelings? She was waiting for my response. Her cute smile was going away.

“Okay?” I said with a bit of confusion. Was she going to ask for something more? Something more from this friendship? I hope so.

“I-I just wanted to let you know!” She stuttered over her words. Cute. I should tell her how I feel. Tell her that I’ve been thinking the same. I can’t take my eyes off her. She’s perfect. Even when she’s this nervous.

“My goal is to become the best swordsman,” I began in a degrading tone. What am I saying? Taking a small step towards her, “Not to become your boyfriend,” my words held venom. I didn’t mean that. That’s not what I wanted to say. My words were betraying me. I could tell that it hurt her.

“R-right! Sorry,” Y/n said quietly. I wanted to scream at myself. Why would I say that? Her eyes started to water. Was she crying? My heart sank. Y/n was crying because of me. I have seen her take a bullet and not cry. I was the one to make her cry…my stupid mouth can’t do anything right. She turned away. I wanted to reach out and hold her. Tell her that I care and like her.

She left. She took my heart with her. I’ve always had a soft spot for her. The whole crew knew it. I slapped my head. Idiot.

<3

[doublesunsets]

fill me with your echo

Echo x Reader PWP/Smut 🔞 Word count: 3.1k

TBBAW 2023 @tbb-appreciation-week

DAY 2: Echo NSFW Prompt "Aroused by their voice"

Author's note: Is this late? Yes. But it was still inspired by that prompt, so credit is due. Please, accept my humble story. I wanted to try something, and it got... complicated (for me). I had never written dirty talk before, but I think I managed to get it where I wanted. -sunset

Ao3 Link

tags/warnings under read more

dividers by @saradika

Warnings: Masturbation / Guided Masturbation / Dirty talk / Voice Kink, /Praise Kink (slightly) / Comm Sex / No specific pronouns are used, but reader has a vagina / Basically, PWP, I am not interested in the logistics of comm sex, this is very indulgent. Echo is not a blushing virgin, and I'm here to prove it.

“412 traffic, F-17, inbound for landing.”

The voice crackled through the communication system in your small office, and you jumped from your seat before Wina could get to it.

“Here 412 traffic, landing pad is clear,” you breathed out in your smoothest voice possible, while Wina tried to take away the mic from you. You were not scared about using a little bit of violence when necessary, so you smashed your hand on her face to keep her away. You were scared of stabbing your fingers with her Zabrak horns, though, and probably stop it and give me the mic filtered through the waves.

“Wonderful,” the voice on the radio answered, and you were able to discern the smile that would be probably accompanying the word. You melted a little, as usual.

With a little trepidation, you tried to calm your heart and prepared yourself to make the conversation as long as possible. You even pretended to be confident enough to use the name you have learned from your interactions.

“How is everything, Echo? Any problems? Do you need me to send some droids there to fix the ship?”

“No, no, we had no trouble out there, don’t worry. You are always so thoughtful, thank you, Fourtwelve.”

“My pleasure, Echo.” Seeing that you were not budging, Wina finally gave up and moved away. She shouldn’t even be in your office, in the first place, she was just nosey. You turned your whole body towards the comm, triumphantly. “You sure you don’t want— I mean, any of you need something else? I could come down there and take you some rations.”

You grimaced inwardly at the hint of desperation in your voice. When the signal came back, a hint of a chuckle could be heard in the background, and you felt your cheeks grow hot.

“Shh, I said!— Uh, I don't, no, no, really. You are an angel, but there’s no need for that.” Someone shouted coward in the background. “But I appreciate it, really, I do. Thank you, Fourtwelve. Over.”

The static felt like a slap in the face. You slumped into the chair and let out a heavy sigh. It has been the shortest conversation since the first one, and the disappointment sat heavy on your chest.

“I wanted to talk to some men, and you had to ruin it. You get strangely overprotective with that clone.”

You turned your chair to face the intruder in the room and frowned at her. “This is my job, if you want to talk with men, go to a bar. Besides, I’m not overprotective about anyone! It’s just that the last time you handled the comms, you made such a lascivious pun that I still have second hand embarrassment every time I think about it.”

“Pft, whatever. You need to relax, this is not even a real job. You don’t know how to have fun, I’ll entertain myself somewhere else.”

You didn’t make any more comments as Wina turned around and left the room. She was extremely annoying, in a rage you stood up and locked the door in case she decided to come back. You were more at ease by yourself, which, even if sounded hypocritical, usually allowed you to talk with some men. A man in particular, actually. But Echo had already commed, he would probably be on his way to a canteen with his brothers, and you didn’t have the chance to speak with him this time.

Echo. You were still giddy at actually knowing his name. It had all started a month or so ago. You were a volunteer in a group that was trying to give clones a chance after they were discarded by the newly founded Empire. It started as something simple, but as time passed, and the Empire started showing their true face, the operation became quite daring and secretive. It was almost like one of those holonovels, about rebels, and freedom fighters on the frontiers, fighting evil by day and having torrid romances by night. In reality, though, your job was pretty dull. You were basically a receptionist; you took messages, managed the landings of your allotted small Coruscant hangar, and occasionally dispatched droids if they were needed. Someone had to do it, though.

One uneventful night, a new voice came over your comms. Well. Not new-new. You had heard that same voice thousands of times, but this one had something that made it stand over the others. It was huskier, angrier. It made you wonder what his owner had witnessed to be so angry at the galaxy, but at the same time speak such soft words to you. You had timidly inquired him and Echo had actually told you some stories from his past, a short version at least, you had no doubt there was more to it. He had told you about his lost brothers and being the last one of his batch, about being imprisoned and then rescued by new brothers, and even how he had adapted to being a cyborg.

He also asked about you, if out of politeness or legit interest, you didn’t know, so you had told him the basics, very, very quickly. You preferred when it was him doing the talking. You were in awe at what he had lived through, but to your shame, you couldn’t help the other reaction you had at his stories. Truth was that he could have read you the Communication System Manual, and it would have turned you on all the same. His voice was like spice to you, the more you listen to it, the more you wanted. You had never tried one, but you had to guess this was what trying on aphrodisiacs felt like. You craved it, you wanted to have it whispered in your ear late at night, his naked skin on yours, and his hand exploring your body, while those angry tones melted away into sweet moans.

The static did scare you this time, and you took away your traitorous wandering hand from your thigh. Not the time to indulge in wildly inappropriate fantasies, not that it would be the first time. Since nothing else seemed to come from the other side, you tried to contact them.

“Here 412 traffic, do you copy?”

Static again. Whoever was on the other side didn’t seem to find their words.

You were about to tell them to find another pastime and leave your channel alone, when his voice cracked again through the speakers.

“Hey, Fourtwelve.”

“Echo,” you gasped, and thanked the Force that you had released the button, saving you the embarrassment of Echo hearing his name coming out of your lips like that. You cleared your throat, pressed it again, and tried to appear nonchalant. “Echo, good to hear from you again so soon.” Yes, nailed it. “Is there any problem?”

“No problem at all. I—” he hesitated and you waited patiently. If while waiting patiently you bounced your leg rapidly, he didn’t need to know. “I just wanted to talk with you, but you seemed busy earlier, and there was many people around here as well. Is it now a better time?”

“Yes!” His chuckle should have made you feel embarrassed, but it only fuelled your thoughts. If his rough voice was sexy, his low laugh was damn near Dark Side inducing.

“Good, I am glad. I really appreciate our chats.”

“Me too, I love your voice.” In your excitement, it took you a moment to register what you had said, but his silence at the other side gave you plenty of time. When your brain caught up, your face burned, and you started to ramble, trying to cover up your slip. “I mean, I love your stories, the ones you tell me, with your voice, so that’s what I meant. Because that’s what I hear, so, I cannot listen to the stories without your voice, obviously. So, I really love that you have… a voice with—”

“Stop,” you gulped down the rest of the sentence and clamped your legs by instinct. His tone of voice had been gentle but authoritative, as someone used to scold a child. But you weren’t a child, you were very much an adult, that was having a strong reaction to a man’s voice through a comm. “Good, mesh’la.”

A very strong reaction.

You were sure he could hear your deep breathing, but he chuckled again and couldn’t find in you the will to care. “I’ve been dying for you to say something like that for a while, so you are not taking it back now. Please, tell me, what do you love about my voice?”

It didn’t escape to you that he had made his voice deeper, rougher. He was enjoying this. It was true that you had been flirting with him, but not even in your wildest dreams you had envisioned him actually responding this way. For all that you knew, he hadn’t been paying attention to it. He apparently had, and had been waiting, no, dying, for you to take the next step. You were aware that this conversation could change the nature of your interactions forever, and you were going to seize it like a bounty hunter with their price.

“I love how deep it is.” Maybe not your best line.

“You can do better than that,” he encouraged you, not unkindly.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, your fingers clawing at your thighs, trying to control the pent-up energy that was growing inside you. “It is gruff, but caring, I don’t understand how.” You readjusted yourself on your seat, almost vibrating out of your skin. “It is hypnotic, mesmerising. Sexy.”

Echo hummed at that, and it spurred you on. You wanted to hear that again, you needed to hear every single noise that voice could give you.

“Every time I hear your voice, it is like you're grabbing me by the nape, firm but softly, and forcing me to listen to it. I can’t move, I’m captivated. It gets inside my chest and drives me crazy, makes me feel alive. It makes me want to go to my knees. It makes me want to behave and to be mischievous at the same time.”

“Fuck,” Echo groaned at the other side.

Your breath was heavy and laboured, you felt hot, and even if you were alone in the room, you could feel the weight of his presence. You weren’t sure what possessed you, but it seemed he liked it.

“All that… from just my voice?” It seemed he liked it very much. His voice has turned into a husky drawl, and you whimpered a little. “What else? What else do I do to you? Tell me, cyar’ika.”

There was a pretty obvious consequence of his voice, the dampness of your underwear a cold reminder right now. You pressed your hand into your core, trying to soothe your growing need, and another pitiful whine escaped you.

“What was that, cyar’ika? What are you doing right now?” His words were soft, whispered, but they were commanding, there was no ignoring them.

“I’m—“ you pressed harder the heel of your hand against your clit, the simple act of telling him out loud what you were doing was sending shivers down your spine. “I’m touching, ah, myself.”

“How? Tell me,” he snarled, like gravel on his throat.

“I’m pressing my hand against me, rubbing it a little,” you gasped at the end, involuntarily.

“You are going to do something for me.” He sounded breathy, almost like he was talking too close to the comm. His voice was just a rustle, but for you, it was deafening. You uttered a breathless yes, and he continued. “You are going to touch yourself, and I’m going to tell you how to do it, understood?”

You opened your eyes at that and inhaled loudly, feeling your cunt palpitate at his words. There was only one answer to that. “Yes, sir.”

“Oh, Maker,” he groaned, and then laughed softly, the smirk evident on his voice. “Aren’t we discovering kinks today?”

You laughed as well, a little more breathless than him. Sat back and widened your legs, waiting for him to continue.

“Listen to me, cyar’ika. Take your hand, and get it inside your clothes. Slowly, there is no rush.”

You stopped for a moment, your hand hovering over your groin, and thought about what you were going to do. In reality, you barely knew him, you had never seen him in person actually! And yet, since the beginning, there’s been this connection, not only were you aroused by their voice, but there was something else pulling you to him. If you believed in such things, you could be tempted to call it predestination. You were going to start by calling it a fun time. You took a deep breath and obeyed him.

“What else? Tell me, Echo,” you threw back at him in a pleased murmur, adding some more since he seemed to like it. “Please, tell me what to do, sir.”

“Oh, you naughty thing. Maker, you are going to be so good, don’t you? But first, reach with your fingers to your pussy, don’t really touch it yet, just feel it and answer me, are you wet?”

There was a determination in his voice, Echo was a man with a plan, and he intended to execute it, and since that plan seemed to be your pleasure, you could not complain. You did as he instructed, even if you didn’t need it to know how drenched you actually were already. Every word that came through the comm, every gasp, and growl, breath and rustle, was making you whimper at the back of your throat without even touching you. You did that again for him, you whimpered, low and long, feeling your own wetness slide through your fingertips.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he purred in a soft exhalation. “Slowly, I want you to put your finger down and circle it around your entrance. Yes, like that, I can hear your breath hitching, with just so little. You must be pretty sensitive, or is it just for me? Do you love my voice so much that it has you all worked up before we have even started? Keep circling it, mesh’la, keep gathering and spreading those sweet juices. They must taste so good. I wish I could be kneeling in front of you right now to taste it myself. Oh? Would you like that? That was a pretty filthy moan, I want to hear more of those.

“Now, cyar’ika, move your finger down onto your clit, drag it softly through it. Very softly, treat it like the precious thing it is. You sound glorious, you are being magnificent and oh, so obedient. Now press harder, back and forth, drag it back and forth harder. Faster, now. You must look splendid, I bet that pretty mouth of yours has a fantastic shape right now. Perfect for me. That’s enough, stop.”

You whined pathetically, but complied. A needy sound escaped your throat as your fingers twitched, right above where you needed them, and Echo made soothing noises peppered with praises that had you dangerously close to losing it. His voice had turned huskier and breathier in reaction to your moans, but he still sounded quite composed, unlike you.

“Echo, please,” a hoarse plea.

“Is Echo again, hmm? What happened with ‘sir’, I liked that one. But I have to admit that hearing my name on your lips, begging for me to keep talking is making me lose control a little, cyar’ika, and that doesn’t happen often, I can guarantee you that.

“Guide your hand down again, and stop at your entrance, is it there where you need them? Yes, I thought so. Now, easy, just one finger, sink it in. Maker, it must be so warm and soft. Out and inside again, like that. Easy, mesh’la, was that a pleased sob? You are being so good. I think you deserve another finger. Fuck, that one was good. Oh, what I would do if I was there right now, I bet you would enjoy my thick fingers up your cunt better than yours. I would fuck you with them until you were screaming my name. Faster now, yes, faster. I can almost hear the squelching noises every time you pull them out. Can you feel yourself clenching around them? Go on, feel it for me.

“Those shuddering moans are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. Do you know how hard I am right now? It’s almost painful, I’m hard and hot just for you, just for those sweet little cries. I know you are almost there, your panting is getting faster. Hush, don’t worry, I have you, you have all my attention. I’m not even touching myself, so if you give me one good enough, I will go up there to your office and fuck you hard against your desk as a reward.

“Do me a favour, mesh’la, stroke your clit with your thumb. Now. Good, ner cyar’ika.”

You came with a strangled moan, your orgasm wreaking havoc through your body, legs cramping over your hand with your fingers still inside you. When you came down from it, soft sobs fell uncontrollably from your lips, and you touched your clammy forehead with your shaky hand, trying to recover control of yourself. The sudden silence at the other side made you recover quicker.

“Echo? Are you still there?”

“Yes, cyar’ika, I’m still with you, I haven’t gone anywhere,” he sounded restrained, but there was a painful edge to his voice that told you it was forced.

“Was it— was it a good one?” You asked him shyly, still trying to get your breath under control.

“A good… Oh. Stars, cyar’ika.” Echo groaned and cursed under his breath, but his next words were softly spoken, a touch of concern in them. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes, please, come here,” you said, more determined this time. You stood up and unlocked the door, but an accidental glance made you stop at your reflection in one of the panels. “Oh, wow, I look like a mess. First, I’ll need some time to fix myself.”

“Don’t even bother, ner cyar’ika, I’m planning on making a bigger mess of you. Over, Fourtwelve.”

The static at disconnecting the channel drowned your drawn-out moan, and you plumped down on your seat. It seemed that in this one, the receptionist managed to find a torrid romance for themselves at the end.

You couldn’t wait for your reward.

TagList! Let me know if you want to be added/removed, please

@motte-the-goblin @fenharel-enaste @nahoney22 @stunkbiggu @gt13tbbart @dangraccoon

[blainesebastian]

mutually assured satisfaction (pt6)

words: 3,603 ship: austin butler x reader summary: reader’s agent approaches her with a PR stunt to date austin butler and promote both their careers. a mapped out plan, an electric relationship–what could possibly go wrong?   notes: masterlist is on my sidebar :) thanks for any comments, reblogs, likes and asks! always appreciated warnings: not exactly SFW tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff, @kittenlittle24, @slowsweetlove, @namoreno, @strokesofstokes, @callthedarknessdown, @kibumslatina, @al-co-hol-youlater, @frogoerson, @dancer4j 

You don’t hear anything back from Austin, which…you suppose shouldn’t surprise you with how you left things. You’re a fucking mess and if you were him, you’d cut your losses too. After all, just as you said, Austin isn’t your boyfriend—this relationship isn’t real. He has no obligation to you or be here for what you’re going through. Regardless of the words he said before he left your apartment, he can change his mind, you wouldn’t even blame him.

Stepping into your kitchen in your black dress for the funeral, you putter around to help your parents get ready for the wake, trying to count down the time on the clock of this terrible day. Your mother, Grace, reaches for your arm and squeezes to get your attention. Handing over a cup of hot mint tea, she gives you a small smile, fixing a curl near your cheek.

“Why don’t you go sit for a while—we’re almost done here, then we’ll head out.”

You swallow and lean back against the counter to put honey into your tea, “It’s better if I keep moving.”

She nods in understanding, pushing her hair over her shoulder, “How’s that boy you were seeing? Austin? He seemed really nice when we met him over Facetime the few times we called.”

This has to be the very last thing you want to talk about, somehow the mention of Austin making everything feel that much sharper, painful. You of course didn’t tell your parents about the PR relationship because they’d worry or worse, scold you, but it was impossible not to tell them about your so-called boyfriend when they could read or see things online, when they called and Austin was so often there.

“He uh…” You’re unsure of what to say for a few moments, not wanting to get into everything here, now, and yet at the same time just wanting to rip the band-aid off. Austin isn’t here because nothing between you was honest, it was just heightened emotions and physical attraction given the close proximity. That’s it.

“You didn’t break up, did you?”

And God, you can’t do it—you can’t tell her the truth about what’s really going on or how you felt so consumed with grief and loss that you pushed him away and now you don’t know what to do. How you’re confused and conflicted and you’re supposed to go back to reality in two days and deal with articles and rumors and real feelings that somehow complicate and fuck up everything.

