#i’m not sure who else may work - but if anything from my list stands out to you lmk !

[moonlightisdancing]

Like A Virgin/ j.t.k

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: NSFW 18+ MINORS DNI practically smut w no plot, mentions arguing/drinking/parental issues, sneaking out, consumption of weed, pure awkwardness, some fluff, oral sex (m+f receiving), loss of virginity (m+f), penetrative unprotected sex

as always please lmk if anything’s missed

inspired by my dear nick & this song

a/n: sorry if this is kinda cheesy/short/whatever… just needed to write a virgin jake fic

——————🌸——————

“Yeah, maybe we can hang out this summer!”

Those were the last words you’d hear from Jake Kiszka after graduation as he scribbled his phone number and a smiley face next to his picture in your yearbook. He must have known you had a small crush on him that may or may not have developed during senior year calculus after some group work.

His number was saved to your contacts that day but it wasn’t until August came around before you ever texted him, but he wasn’t your first thought. You knew he lived relatively close to you, one block to the left and over the train tracks, all the way at the end of the street. Meanwhile, you only lived a block away from your best and really only friend, Kiera, so she’s who you’d spend most your time with.

Today has been the longest day of your life. A screaming match with your mom over the gap year you decided on last minute, your dad drinking again, an entire summer of pent up anger bouncing around the walls of your home had finally bursted at the seams. You spent all night crying, your mind traveling to the darkest of places. It just felt like you needed a hug, for someone to hold you and tell you it would all be okay.

“Hello?”

It took five rings before Kiera answered her phone. In her defense it was roughly two in the morning and you should have been asleep, too.

“Kiera? I-I could really use your company if you can.” The sobbing hadn’t stopped, the words barely coming out.

“Y/n… My parents won’t let me out this late, you know that.”

“Even if I walk there? I-Kiera, I just need a hug or a blunt, something. And I don’t know anyone else.”

“Well, you know Jake, and his mom’s much nicer than mine.” She sounded irritated but you knew she was trying her best to be patient.

“I haven't talked to him since grad, I can’t just hit him up.”

“Just text him? He posted on Snapchat like fifteen minutes ago and he lives right there.”

“Okay, okay, fine. But what if he thinks-”

“Just do it and let me know, okay? I love you, good night.” She hung up before you could even respond.

Breathe, Y/n, it’s fine, everything is fine.

You: Heyyy Jake it’s Y/n

Jake K: Hey stranger, what’s up?

You: So super awkward, but I’m in desperate need of a blunt and a hug

Jake K: Done and done. Remember where I live?

You: Yeah

Jake K: Come on by, porch lights on

How could you forget where he lived? Sure, you went once for Jake and Josh’s graduation party, but after learning how close your highschool crush lived to you, you’d never forget. You fixed your hair in the bathroom and splashed your face with cool water in attempts to bring down your swollen red eyes. A little bit of deodorant and some perfume would be the finishing touches before returning to your room. You couldn’t leave through the front door, the dogs would bark and it would add one more thing to the list of arguments yet to be had. It doesn’t matter you’re eighteen, as long as you lived under your parent’s roof, it was their rules. You opened your window and climbed out, using the junction box outside your window for leverage.

It takes eleven minutes to walk from your house to Jake’s, where he’s already standing on his front porch waiting for you. He’s in basketball shorts, slip on Vans and a pullover hoodie, and somehow he still looks good as ever. You weren’t half way up his driveway before he began walking towards you with his arms wide open. At graduation he only offered an awkward side hug, so this sure was new to say the least. Jake wraps both his arms around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest. You inhale his scent, he just smells like home. Not yours, most likely his, but home with a hint of worn off cologne. Your heart begins racing a lot faster than you want to admit as he holds you until you let go.

“Shall we?” He asks in a deep silly voice as he leads you through the gate to his backyard. There was a firepit in the middle of some chairs and a cute little picnic table off to the side. You follow him towards the mahogany stained wood and sit across from him. The only light was that of the full moon washing over everything in a blue tint.

“Do you know how to roll?” Jake asks as he empties the contents of his pockets on the table.

“Uh-uh.” You shook your head.

“S’okay, I can show you.” Jake turns the flashlight from his phone on, handing it to you to hold. He walks you through the process, admittedly you paid more attention to the way his fingers moved than the actual task itself.

You watch as his tongue parts his lips and licks across the blunt, sealing the weed inside. Jake reaches for his phone, his fingers brushing gently against your knuckles. The two of you stand awkwardly from the table, the moonlight illuminating Jake’s soft features.

“C’mere, I know a spot.” He holds his empty hand out towards you and waits until you place your palm in his. Jake guides you to the side of his house and down a tiny path that leads to a creek. There resides an old metal bench that Jake directs you towards. He places the blunt between his plush pink lips and brings the lighter to the end, the red hot cherry casting a golden hue against his cheek bones. A couple silent puff, puff, passes happen before you speak.

“I’m sorry I didn’t text you sooner. Life’s just been kinda…” You trailed off.

“Hey, don’t apologize,” He shifts to face you, bringing his one leg up. “We’re here now, that’s what matters.”

More silence occured as the blunt was worked down to nothing, but the silence was comfortable. You didn’t want to talk about your problems and ruin the safe bubble that naturally surrounded Jake’s existence, opting to ask him about his plans instead.

“So, is the band doing good or are you gonna go to college?” You ask, matching his stance by turning to face him.

“Band’s going places, I think. I dunno, gotta wait for Sammy and Danny to finish school, then we’ll really know. You?”

“Taking a gap year, but who knows? Maybe I could be some rockstar’s girlfriend.” Sheesh, the weed had you feeling ballsy.

“Yeah, maybe.”

The comfortable silence had now grown awkward as you struggled to even look in Jake’s direction.

“You should hear me play some time. I-I mean if you wanted to I can right now.” Jake stumbles over his words, presumably a mix of anxiousness and marijuana.

“Sure, yeah, that sounds good.” You nod and stand at the same time Jake does, taking his hand once again as he held it out for you. His palms feel warm and clammy, usually you’d be off put but his nervousness is endearing.

He opens the little side door to the garage and flicks on the light. It smells very garage-y, the whirring of the fluorescent lights really tying it together. He walks to the opposite side and grabs his acoustic guitar before suggesting you sit on the couch next to him.

“We’ve been working on this one for a little bit, it’s called Flower Power.”

He plays chords to a song you hadn’t heard, singing chunks of lyrics alike. It was a beautiful song nonetheless, maybe even one you’d listen to on your own accord.

“Wow, she must be a lucky girl.”

“Think so? Why’s that?” Jake giggled as he discarded his guitar. He flicked on a lava lamp before shutting the flourecent light off and returning awfully close beside you.

“Are you kidding me? If someone wrote that about me, said that to me?! I think every girl wants to be loved that way.”

“Yeah?” He laughed again, shaking his head.

“Yes!”

“And what if I told you someone did?”

“What?” Your cheeks flamed red, matching the color of the lamp beside you.

“That’s your song, Y/n.” Jake reaches his hand out to yours again for the third time tonight, this time interlocking his fingers with yours.

“Mine?”

Jake nodded before some force pulled the two of you together, your lips crashing into his. After months of wondering what he tasted like, the flavor of weed and spearmint on his lips was one you’d never forget. The kissing grew quickly heated as Jake’s hands found purchase on your hips, his knee planted between yours as he hovered over you. You found yourself rutting your hips up against his as he did the same, the feeling of his hardening length against your clothed center driving you places you’d never been. The kissing led to shirts being removed, ultimately leaving you in your bra and underwear, Jake in his shorts.

“What d’ya wanna do?” He whispered between kisses, his hands migrating to your breasts.

“Um, not sure… I’ve never-”

“No, me either, it’s okay.”

“I can- do you want head?”

“You okay with that?”

“Yeah,”

Jake sat beside you again as you stood between his legs, lowering yourself to your knees. You’d never given head before, or done anything along these lines. Your body filled with an unfamiliar sensation as you progressed, dipping your fingers past the waistband of his shorts and boxers. His length sprung straight up and your eyes widened at the sheer size of him. Never would you have thought he’d pack so much heat. You gently wrap one hand around the base of his cock, slowly stroking his length as you work your lips over his blushed tip. You watched a few videos here and there to sort of have a general idea, trying to remember anything from those as you bobbed your head up and down. Jake’s hands cupped either side of your face as he moaned and whined before grabbing your hair into a makeshift ponytail.

“Is this okay?”

“Mhm.” You hummed with him in your mouth, his dick twitching in response.

“Can I give you head?” He asks, lifting you from his length. You nod eagerly as Jake laid you down on the sofa, kicking off his shorts and boxers. He kisses up the inside of your thighs before hovering over your center. You’re embarrassed by the polka dot cotton panties you wore, but he doesn’t seem to care as he tucks his fingers into the elastic waist. He looks up at you and waits for approval before pulling them down your thighs, tossing them amongst his.

It’s a matter of seconds before his tongue begins exploring you alongside his fingers. Jake’s mouth marries perfectly against your aching bud as he switches between flicking his tongue and sucking. His fingers tease your entrance as he finally pushes a finger in, his mouth continuing its task. You watch him grind his hips against the cushions, his groans growing louder the faster his mouth and fingers move.

“Jake?” You whine, writhing under his touch.

“Hm?” He pulls away, staring at you with his soaked chin and lips.

“Do you wanna have sex?” Bold. The weed was giving you all the courage you could ask for.

“I don’t know where there’s a condom.” He kneels on the cushions in front of you, stroking his length.

“You don’t have one like in your wallet?”

“Why would- I’m a virgin.”

“Right, sorry.” It was kind of implied earlier, but hearing the words leave his mouth felt foreign. It truly astounded you that he was a virgin. People said he got around a lot, it was one of the reasons you felt you had no chance.

“Maybe just the tip? Just to feel?” He shrugged, placing his hands on your knees.

“Yeah… But what if it feels too good? And we wanna keep going?”

“Pull out?”

You knew that was almost always a bad idea, but you let yourself think with the wrong head as you agreed to the idea. Jake pushes your knees apart and slowly brings his hips forward, the pillowy head of his cock rubbing against you. You reach a hand down and situate him at your entrance, bringing your legs up to ease him in. Jake places his hands against the armrest of the couch above your head, his chest hovering over your face as he slowly introduces his length.

“More.” You begged through a breathy moan, wincing as he did exactly as you asked. Jake feeds his entire length inside, his thighs flush against yours as you both revel in the feeling.

“Fuck, this is so… You feel so good.” Jake places a kiss on the top of your head before trailing his mouth down to yours.

The pain of his thick cock stretching your tight pussy quickly subsides as he begins slowly moving his hips back and forth, his lacking rhythm quickly being found. His lips remain on yours, only pulling away from time to time to check if you were okay. Your nails find a home digging into his back each time his hips crashes into yours. With each thrust came the familiar warmth washing over your body causing you to tighten around Jake.

“Are you close?”

“Yeah,” You respond, hardly able to breathe.

“Suck for me, baby.” Jake brings his middle and index finger to your lips, pushing them into your mouth. After you coat his digits with your saliva, Jake brings them to your clit, rubbing circles over your bud. That only brings you closer to your orgasm, one that feels more powerful than any other. The pleasure that rips through you simply could never be replicated by your own fingers again.

“Jake, fuck, mm,” Your moans begin to sound like cries as your body shakes beneath his.

“S’okay, I got you, pretty girl.” He brings his hand back up, wrapping his arms behind your back as he hugs you to his chest. “I’m gonna cum, too.” Jake removes himself from your aching pussy, resting his cock on your belly as he lowers himself and begins thrusting again. It takes seconds for his hot release to paint your skin, being spread by his weight against yours.

“So do you wanna be a rockstar’s girlfriend?” He asks kissing up and down your neck, occasionally sucking on your sensitive skin.

“I would love to.”

[lacontroller1991]

Stay Here (Obi-Wan Kenobi x F!Reader)

Main Master List || Star Wars Master List

Warnings: mention of drinking, reader has a fever, Obi-Wan lowkey takes advantage of it, admitting of feelings

Word Count: 810

Author's Note: I know that that's Padme in the gif but I couldn't find a gif of Obi-Wan alone :( but I still thinks it works.

==========

It started with your head pounding the moment you woke up. Realistically, you knew that going out with Anakin to some bars wasn’t probably the best idea, especially the night before a very important Council meeting; however in hindsight, you didn’t really plan on drinking that much; yet still, you don’t remember ever having a hangover this bad. 

Trying to get out of your cot, you groan in pain as your vision blurs slightly as sweat beads on your forehead. Ok, definitely not a hangover. Managing to get out of your cot, you hastily get dressed not really paying attention to your surroundings as you leave your chambers toward the Council Chambers.

“Late you are,” Yoda comments as you feel the eyes of the Jedi Masters on you as you bow slightly toward the Grand Master.

“Sorry, Master. I overslept my alarm,” you reply, shaking your head slightly to try to get the headache to go away, you sway to your seat before landing in a resounding ‘plop’, causing Anakin to stifle a laugh. 

“Are you okay, young one?” Plo Koon questions and you feel Obi-Wan’s blue eyes watching you in concern. Waving off the Kel Dor, you lean your head forward as Windu continues his droning, most of the Council’s attention leaving you, except for Anakin and Obi-Wan who share glances. 

Deciding you can’t take anymore of the pain, you make a move to stand up. “Sorry to interrupt, Masters, I think I need to retire to my-” before you could finish your statement you fall forward and if it hadn’t been for Obi-Wan’s quick reflexes, you would’ve been kissing the floor.

“Just how much did you guys drink last night?” Obi-Wan chastises Anakin who shakes his head in denial.

“Just a few, but I was more gone than she was. It’s gotta be something else.” Obi-Wan turns his attention back to your barely conscious form as he places the back of his hand on your forehead, immediately pulling away. 

“She’s burning up, we need to get her to the infirmary,” Obi-Wan moves to pick you up but you grab ahold of his wrist.

“No, no infirmary.” 

“Take her to her room, you will. Watch over her, trust you I do, Master Kenobi.”

“But what about the meeting?”

“I’ll catch you up later,” Anakin replies, trying to hide a smile at the circumstances. He’s seen you when you’re drunk and he’s seen you with a fever before. If this is anything like previous times, then he knows that you may say something you wouldn’t say lucidly. 

Noticing Anakin’s amusement, Obi-Wan furrows his brow in annoyance before shaking his head and looping his arms under your legs and back, picking you up and holding you against his body.

“I’ll make sure her fever goes down.” He nods briefly to the remaining Council members before rushing out the door to your chambers.

Feeling a warm body against yours, you curl into the chest of the person carrying you and shiver, trying to get enough warmth to combat the sweat trickling down your body, not really caring whose arms you’re in. 

Looking down at your form, Obi-Wan can’t help but to feel his heartbeat a little bit faster. Of course, this isn’t the circumstances he wanted for you to be in his arms, but he will take what he can get. Making it to your room, he slides the door open and hastily puts you down on the bed, removing your shoes and cloak from your body before grabbing a washcloth from your refresher and wetting it with cold water, placing it on your forehead, causing you to shudder. “I really think you should go to the infirmary.”

“No. How else would I have gotten you alone?” Obi-Wan’s eyes widened at your comment but if it bothered you, you made no notion of it. 

“Darling. I’m not sure you’re fully conscious.”

“I’m conscious enough to know that your arms are strong and that you smell like a warm summer day.” Obi-Wan can’t help but feel the heat rushing to his cheeks and he so desperately wants to press you more as to what you think about him.

“(Y/N). How do you feel about me?” He knows it’s wrong and he knows that he probably shouldn’t be asking these types of questions while you’re not completely lucid, but when would be the next time he gets to ask these things?

Knowing where he’s trying to steer the conversation, you decide to play along. Curling further into a ball, you use what little force you have to drag him down onto the bed next to you, using his chest as a pillow while you listen to his pounding heart.

“I love you, Kenobi. Now stay here while I get some sleep.”

“Don’t worry, darling. I’ll be right here when you wake up."

===========

General Tag List: @marvelousmermaid @himbovillain-anon @babblydrabbly @a-reader-and-a-writer @tavners

[book-place]

Chocolate

Warnings: slight violence, bruises, let me know if I missed any :)

Pairings: Tewksbury x sister reader, Enola Holmes x reader platonic

Request: Anon

Request by: Hiii! I saw ur requests for enola Holmes was open! I was wondering if you could do some headcanons for being Tewkesbury's younger sister and going along with him and Enola and Enola constantly trying to turn you into a mini her and her and Tewkesbury being rlly overprotective, dw if not!

*not my gif*

Summary: You learn multiple things while Enola is tasked with watching over you

A/N: I’ll probably make more fics going off of this beacuse I just love the concept so much!!

Please don’t plagiarize my work, you may reblog if you like but I’m asking that you don’t steal my hard work

“First thing you need to know, Y/n,” Enola announced, glancing over her shoulder briefly to make sure you were still behind her, “Is that you should never let a man do what you are perfectly capable of doing yourself.”

She gestured to a man opening a door for a lady in a nearby shop, “Not only is it dehumanizing,” she continued, “But downright pathetic.”

You nodded your head along with her, barely even understanding the words coming out of her mouth, but clinging onto them like a lifeline nonetheless.

Normally, your elder brother, Tewksbury, would be the one walking you home from lessons, but his meeting was running a few minutes late so he asked Enola to do it for him.

She had gladly agreed, not having anything else to do for the day, but also wanting to spend more time with you.

Since you were so young, about six years old, you were never able to keep up with her intelligent conversations, which she was quick to learn, and dialed it down to the best of her ability. But she also genuinely enjoyed your company, and not only for the fact that you actually listened to what she said, unlike most people.

And as she was picking you up not long before, she got to thinking about all the life lessons she could teach you, like her mother did for her. Lessons that she was quite certain Tewksbury was too much of an idiot to teach you himself. So, she began rattling off a list of things she thought you ought to know.

“Secondly,” She reached her hand behind her for you to take as you got to a more crowded part of town, which you gladly did and squeezed it to the best of your ability, “Always be prepared, no matter what. Even if you are simply going on a trip to the market.”

She pulled out a pencil and a paper from her pocket and displayed it in front of you, showcasing what she would need if a case ever suddenly came up.

Your brother had told you thrilling stories of what she did as a detective, making her out to be nothing less than a superhero in your eyes, which was why you were so excited to be spending some time with her.

“Do you understand?” She asked, to which you nodded your head vigorously.

Enola continued her ranting as you both weaved in and out between people, ignoring the glares that adults were giving you, the two children girls who ought to know better than to be running around alone without an elder brother or father in company.

When she came to a stop, it was in front of a small sweets stand on the corner of the street and she paused her speech as well, “Would you like something?” She asked.

A small squeal left your lips as you jumped up and down excitedly, nodding as fast as your head would let you.

A faint smile ghosted her face as she turned away from you to face the shop owner, and you spun around as you looked at everything around you in wonder. You had never been to this part of London before.

Without really meaning to, you had begun floating towards one of the other stands, one that had all different kinds and colors of fabric, easily catching your young and eager eye.

Your lips parted slightly as you slowly reached a hand out and ran your fingers over the smooth silk of a red fabric that hung proudly on display, only for another figure to harshly slap you away.

With wide eyes that had already begun to fill with tears, you stumbled back slightly and cradled your stinging hand to your chest.

“Oi,” The shop owner was an intimidating looking man with a cold glare glued to his face, “You think you can try to steal from me? Why you little brat-“

All you could do was watch, paralyzed in fear as he raised his hand once more, this time looking as if his aim was towards your face.

Right before he could swing his open palm towards you though, his hand was the one being harshly slapped away, and an angry looking Enola stepped in front of you protectively, a glare set on her face that would be enough to put the man six feet under.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” She hissed at him dangerously.

The man had a look of surprise on his face as he stuttered out, “Why- that little- she’s a thief- and-“

“Perhaps,” Enola interrupted him coldly, “You should spend more time worrying about actual thieves, and less time on some curious little girl.”

Before he could even open his mouth to rebuttal, she had swung around on her heel and gently took your hand in hers once more, and marched away with her head held high.

You trailed after her like a lost puppy until the two of you were a good distance away, and she paused, swinging around and crouching down to get a good look at you.

“He didn’t hurt you too badly, did he?” She asked, scanning your body for any injury.

You shook your head back and forth, the pain in your hand had turned into nothing but a slight ache at that point.

“Well,” She spoke, standing up straight, “You pay him no mind, Y/n. He doesn’t deserve your attention.”

She then held her arm out and handed you the chocolate she had bought for you, causing your eyes to light up.

A small chuckle left her lips as she watched you excitedly try the candy, and the way you hurriedly took another bite afterwards.

“Come on,” She said softly, taking your other hand, “Let us go meet your brother, we’re late anyway.”

By the time you made it back home, your brother was pacing behind the door, only to come to a sudden halt when the two of you walked in.

“Where have you been?” He cried, “You're late! I was about to call the police and-“

He stopped when he saw you happily chewing away at some chocolate.

“We made a quick pit stop,” Enola explained calmly, moving right by the boy and plopping down on the couch, you quickly scrambling to do the same.

