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purple-babygirl · 3 years

Note

request if open; daddy!bucky had a bad day and little!reader is just trying to comfort him but he accidently lashes out and yells at her/pushes her and immediately feels guilty but she regresses even more into her little space and is scared of him, you can kinda play around w this and figure out how it ends! xx

Pairing: Mafia!Daddy!Bucky Barnes x f!little!reader

Word Count: 3,423 (you know you love me)

Warnings: ddlg dynamics, yelling, harsh treatment, crying, angst turned fluff?

A/N: thank you so much for sending this in, nonnie. i took your request and ran with it to angst land. Hope you enjoy xx💜

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signature needed

“Dada,”

She could see Bucky’s frown, the lines on his forehead wrinkling his handsome face up. She knew it meant he was upset and she never wanted Daddy to be upset. She knew he never left her upset.

Bucky’s been looking like that since he walked through the mansion door that morning, barely acknowledging her when she greeted him. He almost forgot to give her her welcome-home kiss even.

“Not now, angel,” Bucky murmured, proceeding to flip through the papers covering his desk, huffing and puffing every now and then at the mess he was stuck trying to fix.

“Wanna show you somethin’,” she whispered, biting back a smile.

“Later, angel. I’m busy right now.”

He regretted telling her to come in. He should’ve known she’d be nothing but a distraction.

“Dada, jus’ take one look,” she bounced on her feet before slipping a neat sheet of paper on top of Bucky’s desk, momentarily blocking his view of the contracts he was angrily staring at. Now that made Bucky mad.

“I said I was busy!” Bucky shouted as his head snapped to her, his hand slamming down on the paper without even seeing it, blindly crumpling it and throwing it on the floor at her feet. She flinched at the sudden outburst, taking a step back.

“Dada,” tears filled her eyes as she looked at her discarded paper. Bucky just broke her heart.

“Why don’t you ever listen!” Bucky grabbed her arm tighter than usual, pulling her back to him, “How many times do I need to repeat the words for you to understand! I said not now, didn’t I?!” He let go of her arm with more force than he’d intended, making her stumble a little.

She was terrified now. Her heart pounded in her chest as she looked at Bucky with wide eyes. He has never lashed out on her like that, not even when she was big. She was scared. As her breath picked up, she wished she’d never left her playroom.

“Get out and don’t step into this office again until I tell you you can, you hear me?” Bucky growled, oblivious to the signs of regression and horror showing on her face.

Her quick nods set off no alarms in his head as he watched her run out of his office.

Bucky felt bad about taking his anger out on her the second she fled the room. He flopped back down with a huff, flipping through the contracts again and again with no focus. He threw them down carelessly, running his fingers through his hair, tugging at the roots in frustration.

Cracking his hurting neck, Bucky regretted raising his voice at her. He couldn’t see the words on the contracts; her teary eyes flashing through his mind every time he tried reading.

Why did he have to yell? He could’ve just looked at her paper. She was likely trying to show him a drawing. Why couldn’t he just go with it? He’s sworn he’d never let anybody hurt his angel and then he goes and does this?

Bucky was ashamed. What kind of Daddy was he if he treated his little like that? It was no excuse that he was still getting used to being a Daddy. Bucky knew that wasn’t how a man should treat his girl.

He bowed forward, picking up the balled paper by his desk. He carefully straightened it, deciding to fix his angel’s damaged drawing and make it up to her.

Only it wasn’t a drawing; the paper was a handwritten Daddy-Angel contract. It even had colourful flowers, bees and butterflies decorating the paper and everything.

She was probably trying to play office with him; probably just wanted Bucky to pretend he was signing her paper too.

A sad smile spread across Bucky’s lips as he read the paper. The contract stated that

- Dada will smile

- Dada will not be angry no more

- Dada will let me sit on his lap (will be quiet pp)

- Dada will play with me after work

Dada: ……………..

The paper ended with a free space for Bucky to sign in case of agreement to the ‘terms’.

There were a lot of moments where Bucky wished he could turn back time, but not being able to do so in this very moment seemed to torture him the most. He was an asshole.

She just wanted him to calm down. She respected that he was working and she wasn’t trying to interrupt, she merely wanted him to smile. She even pinky promised to sit quietly in his lap.

Bucky has messed up and it was for nothing because the damage to his work has already been done. He shouted at her like she was responsible when she was just trying to help him feel better.

Bucky got his pen out of his pocket, signing the empty place by his name, remorsefully sighing at his utter stupidity.

“Angel,” Bucky called, knocking on the door before opening it.

She wasn’t in her playroom, but Bucky could see her round table full of similar papers to the one he had folded in his pocket.

She’s made at least 6 of these ‘contracts’, some of them were written in different colours or had spelling mistakes.

She’d obviously worked hard until she settled on the paper to give him and he ended up throwing it on the floor.

Bucky’s hand rubbed his face, frustrated at himself and his lack of control. An asshole was what he was. An asshole.

“Angel, where are you, baby?” Bucky sighed, opening the bedroom door to see her sitting, hugging her knees on the large bed.

She looked too tiny bundled up like that and her muffled sniffles punched at Bucky’s heart.

“Angel.”

She only lifted her head up when she felt the bed dip under Bucky’s weight and panic flashed over her delicate features.

“Baby, don’t cry,” Bucky said, his hand instinctively moving to wipe her tears only to have her flinch back, squeezing her eyes shut as if she was awaiting a blow.

Bucky’s heart stopped beating for a second when he realized what had just happened.

She was scared of him. His angel had flinched away from his touch. A huge lump formed in Bucky’s throat as she opened her eyes again, “angel?”

“Please don’ hurt me. Won’ come to the office. Won’ leave the room.” She shook her head and sobbed, scurrying back on the bed and away from Bucky.

This pained Bucky more than any punishment he thought he deserved. The look on her face was enough for him to want the walls to open up and swallow him.

“Angel, I would never hurt you. You know that.” Bucky whispered, sniffing back the tears about to spill down his bearded cheeks.

He needed to hear her say she did. He needed to know she knew Bucky could never hurt her.

She looked from Bucky to her left arm where his metal hand had grabbed her earlier. His fingers had left a mark around her arm. The skin was still pulsing as if his hold on her never loosened.

It was too late and it didn’t matter what he said because he’d already hurt her and the evidence was on her body.

Bucky’s mouth opened and closed as he swallowed again. He didn’t know what to say. He was supposed to be the one protecting her, not the one hurting her. How could he do such a thing to his angel?

“Oh, baby,” he breathed, shaking his head regretfully before trying to get closer to her.

Her instant reaction was to crawl back further and Bucky’s heart sank to his stomach. He felt his soul leaving his body when he looked her in the eyes and saw fear.

A tear betrayed him, falling down, gliding by his lips. Bucky wiped it away quickly, sniffing and clearing his throat.

“I signed your contract, angel.” Bucky got the paper out of his pocket, opening it and putting it on the bed for her to see.

Her eyes looked down and more tears left them at the sight of her once fine work now ruined.

“I’m so sorry, angel. Daddy was bad, baby. I’m sorry,” Bucky pleaded, his fingers reaching out for hers.

She pulled her hand away quickly, hiding it behind her back and Bucky knew he had really messed up. It was no use trying.

She was scared of him. His touch frightened her and was no longer a symbol of comfort to her.

He took his hand away, straightening his back and getting off the bed.

“I-I’ll see you at lunch then.” Bucky sniffed again.

“And angel?” he called from the door, getting her attention.

“Thank you for caring for daddy. I love you.” Bucky has never heard his voice as weak as he did in that moment and he felt even worse when she didn’t say it back.

When the table was set and Bucky came out of his office to find her chair empty, another lump was quick to form in his throat.

He wasn’t even hungry. He had no appetite to eat; he just wanted to see her but didn’t have the guts to peek into their bedroom again.

“Angel?” Bucky was ready to knock on the bedroom door but it was already open.

He carefully pushed it and took a look inside to find the bed empty. He tried not to freak out as he knocked the en suite bathroom door and got no answer. When he opened it, she wasn’t there either.

Bucky could hear his own blood pumping in his ears because she was no where to be found in her playroom as well.

She left. She left him and she had every right to. How could he lose her? How could he lose the one good thing in his life?

Tears distorted Bucky’s vision as his hand clutched the side of the door. His heart clenched at the thought of never seeing her again, never hearing her sweet voice call for him again; never getting to smell her on his pillow again.

The sound of her feet padding on the floor behind him pulled Bucky out of his head and he thought he’d imagined it for a second. He turned around and she froze when his eyes fell on her.

She shifted on her feet, hiding one behind the other and internally hoping Bucky wouldn’t notice she was roaming around with bare feet when he’d specifically asked her not to before.

That was the last of Bucky’s concerns at the moment though. He was just relieved she didn’t leave him even if he deserved it.

“Where were you, angel?” the tenderness of Bucky’s tone let her know he wasn’t mad at her for walking around shoeless.

“Couldn’ fin’ PinePine,” she replied softly, referring to the white feline, “’s lunch time.” Her eyes remained fixed on her feet as she avoided Bucky’s.

He was secretly thankful for that, not wanting her to see him in tears twice in the same day.

She was so pure; so caring and loving to everyone around. Bucky found himself slightly jealous of his own cat for a second there.

“Where did you find, PinePine?” He asked calmly, just wanting to hear her speak to him.

“Downstairs,” she answered shortly, leaving Bucky disappointed.

“Let’s go then. The table’s set.” Bucky smiled, hesitantly offering her his hand.

She stood unmoving for a few seconds, eyes still casted down, before she decided to hold onto Bucky’s pointer.

He sighed, knowing she was still scared but didn’t want to reject him. She was so sweet on him even when he least deserved it.

When lunch was over, Bucky let her know she could come to the office whenever she wanted, although he doubted she would. She gave a small nod before running back to the other room as Bucky shouted an “I’ll get back to work then.” behind her.

He didn’t actually get back to work. He couldn’t focus. He couldn’t think of anything but the way she pulled away from his touch every single time he tried to come near her, or the way she forced herself to hold one of his fingers as they walked less than 10 steps together to the dining room. She'd even begged him not to hurt her earlier.

How did he let himself fuck up so bad? When did they get there? What was he going to do now? How does one get forgiven after being this awful?

A lamp lit above the mafia boss’ head and he grabbed a clean sheet of paper before he could lose the idea.

Bucky was going to write his angel a contract. A pardon contract.

His Daddy-Angel 2.0 contract stated that:

- Angel will forgive Daddy

- Angel will not be sad with Daddy no more

- Angel will sit on Daddy’s lap (even if she doesn’t wanna be quiet)

- Angel will play with Daddy after work if she still wants to

Angel: …………….

Bucky sighed as he tried to draw anything other than sloppy hearts in the empty places around the words to decorate the paper but he was terrible at this. He was desperately in need of his angel’s forgiveness though so he scratched his beard and kept working.

Bucky needed to know she wasn’t actually scared of him; not her. Anyone but her. He wouldn’t be able to take it. He wouldn’t be able to ever tolerate himself if she didn’t forgive him.

Bucky’s tongue was hanging outside the side of his mouth as he drew another birdie on the bottom of the contract. It didn’t really look like a bird, unless of course that bird was struck by lightning a hundred times before, but Bucky thought it would do. After all, he was no artist. He didn’t draw. He didn’t deal with colours; he dealt with weapons. His hands were rough for a reason. But he would do anything for his angel. Anything to win her over again.

A knock on his door cut off his focus and Bucky groaned.

“Come in.”

He felt sorry for whoever had the bad luck of interrupting him during his contract-making, ready to yell at someone.

Bucky looked up from his desk when he didn’t hear anyone speaking, and his face has never softened so fast.

It was his girl who’d come into the office. She had her folded contract in her hand and her eyes were looking kind of puffy from crying.

Bucky just stared at her in remorse, pushing his chair back a bit as he watched her walk closer to his seat.

He wanted to tell her he was sorry. He was so sorry. He’s never been sorrier in his life. He wanted nothing more than to take every word and every harsh touch back.