You open your mouth to say something when the doorbell rings and you nearly sigh in relief because, “I’ll get it.” Your father is upstairs getting ready anyways and you need to leave this conversation immediately.

Shaking your head, you move to open the front door without even looking in the peep hole—and nearly melt right into the floor when you see its Austin. You blink once, twice, a breath catching in your throat because you don’t quite believe what you’re looking at. He’s standing there in a pair of black slacks and pullover sweater to go with it, the black booties you’ve seen him wear hundreds of times and a blazer. He’s got one duffle bag in his hands and his eyes are the warmest thing about him, that welcoming blue.

You just kinda stand there, unsure of how to even talk until the words finally burst forth, “What are you—how did—”

Austin takes a step forward, “Christina.”

Her agent, right, of course. Of course Austin would reach out to her about where you are, not wanting to bother you even though you sent out a series of desperate texts hoping he would reply. You didn’t expect this though, for him to come all the way here, out of his way. He continues to surprise you in the best ways.

There’s this whimpering noise that leaves your mouth that you’ll have to deny even making later as all the pent-up tears that have been on back-burner for today begin filling your eyes. Austin doesn’t waste any time, he moves to wrap you into his arms, drawing you close and squeezing tight. A relieved sigh empties from your mouth, mingled with a soft cry, your hands clinging to his blazer as you bury your face into his chest. The scent of his cologne mixed with something that you’ve come to recognize as inherently Austin.

Once you pull back, you let Austin step inside, running your hands over your cheeks. You didn’t even bother to put on makeup today because you already knew it was going to be like this all day, constantly wiping tears from your face.

“I’m sorry about what I said,” You sniffle, “At my apartment?”

Austin shakes his head, his hand resting on your shoulder, “Don’t even worry about it, I mean it.” He cups your cheek, running his thumb along the skin before pulling back.

Your mother comes around the corner, pausing as she sees both you and Austin. She instantly smiles, moving to greet Austin with half a hug that he quickly accepts. He has to lean down to embrace her, dropping his bag near the door,

“You must be Austin,” Grace squeezes before she pulls back. “I can’t tell you how nice it is to meet you in person—Y/N didn’t tell me you were coming.”

“Just needed to finish things up with work,” Austin lies gently, his eyes slipping over to yours, “But I was always gonna be here. It’s really nice to meet you.”

Grace hums, picking up Austin’s bag to take upstairs. “Well we’re very glad you’re here. I know it means a lot to Y/N.”

You’re so overstimulated by the fact that Austin is standing here in your childhood home, flew here to be with you for your grandmother’s funeral, that you can’t even tell your mom that you can take his bag up to your bedroom. Curling your hair around your ear, you let her pass you to walk upstairs, leaving you and Austin in the soft silence of the foyer.

“I hope it’s okay I just showed up,” Austin says after a few moments, running a hand through his hair. You’re quickly coming to realize it’s a nervous habit of his.

You shake your head, taking a step closer to him. Reaching out a hand to touch his forearm, you squeeze a little. What your mom said was right, you are grateful he’s here.

“No, I meant what I said—I needed you.” And that’s so fucking hard for you to admit outloud, so difficult to let someone in, to feel and appear weak, that you need to depend on someone other than yourself. “I need you.”

Austin cups your cheek, curling your hair back behind your ear, “I’m here—m’not going anywhere.”

And it’s with that guarantee that you allow yourself to be vulnerable.

--

The day is incredibly long, but you figure that’s how it’s supposed to be. The funeral itself goes quickly, which you’re thankful for. Some nice words shared over a ceremony at the cemetery, standing in grass and trying not to let yourself dissolve into crying as the casket is lowered. You’re just thankful that there’s no paps showing up…you were kinda concerned there might be. Some people are always after that one story, that one image that no one else can get. But there’s security and precautions and luckily it seems like no one knows Austin is here either. You’re able to use him as an anchor the whole time, turning into him and closing your eyes as he rests his chin on your head, kisses pressed along your hairline every so often.

The wake at the house is manageable and maybe it’s because you’re busy helping your parents play host that it’s not as painful as you thought to mingle with friends and family of your grandmother and talk about her. You worry at one point that it might be uncomfortable for Austin but he blends in as if he’s always somehow been here, leans right into conversations, helps your parents with odds and ends things that’s mostly getting refills or taking out the trash, and most importantly checks on you without being overbearing. You realize that you don’t think you would have been able to go through today without him.

Letting out a short breath, you smooth your hands over your dress and make your way to the living room to find Austin to take a breather outside. Your teenage cousin is talking to him with hearteyes, definitely a crush, and a soft laugh leaves your lips as you approach,

“Rachel, you mind if I steal Austin for a bit?”

She smiles and nods, her cheeks blushing as Austin looks down at her, “I’ll be back, we can talk about that book you’re reading.” She brightens as if he’s promised her the moon.

Taking Austin’s hand, you walk with him through the house until you exit out of the kitchen back door into a small yard. There’s a swing set there that still works, a small quiet spot that you’ve always enjoyed—tonight’s no different. You grab one of the swings and perch yourself on it, smiling up at Austin.

���Think I’m too tall for this.” He jokes, having to duck his head to sit on the other swing. The metal creaks but easily holds both of them, Austin’s legs almost comically long as he stretches them out so it’s more comfortable.

You hum lightly, gently pushing yourself back and forth, looking up at your childhood home. It’s quiet between you two but not unpleasant, night sounds surrounding you along with the creaking metal, crickets and trees rustling. A small shiver runs down your spine but you enjoy weather like this, slightly crisp at night. You pull the sleeves of your dress down over your hands.

“Thank you again for being here,” You say, looking over at him, “I don’t think I could have done it without you.”

“You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for,” He offers you a small smile, “But you’re welcome.”

There’s so much you want to say to him, you’re not sure where to begin. In a few weeks, the PR stunt will be over, you’re supposed to be breaking up. Both of your careers have become bustling because of the relationship—phone calls for interviews, more Instagram and social media followers and interactions, more buzz created about the films you’re acting in. The stars aligned; the plan worked—so why does it feel like you’re somehow losing in the end?

Pushing yourself on the swing a moment, you let a long breath that flutters your lips, “We’re uh…supposed to break up soon.”

Austin purses his lips, the heels of his feet rolling in the grass and shifting himself back and forth. There’s a noncommittal noise that leaves his mouth before, “Right—two weeks?”

Yeah, that sounds right. You’ve kinda lost all sense of time lately, your body aches from lack of sleep and emotional exhaustion. And the endgame of this whole stunt? You’ve just pushed it out of your mind, other things filling your head because you have no idea how to feel about it. It’s like this impending train but neither of them is moving off the tracks.

“What do you wanna do?” You ask, the question hanging in the air.

Despite having an expiration date, they haven’t really formulated how it’s going to happen. Who breaks up with who, is it public or private, how do they get the news to spread and still maintain a decent amount of satisfactional drama? It’s very much a powder keg, capable of going haywire with just the wrong amount of pressure.

“I think…” Austin trails off for a moment, considering what he’s about to say, “I think I wanna make sure you’re alright first, get back home,” He shrugs, “Everythin’ else we can figure out.”

It’s not exactly a non-answer but it’s one you weren’t expecting either. But when he turns to look at you, those soft blue eyes settling on your face, you find yourself nodding. You’re not sure what you even wanted him to say—the set of different responses settle in your belly like lead, none of them satisfactory.

You pick yourself up from the swing and move to stand near him, looking down at his face. He stops moving, his one arm sliding around your waist as you sort of step between his legs. There’s encouragement to sit on his one leg and you do, the swing creaking but holding both of your weight. He smiles up at you, just a soft quirk of his lips, and you kinda like it like this—being a bit taller than him. That height difference he so often has the advantage of.

You lean down and press a kiss to his forehead, nose brushing along the curls of his dirty blonde hair. Austin lets out a short breath that tickles your neck, a small squirming sensation circling in your belly at that, your arm squeezing him around his shoulders. If you could pause time, sit out here with him for the rest of the night, you would.

But you know you can’t—you have to head back inside at some point and you have to fly back home to where reality lives. You just hope that Austin’s right, everything else they can figure out. Together.

--

The week you both get back, you throw yourself into your work, which actually turns out to help a lot. By Friday you’re exhausted, but in a good way, you end up feeling more like yourself. Grieving isn’t linear, there are terrible days for you and in balance there’s some really great ones too. You’re just trying to take things one day at a time, that’s the best way you think you can handle things.

Austin gets invited to a friend’s house party, because of course celebrities have those from time to time, and asks you if you’d like to come with. It’s not on your list of dates leading up to the breakup and he kinda gives this ‘no pressure’ vibe just in case you’re not feeling it. But you think it might be good for you? A party, some drinking, dancing, having a good time? Never hurts to let loose every now and then.

So Austin picks you up and drives, wearing a pair of black jeans, a button denim shirt and those same boots he loves. You’re wearing a little black dress with puffy sleeves, a pair of white booties, your earrings matching. There’s no pressure tonight to be anyone other than themselves and have a good time.

And that’s exactly what you plan on doing.

You take a few selfies with Austin and put them on your Instastory, the likes and comments almost immediate. People enjoy looking at him and you can’t exactly blame them either. His social media footprint isn’t very big but he takes one of the photos and reposts it on his story too—you try not to think about whether he’s doing that for the PR or because he wants to.

Shaking thoughts out of your head, you walk into the beautiful two-story house with him, his arm around your waist as he greets old friends and shakes hands with anyone new that he meets. Your eyes take in the tall ceiling, the pristine white paint, the glass windows overlooking rolling hills and sparkling lights of the city, and a variety of faces from Hollywood—some that you recognize, some that you don’t.

There’s really no rhyme or reason to tonight’s party other than just enjoying it and living in a bit of excess. You know it’s a bit shameful but you can’t help but wanting to throw everything to the wayside tonight, to enjoy your time with Austin, to drink a bit too much and dance, play games.

Having been here for an hour thus far, you certainly have done all the above, planting yourself on Austin’s lap on the couch as he talks to the friend throwing the party. He’s got a beer in his hand while you sip on a refill of some sort of mixed drink that’s too strong but it’s adding to the rose-colored tint you’re beginning to see the room in. Pleasantly tipsy, leaning your back against Austin’s front.

He smells so damn good, a kiss of sweat to his skin, heightening his natural scent and the sandalwood cologne he wears. His arm absently slips around your waist, keeping you in place as his friend asks him about upcoming projects and then dives into one he’s working on. You shift your hips back to get into a more comfortable position, chewing on the straw of your drink and you think it’s your imagination when Austin squeezes your hip.

But then you move again because your leg is falling asleep and Austin definitely tenses underneath you. You’re sitting close enough that you can hear him let out a short breath, even above the thrum of the music, his fingers digging into your side. Your eyes dart down to look at him, his jaw working as he attempts to pay attention and continue the conversation with his friend but…his eyes are a shade darker than usual.

He glances up at you, very quickly, before looking back at his friend and taking a sip of his beer. It’s within that moment that you become very aware of Austin’s body along your own, the heat of his skin, the way his chest feels against your back, the way his waist presses into your legs. And there, just there, you begin to feel heat pulse between your thighs, almost thick like honey. It traps air in your lungs, pulse quickening in your neck and you clear your throat,

“I uh, bathroom,” You say quickly, putting your drink down and crawling off of Austin’s lap to make a beeline towards your destination.

Your heartbeat is pounding in your ears as you close the door, leaning against the sink. You turn the water on and wet your hands, running them along your heated skin—the back of your neck, your cheeks, a brush over your forehead. You have never tried to deny that you’re physically attracted to Austin, of course you are, how could you not be? But then again there’s never quite been a situation like that either—when you could so clearly feel him and the reaction he was having because of you.

Shaking your head, you feel slightly dizzy. Just the alcohol, just the overwhelming proximity of your bodies and the mood of the night, nothing more. There’s a knock on the door,

“One minute!” You call out, slightly annoyed someone is already waiting in line to get in. Doesn’t this place have, like, three other bathrooms this person could go find? You’re not ready to leave yet, not composed to your liking at all.

The knocking doesn’t go away, so you let out a huff and move to yank open the door—and Austin is standing there. He doesn’t say a word, instead walking forward to press you back into the bathroom, the door closing behind him. There’s a brief moment of hesitancy, some shared breathing, Austin drawing his teeth over his lower lip—

And he reaches for you to kiss.

A soft moan leaves your throat almost automatically and the sound alone seems to encourage Austin’s movements, he deepens the kiss, his arms going around you. Your hands slip up and underneath his shirt to feel the heat of his skin and he continues to back you up until you bump into the sink. It’s built into a counter and you’ve never been happier about that as he lifts you up and sets you on the edge, slipping between your legs, your dress hiking a bit up your thighs. The kissing is becoming quick, almost messy, tongues slipping together as you feel him roll his hips against your leg.

You shudder at the sensation, wrapping your legs around him, drawing him in as close as you possibly can. There’s a fire smoldering inside of you, almost too much to bear, hands moving to undo belts and pants and sliding the fabric of your dress up and over your hips. Your head tips back, exposing your neck when Austin slides his hand down and into your underwear, fingers prodding, working you open. His lips find your neck, kissing along your pulse point, and you squeeze him when he maneuvers his hips and slides into you. There’s a moment of no movement, your head practically bumping the mirror and a short laugh leaves your lips.

“Ow,” You crinkle your nose, rubbing the crown of your head.

“You alright?” Austin lets out a breath of a laugh, his one hand rubbing along your shoulders.

You nod, looking down at him, hand moving to brush your thumb along his lower lip, “Don’t stop.” You whisper before kissing him.

And he doesn’t. The movement of your hips are fluid, quick, passionate, it doesn’t take either of you very long to reach your climaxes. When you do, Austin draws you closer and peppers a few kisses along your cheek, jawline, burying his face in your neck. Humming, you press your lips and nose into his shoulder, breathing him in, allowing your eyes to close. Neither of you move for a long moment.

This is not what you meant when you intended on letting loose to have a good time.

--

Only two more parts left! Also working on some requests :) thanks so much for reading! Appreciate all of you.

[thief-of-eggs]

fic writer meme

Thank you thank you to the timkon QUEEN @hearteyeshayley for tagging me <33

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

67

2. What's your total Ao3 word count?

322,925

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I mostly write for DC, but I also write for Marvel, as well as TBOSAS, ATLA, and any other book/show that randomly grabs my interest

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Mark Me Like a Bloodstain (Most unfortunately, because i hate to think that this is my AO3 legacy. Smut for Miguel O’hara that I wrote in an hour…)

Thoughts of You Consume (More smut! I didn’t expect this one to gain so much traction, but it is super fun to write!)

The Hardest Thing to Lose is You (…more Miguel O’hara smut..)

Like Melting Snow (Aaaand more snowjanus smut) ((This one is especially awkward seeing as I promised to never write Omegaverse, and yet here we are))

Guilt and Greed (One that I am actually proud of!!!! Not my greatest work but I did enjoy making this one.)

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try my hardest to!! I’m a bit behind right now, but I also haven’t been on my AO3 much this last month. I reread every comment at least 5 times, they genuinely are the food that gets me through it all. I love love LOVE talking to others about my works, and so getting to talk to yall in the comment section is SO fun for me!!!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably Memory’s Embrace. While it is not my angstiest work by far, I usually throw some comfort in there as well to let it not end angsty. This fic, however, is the only one that truly ends without a happy ending.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I think So If You Will, Please Fall in Love With Me may be my happiest ending. I absolutely adore this fic, I love fluff but don’t write it nearly as much as I’d like to.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Yup! The Snowjanus fandom, while ever so kind and supportive, also shockingly is full of haters as well! I’ve received everything from death threats to blatant slams of my writing. They make me giggle every time

9. Do you write smut?

I told myself I wouldn’t, and yet… here we are.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you have written?

No, I’m boring :(

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Twice actually! (To my knowledge)

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes!!!! I had one turned into a podfic (literally made me CRY, I was so so happy)

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No but I’ve talked about doing so with a few writer friends!! I am so down to

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

This is a very tricky question for me. I tend to love things with my entire being when I hyperfixate on them, and then I tend to feel very ‘meh’ about them after. So picking an all time is difficult, since my interests are always fluctuating.

HOWEVER, I would say that Timkon and Drarry are the two that have remained constant. (And while I am new to Andreil, I can already see it becoming another core ship for me)

15. What is a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I have an entire half-written Timkon Reverse Robins AU where Tim is red hood, and Kon ends up an accomplice. @sophiasrant has heard way too much about this AU.

As much as I would love to expand upon it and actually finish writing it, I don’t think I’ll ever have the time to do it justice. It would end up as SUCH a long fic (though I do have full written scenes if anyone is ever interested)

16. What are your writing strengths?

I like how I describe emotions and feelings. I am not very good at articulating how I am feeling, but give me a character and suddenly I have a million shades of color to paint the particular emotion they are feeling. I love to be poetic in writing, and I think I sometimes achieve that.

I also think I have a talent with smut, though I am not sure. The feedback would say so, but I literally do not know how to judge smut writing. It always feels cringe, but maybe all smut feels that way.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I never plan ahead. Like, ever. I lack discipline and I never do enough editing. As soon as a work is finished it gets posted. There are quite a few works that I know I could have done better, if only I weren’t so impatient. But alas, I cannot make myself wait.

18. Thoughts of writing dialogue in another language in fics?

I’ve only ever done it once, in a fic with Bucky Barnes and Natasha. I feel neutral on the topic. Just do research if you plan on doing it.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Downton abbey! I wrote it for me and for me only, and then decided to share it. I still never got around to finishing it…

20. Favorite fic you have written?

I have quite a few!!! (Because it’s so hard for me to pick favorites)

All of my favorites are non smut fics. I love the ones where I managed to be particularly poetic, or especially fluffy. Like, the words just flowed, and I was quite happy with the outcomes.

Those include:

So If You Will, Please Fall in Love With Me

Born From Ash

Rough on The Surface (But You Cut Through Like a Knife)

That Which Lies Beneath

I'm tagging @nanachachasposts <33 As well as anyone else who would love to do it!!