“And Enola saved me from the mean man!” You cheered, already emerged in your treat once more.

Tewksbury froze at your words, “Mean man?” His words were rushed and stern, a sign that he was worried, “What mean man?”

You stuck out your arm to show off the bruise that had formed on your hand, and your brother could have fainted right then and there.

“What is that?” He gently took your smaller hand in his own and observed it, “What happened?”

“Enola is a superhero!” You cheered, completely oblivious to your brother's frantic state, “The man thought I was stealing so he hit me, but Enola saved the day!”

His eyes quickly flitted over to the girl for confirmation, who nodded her head once while leaning back on the couch and crossing her arms over her chest.

He sighed slightly in relief when he saw that you weren’t badly injured, “Well thank god for Enola, then.”

Tewksbury sent her an appreciative smile, to which she nodded her head once again in return.

You smiled widely, sticking out your arm holding your candy in between the two of them, “Chocolate?” You offered.

He couldn’t help but smile, reaching down and ruffling your hair slightly with a small laugh.

Detectives 🕵️- @your-local-questioning-agender @popfishjr @spadecentral

[writingbyshiloh]

Rough Week (18+ only)

AN: I left it up for a part 2, not sure if I'll write it though. Also not loving the title so it may be changed at a later point. The tag list is at the bottom

Warnings: Blackmail, killing mention, implied sex (part 2 would probably be more explicit, but 18+ now to be on the safe side). Not beta read

Word Count: 0.7k

---

It was not your day. Not even your week. A bad call while working a case and car problems made you want to lie in bed for years. More than that you wanted a win. 

You figured out the clues and connections with this week's blacklist faster than anyone else on the team. That gave you enough confidence to think you could bring them in. 

Reddington didn't seem to notice your bad mood. The flirting remained the same, even if you got snippy with him. A quiet “good morning, gorgeous” or gently touching your hand or arm to get attention. An eye roll from your side or a sharp comment when he got on your nerves. 

---

He was in the elevator at the same time as you, a common occurrence most days. 

“Hello, beautiful.” he greeted you. You frowned slightly before turning to face him, challenging all your anger into this moment. 

“Do not bring your Reddington bullshit tonight,” you snapped. 

He cocked his head, slightly amused at your request. 

“What is my Reddington bullshit?” he parroted back. 

Without warning, you grabbed his tie and pulled him close. 

“I do not know who you are, but you’re not the real Raymond Reddington.” you sneer yanking the tie for more emphasis. He didn’t seem annoyed or surprised like you thought, but like he was enjoying himself. 

“I’m not?” he raises an eyebrow.

“Raymond Reddington does not have A negative blood. You do because you gave blood to Ressler.” 

“I’m a universal donor.” 

“Okay. But B positive is not a universal type. It is the real Reddington type.” You retorted briefly, wondering if your blackmail was doing anything.

“Understand?” you snapped.

You released his tie, trying to tuck it back into his vest while smoothing the wrinkles you caused. He tipped his head back, considering the offer. You brought your eyes to his face trying to understand what he is thinking. 

What you found in his eyes was not fear or embarrassment that you discovered his secret. It was lust. 

Your stomach swooped at the thought while the elevator announced your arrival at your floor. You forced yourself to drag your eyes off his and leave the elevator without looking back. 

---

The mission was good. So good that even Ressler congratulated you. But that was not the congratulations you wanted. 

Reddington left before the mission started, saying something about preparing for a date that evening. You felt a twinge of jealousy and disappointment, wondering if he fabricated the date to avoid being in the way of your mission. 

Given that it was the middle of the week, the post office put off celebration drinks in favour of sleep. Which was fine with you, you skipped hours of sleep that week while trying to dig out more information on Reddington, such as figuring out the discrepancy in the blood type. 

You pushed open the door to your apartment, immediately entering a state of high alert at an unknown object on your coffee table. 

On reflex you scanned the dark room, gun drawn.

Your floor lamp clicked on, illuminating the man you wanted to see on your couch and the object on your coffee table. It was a bottle of wine and a note set in front. You lowered your weapon but still kept your guard up.

“No Reddington bullshit tonight.” He said, standing to greet you before resuming his seat on your couch. His coat and hat were on your coat stand, indicating that he was been there for a while. 

“Makes me wonder if I wasted my blackmail,” you said walking over to him. Sparing a glance at the note card, you could make out something about being a brilliant and great job. 

He hummed, thinking over your words. 

“I’m sure you'll find another opportunity.” 

You bit your lip, thinking about what to do next. The flirting, your blackmail coupled with his reaction, and the fact that he was here. There was something between the two of you that you couldn't deny. 

You closed the distance until you were standing in front of him. His hands went to your hips, gently pulling you down until you are straddling his lap. 

Resorting to tricks you already knew he liked, you grabbed his tie to make him sit up straighter. His lips parted and you saw the same expression as before - lust.  

A knowing smirk graced your lips. 

“You like it when I blackmail you.” 

You practically could see the gears turning in his head, twisting his lips as he thought. 

“Why do you say that?”

“I’ve seen you kill others for less. Besides” You gently rock your hips to gauge his reaction. 

“You’re enjoying this”.

---

Tag list: @aya-daydreams, @horrorqueen22 , @rhepworth (lmk if you want off the list too)

[wander-wren]

hey tristamp gang let’s talk about wolfwood’s contract for a sec

i’m sure people have discussed this already but it’s my turn and i’m going to pretend i’m the first thanks. pls remember i have the observational skills of a potato and it literally took me two rewatches to realize william/conrad/doctor man is the one who experimented on tesla even tho it’s like, really obvious. so. onward!

transcribed, all of that says

Pastor’s Contract

The Eye of Michael and Nicholas D. Wolfwood’s, Pastor of the St. Michael’s Church, do hereby enter into the following contract with respect to their work. The Pastor agrees to faithfully perform all duties as commanded in the Eye of Michael, effective June 2nd S.E. 110, and to abide by all rules and regulations, swearing in the name of the two angels sent by God.

The Pastor agrees to receive immortal glory from the Priest William through the suffering of the Holy Angels.

In the event of abandonment of his duties, or in the event that the Executive Board determines that there is sufficient cause, the Pastor shall be permanently expelled from the Eye of Michael and St. Michael’s Church, and the family members of the Pastor shall be subject to the same punishment.

I hereby agree to the terms listed in the aforementioned contract. Nicholas D. Wolfwood.

Special Note: If the work is approved, the Hopeland Orphanage and the surrounding area shall be excluded from the pilgrimage site. William Conrad.

so! that’s incredibly vague. the very first thing i’m interested in is the date (fun fact, i saw this episode again on june 2nd, so it jumped out at me). we know that this episode takes place on july 21st, which is the twins’ birthday.

however, that date says the twins were born in 2455, whereas the year of the contract being enacted is S.E. 110. i have no idea what S.E. stands for, or why it’s 110. it’s not years-since-big-fall, since we also know that took place approximately 150 years ago (according to brad in ep9). even if this contract was written when wolfwood was a kid, he’s only supposed to be in his early 20s right now.

we DO get a date one other time afaik, and it’s meryl’s…resume? resume.

and THAT is…a different calendar. her birthdate is listed as PE081, making it currently PE104 if she is 23. so my current theory is that the EoM is simply running on their own funky calendar that’s about 20 years off from time-since-big-fall, and this contract was drawn up when wolfwood first joined them. which is not satisfying. i want to know the calendar. but fine.

this also begs the question of what the hell wolfwood’s alliance to the EoM is during stampede. bc he just appears out of the desert, which could mean anything. i literally can’t tell if he’s actively following orders to bring vash to knives or not. the contract kinda makes it seem like he is, but also not much else about his actions does? and then, of course, we have livio hunting him, which seems like he’s definitely on the run.

so then….what is this contract, actually. i’m second guessing whether i’m dumb right now, because all it stipulates is that he follows orders, basically, or else he gets kicked out, but wolfwood seems like he wants to get kicked out, so why….why would he follow it??

i guess it might be because of the special note, that the orphanage will be excluded from the “pilgrimage site,” and i don’t know what THAT means either but i’m going to assume “hey we won’t kidnap and experiment on orphans anymore” which would be a pretty strong motivator.

but also, it kinda seemed, to me, that the contract being signed was releasing wolfwood from the EoM, which….makes no sense.

i may be missing something in all of this, but i can sympathize with wolfwood crumpling the paper up because what IS this thing, actually. has anyone else been able to make better sense of it.

[circusgoth-dotcom]

A Man And His Woes

Ship: Gabriel Conifer x Professor Henry Higgins

Word Count: 912

Summary: An introduction to Gabriel and Higgins' dynamic, in which the two discuss Higgins plans for Eliza Doolittle, a young woman of low income whom he wishes to pass off as someone of higher status just because he believes he can. CWs for classism, alcohol consumption.

Tag List: @canongf @futurewife @rexscanonwife @dudefrommywesterns

Gabriel was just about to let himself into Higgins’ study when Mrs. Pearce’s arm suddenly blocked him.

“I wouldn’t go in there now, dearie,” she warned, “Mr. Higgins is in a bit of a mood.”

He frowned. “How so?”

She sighed. “He’s taken on a… project, shall we say. Brought in a lass with the thickest accent I ever did hear, wants to make a duchess of her, and you know how he is… needless to say, they don’t like each other very much.”

“Why ever did this girl agree to work with him if they can’t stand each other?”

“She’s a poor one, you see. He offers her a room, warm meals, new clothes, and in return he thinks he gets to treat and teach her however he likes.”

It was Gabriel’s turn to sigh. “Why am I not surprised? His head’s too big for his own good.”

Mrs. Pearce nodded in agreement. “Now that I think about it, maybe you ought to go in. Soothe him. He could never be frustrated with you and you never seem to get exhausted with him. It’s an admirable feat if I do say so myself.”

He gave her a small smile as she stepped aside. “Well, I was going to tell him that the laundry’s done, but I suppose I’ll play shrink with him instead,” he quipped lightly.

“Good luck.”

Upon entering, he found Higgins sprawled out on a loveseat, pinching his brow in annoyance. “What is it now, Mrs. Pearce?”

Gabriel cleared his throat. “I hear we’ve another guest, besides Colonel Pickering.”

Higgins sat up, quickly looking over his shoulder. “Oh, Conifer, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was you. Yes, but I’d rather not talk about her. I presume you’ve just done the laundry for Pickering’s stay?”

Gabriel nodded. “Is there anything of the girl’s I’m to clean, then?”

Higgins stood and walked over to his desk, waving his hand dismissively. “Heavens no, I’ve ordered Mrs. Pearce to burn her clothes. Wretched things, they were more dirt than cloth, I’d say.”

Gabriel’s eyes widened. “Surely those were not the only things to her name?”

“Why should I care? I’m providing her with plenty of new, clean things. Ladies things.” He began pouring two glasses of brandy as Gabriel approached him.

“It’s not that that’s not a gesture of goodwill, sir, but think… she may’ve had a certain attachment to them, coming from a place of low worth… appreciate what you have and so on.” He took one of the glasses, eying Higgins tentatively. They paused as he drank, stalling for time.

“We're doing the exact opposite of what I wanted… how is it that you always get me to do that?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Gabriel smiled behind his glass of alcohol. “Now, don't try to change the subject, Mr. Higgins. Who is she?”

He huffed. “An Eliza Doolittle, and a pain in my eardrums to boot, listen to this.” Higgins quickly slipped over to his phonograph and turned it on. A harsh Cockney accent repeating vowel sounds shortly poured out of it. “Tell me, what kind of sound is that? ‘Owww,’ she sounds like an alley cat. She may as well have manners in common with one.”

Gabriel swallowed his drink. “It’s certainly kind of you to help her… though, if it is my place to say, may I suggest exercising some gentler language? Especially when she’s around. It might make things easier for both of you.”

“Of course it’s kind of me to help her. Who else would?” Higgins gazed at Gabriel for a long moment, completely breezing past his suggestion of speaking more pleasantly about Eliza and her “predicament.” “You’re so easy to talk to, Conifer.”

He finished his drink and set the glass aside. “I’m glad to hear, Mr. Higgins. But you’re changing the subject again. What’s the desired result here? Mrs. Pearce said you want to make a duchess of her.”

Higgins bit back a reluctant sound and briefly began to pace. “Yes. I want to pass her off as a lady at the upcoming Embassy Ball.”

“Six months,” Gabriel mused softly.

“Precisely.”

“But why her? Are you doing it just to prove it can be done?”

“Why else?”

Gabriel folded his arms. “You know I hate to criticise, but it all seems a bit selfish if you ask me.”

Higgins whipped around, appearing alarmed. “Selfish?! It’s selfish of me to give her everything she doesn’t have, and all I ask for in return is her cooperation?!”

“It’s selfish because you’re doing it for your own benefit, Mr. Higgins. Just so you can get a kick out of making a silk purse of a sow’s ear. What happens to her when you’re done?”

“She lives a long, happy life in the upper class! Preferably far from mine.” He set to pour himself another drink, but Gabriel put a hand on his arm.

“And if she's found out?”

“It's none of my business.” Higgins stiffly shook him off and poured more brandy.

“It's all of your business,” Gabriel muttered under his breath, turning away. “Very well, sir. I won't question you further.” With that, Gabriel left Professor Higgins to his alcohol and his headaches, waiting to be assigned another chore in the meantime.

“So, how was your day?” Higgins spoke, long after the door had closed and he had downed his second drink. He looked around, realized he was alone, and buried his face in his hands.

[awlfan]

So Soon?- Daryl

Daryl was finally taking some time off from his experiments to rest his brain… Well, he never truly rested his brain. He instead exercised it in another way. Getting out a notebook and a pen, he used a random number generator of his own design to decide what he could use in math problems and equations. Numbers were stable and unchanging, the ultimate comfort in its lack of change. Finally, he found himself relaxing. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK Of course he’d be interrupted! Who dared to show up at his door? His last visitor was yesterday! Unless it was Melody, he would be sure to shoo them away. ...Wait… Why would he think to give Melody an exception?

Questioning himself, the scientist was surprised to see it was indeed Melody standing there. He did tell himself he wouldn’t shoo her away… “Hey, Daryl. Sorry to bug you again so soon. I just didn’t want to forget to lend these to you.” Melody held out a stack of books to him. “I made a list of the order I recommend and some interesting pages.” Daryl took the stack, noting the piece of paper on top. Hm. Her handwriting was quite legible. “I will try to read them when I have free time,” he informed. “No rush!” Melody chirped. “I’ll go ahead and get out of your hair now. I just didn’t want to forget to give those to you.” “You don’t have to leave!” Daryl replied with more urgency than he would have liked. Why did he say that?!?! “Oh?” Melody smiled, pleasantly surprised. “I wouldn’t mind visiting for a little bit,” Daryl stepped aside to let her into his home, gesturing to his little couch for her to sit on before taking a seat at his desk chair. “What did you want to talk about today?” the scientist found himself asking, The farmer’s brows rose as she realized Daryl wasn’t taking lead of the conversation today.

“Oh, well…” Melody scratched her head. “I don’t have any topics off the top of my head… but I have been making progress in training Russet, if that’s of any interest to you?” “You are training… a potato?” Daryl asked incredulously. “Oh, no,” Melody chuckled. “Russet is my puppy. Sorry I forgot to mention him. He was a stray who showed up on the farm the same day I arrived.” “Oh. Well, I do find the idea of training a living creature to be interesting. What are you training him to do? What methods are you utilizing?” “I’m not training him to do anything fantastic, really; just some basics. Sit, stay, lie down, fetch, that sort of thing. Also hold.” “Hold?” Daryl asked. “I want him to stop barking when I say so. Basically, I’m teaching him to pick something up in his mouth and keep it there. If he has something in his mouth, he can’t bark!” “It may be counter intuitive to discourage barking if you want a proper guard dog.” “Oh, I’m not keeping him as a guard dog,” Melody chuckled, “I don’t think I really need one and I doubt he’ll grow to be particularly large in the first place.” “If you don’t need a guard dog, why are you keeping him?” “Because he needed a home and I needed a new companion animal!” she chirped. “He’s such a cute and sweet little puppy! Would you like to meet him sometime? I’m trying to socialize him and Takakura isn’t a fan.” “That is to be expected. He seems to have mild cynophobia. I’m surprised he allowed you to keep the dog at all.” “Cynophobia?” “Fear of dogs.” “Oh no,” Melody frowned, her gaze falling to the floor “I wish I had known that before... Maybe I can help him with his fear somehow. Russet is still a puppy after all. He’s nowhere near threatening at this point.” “That makes sense. Such an endeavor sounds like it would be beneficial for all of you.” “Then I’ll definitely have some work to get to when I get home…” She let out a sigh before shaking her head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring the mood down. Let’s talk about something else.”

“Like what?” Daryl asked. “Hm… Well, if we stick to animals as a subject… do you have a favorite kind of animal?” “I prefer rats,” he answered simply. “Because they’re good for testing and experiments?” “Shockingly, no. It was during my years in high school that I took a class that kept two rats as pets. I found them to be intelligent creatures and they proved kinder to me than the teachers and other students. I was able to find respite in their presence.” “Oh… I’m sorry others were less than kind to you.” The scientist bristled. “I do not need to be pitied,” he informed with a huff. “Sorry,” Melody held up her hands in a placating manner. “So, have you ever considered getting pet rats for yourself?” “I have not considered the notion since my youth. My mother always denied my request to have them. Now that I am an adult, I’ve found I have no time for such things.” “Ah, yeah. Then it’s probably best you don’t have them. Animals need love and attention and a good deal of your time.” “That is why I’ve decided against them.” Melody simply nodded and went quiet a moment. “...You know, while he may not be a rat, you may enjoy playing with Russet. He’s still an animal companion and I am looking to socialize him.” “You mentioned that before… I suppose I could, provided the dog doesn’t bite.” “The most he does is nip when he’s playing sometimes. You’ll be perfectly fine,” she assured. “Then I will visit when I have time.” “I look forward to it! Thanks!” Melody chirped. Daryl nodded and quietly wondered why Melody was so excited and why he’d agreed to this in the first place. He wasn’t overly fond of dogs… so why was he going to socialize one? Perhaps Melody was the reason. “Are you okay, Daryl?” the farmer asked. “”What do you mean?” “You just looked deep in thought there. If you need to get back to your research, I can leave.” While today was his day off, so to speak, he had some things he needed to think over now. “I would like to return to my research,” the scientist bluffed. “I will see you on the farm when I am ready.” “Okay. No problem. Thanks for talking to me today. I look forward to your visit. See you then!” With that, Melody returned to her farm and Daryl to his thoughts.

[original-character-championship]

REASONS TO VOTE RAT!

are you undecided about whether to vote for rat kralie? is their inspiring blurb and cute art enough for you? HUH PUNK? IS THAT IT?!

well, you’re in luck, because i have a few more reasons to help secure them their rightful place as the #1 oc of all time!

1. they’re a flexible character!

originally a gorillaz oc (turned fandomless), i tend to throw rat into whatever interest i have at the time … or sometimes, i throw them into interests my friends have, because it’s just that easy to make them aus! with aus comes alternate designs, so here’s one that might appeal to you more than their main one: DUNGEONS AND DRAGONS AU!

[image id: a transparent, flat colored drawing of a character’s full body, with a basic standing pose. they’re wearing a flowing fantasy-inspired outfit with a metal shoulder plate, and they have split-dyed hair. there is purple makeup around their eyes, as well as on the tips of their ears, which are pierced and pointed in an elvish manner. /end id.]

2. they’re relatable!

maybe what i’ve already said about their relatability isn’t enough. maybe you think you’re not like all the other zoomers, and you couldn’t possibly kin rat kralie … but you’re DEAD WRONG. here are some relatable rat images for you to appreciate, and to show you that rat is truly the people’s candidate.

[image id: two bust doodles of the same character. in the top doodle, which is uncolored, the character is slumped forwards, holding their phone. they ask, “hey siri, how much caffeine can kill you?” to which siri responds, “5000 mg!” with a smiley face. the character replies, “ok. siri you need to take me to the hospital.” in the bottom doodle, which is flat colored, the character is visibly sleep-deprived and crying, with visible roots in their split-dyed hair. they’re saying, “i’m really happy for them actually!” /end id.]

[image id: a flat-colored waist-up drawing of a character with split-dyed hair on a gray background. they’re looking at the viewer with one hand proudly against their chest and saying, “i got my gender at 7/11. they just give those things out for free don'cha know?” /end id.]

3. THEY’RE FUNNY!

i know what you’re thinking. everyone thinks their funny, and everyone probably thinks their oc is funny, too. but as is tradition, i will now submit evidence to the court that rat is funny in every sense, both in character and as a tool for other jokes - so don’t take my word for it, just see for yourself!