She stood there for a second, waiting to see if Bucky was going to kick her out this time too. When he didn’t, she rounded the desk and stopped by Bucky’s chair.

Bucky remained speechless, not wanting to scare her away again. She came to him. She came on her own. Unless she came to throw the contract in his face and break up with him, that should be a good sign.

Her tongue peeked outside, wetting her lips nervously before she stretched an arm out, ever so carefully nearing it to Bucky’s thigh. Her gaze was glued to Bucky’s face, gauging his reaction. When Bucky’s frown didn’t show up she let her palm touch Bucky’s leg.

Bucky didn’t understand what she was doing but he wouldn’t dream of questioning her. He was just glad she was okay with touching him again at all after what he’d done, even if she was doing it so cautiously it broke his heart to a thousand pieces.

With her stare trained on Bucky, she stepped forward, slotting herself in the small space between Bucky’s chair and his desk, facing him. Her hands moved to grab on Bucky’s strong shoulders, still watching his face. She swallowed before effortlessly climbing on, cozily curling herself on his lap.

Bucky’s heart swelled as he felt her nose nuzzle his shirt. His own emotions overwhelmed him and tears gathered in his eyes.

“Angel?” his voice was barely a whisper as he looked down to her, careful not to startle her.

She looked up at him worriedly, thinking he didn’t want her where she was.

Her eyes showed fear for a short second before she unfolded the scrunched paper in her hand, a finger pointing to the third term.

“Dada signed,” she said, her eyes so innocent and Bucky couldn’t contain himself anymore.

“Oh, angel,” Bucky’s tears uncontrollably rolled down, wetting his beard.

He held her so close, she could hear his heartbeats drumming in his chest.

“Baby, I’m so sorry.” Bucky cried, wetly kissing her forehead over and over.

“I’m sorry, my angel. Forgive me,” he repeated, leaning down to kiss her bruised shoulder before lifting both hands to his lips and kissing them, “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

“Dada,” her smaller hands cupped Bucky’s cheeks as sadness covered her features.

She’s never seen Bucky like that. Not even at his father’s funeral did he sob like that.

She didn’t know it but to Bucky, the thought of losing her hurt more than the actual loss of a family member who never gave two shits about him.

She was Bucky’s everything. His love, his partner, his companion, his baby angel. She was the one who stole his heart and took good care of it. Bucky would give up anything and everything in life and choose her to forever keep, protect and love.

Her short thumbs wiped under Bucky’s eyes, pushing his tears away. She turned to straddle him and wrapped her arms around his neck, laying her cheek on his shoulder.

The smell of her hair calmed Bucky’s heart down as he turned his face to kiss her head, hands settling on her back, “I will never hurt you, angel. Please tell me you know that, my love.”

Bucky’s hoarse voice had her pulling away from the hug. She sat back and looked her man in the eyes, her thumb brushing his chin, “I know,” she whispered and Bucky could see it in her eyes. She did. She believed him. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her.

She stroked Bucky’s cheeks as he sniffled, smiling gratefully at her reply. And his whole world lit up again when she smiled back, timidly pecking the corner of his pink lips.

Oh she was a real angel. No one’s ever been this kind to Bucky before, only her. Bucky kissed her hand one more time, quietly thanking her for forgiving him.

“I made you a contract too,” Bucky told her with a chuckle, pointing to the desk behind her as he wiped his face with the back of his hand.

Her mouth opened in a silent gasp, her smile reaching her wide eyes. She turned around in Bucky’s lap, planting her knees on the chair between Bucky’s open legs and stood on them to take a look.

She took her time reading the words and then she was off Bucky’s lap and bolting out of the room.

The man was about to lose it again, thinking she’d remembered his cruelty towards her and changed her mind when she came running back inside the office.

She climbed back on the chair between Bucky’s thighs, her glitter pen in hand.

Bucky sighed in relief, his lips spreading with an adoring smile as he watched her write her name letter by letter in glittery ink where her signature was needed. Bucky held her waist, kissing her back as he admired how focused she was.

She closed the cap on the pen, placing it on the desk before picking up the contract to show Bucky.

“Angel signed,” she beamed, plopping herself against Bucky’s chest and clinging to him, earning a hearty chuckle from him.

“I love you so much, angel. More than anything in the world.” Bucky gently held her face by the chin, giving her lips a short kiss.

“I love you too, dada.” She smiled, blushing as she hid her face in his chest again.

Bucky wrapped his arms around her, holding her to him and closing his eyes, just enjoying the feel of her body against his once more, silently promising his angel to never hurt her ever again.

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mementomoriifics · 3 years

Text

Red Hot - Kirishima x Reader (NSFW)

Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, alpha!Kiri, omega!reader, mating cycles, mating bites, some blood, unprotexted sex (don't do this kids), knotting

Wordcount: 2475

Author's Note: Kirishima is 18+ in this fic. it's also a rework of an old fic from a deleted account so if you recognize this, shhh no you don't

AO3 link

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Living with Kirishima Eijiro currently felt like the biggest mistake you’ve ever made in your life.

Not because he was a bad roommate or anything, no, far from it. Kirishima was nothing if not courteous. He always paid his share of the rent and utilities on time, he gave you your space, gave you heads up about when he would be out of town and such. In short, a model roommate.

You’d even been eager as hell to move in with the man you’d called your best friend ever since high school. (And your crush but that’s a part you were very much denying)

In your eagerness, however, you’d overlooked two key factors.

One, you were an omega, he an alpha

Two, you would inevitably go into heat. In your shared living space. While the alpha was just in the other room, smelling like leather and strawberries and driving you absolutely mad.

When the inevitable happened, you’d ignored the red flags at first. Like how Kirishima smelled even better than he usually did. Or how it felt like someone had been dicking around with the thermostat. Or why you had started to hoard everything soft and comfortable in the apartment.

And as luck would have it, it didn’t dawn on you that your heat had started until it was much too late.

You woke up one morning, your head feeling like it was stuffed full of cotton balls. The next thing you noticed was how absolutely warm you felt, kicking off the blankets to get some fresh air. You were confused, until you felt how wet you were. Your thighs were coated in slick and panic rose in you.

You cast a glance at your alarm clock and shot a prayer to whatever deity was listening that Kirishima had already left for his shift two hours ago. Your worrying wasn’t over, though, as you fumbled with your phone while you were still coherent and called out of work.

Your boss, a beta you got along with decently well, was thankfully extremely understanding about the situation. Not that it made the entire ordeal less embarrassing.

The rest of the day you seemed to float by solely on your instincts. With the fuzzy feeling in your head persisting, you made a nest for a mate you didn’t have, piling together whatever clothes, pillows and blankets you could find. You’d even swiped Kirishima’s Crimson Riot branded blanket, one of his most prized possessions.

That made you feel guilty, just a little.

Said blanket, however, proved to be the anchor still keeping you grounded as your heat worsened. You would bury your face into it, Kiri’s scent filling your senses. It made you feel safe, protected in a way. Just like how Kirishima had always been that for you, like a rock for you to lean on, pun intended. So selfless and strong and handsome…

You had long foregone any sort of modesty, your hand having found its home between your trembling thighs as you kept pressing your face into the blanket you stole.

You felt guilty about doing so, but your instincts overpowered your rational thinking.

Kirishima hadn’t asked for this, for you to defile his stuff, for you to masturbate to the thought of him, and you were eighty percent sure your friend was pining after Bakugo. He had to be, with the awe he carried in his voice whenever the blond was brought up in conversation.

There was no way in hell he’d mate with you, or mark you, and you felt something akin to heartbreak at the thought of it all.

But your heat riddled thoughts were quick to dismiss your hurt, wanting nothing more than for Kiri to come home, find you a dripping wet mess and fuck pups into you. For those sharp teeth to sink into your shoulder to mark you, for his hands to grip your hips so hard he’d leave behind bruises. For him to wreck you completely. Your feelings were something you could sort through later. The only thing relevant now was the burning need that made itself your master.

Your fantasies about Kirishima were running rampant as you fingered yourself, three fingers knuckle deep inside yourself as you pictured them being his instead. You needed relief, you needed-

“Eijirou!”

You all but screamed as your climax washed over you, making your whole body shake at the intensity of it. Your face was dug into the blanket, taking in every bit of Kirishima’s scent still lingering on it. You were drooling, feeling achingly empty as your body contracted to milk a cock that wasn’t there.

You were panting, coming down from your high as you looked towards the door briefly, a vague part of you thinking of getting some water. That thought was quickly flung out the window as to your absolute horror, Kirishima stood in your doorway, gym bag falling from his hand.

Tears of embarrassment welled up in your eyes as you pulled the nearest object - that fucking blanket - over yourself to hide. To safe at least a little of your modesty, though you were pretty sure Kirishima now got an eyeful of all of you.

“Kiri, I’m sorry. I didn’t- I’m-”

You were properly crying at this point, dread and embarrassment coiling inside of your head. Your roommate and best friend had just caught you fucking yourself to the idea of him. How long had he stood there? How much had he seen?

God, if the earth could swallow you whole, you’d be grateful.

A sudden calming wave of Kirishima’s scent filled the room, forcing your shaking body to relax. You heard him come closer, the bed dipping as he sat down on it.

You refused to leave your self-made cocoon of shame, not wanting to face Kirishima right now. But it seemed he had different plans.

He carefully peeled the blanket away, his face almost matching his long, spiky hair as he looked at you. There was a look of concern etched on his face that took you entirely off guard.

“Are… Are you okay?”

You blinked a few times, a little baffled by his reaction to the situation. You nodded, biting your bottom lip and ignoring a fresh wave of tears.

“You were… You’re in-”

“-heat, yeah.” you finished his sentence, looking away and wanting nothing more than to hide under the blanket again.

Kirishima cleared his throat, shifting in place. Sweat started to appear on his forehead, his scent more potent. It was obvious you were getting to him. Or rather, your heat was doing things to him. But sweet, sweet Kiri was too much of a gentleman to act on it. The feeling of guilt got worse and the tears finally spilled.

“Can I… Help?” He asked, his voice soft. You cast a sideways glance at him and he seemed to be giving you puppy eyes you didn’t think alpha’s were capable of.

Your heart both melted and broke a little bit. Kirishima was too kind for his own good, too caring. You didn’t deserve-

“What about Bakugo?” You blurted out, Kirishima looking very confused.

“What about-? What do you mean?” He asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Aren’t you,” you swallowed, looking down and second guessing your assumptions. “Aren’t you… In love with-”

You couldn’t even finish your sentence, the redhead laughing loudly. His shoulders shook with mirth as he doubled over, one hand on his stomach. Your face turned even redder, something you didn’t think possible at this point.

“What? No! Bakubro is bonded to Uraraka. He’s just my best buddy.” Kirishima snickered, still shaking with laughter. “I mean, sure he's kinda cute in a manly way but like,... He's taken, dude. Besides, I have a giant crush on you! I thought it was obvious.”

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. Your eyes widened as they darted to Kiri again, who’s face now definitely matched his hair, his smile fading.

“It wasn’t..?”

You shook your head, opening your mouth to say something but your heat thought otherwise. You crumpled forward, hand gripping Kiri’s bicep tightly as you moaned.

“Hey, easy!” Kirishima spoke, broad hands taking a hold of your upper arms to keep you steady. “I got you.”

The words were meant as reassuring but instead only fanned the flames that were in your lower stomach. It felt like you were burning up and it only got worse when you looked up at him.

Kiri’s pupils were dilated with desire, his mouth parted slightly as his breath came out in soft pants. His tongue darted out briefly to wet those kissable lips. You felt pinned in place by this stare and it made you feel so small and so fucking horny.

“Ei-chan. I need you, please.” You whined, using an old nickname you knew would get him. Eijirou growled, all but ripping his tank top off his body in his hurry to get undressed.

“Don’t worry, Omega. Your Alpha’s got you.”

You moaned loudly at the statement, back arching off the bed. Your hand found itself between your thighs again on instinct earning a soft "fuck." fron the alpha. Kirishima got up for a moment, ridding himself of his shorts and boxers, the seams of the garments protesting at his rough movements.