[euphoriabled]

𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍

———  BASICS! ♡

(PEN)NAME:    kaliya (kuh-lee-yuh)

PRONOUNS:  um, so i guess i use she/her the most, but also mostly out of convenience? but i don’t think i have an attachment to any pronouns really so i’m also experimenting with she/they but really you can use any because again i really don’t think i feel any sort of connection to any -- okay let me rephrase ...  really, as long as you refer to me kindly, use any you’d like. :’)

ZODIAC SIGN: oh!!! i’m a libra sun, pisces moon, taurus ascendent, leo ve---!

TAKEN OR SINGLE:  in a long distance relationship with my favorite person. sometimes i think about how insane it is that we even crossed paths, how many things had to align, and it blows my mind. genuinely get teary eyed thinking about them. i’m so lucky. 🥹

———  THREE  FACTS! ♡

1 -    i auditioned for a wes anderson film, b.reaking dawn, and misc. other things as a child, but i decided to stop acting as i got older so i could have a ‘real high school experience.’ gotta be the biggest L of my life.

2 -     i met half of all my closest friends and my partner on a fucking karaoke app.

3 -   i keep thinking about choosing a new pen name but then i get nervous that maybe someone already has that pen name and has a callout post of some kind and that i’d stress out people i don’t know by popping up as a blog with that pen name because what if they think i’m the other person with that pen name and then i’m making them feel unsafe and then i get really sad thinking about how scary would that be for them and then i realize i’m literally worrying about writers that i literally made up and don’t even exist ... so i just stick to kaliya. 

( bonus fact -   i use these emojis a lot: 🌸🦋💕🥺🥰 )

———  EXPERIENCE! ♡

PLATFORMS USED: 💀💀💀 don’t even ask me that bro, it’s so cringe ---- ( i used ask.fm, facebook, discord, smule ims, text, PASSED NOTEBOOKS BACK AND FORTH -- if there was a way to write there, i wrote there. )

PLOTTING / WINGING IT / MEMES: any way that suits my writing partners is honestly what brings me joy ! comfort and excitement brings the best threads!!

———  MUSE  PREFERENCE! ♡

GENDER: ANY !    ( i typically write women and nonbinary individuals, but i’ve written guys! shout out to my old muse bennett. miss him & calliope every day. maybe i’ll bring ‘em back one day. )

MULTI OR SINGLE: Either! I don’t have any muse preferences.

LEAST FAVOURITE FACECLAIM(S):    uh, people i know or used to see at auditions wkejfbwelj it hasn’t happened yet, but it’s a real fear. c.obra kai fandom could have gif packs of one of my childhood best friends. 💀

———  FLUFF / ANGST / SMUT! ♡    

FLUFF:  oh, fluff just makes my heart melt. i love love so very much. i truly adore shipping; i know it’s lame to say so, but damn. it fills my soul with sunshine.

ANGST:   i also love angst; what’s yin without yang? heartache, my tragic valentine, i love you so. i honestly probably write angst the most if i look at all my blogs.

SMUT :  okay, so i find smut so intimidating !! i’m open to writing it with writers i trust, but i get nervous because it is just not my forte. i’m open to explore all levels of my muses’ dynamics, but i don’t typically write it. (AND WILL NEVER EVER WRITE IT WITH UNDERAGED MUSES. NEVER.)

tagged by: found it when looking for memes ! tagging: @forwardmoved @illogihcal  @risingmccns and anybody else who would like to !! please tag me so i can see it 👀 💕 got too nervous to tag more people tbh!

[msbarrows]

I posted 3,032 times in 2022

That's 378 more posts than 2021!

347 posts created (11%)

2,685 posts reblogged (89%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@katschy

@iapetusneume

@ltleflrt

@gingersnapwolves

@sarasa-cat

I tagged 3,024 of my posts in 2022

#tumblr - 250 posts

#no man's sky - 240 posts

#lol - 143 posts

#starships - 140 posts

#euclid galaxy - 133 posts

#the untamed - 117 posts

#this! - 115 posts

#also - 89 posts

#writing - 89 posts

#fanfiction - 82 posts

Longest Tag: 132 characters

#be very sad when i go to eat lunch and discovered what happens to a soft banana inside a lunch box that was used to bludgeon a bully

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

See the full post

38 notes - Posted July 21, 2022

#4

See the full post

39 notes - Posted October 22, 2022

#3

See the full post

50 notes - Posted June 13, 2022

#2

My latest gaming addiction - No Man’s Sky. Bought it on Steam in sales last week and after an initial “not sure if like or dislike” I’ve spent a disturbing number of hours running around and finding stuff and building mini-bases all over my starting solar system. This particular one is at the site of a crashed space freighter I’m salvaging stuff from (my only base so far in a second solar system is positioned at same). I have several sites I’ve named “Drydock” that were claimed just for the purpose of salvaging a wrecked ship and warping it to the space station to melt down for scrap (best haul so far netted me > 5 million units plus a storage upgrade for my own tiny ship). At some point when I have a lot more in the way of resources and technology, I might try actually repairing one of the crashed ships. Because why not.

I also like having bases handy to specific material types - like the one super-weird planet covered in coral-like desiccated creatures that are formed of both carbon and ferrite (two of the three main building materials, the other being silicate sand you can dig up anywhere), making it an awesome place to farm for more building materials any time I start running low. So much easier and faster than running around mining them from random plants and rocks on other planets, and I can just use my teleporter to step to there from any of my other bases if I need to gather more

So far if I had to describe my character I’d say they’re conflict-avoidant. Happy enough to just ignore the battles occurring around them, scavenge for salvageable crap, and build micro-bases. I am looking forward to unlocking more of the decor items so I can make bases that look comfortable, not just functional (I blame many years of playing The Sims for that interest...).

I’ve barely set foot outside my starting system yet, and don’t really have any interest so far in following the main storyline assignments or getting into any fights. I’ve only killed one pirate so far - mostly I just scram away from them as fast as my tiny ship can go - but I may beef up my weapons and shields a little, because being randomly attacked when I’m just minding my own business mining asteroids (for gold so I can build more solar panels) is getting old.

50 notes - Posted June 5, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Been wanting this print from @theshitpostcalligrapher‘s Etsy shop for most of a year now; finally picked up a copy this month as a birthday present to myself.

I’ve put it in sight of my bed, so I’ll see it first and last thing every day, and some day (hopefully soonish) when I get my shit together enough to move out into my own place again, I will probably make a point of it being the first decorative item I set out.

(Also I love the pretty tiled frame I bought to put it in)

222 notes - Posted August 15, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[sapphires-and-sirens]

Addictions

This is chapter 2 of my fic Sapphire Beaches. Tags, background info, and other chapters can be found here!

In which Suguru goes back to the most addictive drug he’s had in his life, Yuuji gets another hit, and Keiji has a relapse.

“There’s my pretty boy,” Yuuji purred at the sight of him. He felt a pleasant tingle go up his spine.

“This is the last time,” he lied. It wasn’t ever the last time. The blonde seemed to know that, if the small uptick of his lips was anything to go by.

“Well, we’re just hangin’ out, right? Nothing wrong with that,” the other hummed, his voice low. Suguru swallowed, nodding, and the mermaid took him in. He looked upon the smooth white of the door to Yuuji’s bedroom, probably made of shell and pearl, for the last time as he entered the room. Sat on the bed.

“You recognize the ships coming in,” he noted. “Gup— mermaids don’t normally do that sort of thing.”

“We don’t normally have to. Humans like us.”

“Not Seekers.”

“Yeah.”

“But I’m glad that you’re okay.”

“Seekers took my parents.”

“I know.”

His voice was soft as he slipped his hand into Yuuji’s, squeezing it in a comforting gesture.

“They killed my dad.”

“I know,” the blonde murmured, squeezing back and moving closer.

“It’d be nice if you’d quit having your side bitches try to turn me into an exhibit in public, you know.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got a reputation. That’d all change if you’d just be mine again, though,” the other trilled lowly, a hand coming up to caress his face. The touch soothed his starting temper with a practiced ease.

“Yuuji, you know I can’t do that.”

“Why not? Because Keiji told you not to?” Yuuji pressed with a hint of aggravation.

“They all told me not to, because you’re bad for me.”

“Bad for you?”

An arm around his waist, a hand cupping his cheek, those brown eyes boring into his.

“How can I be bad for you when I treat you so good? Baby, I treat you so well. You don’t agree? What am I doin wrong? You know I just wanna make you happy. I spoil you when I have you, and you know I love you. I just wanna make you feel right. Tell me how to be better, and I’ll do it.”

Fuck.

Yuuji was so close to him right now, on top of him, almost, and his touch was melting his logic and reason. Those eyes were full of sincerity, and Suguru…

Couldn’t resist.

One of his hands wandered to the back of Yuuji’s head, tugging his face closer.

“You don’t need to,” he clicked quietly, their foreheads pressing together. “You’re so perfect.”

That uptick of the mermaid’s lips made him tingle.

“Am I?”

“So so perfect. Best I’ve ever had.”

“I love you,” came the near silent chitter, before their lips met.

He didn’t need to get over it. Not when he could get back under it instead.

Those lips fled to his jawline, murmuring love along the way. Such sweet words flowed from the mermaid’s mouth like pure poetry. He’d missed this.

He’d missed this so much.

Kisses across his collarbone— “you’re sculpted so perfectly, baby” —and shoulders, down his stomach, across the scales that started at his waist.

“Come back to me, baby. Please. I need you.”

“I’m yours,” he replied instantly, watching the bubbles from the rushed, breathy response float upwards.

Those eyes lit up.

“What was that?”

“I’m yours, Yuuji.”

That smile could feed him for days.

“Then let me cherish what’s mine, mm?”

—

Akaashi Keiji was not an idiot. He had been when he was twelve and a performer, before the siren hunts. When he thought having fun was all that mattered.

It had always been the four of them: he, Daishou, Osamu, and Oikawa, but there had also been others. They were friends with more sirens than that currently, too, but there were a lot more of them, back then.

Keiji had had a boyfriend. He’d been madly in love, to the point that it blinded him. The four of them were performers and his boyfriend had come to see him every night.

His boyfriend had been a Lightbringer.

There weren’t any of those, anymore.

They’d performed at a bar, singing and dancing. It was for fun, and for shells, and it had helped Osamu be a little less shy. His boyfriend had died during the siren hunts, and they performed no more.

Keiji was living and learning, now. He didn’t think he’d ever sing again.

That was to say, though, that he was not an idiot. Not anymore. So he knew that his friend was doing the opposite of getting over his breakup with that guppy, Terushima Yuuji.

Koutarou shifted, pressing his face into the crook of his neck. Keiji chuckled, adjusting to help the Bottom Feeder fit better.

“You’re thinkin so loud,” Koutarou murmured.

“What do you mean?”

“I can just tell you’re overthinking somethin.”

“Yeah.”

“S’it Daishou again?”

“Yeah.”

“Need me to keep him here for a few days?”

“I don’t know yet. You should come with us tomorrow.”

“Mkay. He’s a big boy. He can make his own decisions.”

“Can he, Kou?”

“…no. But you gotta let him learn, my lovely,” the Bottom Feeder chittered softly, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his jaw.

“Yeah, I guess. I just worry.”

Koutarou nodded fractionally.

“I know. Kinda your thing.”

The next morning, Suguru wasn’t there. He hadn’t gone home last night, which meant—

“That bastard hooked up with Yuuji again,” he hissed.

Koutarou sighed.

“It’s okay, I’ll talk to him this afternoon,” Keiji stated, the threat clear in his voice. Anger was already curling in his stomach. He let out a quiet hiss, clenching and unclenching his hands.

So that afternoon, when they were basking in their little spot— a little place they’d found surrounded by rocks and with a decent amount of water still there, far from humans and mermaids, and Suguru showed up, Koutarou grimaced. Osamu, Oikawa, Atsumu, and the others weren’t there yet.

Koutarou excused himself, and went off. Keiji smiled, venom probably obvious on his face.

“So, Suguru, how was your dick appointment?”

A flash of guilt across the other’s face.

“Great. You sound more mad than normal.”

“Because I’m fucking tired of you,” he snapped. “Suguru, do you ever think?! No, of course not! You’ve got constant fish brain, or something. You need to get it through that thick fucking skull of yours that Yuuji doesn’t fucking love you. He’s using you, and you’re just too stupid to grasp it. You’re such an idiot, Suguru! I thought maybe after living through the siren hunts and the war that you would finally get some damn sense, but that was wishful thinking, right?”

“I—“

“I don’t want to hear any sort of excuse, Suguru. You’ve been purely stupid, thinking that anyone, especially a guppy, could love you. Don’t your ass cry about it when you lose him, or when you fold to his will again, because you’re just fucking asking to be used at this point,” he hissed. A broken chirp of protest exited the other, before he fled to the surface. Keiji followed, fully prepared to continue ripping into him.

He shouldn’t have. He knew he was doing that thing where his mouth just ran for no reason, and said things he didn’t mean. And that he’d probably regret everything he said pretty soon. But still, Suguru was being stupid! And he cared too much to let the Keyholder throw himself back into Yuuji’s arms.

When he surfaced, he was met with the Keyholder’s back. Those shoulders shuddered, and the gills were working overtime from where they were still submerged.

“Okay, Keiji, let’s talk about you then.”

“About what?! The fact that I can keep a boyfriend, and everyone likes me, and I’ve never let a guppy puppet my life?!”

“No, but about how you still can’t watch your damned mouth. Yeah, sure, I love Yuuji. And that’s my fault?!”

A voice chimed in. Oh, Iwaizumi was here, and angry as well.

“That makes sense though, doesn’t it? You’ve always had a thing for letting yourself be used for attention.”

Suguru sniffed.

“So you think I let it happen?”

“No, but you saw the opportunity for an attention grab once it happened and you just took it.”

Keiji glanced at the brute, shaking his head firmly. That was too much.

“So, the whole thing is all because of me, then? He’s not in the wrong at all?!”

“Yes! You don’t fucking think— and look at me WHEN IM FUCKING TALKING TO YOU!” So, Iwa probably got into a fight with his mom before he showed up.

Daishou flinched, whirling around with his eyes wide.

“Suguru, dating a guppy is stupid. We thought you were smarter than that.”

“Exactly!”

“Okay. I’m gonna…go, then. Have fun with the others. I’m sorry, I um. I’m sorry. I didn’t…I don’t…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean— fuck,” the Keyholder hissed finally, and then he turned and dove back under.

Keiji watched him go, feeling nothing but confusion and anger. Then he looked at Iwaizumi.

“That was far, Iwa.”

“It’s true.”

“Some of it. Not all of it.”

The other scoffed.

“Whatever.”

Wait. Where was Suguru going?

—

Yuuji didn’t expect Suguru to show back up within the same day. The siren had been gone for maybe an hour or two, but suddenly there were knocks he’d long learned to recognize at his bedroom door.

He opened it, and at seeing him, Suguru crumpled to the ground. Tears more dense than the ocean water fell from the other’s eyes, and the siren was positively trembling. His heart ached at the sight.

“Suguru?”

There wasn’t an outward answer, and so he picked the Keyholder up. That green hair was somehow a mess, the pretty face all crumpled up in dismay, and at the contact, his siren clung to him immediately like a leech.

“What’s wrong? What happened, baby? Tell me what’s wrong.”

Distressed chirps and chitters too quick to decipher flew from the other’s mouth, claws digging into his back. He grimaced but simply soothed a hand down his lover’s spine.

“What’s wrong, gem? You gotta talk a bit slower, okay?”

Yuuji felt those gills flex from where they resided on his siren’s shoulder blades.

“K-keiji and…and Iwa, they were yelling at me, and they called me stupid, and…and Keiji’s tired of me, and Iwa…Iwa blamed me f-for something that happened before everything got bad and then he reminded me of my dad and I couldn’t do it and it was too much and I’m sorry I’m so stupid I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,” his siren sobbed, broken clicks and trills exiting him as fragmented apologies.

Opportunity to have his siren all to himself again.

Without Keiji, maybe Suguru would stay this time. And he’d be with him all the time and forever.

“I’m so sorry, baby, that’s horrible. Why don’t you stay with me, then? Forever. You know, they can’t hurt you if you never go see them. Nobody can. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll cherish you and treat you so good, gem, you know that,” he trilled soothingly, feeling his siren relax into him already. Just like he used to. “I won’t hurt you again. I won’t let anything hurt you anymore.”

Those claws dug deeper into his skin. That breath hitched. Telltale sign that Yuuji was very close to exactly where he needed to be.

“You promise…?”

There it was.

“Yeah, I promise.”

A shuddery breath and a nod.

“Okay.”

He smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of the Keyholder’s head.

“You’re mine. I’ll take care of you.”

Keep him forever and ever. Have and hold and love and keep him. Become his whole world.

Oh he’d love to be this boy’s whole world again. To be worshipped, loved, adored.

Needed.

Oh, how he’d missed that feeling of having someone so utterly dependent on him.

He’d missed Suguru. It hurt, not having him. He wouldn’t let him go again.

This time, he’d be better.

***

Living with Suguru reminded him how love truly felt. His siren laid on his chest, nose pressed into the crook of his neck. Terushima kept an arm wrapped around the other’s waist, talking to him about that one time last week that Kyoutani had managed to get all caught up in a net and so he chewed through it—

“What?” Suguru interrupted, laughing. The clicking laughter brought a smile to his face.

“Yeah, he chewed through the netting!”

“Of course he did.”

There was a small bit of silence before his lover sat up.

“Oh gosh, there’s this one Bottom Feeder, right? His name’s Tendou, and he’s a bit odd but he’s so sweet and funny. I wanna be friends but we don’t talk much.”

“Funnier than me?” Yuuji challenged, his tone playful.

“Well, not really. You two have different senses of humor. He’s funny without really trying to be, but his jokes are terrible. Your jokes are great. So I’d say you’re funnier.”

He purred softly at the answer. Good.

“But anyways, he has a really bright red tail, and he sees really well— better than us, even, and he acts like a Lurer. He’s fallen for a sailor.”

Yuuji hummed, watching the smile on his siren’s face. Too fond, for his taste.

No, wait. He wasn’t supposed to think like that anymore. Suguru could like his friends. That’s why he had them.

Still.

No. He had to play nice. Even if it aggravated him, he could try to pay attention. He wasn’t going to make Suguru leave him again.

“It’s so cute. He’ll go up and sing to him, and he hasn’t been successful yet but still, that’s such an adorable gesture. I hope his sailor likes him, you know. Well, I moreso hope that the rumors are right and that it’s actually just a siren who spends more time on the land. We can’t really be with humans, you know.”