[image id: a low resolution bust drawing of a character with split-dyed hair against a bright red background. they are flat colored and looking off into the distance, at an unknown party. in a chunky speech bubble, they ask, “why are you filled with so much aggression and hatred? i’m finding it difficult to assume what you must have went through to mold you into the person standing in front of me right now.” /end id.]

for ease of access, i will now provide a bulleted list of genuine rat quotes from various sources - but these are all things they’ve said in character at one point or another! (may be edited slightly for clarity/context)

“HE COULD NEVER REPLACE ME, HE’S NOT NEARLY AS SILLY!”

(with genuine horror) “do i have to work at an office job if i get in trouble?”

“yo mama living under communism.”

“i wanna be your lawyer, i love ace attorney! let’s explain to the judge that sans is ness!”

(upon spotting an enemy of the state) “hey … who’s that hobo over there?”

in conclusion …

sure, rat doesn’t have any crazy powers (in most aus), and they’ve never done anything super insane like killed god or saved the world. but let’s be real, you don’t have any crazy powers either, nor have you killed god or saved the world (to my knowledge). if nothing else, you have these things in common with them … but i’m sure if you got to know them, you’d have many, many more.

this is why, for the duration of their run in the championship, i will be answering ALL AND ANY questions about rat if you send them via ask to my blog (@ethanmars). in this way, we will prove who the best candidate is.

and remember: a vote for rat is a vote for girlboys everywhere!

[snappedsky]

Borderlands: Skies the Ultimate Treasure Hunter

The crew get into the core, where something terrible happens.

*Links to previous and next chapters in reblog*

--

The Handsome Jackpot Part 7

“So, you’ve found the tailor, have you?”

Moxxi’s hologram stands before Skies and Timothy as they present The Mayor, everyone now safe and sound back in the hideout.

“This crew has graciously saved Trashlantis from the threat of the compactor,” The Mayor explains, “and as I am a man of my word, I have joined you, for Trashlantis will never be free so long as Pretty Boy is in charge.”

“Well said,” Moxxi agrees, “okay then, what’s next?”

“Now, that we’ve got our crew it’s time to go over the plan,” Skies declares.

The four of them join the Vault Hunters, Ember, and Freddie around the table. Skies rolls out a large piece of paper and uses a marker to write ‘The Heist Plan’ in big letters at the top. “Alright, kiddos, it’s time to take the casino.” “Step one: get a crew. Crew’s here, step one complete. Nice work there. Step two: get into that tower. We gotta take out those death turrets first and to do that we need to get into the casino core. Now, I’m not sure where the core is exactly, so we’re gonna need a blueprint.”

“I know someone with a blueprint of the casino,” The Mayor says, “a gang leader named Tricksy Nick. I can call in a favour with him.”

“Great, then the Vault Hunter’s can go pick it up,” Skies declares, “okay, step three: bypass security. Now, the tower’s got an automatic security system. Once we kill power to the turrets, a big door made of solid tritanium is gonna seal off the entrance. I might be able to blow it up, but it’s gonna take a lotta bombs.”

“No need to risk blowing up the whole tower, as magnifique as that would be,” Ember says, “I can burn through it, however I will need a very rare substance known as Compound 24. Once, I requisitioned it for my act, but I was told it was only available to Hyperion researchers. Highly volatile- which is how I like it. With the compound, I can mix ultra-thermite, which carves through tritanium like a flaming saw blade through a bandit who is also on fire.”

“The Vault Hunters can pick up some of that too from the Market District,” Skies orders, “then we’re onto step four which is Tim time.”

“In order to get into the control core, to shut off the turrets, so Ember can burn through the security door, we gotta go through a one-of-a-kind scanner that only opens for Handsome Jack himself,” she explains, “obviously, Tim looks and sounds like Jack, but we need one of Jack’s hand-tailored suits to really sell the whole deal. Mayor?”

“Fortunately, I hid one away in my shop,” The Mayor replies.

“Great. Then the Vault Hunters will get that too,” Skies orders, “once we’ve got everything we need, we can begin in earnest. Vault Hunters, you got your shopping list. Get to it.”

“Be back in a bit,” Zane says as the four of them leave the hideout.

“While we wait, there’s something else I’d like to discuss,” Moxxi says, “once I’m sitting on top of that tower, I’m gonna need help getting the casino open for business. Ember, honey- I’d put you in charge of revamping the Vice District, if you’re so inclined.”

“May I continue to set things on fire?” Ember asks.

“I certainly hope so.”

“Then it would be my pleasure.”

“Mr. Mayor, what’s your fee?” Moxxi asks.

“Your word that Trashlantis will retain it’s autonomy under your new management,” he replies.

“Trashlantis ain’t my kind of dirt, but I don’t judge,” she says, “I’ll deactivate the compactor so that your people can continue living without the excess of capitalist consumption, let alone basic hygiene.”

“You got anything for Freddie?” Freddie asks excitedly.

“The casino’s seen better days,” Moxxi replies, “I’ll need some help fixing up the place. How’s Head of Reconstruction and Maintenance sound?”

“I’ll get those loaders hummin’ along for ya, Miss. Believe in Freddie!”

“And, Skies, we’ve already discussed your fee,” Moxxi says.

“Whatever treasure Jack has stashed away in his vault,” she nods, “can’t wait to get my hands on all that misbegotten gold.”

“And you, Timothy?” Moxxi asks, “what do you want?”

“Wha-me? Well, I-I mean...maybe I could...I mean you and I...” he stammers nervously before sighing. “Aw, you know what, I don’t need anything. I’m happy just to help.”

“Mm, how gallant of you,” she comments.

“Alright, as soon as the Vault Hunters get back, we can take the tower,” Skies says.

The Vault Hunters return soon after with the casino blueprint, the Compound 24, and Jack’s suit.

“Nice work, kids,” Skies remarks as she passes out the items. “Right, Ember, you get to work on your weapon. Tim, you get changed. Moxxi and I will look for the entrance to the control core.”

As everyone gets to work, Skies rolls out the blueprints on the table and she and Moxxi take a look.

“There’s the control core,” Moxxi says.

“Right, so if that connects to here, and that to here, then it looks like we go in near the subway,” Skies muses.

“Looks like there’s a high security wing in that area,” Moxxi adds, “it’ll be tough to break through, but I’m comfortable putting that job in your capable hands.”

“Oh, Mox, you flatterer,” Skies grins as she rolls up the blueprint and sticks it in her jacket. “We ready to roll?”

“Ready,” Timothy replies as he steps out of the corner, dressed to the nines in Handsome Jack’s classic outfit, with his hair neatly coiffed and everything.

“Wow, Tim, look at you,” Skies remarks, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d almost be panicking right now.”

“Yeah, same,” he grunts.

“Alright, Vault Hunters, let’s roll,” she orders and the group starts to leave.

“Uh, Mayor, should I worry about damaging the suit or anything?” Timothy asks before he goes.

“Don’t worry about that,” The Mayor replies, “I designed it to be resistant to all bodily fluids. Jack was very insistent on that point.”

“Gross,” Timothy comments and catches up to the others.

The crew heads through the Spendopticon, back down to the subway. When they reach the right area, security bots immediately digistruct in.

“Alright, this is the door,” Skies says as she starts firing her rifle. “We just gotta clear the area.”

“Easy,” FL4K remarks as the others join in.

They quickly clear out the security bots and open the door to head down a set of stairs. On the bottom floor is a large, full body scanner in front of a doorway blocked by a dangerously red force field.

“Alright, Tim Tams,” Skies says, “this whole operation hinges on you being able to fool this security scanner. So, no pressure.”

“Heh, easy,” he croaks unconvincingly.

“Oh, wait, almost forgot!” she exclaims and grabs from her coat Handsome Jack’s mask. “One final touch.”

Timothy sighs as she clamps the mask onto his face. “There, you’re perfect,” she says.

“Yeah, perfectly horrid,” he groans then clears his throat. “Okay, gotta be Jack. ‘Heya...kiddo...’ Ugh, just...gimme a second to warm up here. It’s been a long time since I’ve played Jack for anything other than a parody.”

He shakes off his nerves and pats his face before straightening his back and pointing up his nose. “Hey, you. The one making this place smell like poor. If you don’t get me a sandwich, I’ll feed your organs to starving puppies. Yes! There it is. Alright, let’s do it.”

Timothy takes a deep breath and smooths back his hair before stepping into the scanner.

“Please confirm identity,” an automated voice says.

“Hey there, baby doll. Jack here,” Timothy replies, “I need you to go ahead and let me in.”

“Scanning bio-metric data.”

“Yeah, that’s some high-quality helix shiznat right there. I’m handsome down to the cell, baby! Ugh, I disgust myself.”

“Confirmed. Scanning facial recognition.”

“Sure, doll, you go ahead and get a nice gander at this handsome face.”

“Confirmed. Scanning personal style.”

“Yeah, totally, check out these threads.”

“Confirmed.”

“Damn right.”

“Identity confirmed. Looking good, Jack.”

“Yeah, don’t I know it,” Timothy replies as he steps out of the scanner. “Alright, pumpkin, chop chop. Move those toothpick legs. Agh, I’m so sorry- you know, I sorta got lost in the role there for a little bit.”

“Nice job, Tim,” Skies replies, grinning with amusement. “Let’s go.”

“Can I take this stupid thing off now?” Timothy asks, pointing at the mask.

“Oh, yeah, you shouldn’t need it anymore,” she agrees as she takes the mask off his face and sticks it back in her coat.

With the force field down, the way forward is clear, and the crew head down to the control core.

They enter into maintenance shafts with large fans in the walls and big wires running up into the ceiling. As they continue along, Pretty Boy’s voice shouts from Skies’ ECHO communicator.

“How the hell did you get into the core?! Whatever. Doesn’t matter. Just stay outta there! It’s uh secret, yeah. And uh don’t go poking around in my secrets if you know what’s good for ya. Final warning!”

“Pretty Boy must know something we don’t,” Timothy muses.

“Probably,” Skies agrees, “he’s been living in that tower for seven years. He must’ve found some of Jack’s old secrets.”

The crew continue through the corridors until they arrive to a large chamber, filled with ratch nests.

“Ewwww, ratch,” Skies spits in disgust. “I hate ratch. Let’s clear them out.” “At least they’re good target practice,” Amara remarks as everyone starts killing the ratches. But once they’ve cleared the place out, they find the way forward is blocked by a batch of nests.

“How do we get past this?” Timothy asks.

“I can blow it up,” Skies suggests.

“You risk collapsing the whole chamber on top of us,” FL4K points out.

“Oh, come on, I use bombs all the time and I barely blow myself up,” she argues.

“Perhaps, if you find the right chemicals, you can melt through the ratch nests,” Ember suggests from Skies’ ECHO. “Chemicals can burn like fire.” “Ugh, fine, we’ll just burn it then,” Skies groans, “there’s probably some chemicals around here in all the trash. Everyone looks around.”

They split up to explore the chamber and look through the trash for some kind of chemical. As they do so, the Vault Hunters wander over to Skies, who looks at them inquisitively.

“You guys not sure what chemicals look like?” she questions.

“We’ve been wondering something for a while now and just wanna ask you a question,” Moze replies.

“But we don’t wanna offend ya,” Zane adds.

“Ah, I’m not that easily offended,” Skies argues and they glare at her incredulously. “Fine. What do you wanna know?”

“Considering the bad memories you seem to have about Handsome Jack, we’ve been wondering how you can be so close to a clone of him,” Amara says.

“It is my experience with humans that you rely heavily on your senses,” FL4K adds, “and yet you do not seem to associate Timothy with Jack except on the most basic level.”

“Ah, yeah, well, Tim may look and sound like Jack, but that’s it,” Skies explains, “when I first met him, I was a little freaked out- this was after Jack’s death- but uh...I quickly realized he isn’t like Jack at all. He doesn’t...feel like Jack, you know? And he’s like my closest friend. I don’t even see Jack when I look at him anymore. I just see Tim.” “I think I get it...kind of,” Zane replies.

“He has proven himself a trusted ally,” Moze agrees.

“We weren’t having doubts about him, by the way,” Amara quickly adds, “we were just curious.”

“Don’t sweat it, guys,” Skies smiles, “it’s a fair thing to wonder. Jack...I have mixed feelings about my time with Jack. But none of that comes through with Tim.”

“Hey, guys!” Timothy calls as he comes running up to them. “What are you all doing just standing around? I found a chemical we can use to burn through the nests.”

“Nicely done, Tim,” Skies says, “let’s get going.”

The crew head up to the main doorway and Timothy places a large canister next to the mound of nests. He shoots it and the nests go up in flames.

“Oh, you just don’t know when to quit, do ya?” Pretty Boy snaps from Skies’ ECHO. “Guess I’m gonna have to pull out the big guns.”

“What big guns?” Timothy asks.

“Don’t listen to him,” Skies orders, “he talks a lot of shit but there’s nothing he’s got that we can’t handle.”

The crew steps through the now clear door into a short hall that leads to a force field blocking the way forward. Skies raps her knuckles against it and it’s solid as a wall, but Timothy’s hand passes through like it’s not even there.

“Tim, you’re gonna have to go that console and turn off this force field manually,” Skies commands.

“No problem,” he replies and walks through into the next room, to a console nearby. “Okay, shuttin’ her down...”

As he types on the keyboard, an automated voice says, “beginning force field shutdown procedure.”

“Yeah, looks like this is gonna take a second,” Timothy mutters.

Skies and the Vault Hunters wait patiently on the other side of the force field, watching Timothy, when they notice something behind him- a constructor rising up out of the floor. Before anyone can point it out, the constructor grabs Timothy in a tractor beam.

“Tim!” Skies exclaims.

“Hey, whoa whoa whoa! What the hell?!” he cries in shock. “Skies? Vault Hunters? A little help?!”

They slam against the force field, but it doesn’t give. Then suddenly, Freddie saunters out from around the corner.

“Freddie! Help! Hack this thing or something!” Timothy begs.

“Oh, but I already did, Timothy,” Freddie replies, “and you’re going straight to Pretty Boy, pretty boy!”

“Tim, no!” Skies cries, pounding on the force field as the constructor lowers back into the floor, Timothy in tow.

“Skies!” he shouts back before he disappears.

“Freddie!” she snarls as he faces them.

“Pretty Boy made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. No hard feelings?” Freddie laughs. “Who am I kidding? Of course hard feelings! But I did tell ya, only a fool trusts a human. And I’m a human. Which makes you, a friggin’ fool! Freddie’s out.”

He jumps onto the top of the constructor and flips off the crew as he lowers into the floor.

“Freddie!” Skies shouts after him. “When I get my hands on you, I’ll scalp that stupid mullet!”

The force field finally drops and Skies dives into the room and punches the floor where the constructor disappeared to. As she tries to find a way to follow them, loader bots start digistructing into the room. She snarls like a beast and tackles the nearest one, tearing it apart with her hands.

“Moxxi! Moxxi, can you hear me?” Moze yells into her ECHO.

“It’s a little choppy, but I can hear you,” Moxxi replies, her voice punctuated by static. “What’s going on?”

“Freddie betrayed us,” FL4K replies.

“He’s taking Timothy to Pretty Boy,” Amara adds.

“And Skies is losing it,” Zane concludes, as Skies rips apart the loader bots like a monster. “Well, better them than us.”

“Son of a bitch,” Moxxi hisses. “Okay. It sounds heartless, but Tim did what we needed him for. All we can do now is proceed with the plan. Find the power source for the tower and shut it down.”

“We’ll stick to the plan,” Moze replies, “but uh you wanna try telling that to Skies? I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to get too close right now.”

Loader bot parts litter the floor around Skies as she finishes the last them off and collapses to her knees, exhausted. She twitches angrily as Moxxi’s voice comes through her ECHO.

“Skies, listen to me. I know you’re angry, but we have to stick to the plan,” she insists. “You can save Tim when you can get into the tower. Focus on that.”

“What if we can’t...” Skies mutters bitterly. “With Tim, Pretty Boy can access all of Jack’s old protocols. He could shut us out. He could probably kill us with a push of a button. And Tim will be Pretty Boy’s prisoner, his slave. And I promised to keep him safe...”

“Skies, stay calm,” Moxxi orders, “think about this rationally. You can’t do anything for Tim now. You made the plan. It’s a good plan. Stick to the pla-.”

Skies shuts off her ECHO and remains seated on the floor, coldly calm. Somehow, this makes the Vault Hunters more nervous than when she was raging.

“Kids,” she says, and they flinch. “You guys stick to the plan. Get into the tower and take the casino.”

“Uh, what about you?” Zane asks.

“I’m going after Freddie.”

She plants a bomb in the middle of the floor and blows it up, making a big hole where the constructor disappeared. It descends deep into darkness, seemingly endless.

“Don’t bother trying to call me,” Skies says, “I’ll be radio silent. I’m on the hunt.”

With that, she’s jumps into the hole, leaving the Vault Hunters to stare after her.

[untitledarea]

Untitled's Prompt Writing - Smut

This 1/3 list of Prompts that I would like to do writing on Steve Harrington (I know, I'm biased. Sue Me.)

18/1/23 - Change of plans more bois are coming into the picture 😆

All of the lists will be credited to @justforshitsandcackles - I just changed some of them to fit to the universes I will write about. I'll roll a dice thrice to know who will I do the story about, what genre and number I do.  

There will be no requests, but I could change my mind over time :3

“Don’t make me take you home and punish you.”

“I’ve never wanted anyone to fuck me this badly.”

“You’re not going out in that outfit.”

“Don’t give me that look.”

“You’re more than just a one night stand.”

“Would you just shut up and kiss me already?”

“You want me to give you your book/phone/item back? Make me.”

“Like what you see?”

“Try to stay quiet, understand?”

“We’re in public, you know.”

“I didn’t know you were so sensitive.”

“Dont be so rough. there cant be any marks.”

“I really don’t care. You still look hot and i’m trying not to kiss/fuck you senseless right now.”

“Are you sure? Once we start, i might not be able to stop.”

“No, i’m supposed to be making you feel good.”

“Make me.”

“Stop teasing me so much..”

“You’re in trouble now.”

“Take off your clothes.”

“I’m waiting.”

“First one to make a noise loses.”

“Mine.”

“We cant do that here!”

“Behave.”

“What did you just say?”

“Come here.”

“Watch me.”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses anymore.”

“If you cant sleep…then how about we have sex?”

“Put that thing away!”

“Don’t kink shame me.”

“If you interrupt me one more time, so help me god.”

“I’m going to put on some clothes before you say anything else.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“Bite me.” || “If you insist.”

“Could he make you feel as good as i do?”

“You’re n-not ,um, w-wearing anything under that, are you..?”

“Are you trying to turn me on or are you really just that oblivious?”

“You taste like fucking candy.”

“The only way you’re getting off is on my thigh.”

“You make a sound and its game over.”

“Just let me finish this/this level and i swear ill go down on you until you cum at least three times.”

“If i have to stop what i’m doing, you wont be able to walk for the next week.”

“I could just pull your bikini bottoms to the side, no one will notice.”

“I haven’t even touched you and you’re already this wet.”

“Were you just masturbating?” ||“U-uh..no, i was just..” ||“Want some help?”

“Shut up.” || “Why don’t you come over here and make me.”

“You’re so fucking hot when you’re mad.”

“We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.”

“C’mere, you can sit on my lap until i’m done working.”

“What? Does that feel good?”

“I’m not jealous! its just…you’re mine!”

“If we get caught i’m blaming you.”

“We have to be quiet.”

“Tell me again.”

“You have no idea how much i want you.”

“Say it.”

“If you don’t like my teasing, then why are you moaning?”

“Wow, i didn’t realize you were that…flexible.”

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard that you forget you ever even met that asshole.”

“You better shut that pretty little mouth before i put it to work, doll.”

“I think thats the first time i’ve heard you moan…it was like a fucking melody.”

“I really want to kiss you right now.” || “Then do it.”

“You’re not taking me to bed. ever.” || “Who said it had to be on the bed?”

“She may seem like lollipops and rainbows but i bet behind closed doors she’s latex and whips.”

“Ah, he’s playing hard-to-get. thats cute.”

“How do i look?”

“Would you reconsider if i was sober?”

“I’m sure i can get some kind of sexual gratification just from staring at him if i try hard enough.”

“Don’t fucking touch what is not yours.”

“You don’t need to cover up the bruises/hickeys.”

“I’m not sure if its a sexual thing or not.”

“We’re…..just friends.”

“Friends don’t do this kind of shit!”

“How quickly can you cum?”

“There’s people here.” ||“I know.”

“I don’t care what you do just fuck me.”

“Fuck you.” || “I’m up for it if you are.”

“Don’t ruin the sofa.” || “Ill just have to cum inside you then.”

“Stop dancing like that or i’m going to cum in my pants.”

“I’m not going to touch you unless you beg.”

“You cant tease me like that and expect not to be punished.”

“Stop distracting me.”

“Were you touching yourself?”

“I know they’re just stuffed animals but doesn’t it feel weird? its like they’re watching us.”

“That’s probably the fastest i’ve ever done that.”

“Please, remind me again why we’re having sex behind a tree?”

“I know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that.”

“We’ve been at it like rabbits, how are you still horny?!”

“It was so worth the injury though!”

“Saddle up doll.”

