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jamminvroomvroom · 6 months

Text

777.

ln x fem!reader

in which lando has a wild week in vegas

on a bit of a roll whoops! had to write something slutty for vegas week/lando’s birthday so here it is! enjoy my loves and please please pleeeeease tell me what you think! 🎲💘 have literally been thinking about this since vegas was announced and i couldn’t stop listening to silk sonic lol

posting this with the @lavenderlando seal of approval 🫡��

inspired loosely by 777 by silk sonic

warnings: 18+ minors dni i am so serious!! listen it’s smut. it’s a lot lot lot of smut. alcohol, swearing, fuckboy!lando, one night stand vibes, choking, unprotected sex, general sex acts, some kinky shit, fluff, minor angst bc lando is a moody little shit

5k words

lando had gotten used to the taste of champagne.

the golden bubbles had grown on him over the course of the season, they tasted like success. so, he didn’t protest when several magnums showed up at the round table, some ridiculous happy birthday remix being blasted over the casino speakers.

it was the night of his 24th birthday, and the drinks hadn’t stopped flowing. he was surrounded by his friends, max and ash joining him, as well as the drivers that had arrived in vegas. the crisp white sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows by now, midnight fast approaching, the material half unbuttoned.

they’d started the night in a bar, drowning in a river of alcohol, and now they were in a casino, one of many on the strip. it was all a bit predictable, kitschy decor everywhere he looked since he’d arrived in las vegas, but that’s what made it iconic. the tackiness seemed to mesh well with the old money vibe, and lando knew this would be a birthday to remember.  

everything was mahogany, gold or red. nothing didn’t twinkle in the lights. his suit jacket was slung over his shoulder, curls messy already from the light breeze of november in the desert. his cheeks were champagne rosy, the alcohol going straight to his head and he felt so fucking good.

everyone toasted to the birthday boy, slot machines rattling in the background. lando didn’t usually enjoy this sort of environment, but he was too drunk to care, deciding to embrace the insanity of his life and live on the edge for one night.

he found himself hunched over a gaming table, fingers drumming against the green felt. his eyes scanned the embroidery, taking in the game that was being played. blackjack, he assumed. this really wasn’t his type of place.

by then, as if by some sort of divine intervention, it was.

a flash of red. a swish of hair. manicured nails on a martini glass.

suddenly blackjack seemed like the best fucking game in the world.

lando couldn’t look away from you.

you were stood right opposite him, drink in hand, red satin draping over every curve of your frame. the dress seemed to cover everything, and nothing at all, perfect for the environment you were in. it was daring, enticing, and lando sure liked being enticed.

from the very second he laid eyes on you, he was picturing what you’d look like against a clean, white bedspread, how his name would sound rolling off your tongue in the form of a desperate whimper. it was a crude thought, but he’d become a crude man.

things had changed a lot since his last breakup. he was messy, leaving a trail of clothes and kisses across every country he stepped foot in. he didn’t get off on the number of people he’d slept with, he got off on the rush of someone new, and he knew before he’d even touched down in vegas, a week earlier than he needed to, that this would probably be the messiest week of his life.

but then he saw you, and it felt weird. he didn’t just want to learn your name and bend you over the nearest surface, gone from your bed before the sun was even in the sky. he was addicted at first sight; he had to take you home, at the very least.

his fixation on you was broken by the dealers voice; it seemed like you were up to play next and you needed at least another player. lando’s eyes flitted back to you, wondering if he even knew how to play blackjack before he offered himself up to you on a glaring shiny platter. you took the decision away from him, because this time, you were staring right back at him.

internally, he was choking on air. externally, he was mentally undressing you with a filthy smirk on his face.

“wanna play, birthday boy?” you smiled coyly, an eyebrow quirked seductively. he could have fallen right to his knees at just the sound of your voice. sweet and spicy.

lando realised that you’d seen the embarrassing display the boys had put on for him. maybe you even knew who he was. he definitely wanted to know who you were, and that’s why he decided to give in to your electric stare.

“you’re on.”

he lost.

every. single. game.

numbers were never lando’s thing.

it was hard to care, though, when he had you sprawled out on the desk of his hotel room, his lips all over your neck.

the walk from the casino up to his room had been short, a bottle of champagne in his left hand and the curve of your ass in his right. there’d been very little small talk, very little convincing needed to seduce you, not with the way you’d been eye-fucking from opposite sides of the table, cards laid bare before you both.

he’d kissed you in the elevator, sloppy and desperate, pressed you against the door to his suite, and quickly pinned you to the other side of it once you were finally inside. you tasted like fruit liquor and cigarettes, your dress slowly bunching at your hips as his hands roamed the silky material. lando was restless, craving everything you had to offer, so he picked you up effortlessly, spreading his palms across the back of your thighs.

it had been a short walk to the desk from the door, and he placed you down carefully. lando slid the dress up your thighs, his finger grazing your calf as he did. you were arching into him, pushing his jacket off his frame and frantically tugging at the buttons of his dress shirt until it was hanging undone off his shoulders.

the look in your eyes sent his blood rushing, frenzied and desperate for him as much as he was for you. taking your jaw in his hand, he tilted your chin towards him until you were looking up at him through your lashes. lando tucked your hair behind your ear, continuing to graze down your neck until he reached the flimsy strap of your dress.

“are you gonna let me have you?” his grip on your jaw tightened and he studied your face.

he gulped when your lips twisted into a smile, conniving, dangerous, red lipstick smudged deliciously. you hadn’t caved into his touch, fallen into submission, and suddenly lando was swimming way out of his depth.

it seemed he’d finally met his match.

you pushed him away, giggling as he stumbled backwards towards the bed, and stood from your place on the desk. slowly, you made your way towards him, until you’d backed him up all the way to the foot of the bed, at which point he collapsed. he scrambled up onto his elbows, smirking up at you.

your eyes raked over his frame, swollen lip caught between your teeth. he looked disheveled in the best way, shirt framing lean sun kissed skin.

slowly, you unzipped your dress, letting it fall off your frame. the material pooled at your feet and you stepped out of it carefully, kicking it away. lando had moved up the bed so that he was sitting against the headboard, watching you hungrily. you were left bare, aside from a lacy thong and red stilettos. lando could have cried tears of joy.

happy fucking birthday.

lando’s eyes lit up like 777 had spun onto a slot machine. he may have lost at blackjack but he’d definitely hit the jackpot.

you crawled onto the bed towards him, not stopping until you were sat on his lap. his hands scaled your thighs, stroking up and down the soft skin. you rolled your hips, experimenting, toying with him, and he groaned, low and loud.

“does this answer your your question?” you whispered, leaning into him so that you could loop your arms around his neck.

lando kissed you, slow and sloppy, sitting up even further just to feel you closer. he could feel your nipples brushing against his bare chest, low whines breaking through the kiss your shared every time you felt too sensitive. your bodies were rolling together in unison, friction building nicely between your legs.

he was growing impatient, itching to get rid of the remaining barriers between you. lando held you still, tight, flipping you both over so that he was hovering over you. his lips worked your neck, hickeys littered down your neck and over your collarbone, while his hands moved down your body. he toyed with the band of your thong, snapping the material against your waist.

lando left you there, keening for his touch, while he peeled his shirt off. his trousers went next, along with his boxers, and then he was right back where he’d left off. your panties disappeared in a flash, his kisses punctuated by a splotchy purple mark sucked below your left breast.

and then he was buried between your legs, licking stripes into you like he was starving. he moaned into your pussy when he felt the first pull on his hair, spurring him on. he applied more pressure, taking it slow, revelling in the way you tugged harder and harder with every swipe. lando slid two fingers through your folds, coating them in your slick.

when he slid the digits inside of you, his mouth latched onto your clit, flicking against it relentlessly. he found the perfect rhythm, balance, everything he was doing made you see stars behind your eyelids. you were thrashing, helpless, and he was getting off on it.

you jaw went slack when you raised yourself onto your elbows just to find him grinding against the mattress, groaning into your cunt at the sensation, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. you couldn’t even hold yourself up then, dropping into the mattress as you fell apart beneath him.

lando resurfaced a few moments later, a glint in his eyes, his mouth glistening in the dim light. your vision was hazy, body shattered, but you ached for more of him. the feeling only intensified, your legs tightening around his waist, when he raised his coated fingers to his lips, lapping up every last drop of you. his tongue swirled around his digits lewdly, and you shuddered.

lando didn’t mind at all when you pushed him onto his back, clambering on top of him. you looked wild, animalistic even, as you guided the tip of his cock through your folds, and he folded his arms behind his head to enjoy the view. once you’d slicked him up, not that he really needed it, you sunk down on him.

fingerprints stained your hips; his grip on you increased tenfold as you adjusted around him, your walls throbbing around his swollen cock. lando sucked in a harsh breath through his teeth, holding you down on him. your movements were stuttering, trying to hold yourself together and ignore the way he fit inside you so damn perfectly. you tested the waters, rolling your hips a few times, and his eyes rolled back in his skull.

you felt heavenly, like velvet and butterflies.

he lost all sense of control, every fibre keeping him from wrecking you. his grip didn’t loosen when he fucked up into you, bending his knees for any extra leverage he could get. your nails scraped down his chest, his abs, dripping at the way he tensed under your touch. you tried your best to keep up with him, to meet his thrusts, holding your own for longer than you thought you would.

and then you were folding, melting into his chest, one of his hands pulling both of your behind your back, holding you down as he fucked you into your orgasm. your whines were panted right into his ear, sending him hurtling towards his own high.

lando couldn’t help himself, spilling into you, your body pressed helplessly into his. you were exhausted, wrecked, grinning lazily against the thrumming of his heartbeat.

with your hands held behind your back, you couldn’t stop him from planting you on your back, snaking down your body, burying his tongue deep inside you. the room was filled with the sound of sex, his tongue dragging over you like you were the last meal on earth and he was ravenous. he cleaned up the mess he’d made quickly, sounds that would make the population of sin city blush bouncing off the walls.

your vision was white, maybe your were screaming, it was hard to know what was going on when he had you about ready to ascend. when you fell over the edge, you were boneless, at one with the bed. you watched as he licked his lips, flopping onto the bed beside you.

he stroked your hair and you hummed, content and satiated.

lando didn’t dare look away from you while you came down.

apparently, it was rare to wake up after a wild night in vegas and remember the events of the night before.

lando remembered everything.

the exact shade of your eyes, the feel of red satin and black lace, the way you tasted.

your lips on his skin, hips in his hands, the way you moulded pliantly to his touch.

the way you gave as good as you got.

he was smiling before he’d even opened his eyes, reaching blinding across the bed, ready to propose round… four? five? lando had lost count.

warm hands met cold sheets and suddenly he was wide awake.

lando sat up dead straight, searching for a sign of life in the room. there was none. no shoes on the floor, no dress to match, no thong hanging from the door handle. a pit formed in his stomach.

is this how he made people feel?

waking up alone after the best sex of his life and no trace of the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on was quite miserable.

he thudded back into the mattress, hands shielding his eyes from the burn of daylight. he felt like shit, that was undeniable. when he’d fallen asleep, naked and with you nestled into his side, he couldn’t wait to wake up, perhaps arrogantly thinking that you’d be waking up with him. what was that saying, again?

hope breeds eternal misery.

his brain was wracked with the image of you and him, champagne flowing right before he’d taken you again, bent over the desk. and then again in the shower, a harmless attempt to clean yourselves up ending up with you on your knees before your cheek was pressed against the shower screen.

lando tried to fathom why you’d leave after the night you’d shared. there was something about it, something more intimate in the desperation you’d shared, that left him senseless as to why you were gone before the sun was in the sky.

just like he usually was.

it dawned on him, quite quickly, that the habits he’d made of quick fucks and fast getaways was not good form. it was reckless and casually cruel, and he felt guilt for the first time since his string of one night stands had begun. perspective was a crazy thing.

when he sluggishly made his way out of bed, he felt even worse.

“where’d you get to last night? we lost you after that terrible game of blackjack.” max teased, sipping his coffee.

lando found himself at the breakfast table, head rested on his hand and hoodie pulled tight. he wasn’t in the mood to talk, but max was like a dog with a bone; there was no avoiding this conversation.

“met a girl.” lando mumbled, aimlessly stirring the tea he knew he wasn’t going to drink.

“ah, understood.” max said, grinning knowingly. but then, as if lando’s bad mood finally clicked, he continued. “wait, why are you in a mood then?”

“tired.” lando replied, monotonously. he wasn’t quite sure how to unpack this one.

“bullshit.”

“woke up alone.”

“oh.”

“she was- i don’t know. just thought it would be different, that’s all.” lando couldn’t disguise the deflated tone of his voice.

“don’t tell me you caught feelings from a shag.” max rolled his eyes, chomping away at his toast. lando could barely stomach the sight of food.

“shut up, i’m not saying i fell in love. just liked something about her.”