He nodded, shifting closer. In turn, on instinct, his siren leaned closer. Just as he knew he would.

“Yeah, being with humans is kinda the biggest thing we’re not supposed to do.”

“Says the show pony,” his lover retorted playfully. He rolled his eyes good naturedly, scoffing.

“Do what I gotta do. You used to be a performer, didn’t you?”

“Well yeah, for sirens.”

“Same same.”

“Not really,” Daishou denied, a smile present on his face.

He was so damn pretty when he smiled. That smile was only for him. And he would keep it that way.

He tugged his boyfriend closer, those eyes wandering to his and being full of adoration.

He’d missed that.

As their lips met, he could feel the love, the want, radiating from his siren. So he kissed him like he was the only thing that mattered, so that he could be the only thing that mattered. Kissed him like the most valuable treasure. Because, well.

That was what he was. He was everything.

His hands wandered up his lover’s spine, feeling the purr that it elicited from the Keyholder. Hands cupped his face with such care that it melted him. He knew that his siren loved him, knew it in the way that canines nicked his bottom lip. He knew it in the tenderness that those hands held his face with.

He loved Suguru, he truly did. Loved the curve of his shoulders, the jade green of his scales, the emerald green of his eyes, the sharpness of his fangs, the color of his skin…Suguru was his definition of perfect. Filled every corner of his mind, filled him with more care and regard for another being than he’d had ever in his life.

He’d kill for his siren.

But he didn’t want to have to do that. So he’d just keep his lover here forever with him. That way, he wouldn’t ever have to do anything bad. Keep him close, protect him, make sure those eyes were only for him.

The mentioned pulled away and Yuuji gave chase, not satisfied.

“Yuuji…” his siren protested softly, though the ability to be persuaded was present in his voice.

Make it clear when you say no.

“What’s that, gem? Did you want to quit?”

Those gills were working overtime. His were, too. He loved it.

“No, just…I love you.”

He smiled, pressing their noses together.

“I love you too.”

This was how it was supposed to be.

This was what love felt like.

Previous chapter | Next chapter

[creaturecosmo]

Glass Bubble

Ship: KuroKen

Word Count: 700

Tags: ANGST, emotional abuse, abusive Kuroo, no happy ending

Summary: Kenma tries to finally leave Kuroo, for good this time. It... doesn't go to plan.

“Don’t make me get angry.” Pinched brows quirk up the slightest bit where they meet, like Kuroo really is wary of this conversation already. His fingers still rake through his hair as he sighs. “You know I hate getting angry with you.”

Practice will start any minute now. Teammates are scattered through the gym as the pre-warmup conversation lays a blanket over the glass bubble around the couple– no, the pair. Not a couple. Just a pair…

Kenma’s arms tighten around himself to fend off the prod at his exhausted heart. Why is leaving always so goddamn hard? Why can’t he just call it quits and walk away like his rational side has been screaming at him to do for several days? Ever since that talk with his mom, reality has been needling in his brain relentlessly. Kuroo is bad for him, so bad.

Buzzing in Kenma’s ears jolts him from his thoughts in time to see his boy– best friend’s expression soften into a worn-out smile. The hand in his hair drops to the back of his neck, the other over his heart. Poisonous affection leaks from the pose.

“I want my kitten back.” That rumbling voice is sugary sweet, cavity-inducing. A large, calloused hand reaches out towards Kenma’s face. “Baby, you’re my diamond.”

There’s no time to fight the full-body twitch when the hand came too close, chewed nails nearly tearing through Kenma’s jacket sleeves with the evasion. Bloodshot eyes squeeze shut as he tries to reel in the fresh pricks in his tear ducts. Now is not the time for weakness. Now is the time to stand up to the boy he’s known since they were kids. The boy who has grown toxic in his kindness. The boy who knows Kenma better than anyone.

A scoff rings through Kenma’s ears, forcing his eyes open as the buzzing comes back. Ice runs through his veins as he looks at Kuroo.

The sugar has rotted away in the brief moment Kenma has shied away. A glacier barrier takes its place as his best friend turns his nose in the air and irritation shines in those narrowed, dark eyes.

“You never listen, anyway, do you? I guess I’ll just be quiet, then.”

A flamed, serrated knife drags across Kenma’s jackrabbit heart. The buzz rattles his brain, screaming danger to any neuron that will listen. His awareness extends past their bubble for just a moment to find the stares of Lev, Yaku, and Yamamoto. Whispers from Kai and Inuoka leak in.

Their glass bubble has spiderweb cracks, leaking toxic gas from the cou– pair.

And Kuroo is turning away. Kuroo is preparing to fully ignore Kenma’s existence outside of volleyball. And Kenma isn’t anywhere near prepared for that, can’t handle another round of questioning his very being and drowning in self-blame and doubt. Guilt will eat him alive until he has left are pleas and promises to be good to Kuroo, to stay, to admit he’s wrong and Kuroo’s right, just like always. Kuroo knows better than Kenma. Kuroo knows what’s best for Kenma. Better than Kenma himself knows.

Before the urge to scream at the team to stop staring can grab him by the neck, Kenma rushes forward to catch Kuroo’s wrist. He valiantly ignores the way it burns his skin.

Because the irritation is melting from Kuroo’s clenched fist as Kenma stares at the floor. Furious whispers about backing down once again are drowned out by the relief that Kuroo is wrapping an arm around him, pulling him into that warmth again. He is real, now. A sense of safety bubbles up beside the guilt. The disappointment and disgust plays back on a scratched record in the back of his mind.

“‘M sorry.”

A soft kiss to his head takes away some of the tension in Kenma’s chest. Warmth soothes the ache in his bleeding heart, cottony affection filling the laceration. Tears well up in his eyes, dripping down his hot cheeks.

“I know, love.”

A slow breath trembles its way out at the reassurance, the acknowledgement that this is real, he is real.

Kenma is real again.

Why would he ever think of leaving such a loving home?

[poppiesforthirteen]

i only speak in silences

the doctor can’t leave the master behind

tags: post destruction of gallifrey, themes from the timeless children, emotional constipation aka that awkward moment when you discover your best enemy has emotions

ao3 link is in the reblogs

—

"I want you to sit down," the Doctor says, "and listen to everything I have to say."

She sits too, cross legged in front of the console, imagining him face to face with her. He'll go along with it, for the symbolism of it all. "If everything went as planned, you're not alive right now. But you've made it out before, so I'm sending this home. Maybe you'll see it someday.

"If you're dead, it means the Time Lords are extinct." Bitterly, the Doctor smiles. "Turns out you were right—I don't know what it feels like. Maybe my people are still out there." The Master's not there and still, she averts her eyes; can't bear to imagine him watching her. "I'm not going to look for them. So don't be dead."

The doors to the TARDIS are open, hot wind in her back. The fires have been going for weeks. Somehow, there's always more to burn.

"I don't want to kill you again. Didn't want to before, either, if you'll believe me. Well. If you believed me, you wouldn't be watching this."

The Doctor stares at the device, thoughts slipping away like sand running through her fingers. "This was a bad idea," she says into the empty room, then leans forward to shut the recording off. "Let’s try again."

— 

In the dust of the stone ruins, the Doctor—composed of golden light—sits across from him, knees pulled to her chest. Her hair is messy; she’s been running her hands through it. Even through the fuzzy recording (the device got dented on the way), her eyes are dull. She’s never looked this exhausted.

The Master lets it play.

‘—the first thing about it. I’ve been trying for days, but I can’t make sense of it. There’s no way you could guess, because they wouldn’t. They’re not this cruel.’ 

He laughs joylessly.

‘They’re not. They can’t be.’ 

There’s a long pause, an expression he can’t read; he’s never seen the Doctor like this (upset, but not angry, or indignant, or shocked).

‘Do you have any idea how hard it is to talk to you? This is the tenth draft—this one doesn’t even count; I’m deleting it in a second.’ 

There it is—anger. Back to something familiar.

‘I hope you’re actually dead this time. I’m going to stop looking. Don’t come back.’ 

The Doctor leans forward. Her figure ripples and she’s upright, hair sorted again, jaw set. Raising an eyebrow, the Master looks up at her and stays on the floor. His trousers are white with dust.

‘Sit down,’ she says, ‘and listen to everything I say.’ 

"I’m already sitting," he responds. The Doctor sits parallel to him, her legs crossed the same way. "Get on with it."

‘Before I start: Don’t think I’ll forgive you.’ 

"So you’ve said. Don’t think I’ll believe you more this time."

‘I destroyed your TARDIS,’ she says, her words overlapping with his.

He scoffs. "I was going to use that."

‘Filled it with Daleks. Would say I’m sorry, but you weren’t using it any better.’ 

"How would you feel if I filled your ship with Daleks?"

‘—particle worked, mine is the only one left in the universe. So if you’re alive, I’ll give you a lift.’ 

"How gracious of you, you self-important"—he snarls—"you left me here; I won’t thank you for rescuing me." She looks up, her piercing eyes meeting his, and the Master pauses the recording just before she can start to speak again. He leans in close. The hologram quality doesn’t hold up, leaving her eyes cold and dark, pupil and iris melting into one. "Why don’t you lock me up again while you’re at it? There has to be some miserable hole on your planet I haven’t spent seventy-odd years stuck in yet."

The Doctor started the recording wanting to say more—the eleventh draft; the Master can almost guess what took her so long to put into words. "It’s not my fault you never believe me when we talk about home," he tells her still image. "You’re more of a liar than I ever was. If I hadn’t known you from the start, I’d be surprised someone can be so manipulative and so naive."

(Takes one to know one, says an annoyingly familiar voice at the back of his mind.) 

He must have watched her hologram a dozen times. There’s always more to say.

With the tools on the Doctor’s TARDIS, he can restore the other nine and a half drafts. Would love to know what she’s been saying to him. The Master leans back against the half wall that’s still standing—more white dust on his jacket. Doesn’t make a difference anymore; he’s been out here long enough that everything he has on him is covered in a fine layer of ash, his skin pale with chalk. Might be nice not to taste sand on his tongue.

He unpauses the hologram.

‘Just tell me if you’re still there. I’ll find you.’ 

It ends. "Contact," the Master says into the orange sky.

The Doctor doesn’t respond.

—

The TARDIS lands in an abandoned building in Gallifrey. Yaz isn’t here—the Doctor left her back home. She’s had enough close calls. The Doctor grabs a leather jacket off the steps and hides it under the console, then turns as the door opens behind her.

"Could have at least come out to greet me," says the Master. He takes off his jacket and shakes it. A cloud of dust lifts into the air. "Where’s your entourage? Did you leave them with the Daleks?"

"They’re not here," the Doctor says coldly.

"Thought so. Found any nice asteroids to leave me on yet?"

"Plenty." She leans against the console, her arms crossed as he puts the jacket back on. "Any preference?"

The Master approaches the console—approaches her—and the Doctor steps forward demonstratively.

"Mind if I have a drink?" He doesn’t await her response—she doesn’t give him one. The Master searches the wall to her right, pushing his elbow into a panel and opening the liquor cabinet. He pulls out a heavy red-tinted bottle, offering it to the Doctor. She wrinkles her nose, so the Master shrugs, pouring himself a finger’s width of what ends up a pale rose liquid.

"How about Aberystwyth?"

"What about it?" The Master sips on his drink, then grimaces. "Oh, that’s bad," he says more to himself than to her and discreetly sets the glass back in the cabinet.

"You could stay there. You’ll like it. Probably."

"Earth again." He picks up bottles and sets them on the ground one by one. "Can’t you ever take me anywhere interesting?"

"You choose Earth just as much as I do."

"Because you can’t leave the humans alone." The Master sniffs the top of a thin, deep amber bottle, looking around the TARDIS. "Where are they?"

"Away from you."

Mocking, he places a hand over his right heart. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you don't want me here."

"I don't."

The Master gives her a long, measured look. Coldly, the Doctor stares back, trying to sneak her way into his mind through the shine in his eyes, and hits a block.

What can he be thinking? It shouldn't matter. She'll set him loose—like tossing a spider out the window. That makes the TARDIS her paper cup.

The Doctor is under it with him.

Her position doesn't feel as secure anymore. But whatever she does, she won't lead him back to Yaz.

"Then I'll get out of your hair." The Master takes the amber bottle and slips a clear one the length of his palm in his pocket, then turns on his heel to go.

She should stop him. Whatever it is he's doing, she should be stopping him. She just hasn't figured out what exactly he is doing—she'll only know when it's too late.

So the Doctor lets him go.

—

Hacking into the device was a matter of minutes—the damage it took on its way to him cleared the way for the Master to restore every attempt the Doctor deleted. The first few drafts, he regretted not having made popcorn, balancing between being flattered and insulted on a captivating tightrope, watching the Doctor try again and again to get him to come back; try not to seem like she cares too much.

Now, on draft seven, she's sat, crumpled, with her legs pulled against her body, her face hidden behind her knees as she sobs silently.

All that quiet entertainment curdles into revulsion like milk in the sun. The Master's skin crawls. He messes with the projector—tries to skip through it—but the fast forward is stuck. Sacrifices for the drafts he's uncovered; he has to sit with them now.

The Doctor's shoulders heave as she cries—previous holograms were distorted, clips of sound missing, but it's like the Doctor herself is punishing him by making the Master see her in perfect detail. She sniffles, hiccups; he can hear her.

His insides boil. It's disgusting; he doesn't want to know this—doesn't want to watch—but he can't interrupt it or he won't get to see the other drafts.

Though the longer draft seven goes on, the less he wants to see the others. The Master's fingers clench around the tall bottleneck, fingernails digging into glass—he can't even drink. It's unnerving. She's unnerving, making him angry.

Like seeing her naked, worse than that—the Doctor is vulnerable. She's crying. (Doesn't she know she's too old for that? Doesn't she know she looks weak?)

(She'll never be a Time Lord like this.)

The Doctor sniffles, wipes her face and looks up—their eyes meet and the Master is frozen in place. Horrified, the Doctor stares; she reaches forward and the Master flinches so violently the small bottle falls from his pocket.

The Doctor's image ripples and she's standing, her hair set again, face dry, neutral, measured. Draft eight.

By draft nine, her eyes aren't red anymore. She doesn’t stop looking tired until draft eleven.

—

The Master doesn't slink—he has too much dignity for that—but he moves quietly as he opens the liquor cabinet to replace the bottles.

"Got it out of your system?" asks the Doctor from behind the console. The Master jumps, nearly dropping the glass he's holding.

"Got what?"

She frowns at him. "The scheming—are you done?"

"Oh. Hm."

He watches her face, trying to find the person he saw before, sad, small, and so afraid. But the Doctor's eyes are cold, her expression neutral, and she looks more frustrated than terrified.

"Can I help you?" she bites.

"Just thinking of the best place to let in the Daleks." The Master shoves the last few bottles in and closes the cabinet door.

"What were you doing just now?"

"None of your business."

"Show me." She steps forward and without wanting to, the Master twitches back—her face falls. A glimpse of the Doctor he saw.

As they walk back to that little room, the Doctor's mind drills through the back of his head—probing, searching, what could he have done? The Master can barely navigate the TARDIS with the effort it takes to keep his barriers up—he can't allow himself to think of anything else. Doesn't remember which state the room was in; doesn't remember if he turned the projector off.

They stand in the doorway of the little room, tools scattered across the floor, and the Master tenses at the same time the Doctor draws in a sharp breath—the hologram is stood in the middle of the room. The final seconds of draft six.

"What did you see?" demands the Doctor.

And the Master decides to act. "Everything." He grins. "You should take better care of your toys—five tries to send a message, Doctor, really? I'd almost think you cared."

Her shoulders relax.

"Go on, get back to picking the next rock to exile me on. Do what you do best." He shoos her away and for a moment, she obeys.

Out of the corner of his eye, the image ripples. Her eyes fixed over his shoulder, the Doctor freezes, watching in horror as, curled up on the floor, in the centre of the room, her hologram cries.

The Master can't stand to look at her. The disgust of his first times watching was uncomfortable enough; now it's making way for shame, burning under his skin. Like he’s the one baring his soul, open and vulnerable; like he chose to see this. He can't bear it.

He shuts the door, leaving the hologram alone behind it. Fragile, the Doctor's gaze flits up, terrified—like he might hit her for what he's seen—then fixes on the floor. Tears prick the corners of her eyes. She chews her lip.

The Master can't bear it. He pushes past her—back to the control room. Away from the Doctor.

She stays behind.

—

Hours later, she returns—the Master is sitting against the open liquor cabinet, sipping lemonade from an erlenmeyer flask. The Doctor flops down, leaning against a pillar, resting her chin on her knee.

"You left first," says the Master, "I thought you knew."

"Knew what?"

"About Gallifrey. Time Lords. Always been a pile of shit."

"Of course I knew—most of it. I just never thought"—she struggles for words—"it was never going to be me. You were always the special one."

"Was I?" He can't help teasing—the Doctor shoots him a withering glare. "Too late to go back to killing me now, Doctor. I'm the special one."

She snorts. Lets it go.

"Would that have made it easier?" she asks. "If it were you instead."

"I don't think it would have changed anything." He takes a long sip. "They used both of us."

The Doctor grimaces. "What are you drinking?"

"Lemonade."

She raises an eyebrow.

"Really," the Master insists. He rolls the bottle across the floor and the Doctor unscrews the cap, sniffing the top. "See?"

"Fine." She sets it aside.

They fall back into silence—how can she have nothing to say to him? The Master has plenty to say to her, nothing he can say of course. Nothing that wouldn't make it worse.

The Doctor opens her mouth to speak.

"We don't have to talk about it." The Master cuts her off before she can begin.

"We should—"

"We shouldn't. You know I'm alive. I know you are. That's enough." Pulling himself up on the open cabinet, the Master stands. "Let me know when you're kicking me out."

The Doctor is silent as he leaves. Her shields are down.

The Master doesn't look.

—

The Master stands in the doorway—the Doctor hasn't told him where they are yet, but it seems like Earth, a flowery meadow somewhere warm and far away from civilisation. She's a few steps behind him, waiting in the TARDIS.

As dissatisfying as it was to be biolocked out, the Master hasn't spent all his time uselessly. Unfortunately, he won't be there for the payoff.