“Did you just look me up and down and then bite your lip? ‘Cause if you did we’re having sex. Right now.”

“Your ass is going to be seven different shades of red after that little stunt.”

“God damnit, now all i can think about right now is you licking my cock like its that ice cream cone.”

“If i have to pull over, you wont be able to walk for the next week.”

”Do you think they can hear us through the tent?” || “Yes we can.”

“What are you doing in my bed?!”

[television-pil0t]

What if the price to pay to love me was everything.

No sex. I hate being touched. I hate sound. Nothing to loud. No food to bland. I hate eating that stuff. I’m a picky eater. I hate waking up early. I hate waking up at all. All I do is work. I provide for you though. Would you work though it? Would you teach me to not be afraid of touch anymore? Would you play me all the songs you love? Would you quietly hum them in my ear as I sleep.

I’d do it. I don’t need sex. I don’t need anything. I’d hold your hand when your ready to try. Touch your shoulder. Hold your head in my chest. It may take years but I’ll make sure your comfortable. I’d season my food to perfect. I don’t really know how to cook but I’d learn just for you. So you can eat. So I can be there for you. I’d hum you songs in your ear as you sleep as the music plays through my headphones because I know it would be to much if I played it from the tv. I’d accommodate. Id love to because id love you. Id be on my knees everyday. Waiting for your words to spill out. Waiting for you to give me a chance to show you what I can truly give you. All I can do for you. All the ways I can love you because I have the world to give. If you hated everyone on this earth I’d be happy be know I was the last one on that list. Still hated but you stand near me. I just want to be near you. I want to be loved and wanted but at your pace. I know I need more but I don’t need it from anyone else but you. Your who I want. If it’s not you.. then who else will give me the satisfaction. The accomplishment. I put in the effort because I want to.

[absolutepokemontrash]

I come bearing a request! The Brothers with an MC who's really good at cooking and baking? Like, the stuff food blogs dream of. Master-level instagram pastries. Could compete with the chocolate guy if they put their mind to it.

👀 ooooo, I do love me some pastries-

(I know you have an *ahem* distaste for Lucifer, dear moot, so enjoy Lucifer acting like a bit of a dingus in his section!)

Lucifer

Oh, the human can cook. *insert asshole eyeroll here*. Great. Wonderful. Groundbreaking. That’s what’s got all his brothers acting like- what was that word Levi used? Simps? This human has turned six of the seven rulers of hell into a bunch of simps.

Sure, the human has near godlike cooking prowess. Sure, everyone looks forward to their day for cooking. And sure, everyone thinks the human’s pretty great.

Tsk, not him though. He’s a refined demon. Some silly food isn’t going to make him a lovesick fool… did he smell eclairs..?

Lucifer peered into the kitchen to see MC carefully taking a tray of eclairs out of the oven and letting them cool off on the counter. His favourite dessert… right there in front of him…

Due to not being a total moron, MC notices Lucifer and asks him what the hell he’s doing just standing ominously in the doorway. Lucifer makes up some bullshit excuse about reminding MC to do their homework and just leaves. Okay, game plan, he needs those fucking eclairs or he will spontaneously combust.

As he snuck into the kitchen that night, Lucifer took a moment to briefly wonder why he was creeping around his own house. He was the Avatar of Pride for pity’s sake! He could eat whatever he damn well pleased! Oh shit was someone coming- no? Okay, back to sneaking.

Lucifer crept into the kitchen, saw the eclairs, and all logic was thrown out the window. Time to eat!

“BEEL NO! NOT THE- Lucifer..?” “…” “…” “…you’re very talented, MC, do you mind making more of these?”

SOMEONE SNAP A PICTURE! THIS IS THE CLOSEST LUCIFER HAS GOTTEN TO BEGGING IN THE LAST THOUSAND YEARS!

Mammon

Ugh, stuck babysittin’ some dumb human, how lame…

As Mammon was throwing a “I’m broke and I’m stuck in a pact with a dumb human” pity party, the most heavenly smell entered his nostrils. Cooking… good cooking… was Barbatos visiting or somethin’? Nah, Lucifer woulda made a big fuss about gettin’ ready for Lord Diavolo. Huh, so what was goin’ on in the kitchen?

Huh? The human? The human can cook? Well damn, maybe this whole deal wouldn’t be so bad. Oi! MC! As payment for babysittin’ ‘em, he got to have an extra big share of- OW!

Did- did the human just hit him with a spoon?! Th-they can’t do that!

Apparently they fucking can. Mammon gets told to sit the fuck down and wait for the food like everyone else. He grumbles on the way to the dining room, but he can’t fully hide his excitement to try the food.

The food even looked pretty! How did they do that?! Magic. It had to be!

After everyone’s tastebuds were blessed with the heavenly substance that is MC’s culinary exploits, Mammon decides he needs to get on this human’s good side in order to receive more food! Maybe even find some way to make a profit or somethin’!

After weeks go by of trying to suck up to the human without looking like too much of a chump, Mammon eventually realizes… hey, this human ain’t so bad. They’re nice, they make him feel good about himself, they give him headpats… he’s really hit the jackpot here!

He’ll offer to help MC bake or cook, but beware, he will try and sample the food before it’s done. Don’t let him lick the spoon!!!

Leviathan

First thought? This human ain’t shit. Thought after seeing their food? WOAAAAAAAH! JUST LIKE THAT ONE ANIME-

He was unceremoniously cut off by Beel asking demanding seconds. Humph, fine, he doesn’t actually care about this dumb normie food anyway.

…well at least until Levi saw a little something something on TV that he just had to ask MC to try and make. He shyly knocked on their door and when they answered, Levi shoved the screenshot in their face and stuttered out a dinner request.

On the day MC was supposed to make dinner, Levi poked his head into the kitchen and tried to make it look like he was just standing in the same room as MC and not checking to see if they were making his dinner request.

Not that he’d blame them for not doing that… who’d wanna make some anime dinner for a yucky Otaku- OMG JAHSHSHABA THEY’RE MAKING IT! *fangirl squeals*

As Levi continues to commit the SIN of being in the kitchen at the same time as someone else, MC eventually just asks him if he’d like to help out.

“Here! Just keep turning the takoyaki.” “R-really? You trust me?” “Yes, Levi. You watched how they made it on your show, right?” “Yes! I won’t mess up! I swear on my honour as an otaku!”

All in all, it was a very cute bonding experience for the two. Now it’s a regular thing. Levi requests something for dinner or dessert, MC makes it, Levi helps out.

Satan

So, the human can cook. That’s nice. At least someone in this literally god forsaken house can.

He makes sure to thank MC every time they cook, then he makes sure to thank whatever deity is watching over him that Solomon wasn’t the human staying with them.

As the months progress, Satan realizes, he should learn how to cook better. I mean, Levi and Mammon were somehow both improving in their cooking endeavours, and if MC could teach those two, then he would be a breeze.

Satan walked into the kitchen and simply asked if MC needed any assistance with what they were doing. MC just slid him some garlic to dice and that’s how this mentor/student relationship was formed.

Satan was a star pupil, but Mammon and Levi weren’t above trying to sabotage Satan’s progress to get him to leave.

Here’s the thing, the sabotage worked, but it only worked once, and the two idiots didn’t stop to think that maybe they shouldn’t sabotage the meal they were going to have to eat later.

Well, cooking lessons continued uninterrupted after the ghost pepper incident…

Even when he’s ‘graduated’ their little cooking class, Satan’s always willing to lend a hand if needed. He also will slyly hand over some recipe books and cute baking supplies that he finds. MC should be prepared for lots of cat related things to come their way.

Asmodeus

The human can cook? Oh frabcious day! He’s saved from a life of his brother’s mediocre cooking! And the human’s so cute too! What a bonus!

Not only is the human cute, but their food is just so… aesthetic??? Pretty???? Omigosh he just has to get a picture for Devilgram!

For the first few months, MC’s relationship with Asmo consists of Asmo not at all subtly asking to take pictures of their food and post it to his Devilgram. Listen MC, his followers would just love it!

Being the saint-sheep they are, MC lets Asmo sit in whenever they’re making anything in the kitchen. And Asmo slowly realizes “hey, this cute human with the awesome food is actually pretty cool too!”

New Mission: Make the human fall madly in love with him so they’ll want to hang out more.

Whether the mission succeeds is up to MC of course. (I mean, I’m already smitten with him sooooooooo-)

MC offers Asmo a lot of the pastries they make, but the Avatar of Lust almost always declines. Listen honey, he’s on a diet- wait, don’t make that sad face! He’ll eat it! Look! It’s- it’s delicious…

Diet cheat day is now every day MC makes dessert. The feeling of bliss Asmo gets when he takes a bite out of anything MC makes is only second of the treats is second only to the joy he feels at seeing MC happy that he likes their food. It’s just so wholesome I can’t-

MC’s food Devilgram has almost surpassed Asmo in terms of followers and honestly- he isn’t even mad.

Beelzebub

Gasp! Lucifer finally got him the pet personal chef he’d always wanted! Thanks big bro! :D he’ll be sure not to eat this human!

On the first night MC was supposed to make dinner, Lucifer needed to hold Beel back from breaking into the kitchen to see what was causing that heavenly smell. It was, difficult… especially because Lucifer hadn’t slept in three days.

When they all sat down to eat, Beel practically inhaled everything and held up his half bitten plate for seconds.

We here at Stupid Headcanons incorporated recommend that MC have as many bodyguards as possible stationed around the kitchen at all times to ward off a hungry Beel. We don’t want him eating the ingredients and half-tempered chocolate.

A cinnamon roll through and through, he’ll eat everything MC gives him with a big ol’ smile on his cute little face. He’s not the best person to go to if MC wants advice or critique because the best thing Beel can usually muster is “it was really good.”

As Luke said in Lesson 5, Beel would make an awful food reporter. But we love him.

Similar to Levi, he’ll give meal requests on what to make for dinner. (At this rate, MC’s going to have to make some kind of list).

He kind of just waits by the door like a sad puppy whenever MC is making anything because he can’t get into the kitchen :(

Belphegor

The smell of freshly made chocolate chip cookies wafting through the house did reach the attic and it only fuelled his rage more. How dare the human win everyone over with cookies?!

After the attic incident, Belphie was won over with cookies.

Belphie just stands creepily in the kitchen doorway whenever MC is making anything and just makes shit really uncomfortable. Why’s he doing that, you may be wondering, well, he’s trying to calculate the energy needed to swipe the bowl of cookie dough and sprint to safety.

He never succeeds, mainly because once he gets to the bowl, MC already has the wooden spoon ready to smack him, so he just freezes mid-theft and slowly puts the bowl down.

“Oh my gosh, it says let the bread dough rest overnight? Let’s get a headstart and go to sleep now.” “Belphie what-” “I made a pillow Fort, come in. Let’s sleep.” “In the kitchen????”

How’d he make the pillow Fort without MC noticing? Years of experience. He’s trained in the art of- MC? What do you mean you can’t sleep right now and you need to get a head start on shaping fondant?

…he may have eaten the fondant while MC wasn’t looking… whoops… Beel may have rubbed off on him a little…

[angry-geese]

Can I request nsfw+fluff gojo x fem!reader? (established relationships) Just gojo being horny and needy after weeks not seeing reader due to work. (Uuuu and may I add breeding kink too <3 ) Lmaooo what's wrong with me✋🏻😔 I love your works btw and just take your time💕💕 here *slides a cookie 🍪 *

YESSSS gojo + breeding kink is top tier. i got a little carried away with this one lol

When We Meet Again

Gojo Satoru x Reader

Warnings: shameless smut. oral (fem receiving), creampies, mating press, unprotected sex, fingering, fluff and smut. slight somnophilia (kinda??) fem!reader

Word Count: 3.7k

jjk masterlist

It's well past midnight by the time he gets home.

Save for a single light in the kitchen, the apartment is dark. Leftover pastries sit out on the counter, covered with a bowl to keep bugs from getting to them, alongside your keys, and an empty mug of tea. A grocery list has been stuck to the fridge. A rack of dishes sits beside the sink, drying.

You're not in your usual spot on the couch. He's not surprised. It's late. And though you don't have work in the morning, you were never one to stay up so long. You must have gone to bed already. You might have stayed up had he bothered to tell you he was coming home. But he didn't. His plans changed at the last moment, and not even he knew he'd be back so soon.

He hates being gone this long. He misses sleeping in his own bed. Sometimes he forgets just how cold a bed can be without someone else in it.

The door to your shared room is open. Though it's dark. There's a faint green glow from the alarm clock on the side table. The moon is full enough tonight to provide a bit of light; a pale silver glow fills the room. And there you are, curled up on his side of the bed. In one of his shirts. A black button up that’s a bit too big for you, with sleeves that hang well past your fingertips.

It's not like he can refuse. If he’s getting called out to help, then there's probably not someone who can go in his place. The strongest doesn't really have time to take a vacation. He’s on call 24/7. Between his teaching job at Jujutsu Tech, and the major clans of Jujutsu society constantly demanding his attention, he’s rather short on free time.

It was a tedious job. Not worth his time. Not particularly tough, albeit time consuming. But the previous two sorcerers came back with nothing. And so he was sent out. Cleaning up someone else's mess.

The first week he called every day. The job wasn’t supposed to take any longer than that. Or so you both assumed. As the second rolled through, your calls grew shorter, and less frequent. He found himself frustrated with the lack of contact. It wasn't either of your faults. Your work called for you to be out during the little free time he had. Overtime. When you did have time to call each other, you were often exhausted, and short with him. The distance was putting a strain on your relationship.

The worst part of it all; he couldn't fuck you. And for a man that could go multiple rounds in a day, that was miserable. His love language is touch. Not being able to hold you was… well, miserable.

You don't really know the extent of the effect you have on him.

He's too tired to change, and he showered before he left, so he strips to his boxers and pulls his side of the blankets aside. Tomorrow is laundry day anyway. You always choose Sundays for laundry day, because that's the day before you have to go back to work. There's just enough room between you and the edge of the bed for him to slip in.

When something makes him stop dead in his tracks.

It's your voice. You’re calling out his name. You aren't awake, and though you do sometimes talk in your sleep, tonight is different. When it does happen, it's usually nonsense. Soft, endearing babble that he can't help but listen to. He says your name, softly, but you don't respond. Enough moonlight streams in through the window to see your face. Your brows are knit in concentration—possibly frustration—and sweat beads in your hairline.

Are you having a nightmare?

The bed dips under his weight as he sits, resting a hand on your thigh. Your skin is rather warm, he notes. You roll over onto your side, burying your face in his pillow. He pulls the blankets up, tucking them around your shoulders, as you’ve kicked them down by your feet in your sleep.

There it is again. You say his name, but there's a level of desperation behind it.

There's no denying the wetness between your thighs. You squeeze your thighs together in an unconscious attempt to get some relief. Your breathing is labored.

It's only a moment later that the realization kicks in.

The grin that splits his face can only be described as malicious in nature.

His hand creeps higher on your thigh, nudging the hem of your—his—shirt up. You’re not wearing anything underneath. The sight of your slick cunt is nearly enough to make his cock stand to attention.

His gaze falls to the curve of your hips, just barely illuminated by the moonlight. He likes the light of you in his shirt a little more than he likes to admit. Though he’s never been quiet about how much he appreciates your body.

Your body freezes the moment his thumb grazes across your slit. So does he. You’re so wet. Must be a real nice dream. You roll onto your back, your legs parted slightly. The soft gasps and moans that leave you are like music to his ears. Gojo takes this as an invitation to continue, his hand moving further up your thigh, lazily tracing circles into it.

You must've missed him more than he expected.

Your body registers that someone is touching you before it registers just who is doing such. In your sleepy, dream-ridden state you don't recognize the figure in front of you. In the dim light of the room, you can make out a mess of white hair, and the reflection of dark, round glasses shoved up into his hairline. Gojo’s eyes practically reflect in the dark.

You jolt awake, sitting up. “Jesus christ-”

“‘S just me, Mochi,” he says, though it does little to settle your nerves.

If you weren't awake before, you certainly are now.

“What? You watch people in their sleep now?!” You scold. “‘Toru- you scared the hell out of me!”

You flop back on the bed. The blankets pool around your hips. You reach to pull them back up, finding your bed colder than usual.

"You were calling out my name." He says.

"Oh," you say, and though there's little light in the room, he watches your face flush, "must have been dreaming about you."

“Wanna recreate what you were dreaming?” He asks. Rather smugly, might you add.

You roll your eyes. “Go to sleep.”

"Scoot over then. I'm gonna fall off the bed."

This prompts an evil sounding giggle from you, followed by a: "fall then."

"Alright," he says, rolling over to lay on you, throwing his arm around your waist. You’re effectively pinned under him, as the awkward angle won't allow you any leverage to throw him off. He attacks the exposed part of your neck with kisses, sucking hickeys into the flesh of your neck and shoulders. His hair tickles your skin.

“‘Toru- stop!” You squeal. “Let me go-”

“Not until you apologize,” he says, planting a wet kiss on your jaw.

“Never!”

“Then I guess I won't let you go.”

His arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you flush to his chest. One of his hands finds your own, his fingers lacing with yours. His legs tangle with yours in a way that holds them in place. Worming out of his grip in this position would be a near impossible task.

You suppose there’s worse fates than this.

It would be easier to stay awake if he wasn't so warm. Or if he didn't smell so nice. Or if he wasn't softly rocking your body with each breath he takes. His thumb traces soft circles around your knuckles. Gojo’s breath is warm against your neck, making goosebumps rise along the soft flesh. The steady sound of it is almost enough to lull you to sleep.

"I missed you." You say. Your voice is almost too soft to hear.

“I know.” He says. His arms give your midsection a reaffirming squeeze. “I missed you too.”

“How was work?”

“A shitshow,” he says, leaning to nip at your earlobe, “but I get to come home to you, so it’s not all bad. How’s everything been around here?”

“Quiet.” You say. “Kinda boring without you. I wish you told me you’d be home tonight. I would have done something special.”

“It was a spur of the moment decision.” He says. “I didn't expect to be home so soon either.”

“We should do something tomorrow, then,” you say, “a new ramen place opened up down the street. You know where the old bakery used to be? They leased the place out.”

Gojo hums in response. Ramen sounds nice. Especially now. But he’s too tired and too horny to worry about food. Why have ramen when he has a meal right in front of him? Or a snack, as he often likes to call you. To which you roll your eyes, but there's no denying how he makes you blush.

You take back what you said about finding it easy to sleep. He’s moving around a bit too much for that. Gojo isn't subtle about it either. Nothing about the man is. He foregos subtly in favor of announcing nearly everything he does. Loudly. Who would dare stop him?

But you guess it's part of his charm. His dorky, sappy charm. You’ve kind of signed up for it, so you’re not complaining.

You scoot away from the edge of the bed a bit, thinking he needs more room. Gojo pulls you back to his chest, thinking you’re trying to run away from him.

“Quit squirming.” You hiss.

“Sorry Mochi,” he says, “just tryna get comfortable.”

And he really does mean it. But he’s been gone from you for so long that he's forgotten how nice your body feels against his. A little too nice, he’ll admit. Phone sex is nice, but it's not the same as the real thing. It gets old after a while. His hand doesn't quite compare to yours. Or the real thing. Something hard presses against your thigh from behind.

That's when it clicks. You just smell so nice. Your body is so warm against his. You look so nice in his shirt. Can you really blame him for getting hard?

You aren't sure he knows that you know. You shift a bit. It appears you’re only trying to get comfortable. His grip around your waist loosens, allowing you to settle a bit closer to him. You can't help it if your shirt rides up a bit, exposing the perfect curve of your ass. He prefers you in nothing at all, though the sight of you wearing his clothes is certainly a nice one. Any sight of you is. Gojo is shameless in the way he adores your body.

Once settled, his arms return to your waist. His head falls into the crook of your neck. He’s doing little to hide the tent he sports in his boxers. Maybe he thinks you don't notice. Or maybe he’s trying to ignore it.

“Stop that,” he says.

“I'm not doing anything,” you say, with the same evil giggle as before.

“Why do I not believe you?”

His lips find your neck, sucking a dark mark into your pulsepoint. The sudden sensation of lips on your neck makes you squeal. In your ear he coos every sappy nickname in the book that makes you blush.

You hardly notice as his hand trails lower. Your legs part just enough for him to slip his hand between them. He does nothing but seek out your warmth. Yet.

A familiar tension returns to your stomach. It's not unpleasant.

So that's what he was doing. Not that you’re complaining.

“Missed you, Mochi,” he says, gasping at the wet feeling of your cunt, “missed you so much. You have any clue what it's like being around all those weird old men all day? For days on end, no end in sight?”

It always surprises you just how bad the man can be with words, yet how good he is with his mouth.

His fingers find your clit, drawing lazy circles around the bundle of nerves. Your breath catches in your throat. You can't deny how nice his long fingers feel inside of you.

“Seems like you’ve missed me too.” He says, his breath warm against your ear.

“Whatever you want to think, old man,” you say. Though you have missed him. You always do. But there's some fun to be had by teasing him.