The scent radiating off of Eijirou grew more potent, more overwhelming. Your head swam with it and one instinctual thought came to the forefront of your lust-addled mind: He was going into a rut.

“Ei-chan. Please.” You moaned again, spreading your thighs for him in an attempt to coax him between them.

You eyed his length shamelessly as he stood there for a moment, taking in the sight of you. Your mouth started to water. It was bigger than you'd imagined, curving up deliciously. A black happy trail leading from Kiri's belly button down to the hard dick you wanted in you so damn bad it almost hurt.

The pro hero growled, having had enough of waiting and finally climbed between your legs. He pressed needy kissed against your neck and shoulders, taking in the smell of you.

“Patience. I’ll make you feel better soon.” He mumbled, one hand gripping your thigh and hiking it over his hip. You felt his length grind against you, gasping as the underside rubbed against your oversensitive clit.

“You made such a good nest for us.” He praised you, a warm feeling blooming in your chest. You wrapped your arms around Kirishima’s shoulders, digging your fingers in his waist length hair as he kept talking. “You will be such a good mom for our pups.”

“Give me- I need-” you whimpered, hands now gripping fistfuls of his hair, making the hero growl low in his chest.

“I will, Omega. I’ll give you exactly what you need.” He spoke, a hand reaching down so he could line his dick up with your entrance. With one, smooth thrust, he was knot deep in you, your head tipping back and exposing your neck in a quiet show of submission. Kirishima pressed kisses up and down the column of your throat, sharp teeth grazing the delicate skin there. He seemed to revel in the feeling of you around him but you wanted - no, needed - more.

You whimpered, moving your hips in an attempt to get him to fuck you. Kirishima, seemingly hellbent on drawing things out, nipped at your throat, a non verbal warning.

His senses seemed to return for a moment.

“Are you okay? Can I-?”

You nodded, wrapping your legs around Eijirou’s thick waist.

“Please, I’ve been ready since you caught me.” you half whined, half complained.

That was all the pro hero needed, dragging his length out of you at a painfully slow pace before thrusting back in so hard he almost knocked the wind out of you.

The pace he set was hard and a little rough, his hands and mouth gentle as he held you close, pressing kisses against any part of exposed skin he could reach.

“You smell so good, Omega. And you feel like heaven. So good. So… So… I want to-”

Kiri was lost for words, all the blood in his brain having vacated and moved south. His teeth gently scraped over the junction between your neck and shoulder, the place he could mark you. Where you wanted him to bite down badly.

He seemed to hesitate, his mouth parting and teeth nipping but never committing to a bite. It drove you to the brink of madness. You both wanted each other, right? Why was he hesitating?

After the so manieth nip of pointed teeth, one of your hands flew to the back of his head, trying to force him down. His pace slowed, fucking you gentle and deep. It made your head spin.

“Please, Ei-chan. Do it. Please.”

“Are you sure?” He asked. “Do you want me?”

“I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.” You spoke with more clarity than you had since you woke up.

Something in him seemed to snap and Kirishima pressed a quick kiss on the sensitive patch of skin before his lips parted, sharp teeth sinking into your skin. You cursed, holding onto Kirishima, your Alpha, for dear life.

Every fiber of your body seemed to sizzle with pleasure as the redhead pushed his knot into you. It took only a few, slow grinds of the alpha’s hips into yours for you to plummet over the edge, Eijirou groaning into the bite as he followed shortly after, knot swelling impossibly fat inside of you. The burning in your gut slowly faded, Kiri pulling back from your neck to look at you.

He looked borderline feral, hair a mess and blood staining his mouth. You smiled, gently smoothing down the unruly locks with shaky hands. He grinned at you.

“My Omega.” he said, smiling before he leaned down, nuzzling his nose against yours.

“My Alpha.” You echoed, leaning in and stealing a soft kiss for your… Boyfriend? Yes. Boyfriend. You liked how that sounded.

“’m tired.” You mumbled, hissing as Kirishima slowly withdrew his knot for you with an almost cartoonishly wet pop that made your face burn. The pro hero pressed a soft kiss on your forehead, gathering you up in his arms and sinking back into the nest. You felt wonderfully small and safe, cocooned in an embrace of muscle and red hair.

“Then rest up a bit. Then we’ll get cleaned up and we’ll get some food in you.” Eijirou said, smiling to himself as you snuggled into his pec.

“I want omurice.” You mumbled, already drifting off as fatigue set in. Kiri chuckled, pressing a kiss onto the crown of your head.

“Then I’ll make you omurice. Anything for my Omega.”

You grinned like an idiot as you quietly drifted off, safe in the arms of your Alpha.

#kirishima x reader #kirishima eijirou x reader #mha imagine #mha x reader #bnha imagine #bnha x reader #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #not sfw #morii's fics #omegaverse #abo fic #whoop there it is

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justagirlsearchingforamuse · 3 years

Note

If you are still taking nsfw requests, could you please write Heisenburg having some 'alone time' with himself?

"Hmm ... yeah this will have to work ... running out of options because of that stupid man Ethan Winters. The man is nothing but trouble. ... I was a fool to consider trying to work with the clown." Karl growled in a ragged breath, his hands were pressed into his messy cluttered desk and he stood slightly hunched over his desk with his eyes staring at the revised plan he had. He stared over the plan once more, he'd have to either get rid of Ethan or let him do all his dirty work and then finish him off once more. As he slumps into his chair, a heavy sigh leaves his lips at once and he takes his old tethered hat off, he's quite surprised he hasn't lost the beloved accessory. Sitting it down on his disorganized desk with papers, photos, and crumbled pieces of paper he lets a heavy breath leave his lips and tries to let peace rest in his old factory and within his soul. The sound of machinery working actively, metals bumping into other metals and the scent of dust and metal lays heavy in the air. He liked his factory. Just the way it was. Messy. Dirty. Dusty. He loved it, it was his own little home and his place to truly be himself and truly allowed to be vulnerable without the worry of being seen as weak. As inadequate, he runs his thick fingers through his straight dark grey hair, pushing some hair out of his face as he listens to the machines, the huffing, and the metals clanking together and it reminds me of something he's tried so damn hard to forget. You.

He enjoyed and relished being alone, he was in his element, he was allowed to be vulnerable but there was that soft aching in his soul that missed your soft humming or missed hearing you enter his factory. He missed the smell of you, it was warm and so heavenly to his nostrils, when you would bother trying to clean up his cluttered mess and he would try and excuse it. Try and get you to stop. Damn, did he miss you. He sits up straight in his chair, his finger rests upon his bottom lip as he forces and pushes thoughts of you out of his head, he can't bear to think about you, he can't bear to be weak again after what you did to him. "fuck" he mutters in a swift breath as his hands cover his face, he buries his face in his hands as he finds getting rid of you is like getting rid of gnats, nearly fucking impossible. He lets out an agitated sigh, nearly growling to himself before his eyes lay heavy on his desk, still cluttered and messy once again he decides to at least get rid of some of his failed plans. As he begins to grab at a few crumpled up paper balls, he suddenly stops and another sigh leaves his lips, he stops as rushed words leave his lips. "what the fuck am I doing?" he mutters as he began to try and put things back where they were, his hands moved too quickly and suddenly a photo falls onto the floor. It's a polaroid, he twists in his chair and picks up the photo and his eyes harden at the sight of what he tries and tried so desperately to forget. To leave behind. His eyes meet the sight of your face, you took what Americans call a "selfie", a short yet soft chuckle leaves his lips at your weird slang and your way with words was so unique. You smile warmly at the camera, a natural smile suits you perfectly and the light in your eyes, the natural warmth that flushed your skin, everything about you reminded him of what he lost. The family he lost. He missed what he used to once be, human. Humans have freedom, are free to be whoever and do whatever they want but a cruel bitch with selfish intentions and a knack for kidnapping took that away from him.

His face softens at your picture, he remembers your laughter echoing through the room so beautiful and unique to his ears, how you would sit on his lap and tease him with your smile, he remembers so much about you. He remembers you. He remembers the day you left, bitterness on your tongue, sharp anger in your veins and you left with horror, with tears and with nothing but pain striking your face. He hurt you. In return you left him, you left him all alone with nothing but his so-called "family". He wants to rip up your picture, burn it and spit on the image he once treasured so dearly but all he can do is look at what memory he has of you. "Damn, you don't know how much ... how much I miss you ..." Karl whispers, a deep frown curls onto his lips and he can memorize and almost catch your voice in his ears. His throat begins to get tight and his lips try to tremble and quiver before, he buries his teeth in his tongue and inhales a sharp breath to stop himself from being too ... open. He exhales slowly and sets your picture down on the desk once more, he slumps back in his chair, and memories of you circle and float around in his head. "Come on ... forget her, she fucking left you." He mutters and murmurs to himself in a whisper, sighing once again as his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose, he keeps repeating "forget her, fuck her" almost like a mantra. But it doesn't fucking work. Especially when he finds himself pitching a tent, his pants become tighter and not as loose as he prefers them to be, he lets out a little more than agitated growl from his lips at the sight. Clicking his tongue, he decides that maybe he can turn this into just another jerk-off session that is nothing more than that, he sets your picture up on a coffee cup he has and lets it sit there right in view. His tongue swirls around his lips as he unzips his pants, he slips his hand in his boxers and lets his eyes rest as he wraps his hand around his firm thick semi-hard cock. He lightly squeezes at the organ, causing him to let out a swift breath at the sensation before leaning back just slightly more, grinding his teeth into his bottom lip he begins to gradually move his hand up and down his cock. "Damn ... kinda sensitive, huh?" Karl says in a slow ragged breath, his voice rumbles, and echoes through the factory.

He wants to rush into it, he wants to imagine you with your tongue down his throat, hands exploring his body and he could imagine your chuckles after he rips off your clothes. "Fuck ..." Karl whispers, his eyebrows furrow at images of you that flash in his mind, the things he's done to you, the sheer pleasure that he's given you has him squeezing his fully erect cock. His fingers travel to the head of his cock, he squeezes at the sensitive area causing a ragged deep growl to leave his parted lips, pleasure pulsates through him and leaves him almost like putty in his hand. He swallows thickly and inhales once again, his hand begins to slowly travel up and down his thick meaty cock that pulsates, eagerly. Heavy ragged breaths leave his lips, his eyes are closed, almost like he's relaxed and at ease with his hand shoved down his pants and his mind focused on the aching problem in between his thighs. When his hand travels to the head of his cock, his thumb moves in circles around the head, slow agonizing circles that leave him almost gasping for air at the throbbing sensations that travel through him. "Damn ..." Karl groans deeply, a ragged breath soon follows as he spreads his legs wider, his hand travels up and down his throbbing hard cock, heavy ragged breaths are all that leave his lips. "Shit ... shit ..." He breaths out heavily, he whines and it fills his throat and the factory he resides in, echoing heavily through the room before a deep breath leaves his lips. "Get the fuck outta the way," Karl whispers to himself, he pushes his pants down to his ankles and his cock isn't restrained by his pants, his hand moves to his cock once again and continues to gently stroke his throbbing cock that now leaks with precum. "Gah ..." Karl gasps, burying his teeth into his bottom lip as heat begins to flood into his being, his heart throbs and pulsates in his chest, and arousal pulses through him, leaving him aching for sweet release. Hot damn ...