"Is this it?" he asks.

"This is it."

"Give my love to Yaz," he coos.

The Doctor snarls. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Doctor." He turns and steps out. The door closes behind him.

The Master closes his eyes as the TARDIS takes off. The air here is filled with life, potential, waiting to be used.

He'll see her again. One day.

—

"Dan, have you seen my jacket?" Yaz calls through the TARDIS. The Doctor might know where it is, but she’s gone off somewhere. Does she have a bedroom? She might be there.

"Might be with the pirate clothes," he calls back. "You know, they're growing on me."

"Oh no, burn them"—Yaz dips her head under the console—"don't need to see them ever again—" A sleeve hangs down towards the central column. When she tugs on it, a leather jacket of hers falls to the ground; she pulls it out into the light.

"Haven't seen this one in ages," she says to herself. Dan joins her, back in his regular clothes—he looks over her shoulder as Yaz inspects it.

"That it?"

She shakes her head. "This is an old one; it's been missing for years." There's a smear of white dust across the side, like chalk—the jacket is spotted with oil from having been under the console for too long, folding and worn in awkward areas. Yaz puts her hand in the pocket and her fingers meet something familiar.

From the pocket of her old jacket, she pulls a hologram projector.

—

thank you so much for reading!! this one was a task and a half to get out, so unless i get struck by some incredible inspiration, it’s up to you to imagine what happens next <3

as i’ve said before, the ao3 link will be in the notes, along with a link to the piece that inspired the title. i really appreciate any support you can give me, especially in the way of comments/reblogs/replies/asks - let me know your thoughts!!

have a great day :D

[sophiemess]

THE BEST SURPRISE

pairing(s): kenma x reader (she/her pronouns)

wc: 1984 (i got very carried away)

tags: long distance relationship, reader gets called beautiful a lot, a quite flustered kenma, very awkward third-wheeling kuroo, reader's implied to be pretty tall??, kenma gets picked up i think

warnings: none!! just fluff

a/n: just know i will always prioritize the tall readers because they're so overlooked often 😔😔 also some of my keys stopped working midway through writing this so that SUCKED

kenma hates—absolutely despises with his entire being—how far away you are from him. he hates the fact he can’t just collapse into your arms after a difficult day, how he can’t feel your lips on his forehead when he’s so exhausted he just wants to melt away, and most of all how he can’t hear you whisper, “i love you,” in real time. he hates it. and he hates how painful it is to miss you.

“kenma!” your cute voice snaps him out of his laments. “you look pretty, kenma. how was your day?”

thank god he has his phone.

kenma usually dislikes the stress of talking on the phone. he doesn’t like how he can’t pick up on visual cues as well. with anyone else, he needs that. he can do without when it comes to you. you don’t mind if he takes a second to process things, if he goes silent because he has no idea what to say, you don’t mind everything strange about the way he communicates. and because of that kenma is a hundred times more open with you.

“it was okay.”

kenma’s day was bad. it was really bad. but he doesn’t want to hear your excited voice go dull and the smile drop off your face, so he lies.

you talk again, and you almost sound skeptical. “...you sound exhausted.” “i’m tired. how was yours?” he’d rather hear about the same events of your life for three hours than risk boring you with his. you smile a little brighter, “it was good! i played a little on the realm earlier, messed with the garden a bit and tried to find some pigs for the farm. i didn’t have any carrots, though.”

kenma feels his worries dissolve as you ramble on a little longer about minecraft. you two have a little shared realm—most of the hard work is kenma’s but you’re good at building and breeding animals and keeping the garden in check. one day he wants to have buildings in every corner of the world, a city of your love. it sounds cheesy when he says it out loud, though, so he just thinks about it with a silent smile.

did you know you make him smile so much?

“so, yeah. what did you do today, baby?” you ask, wrapping up your ramble and looking at your screen expectantly.

he takes just a second to feel warm and fuzzy at the nickname before shrugging. “nothing, really. i guess it was long.”

“yeah, you look exhausted as all hell,” you chuckle, shaking your head. “you really should go to bed soon, angel.”

he shakes his head defiantly. “i’ll be alright.”

“i mean, you can, but that doesn’t mean you should.”

you’re so worried for him always. he almost finds it endearing, and sometimes he feels kinda bad about it too. but he can tell it’s not a huge deal to you—if it was, he’d be complying. he hates seeing you in distress.

you give him a gentle smile and a yawn, and once more he curses the fact you two have to be so far away. you look so cute and cozy he just wants to wrap himself in your arms and feel so close that he can’t tell where he ends and you begin. especially since it’s frigid in his room.

“i’m tired too, babe,” you say sleepily, rubbing your eyes. “i really need to get to bed. i have a surprise for you tomorrow.”

a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “a surprise?”

“yeah, a gift. but if i want it to come at the right time i have to get up kinda early to deliver it.” he purses his lips in thought as to what your gift could be. small gifts like stickers and dried flowers aren’t uncommon, but usually you ship those a few days in advance to make sure he gets it by the end of the week. why did you wait so long for this one?

“don’t think about it too hard,” you laugh adoringly. “might spoil it.”

“well, then, you should sleep.” “mhm. i love you, angel, i’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?” he takes a second to relish in the pride of that sentence before murmuring, “love you too. talk to you soon.”

you two hang up at the same time. kenma blinks at his now pitch black room, sighing deeply.

he hates how he misses you.

in the morning, kenma finds himself out of bed at an ungodly hour due to kuroo blowing up his phone, telling him to make himself look presentable and get outside. he’s groggy and disgruntled, but regardless takes the quickest shower he’s ever taken, combs his hair a few times, throws on a sweatshirt two sizes big, puts on the nearest pair of basketball shorts, and takes his sweet time heading to the driveway. kuroo waits, tapping his foot, and pulls him into his car almost immediately.

“what are we doing?” kenma groans almost as soon as kuroo’s pulling out of his parents’ driveway. he looks outside at the still dark sky and internally rolls his eyes. what a kuroo thing to do. “where are you kidnapping me?” “okay, drama queen,” kuroo chuckles, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “i’m picking up one of my friends from the airport and i need company.”

“really? that’s what you’ve woken me up at the-fuck o’clock to do?”

“language,” he warns, although he doesn’t really mean it. “it was awkward thinking about doing it myself.”

kenma pulls out his playstation portable, thanking his mind for thinking to slip it into his pockets before he left the house. the light makes him wince and blink hard, trying to adjust, but his vision’s really not cooperating. he shuts off the game and takes to staring out the window at the lights of tokyo passing by in a blur.

finally curious about exactly what they’re doing, kenma turns to kuroo and murmurs, “who are we picking up again?” “my friend,” the black-haired boy says matter-of-factly. “yeah.”

“and… she took a flight for 0 o’clock in the morning?” kuroo shrugs. “i didn’t buy the tickets.”

soon enough the two arrive at the airport. kenma insists on staying in the car while kuroo picks up his friend, but he practically drags kenma out by his ear to the baggage claim and tells him to wait. disgruntled and still groggy, he sits down on the (probably disgusting) carpet and pulls out his playstation portable. the harsh lights of the airport have his eyes adjusted just a bit.

after fifteen minutes he starts to get bored, and pulls out his phone to type a quick text to kuroo: do you see her yet?

his friend’s response is near immediate. no. i think we got here a bit early. wanna come wait with me so you’re not so lonely?

sure, whatever.

he navigates himself to terminal two and sinks down in a cushy seat next to his messy-haired friend. he’s not thinking too much about who it could be—that is until he hears the most beautiful voice he’s ever heard say, “ugh, that was the longest flight of my life.”

kenma looks up abruptly, knowing there’s a pink blush spreading across his face.

he has to blink a few times and rub his eyes, thinking he’s hallucinating, because in front of him is… you. you, in all of your beauty—god, he didn’t know how stunning you’d be in person—and you’re smiling and have your bag slung over your shoulder and holy crap he can’t even believe you’re here.

he hears kuroo burst into cackling next to him (“oh my god you should see your face right now—i’m so glad i’m recording this!”) but he’s too busy trying not to cry to listen. he watches you strut up to him like you’re a goddess coming to bless him, dropping your carry-on back beside the chair he’s sitting in.

you smile. “hi, angel.”

kenma stands up and throws his arms around you—he thinks he might be squealing but he really can’t tell and his vision’s blurry from tears but he’s pretty sure you’re wearing the sweatshirt he sent you. and he can’t believe you’re here, a real physical person that he can kiss and hug and love and god you’re gorgeous.

for a second he feels a pang of embarrassment that he’s so enthusiastic but it disappears as he feels himself being lifted off his feet, his heart skipping a beat or two. “you’re so handsome,” you say breathlessly, running your hands through his hair. normally he hates that, but he wants you to run your hands along every inch of his skin. you’re here now. you’re here now and he loves you.

it takes a while for kuroo to separate you two from your tight embrace. when kenma’s feet finally hit the ground you beam fondly at him and wipe some of the stray tears, saying, “you’re even cuter in person, angel.”

he shouldn’t be shy but he is and he blushes. “thanks. you’re pretty too.”

“i got that entire thing on video,” kuroo grins, holding up his phone to you two. you take it from him and sit next to your boyfriend, letting him lean your head on your shoulder as you watch the video a few times through. he smiles pitifully at how strange he sounds—he’s whimpering loudly, as he assumed, and you’re not doing much better. you can even hear kuroo laughing from behind the camera. but it’s cute, and he can tell it’s the type of video that would get a ton of sappy comments if he chooses to post it somewhere.

you chuckle. “you’re so adorable. i mean—i knew you were cute, that’s a given. but photos and calls don’t do you justice.”

his face feels like it’s on fire and he can hardly respond. kenma hates being called cute most of the time, he hates it, but somehow with you he wants to hear it a million times. maybe it’s because you make him feel so safe. who knows?

“you two are… cute,” kuroo says awkwardly, clearly getting uncomfortable with the third wheeling. “uh… (y/n), are you hungry? we can get something over here or we can get something on the way back.”

you shake your head, standing and catching your boyfriend’s hand in yours as he follows. “i’m okay. i had a ton of those little ginger cracker things on the plane.”

the three of you head to baggage claim and grab your suitcase. kuroo complains about having to carry your stuff for you like your personal assistant, but kenma casts a glare at him and he shuts up real fast.

“uh… where are you staying?” kenma says awkwardly as soon as you two are settled in the car. you’re sat in the back so you can let him rest on your shoulder while kuroo drives in the front. he hasn’t stopped making contact with you since you watched the video.

“with kuroo. so not too far.”

“and… wait, how long are you staying?” “two weeks,” you beam and his heart melts. “sorry for surprising you so suddenly, but i had the opportunity and i took it.”

when you’re home the two of you collapse into his bed, kenma sighing contentedly as your arms wrap around him just like he’s wanted for so long. the room is still frigid, but you’re better than any blanket, heater, or anything else. honestly, he didn’t expect you to be so… touchy. you’re so easy to want to cling to. and before he knows it there’s sunlight streaming through his open window. he opens his eyes cautiously, praying and wishing that the airport wasn’t a dream.

you’re still next to him, eyes fluttering slightly as you sleep.

he smiles softly.

“i love you.”

he does. he’s sure of it.

taglist: @koushisbutterfly , @pies-writes-and-more , @elkawholeek , @hydrogwyn , @kenmaslov3r , @tobi-momo

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[bambiswriting]

Consequence of Krell - Part 1

Part: 1, 2

Captain Rex x Tactician!Reader (she/her) 

Summary: You have joined the 501st and 212th in the campaign of taking Umbara, and now you have to apprehend and arrest the turned Jedi, Krell. But what happens when Krell turns his sights and hurts you?

Warnings: Descriptions of heavy injury, strangulation, choking, vomit, blood, burns, lightsaber wound, head injury, angst, hurt, death. Not a light one!

Word count: 2k

-

The shield dissipated to reveal the imprisoned clones. You watched as Jesse and Fives took the blasters outstretched in Rex’s hands while you stood on the elevator pad with Tup and Kix. The nervous energy was thrumming from each of them. You were of equal mind. Fives, your best friend, glanced over Rex’s shoulder at you. He nodded and attempted a comforting smile. You dipped your head in a sedated reply. Your stomach sat heavy, a weight ready to pull you under. But… no. You couldn’t focus on it. Not now. You had to do right by them. The grief was already at a mounted peak, but there would be time to sit in it with them later.

You didn’t comprehend the sensation of the pad rising until a blaster bumped against your left side. On your right, Rex’s eyes casted sideways to search your glazed ones. Your pupils were involuntarily flicking left to right, searching the empty space between identical heads for a solution. Anything other than this - an alternative to the loss that would continue once you reached the upper level of the command station. Rex grasped your two fingers closest to him and tenderly squeezed. You squeezed back. A silent promise of companionship to one another.

The doors opened, a cruelty from the Force, and clones immediately filed out, surrounding Krell. The objective was to cut off each inconceivable exit, but every man in the room knew it would make no difference should the Besalisk ignite his sabers. Many of them would not leave the tower. And perhaps you would go with them. You took your stance between Rex and Fives, with a desperate plea to the galaxy to allow you to maintain their safety. A hologram by the door pulsated back online, and the noise made you jump, setting the lump in your throat deeper. You aimed your blaster at the fallen Jedi.

Rex straightened. “General Krell, you’re being relieved of duty.”

He turned, slowly, and somehow that was equally as terrifying as staring him directly in those sickly yellow eyes. His two pairs of arms persisted in a fold behind his back, with optimal access to his weapons. The pressure in your head was building. Rex hadn't yet raised his DC-17s. He was the most vulnerable person in the room. You unknowingly squeezed down on your trigger.

"It's treason, then." Those words carried the condemnation of a death sentence. He bared his teeth in such a way that it would have appeared he was smiling.

Finally, Rex pinned his blasters on the target. "Surrender, General."

If the situation owed to it, perhaps you would have laughed. The mere use of a title, still, was abhorrent to you.

Krell initiated a stalk towards Rex, centering himself in the room and widening his stance by the parting of his feet. Please, no.

"You're committing mutiny, Captain."

"Explain your actions."

The clones moved deeper into the room, cutting off the window at which Krell was just policing the Umbaran landscape.

"My actions?"

"For ordering your troops against one another."

"Oh, that." He raised his head, proud, and gestured nonchalantly. "I'm surprised you were able to figure it out… for a clone."

Your clench around the trigger was building.

Out of your left eye, you had identified movement from Fives. You assumed it was a gesture of advancement. But you didn't turn to confirm this. You couldn't move. Your limbs were paralysed.

“Surrender, General. You’re outnumbered.”

You felt the air around you turn stagnant. A rushing noise built in your ears, and then your feet tipped forward, toes dragging along the floor. The gravity shifted underneath you, and you were pulled towards the beast at full speed.

Quicker than it began, you stopped, making contact with one of Krell's fists. Nothing you had endured in this war thus far compared to the instantaneous pressure around your windpipe. Within seconds your eyes felt close to bursting. You couldn't hear the commotion around you, as your blood was pulsing rapidly in your skull.

Safety mechanisms released in every which direction. Rex pinned his pistols, now gripped in a vice, on Krell's skull. "Drop her."

Krell turned to you, talking steadily along the shell of your ear. "Your feelings for him - all of them - are strong, but they weaken you. They compromise your resolve." He raised you off the ground, your legs squirming as you frantically clawed at his fist.

"She intended to shoot me, for you," he squeezed again, sight tunneling on Rex. A noise like a whine escaped your mouth. “Half-breed."

Rex couldn't make the call. Krell's movements were quick and precise. Any one of his blaster bolts timed with a purposeful shove could hit you. His blood was turning acidic.

"Yes… I sense the fear in you. The anger. The fury. Take your weapon. Strike me down."

Your helpless wheeze cut through the rest of Rex's resolve like glass. Your arms had slowed their fight to return the stolen air to your lungs. You were going limp. Your heart was trembling. His hands shook.

"This is the art of war. Executive decisions must be made."

You felt something in your neck crack.

Krell bowed his head. "And you lack the ability to instigate them."

His arms at his back frayed and thrusted forward, sending the men hurtling to the ground. Rex hit the door and his blasters fell with him, skidding out of reach. He leapt with speed to his feet, in time to see the green blade of a saber come down against your back, splitting your armour, through to your jacket and then along your back. If you could breathe, you would have screamed in agony. The image of your eyes wide in torture would haunt his nightmares forever. Krell threw you carelessly across the room, slamming against the wall. Your head suffered the brunt of the contact, and your body collapsed in a heap.

Fives' voice broke into bottomless rage. "I'll kill you!"

The clones needed no instruction. They opened fire. A second double ended saber entered the battle. What followed was a myriad of needless lives lost. Krell cut down men with no remorse. His sabers spun and pivoted, deflecting blaster fire and creating a shield around him. The plasma shuddered audibly, sound reminiscent of gunship engines, faulting, stuttering and eventually declining in an air battle. He leapt between men, massacring war heroes. Most were fortunate, decapitated or impaled immediately and granted an instantaneous passing. Others were left with pieces missing and didn’t have such a luxury of a fast death. They bled out until painfully slipping away. Orange and blue chipped armour was diced and thrown every which direction, 501st and 212th assuming a role of puppets, and Krell was the master. The Besalisk sliced one clone through the gut, and kicked him at Rex, who jumped aside in a dodge. Krell ceased momentarily, just as the remaining men dragged themselves back on their feet, and his eyes bore into Rex.

“I will not be undermined by creatures bred in some laboratory!” His exit was open. He turned and jumped through the window, glass shattering around him and falling to the ground below. He spun in the air and landed on both feet, the shards from the tower raining around him. Then the clones below began shooting.

He should have run straight to the elevator and pursued the fallen Jedi. But the stability of what would normally be his auto piloted instincts had fragmented. The smell of your burnt skin crippled Rex's mind. You were face down, and the wound across your back was glowing as it continued to melt the area in its circumference. Kix ran over then, seemingly directing his focus to you. Unbeknownst to Rex, the medic had already done a sweep, and concluded that no one else in the room who had been on the end of Krell's sabers had survived. He hadn't registered that Kix was speaking to him. Everything sounded muffled. "I've got her, go!"

"Rex, come on!" bellowed Fives.

He staggered on his feet, bile threatening to spew over his lips. Rex clasped a hand over his helmet, shaking his head violently. Damn it, snap out of it! He just… needs to see your face. He needs to see that you're alive.