“well, anything can happen in vegas. you never know, mate. she might find her way back to you.”

lando was getting ready for the netflix cup before he knew it. he’d managed to shake off max, escaping to the darkness of his room, the curtains drawn and the lights off.

he pretended it was the hangover that had him laying face down on his bed.

the last thing he wanted was to go and play corporate circus on the golfing green, but he figured some fresh air wouldn’t hurt. and so, he was in the backseat of a car well on his way to the tournament.

carlos couldn’t distract him, neither could alex or pierre. rickie fowler was much less interesting that he hoped, or maybe he wasn’t and lando just wasn’t interested enough. not even zak’s mclaren printed trousers could cheer him up.

lando was leaning into his golf club, starting mindlessly into the crowd, waiting for this garish event to begin when he caught a glimpse of someone he recognised. in a sea of influencers and obnoxious businessmen, there you were.

there you fucking were, in your knee high boots and a mini skirt, sunglasses perched on your nose, skintight top under an oversized blazer and hair shining under the warm sunlight. he lost his balance, the golf club slipping from underneath him, and the only thing that kept him upright was the burning urge to keep his eyes on you.

just who were you?

lando didn’t need to clarify whether or not you were looking at him, too. no, you made it abundantly clear by the way you winked at him, before pushing your sunglasses back up the bridge of your nose.

you fucking winked.

he took a step in your direction, shaky legs ready to carry him all the way over to you. he only had your first name and he craved your second, your phone number, anything really. he’d just take the small talk, to be completely honest.

but then the klaxon screeched, knocking him out of his trance and he whipped round to discover that they were ready to tee off. lando cursed under his breath, rapidly turning to search for your face but you were nowhere to be seen.

had he imagined you? had he imagined all of it?

every golf ball hit was hit with frustrated vengeance.

the week disappeared in a bittersweet blur.

lando had achieved multiple hangovers and about zero dollars in winnings, but he’d successfully managed to take his mind off of you.

okay, so that was a bare faced lie, but if lando didn’t lie to himself, he wouldn’t be able to lie to anyone else.

he wouldn’t be able to lie to max that he was no longer moping. he wouldn’t be able to lie to the media when they asked him if he was oh so excited about the race. he wouldn’t be able to lie to his team when they asked him if he was still suffering the consequences of his week long hangover.

lando had been rushing around all day, after a solid p4 in qualifying the night before. the entire day had been horrendous, sequins and bright lights being shone in his eyes. all he wanted to do was hide, get in the car and then go to bed.

fate had other plans.

lando was rushing to the front of the grid for the national anthem, certain that whatever display that was about to occur would make him nauseous. he was derailed on his journey, caught by rachel brookes in the pitlane, and then accosted by martin brundle once he’d made his was onto the grid.

“good qualifying yesterday and good luck today!” martin called to lando, turning to wrestle another insufferable celebrity.

as lando was making his getaway, ready to jog through the masses of people to his place at the front, he went barrelling into another body, putting his hands out to steady himself and the poor person that had become his collateral damage. as he regained his balance, he must have looked like a cartoon character, eyes bulging out of his head.

“are you stalking me?” was all he could choke out when his eyes met yours.

what the actual fuck were you doing here?

lando had given up on the possibility of ever seeing you again, and yet, here you were, stood under the bright floodlights on the grid, his office. this was the last place he’d expected you to show up, paddock pass swinging from your neck. again, what the actual fuck were you doing here?

“might as well be, at this point.” you teased. “hopefully you’ll do better today than you did at golf on tuesday.” you smiled coyly up at him, tucking your hair behind your ear.

lando was on quite the time crunch, glancing at the time on the clock at the front of the grid. he had a minute to spare, if he was lucky, but he had to talk to you, before you inevitably disappeared again.

“thought i’d get at least your phone number before you left.”

“from what i hear, you don’t usually stick around long enough for those.” you smirked.

well, his reputation certainly proceeded him. he couldn’t really argue with that.

“maybe i’m trying to change that.” lando attempted to flirt but really, he sounded desperate. you didn’t seem to mind.

“i’ll make you a deal,” you proposed, leaning in just a little bit closer. lando’s breath hitched in his throat. “get on that podium, and i’ll be waiting in your hotel lobby.”

“and if i don’t?” lando’s mouth was dry.

“maybe i’ll see you next year.”

lando watched you walk away, your hips swaying tantalisingly, wondering if the hefty fine he would be bollocked with would be worth it if he didn’t move his ass for the national anthem.

this would be the drive of his fucking life.

lando couldn’t recall a time he’d left a track faster in his life.

media duties were rushed, so was the shower he had before he fled. it was lucky he was already on the strip, so the walk to his hotel was blissfully short.

he entered the lobby with a shit eating grin and a comically large bottle of champagne in hand.

a string of second places had gotten rather frustrating, but this one felt particularly good. a podium was a podium, fair and square, and assuming you’d kept to your end of the bargain, he was in for the best celebration of his life.

sitting pretty at the bar that stretched through the lobby, you were waiting for him, heels swinging from the stool you rested on. denim clung to your hips, a dark corset style top moulding to your curves. he wondered if love at first sight was real; lust at first sight certainly was.

lando’s eyes beckoned to towards him, and you slipped inconspicuously into the elevator together, not wanting to draw too much attention to your rendezvous. it was a futile attempt, frankly, because he had you backed into the mirror before the doors had even fully shut.

kisses on your neck had your eyes fluttering closed, one of his knees slotting comfortably between your thighs. one of his hands was clasped tight around the neck of the neck of the bottle, giving lando the fantastic idea to find your neck with his free one. he held you firmly, forcing you to look at him.

“i’m gonna make you wish you never left.”

hours on the mattress pulling countless orgasms from one another left you both weak, exhausted, a little bit clingy.

lando felt electric. no other person had ever left him so feral, so euphoric.

he’d had you first against the door, pulling your jeans off and pinning you against it, your thighs in his firm grasp as he fucked you into the wooden panel. then, he’d taken you to bed, your knuckles turning white from your brutal grip on the headboard when he’d planted you down on his mouth. two orgasms later, you were face down in the sheets, ass in the air for him while he slammed into you like his life depended on it, pulling you into his chest by your hair when you reached your climaxes.

all that hard work called for a bath, where you both found yourselves now. it had started off quite innocently, sat at opposite ends of the extravagantly large bathtub amongst the bubbles. but then you’d given him those eyes, and then your back was pressed against his chest, your body draped over his. his head was nestled into the crook of your neck, one arm slung over your waist. his other hand brought the bottle of champagne to his lips, the liquid going down smoothly. lando pressed the bottle to your pursed lips too, trading backwards and forwards while your bodies relaxed into the hot water.

lando’s hand on your waist was getting restless, fingers drumming over your abdomen, up, up, up, until he found your breast. he circled your nipple with his finger, not quite touching the bud yet, but he could feel it hardening from his scarce touch. your hips rolled backwards into his, feeling him hardening once again against your lower back. lando cupped your breast, massaging it in his hands before he switched, flitting between your tits.

you slumped somehow even further into him, not a millimetre of space between your bodies. he was winding you up beautifully, heat burning between your legs once more. you didn’t know how you did it, how you could be so ready for each other after the eventful evening you’d already shared.

lando was flicking your nipples between his finger, switching back and fourth until you were moaning quietly. you took charge, the sensitivity building too quickly, and so you rolled over in his arms, clambering into his lap.

the bath water splashed around you, moving in small waves across the tub as you situated yourself on top of him, grinding down on him until he was buried deep within your walls. he found that spot, rolling your hips against his, and then you were rocking up and down on him, nice and slow. he touched parts of you that never had been before, the pace and the angle intensifying every little sensation. your head was thrown back, hands clawing at his shoulders for something to hold onto, just for the feel of him.

lando reached over the edge of the bathtub, blindly searching for the bottle he’d discarded while you’d been switching positions. he felt the green glass grazing his fingertips and brought it back to his lips, eyes trailing over your body in sheer awe.

he couldn’t help himself, taking a sip before tilting it towards you, pouring the golden bubbles over your clavicle, jaw tightening - just like your cunt did at the sensation - as he watched the sticky alcohol drip down over the curve of your bouncing breasts.

you quivered when you felt his tongue lap over your nipple, then the other, dragging over your sodden flesh until he reached the junction between your neck and your shoulder. he bit down, hard, eyes rolling back at the taste in his mouth and the way you clamped down around him, whimpering out between breathless pants.

lando felt you let go, stuttering on his cock and sinking down on top of him, the water - now lukewarm - soothing your tired limbs. he held you close, basking in the intimacy of the moment, his hearing honing in on the dull hum of ecstasy you expelled.

the bath grew colder and colder as you sat there, comfortable silence filling the air along with the quiet rush of water that came with any movements made. when the time came, lando held you up as you got off of him and stepped onto the plush rug, quickly following suit. you were eyeing the shower when he turned to hand you a towel.

“i think i need a shower, as much as i enjoyed the bath.” you spoke, opening the screen and stepping in to adjust the knobs.

lando weighed up his options, agonising over joining you or doing his back in. he couldn’t exactly tell his trainer that his back gave out from too much sex.

“am i invited?” lando asked, stepping in behind you, hands on your waist.

“seems like you’ve already invited yourself.” you teased, looking at him over your shoulder.

“no funny business, you.” lando rested his head on your shoulder.

“from me? you’re just as bad.” you quipped, letting the hot warm stream all over your flushed bodies.

lando stayed as he was for a second, but then you turned your head again, looking at him from the corner of your eye and he needed to kiss you. he couldn’t help but, and so he twisted you round to face him and leaned in. you were more than receptive, fingers raking through his wet curls.

the hot water rained down on you while you stood there, holding each other close. lando couldn’t put his finger on it, why he didn’t want to let you go. he couldn’t even begin to process the idea of having anyone else in his arms like this. it was absurd, really, but he was too caught up in the moment to care.

when you were both clean and dry, you laid down in bed, gazing mindlessly at one another. his eyes followed the lines of your face, the curve of your lips. he learned a lot about you, a formula 1 fan with who ran her own business and took herself on holiday to vegas. the conversation flowed like the champagne had and you were laughing at all his stupid jokes. in turn he grinned like a fool at your quick wit, the sound of your laughter.

“so what are you doing next? back to work?” lando asked, an idea forming in his mind like a tornado.

“nope,” you popped the p. “giving myself some well deserved time off.”

“have you ever been to abu dhabi?” lando asked, lips quirking mischievously.

inbox me your thoughts bc aaaaaaaa 😨😨

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craisinsensation1029 · 2 months

Text

Never Forgotten

Kento Nanami

originally posted on AO3! :) wrote this back in July for Nanamin's birthday :3 <3

Fem reader, established relationship, alcohol consumption, vaginal sex, cunnilingus, cream pie, slight breeding kink, very light bondage, Nanami dealing w a shitty day, its like, kinda sweet if u squint a bit, a little praise & degrading

4.6k

MDNI

Nanami looked down at you as you stirred in your sleep, cuddled securely into his side. Your arm was wrapped around his midsection and his was around your shoulder. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, as he reached for the remote to turn the television off.

You two had been dating for nearly ten months now. You hit it off after meeting through a mutual friend for a night out for drinks, and have been happy together since.

You two did have plans to move in together in a few months. Nanami owned a condo, and you still had some time before the lease on your apartment was up. This was the first major relationship either of you had been in, so it admittedly was a huge step, but both of you were prepared to take the plunge.

Until then you shared nights like these where you would come and sleep over. He loved having you over, seeing you move comfortably around the space as if it were your own.

Tonight was a bit different, as it was the night before his birthday. You two hadn’t spent one of his birthdays together yet, so he honestly didn’t know what to expect. Not that he was particularly a a person big on the occasion, seeing the day as just another year closer to retirement, but maybe you would make it different.

You were just that kind of thoughtful person that made everything worth celebrating. Hell, you baked him a cake when he told you he got another employee of the month award. You gasped when he shrugged lazily at the feat and sprinted to the kitchen. He told you it was really no big deal because he had so many, but all you did was narrow your eyes at him and told him he needed to be more excited he was being recognized for such diligent work.

He smiled at the memory as he pressed another kiss to your forehead.

He looked at the time on the clock. 3 minutes to midnight. He was unsure if you were supposed to spontaneously wake up out of your sleep with a song and dance, but there was nothing but silence to surround him when the clock struck midnight.

Your sleeping form was so serene, he wouldn’t dare disturb you. Instead, he repositioned your bodies by unhooking your arms from his waist and wrapping his around yours instead. You stirred again as he let out small sigh mumbling to himself, “Happy birthday to me.” He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

The same way you always fell asleep before Nanami, you always woke up before him. You were already somewhere in the condo when Nanami woke up. He was hopeful this was going to be a birthday to remember.

He went into the master bathroom to brush his teeth and got dressed for work. He never took the day off, because well, the retirement fund needed to be supplemented somehow. He took a look at himself in the mirror. Maybe he should have gotten a haircut a few days before, but no matter.

He walked out into the kitchen where you were sipping tea at the island. “Hey, good morning boo. Coffee’s in your mug.” You always made his coffee in the morning, just the way he liked it, but a wave of disappointment hit him. Was that it?

“Thanks, baby,” he answered, walking toward you to press a kiss to your lips. You kissed back. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. “Sleep well?”

“With you? Always,” you gushed, your soft hand landing on the side of his face. Wasn’t there anything else you wanted to say?

“Oh, good,” he nodded, his voice tight. “Uh, I guess I should get going then.”

“Already?” you pouted. “Do you have an early meeting or something? You didn’t even sit down and drink your coffee yet.” He loved spending mornings with you, drinking your hot beverages together while you entertained him recalling your always too wild and vivid dreams, but he couldn’t act like this wasn’t bothering him.

His girlfriend forgetting his birthday. His heart clenched, but he just tried to remember why he had never made it a big deal in the first place. It was just a day, he would just have to remind himself of that.

“Yeah,” he lied, opting to pour the coffee in the mug into his tumbler. “Email came in about earlier this morning. I wasn’t expecting it either,” he chuckled, but his laugh was strained. He was lying through his teeth, couldn’t you tell?

“Ugh, okay,” you groaned. “I got called into work tomorrow, so I probably won’t be around when you get home. But I’ll cook something for you to eat for dinner.”