"Yeah, remember how you used to just worship me ... do you remember how much of a masochist you were? That look on your face though ... whenever I had you tied up and at my mercy or ... whenever you needed to be punished ... oh damn ..." Karl rambles to himself, his words are slurred and his thoughts of full of nothing but you, he remembers how you used to tease him away from his work and how good you were at making him hard in mere moments. His cock pulsates in his hand at the thought of you and he decides to kick it up a notch, his hand begins to move at a slightly quicker pace as it travels up and down his throbbing meaty cock. His cock leaks with precum that travels down the head of his cock, his thumb quickly moves against the sensitive head, rubbing and massaging that sensitive area causing sharp waves of ecstasy to rush through him. He licks his lips and a wide toothy grin curls onto his lips, a light chuckle follows soon after as short and breathless moans leave his parted lips, the heat that was once warm gets hotter and it travels throughout his body. "Yeah, you remember that. You can't forget how good my cock felt down that tight throat of yours, how you savored my seed obediently ... haah ... damn." Karl rambles once more, imagining as though you were listening to him, what follows after his words are heavy breathless moans that are pried from his lips. He uses his other hand to clutch the chair's arms as his hand eagerly strokes and massages his cock aching in between his legs. "Ah ..." Karl moans deeply, a growl at the end of that moan as he can ecstasy pulsate through him, his body throbs with arousal and aching as he selfishly takes care of himself. He was getting close.

The heat that was hot as hell was now boiling inside of him, running his hands through his hair he wraps both of his hands around his cock, eager to taste his release quicker as his face twists at the waves and waves of ecstasy that travels through him. He clenches his teeth and his eyes are closed tightly, heavy ragged raspy breaths leave his lips followed by low growls of your name that he repeated like a mantra. "Oh, fuck ...! Oh, baby ... don't you miss me? Don't you miss how I used to fuck you ... nice and hard, all night fucking long and I still have your marks on my back." He rambles in a series of heavy breaths that clouded his throat, he begins to fist his cock swift and severely as sharp powerful waves of bliss washed over him in heavy waves of heat. "Oh, fuck! Shit! Oh, shit ...!, Baby, I want you so bad ... I want you here with me ... your lips wrapped around my cock or maybe you would want to ... want to be on your back like a dog. Eager for my cock, eager to get pounded into the mattress." Karl rambles once again, a smile is curled onto his lips as he is so eager to chase after a high, eager to chase after whatever he was deluding himself into that had him believing you were there. "Oh, shit! Goddamn ...!" Karl pants out, his breaths become raspy and sound like a growl at the end of each moan that falls from his lips. His throat is tight and struggling to keep oxygen in it, heat boils within him and he's just so enamored with the thought of you and you're not even there. Clenching his teeth, he begins to drive his hips into his tight fist, his hand swiftly stroking his throbbing hard cock as he throws his head back. Waves after waves of ecstasy travel and burst through him, the ecstasy is strong, merciless, and unforgiving and he fucking loves it so much. Oh, what you do to him ...

"Shit, baby ... I'm gonna ... I'm gonna come ... gonna come so fuckin' hard. I love you ... I love you ..." Karl rambles out in heavy ragged breaths as he continues to vigorously fist his throbbing meaty cock, his breaths are caught in the middle of his throat and when it hits him his entire body disobeys him. His body jerks, almost jumps at the tides of bliss that flood through him and he reaches his boiling point, his stomach coils and he bites at his tongue enough to make himself bleed as thick ropes of semen land onto his shirt. "Fuck, (Y/N) ...! Oh ..." He whines deeply, his hand continues to vigorously stroke his cock, shorter ropes of cum spurt onto his shirt as he desperately tries to feel more. To see you again. He'll never admit that. Never let his mind admit because he's a stubborn bastard but there's that thought in his head, he was wondering if you would've said "I love you". He wondered if you would've just smiled at him and left him again, when he catches his breath a bitter taste hits his tongue, and memories of your time together hits him like a pile of bricks. Fuck, all he wanted was to forget you. Forget that you brought him up just to leave him when he needed you most. His eyes open and he inhales a shaky breath through his nostrils, pain weighed heavy on him and that's all he can think of. The pain. Your last words. The tears. He remembers you.

#resident evil smut #resident evil 8 #karl heisenburg #karl heisenberg x reader #re: village #smut

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itsjustmelainey · 3 years

Note

Lainey! I’m sending you this request to get you started!

Imagine: reader has this big crush on Buck, he’s her whole world and all she can think about. One day, she walks into his room like she usually does but catches him in bed with someone else.

I’ll leave the ending up to you darling! Love you ❤️✨

I’ll Get By on My Own

Bucky Barnes x Female!reader

Warnings: angst, unrequited feelings, one sided pining, one swear word.

Author’s Notes: um, yes please. I love stuff like this, thank you, anon! I hope you like it! 🤞

Bucky Barnes could have been considered as one of your best friends, he was your world and there wasn’t anything in this world you wouldn’t do for him.

He was special to you, because Bucky cared about everyone around him. He cared about the new agents who had a passion for wanting to be an Avenger, he cared about his teammates and you knew he cared about you too.

He was your shoulder to cry on, he was always there when you needed him and you cherished the friendship you had with him.

“I’m always here for you, doll.” He would whisper into your hair when he was in the process of calming you down.

It wasn’t hard to fall in love with him, your feelings for him hit you like a freight train. Every single second of every second day, he lived in your head rent free. You dreamt about a future with him, living in the suburbs of the city and being happy.

But you knew it was just that; a dream. You wouldn’t dare come clean about your feelings. It was easier to swallow them down and try to put them to the back of your mind.

It didn’t always work out, though. But for the sake of your friendship, you would do it.

It’s a quiet day in the compound, most of the team were out on their solo missions and apart from you, just a few others remained in the compound, including Bucky. You had no plans, and decided to go and see if Bucky wanted to go grab a coffee and a quiet walk around Central Park since the sun was shining and the temperatures were rising.

There was a slight spring in your step as you walked towards his room, right down the bottom end of the hallway, the last door on the left. The door was usually always unlocked, and you didn’t need to knock because Bucky had always told you that you were welcome to stop by whenever you wanted.

Twisting the doorknob, you throw open the door and walk inside. The room is dark, and clothes are strewn everywhere. You see Bucky’s figure in bed and you smile.

“Hey Buck! I was wondering if–” you stop talking the second you see her. A girl, cuddled up to him with her head raised looking at you.

“Can we help you?” She asked with a bitter tone. You could feel your heart crumpling into pieces in your chest.

Bucky looks completely unbothered by your presence in his room. You see him pull the blanket further up their bodies, and then you realised what they had been doing.

“I uh, I just–”

“Sorry Y/N, I’m kinda busy right now.” Bucky told you in a dismissive tone.

You rocked back and forth on the balls of your feet, unsure of what to say. You should probably turn around and leave, give him the privacy he’s probably wishing for right now.

And as hard as that was, that’s exactly what you did. You turned without saying a word, tears free-falling down your cheeks as you retreated from his space, not even bothering to shut the door. Just as you got outside, you heard him mumble.

“I swear she’s so fuckin’ annoying.” The girl he’s with laughs obnoxiously loud. You feel angry, hurt and you feel stupid for having feelings for someone you thought was a friend.

And this is why they call it unrequited feelings.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky imagine #bucky x female reader #drabbles #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fanfiction #fanfic #bucky angst #unrequited love #unrequited crush #unrequited feelings #angst #lainey writes a fic

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mandoinevarro · 3 years

Text

NO APPOINTMENT, NO MEETING

Rule Maker, Rule Breaker: Chapter 4

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Words: 9.4k

Rating: E

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

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

……………

In the blue morning light, Nevarro is almost beautiful.

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

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

He looks happy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’d been there before.

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

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

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

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

That is, until he met you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You decent?”

“Yeah.”

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

“Listen…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. Stars, straight to business

“You said you have one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

≈

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Would you say yes? Reject him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What deal?” Mando asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Mandalorian follows you inside.

It takes him a moment to recognize his surroundings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A lightbulb flicks on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you—Mando, are you going to—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can open them.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, truth.

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

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

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

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

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

You did this.

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

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

“Find anything yet?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Where did you get that?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I came back for you!”

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

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

How could you?

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

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

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

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

…………

Edit: Chapter 5…’tis the end

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

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

#the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin smut #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando smut #mando x reader #mando x you #mywriting #rule maker rule breaker

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shorkbrian · 4 years

Text

Guided

Okay I’m posting on mobile so bear with me

Was gonna do a thanksgiving feeder fic but I’m tired lol

So instead like imagine Kuroo helping Kenma lose his virginity 😳

(Warnings - NSFW! Rape, obvious denial (by Kenma, he knows it’s bad), Kuroo bein a creep, Kenma being a creep. Just general not good vibes)

Like Kenma isn’t exactly anti-social, it’s just he’s a lil shy and prefers to stay in his comfort zone, which involves gaming and little else.

One day the team will not stop bugging leetle Virgin Kenma about getting a girlfriend (“online girlfriends don’t count!”), and he gets a bit self conscious.

Goes to Kuroo, his best friend, his bro, his homie, asks Kuroo what’s the process - how does he get a girlfriend and lose his virginity?

Kuroo is almost taken aback at first, simply cause he assumed Kenma was either gay or just plain not into dating. But after he gets over his shock, he’s so pumped to show his bro the ropes.

Kenna’s expecting like, a talk, or maybe Kuroo will give him tips about how to pick up cute girls, or something like that.

What he was not expecting, was you.

Sitting on the edge of Kuroo’s bed, sniffling, hands balled into fists on top of your skirt.

And Kuroo’s so excited, quickly ushering Kenma into his room to proudly show off his cute little neighbor. You don’t seem happy, but Kuroo ignores that, so Kenma does too.

There’d be no buildup. Just Kuroo pushing Kenma towards you, before taking a seat in his desk chair.

“Go ahead and touch her.” He prompts.

Kenma hesitates, looking at Kuroo with knitted brows.

“Do you not know how?”

Kenma shrugs. He stands in front of you, raises a hand to your shoulder. You flinch when he touches your shirt, when the weight of his hand rests against you. He plays with a piece of your hair, looking at your face, your body, the cute way you’re trembling and shaking like a scared little kid.

“I’ll talk you through it.” Kuroo offers. He’s clearly impatient, but in an excited way, foot tapping against the ground as he leans forward.

Kenma’s glad Kuroo will be giving instructions. He feels a bit awkward like this, and he doesn’t want you to laugh at him.

“You’re sure she’s fine?” Kenma checks. You look scared and you’re crying a bit, which is kinda hot, but Kenma doesn’t want you telling people he assaulted you or something.

“Yeah, she’ll be alright. We had a little chat before you came over - she’s good with this.”

The way you glare at Kuroo through your tears confirms to Kenma that you probably aren’t as okay with this as Kuroo makes it seem. But Kenma kind of doesn’t care, because he’s chubbing up in his pants as he thinks about what’s about to happen.

“Alright, (Y/N), scoot back on the bed so Kenma can sit.”

You promptly obey, and Kenma slides onto the bed in front of you, following Kuroo’s implied suggestion.

“You should always give ‘em a kiss first. You can use tongue if you want, don’t be afraid to really get into it.” Kuroo continues.

Kenma shuffles closer, gingerly grabs your shoulders. He’s starts out with a peck to your lips, the stereotypical sound of kissing is made as he does so.

Kuroo encourages him to do it again, this time for longer.

Kenma indulges, lets himself linger over your lips. He can taste your chapstick, and it’s not unpleasant. Your lips are soft, and your warm, and Kenma quickly decides he likes kissing.

Then Kuroo tells him to use tongue, which Kenma does, and the younger man cringes at the feeling. He doesn’t like using tongue.

But he enjoys kissing, so he goes back to that, almost sucking at your lips, pressing himself close to you. It’s intimate, and it’s kind of exciting, and Kenma finds himself wanting more.

“You can use your hands y’know. Feel her tits, they look nice.”

Kenma does exactly that, and you squeak into his mouth when his hands grab at your chest. Admittedly, he’s probably a bit too excited, cause the second he feels soft flesh under his hands he’s pinching and groping and pulling, and you’re making pained little noises that Kenma discovers he likes.

Kuroo chuckles. “Damn, you’re going pretty hard there. Didn’t take you for a sadist. You can touch other places too, by the way. Anywhere you want.”

Anywhere?

Kenma pulls back from the kiss, his hands abandoning your breasts to roam over your sides, feel the curve of your waist, circle around to palm at your ass. He’s never touched a girl like this, it’s so different from what he knows of his own body.

That goes on for a little bit longer, but Kuroo’s quickly moving him along.