"Rex!" followed Jesse, taking a large step forward and tagging him on the arm. Rex finally jolted, and cast his eyes to the elevator. The men stood, waiting expectantly for his lead, all of them far worse for wear. He picked up his fallen weapons, ran in and spun to face the door, casting another pained expression on your failing body as the level ascended out of view and he went below.

-

The 501st and 212th sprinted out of the command tower, Rex in lead. They followed the trail of broken glass, passing by a cluster of Umbaran ships. Just then, Dogma stepped out from behind one of the transports, blaster trained on his brothers. "Hold it right there!"

Rex whipped out his DC-17s. "Lower your weapon, Dogma," he commanded.

He hesitated briefly, shaking his head. "I… I can't do that, sir."

Rex's patience was already worn into the ground. "That's an order!"

“It’s my duty.” Dogma flicked his aim between them. "You're all traitors!"

Rex deposited one of his blasters into its holster, then removed his helmet, an attempt to show some relation and find a common ground. "I used to believe that being a good soldier meant doing everything they told you. That's how they engineered us,"

Tup lifted his blaster to Dogma.

"But we're not droids. We're not programmed. You have to learn to make your own decisions." He stared intently at Dogma, his brow pinched.

Dogma switched his barrel on Tup. "Dogma, don't do it."

"Damn it, we don't need this right now!" Fives threw his arm down and scowled. "He hurt (Y/N)!"

That broke something behind the tattoo across his eye. "Is… is she alright?"

"We don't know," Jesse said dejectedly, angrily stuffing his blaster into his other hand.

Tup shook his head. “He just… cut her down. A civilian.”

“He’s the traitor, not us! (Y/N)’s not a clone. She wasn’t made to die this way!”

“That’s enough.” Rex’s words weren’t meant to come out as pained as they did. It was like there was a thick wad of sandpaper in his throat, grinding his voice down to a pained shadow of his usual resonance.

The truth is, you were no longer a civilian. You made the choice to enlist in this war, to try and make the galaxy safer for the future generations. It’s one of the things that drew Rex to you - your selflessness and willingness to join a battlefront, to do the right thing, where others would turn and run the other direction. You were hands on like that, believing in doing it yourself, or not at all. Others would have called you mad.

As much as he admired that about you, it was also his downfall, because he knew you wouldn’t walk away. You wouldn’t leave his brothers. You loved them like family. Hell, they were your only family. And they loved you. Perhaps that would mean he would lose you to it all one day. Perhaps he had lost you already.

Rex squeezed his eyes shut and drew his brows tightly together. He sucked in a breath.

Dogma lowered his weapon, and he was tackled by troopers without any protest. He stretched his arms out in front of him and released his blaster. They pinned either arm behind his back and secured his wrists together with binders.

Rex hesitated. "Take him to the brig," he ordered, pulling his helmet back over his head, then pointing to a couple clones.

"You two, get up there and help Kix! The rest of you, don't let General Krell escape!"

"Yes, sir!" They shouted as Rex and the others ran into the treeline.

[bonky-n-steeb]

𝐵𝑅𝐸𝐴𝑇𝐻𝐸

𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝙾𝙽𝙴

𝘿𝘼𝙍𝙆!𝘽𝙐𝘾𝙆𝙔 𝘽𝘼𝙍𝙉𝙀𝙎 𝙭 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍 | 𝙈𝙊𝘽!𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙑𝙀 𝙍𝙊𝙂𝙀𝙍𝙎 𝙓 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍

𝗦𝗨𝗠𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗬: Your life is as good as it gets. The perfect husband, the perfect daughter, the perfect job. But what you are unaware is that your husband is a deadly assassin and your long-lost friend, now a fearsome mob boss is hell bent on getting you back. But what you don’t know can't hurt you, right?

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦: psychological disorder, PTSD, domestic abuse, yandere, obsession, violence, cursing. If you find any of this triggering please DNI. Also inform me if I left something out.

ᴛʜɪs ɪs ɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇᴛᴀ ʀᴇᴀᴅ, sᴏ ᴀʟʟ ᴍɪsᴛᴀᴋᴇs ᴀʀᴇ ᴍʏ ᴏᴡɴ

Oh, lawd! i have to post everything again! Send me all your energy. If you wanna be tagged, just inform me!

Also, I’ll be changing the story by a little, (or by a lot, idk) from my previous version.

You were feeling like John Travolta from the music video of Stayin’ Alive. Vibing to your own rhythm, living your own freedom. Attending college miles away from your hometown, you were the captain of your ship. Though you loved your parents more than anything, you were glad for the freedom granted upon you.

Your Freshmen year had just begun and you had already made a few friends. But what you didn’t want to accept just yet was your crush on one of them, Bucky. With his steely blue eyes and boyish charm, even a goddess might fall for him, and you were just a mortal. You were simply happy with being friends as you believed he would never like you and well, a little crush never hurt nobody.  

Completing your shift in a local bookstore, just outside the campus, you were walking back, lost in your own thoughts. What caught your attention was a group of howling high schoolers; from the look of it, they were barely a year to two younger than you. A group of tall and popular kids were bullying a skinny, helpless dude; ufff the usual cliché you thought to yourself. What you failed to notice though was his bleeding nose.  

You were a kind soul, always helping others, but you were no fool. All alone in an unknown town, you weren't going to confront the burly teens who were twice your own size. After giggling and cracking some stupid jokes on the poor dude trying to impress a girl, they left him and that’s when you noticed all the blood. You quickly crossed the road and walked towards him. He seemed smaller than he was as he was crouching down and trying to rub all the blood.

“Hey! Pinch your nose, don’t disturb it by rubbing.” you said while bending down. “Uhh, okay... thanks!” he looked at you with big doe eyes and you were utterly mesmerized by the blue oceans he had for his eyes. “Do you.. Do you need something else kid? Where do you live?” you asked giving him a candy and your water bottle. “I’m no kid!” he exclaimed and you flinched.  

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. You are helping me and here I am shouting at you.” You could clearly see remorse in his eyes and you wondered why would someone hurt him? “yeah, yeah.. It's Okay... now have this candy, the sugar will help you feel better.” you said with a soft smile. “thank you so much... and by the way I live two streets across. I mean I can go by myself, I'm a grown-up.. But...” he trailed off and you helped him get up.

“I’m Steve” he tried his best to smile and you followed by sharing your own name. And with that his chatter train began, he explained that he was just trying to help another girl getting bullied, when the bullies decided to change their target and chase Steve instead.

“you should wear your own mask first and then help others wear theirs.” you quipped and instantly bit your tongue. “Hmm, what?” he asked genuinely curious. “what I meant is that you did what is correct and very brave, but sometimes you gotta think for yourself too. But these are just my thoughts.” you shrugged. “I’ll remember that.” he said with a genuine expression. And after a million thank yous he finally went in his house. By the size of his house, he seemed rich and you wondered maybe this wasn't that cliché.  

☮︎︎☮︎︎☮︎︎☮︎︎☮︎︎

The next day, you were walking back the same road, when you thought of Steve. He really was a kind and sweet person. This world needed more of people like him. And just then you saw him smiling brightly and waving at you, his nose bandaged. He had a huge box in his hand.

“Heyyyyy! Thank you for helping me yesterday. So I just... kinda got this as a ... a token of appreciation. I considered you might like donuts, so I got you this.” He said rubbing his nape. His cheeks had become so red he looked like a ripe tomato. “well, if you haven’t already given me diabetes by saying so many thank yous, after eating sooo many donuts I’ll surely get it.” At that you both chuckled and the atmosphere became lighter. As you picked a donut, he looked at you with such admiration you thought you would melt then and there.

Suddenly with a stern expression you asked “what if it’s drugged?” His eyes widened and he stuttered, “I... I would never do that ...” he looked down and you thought he might cry. “hey waittt.. don’t get so sad.. I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry. I was just joking. I have this really bad habit of saying things when I shouldn’t. God I just ruined everything.” You just made a mental note not to joke around him, he seemed to be quite emotional. Though it was going to be difficult to tame your tongue. “don’t be. I just take things too literally.... anyway let’s have some donuts what say?” He said with such shine in his eyes you wondered whether he was sad just a moment before.

You both walked up to your university campus, munching on donuts. You both shared things about yourselves. You told him how you were passionate in becoming a doctor. He on the other hand talked about his struggles in studying. “will you help me? You are so smart and bright, will you help me study if I have a doubt or something?” he asked giving his big doe eyes.

You weren’t going to agree at first, you had just met him a day ago. But after looking in those calm blue pools of his eyes you agreed. Seeing the joy on his face, you wondered whether he just won an Oscar.

What you didn’t know was that Steve had already fallen in love with you, yes love, he was convinced that you were the one for him, his one true love. Not a moment had he been able to think of anything but you since he had met you. You were everything he needed and wanted and much more. He was simply desperate to spend more time with you.

☮︎︎☮︎︎☮︎︎☮︎︎☮︎︎

It had been around six months since you met Steve. Over the time you two had turned out to be best friends. While Steve had fallen even more in love with you, you had fallen hopelessly in love with bucky. While you always told bucky about Steve and vice versa, you never confessed to Steve about your love for Bucky, thus furthermore increasing his hopes. You desperately wished to make Steve and Bucky meet. They were two important people in your life and you more than anything wished that they got together well.  

Today was the day when you decided to arrange a small meet and greet at the park where you and Steve met every day. You and Bucky walked together towards the tree where you usually sat with Steve waiting there for you. You knew both would like each other, but somewhere deep within your gut you were getting a not-so good feeling about this.  

Steve’s eyes lit up seeing you but as they turned to Bucky, it felt as if all the energy had been sucked out of him. You didn’t like that one bit. “Bucky!?” Steve exclaimed in half disappointment and half fear. “You both... you both know each other?” you ask bewildered. You tried chuckling to lighten the mood but by the looks of it they were sworn enemies, but you prayed that you were wrong. “yeah, we know each other a little too well... Uh... We were good friends once.” Steve quietly admitted.

All this time Bucky had his jaw clenched, dragging in a deep breath he began. “I knew it! I knew it would be you, you little fucker! You want to have everything don’t you? Goddammit! I had this feeling it was you but I thought it was too much of a coincidence, but no. fate had to be so cruel.” you were shocked to see Bucky's sudden outburst. You wondered what conspired between the two, as either hadn’t ever mentioned the other.  

You were snapped out of your thoughts with Bucky calling your name. “let’s go. I don’t want to see him even for a minute more and neither do you.” Bucky started pulling your hand but you stopped him “Bucky no. I guess you have some misunderstanding; Steve is a good person. And you don’t get to tell me who to talk to and who to not.”

Suddenly Bucky turned back to Steve, anger written all over his face. “You didn’t tell her, huh, did you? Don’t worry I'll tell her. Steve is the son of Joseph Rogers and he is the freaking Don Corleone of this area. Do you know how my father died? Steve’s father had him killed just because unknowingly he provided shelter to his father’s fugitive. Steve just pretends to be a caring, emotional person but he is a snake behind that mask, so is everyone in his family.” towards the end Bucky was in tears and you were in utter shock. Now that you tried to remember, Steve never really did tell you much about his family. And the fact that Steve wasn’t denying any single allegation made you want to puke your guts out.

“You have taken too much from me. But not this. Not her. Not the woman I love more than anything.” Bucky said it out loud in the heat of the moment. You were too dumbstruck to even blink. Did Bucky just confess that he loved you?  

Bucky turned to you and held your arm with such softness you wondered if he was just now screaming his lungs out at Steve. “I know I can't tell you who to be with, and I promise I never will in the future, but trust me you want to be caught up with him or his family. And still, if you choose him, well then, I can’t be with you.”

You knew you had to make a choice then and there, there was no going back, and you chose Bucky.

[all-hail-the-witcher]

5 times geralt wrote jaskiers name wrong on his coffee cup plus 1 time he didnt need to: part 1

its @natskier‘s birthday and hhh nat fucking slaps and her birthday fic accidentally became a 5+1 and yeah. here's part 1. 

___

ship: geraskier, modern

warnings: lamberts a bitch, geralt has feelings, jaskiers a little shit

editing: yes

words: 1.1k

genre: slow burn adjacent cause the boys are hella fucking impatient oops

___

“Geralt! Get your bitch ass up here and work the register!”

Geralt didn't even bother opening the door of the breakroom. “Fuck your boyfriend when you’re not on the clock!”

The door to the breakroom swung open and a very disgruntled Lambert glared down at him, arms crossed over his chest. One of his bright red curls fell out of his bun and hit him in the eye. Geralt had to hold his hand in front of his mouth to stop himself from laughing.

“If you paid attention, you’d know that Aiden is out of town. I’m going to the bank to get change you fucking piss biscuit.” Lambert pointed at him angrily. “If you burn the place down it’s coming out of your damn paycheck.”

Geralt groaned as the door slammed shut behind Lambert, but he still got up and walked begrudgingly to the front. Getting fired by his father would have been nothing short of embarrassing.

He made sure that his apron was tied correctly as he walked up to the register. Eskel was making the drinks, which was the job that Geralt usually preferred because it involved less interaction with the customers. But Lambert really hadn’t given him much of an option.

The bell above the door chimed and Geralt put on his best customer service smile.

“Hi, welcome to Kaer for More Coffee, what can I get for you?”

“Just a black coffee. Large. Dark roast”

Geralt punched the order into the register without looking up. Then he grabbed a cup off of the stack, pulled the sharpie from behind his ear and scribbled the order on the side. The routine was so familiar he could probably do it in his sleep. Not that he would ever admit that though because then Lambert would definitely try to get him to do it.

“Name?” he asked, still not looking up.

Whatever the customer said got lost in the noise of the shop.

“Could you repeat that?” Geralt asked, looking up for the first time and holy fuck.

The man standing at his register was abso-fucking-lutely gorgeous. He had dark brown hair that was falling in his bright blue eyes and the little smile on his face that showed off his dimples made Geralt nearly melt. It took all of his willpower to not drop the cup in his hand and keep his eyes on the man’s face instead of the bit of chest hair peeking out from his scandalously unbuttoned, peach colored shirt. It was almost like he was tryingto make him swoon.

“Jasper.”

Or at least that was what Geralt thought that he said. Eskel chose that exact moment to knock over a sack of espresso beans.

Geralt clumsily scrawled his name on the cup. Seeing that Eskel was otherwise occupied and he didn't want to keep the attractive man waiting, Geralt went to grab him his coffee. It wasn't like there were any other customers waiting.

Geralt filled the cup, double and triple checking that he had the right roast before sliding the order across the counter.

“Jasper!” he called out.

The attractive man was standing on his phone, not making any move to come and get his coffee.

“Jasper!” Geralt called out again, hoping to get his attention.

Still nothing. The man was scrolling like his life depended on it and it honestly didn't help that he had the cutest look of concentration on his face: slightly furrowed brows and an adorable frown line creasing his forehead.

“Hey,” Geralt said. “Your coffee’s ready.”

This time the man looked up, slightly surprised to see Geralt holding out the cup.

“Is that mine?” He asked, gesturing to the cup.

Geralt nodded. “Large black dark roast.”

“But you didn't call out my name,” the man said, crossing his arms.

“Yes I did.” Geralt cocked his head in confusion. “Twice.”

The man took the cup from him skeptically, spun it until he could see the name that Geralt had written on it and laughed.

“Well darling,” he said. “I didn't respond because my name isn't Jasper.”

Geralt spluttered, momentarily distracted by the fact that such an attractive person had just called him darling. He tried desperately to ignore the swell of heat in his stomach. “But you said-”

“I didn't say Jasper.” The man took a sip of his coffee and tried and failed not to wince. Geralt didn't blame him. Black coffee was terrible. “I guess I’ll just have to come back tomorrow and remedy this issue, won’t I, uh,” the man squinted at his name tag, “Gerald.”

“That’s not-”

“Oh I know,” the man smiled, taking another large gulp of his disgusting coffee. This time he couldn't hide the wince at all. “I’ll get your name right when you get mine right.”

And then he had the audacity to turn and walk out of the shop. Without putting any milk or sugar in his coffee, Geralt couldn't help but note.

Geralt stared transfixed at the door that the man had just walked out of. What the hell had just happened?

Unluckily for him, he didn't have much time to ponder that because Lambert walked through the very same door not two seconds later.

“What happened, pretty boy?” Lambert asked, opening the drawer of the cash register and putting in the change that he had gotten. “Did that door tell you that your hair looks terrible straightened? Cause I’ve been telling you that for at least the last three years.”

Geralt opened his mouth to respond but Eskel beat him to it.

“A hot guy came in and ordered and Geralt wrote his name wrong on the cup.”

Geralt turned away from the door to hide his blush. The way that Eskel said it made it sound so much worse than it was. It had been an honest mistake! It wasn't his fault that Eskel had dropped the damn espresso beans right when he had said his name!

Lambert tisked disapprovingly. “Of course the one time you manage to find someone who actually likes that mop on your head, you don't even manage to learn his name. Now I can’t stalk him on Instagram! Geralt, you really need to be more considerate of these things.”

Geralt threw an empty cup at him.

“Fuck off, you know I’m right!” Lambert groaned. “And I could get you written up for harassment in the workplace! What if you injured me and I couldn't work anymore, huh?”

“Lamb, it was a paper cup,” Geralt sighed. “And considering our dad is our boss, he would have seen straight through your dramatics.”

Thankfully, any further retorts from Lambert were cut off by the bell above the door ringing.

“Hi, welcome to Kaer for More Coffee what can….”

Geralt used the distraction to slip back into the break room. He still had another 10 minutes left on his break and he fully intended to use them to mope over the fact that an attractive man had shown actual interest in him and he’d somehow managed to not get his name.

Lambert would never let him live this down.