Great. Even better. Now he would truly be spending the day alone. He cleared his throat before he spoke again, although he didn’t know what to say. He settled on, “Okay.” He swiftly placed his laptop in the bag before heading toward the door.

“I love you!” you called out behind him.

“Yeah, I love you too,” he said, just loud enough for you to hear as he pulled the door closed behind him.

The day Nanami was having would give A Series of Unfortunate Events a run for fucking money, and he was pissed off.

Not only did his morning start off with a lack of birthday wishes from you, but it was immiedtaely followed by some asshole deciding to go NASCAR speed on the residential street, a large puddle of last night’s rain drenching his slacks.

He stood on the train while a parent’s curious toddler had the gall to ask him if he was still potty training. He knew he couldn’t glare at a child, so he held on the the pole even more tightly as he ignored the kid who decided to ask the question again and again until he and his mother eventually got off at the stop before him.

The morning meeting he lied about turned out to be a very real meeting. If Nanami actually checked his emails that morning, he would have known. So there he was in the office with drenched slacks and fifteen minutes to prepare a presentation that he didn’t give a fuck about. After being able to throw something together, his supervisor thanked him for being so flexible, but informed the team the meeting was actually for next week. “I guess I made an oopsie!” he shrugged. Nanami left the conference room without a word.

The fire alarm went off in the building a few minutes before lunch was going to start. He groaned, reaching for his lunchbox so he could at least warm it up somewhere else, only to realize he was reaching for air. He fucking forgot it at home. He groaned again, knowing not only did he have to take a fuck ton of stairs down from the twenty seventh floor, but he would have to buy lunch from some overpriced, overcrowded shop.

Once he got to the town square, it was already bustling with a bunch of people trying to get food for the lunch hour. He was already too aggravated to deal with that shit. He opted to just get a croissant from his favorite bakery instead. Taking the short walk there, he clenched his fist seeing a white note on the door and the lights off. Walking closer, the note read, Closed for inventory today, see you tomorrow! He absolutely wanted to scream.

With only fifteen minutes left in the lunch hour, he trudged back to the office where the fire alarm had stopped going off, but they advised everyone to take the stairs for safety purposes. Safety his ass, he didn’t have anymore fucks to give, but there was no choice. Hungry, and more then fed up, he trudged up the stairs and threw his head back once he got back to his desk.

His phone went off and he pulled it from his pocket, smiling seeing a text from you. He unlocked it, his face falling upon reading your message. I just left. I made you some chicken alfredo and garlic bread for dinner :) i’ll be back on Saturday! I love you!! ♡

Was that really it? His phone was littered with other birthday wishes that he would get to in time, but that message from you may have actually just made his day worse. Thanks baby, I love you too , he replied anyway. He wanted to throw his phone across the room.

The rest of the day was equally annoying; too many conversations with people that couldn’t take a hint that he didn’t want to talk, emails that were about as useful as white ink on white paper, and hunger still gnawing at his stomach from his lack of lunch.

By time time it was five, his supervisor was sauntering over to his desk. Nanami visibly scowled, but that didn’t deter him at all. “Nanami!” he greeted. He already knew where this was going. Overtime today of all days, fucking great. “I guess I made another oopsie.” His supervisor began to explain how his incompetence was now Nanami’s problem, and an hour later he was seething when he left the office.

The elevators were still deemed unsafe to use, and he trudged down the stairs yet again. He was finally out of work, but there didn’t seem anywhere for him to go. He could have hung out with some other friends, but more than anything he wanted to be with you. He sighed, deciding to get on the train and pop into the bar by the house. Nothing like some greasy food and some alcohol to wash away the day.

He sat at the bar, waiting for the bartender’s attention. “Hey man, can I just see some ID?” Nanami fished his ID out of his wallet, flashing it to the worker. “Oh, happy birthday man! I got to give you some shots on the house!”

“Woo! Birthday boy!” a visibly drunk man next to Nanami whooped, clapping him on the back.

“Thanks,” Nanami muttered as the bartender immediately poured two shots of brown liquid in front of him. He didn’t know what they were, but he didn’t care. He threw them both back in quick succession, the liquid burning his throat all the way down. He scowled at the aftertaste as he pushed the empty shot glasses back toward the bartender.

“Naw, you’ve got to give him something a little smoother,” the man next to him said. He ordered four shots of something Nanami wasn’t famailar with, pushing two his way once the bartender had them all poured, He raised one, motioning for Nanami to do the same. “Happy birthday, man!” He threw it back, and then easily the other. It indeed did go down a lot easier than the other.

Four shots in a matter of less than ten minutes was probably not very wise. He ordered some sweet chili boneless wings and garlic parmesan fries for himself, along with a beer to sip on. He knew he would feel it later for sure, but who cares. He would be alone anyway. He ate the greasy food when it came out, his head already feeling heavy by the time he was done.

He paid his tab when the bartender asked, “You got far to go?”

“No,” he slurred. “I live right up the block.”

“Oh, then one for the road won’t hurt!” He poured Nanami a final shot, some clear liquid. He threw it back instantly. This one was smoother than his choice of dark liquor before. “You’ve got some hot ass waiting for you at home?”

“I wish,” he grumbled. “But thanks.” He bid adieu to the bartender and the man that was sitting next to him as he made the short walk home.

Perhaps he was a bit more fucked up than he realized, because he was absolutely struggling to get the key in the door. He took a breath and rested his forehead against the cool door. What was the rush anyway? Then again, he didn’t wan’t to be standing outside when what he needed was a shower and his bed. He fumbled with the door again, his efforts successful this time and pushed the door open.

He furrowed his brow, seeing a large Happy Birthday banner hung from the wall facing the door in the living room. Streamers and balloons hung from the walls, and he had to rub his eyes to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

Then you stepped into view from the kitchen, a large grin spreading across your face. You ran up to him, throwing your arms around his neck in glee. “Sorry, I went to go put the food back into the oven, I thought you were going to be back earlier!” You pulled back slightly to press a kiss against his lips. “Happy birthday!”

He was confused. Or drunk. Or maybe a little bit of both.

He took a small step back, taking in your appearance. You had one of his favorite dresses on, a short, strapless, floral print number that flared at the end with lettuce edges. It was perfectly form fitting, your breasts bouncing at the top as you walked, your figure that he loved accentured, and your ass he adored getting a handful of on display.

“Huh,” he said dumbly.

“Your birthday?” you laughed with a soft shake of your head. “You drunk? Is that why you took so long?”

He was stunned into silence.

“Aw, come on!” you pouted. “You couldn’t have possibly thought I forgot! Maybe my acting was a little too good…” you contemplated, but he couldn’t help but just stare at you, and then back at the decorations littering the space. Even the banner meant so much to him. He knew you couldn’t have possibly put that up without asking for someone’s assistance or using a ladder, both of which you hated doing. But you did it, for him.

He suddenly felt like an idiot for even thinking you could have forgot. For the first time today, a smile genuinely crossed his face. “Thank you, baby.” He pulled you tightly against him, hands immediately grabbing at your ass. Maybe the bartender had a premoniton on his behalf or something, because here you were, hot ass and all.

You playfully swatted his hands away opting to taking his hand in yours. “Come on, don’t you want to at least have dinner?” He was admittedly already full, and eating something else was the only thing occupying his mind now, but he let you pull him toward the kitchen anyway.

He was dumbfounded. The table was set with the good china you just insisted would only be used for important occasions.

He was an important occasion. He felt his heart swell.

Another birthday banner, and more streamers and balloons decorated the space. A small cake decorated with purple icing and sprinkles with Happy Birthday, Kento! scrawled in white frosting sat on the middle of the table. You grabbed some oven mitts and bent over to open the oven. The dress was short enough to see the meat on your ass cheeks, and all he could do was walk over and stand behind you, gripping the flesh. Maybe it was the alcohol, but his cock was already straining against his slacks.

“Kento, let me get this food out,” you giggled. He stepped back to give you some space and he instantly knew what was in the oven; it was one of his favorites, oven roasted lemon garlic chicken with potatoes. You walked over and placed the dish on the table, a bright smile on your face. “Maybe I should have said something earlier, I just wanted to surprise you.”

You strided toward him, your hand caressing the side of his face. He placed his hand over yours, closing his eyes and leaning into your touch. This is what he needed after today. You were what he needed. “I would never forget a day as important as this,” you whispered. “Do you really think I could forget my favorite person’s special day?”

“I was a bit silly for thinking you did,” he admitted, a laugh escaping his lips. “I was having a fucking shit day and thought I was coming home to an empty place.” You frowned, and he hated seeing you frown, especially on his behalf. “But that has nothing to do with you, baby. This is already the best birthday ever.”

You smiled softly, although your brow was still knitted. “Well we can talk about your day while we eat.” Your eyes quickly brightened again. “Oh! And I can give you your gift!”

He wasn’t interested in talking or receiving gifts right now. He never understood the rationale of people in movies and television shows pushing food and silverware off the table to ravish their partners, but it fully made sense to him now. He was only interested in having you bent over the table and rutting into you until you were creaming around his cock and crying out his name.

“That sounds great,” he mumbled, bringing you back to him. “But I’ll be very honest. Let’s get that food back in the oven for a bit. There’s something I need to do first.”

You were lost, but nodded nonetheless. “Oh okay, we can do that! It is your day, after all.” You gathered the dish with the chicken and walked back over to the oven to keep the meal warm. At the same time, Nanami was pushing the plates further up on the table.

You strolled back over to him, and he instantly smashed his lips against yours. One hand was grabbing your ass while the other was on the small of your back. One of your legs instantly rose while your arms wrapped around his neck, making any space between the two of you nonexistent. He felt bad for his breath that must have reeked of liquor, but the feeling faded when your tongue was pushing past his lips and exploring the inside of his mouth.

He gripped the material of your dress tighter, and if he didn’t like it so much he was afraid he would have ripped it off of you with his bare hands. He moaned against your lips as your hands shifted so your manicured nails were running through his undercut. Fuck, he loved when you did that. Your tongue continued to move inside of his mouth, and he moved his against yours. You always tasted just divine, savory and sweet at the same time, and man was he so blessed to be loved by someone as amazing as you.

Your tongue slowly exited his mouth and you began to nip at his bottom lip, eliciting another moan from him. He jerked his hips against you, his erection swelling by the second as his tongue began to explore your mouth. Your mouth was always so inviting and willing for him as your lips parted for him. He closed his eyes, enjoying the pure bliss of the moment. Hard to think he was having the seemingly worst day ever just a few hours ago when he was here now, his hand full of your ass and his tongue shoved deep down your throat surrounded by so many of his favorite things.

His tongue exited, and the kiss became sloppy as your bodies stayed melded together, but he wanted more now. He quickly spun you around and bent you over the kitchen table. He slapped your ass, watching it jiggle in the material of the dress. You mewled, and arched your back more, wiggling it in the air. He slapped it again, letting his hand massage to spot before pushing up the material.

He figured you had a thong on the way your cheeks were out when you bent over when taking the food out of the oven, but no. You weren’t wearing any underwear at all. “Were you expecting something, perhaps?” he asked, letting a finger swipe through your folds. You were already wet, but he knew he could have you soaking in a matter of minutes.

“Something like that,” you answered playfully. “Thought it would come a little later, but now works too.” Oh, you would be coming later too, but Nanami needed his fix now.

“You little slut,” he chuckled, sinking down to his knees behind you. “Acted like you forgot my birthday just to cook my favorite food and wait for me in my favorite dress with no panties on,” he tsked.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you teased, wiggling your ass for him. “How could I ever make it up to you?”

Nanami just laughed as he brought his hand to your ass, kneading your cheeks again. “I can think of a few ways.” He spread your cheeks to look at what was his before letting his tongue swipe across your center, instantly moaning at your taste. He swiped his tongue through your folds again, letting his eyes close as your familiar taste infiltrated his tastebuds. Your moans were music to his ears as he continue to stroke your center with his tongue.

One hand reached around to circle your clit as his tongue began to push into you. You writhed against his face, and he loved it. His thumb and middle finger slowly stroked your clit as his tongue slowly and shallowly fucked you. “ Fuck, Kento, please,” you whined, arching your back more, giving him more access to your clit.

He always loved when you begged for him, despite how much he would tease you for it. His mouth left you, but his fingers were still working against your clit. “I thought you wanted to make it up to me?”

“I-I do,” you choked out. He could already feel your legs trembling, and you could be coming for him at any moment.

“Then either shut up or use your words,” he grunted, putting his mouth back on you. You moaned again, pushing back on his face while his tongue continued to lap at you. He was achingly hard now, and was pretty sure his dick could drill for diamonds in the mines.

He started to rub your clit more quickly, and you were falling apart. Your legs struggled to stay steady as your moans turned into desperate pants. “Please, need to come,” you begged.

“Oh, look who knows how to talk,” he chuckled, his voice muffled. But he would do just that. He swiped his tongue against you once more, and you cried out as your orgasm had your juices coating his face. He let out a moan of satisfaction at your release and stood quickly. You rose from your position of being bent over the table, to which he chuckled and bent you back over. “I’m not done,” he said, undoing the buckle on his belt.

He pulled the black leather through the loops on his slacks, using it to bind your hands behind your back. “That feel alright?”

“Feels great,” you answered. He could hear the amusement in your voice despite not seeing your face, and couldn’t help but shake his head.

“Naughty little bitch,” he murmured, admiring your exposed ass. “You were just dying to get fucked in this dress, huh? I guess this is a lucky day for you too.” In the blink of an eye, the button on his slacks were undone and his erection sprang free. He pushed down his boxers briefs and entered you quickly, hands positioned securely on your hips.