“Okay, you can lay her onto her back now... or I guess you could go doggystyle.” The older man leans back in his chair. “It’s up to you.”

“Okay.” Kenma breathes. He’s fully hard now, and it’s a bit uncomfortable, his cock tenting his pants like that. But he doesn’t know if now was the right time to undress, so he just does what Kuroo says.

He pushes you to lay down on your back - he wants to see your face. It’s a bit puffy and red from the crying, but it makes you look pretty. Plus, Kenma likes your eyes.

He looks over to Kuroo for what he should do next.

“She’s not wearing anything underneath the skirt.” Kuroo grins, and he looks so utterly pleased with himself, but Kenma doesn’t even register that because he’s flipping up your skirt to see for himself.

And fuck, you really aren’t.

He’s seen porn, he knows what he expected to find. But it’s so different in person. He wants to touch, to feel, so he does. Kenma grabs one of your legs, carefully pulling it to the side so he can see a bit more, and you let him, thigh muscles clenching.

Then he’s running a single finger over your folds and holy shit, you’re so warm and pink and his cock is throbbing and he doesn’t know how much longer he can wait.

“You can take your dick out now. She’s all prepped and stuff, so just go for it.”

Kenma pushes his sweatpants just far down enough that his dick can spring free - Kuroo knows how he is about his body, and Kenma doubts you’ll say anything because you’re staring blankly at the ceiling.

It’s a new experience, so it takes him a second to figure out that he has to part your folds with one hand, guide his dripping cock to your home with the other. You keep... fluttering down there and it’s driving him crazy, he can’t even imagine what that’s going to feel like

The second he pushes inside (you’re all wet and hot and tight and - oh you feel so good) he can’t stop the embarrassing noise the tumbles out of his mouth. His cheeks color red, but Kuroo’s quick to reassure him.

“Don’t worry, keep making noise - girls like hearing that you’re feeling good. And you can talk to her you know.”

“You’re-you’re cute.” Kenma blurts, voice shaky. He’s too overwhelmed to do much, he can hardly breathe right now, he can’t think.

“.... how does it feel?” Kuroo prods.

Kenma has to take a second to calm himself before stuttering out “G-good. Really good.”

He was barely a third of the way in, and the way your walls were pulsing around him, sucking him in, trying to milk him was almost too much. He groaned, hands coming to grip your hips, push your legs up and out of the way.

“Kuroo, it feels so good, she’s so tight. H-holy fuck, oh god, this is-“

Kenma gave a little thrust, and whined, almost crumpling over top of you, panting.

“Take your time, there’s no rush.” Kuroo reminds him, and Kenma huffs.

He’s right next to your face like this, and so he moves just a little bit so he can kiss you again. You don’t do much, but Kenma doesn’t know if you’re supposed to. He just hopes that he’s doing an okay job. Maybe you’re a virgin like him, and don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like? Kuroo would be considerate like that, take into account Kenma’s insecurities.

“Yeah, there you go. Move your hips a little.”

Kenma does, gives a few tiny, explorative thrusts. Then a few more, a bit more confident this time. And then he keeps going, and he finds his cock rutting into you steadily, and he doesn’t know how else to describe it other than it feels fucking divine.

He breaks from the kiss with a low moan, looks at your eyes. You’re crying again, cheeks red, avoiding his gaze. That’s okay. Kenma knows eye contact is hard.

Faintly, he registers the sound of Kuroo’s heavy panting, the low curses coming from where his best friend is sitting. He can’t focus on that though, not when his system is short circuiting.

It’s too much stimulation, and his dick has never been this wet and warm and massages like this before, and then Kuroo’s telling him to pull out and jack off over your face, or your skirt, or wherever, and Kenma doesn’t want to because you keep sucking him in hungrily.

But he knows in the back of his mind that pregnancy is a thing, and he’s not thinking straight, wanting to stay inside you forever. That’s why Kuroo’s here, to tell him what to do.

So Kenma pulls out, whimpering at the temperature difference his cock encounters. He’s so sensitive and keyed up that it barely takes a stroke or two (holy shit, your cream is all over his cock and it’s so wet and he’s going to die of pleasure, fuck) before he’s cumming hard.

He hadn’t moved, so his cum shoots onto your skirt, some of it falling onto your bare skin at your hips.

Kenma finishes, and he doesn’t know what to do. Seconds pass, and his breathing evens out, and he can think again. The younger man pats your cheek softly. “Thank you, you uh, did good. Felt nice.”

Kuroo snorts.

Kenma’s incredibly thirsty, and his dick is still out, and he wants to clean it off.

“You have tissues?”

Kuroo scrambles out of the chair, digs in his bedside drawer before a travel size packet of tissues thumps into Kenma’s lap.

“I’ll go get you some water.” He offers. “You did good sweet cheeks, knew you would.” He tells you, before exiting the room.

Kenma clumsily cleans himself off, then tries to wipe his cum out of your skirt. That’s pretty much hopeless, so he quickly gives up. He notices the slick shining over your folds, so he holds up a tissue.

“Do you uh, want me to-“

“Please stop.”

You’re barely loud enough for Kenma to hear. The man shrugs, before tucking his cock back into his sweatpants, pulling them so they’re snug against his hips again.

He clambers off the bed to throw the tissues away, gets met at the door by Kuroo, who’s holding a cup of water.

“So? You feel like a man now?”

Kenma gives a lopsided grin. He feels proud - the other guys can’t tease him about this anymore, he’s fucked a girl.

Kuroo pats him on the shoulder, before handing over the cup of water. “Hell yeah man! Here, I’ll go finish our girl off.”

Finish her off?

Kuroo catches Kenma’s confused look, and he does his best not to chuckle, but Kenma’s known him long enough that he can’t hide his laughter like that.

“She didn’t cum.” Kuroo offers. “Not your fault, it takes a bit more practice. But hey, you can watch how I do it, yeah? Pick up some technique for next time.”

A quick glance to the bed shows you’ve barely moved, just curled up on your side, arms wrapped around your chest.

“Oh, okay.”

Kenma sits in Kuroo’s desk chair, takes a sip of water while he watches Kuroo unbuckle his belt.

He feels good.

#yandere #yandere haikyuu #yandere kuroo #yandere kenma #nasty kenma #nasty kuroo #idk tags lol #yandere thoughts #yandere imagines #tw noncon #dead dove #haikyuu smut #kenma x you #kuroo x y/n #kenma x kuroo #but only kind of #kenma x y/n

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yourmcu · 3 years

Text

Mesmerized (iii)

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Request:

@lostaurorax said:

hii!! i love ur writing i was wondering if u could write a natasha x reader fic were reader is part of the guardians of the galaxy and they come to the compound and natasha is just starstruck but reader plays kinda hard to get and then just a bunch of fluff !

Word count: 2,138

A/n: notes at the end

Warnings: crash, mentions of explosion, swearing, space mission, soft!nat, quill’s a jerk

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Your departure from Earth made its one-year mark.

Natasha hasn’t felt like herself since you left. She’s known you for a few months but it felt like ages, it felt like she knew everything about you from the amount of time you spent together.

It’s not like you had a choice. The guardians needed you and of course you’re gonna be there for them too. They saved your ass countless of time and, well, they’re your family.

“Shit!”

Natasha frowns, leaning forward a bit from her sitting position. “What’s wrong?”

You fail to respond back. You curse once more in realization that you had no more ammo left in your guns, using your fire conjuring abilities is risky in this situation too, given on what type of creatures you're fighting.

Rocket is still determined to fight but you know he’s not gonna make it alive so you pick him up and sprint to your ship.

“I had it under control!” The raccoon yells.

“You’re kidding, right? The others already left!” You boom, fiddling with the buttons and levers of the ship to try and start it. The rattling of the monsters behind getting you frazzled. “Fucking-”

“Out of the way before you burn the controls, I got it.”

You go to the back part of the ship to reload all your weapons. You sigh in relief when Rocket managed to start the ship.

The mission went horribly wrong. People died and you were outnumbered. You almost set Groot on fire because of how overwhelmed you were, the fact that Quill was expressing how pissed he was at you didn’t help. Usually the team had every mission handled and sorted. You weren’t used to losing.

And you forgot Natasha is still connected to the call.

She just listens further. It's more silent than earlier so she figured you got away from whatever happened, but she's ready to try and help whatever it takes even though she's a thousand miles away.

“Quill’s not responding,” you frown, frantically searching the back of the ship for the backup weapons. “He must’ve turned his comms off. Can you contact the other ship there?”

“No, offline,” Rocket mumbles, more focused on getting the ship moving. “But geez, you and him have to sort things out.”

“I’m sorry-”

“Save it, we’re still being followed!” Rocket swerves in attempt to knock off the creatures - who're still actively chasing the spaceship. They could fly, and there are a lot. You couldn’t imagine anything like it.

You try your best to fight them off through the spacious hatch on top, but of course you have no match for all of them. You wish Thor was here. As far as you knew he's sorting Asgard things out with Valkyrie.

Every minute just gets worse. The flight gets unstable the more those creatures are catching up, you're surprised they're so determined to destroy both of you.

“Can you go any faster?!”

“I can’t, can I?!” Rocket's driving and pressing multiple buttons for the jump at the same time.

“Y/N,” Natasha calls out, hoping you could still hear her. “I can tell the team if you need any help-”

On your end, she just got more blasters and guns going off, orders flying between you and the raccoon.

“We need to shake them off, this ship’s not gonna handle them,” You say exasperated. “I’m gonna cause a distraction, got it? You need to get us out of here - anywhere - I don’t care how many jumps it takes!”

Rocket, as rare as it is, displays concern in his face, but he sighs and grips on the levers. “Ready when you are.”

You suck in a breath, letting out a huge burst of what seems like fire and just - heat, aiming at the creatures closest to the ship. It gets nearly all of them. The raccoon mutters a quick countdown, watching you fall unconscious from the hatch in the corner of his eye. He pushes the lever forward slowly, jumping to the one place he knows the both of you could get help.

Earth.

As soon as you let yourself go, Natasha loses the connection. The intensity of you using your powers like that might’ve affected it.

“God,” she mutters, pacing around her table, “Friday, you still have contact on that ship?”

“Yes, Ms. Romanoff,” the A.I responds, and for a moment, a huge explosion sounded somewhere in the forest near the compound. “...and they just landed. Would you like me to send you the exact coordinates?”

Of course Natasha doesn’t waste time to go out and find you. Thankfully Steve is around and was shaken by the sudden explosion too. It’s snowing, the forest covered with thick snow so it wouldn’t be hard to find wherever the ship crashed.

“She’ll be alright, Nat. We’ll find her.” Steve reassures.

Natasha’s breath hitches at the sight of the aircraft completely destroyed, pieces everywhere, she wasted no time to find you under all the rubble.

The unconscious raccoon isn’t hard to find, but you had it worse considering you were already out before the crash.

“Steve,” she states, walking over scraps and metal to get to you. You're sickly pale, giving Natasha the feeling that she's too late but she did feel a slight pulse. There’s blood on the side of your forehead but other than that,

“She’s freezing,” and it isn’t from the snow alone, she thought. You're colder than that. Natasha has an arm around your back and behind your knees, getting ready to carry you. “Steve, we-”

“I’ll call Bruce to get them sorted out. Try and find their stuff that’s not destroyed.” His tone is firm. He doesn’t wait for a response, gently grabbing you from her and strides back to the compound.

Natasha sighs. Almost everything she sees is unrecognizable except for a few complicated looking guns that definitely looks like Rocket’s and your bag you took on one of your dates. Biting the inside of her cheek, she opens it, sighing in relief when everything inside looked in order.

She finds a wallet-sized picture of both of you at a fair's photo booth. You always held onto it and kept it in your pocket most of the time that's why it looks worn out, probably from you holding it so much. This makes Natasha's heart ache, deciding to keep it for the meantime, carrying all your stuff that's left to the compound.