“Old man?!” He sounds genuinely hurt. “Don't be like that. I know you like having me around.”

“Oh really? What makes you think that?”

His fingers move to press into the tight entrance of your cunt, his thumb brushing across your clit. The soft gasp that leaves you is practically music to his ears. To give him credit, he is good with his hands.

“Did you think about me while I was gone,” he coos, “did you touch yourself while you did it? I did. Couldn't keep my mind off this sweet cunt of yours. I think I want a taste.”

Your only response is a soft moan. Heat pools low in your stomach, growing in intensity with each skilled movement of his hand. He moves so you can lay on your back. Your hands find the sheets, holding them in a death grip. Gojo nudges your legs further apart with one of his knees.

The kiss he pulls you into is uncharacteristically soft, and needy. He moans nearly as loud as you when you nibble on his bottom lip, hips lips parting, allowing the strong muscle of your tongue to explore his mouth.

Your hands work to undo the top few buttons of your shirt, exposing your breasts. His free hand comes up to grope appreciatively at your tits. Gojo has never been shy about how much he adores them. Or shy ever, to his credit. You’re his, and he would show you off to the world if you’d let him.

But sometimes he prefers to steal you into his domain, and hold you there. Close. Where you’ll always be at his side. The one place in this universe he can truly promise you’ll be safe.

You hardly notice as his kisses trail down your neck. Down the valley between your breasts. Working the last few buttons of your shirt open with his long fingers. What you do notice is the sudden absence of his hand.

Your legs part to give him room to settle between them. His head rests on your stomach. His warm breath tickles your skin.

"You gonna let me have a taste?" He asks, nipping at your thigh.

You swallow hard, eyes locked on him. Slowly, you nod.

You gasp at the feeling of his warm tongue, licking a stripe from your bellybutton to your mound. He's not touching you where you need him most. And that frustrates you. You buck your hips up towards his mouth, eliciting a soft laugh from him. He can't tease you too long. His cock is painfully hard, leaking against his thigh in his boxers. He can only hold himself back for so long.

You freeze at the feeling of a hot tongue against your clit.

Gojo eats pussy like a starving man, presented with his favorite meal. He does nothing short of savoring you. How you smell, how you taste, how you sound. He's shameless in how he adores this. Gojo moans nearly as loud as you at the taste of your cunt. Sweeter than his favorite dish. Meant to be savored.

You can't deny that he's good with his mouth. His tongue works circles around your clit, drawing gasps and moans from you.

Heat builds in your stomach, drawing you closer to your impending orgasm. One that comes upon you far sooner than expected.

Maybe you’re more pent up than you thought.

Your thighs clench around his head as you cum hard. He lets you ride out your orgasm on his tongue, working you through it with his skilled mouth. He’d stay with his head between your legs forever if you’d let him. Which you don't, as overstimulation soon registers in your lust addled mind, and you shove his head away.

The lower half of his face glistens in the dim light, wet with saliva, and your own slick. He’s far from subtle in the way he licks his lips, or groans at your taste. He may have gotten a bit too excited. It's not unlike him to get carried away. How can he resist a fertile cunt like yours?

“I think you should taste yourself,” he says. His hands move to cup your face as he pulls you into a kiss. You taste yourself on his lips. His hardened cock grinds against his thigh.

“‘Toru-” you whine.

“What's the matter baby?” He coos. “Use your words.”

“Fuck me.” You say. “I need you, ‘Toru. I need your cock in me.”

“Why didn't you say so?” He says, though the desperation in his voice is palpable.

He wastes no time in shoving his boxers down his hips, freeing his cock.

He’s not the most intimidating in size, but his cock is nice, and fairly thick, with a slight upward curve. The patch of hairs towards the base are soft, and white. Generally you don't need a whole lot of prep to take him. Which is helpful when he can't keep his hands to himself, and insists on fucking you in the bathroom during dinner. As much as he likes to take his time with you, he’ll take you anywhere you’ll let him. At work, or over every flat surface of your apartment. Not a single room of your home was spared. Not that either of you mind.

“Gotta work you open first,” he says, “don't want you to be too tight, do we?”

Between his saliva, and your own slick, you put up little resistance. He’s able to slide one finger in. Then a second, with no issue. His fingers curve, stroking your g-spot. His thumb works soft circles around your sensitive clit as he works you open with his fingers. Really, this is unnecessary. Your cunt is practically dripping with your own arousal.

He makes a show of licking his fingers, groaning at the taste of you. Gojo really has no shame.

The moan he lets out as he sheathes himself is truly sinful.

It's another moment before he starts thrusting.

Gojo needs a moment to collect himself. He’s been working himself up for hours if not days. All the nights he spent, thinking of what he’d do to you once he got home. He’s gone over this day in his head about a hundred times.

The sound of his hips slapping against yours fills the room. His taunts turn into senseless babble. Strands of praise mixed with Gojo’s overall dorky remarks. Pleas of your name, calling you mochi, baby, honey, and every other sappy nickname he can think of. His head falls into the crook of your neck, nipping and sucking at the soft skin. He’s not going to let you leave this bed until you’re thoroughly marked up.

Tension grows in your stomach like a rubber band being stretched tight. Your previous orgasm has left you overly sensitive, and leaves another orgasm creeping up on you sooner than expected. His hand falls to your stomach, working lower until his thumb finds your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub.

He presses your legs further back, shoving them almost to your chest. The stretch leaves a pleasant burn in your hips. Your body isn't really meant to bend this way, though it’s not completely uncomfortable. It's not long before he has you into a full mating press, rutting against you desperately, fucking you into the mattress. The bed frame groans in protest with each of his thrusts. Deep, and unrelenting. Gojo’s cock curves in such a way that hits your sweet spots just right, leaving you writing under him.

“Gonna put a baby in you, Mochi,” he says, “gonna breed this pretty cunt of yours.”

You nod along desperately. You want nothing more than for him to cum inside, filling you completely.

He silences your moan with a kiss, his teeth clashing against yours. His tongue presses past your lips, exploring the wet cavern of your mouth. You can still taste yourself on him.

A line of saliva connects your lips as he pulls away.

“Not gonna ask you to take all of it,” he says, “but take everything I got.”

And with that, he can't hold back any longer, painting your womb white. Gojo’s cum is normally thick, and there's normally a lot of it. Today even moreso. Two weeks away hasn't helped with that. Cum runs down your thighs in streams, ruining your sheets.

The elders aren't going to be happy that he’s so reckless with his precious seed, but Gojo couldn't give a damn. The elders can talk all they want. That's all they're good for. He gets to cum in a warm place, and that's more than any of the others can say.

He practically collapses on top of you.

Gojo shifts so less of his body weight is on top of you. And though the room is rather warm, you find yourself nuzzling into his body, seeking out his warmth. His arms have always given you a sense of security, especially when wrapped up in them. They find your waist, pulling your back flush to his chest.

For a moment the two of you lay there, basking in each other's warmth.

You’ll have to get up in a bit anyway. To clean yourself up, and change the sheets. And get a new shirt. Probably another one of Gojo’s. He’s never been against seeing you wear his clothes. They never stay on you for long, though.

You pry his arms off, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, but he notices, and tightens his grip.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asks, sounding rather offended.

“To get a drink,” you say, “I'm thirsty. Why? Do you want one too?”

“You think I’d let you go after just one round?” He asks. “You’re not leaving this bed until I’ve fucked you full of my cum.”

You're in for a long night.

[bnhabadass]

Pairing: Bakugou x reader Genre: Smut, 18+, Mafia AU Trope: Woke up married Dialogue Prompt: “Aren’t we supposed to be working?”  Warnings: overdosing on cold medicine, mixing cold medicine with alcohol, dub-con, mentions of sex while unconscious, vomiting Word Count: 4,480

This is my contribution to this month’s bnharem collab. I was so happy when I spun the roulette wheel and it landed on my favorite au, the mafia au. I hope you all enjoy and make sure to check out everyone else’s contributions here. Also a big thanks to @doinmybesthere​ for being my beta reader and putting so much work into creating the master list for this collab.

“A fever? Are you fucking kidding me?”

You winced at the voice coming out of your phone. You were curled up in bed, a heavy futon draped over your achey, chilled body. “I’m really sorry,” you croaked into the receiver. “I can’t get out of bed; there’s no way I’ll be able to come into work today.”

“You know how important tonight’s meeting is.”

You could feel the fire in the eyes of your underboss as he spat at you about how important tonight’s festivities were. You couldn’t care less. You hated the guy, but more importantly you hated your father for getting you in this mess.

A debt needed to be paid and your family couldn’t afford to take out a second mortgage on the house. So your father, as smart as he thought he was, went to the nicest restaurant on the far side of town where the boss of one of the most dangerous mobs in the city stationed his office.

A debt for a debt. That’s what he told you as he came home smiling with a big check in his wallet. No one in your family knew where he got the money, but he seemed confident enough that he’d be able to pay it back.

A month went by and one day, three scary men knocked on your apartment door. They said they were there to “collect”.

You were terrified. You thought they were there to rob you, to take the money you had been saving in a rainy-day fund. But no, they came to collect you. Now, it’s been four months and you’re still stuck doing odd jobs for them--grocery and coffee runs as well as spending reports and other money related things you are less than qualified to do.

You hate your job. You hate having to put up with the unorthodox hours and the unsavory jobs and the complaints about your work ethic and the having to do it over again because you didn’t do it right the first time. You want out. If you weren’t positive that if you left they would be able to hunt you down, you would have fled the country by now.

But your father’s debt still hasn’t been paid.

“Look,” you pleaded. “I can come in tomorrow and work double my usual time. Please, Kirishima-san, I just need the day to rest.”

“Not a chance. You’re coming in today and that’s final. If you don’t, well, then maybe we need to take an extra payment from your parents.”

Before you could even process what he just said, he hung up the phone.

Another payment from your parents. You couldn’t possibly let them take any more from your family. With a new threat looming over your head, you mustered up enough strength to push off of your futon and get dressed for the clients’ dinner.

By the time it was 7:00 in the evening, you had taken a large swig of cold medicine and were ready to spend the night serving these criminals.

Outside of the restaurant, two bodyguards were stationed at the front door and one at the back entrance. All three of them were dressed in black from head to toe. You, on the other hand, were tasked with serving your boss’s clients, so your outfit differed from theirs.

You were dressed in attire suited for waiting tables. Black slacks stretch across your legs and your pristine shirt was smoothed against your body. A tight black vest clung to your chest and pressed against your boobs, squishing them together. If it weren’t for the fever, chills, and headache, you would look like you belonged with this crowd of criminals.

You flashed your ID to the guard at the back door and he nodded you in. Your eyes had to adjust to the fluorescent kitchen lighting, but once they did you saw how busy everyone was. It truly was one of the most important nights for your boss, so you understood why you were needed. Still, this night would truly take the most out of you.

“Oi, (L/n),” one of your boss’s associates called for you. “Take these to table four. I’ve been covering your ass for the last twenty minutes.”

“Of course, Kaminari-san.” You bowed your head and skirted over to the table where two well-dressed men spoke with one another in a hushed tone. You placed their meals in front of them and bowed your head.

“Wait,” one of them called as you began to walk away. “I asked for a Jasmine tea. This is Sencha.”

“Yeah,” the other one piped up. “And I asked for a Sencha tea and this is Jasmine.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to yell into the abyss and slap those men across the face. But of course all you did was bow in apology and take the cups back. Kirishima’s words to you over the phone rang loud and clear in your mind.

“Anything they need, you get it for them. These are important people the boss works with and we can’t have idiots like you messing this up for us.”

The men smirked at you and as you turned around to grab their “correct orders,” the man who ordered the Jasmine tea leaned over to leave a hard, painful smack across your ass.

You froze but didn’t say anything and walked away.

It was still early in the night but you had run yourself thin. You needed to sit down or to at least take a sip of water, but there was no room for breaks as you bounced from table to table getting the people what they wanted. You had even left the venue a couple times to retrieve items like the proper creamer one client required in their coffee.

Your throat was so sore and dry and it was aching for a break. Your entire body was aching for a break. But as you saw someone sitting at one of the tables raise her hand to wave you over, you had to put all of your aches aside to tend to her needs.

“Good evening, ma’am.” You bowed your head. “How may I assist you?”

A small smile was on her dark red painted lips. She seemed to be searching for something as she eyed you up and down. “Do you happen to know when Bakugou-san will be joining us?”

Bakugou-san… Were you supposed to know who that is? You had never heard the name before, although you knew your boss had many ties throughout the district. It could be one of them.

“I’m not sure,” you answered honestly. “I could ask my supervisors if they happen to know.”

She waited a moment. She seemed to be searching for something in your expression. “That’s all right. You may go back to work now.”

You bowed and thanked her.

Bakugou-san.

The name did sound familiar, but you’re not sure where you could have heard it. It wasn’t until you were deep in thought, trying to recall where you had heard the name, that you could feel something pushing up against your throat. Oh god. Your stomach was churning.

You ran to the bathroom, pushing someone out of the way to get there. You’d probably hear an earful from Kirishima for pushing a guest, but you needed to find a toilet before--

Oh no.

You barely made it into the stall before emptying the contents of your stomach onto the white tiles of the bathroom floor. Your legs collapsed from under you and you kneeled in your vomit as you coughed up your stomach lining into the porcelain bowl.

Tears fell from your eyes as you struggled to breathe while hacking everything you had into the toilet. The black eyeliner you threw on before leaving the house had smudged into raccoon eyes around your lashes.

You rested your cheek against the toilet, ignoring all of the germs that were most likely crawling up your skin and into your pores. The toilet seat felt cool against your burning cheek and watering eyes. You thought you could die happily here, kneeling on the bathroom tiles in a pile of your slowly cooling vomit.

“Aren’t we supposed to be working here?”

Your eyes shot open, and in trying to stand up you slipped. Your ass landed in the smeared vomit. You winced and let out a drawn out, “fuuuck.”

It took you a moment before opening your eyes again and looking up at the man in front of you. And boy did your eyes widen. He was clearly a guest at the clients’ dinner. His blonde hair was slicked back and the bulge of his muscles under his crisp black button down didn’t go unnoticed by you. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing his forearms and as he crossed his arms over his chest, his sleeves began to tighten.

“Who the hell are you and why are you puking on the floor?”

It took you a second to find your voice. “I’m, um...” you trailed off. “(L/n), sir.” You cleared your throat. “I am a worker for the person hosting this dinner.” You tried to stand up and bow, but he put a hand up to stop you.

“You work for them.” It was a statement not a question, but you nodded anyway. “Why? What do you owe?”

You’re not sure why he was asking, but his intimidating glare compelled you to answer his every question. “My dad owes them money,” you admitted. “And he wasn’t able to pay them back.”

“Who do you mean by them?”

You weren’t sure how to answer. You didn’t even know what these people did. For all you knew they were drug mules or assassins. You never wanted to know what they did when you were roped in. After all, the less you knew meant you could have more of a normal life. “The boss,” you finally answered. Who the boss was, you weren’t sure. You answered to Kirishima but he didn’t have much power aside from ordering around you and every other person unfortunate enough to be roped into working for them.

The man in front of you scoffed. “Get up.”

You scrambled to your feet, ignoring the wave of nausea that hit you. The man led you out of the bathroom, and as you walked behind him, people who passed the two of you stopped and stared. Oh no, it had to be from the vomit stains on your leg and down your shirt. You probably stank to high hell and your eyes wouldn’t stop watering from your fever.

The man stopped and you had to keep from bumping into him. “There’s an extra work shirt in the closet,” he said. “There should also be some slacks in there. Leave your dirty clothes in a pile and I’ll have someone collect them.”

His voice was demanding and it took you a moment to register what he said. It wasn’t until he snapped in your face that you moved.

“We don’t have all day, princess.”

You flinched and nodded before scurrying into the closet and flicking the light on. Inside the closet was the restaurant’s sad excuse for a boiler room. The low humming from the machinery brought you back into the present as you searched for the change of clothes you were promised.

There was a crisp white shirt folded on one of the shelves as well as a few different slacks in varying sizes. The shirt was a size too small, so you had to leave the first couple buttons popped open. Before leaving the closet, you tried to think about who the man was and why he was helping you. Was it possible that he wanted something in return?

When you emerged from the closet, he looked you up and down. You were too tired, however, to notice his lingering glare on your chest and the way the button down squeezed your breasts closer together.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, looking down at your shoes. You’re not sure why you were too scared to look into his vermillion eyes, but the way he called you princess earlier as he snapped at you had definitely made you tremble in your core, and you swore that if you looked up to meet his eyes, your fever would only go higher and higher.

“Why the hell’d you come here if you were sick anyway? Are you trying to poison everyone in the damn building?” His words were like little bullets that shot at every one of your doubts of coming in tonight.

You thought back to why you had come in the first place. You were huddled up in your futon that morning when Kirishima called. You begged to stay home, right? But you couldn’t. You squinted hard as you tried to remember why you weren’t allowed to rest. “I was threatened,” you thought out loud. It wasn’t directed towards the man but he nodded in any case.

“(L/n) was it, right?”

You finally managed to look up at him with bleary eyes. “Yeah, um...” You couldn’t seem to remember what his name was. Wait, he hadn’t told you. He had just led you around and given you new clothes, but he never properly introduced himself.

“Bakugou Katsuki,” he said as if he could read your mind. His lips turned up into a smirk. “But call me Katsuki.”

“Katsuki,” you mumbled. “Bakugou Katsuki.” You had heard that name before, but where. “Bakugou,” you mumbled again as if you were trying to put the pieces of a puzzle together. “Bakugou-san.”

He quirked an eyebrow up at you.

“Oh!” It hit you like a ton of bricks and as soon as you shot up, you had to recoil because of the ache in the back of your neck. “There’s a woman looking for you, Bakugou-san, er, Katuki,” you bowed.

He just chuckled. “There’s a lot of people looking for me tonight. Who was it?”

That’s a good question. You squinted as if you were looking deep into your memories to remember who it was who asked for him. “She was a woman,” you remembered. “With long dark hair and dark red lips.”

Katsuki nodded. “I see the Yaoyorozus are here.”

The Yaoyorozus. You weren’t sure what that could mean but you didn’t feel like questioning it, so you nodded instead.

Katsuki was looking down at you. His arms were crossed over his chest but a smirk that had been playing across his face all night wouldn’t seem to go away. “Feeling better?”

You didn’t feel better. Although you felt cleaner in the new clothes, there was still a throbbing in your head that wasn’t going away and the overhead lights made your eyes water. But the way that Katsuki looked at you like he was expecting you to say yes just drew you in.

He could tell that the way you nodded a yes in response to his question was a lie, and his face fell before pushing a hand up to your forehead, checking your temperature. “Have you taken anything today?”

You had to think back to earlier that day when you brought the bottle of cold medicine up to your lips, not even reading the recommended dose before downing what you could and leaving your home. “Yeah, um, I took some medicine.”

The grin that had been spread across Katsuki’s face returned. “Well I guess we’ll have to get you some more.”

He grabbed your wrist and led you through the halls and over to the bar. You didn’t pay attention to where you were going. The world seemed to be going too fast for you to keep up. What you were able to notice was that everyone’s eyes were on you as you gently swayed back and forth, trying to settle yourself down. As you were in your own head, you couldn’t start to picture what everyone else saw when they looked at you. You with your raccoon eyes due to streaky makeup that you couldn’t stop rubbing.

“Here.” Katsuki shoved a glass in your face. “Not necessarily traditional medicine but it’ll get the job done.”

You looked up at the whiskey glass in his hand. The ‘medicine’ was a deep brown color which swirled around as he handed it to you. Your fingers brushed against his thick ones as you took the glass. You lifted it up to your nose and took a deep breath in, gagging at the smell. “Um, I don’t think I should.” You had been warned about mixing alcohol with drugs and the dangers that came with it, but no one had ever told you not to mix drinks with cold medicine. Still, that couldn’t be right, right?

“Come on, it’s good for you,” he egged you on. “Besides, it’ll get that nasty taste out of your mouth.”

You had never tried whiskey before. You were used to lighter drinks, something bubbly with a shot of vodka or two in it. But this was almost too much. You lifted the glass up to your lips and tilted it back. Your lips stung as they made contact with the drink, but you didn’t want to seem weak to Katsuki. He’d taken care of you so far and seemed pleasant enough, albeit intimidating.

As you tipped it back further and took more of the drink into your mouth, Katsuki pushed his hand against the bottom of the glass so you couldn’t tear it away, making sure you would drink every last drop. It stung going down and the cubes pressing against your lip were colder than you expected. You gagged as a couple loose tears rolled down your face from the drink’s burning sensation. You bet you looked even more of a mess now.

“Good girl,” Katsuki said with a low demeanor. With his thumb, he wiped away a drop of whiskey that rolled down your chin.

“And this’ll make me feel better?” You didn’t think you were supposed to drink when you were sick, but you were far too tired to even think about what was wrong and what was right. If he said that it’d make you feel better, then that had to be a good thing. You’re sure of it.

“Sure will.” He placed a firm, calloused hand on your head and stroked down your hair. You nuzzled into his warmth.