___

hehehehe :)) dumbasses

tag list: (inbox me to be added)

@percy-jackson-is-sexy-

@barlowpng

@eminasan

@llamasdumpsterfire

@nonegenderleftpain

@geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde

@geekymagicalpotato

@jaskierswolf

@toss-a-coin-to-your-stan-account

@toss-a-coin-to-your-lesbian

@littleredhotridinghood

@fontegagrilledcheese

@acemoppet

@lookatgeraltmyboi​

@gods-oopsie-woopsie​

@julek

@funkylittlebard

@dani-dandelino

@officerjennie

@kuripon

@alllthequeenshorses

@mothmanismyuncle

@dapandapod

[xcertaindarkthingsx]

make you mine

pairing: jealous!mando x fem!reader

summary: you’ve been traveling with the Mandalorian for a while now as a healer and caretaker for the Child.  one day, the Mandalorian needs your specific skills to help him catch a bounty, and needless the say he is NOT happy about it.  

warnings: two idiots that don’t know they like each other, some fluff and yearning, a smidge of possessiveness/jealousy, canon-typical violence, swearing in basic and mando’a, brief mentions of unwanted touching, mentions of taking care of injuries/stitching and blood, SMUT 18+ (minors BEGONE), porn w/ plot i guess, thigh riding, finger sucking, grinding, a lil’ dirty talk (if i miss any just please let me know!)

word count: 7.6k (i’m soRRY)

a/n: WHEW OK so i originally wrote this for #dincember but because i suck at deadlines and take forever to write it just turned into something else. reader is a lil insecure but mando makes it all better (self-projection, anyone?) ummm, this is my first time writing for din AND my first time writing smut but i hope you guys like it! comments/likes/reblogs/feedback are completely welcome and much appreciated! i apologize if this is a mess kladjflkd but shoutout to @a-dorin and @princessxkenobi for being wonderful beta readers and helping me when i got stuck.  i am planning on making this a two parter, so if you want to be added to my tag list let me know! if you prefer to read on ao3 you can do so here . mando’a translations at the end!

gif credit: @bestintheparsec

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Soft coos filled the air inside the Razor Crest as you desperately tried to rock the Child back to sleep.  You were almost certain he was starting to get hungry, but you were out of snacks and Mando had told you not to leave the ship under any circumstances.

You had been traveling with the Mandalorian for a while now, after being picked up on Arvala-7. You were a healer—a pretty damn good one, if you had anything to say about it—and had patched him up after a bounty hunt gone wrong.  

The Mandalorian thought your services would be helpful if things ever got a little dicey again, so he asked you along for the ride (the reality was you had nagged and scolded him so much about how cauterizing was not the answer for every wound, that he eventually caved just to get you to stop). There wasn’t really anything tying you to Arvala-7, so you agreed.

Plus, the Child had taken a real liking to you, and how could you say no to that precious face?  

The Mandalorian was an odd man—well, no.  Not odd.  More like intriguing, and you were drawn to it.  It had been quiet and awkward the first few months.  He was a rigid man of few words, never speaking more than necessary (unless he thought he was alone with the kid; the way he spoke with him made your heart melt).  But after countless late nights together of taking care of the Child and constantly tending to his injuries, you were surprised to find there was a sense of gentleness under all that beskar.

The Mandalorian had been just as surprised as you when he found himself warming up to your presence.  It was all the little moments that had snuck up on him, the stolen glances and lingering touches, and now his heartbeat seemed to quicken every time you were together.

Little did he know, yours did too.  

At the sound of the hatch door opening, you looked up.  You watched as the Mandalorian walked up the platform, admiring his strut.  How someone could look so good just walking, you had no idea, but it was maddening.  

“No bounty?” you called out, turning the kid in your arms so he would be facing out towards his dad.  It was unusual that Mando hadn’t found the target yet, but you were just thankful he was in one piece for now.  He shook his head.

“Not yet.  I ran into some… complications,” he huffed and even though his voice was laced with frustration, it put you at ease.  Being on the ship alone for nearly the whole day, sometimes you just missed hearing that husky baritone filtering through his modulator.  

Not to mention you thought it was sexy as hell.  

You quirked an eyebrow at him.  “Complications?”  

He heaved a deep sigh, lifting a hand for the Child to grab, which he took happily.  “Hey, kid,” he whispered, and you smiled as the Child babbled back.  Mando turned his helmet towards you and continued.  “Yes, but I found a contact who should be able to give more information.  I came back for you and the kid first.  I know you guys must be hungry.”  

You nodded at the same time the little green bean gave a resounding coo, earning a soft chuckle from the both of you.  “I’ll get the pram ready.”

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After a quick stop in the marketplace for supplies, Mando had led you two into what seemed to be the only bar in town.  It was only late afternoon, leaving it nearly empty, save for a few older patrons lazily sipping on glasses of ale.  You ignored the way the Weequay behind the bar seemed to look you up and down.     

Mando set you and the kid up with two bowls of soup at a table nearby while he talked business with his contact, who happened to be the bartender.  Sipping your soup, you tried not to eavesdrop as the two began to fall into what you would call a heated discussion.  On Mando’s end.  Apparently, this was a particularly “difficult” target.  

“Lucky for you, he’s got an eye for pretty girls,” the bartender drawled, jutting his chin at you.  “She’ll do fine.”

Your head snapped up from your task of feeding the child, spoon mid-air.  “Excuse me?”

“No.  Absolutely not,” resounded Mando’s gruff voice from under the helmet.    

“Listen, Mando.  This guy is high-profile, practically untouchable, bodyguards with him at all times. And I’m not talkin’ your run of the mill pair of idiots that can’t shoot for a damn, I’m talkin’ highly trained mercenaries.”  The Weequay sighed.  “I don’t doubt your skills as a Mandalorian, but you’re just one man.  You need to get him alone, and she is your only way of doing that,” he insisted.  

“I said, no,” Mando gritted out.  You were non-negotiable.  

The bartender just shrugged.  “Then consider this a loss, cause you’re not getting anywhere near him.”

Your heart hammered in your chest listening to the two of them argue. Embarrassment flooded your cheeks, remembering the way the bartender eyed you when you walked in.  All you wanted to do at this point was bury yourself in the confines of your room in the Razor Crest.

Mando seemed final in his decision, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was because he didn’t want you involved or if he thought you simply lacked the skills to do so.  He could probably tell you weren’t really the seducing type, and truthfully the thought of trying to do was mortifying.    

But Mando needed this, right?  You thought of all the things he’s done for you, how he’s protected and provided for you.  This was the least you could do for him.  You could deal with one night of potential discomfort so he could get his bounty.  It was a lot of credits.  

“I’ll do it.”

Mando snapped his head around at you so fast, it was a miracle he hadn’t hurt himself.  “For the last time, I said you are no—”

“I’m doing it,” you said a little more forcefully, cutting him off. You didn’t need to see his face to know he was staring daggers into you from underneath the helmet, but it was going to take more than a dirty look to get you to change your mind.  

“Excellent!” the bartender’s cheery voice cut through the tension in the room.  “Come on back, I’ve got an old dress an ex-girlfriend left behind that you could probably use.”

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The dress in question was a slinky black number that had you freezing your ass off in the cold of the desert night.  

The dress was too… everything.  Too short, too revealing, too tight; but the only other thing you had to wear were some oversized t-shirts and utility pants, which aren’t exactly sexy, so you were shit out of luck.  

Mando nearly choked when you came out of your room, thankful for the helmet for hiding his widened eyes and agape mouth. You looked absolutely ravishing, the black fabric clinging to all the right places on your figure.  His eyes roved over the valley of your chest, the curve of your hips, the length of your legs, and his hands balled into fists, just aching to hold you.  It’s as if your skin was begging to be touched.  

You cleared your throat, feeling incredibly exposed and wondering what in the blazes Mando was looking at because you were certain you looked absolutely ridiculous.  The noise shook him out of whatever daze he was in and he quickly shifted his gaze.  

“Not a word,” you warned, wobbling down the platform.  As bad as the dress was, the heels it came with were somehow worse.  “I feel ridiculous.”

“You shouldn’t,” he answered a little too quickly. “You look…” words were lost on him as he tried to find the right one.  One that wouldn’t make it obvious that he was losing his kriffing mind in front of you.  “Good,” he finally decided on, and mentally kicked himself for it.  Good?

You gave him an exasperated look.  “I know you’re just being nice.”

He opened his mouth to argue but was interrupted by an ill-timed fit of babbling from the kid.  You had bent down as best you could to give him a little pat on the head and he could feel a lump forming in his throat.  

Mando couldn’t express how much he didn’t want you to do this.  And well, he tried.  The whole way back to the ship, in fact.  But for some reason you were completely hell-bent on doing this for him, and he didn’t know how to explain that you and your safety meant more to him than a few thousand credits.  

The reality was, Mando wanted you.  He never thought he’d be so fond for someone besides the Child, but you were the exception.  And even though he wanted to make you his, he knew it would be selfish of him to pursue you, to claim you, when he couldn’t give you everything you deserved; his Creed prevented him from doing so.  

But Mando was a greedy man, so he took what he could get.  He drank up all the kindness you so freely gave him, like a parched soul wandering in the desert, and cherished every little moment the two of you shared. They probably meant nothing to you, but they were everything to him.  And he wanted more.

Not only was he a greedy man, but a stingy one as well.  The thought of anyone other than him seeing you in that dress was enough to send his thoughts into a jealous frenzy.  

“You don’t have to do this,” he tried to reason again.  

You placed a gentle hand on the soft spot between his pauldron and neck and offered a small smile.  “Don’t worry, Mando.  Everything will be fine.”        

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Everything was, in fact, not fine.  

The night had started well enough.  After all of Mando’s failed attempts at dissuading you again, he had finally resigned to silently stewing in his disapproval rather than voicing it.  

You entered the bar while he stayed behind and watched closely from the outside.  He had given you a comms device, that, with the push of a button, would let him know you were alone with the bounty and it was time for him to step in.  

“Just press it, and I will be right there,” he assured, his gloved fingers pressing the device firmly into your bare palm. Something about the protective tone of his voice stirred something in you.  You nodded before looking away, trying to ignore your racing heart.  

The bar was rowdy that night, patrons hooting and howling from the booze.  The smell of stale spice and death sticks wafted in the air, making you wrinkle your nose.  Your newfound bartender friend had waved you over, pointing out the target with a nod of his head.  

Your eyes fell on a Pantoran man across the bar with a drink in his hand, dozens of black suits surrounding him.  His associates—a Rodian and another Pantoran—seemed to all be talking business.  The bartender wasn’t kidding about this guy’s security.

How the hell am I supposed to get this guy’s attention?  You desperately racked your head for subtle ideas but came to a halt when his eyes met yours.  Kriff, he had caught you staring.  So much for subtle.  Trying not to panic, you flashed your best coy smile before turning back towards the bar.

Somehow, that was enough to give him the courage to approach you.  

Cocky bastard, you thought as he swaggered on up to you, leaning in close, leering.  With his chiseled features and striking yellow markings, you would’ve called him handsome— if you didn’t already know what a sleazebag he was.  An air of arrogance surrounded him, the type that made him think he could get whatever he wanted with a flash of those pearly whites. Typical douche.  You wanted to smack him for being so close.  

Instead, you flashed another winning smile. Placing a hand on his shoulder, you leaned in close and with a breathy whisper of, ‘Let’s get out of here’ he was tossing credits to the bartender and signaling to his guards that he was leaving with you.  

The Weequay had shot you a knowing look as he watched you leave; a warning.  You assured him that everything was fine with a slight nod of your head.      

The asshole had his arm snaked around you, hand on your ass, as you made your way to the motel just across the street.  You fought back the urge to throttle him, instead fawning about how, ‘I can’t wait to be alone with you, darling.’    

Your hands began to clam up as he retrieved the keys from the clerk, and you tried to convince yourself that everything would be fine once you clicked the button on your comm from the inside of the room.

Wrong.  

Immediately after the Pantoran locked the door, the unease in your stomach began to grow.  Bile rose in your throat at his grinning face, the way he fidgeted and licked his lips as he pressed you into the wall.  A hand landed on your bare thigh, trailing dangerously high, where you shuddered in disgust at the feeling.  

“We’re gonna have so much fun,” he whispered, and that was your cue to press the comms device you were desperately clutching in your small purse.  Your mistake was failing to mask the faint beeping noise it emitted.  Your companion stiffened at the sound, pressing you further into the wall.  

“What the hell did you just do?” he growled, using the other hand to rip your arm from your purse.  He stared at the comms device with contempt, before turning his attention back to me.  “You bi—��

He never got to finish, because the next thing you knew your Mandalorian was crashing through the door, blaster in hand.

The scene Mando had walked in on nearly made him sick.  That osi’kovid’s hands all over you, and worst of all, the look of pure fear on your face after being made.  He’d planned to put a quick end to the whole ordeal, but the bounty had plans of his own.

Mando rushed him, shoving him into the wall and away from you.  As expected, the Pantoran went flying before crumpling onto the floor.  What Mando hadn’t been expecting was for him to be armed. He didn’t peg him as the type to get his hands dirty.  

The Mandalorian was about to release the fibercord whip from his vambrace when the bounty rose from the floor with a sneer, a small combat knife in hand as he lunged at Mando, before wrestling him to the floor and sending his blaster skittering.  

You watched in frozen horror as the two fought for the upper hand. At one point, the bounty had tried to charge at you, slashing wildly, but Mando was already there blocking his blows. The knife caught on the cowl above his chest, slicing the skin underneath with a sickening noise.  That seemed to kick your brain into overdrive, and you dived for the fallen blaster on the ground.  

You took a steadying breath before you aimed and shot once, twice, at the bounty’s leg.  He cried out from his place above Mando before clutching his leg and finally falling over.

Mando rose and immediately released the fibercord, imprisoning the bounty.  He held his hand out for his blaster, and you watched with wide eyes as he smacked the butt of it into the Pantoran’s face once, twice, three times.  The third time ended with an appalling crack, his head lolling forward, and leaving him unconscious.  

You stared as Mando stood in front of the bounty, seething.  You could have sworn his hands were shaking.      

“Stars, Mando, your neck,” you murmured, breathless.  The room was dim, but you could see the dark stain of blood that was beginning to drench his cowl.  Your hands went to inspect the wound, but he quickly brushed you off.  

“We need to go,” he grunted, gathering the rope and heading towards the back entrance of the room.  The two of you hadn’t exactly been quiet and the bounty’s guards were bound to notice their boss had been gone for too long.  When you had opened your mouth to argue, to insist that you needed to check his injuries, he was already out the door.

Adrenaline still coursed through your veins as you walked back towards the ship.  You pulled your arms tight across your body in an attempt to quell your trembling hands; guilt, bubbling up in your stomach as you replayed the events of the night in your head.  

You had been the one to volunteer yourself for the mission.

You were the one who had repeatedly insisted that everything would be fine.  

And now, your Mandalorian was bleeding profusely from a nasty wound on his neck.  

“Mando,” you pleaded, trying to keep up with him in your ridiculous heels.  Instead of acknowledging you, your words fell to deaf ears.  He was stomping his way back to the ship, the unconscious bounty in tow.  

Worry bloomed in your chest.  The wound had looked bad back at the motel, but it was as if he couldn’t even feel it.  You could hear his ragged breathing from behind; whether it was from the fight, the long walk, or the wound, you weren’t sure.  

“Mando,” you tried again, this time raising your voice as you approached the hatch of the ship.  

Nothing.

He let out another grunt as he hauled the bounty onto the ship, towards the carbon-freezing machine.  You pursed your lips, jaw clenching in his direction. You did not appreciate being ignored, especially after just half-saving his ass just moments before.

Granted, you were the one that had put him in that position, but that was besides the point.

His back was to you and you stepped closer, ready to unleash a piece of your damn mind, when you stopped.  You took in his brooding stance and clenched fists.  The tremble in his hands.  Anger seemed to roll off the Mandalorian in waves, making you falter.  

What the hell was his problem?

“Mando, can you kriffing listen to me?  I need to treat you, you have no idea if he nicked an important artery or something.  I don’t know what you’re so worked up about, but you’ve been bleeding for a few minutes now and I just need to look—” annoyance rose in you as he continued to prep the carbon machine.  “Maker, can you even hear me?”

The Mandalorian couldn’t hear you, not clearly anyways.  Blood was still rushing in his ears, his vision still tinged red.  But with another call of his name, you were finally able to get through and he suddenly whipped around.  

“He touched you,” he gritted out, seething and shaking. “That skanah had his hands all over you and I swear if I didn’t need him alive for the bounty, he’d already be dead.”  He punctuated the last word with the slam of a button on the machine.    

You took a step back, eyes wide and brows furrowed. Something warm tightened in your chest and belly.  Wh-why did he care so much?  A lump had lodged itself into your throat.  “Mando, I—I’m fine.  Alright? I’m okay,” you tried to assure.  “So, can you please calm down and let me just—"

But the Mandalorian already had his back turned again.  You threw your hands up in the air, groaning in frustration as he continued to work.  Another minute passed and with a faint whoosh, the bounty was finally set in carbonite.  

A shiver ran through your body as the cool night air blew its way into the Razor Crest, raising goosebumps on your exposed skin.  Seeing you tremble in the cold seemed to break Mando out of whatever angry stupor he was in.    

In all honesty, he hadn’t meant to ignore you, but something in him snapped back at the motel.  The image of that skanah touching you had made his blood boil, and his sole goal was to get him back to the ship and be done with it.  

“You’re… cold,” he stated, the words coming out slow and soft, like pulling them out of a dream.  You must have been freezing in that dress.    

Your head snapped up at him.  “I—what?”

“Let me get you a blanket or—” He hesitated when he saw you pinch the bridge of your nose, eyes screwed shut.  

You couldn’t believe this idiot.  

“Mando, seriously?”  Your heart and your brain were having a hard time deciding whether you should be flattered about him caring so much or pissed off because he didn’t seem to give a damn about himself.  

You chose a mix of the two.

“Mando,” you sighed, looking up at him.  “I promise you I’m fine, thank you.  Really.”  You gave him your most genuine, caring look to show you were thankful for his concern, and then quickly replaced it with a hard one.  “But if you don’t get up into that cockpit right now and let me treat you, I’m going to use that damn pulse rifle on you.”

And just like that, you had managed to dissolve the lingering traces of anger in his mind.  His lips twitched under the helmet.  “That supposed to scare me?”

You glared.  “Don’t push it.” You could have sworn he was laughing under there.

The Mandalorian would have laughed if the wound on his neck hadn’t began to ache.  Instead, he begrudgingly nodded, throwing his hands up in mock surrender before disappearing into the cockpit.  