- You wake with a start. You're facing the clean white ceiling of the Avengers' med bay and you tilt your head to the side to see Natasha sleeping on a stool beside your bed with her head lulling forward and her arms are crossed. As much as you feel relieved to see her, you're confused on how you got here, how she found you. You lift your arm to gently pat the redhead awake. She sighs and goes to rub her neck. "You're cold." You smile softly, cringing at the rasp of your voice. "Didn't want you to be sore from the way you were sleeping." "I'm glad you're awake." "How long was I out?" Natasha gets up to get you a glass of water while you sit up the bed. "Twelve hours. You definitely needed the rest, everything sounded really crazy up there," she says. "Rocket's somewhere around, he left his bed the moment he got up." She hands you the glass and tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. Feeling how cold you still are since they found you in the forest, she grabs a remote to crank the heater up a bit. You purse your lips and cross your legs, looking at her. "How'd you find us?" "Let's just say we heard the impact of the crash from here," Natasha eyes the bandages on the side of your head for a moment. "It was really lucky your ship crashed nearby, but you know I wouldn't hesitate to get on the jet just to find you. And when I did, I... I thought you were-"

Your hand immediately goes to cup her cheek, the contrast of warm and cold making Natasha relax in your touch. "I'm here now. You saved me." She returns your smile and holds onto your hand on her cheek. "I missed you." "I missed you too." "You know, I did specifically set those coordinates," Rocket says as he enters the room with Tony. "Technically I saved us." Your smile only widens and Natasha chuckles, turning to Tony to see what he has to say about your condition. "You really wore yourself out there fireball, is she still freezing cold?" He asks this to Natasha specifically and she nods. You furrow your eyebrows and turn to your fists, clenching them, only noticing now that you are freezing. "I'm gonna run a simple test and if all goes as expected, Bruce is gonna give you a shot." "Have you already got a conclusion on what happened to me?" You question. Tony pulls out something from his pocket. "Sure have. Now set this on fire." He tosses you a solid crumpled paper. Holding it between three fingers you expect it to turn into ash in your palm, but it stayed the way it is. You're looking at it now to help focus on setting it on fire but it still stayed as normal paper. Natasha grips you on the arm. "I think that's enough." "You went all out with your powers. I did see you let out an overwhelming amount when we were trying to outrun those creatures before you passed out." Rocket states. "Naturally it'll come back, but the shot should help you with your... body temperature and hopefully the speed of recovery." Tony adds. You groan, back landing on the pillow behind you. Not only does losing your powers suck but you aren't a big fan of needles either, but you'll deal with them if you really have to. Natasha's hand slowly crawls up to intertwine with yours, although her attention was still on Tony. "She's gonna have to stay here at least until she recovers, right?" She also looks at Rocket if he has any objections but he merely nods his head. "'Course, they're welcome here for as long as they want." Tony claps his hands together and dismisses himself, Rocket following behind. "In the meantime I'll be figuring out a way to build a new ship." The raccoon says before closing the door behind him. Natasha makes her way to sit beside you and you automatically scooch to make space and rest your head against her shoulder, taking a breath. "You alright?" You shrug. "I guess I do feel pretty useless without those powers. I mean, Quill without a doubt would never let me go on missions anymore. I'd just be a burden to everyone." She lets go of your hand to put around you. "Everything doesn't revolve around your powers, Y/N. You're not useless. I bet you could take that Quill guy down in a fist fight." You let out a chuckle, shaking your head. "What's that guy like anyway?" The sudden question makes your head perk up. "Oh, you know, Quill, he's a nice guy-" Natasha let out a noise, cutting you off. "Didn't sound like it while I was connected in the call." "He can be a mouthful to me sometimes," you admit quietly. "Not to everyone though, I do generally think he's a nice guy. I have no idea what I did that made him so pissed at me." You look up at her and she's staring at the wall, seeming like she's deep in thought. "He doesn't hurt you, does he?" "God, no. He's not like that," you say. "If he did want to of course I wouldn't just take it." Natasha smiles, "that's my girl." You hung your head low so she couldn't see the way you flushed at the phrase, biting your lip to hold in a smile. “I’m glad you have my back, though.”

“I always do. Always will.”

"So, when can I leave this room?"

"After Bruce gives you the shot, then we can do whatever we want." She tilts your head up to move your hair out of your face. You look at her with an amused expression, "where do you plan on taking me this time?” Natasha smirks at the question. She loves spending all her time with you and the sight of you enjoying yourself makes it better. "There’s a new bookstore open, thought you might like it. Also an amusement park. It’s a few hours away but I can always drive. Oh, Tony’s cabin. I’m sure he’d love you to meet his newborn Morgan.”

“Sounds like you have a list,” you muse.

Natasha hums, pulling you closer. “I do.”

final one!! no one’s really looking forward to this but I enjoyed writing it anyway :)

btw wrote this way before thor: love and thunder so i have no idea what him and the guardians are up to but i wish them the best

[shameless plug] check out this natasha ambience i made some people thought it was cool

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sitaarein · 3 years

Text

None Stand Equal In This Dark World

A/N: Officially my largest ever fic so please. Just read it and be nice sob because I’m kinda proud of some of it

Written for @grishaversebigbang 2021!!!

Corporalki: @homicide-depot

Materialki: @generalnabri (x), @kolarpem (x), @aivicart (x), @maximumbluebirdpatrol , @niadrawing (x)

(Summary: A murder mystery AU featuring Zoyalai, twists and turns, moral dilemma, and then some more

Read on AO3

Chapter One

The apartment door was wide open.

In retrospect, that alone should have set off the alarm bells in Zoya’s head. No one left the door to their place wide open. She can’t imagine why she simply dismissed it.

Scratch that, she knew why. She’d been tracking this idiotic Grisha for a month now. She was tired and desperate.

But it appeared that- who would’ve thought- not being at the top of your game has consequences.

Consequences like staring down a man who’s been tied to a chair and gagged in the middle of, what Zoya guesses is, the lounge, eyes wide with terror.

Zoya is mad at herself for not managing to guess it was a red herring- the damn door - and very, very mad at the Grisha who has, once again, slipped right through her hands.

She nods to one of her men, and he immediately drops to the man’s level to untie and presumably interrogate him. Zoya doesn’t stick around for the details- she trusts her people to give her good reports. Instead, after a cursory look around, she tips her head back to face the ceiling, taking in a deep breath, and leaves the apartment.

The weather outside took a dramatic turn in the fifteen minutes she was inside- it had been sunny before, or at least as sunny as Ravka ever could get. But now, the sun has all but ceased to exist, and the bitter cold is back once more.

Zoya prefers the cold.

(She doesn’t, not really, but no one needed to know that.)

Zoya starts walking, pulling her coat tighter around herself. Her mind races, trying to connect all the dots, trying to figure out where her investigation had gone wrong. Start from the beginning. Don’t miss anything. The most minor of details are the most important.

The beginning. A woman showed up to their headquarters about her missing family. Those cases were usually dismissed completely, handed over to the police forces- Zoya’s force was Grisha-centric, other cases, no matter how large or important they were, did not concern them. But this case was different.

The woman was Grisha.

Her family weren’t, evidently- and neither did they know that she was. They’d been missing for six weeks, and the odds were pretty heavily stacked against them still being alive. The woman was detained (she was Grisha, this was Zoya’s job ) and a group of officers were dispatched for a search and rescue.

The officers never returned.

Alarm bells were now ringing, and the General assigned Zoya to the case. In the time since she officially took over, twenty more disappearances were documented, and all of them in Os Kerva alone. Saints knew what was happening in the rest of the country.

But Zoya had never believed in Saints, so she found out what was happening in the rest of the country.

The total number of disappearances in all of Ravka that had this case’s signature mark- an eclipsed sun left wherever the victims were seen last- was an estimated three thousand . Zoya couldn’t believe no one had connected the dots before her. Then again, the entire of the force were filled with incompetent idiots, so maybe it shouldn’t have surprised her.

The series of events . Zoya travelled up and down the country with the best of her underlings, talking to anyone who knew the victims, searching their last known places with tooth combs, building up working hypotheses, using all the resources they had available. Zoya was not an idiot. She knew exactly how capable she was.

And she also knew when she was fighting a losing battle.

And so, when she got a call from one of her top detectives about a confirmed Grisha she’d been trailing for some time now who’d begun suspicious activity, she was clutching at straws and willing to take anything that came her way. She met up with her agent, and a few days later, they got the address of the apartment she was currently pacing in front of.

The present . This part could be summed up fairly quickly. Zoya is, once again, at a fucking dead end .

Before she can kick something (or someone) out of frustration, A faint ringing reaches her ears, and frowning, Zoya stops in her tracks. Her phone is never not on silent. Calling Zoya Nazyalensky for anything was utterly pointless- she never picked up.

But the GIA has ways of getting into contact with its members regardless.

Muttering a curse, Zoya digs around her pockets, looking for the infernal device with its grating, high-toned ringing. Finally locating her phone, she jabs the answer button without looking at the caller ID.

“Yes?” she asks bluntly.

“Zoya,” Alina’s voice greets her.

Zoya immediately forgets everything that had been on her mind. When Alina calls, it’s rarely for a friendly chat.

“What’s wrong?”

“You need to get back here. As soon as possible.”

“Understood. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

Alina hangs up immediately, and Zoya pockets her phone, mind racing.

She orders one of her lackeys to send her a report when they're done, grabs the keys for the van they’d used to get to the apartment from a rather distracted officer, taking off.

Zoya reaches the Grisha Investigation Authorities in approximately half the time she’d given to Alina, and she may or may not have disobeyed quite a few traffic laws to get to her destination as quickly as she did, but that was frankly unimportant.

She strides through the doors, not bothering to acknowledge the many who’ve halted their paths to nod to her or, in the case of a few particularly stupid (or courageous, however you wanted to see it) people, attempt to strike up a conversation with her. She didn’t break her pace even once, until she’d reached the door to the meeting room they usually used to meet up for serious issues. After taking a moment to compose herself, Zoya pushes the door open.

Inside, she finds all of her fellow Commanding Officers assembled- Adrik, Leoni, Alina, and Genya. Frowning, Zoya scans their faces, and mentally shifts whatever’s happening even higher on her scale of terrible shit to take care of immediately.

Because not even Leoni, who can find positivity at a funeral, is smiling right now. There’s barely a hint of her optimistic and eternally cheerful personality in her countenance.

Zoya carefully takes the seat left for her around the circular table. Her gaze flits from one worried face to another, and she decides to be direct.

“How bad is it?”

The question seems to jolt Alina out of her reverie. She looks up, and Zoya feels her breath catch, because she looks so… helpless. Terrified.

Genya takes it upon herself to answer Zoya’s question with another question, her mouth set in a grim line. “How’s your investigation going?”

“We lost the suspect,” Zoya admits, her earlier frustration returning with the reminder of the infernal case. “We’re right back to where we started- but without the hope and the general idea of where to start.”

“I’m not surprised,” Adrik mutters. “Considering who your delightful suspect is…”

Zoya furrows her brow, and glances back at Genya. “Explain.”

Genya looks as if she would rather do anything else, but after coming to the realisation that no one else is about to, she sighs and does so.

“I’m presuming you remember Alina’s case that went cold about two years back?”

A little too well. Even years later, that case haunts her- the truly horrific killings, from corpses with their body parts stuffed down their throats, to children who had clearly been still alive when burnt, the utter dead ends, Alina’s far too close brush with death, and… the person behind it all.

“You don’t think it’s the same person??” Zoya demands, horror spreading through her veins. She can not handle another Kirigan.

In lieu of replying, Genya nods to Leoni, who pushes forward a large envelope. Dread pooling in her gut, Zoya opens the package to find pictures from Alina’s investigation.

“We revisited these when your disappearances started,” Genya says. “And… found more similarities than we’re frankly comfortable with.”

Zoya shifts the photos around, and then freezes at one, having caught sight of a mostly blurry but still distinctive calling card. “That’s…”

“The eclipsed sun,” Adrik provides grimly. “You’re screwed.”

“Hey, now,” Leoni protests. “We don’t know that.”

Adrik snorts. “Don’t we? Need I remind you of the damage this person wrecked to the GIA and our country?”