He groaned as your cunt hugged his cock. It simply didn’t matter how often you two fucked, and your sex life was pretty healthy. The first thrust never failed to make him want to come right on the spot. His pulled his hips back and slowly pushed inside of you, the veins of his cock dragging against your walls. You both let out moans simultenously as his hips developed a steady rhythm. He loved seeing your ass bounce against his hips; even more so now with your arms bound and seeing that all you could do was moan and take him like a good girl.

“Fuck Kento, more, more,” you cried out.

“Shit, okay, baby,” he groaned, wiping the sweat that was forming at his brow. He held onto your hips tightly as he started to slam into you roughly, shaking the table. You let out a yelp that was quickly followed by a moan, and he couldn’t help but bite his lip as he continued to pound into you like his life depended on it.

He could start to feel your pussy spasm around him, and used one hand to slap your ass. “Fuck, you look so good taking my cock like this,” he grunted, his hips still moving quickly. He was determined to give you the fucking that you wanted; the one you deserved for making sure he felt special, loved, and utterly cared for.

“Ah, Ahhh,” you cried out, helpless to do anything except for take the vicious pounding that you asked for. “W-want you to come in me,” you stuttered out against the creaking of the table.

If he weren’t so determined to keep thrusting, he would have stopped, and asked if that was what you really wanted, but fuck it. It was his fucking birthday, and he was going to stuff you like a twinkie. “I’ll fuck a baby into you tonight if that’s what you want,” he panted, continuing his onslaught.

You moaned again, and then he felt the telltale signs of your orgasm washing over you. You were obscenely wet with your juices coating his cock and running down your legs as your pussy violently clenched around him. He fucked you through your orgasm with slower thrusts until the wave of pleasure passed through you.

He undid the belt that kept you bound, and pulled his still hard cock out of you. He quickly hauled you up, spun you around, and sat you on the table. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed another kiss to his lips while he slid inside of you.

You whined at his entry with the sensitivity of your last two orgasms, but clenched around him. He kissed you back sloppily as he rutted his cock into you. He pulled down the dress to expose your breasts and you leaned back slightly so he could slip a nipple into his mouth. He sucked it hashly, letting his teeth bite down gently on the bud.

“Oh fuck Kento, that’s so good.” Your hand was soon coaxing his head in the other direction so he could do the same for the other. He obliged, sucking your other nipple into his mouth and giving it a small bite before letting his tongue trace the area around your areola.

His orgasm was fast approaching and he gripped your chin tightly, squeezing a thigh with the other hand. “Fuck baby,” he grunted. “I’m going to fill this pussy up real good.” You put your hand on his lower back, bringing him closer, and he was done for. He stilled and let out a pant as his seed spurted inside of you, coating your insides white.

He rested his forehead against yours, and you cupped his face with a smile, pressing a soft kiss to his nose with his cock still seated inside of you. “Happy birthday, boo.” You moved to press a kiss to his lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.” Yeah, best birthday ever.

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softlyspector · 1 year

Text

Out of the desert

Summary: You need to get out of town, and the bounty hunter that sometimes passes through is willing to help you escape. He'd do anything for you, but you don't know that yet. As you journey together, you realize you have more in common than you thought. Western!au

Pairing: cowboy!ace!Din Djarin x ace!Reader

Word Count: ~13.4k

Warnings: western!au, pining, very protective din, absolute FOOLS in love, old fashioned social norms (this fic borrows from a lot of things, so it is not a typical western au or social norms), mentions of previous relationships, nonthreatening injuries, playing fast and loose with adapting mando lore

A/N: I'm happy to finally be able to share this with y'all. It's very special to me. Please let me know what you think and thank you for reading and being so patient.

The setting sun looks like violence on the horizon, blood red tendrils of light spearing across the dust ridden desert.

It chokes the air, settles in a fine mist over everything.

You watch the particles float for a moment, your back to the empty apothecary behind you.

Travelers are settling in for the night, horses tied to the banister outside. Most are single men passing through looking for work. You tilt your head and watch them shelter in the tavern across the road, the one you’ve had your eye on for the last hour or so.

You're waiting for the Mandalorian to emerge.

The orange light of the sun hurts your eyes, but you don’t look away.

Still, seeing them pass through, knowing they could leave, that they probably had people waiting on them, makes your heart ache with loneliness and you have to remind yourself that this is what you chose, this life, this town.

You’re content here, even if you’re so lonely your chest feels like an empty cavern most days, echoing back your own lonesome wails.

You’re safer here, for now, even if no one cares for you.

Only the sheriff looked out for you, and he didn’t so much as care for you as covet you. His attention is a constant reminder that you do not belong, and that one day his patience with you would wear thin and the town would no longer be the safe haven it currently is.

You should be grateful for the safety the town provided to you, even if it's a brief respite.

Still, you would like to belong somewhere, to someone.

That a lump forms in the back of your throat at the thought means nothing. You don’t take your eyes off the door of the tavern across the road.

The sun settles lower in the sky, sinking slowly beyond the horizon. The flush of dusk makes everything look more beautiful, a sky coated in midnight hues instead of the painful blinding sun of the day reflecting off parched earth. Stars are already appearing on the horizon.

You should just close up for the night, but you know the Mandalorian is across the street. And you won’t get a chance to talk to him alone if you go over now. You need him to come to you, to the quiet little store away from the prying eyes of the tavern’s patrons.

His people, the Mandalorians, are famed bounty hunters, or cultists, depending on who you asked. You’d seen him come down the street with a bounty, watched him tie up his horse before he disappeared inside.

Crest is in front of the apothecary, so you know he hasn’t left yet, that you haven’t missed him.

The Mandalorian’s horse is a beautiful silver gray and speckled with black, as though someone had flicked a paintbrush at her. She’s incredibly intelligent and seems to meet your eyes through the glass, like she knows you’re there and waiting for her owner. She isn’t tied to the post, though he never seems to be worried about her wandering off.

Everyone in town knows the Mandalorian’s horse. She’s still saddled, his pack rolled on her back.

They know, too, that you keep an eye out for him, on his things and his horse. They’re wary of you, whispering wild rumors to each other when they think you can’t hear - about how you’d come to the town, that you killed your husband, that you were a witch.

Your vigilance is unnecessary, really. The townspeople might be wary of you but the Mandalorian terrified them.

When the dark settles in fully, you sigh and unlatch the front door. Crest nuzzles her nose against your hand when you step down to her. The air is still warm from the day’s heat. The sun ripened smell of hot earth hangs in the air, the scent of desert flowers beneath sweetening it.

It’s a clean scent, and a comforting one.

“He’s taking longer than usual,” you tell Crest when she snorts at you. “Turning in a quarry? You must be heading west again.”

You’d only been in town a little over a week the first time you saw the Mandalorian. You had just been hired by the pharmacist for your knowledge of herbs, which only added to your reputation as a witch.

The woman next door had been holding you hostage on the front steps that day, trying to understand where you came from, who you were. She’d stopped talking and glanced at the lone man riding slowly down the center of the street, a body lashed down to his horse’s flank.

Intimidating didn’t even begin to describe him.

Hat pulled down low over his eyes, bandana tucked over his nose, you hadn’t really been able to make out his face, just the faint wisps of dark brown hair curling by his ears and the sweat shined cut of golden skin of his throat. “Get inside,” the woman had advised, starting to turn towards her own door.

“Wait,” you’d said. “Why? Who is that?”

“Don’t you know a Mandalorian when you see one?” She’d asked with a sneer. “Sheriff didn’t think to tell you about that cult that lives up in the mountains?” You’d started to open your mouth, “Go on and get inside. He’s a mercenary and bounty hunter. He’s bad news.”

She’d slammed the door without another word.

You hadn’t gone inside, just watched him come down the road, chin lifted.

He hadn’t paid you any mind. The Mandalorian just calmly dismounted his horse, and took the bounty inside the tavern to the sheriff, who regularly drank himself sick there.

It had only been later when you were closing up the shop that you spoke to him. He was standing out front with his gloves off. His knuckles had been bloody, his skin purple with bruising.

“You got bandages for that?”

He’d slowly looked up at you, eyes still obscured, face still mostly covered. “No.”

“Well, c’mon in and I’ll get you some.”

There had been a pause long enough that you’d started to doubt if you should have bothered, when he answered. “I’m not usually welcome.”

“You are today. The good doctor isn’t here,” you’d jerked your head toward the door with a roll of your eyes. “C’mon in.”

Since then, the Mandalorian has become something like a deterrent to the townsfolk that found you odd. You were still an outsider, but now one with a powerful guard dog.

The Mandalorian had taken to you easily that day. He had listened to you talk, offered surprisingly kind, if short responses. He hadn’t fussed too much when you insisted on bandaging his hand for him.

And after that day, he made a point of seeking you out every time he was in town.

He’s kind to you, even if he’s quiet and a little gruff. Even if you don’t know his name, and his face remains perpetually shrouded in shadow. He always makes time to sit with you for a while, and even if it was because he pitied you a little, you don’t mind. He listens to you, and, once, he’d even brought you a gift - a white and blue western patterned cowl that now perpetually rests around your neck. “Keeps the sun off,” had been the only thing he said about it. It was similar to his own, different in coloring and pattern.

You suspect it means something to him, that gift, something important to him or his people. But you wouldn’t know, no one knows anything about the Mandalorians.

He’s never made you uncomfortable. He’s never tried to come onto you, which you couldn’t say for the rest of those that frequented the tavern across the road. He should intimidate you - a strange man with a dangerous job and no ties.

The town gossiped, but you tried not to put stock in anything they said, since they whispered the same kinds of things about you as they did about him.

You glance up from Crest’s nose now to see the Mandalorian in question step out onto the front step of the tavern, the sheriff just behind him.

His wide brimmed hat sits low over his eyes, the rest of his face obscured by the bandana he always wears over his face. His button up shirt and vest are obscured by the long coat he wears, the barrel of his rifle poking over his left shoulder.

“Are you sure?” The sheriff steps up next to him, their voices carrying much too easily across the road to you. You glance down, not sure if you want them to know you can hear them. You watch them from the corner of your eye, careful not to turn your head. “Sure we can’t interest you in any of the…services here? On the house, of course, as a sign of our continued gratitude.”

His voice carries a sarcastic edge. He knows the Mandalorian would never accept the kind of thing he’s offering.

Mando doesn’t so much as turn his head. You reach for the Crest’s brush in one of the saddlebags. “If not for women…men?” The Mandalorian still doesn’t speak. “We got all types of folks around here, y’know.”

“I’m not interested.” He steps neatly away when the other man attempts to lay a hand against his shoulder.

“At least stay the night,” he insists. “It’s dangerous here and out there alone,” he nods at the open plains beyond the town’s perimeter. “After dark.”

You can’t help feel those words are meant for you, that he knows you can hear, a reminder that you’re stuck and alone.

Mando finally turns his head, but doesn't say anything for a long moment. The silence stretches until it's uncomfortable. “No,” he repeats, his voice low and rough as it always is.

“C’mon now, Mando. I know you’re crazy about that creed of yours, but you can have a little fun.” He puts his hands on his belt and raises an eyebrow, the wooden planks creaking beneath his feet as he shifts.

The Mandalorian’s shoulders rise and tense, the first real sign of his irritation, when the sheriff continues, “Maybe I can offer you somethin’ - someone you really want. What about that one there?” Even without looking you know the sheriff is pointing straight at you. “I know you’ve taken a special liking to her and all. Well, I have too, but…she’s playing a little hard to get y’know? She-,”

“No.”

His voice is stern, this time, hard.

He steps down the tavern’s front steps to the cracked earth below without another word.

“Fuckin’ Mandos,” you hear the sheriff mutter.

You tuck Crest’s brush back into the saddlebag as Mando approaches. The words unsettle you, a shake twisting inside your chest, the walls of your safe place closing in again. You weren’t long for this town now, not with claims like those made out in the open.

“Headin’ west again?” You ask lightly, like your nerves are knotted in the pit of your stomach, like you weren’t just offered up like someone’s leftovers.

He nods, his voice low and gentle as it always is with you. Different, you’ve noted, to how he speaks to most anyone else. “I need some supplies.” He steps close to you and glances over his shoulder, blocking your body from the view of the tavern.

“Of course,” you say, swiping your hands along your trousers. “C’mon then, Mando,” you jerk your head in the direction of the apothecary.

He follows and you hold the door open for him before flicking on the gas lights. They come on with pop and then glow low and yellow.

The shop is rather homely, worn dark wooden cabinets lined with jars take up most of the wall space. The scent of the shop reminds you of the forests where you grew up near, earthy with the smell of healing herbs.

The Mandalorian takes up too much room in the small shop, large and imposing as he shifts on the wooden floorboards, hands on his belt buckle.

Usually, when he comes in for supplies, he takes up residence in the chair in the corner of the shop and keeps you company for a while. Normally you talk about the goings on in the town and the characters that came through. Sometimes he’d tell you about the bounty he just hauled in, or his travels. Usually he would talk about his son, a rambunctious, sweet child from how he spoke of him. He never mentions having a partner, and so you assume the child must be from a relationship he was no longer in.

“What do you need?”

“Just the basics.”

You nod and move behind the counter to get to work when he says your name.

When you turn back with a jar in your hand, you find the Mandalorian without his hat on for the very first time. It’s clutched in his hands in front of him. His eyes are a deep shade of brown, shadowed and wide and sad. Your eyes dart over him, and you wonder not for the first time what he looked like without the bandana that covers his face.

He repeats your name and then asks tentatively, “Are you okay?”