He began to input the coordinates back to Nevarro into the navicomputer, warmth unfurling in his chest as he listened to you check on the Child.  A tiredness had begun to settle in his muscles from the fight earlier, and he grimaced as he reached for a lever on the control panel.  The pain on his neck was getting worse, and if he was being honest it burned like all hell, but he was not going to admit that to you.

The door behind him slid open and you stepped in frazzled, medkit in hand.  Even with your hair in disarray and scrapes littering your arms and legs, he thought you looked breathtaking.  

“Uh, so bad news,” you began, gesturing at the medkit.  “They didn’t have any at the market earlier, so we’re out of bacta shots and spray.  I’m gonna have to stitch it closed depending on how deep it is.”  You shot him an apologetic look.

He nodded, putting in the last of the coordinates before removing his chest plate to give you easier access, and turning his chair to face you.  You closed the space between the two of you, quickly going to work.  Careful hands began to peel away at the fabric stuck to the wound, a hiss of pain at the tip of his tongue as you ripped off the last of it.

“Sorry,” you whispered, inspecting the fabric before discarding it.  “You’re definitely gonna need a new cape.”

He shrugged.  “At least now you’ve got a new blanket.”  You always had a habit of curling up into all his old stuff.  

With a smile, you returned your focus to the task at hand, mentally sighing in relief as you began to clean the wound.  It could have been worse, but it was still very deep.  An inch to the left and just a smidge higher, and you would have had quite the problem on your hands.  

“Idiot,” you muttered.

“What was that?”

“Lucky,” you corrected, biting back a smirk.  “You got lucky.  Any higher and this would be a lot messier.”  You tossed the last of the gauze out and prepared the needle and thread.

Mando took in your awkward stance as you tried to bend down and begin stitching.  Standing was fine for when you were cleaning, but for something this intricate it wasn’t the best position.  You cursed and tried again, trying to get the angle right, but it was no use.  The thought left his mouth before he even had a chance to filter it.  

“You can sit on me if that’s easier.”

Heat blazed on your cheeks at his words, nearly dropping the damn needle.  “Oh—um—” Coherent thoughts didn’t seem to be forming in your head at the moment.

Panic flooded the Mandalorian’s brain as he took in your shocked expression and realized his mistake.  “I—well, not like that—what I meant was—” he spluttered, trying to find the right words, thankful that his helmet hid his mortified expression.          

“No, no it’s okay I—I know what you meant,” you managed to choke out after picking your jaw up off the floor.  It would have been comical—the certain and capable bounty hunter struggling to regain his composure—but his words had flooded your mind with some less than innocent thoughts and images, ones that left you heated and flustered.  You swallowed hard in an attempt to relieve your suddenly very dry throat.  “I can, if you’re okay with it?”

He slowly nodded, mentally kicking himself for being so daft.  He held his breath as you stepped closer, bracing a hand low on his chest as you perched yourself on his lap.  You cursed, trying to your best to maneuver yourself onto him without being inappropriate.

Finally, you were situated, hovering precariously over his thigh.  You breathed deep, willing your mind and body to calm down. Being in such close proximity to the Mandalorian was… dizzying, but you had a job to do.  And so, you went to work.  

A few minutes in, Mando could feel the tension rolling off your body, the tremble of your thighs as you tried to hold yourself above him.  “You can sit if you need to.”

The thought had crossed your mind, but truthfully you were afraid of how your body would react if you did. Eventually you gave in, shivering at the cold kiss of beskar on the insides of your thighs as you straddled his leg.  A knot was forming in your belly, low and warm.  

Maker, help me, you thought.

The change in position had slid your dress higher and Mando’s eyes began to wander again, taking in the exposed skin where your dress had hiked itself up, the material bunching around your hips.  His hands felt that pull again, that ache to touch you; to dig his fingers into the soft, plump flesh.  

Osik, he cursed, trying to control himself.  In his mind he conjured up the image of a blaster, mentally taking it apart and putting it back together as a pitiful attempt at a distraction.

You had fallen into a steady rhythm of stitching and knotting, your hands absentmindedly working.  The Mandalorian had fallen into a dull haze in the wake of your delicate touches, despite the sting and pull of the needle.  But when your hands brushed the edge of his helmet, he snapped to attention, reflexes kicking in.

A strong hand had immediately encircled your wrist, forcefully locking it in place.  Your breath seized at the realization of your colossal fuck-up.  How could you be so stupid?

“Shit, shit, I—I’m sorry,” you stammered out.  “Mando, I—I promise I wasn’t going to take it off, I just needed to adjust it to get the needle under.”  Your heart thundered against your chest, and you swear you could hear it in the empty silence of the cockpit.  The iron-clad grip he had on your wrist was starting to hurt, biting into your skin.  

Mando saw the flash of fear in your eyes, the way you had flinched at his touch and loosened the grip on your hand.  Regret began to bubble up inside him.  He opened his mouth to apologize, it had just been his instincts, but you beat him to it.  Your next words caught him off guard.  

“Do you trust me?”

He swallowed hard. Of course he did.  There was no question about it.  You were the one constant in his life besides the kid; the one he found he could rely on time and time again for anything. You had never betrayed him, in Creed or otherwise.  He took a steadying breath before answering.  “Yes.”

You tried to ignore the burst of warmth in your chest at his admission and what it implied. Instead, you nodded, slowly allowing yourself to move again and continue your care.  “Lean back,” you whispered and he obliged, fully baring his neck to you. It was a vulnerable position, but the cautious movements of your hands crushed any anxiety that threatened to well up in him.

And maybe it was that cautious, careful touch that had begun to wear down his walls; the tenderness you so freely gave that softened his heart and opened him up.  He wanted to make up the last minute to you, to show that he really did trust you.  Maybe that’s why he couldn’t stop the next thing that tumbled out of his mouth.

“Din.”

You paused mid-stitch, confusion flickering on your face.  “What’d you say?”

His heart felt like it was going to fly out of his ribcage.  “My name.  It’s Din.”

Confusion slowly morphed to shock at his revelation.  He had just shared his name with you; something incredibly personal and dear to him. Knowing it felt… intimate.  How many people actually knew his real name? You couldn’t stop that slow smile that had begun to spread on your face.  

“Din,” you repeated, hushed as if someone else would hear.  His heart skipped at the sound of his name on your lips; the soft way your voice curled around the short syllable.  Your eyes peered into his through the visor of his helmet, a question behind them. “Just ‘Din’?”

“Din Djarin,” he corrected.  

You repeated it again, delight clear on your face.  “I like it.”

I do too, he thought.  Especially when you say it.  “You can use it whenever, as long as we’re alone or it’s just the kid.”

“Of course,” you nodded, then added a soft, “Thank you.”  For trusting me.

The two of you had settled back into a comfortable silence, his hands resting comfortably on your hips, and Din couldn’t fathom why you kept biting back a smile.  You were the first to break it.  

“I’m sorry, for all this.”

“It’s fine, it’s not that painful.”  

You shook your head.  “No, I mean—” you gestured at his neck and then to you. “He was aiming for me.”

He scoffed.  “You’re out of your mind if you think I’d let anything happen to you.” You could hear the anger beginning to simmer beneath his words again.  “No, I… I would protect you every single time.  Besides, that osi’yaim got what he deserved in the end.”  

Your eyes flicked to his visor again and you tried to ignore the way the knot in your belly tightened at his promise to you and the shiver his low voice sent down your spine.  Instead, you tried to change the subject.  “Osi’yaim?”

“A useless, despicable person.  A waste of space.”

A soft laugh escaped you lips.  “You need to teach more Mando’a.  Something besides the bad words.”

Din’s heart clenched at your request. Something about you asking to learn his language stirred something deep in him.  “Of course,” he managed to reply, but it came out more strangled than he had meant it to.    

You continued with your task, getting lost in the repeated movements of your fingers.

Watching you work had always fascinated Din.  You granted each injury the same amount of attention, whether it was as small as a papercut or as big as the gash he had now.  It was endearing.  The meticulous way you ensured every stitch, every bandage, was perfect and in place. The adept movements of your fingers, steady with every touch.  The way you bit your lip and furrowed your brow as you concentrated.  

He was captivated by it, and you, every time.

His gaze was concealed by his helmet most of the time, but tonight you could feel the weight of his eyes on you.  Your cheeks began to burn at the thought of him staring at you so closely and you thanked the maker that he couldn’t see the crimson hue painting your face.  

“Are you warm?” he asked, the low rumble of his voice startling you.  

“What?”

“You’ve been shivering since you started, but… you’re all flushed,” he explained.

Your eyes widened at his words, heart stopping.  “Wait—how can you see my—”

“Heat sensors.” Din couldn’t help but notice the way the heat on your face spread even more, down the soft slopes of your neck and chest.

Of course, heat sensors.  You were absolutely mortified, a nervous laugh erupting from your chest.  May as well be honest.  

“No, not warm, more like embarrassed,” you tried to explain, unable to meet his eyes.  

Din tilted his head, trying to understand.  “Why?”

You scoffed.  “’Cause I just realized I’ve been sticking my ugly mug in your face for the past 20 minutes.”      

Din was dumbfounded.  Ugly? The mere thought of you seeing yourself in that way made his heart ache.  How could you think such a thing when he saw you as the most radiant thing in this galaxy?  That, every time he saw you, he had to remind himself to breathe?

He had no idea what the in blazes he was doing, but he knew that he couldn’t let you go on thinking such things about yourself.  Din reached out and tilted your chin up towards him, making you meet his eyes.  

“Cyar’ika, you are the furthest thing from ugly that someone could be.  I—you are absolutely stunning.  Do you—do you know what seeing you in that dress tonight did to me?” he confessed, letting out a breathy laugh.  The front of his pants tightened in reminder.  “I’ll teach you something new in Mando’a right now.”  He paused, letting his fingers brush over your chin. “Mesh’la.”

It felt like you were on fire at that point, burning under his gaze, but somehow you found your voice underneath all the flames.  “What does it mean?” you breathed, unable to mask the tremble in your voice.

“Beautiful,” he murmured. “You’re beautiful.”    

Your body betrayed you, melting into a puddle with just a taste of his touch and the boldness of his words.  It was a devastating effect, and there was no denying the dampness that had pooled between your legs now.  You managed to stutter out a, ‘thank you’ before trying to finish the last knot of his stitches.

“All done,” you whispered.    

Din watched as you admired your handiwork and noticed that you made no move to remove yourself from him.  Instead, your hands were softly dragging across the planes of his exposed chest, leaving a trail of fire wherever they went.  It was such a foreign feeling, flesh against flesh on such a shielded part of his body.  He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him there, let alone so gently.  

A strangled sound caught in his throat as you brushed over a particularly sensitive spot, just above the other side of his collarbone.  It was almost too much, the shot of electricity that singed his nerves, but it felt good.

His body involuntarily bucked at the sensation and his hands gripped your hips roughly, pressing you flush against him.  

You gasped at the sensation, of your clothed core dragging against the beskar plate on his thigh, your knee brushing against the bulge that had tented his pants.  Your hands scrabbled to find something, anything, to anchor yourself from the blinding pleasure that fizzled through you.

“Maker,” Din murmured, letting out a shuddering breath.  “Osik, cyar’ika, I’m didn’t mean to touch you like that but—”

“But what if I want you to?” your own voice sounding foreign to your ears.  You did not miss the way his breath hitched, caught in the modulator of his helmet.  

Din’s mind was reeling. “You—you want me to?” he swallowed thickly around the ball of shock that was caught in his throat.  

And you’re nodding, eyes dark and body and mind clouded with need, leading his hands up your torso and chest; but Din, he needs to hear you say it.  “Use your words, cyar’ika.  I need to hear you.”

“Yes, Din.  Please,” and that’s enough to dissolve any shred of self-control he thought he had.  The sound of you saying his name like that, a plea for him and only him, was maddening.  

His hands were on you in an instant; hands that you had seen nearly beat a man to death just for touching you, but on you they were soft, gentle.  Desperate, but tender.  Rough, but passionate and loving.  The contrast was making your head spin.  

“Din,” you whimpered. “You have to be careful, your cut—”

“I don’t care,” he rasped.  “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to touch you?  Make you mine?”  He pulled you closer against him, hands grasping at anything he could reach.  He wanted to erase any trace of the bounty from your presence.

You tried to answer, but you were a mess, filling the cockpit with soft moans and mewls as you bucked your hips on his thigh.  

“I want to watch you make yourself feel good, can you do that?  Just like this?”  You frantically bobbed your head.  “Good,” he answered, stroking your cheek.  “You deserve it after tonight, sweet girl.”

The sound of ‘sweet girl’ sent wet heat straight to your core.  If anything, you thought he was the one that deserved to be taken care of right now.  But you were not about to argue with the Mandalorian who insisted on you using him to get yourself off.    

Your hands pawed at his chest again, struggling to find some kind of purchase to anchor yourself. They finally settled for his biceps, nails digging deep.  He watched as you grinded down on his thigh, eyes screwed shut.  His hands fingered the strap of your dress and you nodded, giving him permission to slide it down.  

Din took in the sight of your bare chest, your nipples pebbling in the cold air of the cockpit. He ached to take them into his mouth, hear you whimper and moan against his tongue, but he settled for brushing his gloved fingers over them and watching you arch.  

You ground down harder, desperate you get the friction you needed.  Din’s hands slipped from your breasts down back to your hips, stilling them.  A high whine escaped your throat and it was almost pitiful.  

“Up,” he instructed, confusion marring your face as you lifted yourself off his leg.  He gripped the thigh plate and dropped it to the ground, promptly setting you back onto his thigh.  “Wanna feel you,” he growled, and you could only moan in response.  

Soon enough, your arousal had seeped through your panties and onto the fabric of his pants.  The heady smell hit his nose and his mouth watered, desperate to know what you tasted like, to know what sounds you would make if he buried his face between your thighs.  

You guided his hands back up your chest, up to your neck.  His fingers cupped your face again, thumb brushing the bottom of your lip. You held his hand in place, biting the leather tip of his glove and slowly slid it off, letting it drop between you.

The feeling of his bare thumb resting on your lips sent another wave of arousal through you.  “Wanna feel you,” you breathed, grinning before taking his thumb into your mouth and sucking hard.  Din’s eyes rolled back and he groaned; the sight of your hollowed-out cheeks and the sensation of your tongue on the pad of his thumb nearly sent him over the edge.  

One hand trailed to the base of your neck, tangling itself softly in your hair.  He took in the way your eyes were screwed shut, the furrow in your brows as you chased your high.  You had taken your bottom lip between your teeth, biting hard and almost splitting it from the pressure.  It was almost the same concentrated expression you wore as you tended to his injuries, though it was clear you were concentrated on something far more rewarding now.  

“Mesh’la,” he commanded.  “Look at me.”

You wretched your eyes open, fixing your gaze on him.  

Din watched, enraptured, as you continued to pleasure yourself.  You were a sight before him; pupils blown, mouth agape, chest heaving as you tried to ease the ache in your belly.  He was lost in the way your eyes sparkled, perfectly matching the dark galaxy you were set against just outside the viewport.  

Your moans filled the cockpit, desperate sounds and pleads of Din’s name as he sent delicious licks of pleasure throughout your body.  You held on for dear life, panting as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

He feels the tension simmering from your shuddering figure, like a coil just waiting to spring.

“Are you close, mesh’la?” he whispered, his words and the rasp of his voice sending you higher and higher.  “Are you going to come for me?”

And you’re a wreck, whimpering and pleading, yes, Din, yes; and all Din can think is he can die happy knowing how you moan his name.  He shifts you, pulls you right onto the straining bulge in his pants and you both gasp, the sensation pulling you even closer to your orgasm.  A bare hand snakes between where the two of you are pressed against each other and he presses right onto your clit.  

A sob tears from your throat and stars burst behind your eyes as you’re pushed off the edge; and you’re falling, waves of ecstasy washing over you and burning straight to your toes. Din holds you close as your body continues to shudder, a steady hand on your back coaxing you down from your high. He lets out a groan when he feels evidence of your orgasm seep through to his clothed cock.    

Fog clouds the bottom of his helmet as you softly pant, the pleasure lulling to a dull thrum in your veins. He’s admiring your sleepy eyes, the flushed cheeks of your afterglow.  You give off a shy smile, peering into his visor.  “Beautiful,” he murmurs right next to your ear.  “Just like I said.” 

“Thank you,” you hum, pressing a searing kiss onto his bare neck and sliding a hand over the hardness trapped beneath you.  

Din hisses at your touch and you laugh, trying to ease the ache between his own legs.  “Mesh’la,” he warns, grunting at the loss of contact as you lift yourself off him and slide between his knees, kneeling.  

“Yes?” you respond, sliding your hands up and down his thighs, and pausing at the button of his pants.

“You don’t have to—” he starts, but you quickly cut him off.

“But I want to, Din,” you assured.  You rest your head on his knee, peering up at him with wide, innocent eyes, awaiting his permission.  “Wanna return the favor, wanna taste you,” and you grin at the strangled sound that leaves his throat.  He couldn’t deny you even if he wanted to.  

Finally, he nods, spreading his legs wider to accommodate you.  Your smile grows and your nimble fingers make quick work of the buttons on his pants.  You’re just about to free him from the confines of his boxers when an alarm signal sounds from the ship, startling the both of you.  

“Come in, Mando,” Greef Karga’s voice crackled through the small room.  “We’ve got a problem.  I repeat, we’ve got an emergency, please come in.”

Din groans and you throw an exasperated look towards the comms on the control panel.  “Just ignore him, it can’t be that—” and you’re cut off by another sound.

The unmistakable sound of a baby crying.  

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, pressing your forehead into Din’s knee.  You loved that little green bean to death, but damn him for his horrific timing.  Din softly slid his hand over yours and you looked up.  

“It’s alright, cyar’ika,” he hummed.  “Go check on him,” and you slowly nodded, shooting him an apologetic look before rising from your spot on the floor.

Din watched in mild amusement as you wobbled to the door, before turning his chair towards the control panel and sighing.  His own arousal was almost overwhelming, but he did his best to shove it to the back of his mind.  

Whatever Greef needed, it had better be good, he grumbled in his head.  

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mando’a translations:

osi’kovid – shithead

skanah – very hated person, fucker

osik – shit

osi’yaim – cowardly, useless person

cyar’ika – darling, beloved

mesh’la – beautiful

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thank you for reading! let me know what ya think!