It was such a nice sensation that it almost made you forget that you were supposed to be working. That there were people waiting on you to bring them their food and fetch their creamer, people who were ready to slap your ass and laugh as soon as you turned away.

“I have a,” you started, not really sure where that sentence was going. “I have to go back to work.”

As you began walking away, Katsuki stopped you, pulling you back over so your face was practically pressed up against his chest. “No you don’t. You’re sick, remember?”

Right, as if you hadn’t forgotten. But he was right. You were sick and your medicine hadn’t kicked in yet. You couldn’t risk spreading your germs and getting anyone else sick.

You watched the dinner guests from afar. You leaned in to hear conversations about hitmen and other rivaling mobs around town. Some were about money laundering and clients that needed to be taken out, whatever that meant.

At one point, someone asked to pull Katsuki aside and talk alone, but instead he just pulled you closer.

“The hell do you want, Yoarashi?”

Yoarashi was a big guy, bigger than Katsuki, but it was clear even to you that he was intimidated by the blonde in front of him.

“You owe me for what I let you borrow last month.”

“I don’t owe you shit.”

To you, they sounded like they were underwater and you weren’t sure what they were discussing, but you were curious to learn more.

“Come on, Bakugou. Work with me here.”

“I’m a busy man, Yoarashi. Now get out of my face before I have my men take care of you.”

Something about the raw power and the threatening tone behind Katsuki’s voice made you excited. You wanted to melt into his words, but you weren’t sure why.

“Busy man?” Yoarashi scoffed. “Come on, Bakugou. You’ve barely been seen all night. Where have you been, fucking this little lackey of yours?”

He didn’t mean you, did he? Before you could even comprehend what he just insinuated, Katsuki turned you around and pressed your face up against his chest. You could feel yourself growing even hotter as you were pushed into one of his pectorals. One of his hands cupped the back of your head. Was he protecting you?

“Listen here,” you heard him say. “Don’t contact us ever again unless you want to end up like your first boss did. I can make your life a living hell and I will, got that?”

“Don’t think I don’t have other contacts, all right? You aren’t the only one in this town with resources, Bakugou.”

You felt something jab into the other side of Katsuki’s chest. Did Yoarashi hit him? A few seconds went by before you heard the snapping of fingers and two men came over to drag Yoarashi away.

Katsuki released the hold he had on you, and you watched as the tall man struggled out of his hold. “You aren’t gonna tell anyone what you saw here tonight, right princess?”

You shook your head. You weren’t sure what exactly you felt when you saw that man being dragged away. You were scared, of course; scared for your own life and of the raw power that Katsuki seemed to hold. But on top of fear there was something else. There was a tingle between your thighs that wouldn’t seem to go away, and there was also a sense of excitement. Out of all the people here, this man was paying attention to you. You were far from Mafia material, but he clearly saw something in you and you wanted more of his gaze lingering on you.

Your mind felt hazy with Katsuki and you wanted even more. You didn’t know what to do when you felt him smooth his hand down your back. You didn’t know what to do when his usual smirk turned into something much more dangerous. And you didn’t know what to do when he leaned over and pressed his lips against your own.

His lips felt heavenly as they explored you. They were soft and welcoming despite his cold and dangerous exterior. His tongue probed its way into your mouth. He tasted like whiskey and something else which you assumed was just him. He bit your lip and it felt like he smiled when you let out a moan.

When he released, you felt as if the whole world was spinning with Katsuki. You wobbled around a bit and he chuckled. You tried asking if you could sit down, but the words refused to come out. The last thing you remember is seeing the world go black, the sound of the clients’ dinner fading out of earshot, and two strong arms carrying you away from reality.

You were in pain by the time you woke up. Your body, especially your head, ached tremendously and you wished the sun would stop shining so bright through your window. But wait, the window in your bedroom at your apartment faced another building. The sun never shined too bright in the morning when you were at home.

Slowly, you peaked your head out from under the covers and looked around. You weren’t in your bedroom, but you were in a bedroom. The bed you had been asleep in was enormous, but aside from that there was not much else furniture in the room or even any pictures to signify who the room could belong to.

It wasn’t until you sat up that you realized just how exposed you were under the covers. You couldn’t find your clothing anywhere. What were you even wearing last night? Where were you last night?

You remembered being sick and being called into work by Kirishima. You were stressed. You were nauseous. There was a beautiful woman who asked for someone in particular but you were too sick to remember what their name was, right?

And then you raced to the bathroom and met--

A groan from beside you shook you out of your thoughts, and as soon as you saw the person lying in bed next to you, all of your memories came flooding back.

“Morning, baby girl,” Katsuki said.

You didn’t know what to say. Your mouth hung open and you felt lightheaded.

Katsuki was shirtless under the covers and you were too scared to ask if he had anything on covering his lower half. “You put on quite the show last night.”

Last night. Where you met him. What did you do last night? “I...” You didn’t know what to say, and that made Katsuki let out a booming laugh.

“Come on, you remember at least a little of it don’t you?”

You shook your head. Then you shook your head again. You couldn’t stop shaking your head.

Katsuki put a hand on your shoulder and you stopped. He had a shit eating grin spread across his face that you wanted to both punch and kiss at the same time. “First throwing up at my party and then getting blackout drunk in front of all my guests.”

“What?” You could barely remember anything. What did he mean ‘his party’? The clients’ dinner was run by…

Your eyes widened as you realized just who you had found yourself naked in bed with. Who had found you puking on the bathroom floor. Who that stunningly gorgeous woman was asking for earlier.

You clamped a hand over your mouth and Katsuki let out another chuckle. “You really were the life of the party.” He grabbed your wrist and dragged you over to his side of the bed, and you let him. He dragged his hand up and down your exposed body and roughly cupped your sex. “I had a blast toying around with you last night, but now I want you to be able to remember what it feels like when I bury my cock inside of you, sweetheart.”

You hated the way he was grabbing you and the way he forced your legs to open up for him, but what you hated more than any of that was the way his words made your inner thighs ache and how they instinctively parted just for him.

You turned away as he leaned down to smother your chest with rough kisses, and as you looked over to your left hand, you couldn’t help but notice a diamond ring that wasn’t there the night before.

[no-droids]

Whenever You Want

Part Fourteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11.2K

Warnings: Listen there is some dirty smut in this one yall okay like I was blushing when I wrote it, it has a very stark beginning and theres a pagebreak afterwards if you would prefer to skip over it. Smut includes oral sex (female receiving) rough sex, sensory deprivation, butt stuff (ass to mouth, anal fingering/penetration) so PLEASE LOOK OUT FOR IT PLEASE. Also there is jealous/possessive mando in this, season 1 Karga makes another appearance, and some angst/fluff towards the end

A/N: Nothing much today yoditos just love you all

***

Din said he’d meet you here.

You’re currently sitting across from Greef Karga in a cantina on Nevarro, a closed shield next to you and a blaster tucked into the back of your waistband, hidden underneath your shirt.  You’re barely even looking at him, though—your eyes are attached to the door by an invisible string, forcing your gaze back to it no matter how much it bounces around the room.

You don’t know where Din is, you haven’t seen him in hours.  But you do know that when he left, he was moving slower than you’re used to.  You don’t think anyone else would notice, but you sure did.  Not that he was obvious about it—you only picked up on very subtle hints.  Leaning up against things just a bit more than he usually does.  Taking slightly longer exiting the ramp of the Crest than his normal strides would carry him.

He didn’t say what he was going to do—just that he needed to find someone before meeting with Karga, and you accepted it.  But truthfully, you didn’t want to.  You were worried about him—still are, actually.  But for all intents and purposes, he was speaking and acting like himself, showing no real signs of exhaustion other than the smallest instances you described before, so you didn’t really have a leg to stand on.  He’s been through way worse, and you know it.  You just… find yourself worrying about him so much more than you used to, and you need to learn how to gain some control over that part of you.

The kid was still passed out from healing him and you remember Din carefully setting four pucks down in the sleeping baby’s sphere and giving his ears a gentle rub between leather fingers.  He turned back to you and told you to meet him at the cantina in three hours, but if it ended up taking him too long for any reason, to try your best to see if Karga will let you exchange on his behalf.

Admittedly, he didn’t sound too confident about it—the instructions were delivered with a tone that implied a doubtful, just-in-case scenario he wasn’t foreseeing happening.  Or maybe he just doubted the likelihood of Karga agreeing to do business with you, you’re not entirely sure.  All you know is that when he left, you were almost certain he wouldn’t be late, but you also took the time to grab the smallest blaster from his armory before heading out just in case.

Yet—here you are, three and a half hours later, eyes flicking between the door and Karga as you attempt to keep up polite conversation.  After turning down his offer of alcohol for the fifth time and still not seeing any glimpse of beskar coming to your rescue, you figure this may be as good a time as any to start the exchange.

During an extended break in the small talk, you slowly reach over to the corner of your booth and press a button on the face of the kid’s shield.  It hisses open and you completely miss the way Karga’s hand raises while three of his guards automatically reach for their hips.  The little green monster is still snoozing comfortably while you pull out the four glowing pucks Din left you and set them on the table one by one.

They scrape along the top of it as you slowly push them over to him, before sitting back in the booth and clearing your throat, flicking your eyes between Karga and his guards.  To you, nobody appears to have moved, so you muster a polite smile at him.

Karga smiles back, but makes no move to gather or inspect the offerings in front of him.

“Um…” you say after a moment, suddenly feeling your heart start to beat a little faster.  “Mando… Mando gave me permission to exchange on his behalf.”

“I believe you,” he drawls out in response, but the pucks still sit untouched in front of him as he leans back in the booth and studies you.  “Mando has always had a… let’s say, a frustrating penchant for disregarding the pillars of our code.  My apologies, young lady, but I’m afraid that I cannot accept these from you.”

Your voice comes out quieter than you’d like it to sound.  “Why not?”

“It is… unlawful,” he answers after a moment.  “Our organization operates under strict rules.”

Does it?  You blink.  No, it doesn’t.  You’re nothing to the Guild and you’ve sat next to Din quite a few times while Karga talked, listening to him drunkenly boast about return rates and out members by name.  You’re not sure why he’s barring you like this, but you’re also not self-assured enough to put practically any spine into it whatsoever.  “I’m… afraid I don’t understand.”

“I cannot legally do guild business with individuals not recognized as members in an official capacity,” he sighs, sounding grave and almost apologetic about it, but you don’t know him well enough to know if he’s a good actor or not.  “There’s nothing I can do for you besides provide you with my company, not until Mando decides to show.”

Well now that doesn’t make any sense, and you’re starting to worry that for some reason or another, he isn’t going to show.  Though it was incredibly well concealed, you’re well aware that Din was still lingering in the final recovery stages when he left the Crest earlier and all you have to go on is his word that he’d be here.  Something could’ve happened.  Something could be happening right now, you need to push.

“People pick up bounties for extra credits all the time,” you mumble, still way too fucking quiet about it.  Maker, you’re not even sure if he could hear that over the sound of the cantina.  Speak up, speak up.

“Yes, but those quarry are listed on the New Republic’s most wanted database,” Karga acknowledges diplomatically, educating more than he is arguing, before uncorking the bottle of glowing blue alcohol in front of him and beginning to pour himself another shot.  “They’re fodder.  Up for grabs—names, last known locations, and biometrics published for the entire galaxy to read.”  He tilts his head down at the four metal pucks on the table without removing his gaze from the gradually filling glass.  “Those pucks are different, they’re commissions.  Tied specifically to Guild contracts.”  Karga clunks the bottle back down again and corks it, pinning you with a stare.  “For all I know, you could’ve murdered a member of our ranks and come to collect payment for his bounties.  Can’t have that.”

Your blood suddenly turns to ice at the implication, eyes wide and your heartbeat rocketing as you look from Karga to the three guards casually stationed behind him.  “You—You think I murdered Mando?”

“No,” he says, easily and in the very same breath, before throwing the shot back and wiping his mouth with a grimace.  “Not sure I’d care too much if you did.  It’s not my rule, but I am required to follow it or risk losing my position in the Guild.”

Shit.  Shit.  What do you do?

You’re blank, left quiet and feeling increasingly unsure of how to proceed.  Karga, however, seems completely unbothered and even appears to be enjoying himself and your company.  He gives you another smile, this one a lot friendlier and more genuine than the one earlier, before setting his elbows on the table and leaning forward.

“Look, I want to help you,” he admits, keeping his tone light, “but my hands are tied.  Just relax and share a drink with me until he gets here, it’s not a problem.”

Fuck, you don’t like this, and a quick look around brings another reminder of Din’s continued absence.  Your chest feels tight, the anxiety starting to compound and make you jumpy.  It’s been too long—it’s been at least forty minutes or so of waiting by now and something just feels wrong about this.  Not having him next to you feels wrong enough on its own, but when he specifically told you he’d be here?

You clench your jaw and try to work up your nerve.  Karga is a nice guy, right?  He knows you by name, he knows who you are to Mando.  And while you never really thought about the bounty hunter’s omnipresent protection as being anything other than metaphorical, you suddenly realize that… it might be literal, too.  How much sway do you actually have here, you wonder?  You’re not stupid, you’re not going to try anything stupid, but maybe just another question won’t hurt?

“Well, um… how do you become a member, then?”  You ask him, and you watch as he leans back in the booth, raising both eyebrows at you.

“Excuse me?”  He asks, though there’s a genuine amusement in his voice.  Stunned that you’d even say the words aloud.

“I have four bodies,” you tell him shortly.  You’re still quiet about it, but his thoroughly entertained astonishment is beginning to rub you the wrong way.  You don’t want to be part of the Guild, you don’t want to be here, you’re doing this out of growing necessity.  “One of which I dragged through a blizzard on Hoth by its ankles and put into carbonite myself, so please just tell me what I have to do to get you to take them.”

“I can’t,” he repeats, shaking his head like you’re just not getting it.  “New members are only accepted if they bring in an S-level criminal from the database or if they complete a commission that was granted to them by someone of my station—neither of which apply to you.  If you cannot present me with any sort of reasonable argument for which they could, then I’m afraid this is not a favor I can swing.”

“I was sitting right here,” you return, suddenly finding your voice.  If Karga wants an argument from you to get this to happen, then you’ll do it.  You just need to finish this exchange, go back to the Crest, and scan around for Din’s signal.  “When you first gave the pucks to Mando, I sat right here and you pushed them over to this side of the table—I was present for the commission and now I’m here to complete it.”

He shakes his head.  “But I didn’t give them to you, I gave them to Mando—”

“Yes, but you only wanted to give him three,” you immediately point out.  “The last one, the one I told you I put into carbonite—you said you threw it in because you liked me, it could’ve been for me.”

Karga suddenly stops and blinks at you for a few seconds, and you bite your lip, wondering if the logic will hold.  It’s flimsy as fuck and you know he could very easily rip it apart if he wanted to.  It could’ve been for you but it wasn’t, he gave it to Mando.  You also purposefully leave out the fact that you’re also the reason Mando only gave him three bodies in the first place; your only goal here is to complete this transaction as quickly as possible and leave.  You don’t like the fact that it’s taking Din so long, and you also don’t like the fact that Karga seems so keen on keeping you here with him, no matter how many reassurances he provides.  He said he wants to help you?  This can be his chance to prove it.

After a few extended moments of consideration, Karga finally shrugs like he really couldn’t care less before reaching across the table for the pucks and beginning to stack them in his palm.

“What is your last name?”  He asks, turning behind him to gesture for one of his men with a jerk of his head.  The bodyguard exits the cantina without another word and your eyes flick back to Karga’s.

“Why does it matter?”  You ask uncertainly, watching another guard approach with a holopad as he shrugs once more.

“It doesn’t, but we need something for our records,” Karga explains, grabbing the device as it’s tapped against his shoulder without removing his gaze from yours.  “I can just use Doe if you don’t feel like sharing—most of our members tend to prefer anonymity, including your companion.”

Your eyebrows furrow even as your heart continues to pound, wondering how they can afford to be so lax about some things but take others so seriously.  “You have him down as John Doe?”

“First name Man,” Karga grunts in response, finally breaking eye contact to begin navigating through pages on the holopad.

“Ah,” you say shortly, knowing you’d probably find the joke funny in other circumstances.  You’re not out of the trenches yet, you still feel the worry tugging hard at your chest.

“Very well,” Karga announces with a sigh, pocketing the pucks in his leather overcoat and then handing the holopad back to one of the men flanking him after a moment.  “Someone is collecting the carbonite plaques from your vessel as we speak.”

You give him a nod, taking a deep breath that you hope is slow and subtle enough to not give your anxiety away.  He helped you out, you’re halfway through this.  Now comes the exchange.  Now it’s his turn to give you the credits and four more pucks, that’s how this should go.

Only, Karga leans back in his seat and cocks his head at you.  “Unfortunately, I believe we have found ourselves in the midst of yet another predicament.”

Your heart continues to slam, praying you haven’t somehow majorly fucked things up by getting this far.  Din still isn’t here, why is he so fucking late?  He nearly froze to death and you handled a dead body just to make this meeting on time, where the fuck is he?

You raise an eyebrow at him, willing the building panic not to show on your face.  “Have we?”

“You’re lucky credits are attached to commissions instead of rank within the Guild,” he prefaces, pulling out a large handful of them to begin counting, and your eyes flick around the cantina while you know he isn’t looking, “or else you’d be getting about half of what I’d normally give him.”

Heart galloping when you still don’t see any sign of him, you just decide to keep extra quiet as you watch Karga divvy out a sizable stack of credits, hoping your prolonged silence will protect you somehow.

“The question now becomes…” he lifts an eyebrow at you while sliding them across the table to you, “how many pucks do I give you in return, hm?”

Fuck, you don’t like this, you’re trying to make it crystal fucking clear that your intentions do not extend beyond the perimeter of this table.  There’s no you to be found in this deal, you’re just an emergency proxy in Din’s absence and you only inserted yourself in the situation to accomplish that task.  “I told you I’m only here to exchange on Mando’s behalf, that’s it.”

“Be that as it may…”  Karga glances around the cantina like he’s thinking extra hard about it.  This is a made-up problem, you both know there’s no predicament here.  He knows you didn’t kill Mando, he knows there’s no real reason to be giving you such a hard time about this, and you clench your jaw as he still seems to take his time considering it.  “Tell you what, young lady,” he finally turns back to you.  “Do me the honor of sharing one sip of this fine spotchka with me and I’ll give you four pucks to pass along to Mando.”

Okay.  Okay, you can do that, if he really cares that much.  Karga gestures for the closest droid to come by with a glass for you, but you just grab the bottle in front of him and uncork it without thinking too much, balancing the glowing blue liquid with two hands and diligently taking a small sip of it before setting it down again.  Appearing satisfied with your demonstration of upholding your end of the bargain, Karga grins and reaches into another pocket.

“Four for Mando,” he pushes four pucks across the table, “same rate and return as last time, as promised.”  You nearly deflate in relief as you quickly gather them up and begin dropping them into the snoozing baby’s shield along with the credits, but then Karga reaches back and pulls out another puck, pushing it over to you.  “And one for you.”

You blink at him, frozen in place.

“Lowest level, lowest pay.  Not even a criminal by New Republic standards, just a missing person,” he goes on to say, but then quite suddenly… 

Quite suddenly you’re absolutely fucking horrified.

You don’t want it.  Everything inside you surges up to scream that you do not want that puck.  It’s a waste of time, even if it’s an extra job—it’s too much trouble, too much fuel for such a small reward.  You already know good and well that Din won’t want to bother, getting this extra puck would be considered a detriment to him.

“What if I don’t want it?”  You ask, sounding nervous and vaguely out of breath as you look down at it.

Karga scoffs.  “Of course you don’t.  Nobody wants these, why do you think I’m trying so hard to pawn one off on you?”

Shit.  This is not at all how you expected any of this would go.  You know he’s not really asking, even if his tone and continued courtesy implies it’s only a request.  There’s an expectation attached to this, and it appears you take too long pondering an offer that isn’t actually voluntary.  Karga stares at you and your clear apprehension for just a few seconds more, before finally giving you an ultimatum.  “You said you’re here on his behalf.  You either take all five pucks now or Mando only gets three next time, your choice.”

Oh.  Oh, no.  This is a lose-lose; three pucks means more fuel and less credits, five pucks means more fuel and less credits.  It’s not like you have any real bargaining power here—almost everything he’s done for you today has been a favor of some sort and you’re well aware that things can always get worse.

Still, you take a deep breath and try your best to throw around whatever weight you have left in one final agreement.

“Give me your word you’ll go back to giving him four from now on, no more hassling or hard time constraints and we’ll take it just this once,” you tell him, trying to conjure and put power behind your words even though you’re unsure if they’ll stick.

“Deal,” Karga readily agrees with a smile, reaching his hand across the table.  You have no choice but to meet him in the middle and clasp it, unable to feel anywhere close to good about your performance here.  It was clunky and insecure and even though you just barely succeeded in making the exchange overall, you’re massively disappointed in the specifics.

But then Karga’s eyes quickly flick over your shoulder.