“I’m…fine,” you answer as confusion washes through you. “Why?”

“The way the sheriff speaks about you-,”

You shake your head and interrupt, “I heard him. You’re very kind to worry, but I’m fine.”

You aren’t, but what else could you say? The sheriff had made it known in the last few weeks that you belonged to him, and that your freedom depended entirely on your willingness to comply.

It had gotten worse the last couple of weeks, because he’d come to the belief that the Mandalorian wanted you too. He didn’t like that you were friends, that Mando was oddly protective of you.

His words had been harsh. You think he’s your friend, but he wants the same thing any man does.

The words were nothing but a reminder of how broken you are.

Mando doesn’t look away from you, his head tilting to the side. Your blood thrums beneath your skin, drumming along the inside of your veins. “He talks about things he doesn’t understand,” he says. “And you didn’t hear everything. You don’t know what he means to do. He means to marry you. And if you refuse, you won’t have a place here anymore.”

“Mando-,” you begin.

“He already thinks he owns you,” he continues over you. “He thinks you need tamed. He thinks your choices are just rebelliousness.” His voice is low, dangerous, brows tugged down over his eyes. He’s angry, you realize. “You heard him. He…offered you to me. It doesn’t matter to him if you say yes or no.”

You cross your arms over your chest, and cock your head to the side. “You think I don’t know that?”

He straightens, brows lifting in surprise. “What?”

You sink slowly onto the pharmacist’s stool behind the counter.

“You’re right,” you say. “To him, I am no longer a novelty that needs to be broken, but a nuisance that needs to be reminded of my place.” You shake your head, “But I don’t have anywhere to go. I have no family and hardly any money. Everything I had, I used to come here. Besides, I came from the east, and I don’t know how to survive the desert. I am out of options.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t respond right away. When you look up, you aren’t quite able to meet his eyes, not used to seeing them. There’s something deeply hurt in his gaze, a sadness you can’t name. “No harm will come to you,” he promises, a dangerous edge in his voice. “I can take you west.”

You stiffen and slowly glance up at him. His words wriggle in your mind, slither coldly down your back. First you escaped your husband, now you have to escape the sheriff, to…what? One day have to escape the Mandalorian? You’ve learned better than to trust.

The sheriff’s words echo in the back of your mind. He wants the same thing any man does.

And how long until he demands that from you? How long until he wants something from you in return for all his kindness?

Still, the Mandalorian has never made you feel unsafe, he’s never made you feel uncomfortable.

And he might be your only chance to leave.

You close your eyes, and slip a hand into your pocket to grip the knife you keep there, just to feel a bit stronger. It was only a matter of time before you had to leave, you knew that.

The Mandalorian is a safer choice then remaining in the town. You trust him more than the sheriff at least. He’s your friend, but-

You shake your head and meet his eyes. “I already told you, Mando, I hardly have any money. I can’t pay you to take me west. And I have nothing else I can offer you,” you emphasize, gritting your teeth. “Nothing, understand? I have nothing else to offer you.”

He seems to understand.

Mando steps forward and leans his forearms against the counter. “I am not asking to be paid. And I would not ask you for anything else.” He holds your eyes for a long moment before straightening and putting his hat back on his head. “But we have to leave now.”

If you waited it might be several weeks until Mando returned, and by then it might be too late.

You nod curtly and stand, gathering the things he’d ask for. “Go on and take it,” you push the supplies across the counter.

He takes the supplies you set on the counter for him.

“He’s gonna have eyes over here. I was supposed to close up nearly an hour ago.” You glance up at him. “He’ll know.”

“I can handle it.” He tilts his head, “Do you trust me?”

You hesitate, you’ve learned better than to trust anyone, but you’ve already decided to throw your lot in with his. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

When the Mandalorian steps outside the apothecary, you know he’s being watched. Behind him, you click the lock into place in the door and turn off the gas lights. He descends the steps and tucks the supplies into the saddlebags.

A few men stand in clusters on the other side of the road, coats pinned back with hands on their hips, the shine of the revolvers they carry visible even in the dark. The orange glow of their cigars burn bright in the darkness.

“Heading out of town, Mando?” The sheriff calls.

He nods without answering.

“Won’t be back for a while, I reckon? Shame you can’t stay, there’s a wedding tomorrow.”

You jolt at the words.

Mando saddles his pack and glances surreptitiously up at you, his head dips forward slightly. You nod, knowing the men across the street can’t see you in the window with the lights off, and move away from the door.

He would tell them that you were finishing a draught for one of the neighbors, someone who came to the back door. You don’t have a pack, but you have so few possessions it doesn’t matter. You grab your journal and stuff your hat on your head before slinging your long overcoat over your arm, sweeping tinctures at random into your pockets.

You leave the key behind, and don’t bother to lock the back door.

You can think of few things worse than being married. Again. And especially to a man like the sheriff.

The street behind the apothecary is silent and still. It’s almost too easy to sneak past darkened doorways and empty alleys. Still, you keep your head bent to conceal your face, and move quickly. The red dust of the place swirls around your ankles, coating your boots in a fine mist.

You wonder if this is wise, to go with the Mandalorian. He’s quiet and kind but that meant nothing, really. With the sheriff, you at least know what kind of monster he is. You aren’t sure what’s worse, to be left with a monster or to be surprised by one.

Something about Mando tells you he’s not that way, even gruff and dangerous, he isn’t dishonorable.

You hear a few gunshots as you hurry along, anxiety biting at your lungs.

When you turn a corner a few minutes later he’s waiting exactly where he said he’d be. Crest snorts when she sees you and Mando reaches a hand down to pull you up. You settle behind him on the saddle, and he lets you shift until you’re comfortable. “They’re coming.”

“Then let’s go.”

He nudges Crest into a trott and then a gallop, and you hope you never see that town again.

The sun is just peaking over the horizon behind him, threads of purple dawn coloring the sky, when the Mandalorian feels you shifting against his back. You’d fallen asleep a few hours into the journey when he’d slowed Crest out of a trot, your cheek pressed to his spine as you snored lightly.

He’s given you a good head start, if the sheriff decided to follow. He’d have to take care of his wounded first before he could.

The Mandalorian means to move quickly, to keep both of you safe.

There’s an ache in his back from the position you’re in against him but he wouldn’t dare disturb you. You’re sleeping so peacefully and your weight against him is nice, warm.

Din is trying to swallow the turbulent emotions swirling inside him. He cares for you, and the fear that curls around the base of his spine at the prospect of you being married to that man, is anything but friendly. It makes his chest feel tight, the weight of feelings he harbors for you crushing.

He’ll never tell you, because he’s already learned that caring for someone isn’t enough. He wasn’t enough to settle for, he’s learned that lesson.

To hear from the sheriff the way you’d arrived in that town, desolate and desperate. How he’d taken you in and provided for you, not because you needed help, not because you were in danger, but because you were estranged from your husband, and thought it only a matter of time before you broke and went looking for a new one - it had incensed him.

The sheriff had assumed it would happen quickly. But you’d settled into a routine, a quiet, lonely little life in the town, seeming to enjoy your independence and solitude.

Well, aside from Din.

You were alone aside from him. He’s your friend, but more than that, he’s your protector.

Sure, there was only so long the sheriff could put up with something like that. Your kind were supposed to need help, were supposed to need someone. But you didn’t seem to. And that grated on the sheriff.

He might have already acted, if it weren’t for Din. If it weren’t for him taking a liking to you, if it weren’t for the two of you becoming friends.

Crest trots along at an easy pace, and Din sets his sights on a copse of trees up ahead that he often stops at to rest. There’s a creek nearby too, for water and washing.

“Hey, Mando,” you mumble against his back. Your voice is soft and fuzzed with sleep. “I’m gettin’ pretty sore. You mind if we stop for a bit? Or I can walk along if we need to keep moving.”

Like he’d let you walk.

He gestures to the trees. “We’ll be stopping there.”

“Okay,” you agree, your hands lightly gripping into the fabric of his coat.

Din doesn’t reply, patting Crest’s neck instead. The purple on the horizon quickly bleeds into a parched yellow, and then the spear of a blue that only ever came with early morning, clashing with the burnt orange of the earth, the sand yellowed grasses and pale cacti and desert blooms.

“It’s pretty out here,” you comment, hands tightening on his sides when you lean around him. “Prettier than that town.”

He glances out over the landscape, parched, cracked earth, dotted with sporadic clumps of trees that eventually fell away to nothing but the orange of the open desert. Gold poppies and desert lilies make homes next to cacti and tumble weed and desert grass.

It’s an okay view, but he prefers the mountains. He prefers green.

“Yes,” he agrees with you anyways. It’s beautiful, even if he doesn’t prefer it.

When Crest comes to a halt beneath the trees, the sun has risen far beyond the horizon. It drips from the sky, swollen and lazy with midday heat. Din dismounts carefully before offering you a hand down.

You aren’t used to riding, as he is, and you stumble a bit.

He catches you, steadies you with a hand on your waist before he releases you. The warm press of your hands against his forearms disappears, and the weight of the loss leaves him hollow.

You don’t seem to notice that he can’t stop himself from drinking you in. There’s a certain beauty in the cut of your features.

You duck quickly away from him before he gets the chance to fully admire you, stretching your legs and adjusting the hat on your head until he can no longer see your eyes.

He wonders how long you thought it could go on. There was no way you would have been able to keep on living like that in the town. You hadn’t seemed surprised, just resigned and tired, like you hadn’t really believed you could find a place to just be.

“We should rest. For a while.”

“How far along is the next town?” You ask, tipping your chin up to him, hands fisted on your hips. You’d put on your longcoat, but you have the sleeves pushed up, your forearms exposed to the sunlight. He tries not to look at the glow of your skin in the light. “If it’s somewhere I can walk, you can just let me go here. I’ve been enough trouble and I can figure it out.”

Din doesn’t respond and you knock back the brim of your hat with one finger to better see him. “We should rest here. Travel when the sun gets low again.”

You lift a brow. “So it's far?”

“What?”

“The next town?”

“Yes.”

He’s lying. Kind of.

You could probably walk to the next town, but it’d be a long one and dangerous.

He isn’t planning to take you to that one anyways. It’s much too close to the one you’d just left, it would be too easy to find you there.

And he isn’t quite ready to part with you.

Neither of you will be able to return to the town you’d just left, and he’d like to be sure you’re safe wherever you end up settling.

You nod slowly. “Okay, Mando.” You turn and lead Crest down to the water to drink. “Go on and rest. I slept enough.”

He shifts from foot to foot for a moment before turning to the copse of trees.

Din settles himself on the ground and leans back against the trunk, tipping his hat over his face. He trusts you enough to let himself sleep.

You let Mando sleep for a couple of hours.

His breathing is deep and even. You watch the rise and fall of his chest from where you sit on a log, chewing on a stick of something you found in Mando’s pack. You wonder if you should wait a while longer to wake him.

You aren’t sure how far ahead you are of anyone that might have followed you from the town.

If anyone followed you from the town.

Crest munches on desert grass nearby. It’s a peaceful spot. The creek makes for a gentle background noise, the air cool beneath the trees.

The scent of wet desert earth is pleasant, the soil around the creek bed is like wet clay and when you push your free hand into it it squishes pleasantly around your fingers. When you finish the stick of whatever the ration was made of, you wash your hands in the stream before standing to refill the canteens with water.

“We need to move again.”

Mando’s voice startles you, and you nearly drop the canteens.

His voice is close, and when you turn, you find him directly behind you. You clear your throat and take a step back, “So, you’ll tell me how far the next town is now?”

He shifts, head tilting to the side. You can just make out his eyes. “We can make it to the next town by sun up tomorrow. But I think you should bypass it.”

“Why?”

“It’s not far enough. It’s the first place they’ll look for you.” He tilts his hat back a fraction, like he’s trying to get a better look at you. “You should go farther west.”

You give a slow shake of your head. “Really, I think it’s fine. I don’t have anything to pay you with to take me further.”

You’re also not sure you want to travel any further with him. You would not jump from the frying pan into the fire.

Mando makes an irritated noise. “I am not asking for payment,” he says. “You shouldn’t go to the next town, but I’ll take you there, if that’s what you want,” he agrees, though he doesn’t sound happy about it.

You blink, surprised.

You’ve never had someone so easily bend to your wishes. You’ve never had someone listen to you the way the Mandalorian does, who actually takes your opinion and wants into consideration.

He seems to value your opinion, and accept that you know what’s best for you, even if he doesn't agree.

“We’ll have to rest again before we get there.” He turns on his heel and makes his way back to Crest, patting her side and then checking over her hooves.

You stand by the stream for a few long seconds, emotions swirling in your belly. The Mandalorian seems to be genuinely trying to help you. And you know him - he’s your friend. You’ve known him for months, had soft feelings for him for most of that time.

That, and he’s right. You’re still much too close to that town. A day’s ride was nothing to a determined man.

“Mando,” you call as you start towards him. “You’re right. The first town is too obvious.”

He doesn’t speak as he saddles Crest and adjusts the pack on her back. “I wouldn’t do that to you,” he says, his voice muffled and laden with something heavy, though he doesn’t sound angry. “I wouldn’t harm you.”

Something in you twists, gravel lodging in the back of your throat as you shift nervously, fidgeting with your fingers. “I know. It’s not you that’s made me afraid.”

Mando nods, “I know.” He swings himself onto Crest before leaning down to help you up behind him. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the next town?”

“I’m sure,” you answer, lightly fisting your hands against his sides.

The sun is once again tilting low on the horizon. You think again about how beautiful the desert is, and how dangerous.