“How do we know this isn’t just a copycat?” Zoya breaks in. “None of the bodies of the victims this time around have been discovered,”

“Copy cats still tend to have their own twists on kills, a signature, a mark that’s theirs. While none of the killings for either case have many similarities, they also don’t vary in terms of said signature.” Genya says.

“Killers are proud creatures,” Adrik inputs.

“And this one’s no exception,” Leoni says, eyes grim.

Zoya looks up. “What do you know?”

Leoni hesitates, but then gives in. “We got a note this morning. A photocopy should be in the envelope too.”

Zoya overturns the envelope, and sure enough, a piece of paper falls out. She picks it up, reads it, and crumples it up.

“You’re sure this isn’t a stupid joke?”

“It was in the Director’s office.” Leoni says.

Shit. Zoya glances back down at the crumpled mass she’s still clutching. You will burn on your mistakes. What mistakes?

She ignores the faint voice in the back of her head. You know what mistakes.

Zoya takes a deep breath, focuses her thoughts, and then exhales. “How’s the Director doing?”

“He’s terrified.” All of the COs seemed to be equally startled to see Alina was the one to speak. Her mouth is set in an angry line, and Zoya can guess the track of her thoughts, because they were the same ones that had crossed her mind upon hearing the words- who is he to be terrified? What right did the Director even have to feel scared, when he himself never so much as interacted with the cases???

Adrik sighs, leaning back in his seat. “Which is what has led us to our current predicament.”

“And what do you mean by that?”

Genya exhales in a huff. “He wants the Mentals on this case along with all of us.”

“He what.”

Alina, lips twisted in a sardonic smile, gestures to nothing in particular. “You heard correctly.”

“Why ??? This is my case, and I will handle it.”

“He doesn’t want a repeat of the bad press that came with my failing last time, I’m guessing.”

“Bad press,” Zoya spits out. “I wonder how much bad press he’ll get when I-”

“Do not,” Genya warns. “This could be helpful to us.”

But also a personal disgrace , Zoya finishes the sentence in her head. The Mentals were practically a legend of the GIA- they were special, elite investigators, a whole mix of people ranging from scientists to- if the rumors were correct- ex-spies, who ended up with the cases no one else in the force could solve, and somehow, without fail, solved each of them within a week at the least.

It was irritating as hell.

And having them assigned on your case meant that the Director did not trust you to be successful on your own.

Absolutely wonderful.

“So when are these... spectacular detectives arriving?” Zoya asks.

Genya opens her mouth, and then closes it, before starting, “Well-”

“I hope I’m not too late to this marvelous party?”

Zoya swivels to see who this truly abnormally cheerful person is, and then blinks. She turns back to face the others once more- Adrik still looks glum, Leoni is smiling her most polite smile, Alina seems to have perked up and Genya is genuinely smiling. They all look… unsurprised.

Of course they were hiding more secrets up their sleeves.

“ What,” Zoya finally breaks and asks. “Is the damned PR guy doing here?”

The aforementioned PR guy pouts. “Is that really what I’m known for around here? My PR duties? That’s quite depressing. Why would you focus on that when you could talk about my stunning good looks, or my undeniable charm, or even my ability to-”

“Nikolai,” Alina interrupts. “Shut up.” she looks at Zoya, a hint of dry amusement in her eyes.

“Zoya, this is Nikolai Lantsov, and he is indeed our PR guy, but he’s also… head of the Mentals.”

Zoya blinks. He’s what??? And then, wait… they knew who the special investigators were? How long have they known? Why was I not informed?

She doesn’t voice any of her thoughts, choosing instead to stare, unimpressed, at the blond, who grins at her in response.

“If I had known you possessed such astounding grace and beauty, Miss Nazyalensky, I would have made your acquaintance sooner! I’m sure these upcoming days will prove to be an absolute pleasure, provided I get to spend them in your delightful company.”

“Saints save me,” Zoya utters faintly. “The Director assigned an idiot to my case.”

“Hey, now!” Nikolai protests. “You haven’t even met the rest of my team yet!”

“An idiot who talks too much,” she deplores.

Genya and Alina both snort at that. In fact, all of her fellow COs seemed to be taking far too much pleasure in this situation. Zoya hates all of them.

“Well, now that we’ve gotten the pleasantries out of the way,” Nikolai says, to which Zoya distinctly hears Adrik mutter “pleasantries?” under his breath, “I think now would be a wonderful time for me to introduce you to my brilliant team,”

Genya sits up immediately, looking eager. Zoya wonders what that’s about.

She finds out fairly quickly.

Nikolai ushers in a group of people, and she recognises one in particular, one who she has, in fact, known since her college years -

David. Genya’s husband, David Kostyk, is a part of the Mentals. Harmless old David. Zoya can’t believe her eyes.

She scans the rest of the group, but the others barely seem familiar. The two Shu right in front of David look similar enough to be twins, apart from the height difference. Right next to David is a woman that, with a jolt, Zoya recognises as Adrik’s sister from what she’s heard and seen of her. Bringing up the rear is a man who vaguely resemblesNikolai himself, ducking his head shyly as he enters the room.

“Now that your merry party is all assembled,” Adrik says glumly. “Any ideas where to start?”

“Shouldn’t we at least get to know each other first?” Adrik’s sister asks.

Adrik stares at her. “I’ve known you since I was born.”

“We’re not the only ones in the room, Adrik.”

“Oh, aren’t we ? I can’t say I noticed.”

Nikolai interrupts their glaring match to finally provide Zoya with names to all the unfamiliar faces.

“Tamar, Tolya, Nadia, and Isaak, meet the officers we’ll be working with for the next few weeks or longer- Alina, Genya, Zoya, Leoni, and Adrik,” he gestures towards each person in turn. Zoya briefly wonders how he already knows their names, before realising that just because the GIA didn’t know who the special investigators were didn’t exactly mean they didn’t know the GIA either.

“And now,” Nikolai beams. “Let’s get comfortable. It’s time to discuss our present conundrum!”

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ratmonky · 3 years

Text

Stranger Danger

Word Count: 2K

Warnings: non-con

AO3 Link

Don’t trust strangers on the internet.

Just like how they taught you not to walk off with someone you didn’t know, it was the first thing your parents lectured you about when you started using the family computer. Simple. Stay away from the people who tried to befriend you because they were probably out to get you.

That was why you were wary of making friends online when you first started using the computer, scared that someone might kidnap you through the screen.

Pfft, you had quite an imagination when you were little.

Your parents were also a little too paranoid, of course, you had to be careful on the internet as they told you but there was nothing wrong with making friends. The internet brought people of the same interests together and it helped many people like you who had a hard time making friends start talking to others. Especially with helping you find many sorcerer students like yourself.

You had many friends now, some you video chatted and some you even had met in person.

Today, you were going to meet another one of your friends in person. Another sorcerer college student around the same age as you. You had met Kokichi on one of those sorcerer dating websites and instantly hit it off from the moment you had met before becoming more than friends.

Although his webcam never worked or how he was always out of breath while talking to you, it didn’t stop the two of you from falling in love.

Kokichi lived in Kyoto, far away from where you lived, and trying to manage a long-distance relationship was hard. That was why he had suggested that the two of you met in Kyoto and tried to see if you felt the same about him after meeting in person. If you liked him even after meeting him in person, then your relationship could progress into something more.

You blushed thinking about moving in with him. Ahh, wouldn’t that be wonderful!

Shaking your head you tried to stop yourself from daydreaming and park your car where Kokichi had told you to. Apparently, the parking rules in Kyoto were different than in your city, you had to find a parking lot almost far outside of the city so you wouldn’t get a ticket.

It took you two hours to get here using the highway. Although you would have rather taken the train or bus, it was a lot faster to drive. It took you another fifteen minutes to get to your meeting point with him after you took a taxi.

Kokichi didn’t pick up his phone. You had been trying to reach him since this evening. You weren’t sure if he was already standing next to the alley of the bar your cab driver dropped you off a little while ago or if he was late.

Sick of waiting, you took out your pack of cigarettes and walked deeper into the alley to check. After taking a cigarette out and putting it between your lips, you lit the tip, inhaling deeply.

You were going to scold him for making you wait. A laugh escaped you at the thought of Kokichi telling you how he had explained to you that he was taking the train and it would be slower than you driving here or something along those lines.

Well, it would be a nice icebreaker.