“Ah, Mando!”  He suddenly calls out, and your hand nearly snatches away from his while your body goes rigid.

Oh, this isn’t good, this is not good.  Well, it’s good that he’s here but it also really fucking isn’t.  You don’t even turn your head; you sit completely straight and still while the cantina falls to a hush and heavy footsteps begin to approach behind you.  You fucked up—you fucked up, you didn’t wait long enough and you feel the sharp regret instantly twist in your stomach.  He said he’d be here, why didn’t you trust him?  Your anxiety and stress compounded and spurned you to act too quickly, you made the deal a few fucking seconds before he showed up.

And, as Din eventually comes into your peripheral, taking his time leaning his rifle up against the table, you immediately realize that you should not have worried.  Recovery isn’t even a word in his vocabulary right now—he’s more intimidating than he’s ever been, more powerful and certain and dangerous while he lowers himself into the seat next to you than he’s ever felt to you before.  Everything is so quiet now that he’s here; you feel like even just swallowing against the sudden dryness in your throat turns into an audible gulp.  The man sitting across from you may own this cantina and every material good under its roof, but the one sitting by your side feels like he steals the literal air from the room just by walking inside it.

Yet, in spite of the daunting presence of the Mandalorian, Karga beams and tips his glass at him.  “I believe you’ve arrived just in time for your favorite part of the conversation, friend.  The farewells.”

You stare wide-eyed down at the table as Din leans back into the booth and very slowly extends his arm behind your shoulders, saying nothing at all to him.

The testosterone is radiating from him to the point of near suffocation, you can taste the alpha in the air.  Your heart slams in your chest at the unspoken claim he just made with a subtle movement, and though you’ve never been one for masculine displays, this one weirdly feels… good right now.  You know it’s primitive and crude and you’re not a piece of meat to be fought over, but it doesn’t feel like that at all.  It’s the immediate feeling of security that serves to heat your cheeks, the fact that you’ve been a nervous mess trying to be extra brave this whole interaction and then suddenly you have the backup of an entire army contained within one single suit of armor next to you.

If you weren’t internally panicking at how badly you screwed this shit up, you’d probably be going fucking feral for him right now.

Karga says your name and your gaze snaps to his, feeling like you can’t breathe.  “My associate has collected the plaques, nothing keeps you here any longer.  It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

Still, nobody at the table moves.

After a moment, you carefully glance up and to the side at the sharp, metallic profile of his helmet.  Maker, you can’t explain it—it’s like you feel terrified but not really for yourself, if that makes sense.  You’re upset with yourself for not having enough trust in his word, absolutely, but something in Din’s demeanor tells you that he’s going to be considerably less understanding of how Karga handled this situation than the way you did.

The helmet slowly turns down to look at you, and you bite your lip while carefully placing your hand on his thigh brace under the table, letting him feel your fingers brush against the bend of his knee.

He turns back to Karga after a few seconds, still not saying a single word, until eventually Din’s arm is lifted from behind your shoulders and you feel his leather fingers gently clasp your hand, before he starts to rise from the booth and pull you along next to him.  You both stand, and he silently presses a button on his vambrace without dropping your grip, urging the kid’s shield to follow along behind him.

“Um, goodbye,” you just barely remember to tell Karga as Din begins leading you away, apparently not waiting for the polite farewells he arrived in time for.

“Wait!”  A voice calls out just before you can make your exit, and Din pauses just in time for Karga to extend that damned fifth puck out for you to grab.  Right in fucking front of him.  “Can’t forget this!”

Fuck.  Great.  Thanks.

Blood rushes to your face while you go to reach for it, taking the puck and then placing it in the open shield along with four others in a way that you hope is casual but you know isn’t.  You close the lid on it and then squeeze Din’s hand slightly, but he stays rooted to the spot for a few more seconds, having watched the entire exchange play out.  Though you obviously wouldn’t be able to read his facial expressions even if you could lift your head to look up at him, you can’t will yourself to do so right now.  You’re too disappointed in yourself and nervous—you just stand there silently as he looks back at Karga, staring at your feet and praying he doesn’t do anything brash.

After too many moments of uncertainty, you squeeze his hand again and slowly begin to pull on it.  Without needing much pressure at all, he goes where you go, and you end up being the one to lead Din out of the cantina by the hand still tangled with yours.

*** 

The walk back to the Crest lasts an eternity.

Neither one of you say anything at all to each other the entire way there, and you know he’s not mad at you yet, but you’re worried.  You feel incredibly self-critical right now and it’s really not helping that he seems even quieter and more wound up than usual.  You don’t know if it’s because he already figured out that you just handed him extra work or if it’s because whatever made him late to the cantina also altered his mood, hit a reset button and reminded him of the way he used to be, the armor he’s wearing.  Was there a confrontation, you wonder?  Is he okay?  He seems like he’s… extra Mandalorian right now, there’s not really a better way to describe it.

He doesn’t drop your hand, though.  As you pass through the markets and shanty huts lining the streets, Din holds onto you.  Shoulders tense and strides heavy, but his fingers stay tangled in yours.

Regardless, you keep your mouth shut and eventually the Crest comes into view.  The ramp drops to the ground and the three of you make your way up, and you have enough foresight to carefully drop Din’s hand and lead the baby’s shield over to the unused cot built into the hull walls, closing him in a safe quiet place to sleep and continue building up his strength again.

You turn around to see Din press another button on his vambrace.  He stays with his back to you as the ramp slowly closes, but as soon as it latches up against the hull and locks into place, he nearly whips around and suddenly he’s right in front of you, gloves cupping your face.

“What happened?”  He asks sharply, the helmet looking you up and down.  “Are you alright?  Why did you look so scared?”

You reach up to rest your hands on his, blinking up at him and not knowing what to say.  How are you going to tell him?  He’s gotta waste extra fuel and time on a bullshit quarry because of you, what are you going to say?  You don’t even know if it’s last known location is nearby; he might have to fly to some remote, desolate corner of the galaxy just for a handful of credits because you couldn’t wait a fucking hour for him.

“I, uh…  I-I’m sorry, I just…”  But it’s nearly impossible to form a coherent thought when he’s this close to you and sounding fucking sincere, genuinely concerned about you while you’re stuck worrying about how to break the bad news to him.  “Oh, stars, um…”

“Did Karga fuck with you?”  He asks in that same sharp tone when you don’t finish your thought, but you’re so absorbed in your own conflict that you barely even hear him.  “Because I can go back right now, the cantina is just—”

“Okay wait, please—” You suddenly speak up, “before I tell you, just… please keep in mind that I did save your life two days ago, so…”

“Sweet girl,” Din rumbles slowly, a subtle warning for you to hurry up and spit it out.  His fingers tighten just slightly on your cheeks, still so gentle but needing you to communicate with him right now.

Tell him, you just need to tell him.  If he gets mad, then he gets mad, but at least he’ll know at that point and you won’t just be springing it on him out of nowhere.

“I fucked up,” you breathe out, eyebrows pulling up in the middle as you tighten your own grip on his hands.  “I’m so sorry, I fucked up and you were late and I got nervous and I didn’t wait long enough and I tried to make the exchange like you asked me to but then I had to take a fifth puck and I didn’t want to but Karga threatened to short change you next time around unless I agreed to take an extra one for the lowest pay just this once and I didn’t have any bargaining power and you showed up right after I agreed to the deal and I’m so so sorry—”

You cut yourself off with your own ragged gasp, not having paused once to breathe throughout the entire thing while your expression twisted up with regret more and more the longer he allowed you to speak.

Din stands there in front of you and doesn’t move, hands still attached to your face.

“Okay,” he eventually tells you.  Stunted words, like he’s trying extra hard to find them when yours just fell out of your mouth in a complete mess.  “It’s okay.  You did… good.”

The silence is tense and you’re becoming more and more anxious the longer he takes to speak.  He’s lying for your benefit, he must be.  When he drops his hands from your face and takes a full step back, you take the gesture as symbolic and nearly launch into panic.

“Maker, I’m so sorry I didn’t wait for—”  You start to say, but Din cuts you off.

“Did he make you…”  His back suddenly goes a little straighter, voice finding a quiet edge through the modulator as his fingers subtly twitch at his sides, “…Uncomfortable?”

You pull back at the sudden change in subject and furrow your eyebrows.

“Who, Karga?”  You have to think about it.  Did he make you uncomfortable, or were you just uncomfortable already?  You might’ve just been scared because you were making it scarier than it really was, you can admit that’s a valid possibility.  “Um… no?  I don’t know, not… not really, I don’t think.”

“No?”  He asks, taking a small step forward.  “You don’t know?  Or not really… you don’t think?”

You know you can only see the blade of his visor, but something makes you feel like you’re looking right in his eyes.  You even go back and forth between where you’re pretty confident each one is, trying to read his intentions right now.  It’s like he’s purposefully trying to keep space between you even though he looks like he wants to move closer, fisting his hands at his sides when he looks like he wants to touch you.

“No, he just… lowballed me towards the end of it and I got intimidated, but I’m also not…”  Your expression narrows in concentration while you try to find the words to explain yourself, wanting to be as honest as possible with him.  “I don’t know, I’m not like you.  I’m not that strong, but I’m trying to get better.  I think he was probably just being normal.  He did offer me alcohol a bunch, but I’m pretty sure he also did that last time, so—”

“And I didn’t like it the last time he did it,” Din says quietly, taking another small step forward.

You blink up at him, completely dumb.  This is what’s bothering him?  Is he really not upset with you at all for giving him more work?  It’s like the major fuckup on your behalf just went in one side of the helmet and out the other, he barely even acknowledged it other than the role Karga played.  He said it’s okay and you did good, which are like… five of the most common words in Galactic Basic, a Wookiee could probably find a way to say them.  How are you supposed to take that?  Were you just overthinking this whole thing from the very beginning?  You know anxiety tends to be irrational by definition, but has none of your panic from the past hour been justified whatsoever?

“Why were you so late?”  You ask him, but it’s not accusatory in the slightest.  It’s… concerned, worried about his well-being without having a real reason.  He’s clearly more than fine right now, he’s like a hurricane enclosed in metal and holding still in front of you.  Too much potential energy just waiting for a reason to be released, too much tension held tight and ready to snap.

“I’m sorry.”  He quickly reaches out to grab your hand and squeeze it, before dropping it just as quickly.  Fucking lightning quick, you’ll never understand how he can be so damn quick with all that extra weight strapped to him.  “It took longer than I thought it would and she’s not really someone you can rush.”  His response, ironically, feels very rushed, like he’s trying to address the tangent but also keep things on track, but something in the answer he gives catches your direct attention.  “Did he flirt with you?”

“Who is she and what can’t be rushed?”  You blurt at the same time, not even taking a split second to think about it.

Din stops short at the blunt question, staring at you in a silence that feels like it’s vaguely taken aback.

After a few moments of that… strangeness, of the two of you realizing that you’re both feeling slightly possessive over each other for absolutely no reason whatsoever, you start to feel… warm.  In another weirdly stupid, primitive way.  You know that letting those kinds of thoughts have their day in a relationship isn’t a good thing, but you can’t explain it.  Some deep-seated, prehistoric instinct inside you just goes fucking nuts whenever he gets in either provider or protector mode.  Now you understand exactly why he wanted to get you alone after you admitted to being jealous once before.  You totally fucking get it, you’re right there with him right now.  He hasn’t said anything, but you think he feels it, too.

“She makes things,” Din finally answers you, careful with his words and somehow managing to address your question while also sidestepping it, leaving you with only the smallest bit of information to go off of.  “Did he flirt with you?”

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly.  “Maybe.  He could’ve just been trying to be friendly.  What did she make for you?”

“She made it for you,” he responds, again not really answering the question but continuing to juggle two separate conversations for your benefit.  “Did he scare you?”

“For me?”  You ask, eyebrows shooting upwards.  Provider, that stupid cavewoman DNA whispers to your lower body, making your voice go a little breathless.  “You asked her to make something for me?”

“Did he scare you?”  Din repeats sternly, grabbing your hand and giving it a firm squeeze.  “Because I can go back, I swear—”

Protector, it whispers this time, and your knees nearly buckle.

“Everything is scary when I don’t know where you are,” you admit to him, knowing it’s the truth regardless of how self-deprecating it sounds.  The only times you’ve ever truly been brave was because of him or the kid.  Stabbing a Corellian and then immediately flying the Crest out to him afterwards, walking through a pitch black forest believing a dangerous criminal was hiding in it, dragging a dead body through snow and shoving it into carbonite, standing up for yourself and pushing a deal through when odds were stacked against you.  Though it’s nothing to him, it’s nothing, it’s leaps for you.  You’re slowly learning to find a backbone, and he’s the one inspiring it.

Din holds there for a moment, unmoving with his hand still clutching yours.  You can’t get a read on him but you know how you feel right now.  Achy.  Hot.  Needy.  Wanting him to come closer.

“Will you do something for me?”  He asks you after a prolonged silence.  His voice is quiet, but… incredibly restrained.  Controlled chaos—his body is rigid and he’s flexing muscles that aren’t necessary for just standing, feeling like a sprinter holding still on the starting blocks.

“Of course,” you breathe out.

Din lets go of your hand and tilts his helmet over at the corner of the hull behind you.  “Go turn around and face that wall.”

You freeze, immediately recognizing the undertone in his voice.  Heat ladles deep into the pit of your tummy, sends warmth pooling downwards.  He wants to do this here?  Right now?

“We’re—” you look around the enclosed hull, “Mando, we’re not in hyperspace, we haven’t even left the surface yet…”

He looks around too, taking a second to blankly take in his stagnant surroundings like he had absolutely fucking no idea, before turning back to you and not saying a word.  Maker, everything below your waist is already stirring, twisting hot and deep inside, but you’re trying to be the voice of reason for a second.

“What if somebody hears us?”  You whisper, and Din cocks his head to the other side.

“I can help you stay quiet,” he murmurs, and… fuck.  You don’t know what it means, but you immediately imagine his hand held tight over your mouth while he takes some of this stress out on you and you already feel yourself wilting at the thought.  Okay.

“Okay,” you breathe without needing anything else at all, before spinning around and standing exactly where he told you to.  It’s just a corner near the back of the hull, nothing else here to look at besides two metal panels meeting at a right angle, but that’s admittedly what makes your heart start beating quicker.  You can’t see him come up behind you but you can feel it.  Slow, measured, but so restrained.

But then he stops almost immediately, before the back of your shirt is suddenly being yanked upwards and you remember at the very last second.

Din carefully grips his blaster and then eases it out of your waistband, the metal sliding warm along your skin from pressing against it for so long.  You never told him you took it with you, and he’s so fucking quiet behind you.  You have no idea how he’s reacting to that piece of information you originally didn’t think twice about.

“Do you like carrying my gun around?”  Din’s voice murmurs soft through the modulator to you, but then the blaster is tossed uselessly to the side, skittering loudly across the floor of the hull.

“Yes,” you reply, beginning to shyly turn your head back to look at him, hoping to gauge his response.

“Don’t turn around,” he quickly interrupts you, pushing your shoulder back into position and keeping you facing the corner.  You blink at the metal walls in a bit of a daze but follow instructions regardless, feeling your heart pound at the sudden display of dominance from him.  He has a very valid reason for it and you don’t realize what it is until a few seconds later, but even if he didn’t and he was just telling you what to do for the fun of it… you’d still like it.

But then his helmet is carefully being lowered over your head and you shudder as your vision is replaced with a familiar black abyss.  Fuck, his helmet, why does he like it so much when you wear this?  Admittedly, you don’t have much time to contemplate—as soon as it’s fitted and secure, he spins you around and you have to just do your best to maintain your balance, not having any visual to help.

“Can you hear me?”  Din asks, and your clothes start to be ripped off of you.  Your shoulders tip sideways with how quick he is about it, feeling him pull the fabric off and hearing the soft sound it makes landing on the floor.

“Yes,” you tell him, but he doesn’t respond, continuing to strip you completely naked in the hull.  Once your upper body is bare and he’s yanking your pants and underwear down your legs, you try saying it again as you step out of them, louder for him this time.

“I can’t hear you,” his voice grunts after a moment.  You know he’s in front of you but you can’t really tell where, now that he’s not touching you.  “Scream.”

You take a second, not having hard evidence anymore but still very well aware that you’re parked close to a marketplace on Nevarro and multiple people are nearby while you’re wearing his helmet.  This is dangerous for him, and not sure if you should, but then an arm is wrapping around your back and a large leather palm rests directly over your chest.  Din repeats his last word very slowly and clearly for you, waiting to feel it under his hands.

Your sternum lifts while it rises with your deep breath and then collapses as you diligently yell as loud as you can into the helmet, feeling like you might deafen yourself with the trapped sound.

“Good,” he growls, suddenly spinning you around and pushing you back into the metal paneling.  “I can’t hear you, be as loud as you need.  Hit me or something, put up a fight if you want me to stop, alright?”

Arousal rockets through you and you let out a moan already, taking advantage of the noise suppression and beyond turned on at this point.  You feel like you’re buzzing with it, lit up with excitement and wondering with bated breath what he’s planning to do to you.

“Alright?”  Comes his voice from behind you once more, and you quickly jerk the heavy helmet in a nod for him.  You can put up a fight and you know he’ll stop, you don’t have any problem with that and the fact that he specifically made sure to wait until he knew you understood him makes you start to pant inside the hollow beskar.

But then you feel him flick a small switch at the base of the helmet and then everything abruptly cuts out and goes dead silent.

Nothing.  Nothing.  You’re standing in a pitch black room where no other sound exists besides your own labored breathing.  Just like the waterfall on Naboo, but you can’t speak this time.  Temporarily making you blind, deaf, and putting a proverbial gag over your mouth all with one powerful piece of armor.

You shudder and he kicks your legs apart before you can do much else, yanking your hips back while you just try your best to cling to the wall for stability.  You don’t know what he’s going to do, you’re completely isolated in here and the only way you can even tell he dropped to his knees is the hot glide of his tongue through your pussy from behind.

Oh fuck—you arch into position as best you can while hands wrap around your ankles to pull them apart, trying to make the angle better.  His tongue licks softly over your clit and each time is like an electric shock jolting through your body, making you twitch back and up for him, stretching and begging him to do it again.  You can’t see anything right now so your mind readily imagines the visuals instead, providing you with a third party view.  Din, fully clothed and face shielded by your thighs, eating you out from behind while you brace yourself against the wall, completely naked and at his mercy, head tilted down from the weight of his helmet and living for the moments he decides to drag his tongue across your clit.

Without warning, a sudden burst of sensation ripples along your backside and causes you to lift the beskar in surprise, but without being able to hear anything, it takes you a second to figure out that he just smacked your ass.  The realization comes more or less at the exact time he decides to flatten his tongue and follow the curve of you back and up.

You gasp into the pitch black and there’s a moment where you just hold utterly still for him, experiencing and processing the sensation for the very first time.  His mouth is soft and warm as he tastes you here, his fingers digging into the swell of your cheeks to spread you open.  You’re glad your face is hidden so he can’t see the shock in your expression, the way your mouth drops and your eyes close as you let him explore you this way.

His gloved hands leave you for just a moment while he continues gliding his tongue against you, along every single bit of skin he can reach, and then you feel a bare hand reach up between your legs and begin to rub slow circles around your clit.  His other arm pushes against your lower back and you’re forced into the corner even more, your naked breasts pressing hard against cool metal and feeling his hot mouth and strong fingers work you closer to the edge from behind.

You’re panting into the helmet, your hips arching back to feel that stimulation on your clit better, and as his fingers move over it slow and strong, you feel a soft vibration against your skin and you realize he’s moaning into you.  The knowledge sparks a different kind of heat through you and makes you suddenly go still and tense right here.  If he stays just like this for even just a few more seconds, you’re going to cum.

“Din, I’m gonna cum,” your voice warbles inside the enclosed steel—just as his touch decides to abandon your body.  You groan loudly in distress, completely alone without his hands or mouth on you anymore, but all he likely hears is the silence of the hull and the way your palm smacks against the wall with it.  You were so close, everything feels like it’s pulled up so tight and painful and it hurts—

A hand clutches your hip and then a thick cock is suddenly pushing up against your soaking wet entrance, going to alleviate that twisting discomfort.  Your eyes roll back and your whole body goes limp as he slowly eases forward and breaks you open, fitting himself deep inside where you love to feel him most.  Your hands claw down the walls with a swell of bliss as he pulls out and then starts thrusting—and fuck, you love this.  You love the way he’s trapping you up against the corner and making you see stars at the same time, the way he’s supporting your weight but crushing down into you, too.  It makes you go boneless and want to riot simultaneously, groaning loud into the quiet abyss as he gives you what you both desperately needed.