In the distance you can see the peaks of the mountains where the Mandalorians must live. Even a half day's ride west makes them seem so much larger. They seemed mere pinpricks from the town. “Do the Mandalorians really live there?” You lift a hand and point to the peaks in the distance.

Mando cups his hand around your wrist and lowers your hand so it’s pointing midway up one of the smaller mountains on the range. “Yes. About there.”

He doesn’t let go of your hand for a moment, and the press of his worn leather gloves against your skin is warm and pleasant. His thumb slides over your pulse point before he seems to realize what he’s doing and abruptly releases you.

A warmth spirals up from your belly and prickles pleasantly at the underside of your skin. You’re glad at that moment that you’re behind him and he can’t see your expression. It must be written all over your face how much you’d liked his hand on yours.

Even so, he’s warm in front of you, if a little stiff with tension now. Your thighs bracket his and you lean into his back, cheek pressed against the soft, worn material of his jacket.

You clear your throat, “So, is it true that you’re in a cult?”

You feel the slight rumble of his chest when he laughs and tries to suppress it. The brief tension breaks, and his spine softens back into you again.

“No,” he answers. “It’s a good rumor, though.”

“Why not correct them? They wouldn’t fear you so.”

There’s a long pause, the clop of Crest’s hooves the only sound aside from the buzz of insects hiding in the low grasses. “We don’t live the way they do. Their fear is our protection.”

You consider that, watching the side of his face.

Just above the bandana, you catch a glimpse of golden skin and the peak of a sharp cheekbone. His eyes are a deep mourning brown. The color of his eyes seems lighter now than it had in the low light of the apothecary the day before. The sun casts them a deep chestnut, even though they’re shaded by the hat tipped over his eyes.

He’s rather beautiful, you don’t need to see the rest of his face to know that. You’ve thought so before, many times over, when he visited the apothecary. You’ve always liked the shape of his shoulders, the way he stood with all his weight on one foot, the slightly shy way he ducked his head.

You like a lot of things about him. You like the way he covers his face, and listens to the town gossip you impart on him, and tells you about his travels if anything worth mentioning had happened.

“I never feared you,” you feel the need to tell him.

Mando’s shoulders straighten, the tilt of his head angling up. A strange kind of pride radiates from him. “Because you understand. You understand fear.”

You know exactly what he means.

You understand not living the way others do, you understand their fear being a kind of protection. But while you are alone, the Mandalorians at the very least have each other. “Would you tell me about them?” You ask. “The Mandalorians? Are you all nameless, like they say?”

He laughs again, and this time the sound is more distinct. His body relaxes further back into yours, and you wonder what Miss Next Door would say if she could see you now. Likely she’d have a heart attack over the way the two of you are pressed together.

It makes you wonder again, at what’s wrong with you. You can’t help feeling that being this close to him, listening to him talk, feeling the warmth of him, should inspire something more in you.

But it doesn’t. You like this just fine. You like being close to him, you like the comforting scent of him, the sun warmed leather of him. But you don’t want more, you don’t feel more than that.

And that is why you’ll always be alone. There’s no place for someone like you.

“Another rumor,” he dismisses. ‘No, we are not nameless.” There’s only a moment of hesitation before he continues, “My name is Din Djarin.”

It’s a slightly strange name to your ears, but it suits him. You tell him as much, “You have a lovely name. Din Djarin.”

“We are people of many kinds,” he says without prompting, like he’s settled into his trust of you. “A creed binds us together. We are warriors, survivors.”

You hum and lie your cheek against his back again, through his layers of clothing you can just make out the sound of his heart. It’s a steady comforting sound, just like he’s steady and comforting against your body. “Survivors,” you murmur. “And protectors, it seems.”

“This is the Way,” he says, the inflection of his voice a bit odd. “Our people were once decimated by purges. I was not born to the Mandalorians.”

“You weren’t?” You ask, surprised. It seems like something so integral to who he is, like it's something woven into his bones and blood. “I find that hard to believe.”

“It’s true,” he reaches a gloved hand out to pat Crest between the ears. “My parents were killed when I was young. The Mandalorians saved me. I was a foundling, taken care of by the collective. You know I have a foundling of my own.”

“Your son,” you say, and he nods. You’d always assumed he was a child from a past relationship, but this somehow makes more sense.

Foundlings are an odd notion to you, but a nice one, one that appeals to you. “So everyone takes care of the foundlings?”

“And the children born to Mandalorians, yes.”

You shift against him, intrigued. “You are quite different.” His spine stiffens and he doesn’t answer you. It takes you a moment to realize he thinks you mean it in a negative way. “It’s nice,” you amend. “I imagine my own life would be quite different if we shared responsibilities in that way.”

Din relaxes again, his chin dipping forward in a nod. “It has its advantages.”

“Are other things very different?”

The Mandalorian pauses for a long moment, before he begins telling you of life in the mountains of Mandalore. Not everything about it is idyllic. The Mandalorians are warriors after all, which means a certain level of baseline brutality. But their culture and religion intrigue you.

He’s never spoken so much to you, and never about the other Mandalorians, like being alone together has given him permission to open up.

“Women,” he mentions, “and men are equal. All are equal. The way you and some of the others are treated…it’s not understandable. Not to me, or any Mandalorian, I would guess.”

“Equal,” you echo. “How do you-,”

“Of course we have leaders, a hierarchy. But all can be leaders and all are warriors. We are all warriors.”

You straighten at that, darkness falling in earnest now, the sky once again a hazy blue and purple. “All of you? Really?” He nods as he brings Crest to a stop. “Would you teach me?” You ask as his boots hit the ground and he holds out a hand to you.

“Teach you?”

“To fight. Or at least to defend myself.” You slide off Crest, your legs aching again.

He makes a noise under his breath as he steadies you, “I’m not sure how much I can teach you in a few days.”

“Somethin’ at least,” you plead as he releases you. “I’ve got a knife and everything.”

“Fine,” he agrees, but something about his tone tells you he’s proud, happy that you’ve asked, that he wants you to know how to defend yourself. “After we eat.”

You nod and let him point you to some tasks. Gathering anything that can be used for fire fuel, while Din takes care of Crest, making sure she’s well watered and that there’s something for her to eat.

When you have a little fire going and the last wisps of rosy light are burning out in the western sky, the Mandalorian goes about preparing a dinner for you. He’s methodical and precise, and when the food is finished he makes a gesture at you to eat.

“Won’t you too?” You ask when he makes no move to serve himself. He shakes his head. “Why?”

“You would see my face.”

“Oh.” Your brow crinkles. “But I’ve seen-,”

He shakes his head, “Not all of my face.”

Din doesn’t explain further, but you decide not to question him.

He’s explained a great deal to you in one day, revealed things you think must be information most outsiders don’t have.

You nod, “Okay. So come sit back to back with me. You must be starving, I won’t eat while you don’t.”

Din seems surprised with your concern, but he does as you say. You lean back into each other as you eat, listening to the sounds of him doing the same. Cicadas sing in the grasses that sway in the low breeze.

Already you can see the changes in the landscape, soon you’ll be out of the desert bowl and into the flat plains that make up the earth before the foothills of the mountains.

The ground is rocky beneath you but you don’t mind. The warmth of Din soaks through to your skin, even though layers of clothes, as the night and the cold descend on you.

He’s a comforting presence. He always has been. You crave this, this closeness, the way he feels against you without the expectation of anything more. You’re starved for it.

You’d looked forward to his time in the apothecary because it gave you someone to talk to, but also because you felt safe with him there, comforted. Now is no different.

“Din?” You ask, to make sure he’s listening but also just to speak his name. Another thing he’s given you today; his name.

“Yes?”

You stare straight ahead, out into the blackness of the empty desert, and you imagine all the times the Mandalorian must have traveled these lands alone. You wonder if Din is as lonely as you are, or if he was content to be alone.

Maybe he isn’t lonely most times. You aren’t sure how often he goes back to the mountains.

“You said the Mandalorians are equal among each other.” You feel him nodding. “And the collective cares for the children. So, is it possible to stay single? Not to have children?”

You feel his breath stop, a still kind of silence hanging in the air between you for a moment. “I only ask because it's so important to most where I’m from, and I wonder if it's the same with Mandalorians. If you didn’t, you were an outcast.”

There’s a long pause but you just continue eating, waiting for him to decide whether he’d like to answer you or not.

“Yes. Many don’t,” he says eventually. “Most important is the survival of the group. And many of us are foundlings. Blood is not as important. We have a saying - Aliit ori'shya tal'din. It means family is more than blood.”

You nod and don’t reply, focusing on finishing your food instead. You hadn’t known the Mandalorians had their own language, but it makes sense and the sound of it is pleasant.

It must be nice, in those respects at least. Without the pressure of finding a match, or being matched. Without the pressure of producing children.

Homesickness washes over you in a fierce, sudden wave, followed by a loneliness that lodges so firmly in your chest you find it hard to breathe for a few minutes.

You desperately want a place to belong, a family and a home, you’re just sure you can’t have those things because of what it seems to require of you. You aren’t enough alone, not enough the way you are.

The grief of not having a place, a home, is a physical thing. No family, no future.

You push the melancholy down, that lonely ache in the middle of your chest that said you would never be enough, that said there was something deeply wrong with you and that made you unlovable.

When you’re done eating and the mess has been cleared away, the Mandalorian teaches you the basics of wielding a knife. He’s a patient teacher, his voice soothing and low in your ear as he maneuvers your hand on the handle of the blade.

“It would be better if you had a revolver,” he tells you. “The knife should be a last resort, since it means someone got close enough for you to be able to use it.”

You nod in agreement. “But it would have its uses,” you weigh the blade in the palm of your hand. “For protection.”

His eyes squint and you know without seeing his mouth that Din is frowning at you. You shrug at him and tuck the blade back in your pocket. “I’m only thinking of the sheriff.”

You expect his brow to relax with understanding, but it only makes him appear more worried. “That wouldn’t have happened.”

“Well,” you concede. “Now it definitely won’t.”

Your breath clouds in the air around you, and you reach up to tug off your hat. “We should get some shut eye.”

Mando nods at you, looking distinctly more distressed.

You start to turn away but before you can, his hand circles your wrist. He says your name, the sound of it gentle. “I need you to know - you should know, I would not have left you there alone, if I thought that was a possibility. It’s why I didn’t leave you this time. Do you understand?”

You aren’t quite sure you do, but a lump has formed in the back of your throat nonetheless. He cares about you, you realize, and has for a while, and that hurts because it means he’ll probably tire of you too. You like Din more than you care to admit, and you won’t ever be enough for him. “Yes,” you nod. “I understand.”

His chin dips slightly in acknowledgement before he releases your wrist.

You sort out sleeping arrangements, and Din offers to take the first watch. You curl on the ground with a blanket that smells like hay and earth, near enough to the fire not to shiver, while the Mandalorian settles beside you.

There’s a moment, right before you fall asleep, that you think you feel his hand brush over your forehead.

The next few days of travel are easy.

Those few days quickly run over into a week, but you don’t mind.

You and Din Djarin slip into an easy routine. He tells you, more and more each day, of the Mandalorians, and of the land you travel across which he knows well. He knows every swell of the earth, every crack in the soil, where to look for water, each blade of grass.

You don’t remember him being as chatty in the town, but maybe he simply wasn’t comfortable enough there. This is his domain, and for once he’s not traveling it alone.

He does seem more comfortable out on the open plains, away from people.

And he seems to like you, or at least enjoy your company.

Evenings and midday are by far your favorite times of the day, because you and Din get to lean into each other and eat, and because he teaches you small things, like how to track game and read the signs in the wilderness to tell if people or animals have passed by.

Din lets you hunt with him, and a few nights you have rabbit for dinner. Learning how to break down the animal is by far the worst part of it all, but it’s still a useful skill to have and one you wouldn’t have had otherwise.

He teaches you how to use your knife and then his revolver and the rifle too.

You like how he guides your hands and presses his chest to your back as he shows you movements and how to handle the weapons. The feeling of his body around yours makes your skin prickle pleasantly, your stomach filled with butterflies you haven’t felt in a long time. You like how he touches you, careful and precise, his hands lingering just a little long. “No one ever showed you how?”

“Never,” you say. “It wasn’t something I was supposed to know.”

He makes a discontent noise but doesn’t comment further. You have a distinct feeling the idea is offensive to him, that some are taught to defend themselves and others aren’t.

Each night, he points out the constellations to you. He describes how they move across the sky through the seasons and how they’re used for navigation.

You listen with rapt attention. “So, if you know the season and where the stars sit at that time, you can find your way around?” He nods. “Wow. I never knew the sky was used to travel.”

Din is sitting on the ground, reclined against a rolled pack while you lie flat on the ground next to him, the crown of your head almost touching his thigh. It’s cold and not particularly comfortable but you don’t care. The earth of the grassy plains is much more comfortable than the rocky desert had been, and the Mandalorian has given you both the blanket and his coat to lie on. It smells like him, like leather and pine.

It’s the first time you’ve seen the skin of his arms. He removed his gloves when you sat down to eat earlier, and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. Din’s forearms are scarred, his skin crossed with lines from what must be many years of bounty hunting. You don’t mind it, the golden bronzed hue of his skin appealing. The veins in his arms collect in strong hands, and you want to know what his calloused fingers would feel like between yours.

You could spend forever watching the stars, and listening to his low voice tell you stories.

He tilts his head down at you. He doesn’t have his hat on, his hair like tufts of cloud that stick up around his head. “How did you come to that town? How did you know where you were?”

“I…wandered. Anywhere was better than what I was facing.” You don’t elaborate further than that and Din doesn’t ask, just looks up and points out another constellation.