While you were busy smoking and lost in your thoughts, sharp pain to the side of your head made you stumble forward. You dropped your cigarette and before you knew it your knees gave up under you, making you crumple to the ground as your vision went dark.

~~~

You froze. Not wanting to move or open your eyes until you could recall what had happened.

There were faint sounds of grunting. The next thing you noticed was the smell. Earthy, cold, and coppery. You tried to identify the foreign smell as you become aware of the tingling from between your legs. It had started to hurt, your hips felt sore and your eyelids felt heavier than usual.

The grunting sounds were soft and you could easily recognize the other sounds aside from it. It was like gears moving, a machine, closer to the sounds your door made when it wasn’t oiled up well, creaking and kinda ringing...

You had probably left the television on, slowly, you opened your eyes.

All you saw was dark, your back felt cold against something metallic. Your back was being roughly rubbed against your metal. What? It was hard for you to understand what was going on. With a pathetic attempt to move your legs, you only felt them being held tightly. There were splashing sounds, your ass was splashing against water. Tears started streaming down your face. you still couldn’t comprehend what was happening but you could feel it. You started to panic as the sudden realization of something thick and firm moving hastily inside you hit you hard.

Opening your eyes, you stared at a man in bandages who was kneading the soft flesh of one of your breasts, his mouth on the other, sucking your nipple in his mouth. You felt his hot tongue swirl around your nipple and an involuntary moan left your lips.

The sharp smell of the medical liquid made you nauseous as you remembered what had happened. But you had to stay calm and try to understand where you were.

You began to panic, trying to move your muscles but you could barely move. Strained, fear of the darkness drove you to move your limbs slightly. You threw your head back in shame and noticed the robot that was holding you instead of looking at the man inside the bathtub of medical liquid. Finally having your mind schooled back online, you started to notice your surroundings. First of all, you were in a cave-like place, being held by a robot by the back of your knees and the robot was moving you up and down on this man’s-

Another moan left your lips when the man’s cock hit a good spot. Glaring at the man, you tried moving your arms that hung slack by your sides but your limbs were weaker than you had realized. Your legs wouldn’t move either, your entire body felt sore.

There was nothing you could do as the robot lowered you up and on this man’s cock other than try to understand what had happened.

You stayed limp in the robot’s arms and took it as your assaulter kept furiously fucking you like a rabid dog in heat with the help of the robot. While the robot lowered you onto his cock and leaned forward for a second, you felt his hand reach to the back of your head and pull you down forcefully to crash your lips against yours as he used the same hand to run his fingers through your hair. He let out a quiet groan into the kiss and lolled out his tongue to lick your face, leaving a trail of his drool that chilled your skin. His hand in your hair crept between your bodies and he flicked a finger on your clit.

Jolting, you bit back a moan.

“The pictures on your profile didn’t do you any justice,” he spoke, planting kisses on your chest. “You’re so much prettier in person.”

Out of a sudden, it clicked.

“Kokichi?” His name broke into a moan as the robot slammed you down onto his cock. The robot was still bouncing you on his cock but to him, it wasn’t enough, he needed more. He had to feel more of you.

The robot dropped you in the bathtub, on top of Kokichi with his cock deep inside you. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck so you wouldn’t sink deeper into the bathtub. The medical liquid inside was cold, it made you shiver but Kokichi’s body was warm. He wrapped his arm around you and pressed his face into the crook of your neck.

“I can’t move my lower body without Mechamaru, I need you to comply.” His tone was impatient, the arm around you was trying to guide you to move your hips.

A grunt left you from the massive effort it took just to move your arm. Finally, you managed to move your arms, although it was heavy and almost impossible, luckily you succeeded. You shook your head, weakly pushing him away from yourself but as tiny, the bathtub was you didn’t have much space. Kokichi wasn’t going to let you move away from him either, he suddenly grabbed you and pulled you back, the liquid inside splashed from the force.

He groaned and you saw Mechamaru move again. The robot’s hands grabbed you from under your armpits, lifting you up and pushing you down onto Kokichi. He had his arm around you, moving your hips freely as he wanted since your weight had lightened thanks to his robot.

Your gummy walls clenched around his cock as you squirmed uselessly. He was breathing slowly and evenly while he carefully pulled you down for another sloppy kiss, paying no attention to your whimpers or the tears streaming down your face.

“You look so erotic when you cry,” he grunted, his hand moving to squeeze your cheeks together until your lips puckered. “Makes me wanna ruin you.”

You glared at him through your tears as he licked your tears that had streamed down to your cheeks before kissing you hungrily. He was inexperienced, you could tell from the way your teeth clashed and how desperately he tried to snake his tongue down your throat for no reason.

Mechamaru started frantically bouncing you on Kokichi’s cock, taking you by surprise. The irregular pace was gone, now, he was fucking you frenziedly, making sure that your gummy walls took the shape of his cock. After a particular spot his cock stroked, your pussy squeezed around him, causing you to moan into the kiss.

He broke the kiss, groaned loudly as your gummy walls started spasming around his cock. His bandaged hand went to grab your hip tightly to move you on his cock forcibly.

Medical fluid splashed and splattered on the ground each time you slammed yourself on his cock frantically with Mechamaru’s help.

You gasped in pleasure, your body was getting aroused. He must have noticed it because a smug grin spread on his lips before Mechamaru pounded you on Kokichi’s throbbing cock.

The knot of pleasure building in your gut quickly took over your senses, your gummy walls clenched around his cock and your muscles inside started pulsating.

Kokichi was caught off guard by your cunt trying to milk him for all he was worth. His cock twitched inside you as he lost control of Mechamaru who abruptly dropped you onto his cock. With a wanton moan, you wrapped your arms wrapped around him to balance yourself. His cock throbbed inside your pussy and thick spurts of cum burst inside your womb.

It continued coming out until you felt it overflow. As if he had been saving everything he got for this moment.

You went limp on his lap with his arm barely holding you up. Still, Kokichi managed to press a kiss against your temple, silently promising to keep you safe from the strangers on the internet from now on.

Or rather, he wanted to keep you for himself. Kokichi, as someone who had grown up on the internet, was desensitized to many things. He had no idea how women worked and most of the things he had learned about sex were from hardcore porn. Sometimes from even a more disturbing genre of porn. Having you here with him was something he had planned for a long time. He had been patient, patient, and patient. There was no way he was going to let you go. No, not when he finally had a taste of you. He wasn’t going to be only an internet friend or someone you met online who you got to be more than friends. He was going to be something a lot more than that. Perhaps, a boyfriend. Yeah, that had a nice ring to it.

One thing was for sure, the two of you weren’t going to be in a long-distance relationship anymore.

#mechamaru x reader #kokichi muta x reader

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robthomissed · 3 years

Text

Life With Sammy

enjoy these little slices of life that I wrote based on a song that really doesn't mean anything but gave me the idea

inspired by Sentimental by WMD

Before Sammy

Life was…..fine. You were living and things weren’t bad but things just felt a little hollow. Every rainstorm or trip to the art museum or meal cooked for one was nice in a lot of ways but you couldn’t help but look around sometimes and feel like it would be nice to have someone there to share it with. Over time the light and color started to drain and each day was just more of the same. The small voice inside you saying it just wasn’t going to happen, time to make peace with being alone.

But then there is Sammy. He barrels into your life all big blue eyes, loud laughs, and warm hugs. You soon realize life with Sammy means more…

Laughter

He was laughing at you. This boy had the nerve to laugh at you even after you told him you had never learned how to skate. Sammy was managing to keep his amusement to soft chuckles as you wobbled along the wall of the Blues practice rink during a pre-season family skate.

“Come on babe, just slow down and watch me.” Sammy said as he helped you off the ice after your fourth fall in the last ten minutes. You weren’t one to stay patient while learning a new skill because your perfectionistic streak took over which was causing your brain to move faster than your feet could learn.

You let out a heavy sigh and took his hands as he proceeded to skate backward with infuriating ease. You focused your attention on his skates to try and pick up on what he was doing. Just as you thought you were getting the hang of it, Sammy's right skate caught a gash in the ice and he flailed backward dragging you down with him. There was a short moment of panic on your part when Sammy stayed quiet and still on the ice after you landed on top of him with his head tucked into your neck. Then after a few excruciating seconds, you felt him start to chuckle and you breathed a sigh of relief.

You both just laid there laughing to yourselves for a minute before he said “Okay, not that I don't love having you on top of me but let’s save it for when we get home.”

This sent you into another fit of blushing and giggling which you tried to hide by tucking your face back into Sammy’s shoulder. When you did finally manage to get yourself up off the ice Sammy still looked overly proud of himself that he had made you blush that hard.

Rain

You were sitting in Sammy’s car one night in the rain and just talking about life. Nothing and everything. Solving the world's problems and ranking the best place to get frozen custard in town. The rain is hitting the car just hard enough that it blocks out any noise from the outside world and creates a little bubble in time and space. It is only you two and the rest of the world is far away. The light from the streetlights coming through the rain-covered windows is lighting up his face in the most gorgeous way. The raindrops are casting shadows that cascade down the side of his face and make the shine of his eyes that much brighter.

Beauty

Sammy is beautiful in the small moments…

The way the summer sun brings out the auburn in his hair

The way his hand looked holding a wine glass

The furrow of his brows when he really focused on something

The way he always opened the door for you

The hugs after a long day

The way his voice sounds talking to your cat when he doesn’t think you are in the room

The crooked smile he gives you in the morning

The way he blushes whenever you tell him how breathtaking he is

Sammy is beautiful in so many ways and you hope one day he’ll actually believe you when you tell him

Relief

You aren’t stupid. You know the risks of playing professional hockey. You had seen numerous guys go down with various injuries in your years as a hockey fan. But having that knowledge in your head couldn’t prepare you for seeing Sammy crumpled in the corner after a crushing hit from you don’t even know who. The play continues up the ice but you can’t make yourself care as you watch Sammy lay still. Why haven’t they blown the whistle…. don't they see him? Finally, Torey gains control of the puck and the refs blow play dead as Ray trots out onto the ice. Robby quickly skates over to help him get to Sammy as fast as possible. The arena has gone so quiet you are sure the people around you can hear your heart pounding. Sammy begins to stir just as Ray and Robby reach him and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Okay. He’s moving. That’s good. Vince and Rouzy deliver a couple more trainers from the bench and then join Robby who is hovering just far enough to be out of the way but close enough to feel involved.

After a long few minutes, Sammy gets to his feet mostly on his own, and after a second of leaning on Vince and one of the trainers he skates off by himself. You stay in your seat for a few minutes unsure of what to do until Sammy texts you telling you they are sending him home but they want you to drive. You are greeted by Sammy’s widest smile as soon as you enter the training room. It makes you feel better that he isn’t flat on his back and seems to be mostly normal.

He gingerly gets himself off the training table and gives you a hug.

“You okay?” you ask into his shoulder

“Yeah babe, I’ll be okay. Just shaken up a bit so they don’t want me driving home” he says after placing a kiss on the top of your head.

“Okay good because I want you to stick around for a while,” you say with a sigh.

“Don’t worry you are going to be stuck with me for a long time” Sammy punctuates his teasing with a poke to your ribs which gets a giggle out of you.

“I think that is a burden I am willing to bear.” you tease back and break into giggles when he sticks his tongue out at you.

“Alright goofball let’s go home and get you off your feet”

Quiet

Sammy has a bit of a reputation for being loud. And he is when he is out with friends or when he gets excited about something but he also has a quiet side. Your favorite times with Sammy were when he was just walking around the apartment in his comfy clothes, a glass of wine in hand trying to decide what movie to watch. It was just so quietly domestic and made your heart do all kinds of fluttery things.

One night he catches you just staring at him while he is puttering around the kitchen making himself a late-night snack. When he notices he just stops what he is doing and asks “What?”

“Oh nothing.” you say quickly looking away trying to hide your blush from being caught.

“No no, tell me.” Sammy says as he circles around the kitchen island to stand in front of you and lean on the counter to block any potential escape.

“It’s- it’s just… I don’t know. I’m just really happy I get to see you like this.” you say blushing and barely making eye contact. Feelings are hard okay.

“ Like what?” Sammy says with just an adorably confused look that twists your gut a little bit more.

You sigh a bit and take a moment to find the right words. “Just this quiet side of you. I love your big and bubbly side but it is nice to know you are comfortable around me like this.”

Sammy looks at you still kinda confused, not saying anything and you begin to panic. “You know what, never mind just ignore me. Just go about your business”

After a few moments of silence, you suddenly find yourself pressed into Sammy’s chest as he tries to almost climb into your lap which is difficult since you were already perched rather precariously on the kitchen counter. You really can’t do anything besides hug him back and chuckle a bit.

When Sammy pulls back he just takes your face in his hands and kisses you on the forehead. “I love you babe. Of course I’m comfortable around you. So stare at me as much as you like.” He gives you a cheeky wink and turns his attention back to his snack.

Pleasure

All the years around various trainers and medical staff must have been what gifted Sammy with the unique ability to consistently find the knot in your shoulder with devastating speed and accuracy. The first time you had asked him to give you a quick shoulder rub after a long day you were not prepared for the targeted attack of his thumbs on your shoulder blades. He actually got a little scared when you let out a little noise of pain after he found a particularly sore spot one night.

“Oh no, did I hurt you!? My mom says I don’t know my own strength sometimes.” You didn’t even have to look back to imagine the way his eyebrows were knitted together with concern.

“No babe it’s fine. It’s that ‘hurts so good’ kinda thing. Keep going” You reassure him while rolling your shoulders to encourage him to continue.

Sammy seemed less than convinced but resumed his task nonetheless. He seemed to be holding back a bit though until he found a particularly tough knot and really went to work on it. You couldn’t hold in the winces and sighs as you felt the tension melt out of your body. It was your turn to be confused when you heard Sammy start quietly laughing behind you.

“Oh what now you are taking pleasure in my pain?” you asked with more than a little sarcasm.

“No, it’s just that I have only heard you make those noises under….different circumstances.” Sammy said with a smirk clearly heard in his voice.

You just rolled your eyes and turned to stick your tongue out at him because you couldn’t really come up with any clever retort. Sammy just continued to look very proud of himself when you announced you were going to make popcorn and he better have a movie picked out by the time you got back.

Struggles

You would be lying if you said that Sammy being out of town so much for a large part of the year wasn’t a strain on the relationship. You were the kind of person who really valued routine and knowing that your partner would be there when you got home most nights. You knew that that wasn’t going to be possible with Sammy and it had actually been the reason you had turned him down the first time he asked you out but thankfully he had persisted and you had decided he was worth it in the end. There were still hard days though because you would come home wanting to cook dinner together and cuddle on the couch but would be greeted by only your cat who was a great cuddle buddy but no replacement for Sammy. On those nights you would call Sammy just to hear his voice and see his smiling face. You were also usually treated to a few guest appearances by Vince and Rouzy who seemed to be ever-present around Sammy on road trips.

So while you still have bad days and crave the stability of a partner with normal working hours you know you wouldn’t trade Sammy for the world when he stumbled in the door dead on his feet but still trying to tell you every stupid thing Wally did and handing you some random airport trinket from whatever city the team had most recently visited.

Promise

Since Sammy had come into your life things had just felt better. You looked forward to getting up every day and seeing what was in store because you had someone to share it with. Sammy being in your life made you want to strive for more. He pushed you to be your best just like you did for him. You both made the other want to keep going to see where life would take you next. You never knew what was around the bend but you did know that you didn’t have to face it alone anymore.

Life with Sammy means more of everything...

#sammy blais #st louis blues #st louis blues fic #sammy blais fic #nhl fic #hockey fic #nhl #hockey #missed writings

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