One of his hands sinks down between your legs to play with your clit again, while a slick finger presses up against your ass and you gasp as he slowly penetrates you there, too.  Din’s hips work steady and powerful behind you, pushing you into the wall with every desperate thrust, using the arm shoved between your legs to support you as well as stimulate, and you just feel yourself move into a different place.  You don’t have a name for it but it feels like hyperspace.  Silence so loud it feels suppressing, faster than anything light can touch, nowhere and everywhere, hurtling towards something you can’t see but know lies in the distance.  You can tell he’s still fucking the tension out of his body, you can feel him working another wet finger inside you and stretching the virgin muscles back there, but every sensation begins to slowly blur together in a wicked uprising of ecstasy.

You don’t know where you are anymore, just that his fingers keep rubbing your clit and you think he's trying to ease a third into you when your destination abruptly arrives.

You nearly collapse when you cum, contracting so hard around his cock and fingers that you cry out unexpectedly—and because of the helmet, you think it’s just as unexpected for him.  He stops moving—everything stops moving besides you.  Your hips stutter backwards into his stationary body, dragging your clit back and forth against the tips of his unmoving fingers and fucking him as best you can.  It shatters white hot and goes straight through to your soul, wringing pleasure and wetness between your legs in waves.

Your knees are knocking against each other when Din pulls out, his cock still deliciously hard and now soaking wet with your cum, and then they just suddenly decide to give up without warning.  You don’t fall necessarily, but you do slowly slide down the wall like a slug and Din follows you to the floor instead of holding you up any longer.  His sternum moves quick and heavy against your back as he breathes and then suddenly the same switch at the base of his helmet is flicked, and sound bursts into existence all at once.

He’s panting.  Harsh breaths behind you that match the rapid pace of his chest, and the ambient noise of the rest of the hull.

“Can you hear me?”  He gasps, sounding fucking wrecked, and you nod the helmet against the wall while gravity and exhaustion and his beskar chestplate squishes you into it.  “P-Put up a fight if you want me t-to stop, p-please—” he rasps out, almost the entire thing air and so close to cumming, and then his knees lift just slightly and the blunt head of his cock presses against your other entrance.

And, if you wanted, you absolutely could.  He’s got you boxed into the corner but he’s not constricting your movements, he’s given you every ability to struggle.  You could easily throw an elbow back against his side, push against the wall to shove him away, smack at his arms or even just flail against his body in panic—you could do one or all of those things to signal him to stop and you know he’d do it immediately, he’s asking you to.  You could struggle.  If you wanted.

Instead, you just grab hold of the beskar strapped to his thigh and drop the helmet to your chest, nearly vibrating with the thrill and preparing yourself for it.  You know he’s gotta be inches away from orgasm, you know from the tone of his voice that he’s right there on the edge and it’s not like it’s going to last a long time.  Thanks to him, you also feel like you’re just as slick and wet back there as you are between your legs, stretched open by his fingers while you came all over him.  You want nothing more than to give this to him, to let him be the only person in the universe that knows how you feel this way.

When you pointedly do not put up a fight and even go so far as to arch your lower back for him in presentation, Din curses and his fingers begin jerking back and forth over your sensitive clit once more.  It might normally be too much for you, but your body is sparking with lust and quickly acclimates to the stimulation, learning to burn and ache for it, too.  Fuck, it feels so good, you tense and melt into it at the same time, letting him ease you back up to that peak once more.

He pushes up against the tight ring of skin and you can’t fucking explain it—his fingers keep rubbing your clit and he’s slowly pushing into your ass and—

“I—I think I’m—” you suddenly lift the helmet to gasp out in surprise, forgetting he can’t hear you, “ngh—D-Din, I think I’m gonna c—”

He’s just barely able to breach the tight entrance and fit the head inside before he freezes—and even though everything happens consecutively, it’s all so rapid that it feels simultaneous.

Your hips could go forward, but they don’t.  Your body decides to send you backwards into him, pushing him inside nearly halfway all at once as your muscles lock down and just fucking strangle his cock.  Your piercing scream gets trapped in the silence of his helmet as you cum once more—painfully, madly and with every fucking part of you for him.  There’s maybe one or two mind shattering pulses of ecstasy before the rest of your body catches up and starts convulsing, and by then Din is already gasping and fumbling behind you, suddenly realizing what’s happening without hearing the sound of your ragged warnings and then ripping himself away just in time.

He punches out your name when he cums like you just fucking snapped him in half—his body hunches and the beskar digs hard into your back as warmth starts splattering along your skin.  You crumple while he shoves his hips up against your spine, riding and working the orgasm out of himself while yours just fucking obliterates you.  You think you whine his name—or a curse word or something, but it gets strained and your lungs lose air every time his powerful armored body humps you into the wall of his ship.

Finally he eases up and you just lay there and listen to the ringing in your ears.  Blissfully empty, still pulsing from cumming so hard and feeling like your bones just decided to stop existing and the rest of you was okay with it since you were already on the floor anyways.  You feel him shudder and twitch behind you, letting go of that last bit of tension until he too allows gravity to slouch his heavy torso over onto you.

You both stay like that for a while, until your eyes close and your everything below your waist goes numb.  Eventually you feel him shift and your head bobbles as the helmet is slowly removed, but a large palm cradles your chin to stop your face from slamming into the wall in exhaustion once it’s off.  You just continue to melt into the paneling like you’re nothing more than goo of a human being while he trades it back to its rightful place on his shoulders and tucks his cock back into his pants, before wrapping his arms around you and lifting you both up.  The floor and metal walls, once feeling like you and them were one, suddenly decide to disappear entirely as you’re hauled up into Din’s powerful arms.

He slowly carries your naked, fucked senseless body over to the fresher, and you squint your eyes open over his shoulder to see… he’s still got his rifle slung around his back while his cum is dripping down yours.  Not a single thing on him is out of place and you’re, well… a mess is a word that works.  Limp and doll-like, carried like your weight is practically nothing to him after years of having the densest armor known to the galaxy strapped to his body.

Setting you down is a mess, too.  At some point you think he just gives up and decides to return you to your humble floor abode with a patience and care unexpected from someone who just defiled you so thoroughly.  You hear the fresher door open and the faucet squeak, before he turns back around and crouches to your level.

“Stay here,” Din tells you lowly, his modulated voice coming gentle and warm through the sounds of water raining down against metal.  You don’t feel his touch directly, but your hair moves away from your face.  “I’ll be right back, okay—just stay here.”

Can do.  Easy.  He waits until you murmur a soft mhm to him before he leaves the tiny compartment, and then you soon hear his heavy footsteps ascending the ladder to the cockpit.

***

You don’t think you fall asleep, but the powering up of the Crest’s thrusters make you realize your eyes were closed.  Opening them barely qualifies as a squint though; you look around to see steam slowly filling the fresher, the water already running hot and welcoming in the small room.

You know you need to shower but you’re so fucking exhausted, you feel like you can’t even move your body.  You also know you can just do the same exact thing in there as you’re doing in here, you just need to muster up the energy necessary to get inside it and then fall back asleep.  He set you down in the small little space outside the shower door and then got everything set up for you, you can at least stand up and take a few steps.

Unfortunately, you might pick just about the worst time possible to plant your hands on the ground and work to struggle upright on all fours like a newborn animal.  The steady rise through Nevarro’s atmosphere pushes gravity down harder than you’re expecting—is he trying to fly quickly or are you just that dead-limbed?—and then of course, by the time you do manage to fight it and successfully get on two wobbly legs to hold yourself up, the subtle shift of the hyperdrive kicking in nearly knocks you back down again.  You stumble and grab the walls, bracing yourself against them and looking down at your knees in exasperation.  Come on, work.  Move forward.  Come on.

You’re glad he’s not here to witness this monstrosity, honestly.  Just opening the door and taking a few steps into the fresher is a feat—while you’re not in any pain and he didn’t leave any marks on you, you just feel… steamrolled.  Ran over by a truck.  Only having the strength to keep your feet beneath you as you finally move under the water and close the door behind you.

Oh, but this is wonderful.  This was such a good idea, he’s so fucking smart.  The shower falls warm and lovely against your body, wetting your hair and immediately heating you down to your bones.  You don’t move really at all—you kinda just stand there and slouch, closing your eyes against the spray and slowly breathing the mist into your lungs.  It feels so nice—not really restorative even though you like that word, it would imply the water provides you with any energy whatsoever.  It just feels like a comfort, a relief and sedative for your already wildly fatigued body.

You haven’t been in here for more than a minute or two when knuckles tap gently against the metal walls of the fresher, before the natural bass of Din’s unmodulated voice murmurs from somewhere beyond it.  “Hey.  Keep your eyes closed.”

How did he know?  You figured you’d be way ahead of him.  You’re standing but slumped over, wanting nothing more than to just say fuck gravity and pass out right here.  The walls are too cold to lean against now that you’re all toasty from the heat and steam, so you’re just unconsciously swaying on your feet, trying to balance the precedence of sleeping versus not falling over.  You don’t even comprehend the sudden flip of the light switch overhead beyond the fact that it makes it easier to snooze without being so bright behind your eyelids.

The door eventually opens at the very same time you realize you never answered him, but you just commit to the silence at this point.  It’s easy, you like it.  Soon you feel warm hands touch your shoulders, slowly spinning you around while you follow and hang your head, your neck not wanting to support it any longer, and then suddenly a bare chest is pressing up against you and powerful arms are wrapping around your body, and you can just lean all of your weight into him while your head rests right here on his shoulder.

He holds you without moving for a long time, keeping you just like this—your ear pressed against his skin while water rains hot and comfortable down your back.  Knowing you’re facing one of the walls, you crack your heavy lids just the slightest bit and finally notice the tiny compartment is dim and shrouded—the only light source is a single one coming from somewhere in the hull beyond the partially closed doorway.  It’s dark and quiet and you can barely see anything besides the metallic fresher walls and unfocused droplets chasing each other down Din’s naked skin.  Just you and him, flowing water with a sheet metal backdrop.

You think you spend an eternity like that and yet you still find yourself wanting another when he finally shifts, reaching over you to grab a bar of his generic soap but making sure to use the arm whose shoulder you’re not currently resting against.

It glides slow and hypnotic down your back, dragging up over your sides and then back down the curve of your spine.  He’s so sturdy and he doesn’t say a word while he does it, lathering it along your body and rubbing it into your skin.  His bar of soap, not yours.  They started out almost the same since you picked them up at the same vendor, but there’s just a slightly bolder and sharper scent to his that you recognize.  How the bar is far larger than yours because of how often he’s gone away.

Your eyes droop and you feel the water trail over your lips, dripping down your chin and pooling the dip of his collarbone.  The only other time you two shared this fresher was terrifying and he’s rewriting the memories right now, whether consciously or not.  Hot water, not freezing cold.  Standing upright and supporting you.  Heart beating strong under your ear, taking care of you this time until you can care for yourself.

You… you just worry so much more now, it’s becoming an issue.  You didn’t realize how much until you nearly lost him, and you know in your heart that he’s just going to go away again.  Throw himself into more danger, tempt death as always, risk his life for mere credits while all you can provide in return is this.  Skin to skin contact.  Someone to hold.  Someone who knows him, who knows the way he struggles between reaching out for a softness that life has always denied him and clinging to what is rough and familiar.  Someone to remind him that there’s still gentle and forgiving things in this galaxy that won’t disappear when he’s gone, and that he can always come home to them, as long as he can manage to find his way back.

Something sad tugs hard at your chest.  You want to tell him not to leave.  Again, again—you want nothing more than to beg him to stay.  You don’t have anything better to offer instead; if he asked you how it would work, how you imagine your lives would go if he wasn’t hunting quarry on a constant timetable, you’d be hard-pressed.  You don’t know.  But you know what you want to say, because it’s two words you shouldn’t say but always find yourself needing to say regardless.  

Don’t go.

But, instead of two words, you give him three.

Instead of asking him not to leave you again… in the haze and comfort of his arms, you think you just tell him that you love him.

And… you also don’t think the water falling down on the two of you is loud enough to cover it up this time.

It’s not ideal, you know.  You know.  From his point of view, he just got finished releasing all sorts of pent up tension on you, overwhelming your body with the strength and power of his in a way that normal people wouldn’t take as an expression of affection.  But you know him.  You know that he finds it much easier to express the things he feels in a physical way, which is why there’s a bar of soap against your back right now instead of his voice in your ear, telling you all the things you’ve always wanted to hear from him in return.  You know that sex is how this all began and it’s likely just the closest link between roughness and sweetness that he can really put his hands on, something that can fit him equally as well as it fits you.  Love is different, it’s thrilling and scary.  Even to someone like him, who lives everyday of his life surrounded by thrilling and scary things, who’s seen more bloodshed and suffering and pain than you can ever even imagine, you know that it’s scary.

Din doesn’t say anything back to your confession, and truthfully, not a single part of you was expecting him to.  It wasn’t said so he could say it back.  It just is.  Some things don’t need explanations, they just are.  You’re okay with that.

But, you eventually come to realize that he always waits until you’re just on the very edges of sleep, holding out until your blurry vision and fading consciousness can trick you into thinking you only imagined it.  You won’t ever figure out if it’s purposeful or if he just needs that long to find what he wants to say.

Another soft, lilting sentence in a language you wouldn’t be able to translate, even if you could pick out a single word.  It sounds so beautiful though, regardless of how mysterious and far away its meaning feels.  There’s something hidden underneath.  You ache to know what it is.

But you’re so tired.  You just whine softly against his shoulder, not being able to transform the thoughts into sentences anymore but hoping he understands regardless.  He can’t just resort to bearing his soul in Mando’a all the time now, especially when you’re always on the verge of sleep when he chooses to do so.

But at some point, his arms subtly tighten around you and the pressure is one of the only things that’s keeping you awake anymore.

“I won’t ever ask you to,” he says to you, the quietness of his baritone getting lost in the gentle spray and your looming slumber.  “I’m…  not allowed to ask.  I can’t.”

Your expression twitches just the slightest bit against his shoulder in confusion, wondering distantly what word or sentence you must’ve missed from before that would make him make sense.  Was that a translation?  Or a continuation?

But then your wet hair is slowly moved away from your nape and his head tilts down, face pressing into your neck and voice lowering until it’s nothing more than a breath against your skin, nothing more than a confession that he couldn’t ever say out loud with his full chest.  It’s a secret he only ever wants you to know, a truth he’s choosing to admit to even though you could ruin him with it.  You have no idea how much, you won’t know for a long time just how much power he’s giving you by telling you this one very simple thing.

“But whenever you want to look,” Din finally whispers, the only version of I love you too that a Mandalorian knows.  “You can.”

[tarydarrington]

Veth doesn’t know who she’d expected to be waiting on the other side of the knock at the door, but if she’d had to guess, Essek Thelyss wringing his hands like a worried grandmother would have been near the bottom of her list.

“Oh,” she says. “Hi?”

He bobs his head, almost more a quick bow than a nod, tenting his fingers in front of his chest. “Good afternoon,” he says, with the distinct cadence of someone who has repeated the words to himself in the mirror all morning. “I hope you are well?”

“I’m all right,” Veth answers haltingly.

The two of them stand there for a moment, awkward silence hanging between them. Then, finally, Essek gives her a nervous smile.

“I do not wish to impose, but, ah…” He gestures past her. “May I enter?”

“Yeah. Sure.” She steps aside, and Essek gives her a grateful nod before walking - walking? - past her into the living room. “Take a seat, if you like.”

He takes the invitation, perching gingerly onto the very edge of the armchair they keep for their larger-sized guests. Veth follows him in, shutting the door behind her and wondering if this isn’t all a very strange dream. Essek barely meets her gaze as she circles around to stand before him. She leans forward, narrowing her eyes.

"What is this? Why are you being weird? Did something happen? Did Caleb die?"

"No!" Essek reins in his volume, pressing his palms together in apology. "No, certainly not. It is simply…"

Veth raises her eyebrows to prompt him.

"Well, I, ah…" His fingers draw little circles in the air, as though he can pull the words out like a spell. "I have read that it is custom in the Empire to request the blessing of a guardian if one wishes to…" The pained look on his face stretches even further. "Court."

Veth blinks at him. He’s serious. He has to be. That face, all pinched up towards the middle, reminds her of the way the neighbor boy looked when he admitted to breaking her dining room window. It looks absolutely absurd on the former Shadowhand.

"Well, I'm sure he would be flattered, but even with the slower aging, Luc's a little young for you."

She can practically see the joke fly over his head. "No," Essek blurts hurriedly, eyes blown wide with mortification. Veth might have laughed if she didn't feel a bit guilty. "No, I…" He brings one hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezing shut, and she suspects he's rooted out the sarcasm.

"If you're talking about Caleb," she says as a peace offering, "I'm certainly not his mother."

"No." Essek presses his palms together again, this time in his lap. "I have considered ways to make a meaningful gesture regarding his parents, but…"

He shakes his head. Veth can fill in the blanks. She wouldn't want the beginning of a new relationship to be tangled up in past trauma, either.

"So," he continues. "I had thought, perhaps, that as his closest friend, you might be a suitable alternative."

Well, that’s… She isn’t sure if it’s flattering, exactly, but she’ll accept the show of respect. She takes a moment to scrutinize him as he watches her apprehensively. Essek and Caleb. Caleb and Essek. It makes a certain kind of sense. Once, years ago, she might have railed against it; despite his growth, it’s still difficult sometimes to look at Essek and see anything other than her husband’s former jailer.

But lately, these last few years, Veth has been at home. She’s been with her family, the most important people in the world to her, and Caleb… well, he’s been off on his own adventures. And without Veth there to look after him, it’s been on Essek’s shoulders to make sure he comes back from said adventures alive and whole. Which he has, so far, without fail.

And that look Essek is giving her, as though if she says no, it might actually dissuade him?

"First of all," she begins with a sigh, "you’re not at court. You’re not courting. You're dating."

At the look of confusion on Essek's face, she takes a deep breath.

"You'll take him to have a meal together, or to see a play, or to watch a lecture. Don't do the lecture thing, that's a bad idea. That would be a terrible date." She pauses. "Although, with you two, maybe."

She can tell from the look on his face that she's losing him, so she waves her hands. "Nevermind that. Disregard all of that. The point is, you'll take him to nice places and do enjoyable things together."

Essek shifts uncomfortably. “I… don’t know if I can do that,” he admits. “I cannot be seen outside of the confines of his home or areas outside of the Empire.”

Veth frowns. “Well, you’re going to have to take him somewhere. You have disguises, right?”

Essek seems to consider it. “I do,” he says. “I suppose it would be worth a small risk, from time to time.”

“You’re darn right,” Veth agrees. “And don’t skimp, either. Caleb deserves the best.”

Essek nods entirely too seriously, as though he’s filing all this away in his mind. Veth makes a mental note to pester him with a progress report in about six months’ time.

Not one too rigorous, though. It’s hard to imagine prodding at him for entertainment’s sake when he looks so pathetic.

“Is there anything else?” he asks tentatively, when the silence persists.

“Well, let’s see.” She runs a finger over her chin, theatrically deep in thought. She already knows her answer. “Do you care for him?”

“Of course.” The sincerity on his face almost makes her feel bad about this. “More deeply than I have ever cared for anyone.”

She shouldn’t ask. It’s probably not something he’s discussed with Caleb himself, yet, if they’re only just now getting together. It would be prying, even for her. “Do you love him?” she asks, anyway.

A little, lost smile turns up one corner of Essek’s lips, and it’s almost a whisper when he replies, “How could I not?”

A pang of something that has never quite left Veth’s heart smarts for the first time in years, and she looks away with a matching smile.

When she and Caleb had been traveling with the others, people tended to hem and haw when she brought up how amazing Caleb was. They thought he was talented, sure, but it sometimes felt like none of the others could see the unquenchable light in him. But looking at Essek’s face, at the way his eyes are shining, Veth can’t help but think that maybe, finally, somebody gets it.

"Alright." She reaches out, and before he can flinch away, pats his hand. "You've convinced me. You have earned my permission to have regular sex with my adult, human son."

“I…” His brow furrows. “Truly?”

“Yeah, go nuts.” She waves a hand dismissively. “Caleb’s a grown adult. He can make his own choices, and if he’s choosing you, then good for both of you.”

Essek blinks at her like she’s just handed him a full pardon from the Bright Queen.

“I mean, obviously, if you hurt him, you will have all of us to answer to,” she says. “But you’re the guilt guy, so I think you’ll probably have yourself to answer to, first.”

"I…" He clasps his hands together. "I expected more… what is the word? Pushback.”

Veth braces her hands on her hips. “You know what? Fjord and Jester didn’t even tell me they were dating until I literally saw them kissing, and Beau and Yasha were barely better.” She jabs a finger towards Essek’s chest, ignoring the way he startles at the movement. “So you have just made it to the top of the Winter’s Crest card list.”

Essek presses his steepled fingers against his mouth, but not before Veth catches the bashful smile spreading there.

“Thank you,” he says. “Truly, I… This means a great deal.”

“Heck yeah, my blessing’s worth a lot,” she replies with a grin. “You know what? Tell Fjord that. He doesn’t have my blessing. I’m gonna make him work for it.”

This time the joke doesn’t pass him by, and she can read in his small smile that he’s grateful for the show of familiarity.

“I should hope he will rise to the occasion,” he says, and Veth gets the feeling he isn’t just talking about Fjord.