He tells you of the legends that are attached to the stars by the Mandalorians. You listen until the fire burns low and he tells you to get some sleep.

You sit up and lean against his bent leg. The position is a little close, but you spend most of the day plastered to his back, and figure it isn’t too close. His scent becomes more intense when you shift, like the small cake of soap he’d used to wash at the creek when you stopped for the day, like pine and leather. “It’s nice out here. Quiet.”

He stares at you for a long moment, the dying embers of the fire reflected over his skin and in the depths of his dark eyes. His gaze flicks over your face before settling on your eyes again. You swear the skin above the bandana turns a bit pink. “It’s usually a lot lonelier,” he admits.

“Yeah,” you smile. “I was in a town full of people, and still lonely.” You glance up at the sky, “At least out here, there’s no one to judge you.”

You touch his hand lightly, just because you want to know how it feels. It feels nice, warm. The nerves in your belly beat up against your lungs, step on your ribs and over your heart. “Thank you for sharing so much with me, Din.”

You release his hand when his fingers flex beneath yours and lie down again, closing your eyes to the stars. You don’t feel as alone as you once did.

Before you drift off, you feel his fingers sweep across your forehead again.

You wake to the Mandalorian dousing the fire suddenly, his hand is on your arm shaking you awake as he says your name. “Get Crest and go, I’ll find you.”

“What?” You sit up, groggy. “Why? Go where?”

Despite his urgent tone, his touch is gentle. “I need you to get to Crest,” he repeats, “and ride until you cross the river.” He helps you stand when you see the riders in the distance, torches held aloft.

Your heart seizes hard in your chest, a fierce panic crawling up from the pit of your belly.

“No,” you latch onto his arm hard. “Din, they-,”

“Go to Crest,” he says, eerily calm, a quiet rage humming just below the surface. “I’ll find you.”

“Din, there’s five of them!” You say, digging your heels into the ground. Maybe more than five, you can’t tell.

“I can handle it,” he assures you. “I need you to go now,” his voice softens a fraction.

You move slowly toward Crest, feeling as though you’re in a dream. You never thought you were important enough to chase this far. The last few days, you had been able to convince yourself they hadn’t followed at all. “But I can help. What - what if something happens to you -,”

“I’ll be alright,” he says, the sky behind him starting to lighten, a rosy, dawn colored pink. “If not, just keep riding west. There’s a map and a compass here,” he taps the saddlebag. “You have enough supplies to reach the next town. Now go.”

He has the rifle in his hands. “Din-,”

Instead of answering, he says something lowly to Crest, in the same language he’d used the other day. She takes off immediately, and you struggle to hang on for just a moment. You dig your knees in and manage to get the reins into your hands.

Crest seems to know where she’s going, following a small, well worn dirt path through the grassy plains. Behind you, the sound of gunfire echoes. You try only once to glance over your shoulder, but you can’t see anything.

You aren’t sure how long you ride, and you find it hard to track the movements Crest makes. Eventually, when the sun is just fully over the horizon behind you, she slows.

The river comes into view.

It isn’t a large river, but Crest trots over the wooden bridge across it like she knows it well, before finally coming to a stop beneath a copse of trees on the other side.

She’s foamy with sweat and breathing hard. “Good girl,” you pat her gently before sliding from the saddle. You’re breathing hard too, your body is stiff and your stomach churns with nerves. You clench your hands into fists to try to contain the shaking.

How long would it take Din to walk to you? Already you want to turn Crest around and go searching for him, but you aren’t sure if that’ll make it worse. You don’t know where you are or how to get back to where you’d come from.

You pat Crest gently and decide to stay put.

You’ve only seen the Mandalorian commit violence once, in a shootout in the center of the town. And, you suppose, when you left the town, he’d clearly at least delayed them with injuries.

For you, and now he was doing it again. Something about it makes your heart flutter. Its kind of morbid, and you kind of don’t care.

You lead Crest to the water to drink before turning her out into the grass to graze. She never seems to need tied up and so you just leave her, watching the sun rise ever higher in the sky.

A cool breeze blows over the land ruffling the swaying grass. The sky burns bright blue, clouds drifting in from the north until the day feels colder than it should. Your heart hasn’t slowed since Crest came to a stop.

You press your hand to your chest, a bit worried something might be wrong. The stillness irks you, but pacing only makes your heart rate tick higher. The wind continues to pick up, the sky promising rain.

Just when you start to feel too much time has passed, a figure appears on the horizon. You can’t be sure it’s Din but you click your tongue at Crest anyways. She trots over and snorts when you clamber onto her back. “Look,” you point. “Is it him?”

She breaks into a gallop without another word from you.

Din is clutching his side, a spot of red bleeding through his shirt.

You slide off Crest before she’s even come to a stop and catch yourself against him, nearly knocking both of you to the ground.

Sweat slicks his brow and he’s panting, but aside from the blood on his side he seems unharmed. “Din? Are you hurt?”

You reach for his side when his hand captures yours, his grip tight. “I’m fine. I told you to cross the river.”

“We did,” you look up at him. “I need to look, you can’t just bleed out.”

He grunts and whistles for Crest, before urging you up onto her again. You help him swing up behind you before he nudges her into a trot. “I’m fine. It looks worse than it is.” His arms circle you, reins held loosely in his grasp.

He’s still breathing a little hard, his chest rising and falling rapidly against your back. “What happened?”

A long silence passes. You cross the river again and keep moving west. “We should stop so-,”

“There’s a better place up ahead. It’s going to rain,” he says, his voice a familiar, comforting rasp in your ear. “Secluded. Runoff creek from the river. A couple apple trees.”

“Okay,” you agree, pressing your hands over his on the reins, just to steady yourself. Even through his gloves, you can feel the heat of his hands. To your surprise, he turns his hands in yours and captures yours lightly. He squeezes your hands and you return the comforting gesture.

The patch of trees and the runoff creek are near a steep rock face you’d seen in the distance. It's hemmed in and shaded. It feels safe.

Din lets you fuss over him, sitting still on one of the rocks near the creek bed while you clean and bandage the wound on his side. He was only grazed by a bullet, and he was right that it looked much worse than it actually is.

Still, it needs cleaned and bandaged. You try to move quickly, since Din seems fairly shy about being seen, but your hands are shaking and it takes longer than you would like. What if he hadn’t been grazed? What if it had been worse? All because of you?

His side is lined with old scars, wounds that look like he badly tended them himself. He doesn’t make so much as a peep as you work. You're glad to have taken some of the tinctures with you.

When the bandages are firmly in place, you check over his knuckles. They’re swollen and bruised but otherwise fine. “Are you in pain?” You ask, glancing up into his eyes. “We have a tincture for that if you are.”

“No.”

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” You ask, hands still covering his.

His gaze bores into yours, dark and calm. “You don’t have to worry about them anymore.”

You stare at him for a long moment, before you nod. “Okay.” You glance away, very aware that you’re still holding his hands between yours. “Thank you.”

He did that. For you. It sends another bolt of guilt through you.

He’s your only friend and you’d nearly gotten him killed.

Din nods and you nod back, decidedly not letting go of his hands. You can’t seem to bring yourself to do it.

He pats your fingers. “I’m okay. I would do it again.”

You’re sure your heart is in your mouth, and you can’t seem to swallow it down. Tears gather in the corners of your eyes but you blink them back.

“Just,” you squeeze his hands again. “Give me a minute.”

He doesn’t try to pull away, and when you fit yourself into his arms, he doesn’t comment on that either. His hands curl into you, warm and safe and grounding, and don’t let go.

You don’t travel that day.

Din catches fish in the stream for you to roast over the fire that evening. He watches you carefully from the corner of his eye, not able to shake off the feeling of you curled in his arms. You’d fit yourself there as though it came naturally.

It was only then that he’d felt you shaking and knew that you wouldn’t be able to travel.

He also hadn’t wanted to let you go. He isn’t sure how long you’d stayed there like that.

Instead, once you calmed enough that your lungs weren’t trembling with fast, suppressed breath, he’d let you get him the tincture, which did help with the pain even if he didn’t really need it. Only then did you seem comfortable with moving away from him.

While he fishes he watches you. He watches you gather apples, and then twigs for a fire. He watches you feed and water Crest. The trees keep most of the light rain off, but your clothes are still lightly spattered with it. You wear the cowl he’d gotten you, he’s hardly seen you without it since he got it for you. It makes him feel like he’s standing in the sun.

“How many have you got?” You ask as Din directs his eyes back to the stream when you approach.

“Three so far,” he answers, the heat of your skin sinking into his when you step closer. He holds his breath but you don’t lean into him.

“That should be enough, shouldn’t it?”

He agrees, and drops his makeshift spear to start cleaning the fish. You stand by and watch, insistent to learn how. Din is glad you want to know, he’s happy to show you. The way you lean into his side as you watch only has a little to do with it. You rest the side of your forehead against his shoulder.

He’s been thinking of asking you to come to Mandalore. You would be safe there, and, he hopes, happy. You could learn to fight and navigate and hunt, like you want to.

But it also feels selfish. Din knows. He knows why he wants to ask you, and it feels dishonorable.

You roast the fish, and then eat back to back like you always do.

No one has ever made that consideration for him before, to make that simple change so he could eat at the same time.

“Mando,” you curl against his spine because you always somehow finish your food before he does. Maybe because he spends too much time thinking about your warmth pressed against his back.

“Yes?”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes.”

You make a noise like a hum and settle again. You fist a hand into his coat and he thinks about you in his arms again. Something painful clenches in his chest. He wishes he could just tell you that he cares for you.

It’s quiet for a while before you suddenly ask, “Have you ever danced?”

The question is a little odd but he answers you anyways. “No.”

“We used to have dances all the time. Where I’m from.” you say. “It's something I really miss about home. I wasn’t any good at it but it was fun.” Your cheek is pressed to his shoulder. “I could teach you, since you’ve shown me so much.”

He almost refuses before thinking better of it. He sets aside what’s left of his dinner and slips the bandana back over his nose. “Okay. Show me.”

“Really?” You ask as he stands, clearly surprised.

“Yes.” Din helps you up from the ground, and you smile at him. He patiently lets you lead him through a couple steps that he’ll never remember the motions to, before you settle in a slow sway.

He closes his eyes, because it's nice and he’s gotten what he wants again, you curled in his arms. “This was everyone’s favorite part,” you say. “Just holding and swaying.”

It is nice. It’s comforting, the feeling of you in his arms, warm against his chest.

He pulls you tighter to him, rests his chin against your shoulder, and leads you in a slow circle.

Maybe he will remember the steps, because the laugh it pulls from you is worth it, the pleasant weight of you against his chest is worth it.

You pull in shaky breaths, and he doesn’t make a noise of protest when your arm curls around him inside his coat. You smell like bluebells, like new rain on grass.

He isn’t sure how long you stay together like that.

One evening, several days on, Din just watches you breathe from his place leaning back against a fallen tree trunk. You’re closing in on the end of your journey together, and feels he should while he has the chance. You’re on the ground next to him, chewing on the slice of apple he’d just handed you.

He likes watching you, and he’s glad you’re slightly in front of him so he can do it in peace.

You’re pretty. Everything you do is beautiful.

It’s not right, but he understands why you’re coveted.

It’s also not right that he covets you.

He stares at you for another long minute before returning his gaze to the horizon. The sky is still boiling, red bleeding into orange as the sun settles lower through the long waves of grass. He’d stopped you earlier than he normally would have.

Maybe he’s trying to prolong your time together just a little bit.

Your body is pressed to the side of his bent leg, your chin on his knee, the warmth a comforting thing.

You’ve completely let your guard down around him again. He doesn’t blame you for thinking the worst of him, for being wary in the beginning. What else could you be expected to think? He’s become protective of you, he’d kill those men again, if given the chance. You’re protective of him too, now. You make sure his wound, shallow and superficial as it is, is taken well care of. You make sure he eats, and rests.

Din likes you. He doesn’t want to leave you in some town that would probably treat you just the way the last one had.

You’re smart and capable and a fast learner, and you deserve better than to be whatever thing they were trying to mold you into.

You’ve become incredibly important to him over the last few months, ever since you offered to bandage him in front of that apothecary. He cares for you, and the last two weeks have only solidified that. He always wished he had more time with you when he visited you, and now that he’s had it, it's made everything worse, and much more complicated. He isn’t sure how he’s supposed to let you go.

He wants to court you, but he’s not sure if the way Mandalorains court would mean much of anything to you, and he’s not sure you want that anyway. Besides, anytime he’s tried that, it’s gone badly.

He doesn’t want things to go badly with you.

That, and he knows he won’t measure up to what you need. He never has.

“Din?” You ask suddenly, turning from the fire to look at him. He raises a brow and continues slicing through the apple he’s cutting up for you one piece at a time.

He likes the easy way you curl into him, craves the contact, the warmth like nothing else he ever has.

He offers the next slice of apple to you, perched on the edge of the knife.

You take it with a glowing smile. He knows it pleases you when he does little things like that for you.

“Y’know,” you fidget with the slice of apple for a long moment before biting into it. “I’ve never met a man like you before.”

He tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

You smile and look away, scuffing your boot along the ground.

The terrain turned in the last two days, from the light brown of the plains to the deep, rich coffee earth that lies in the foothills of the mountains.

He’s close to home, close to losing you.

“You don’t seem to really want anything from me,” you shrug. “You know how the sheriff treated me. Wasn’t any different with any of the other men in the town, or where I came from. I know what they wanted from me. I’m not stupid.”

Din doesn’t say anything, just watches you reach up to push your hat back on your forehead.

“I mean, men have tried to control me most of my life,” you admit, still not looking at him. “And you don’t. You seem to see me as you said, equal.” You pause before lifting your eyes. “I was married. Before.”

“Sheriff said as much,” Din says. “Knew you were hiding from someone.”

That had been the sheriff’s point to Din that evening he helped you leave. You were desperate and alone. Weak, he’d said. But stubborn, and he’d already picked you, you just didn’t realize it.

Din couldn’t have left you there, he wouldn’t have gone anywhere without you after hearing what he had.

“Right,” you nod and take the next slice of apple he offers you. You reach over with your other hand and cup your fingers around his wrist. It sends a jolt through him anytime you touch him, and now is no different. A slow warmth spreads through him. You’ve been touching him a lot lately. “I know. But he didn’t know why.” You glance at him from beneath lowered, thick lashes, and wait for him to nod before you continue.

You release his wrist and fiddle with the apple slice. “I did love him. He was so kind and courted me properly.” A jealousy that means nothing rakes along his veins, that someone before you’d known him had gotten the chance, that you’d married him. “At first, anyways. And all the girls kept telling me how good it’d be once I was married. That being intimate was…something special. Only I couldn’t understand what they meant. I didn’t want that, but I thought I just had to wait.”

You shrug, “But that feeling never came. And I realized something was wrong with me. Because even as much as I cared for him and for other people, the little crushes over the years, I’d never wanted anything more. I’ve never really wanted to be intimate with anyone. And if I understand it right, that’s not normally how people feel.”

There’s a pause, where you stare into the fire and then gaze toward the faded midnight blue of the horizon. He watches the way a tendon in your jaw jumps as you chew the apple slice.

Part of him can’t believe what he’s hearing. He’s never come across anyone who feels the way he does, he’s never heard anyone else describe what he feels. He holds his breath, heart seizing in his chest, not daring to think you might be saying what he thinks you are. Din opens his mouth when you continue.

“I’ve…I never felt that way about anyone,” you repeat. “I know somethin’ is wrong. I should feel something. But I don’t.” You shrug, “Anyways, he was my husband and I did love him, so we were intimate. But then I couldn’t get pregnant, and he said it was because I didn’t really want him, because I was broken. My body wasn’t welcoming. I was too cold.”

You glance up at him, “So that’s why I had to leave. It got around the village and-,” You take in a sharp breath and shake your head, “Anyways so I left, and I decided I’d do things my way. Makes for a very lonely life, though, when you know you’ll never be good enough. I know I’ll always be alone.”

You pat his hands again, frozen in place on the apple. “I’m sorry if I’ve said too much,” your voice takes on a nervous tinge. “I realize it’s a sensitive subject but you’ve shared so much with me, I thought you deserved to know why I was in the situation I was in. Especially since you helped me. You saved my life, I know you did. Twice. So, you should know.”

You breathe out hard, your hands releasing his and twisting together anxiously. “And…well, I’ve come to care for you. Maybe it's presumptuous of me but, I want you to know that. How I feel and what you did for me. You saved me from more than you can ever know. Given me more, with all you’ve shared.”

Din turns toward you and meets your eyes, your irises are glowing in the fading light. You’re so beautiful, and he can’t believe you’ve put to words something he’s always felt. That there’s someone else that feels that way.

You swallow nervously and look away from him. “I know it's strange and you probably don’t understand. I thought I should just tell you because…I think we’ve been going along pretty well and I don’t want to disappoint you.”

Din’s heart lurches. He needs to say something.

He sets the apple and knife to the side and captures your fluttering hands. “I understand. I - it's the same for me.”

You shrink back from him, your expression pinching in. It’s a pained look, like you think he’s making fun of you, like you can’t fathom someone might feel the same. And, he supposes, a couple minutes ago he hadn’t been able to either. “You don’t have to be cruel. We can just pretend I didn’t - I know I shouldn’t have said it, I’m-,”

“No,” he interrupts. “No. I’m not - There was someone once. Someone I loved. I courted her. I did everything right. But it - it didn’t work, because I didn’t want to be with her that way. I wanted everything else but that.”

You stare at him, unblinking. “You cared for her?” You ask slowly.

He tugs down the bandana from over his nose and looks at you head on. You blink in surprise, your eyes flitting down his face. “Yes. But she wanted to be intimate and I didn’t. I never felt that.”

“Oh,” you say, still staring at his face, your eyes darting from his lips to his eyes and back. “So, you’ve never-?”

He’s shaking his head before you’ve even finished the question. “I understand. Part of it at least. At first, I thought I just didn’t have time - traveling, bounties - but then realized I - I feel what you do. I never wanted it.”

You don’t answer him for a long time as you search his eyes. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know - I-,” you stumble over your words, leaning closer. “I thought there was something wrong with me.”

He nods and takes the apple and knife back into his hands to steady himself. “I didn’t either.”

You smile suddenly, so widely it looks just a little painful. He watches you fight the expression back as you bite your lip and look down. “Well,” you say, “ain’t that somethin’.”

“Here,” he nudges another slice of apple into your hand.

You take it from his fingers, still smiling.

Din presses his knee into shoulder, and you immediately lean into him. “I care for you,” he says before he can think better of it.

You finish chewing the bite of apple before answering. “I know.” You look up, “I was just worried I wouldn’t be enough.” You sit up fully and reach up to cup his cheek gently.

He leans into your touch. It’s all he’s ever wanted, your touch and attention. You smooth your fingers along his jawline, the tug of your skin against his is pleasant. “You’re handsome,” you say.

A flush burns hot through him, but he doesn’t answer, lost in the way you cup his face in your hands.

You smile, and lean up to kiss him.

Din hesitates for half a second before meeting your lips. You taste like apple and smell like the fresh breath of rain brewing on the horizon, like desert flowers.

You settle softly into his arms when he pulls you into them, your fingers skating down his throat and over his collarbone.

He anchors his hands on your waist when you open your mouth to him. He’s hungry for you, and you return the press of his lips against yours eagerly. You’re so warm against, against the chill of the night, and you grin when he pulls back to rest his forehead against yours.

Your mouth is just a little swollen when he sweeps his thumb against your lips.

The truth of you settles down in his bones, you were never going to want more than he could give. You would never find him wanting.

He kisses you again, and you laugh when he does.

The next morning, when a town comes into view on the horizon, he manages to say it. “You should come to Mandalore.”

“What?”

“That town,” he says, tipping his head towards the collection of buildings just in view. “It’s not going to be any different from the others.”

“I thought they weren’t a problem anymore?” Your fingers hook anxiously into his coat.

“No,” he says, his voice slightly gruff as he tries to tell himself it wasn’t a bad idea to bring it up. Just because you care for him, just because you had the same kind of feelings he did, doesn't mean you’d want to stay with him. “Not them,” he says. “But their people might be just the same.” He brings Crest to a halt. “And you wouldn’t ever have to worry about that with me.”

“With you?” You ask softly.

You peek around at him, eyes wide and waiting. “With us,” he corrects. “With Mandalorians.”

A smile breaks over your face and you pat his side. “It’s okay, I like the thought of being with you.” His heart nearly stops at your words, affection seeping into his very blood. His love for you integrating itself into his very being, the core of himself and his creed. “But are you allowed to do that? Just bring people back to the cult?” You tease.

“Not a cult.”

“Not a cult,” you agree. “But, really, are you?”

“Yes,” he swings down from Crest and offers you a hand. “I am.” You let him help you down, and both of you stare out over the horizon to the town. “I will take you there, if that’s what you want,” he says, not letting go of your hand. “But I think it would be more of the same.”

You tug at the brim of your hat before taking a step back from him. “Yeah, probably.”

“Mandalore would be unknown to you,” he continues. “But you wouldn’t have to stay. Not if you wouldn’t want to.”

You turn and gaze toward the mountains. “How far?”

“Another day’s ride. Quicker if we pick up the pace.”

“Have we been going slower than usual?”

“I didn’t want to push Crest with two of us. This journey usually takes under a week for me alone.”

You smile again. “Oh, and here I thought we were makin’ time.”

He ignores your joke. This is important to him, and important that you know what choice you’re making. “You know much of Mandalorians now. You can decide if you’d like to live amongst them.”

Your mouth twists to the side. “But, would I be allowed to learn to become a warrior? And learn to use the stars for navigation? And how to track people and animals?”

“You already have - you are-,” he starts.

“And I wouldn’t have to marry. And-,” You stop and stare at him for a long moment, your eyes searching his. “I could be myself and I would be with you.”

“Yes.” A strange swell of pride bubbles up. “You would be with me. And you could leave, if you wanted. Or, I can take you to the town now.”

You take his hand again, and consider your twinned fingers. “Would you visit me there?”

“Yes.” He’d go to you anywhere, visit you wherever you settled.

For a moment, you’re quiet, and he resigns himself to you leaving him. At least you wouldn’t be so far away. “I want to come with you,” you say, meeting his eyes.

The sharp pang of relief swells in his lungs. Din steps forward and tugs you into him, cradling your face between his palms. “Good,” he says. “I don’t think I can be without you now.”

You reach up to tug down the bandana over his mouth, your eyes running hungrily over his face, drinking him in. He tilts your face up and kisses you gently, unable to believe you’re real, someone who fits with the pieces of himself.

He had been so sure he was alone in his feelings.

And then, you, a perfect fit.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you

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astralnymphh · 7 months

Text

patterned palmistry ⋆ | ellie williams headcanons

༺ ellie x witch!reader headcanons/scenarios ༻ ☽𖤐☾

✧˖ ° 🕯 bright blessings!

an: being the witchy little gremlin i am i just had to throw some hcs together for myself but ofc i'd share them here🙄ive been practicing witchcraft since i was 15 so it felt fitting to incorporate it whenever i brace my delusions at the bootycrack of midnight that r all abt ellie 💀 regardless this def isnt gonna be my only witchy hcs post i just didnt wanna spoil all my ideas right away <3 tags: MDNI, slight nsfw (no detailed smut), boob jokes, witchcraft (obv), tarot, palm reading, mostly convos, flirting, not mentioned in the writing but u 2 r alrdy dating, playful bickering, more natural casual writing with some bigger words, no specific religion tied to the practice, generally a fluff piece, lowk cute moments. °________________________⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆__________________________°

I. ☆ ellie definitely had a peak in curiosity the first time you mentioned you immerse yourself in the world of the craft, her ears perked figuratively and were tuned in to learn what that entails. she may not forfeit a nip of skepticism right away but she's more than happy to engross herself in the idea of it. you'd stay up till first light rambling on about the 'rituals', 'divination', the history tied to it and why you practice it. you'd be lying in bed adjacent to her, heavenward to the ceiling, but interwoven in a warm and loving cuddle with her palm residing on your lap whilst you chatted.

"mmmmh-" ellie's hum churns 'round your bedroom, "so that's why you collect rocks."

"crystals."

"same thing," she drones an inwardly giggle, "which crystal will give me superpowers?" a witty remark springs from her tongue.

"babe.." you pout, acting offended yet none is taken.

"didn't mean it like that, y'know I believe you, it's all just new to me." ellie tapes an assuring kiss to your temple, "tell me about your favorite crystals, hmm?"

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

II. ☆ now because of this, anytime you're out on patrol and delight the opportunity of scavenging, she always keeps in mind to find you flowers, rocks, unused candles and other oddities of nature.

"hey babe! I found a black candle for'ya." ellie bolstered a long glass cylinder filled with an opaque charcoal wax, wick still intact, "and- ..some wild lavender." her other arm swings from behind her back, twines of dusty purple lavender upheld in a pinch.

"fuck yeah, needed this stuff.." you graciously tweak the lavender from her, whiffing up its poignant scent.

"always on the lookout.." her voice resembles her proud countenance outwards, essentially, a dorky smirk.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

III. ☆ obviously, the second you mentioned the art of tarot to her, she begged for a reading. whenever a card flew from your shuffling motions, she'd patiently wait for you to place it before her and then she'd swipe it up and admire the art piece detailing the cardstock.

"whew! look at the boobs on this one!"

"oh- my god, of course you'd point that out." you snatch the card from her, shamelessly ogling the nude depiction that had her attention.

"you're looking at them too!"

"cuz' you said something 'bout it!" you flick the card towards her face, noting, "those are some nice boobs though."

"why thank you~"

"wasn't talking about you, idiot!"

"eh, but.. urs' are the best." her hoarse tone binds a nonchalant flirtiness in its rumble.

"oh really? should we compare the.. four?"

that really stole her attention.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

IV. ☆ the first time you entertained her with a palm reading, it had her all dappy and touched to the essence at the paltry contact you made with her hand. your fingerprints drafting her calloused palms with such a gentle focus on every river lining her hand. she just wanted to smother you with kisses.

"and… this is your heart line." your finger hovers the crevice of her palm-pads stretching from index to pinkie, "ah.. it's a broken one.."

"is that.. bad?" her juniper eyes study your expression meticulously.

"it just means u're closed off, stubborn, have some emotional trauma.. stuff like that." you mindlessly fiddle with her fingers, "lines can change though, so.."

she nods, taking in the insight. she licks her slightly chapped lips clean, "am I stubborn?" her voice rises partially an octave, bending playfulness in her question.

"mm.. no."

"why'd you hesitate?"

"well- the only times ur' stubborn is refusing to let go whenever you hug me- ur' a life-size sloth!"

"I like huggin' you though." a puppy pout frowns on her lips, "you're like a pillow!"

and oh, how your heart capers a beat, "is that all I am, williams?"

her swift speech conjuncts, "whaddid' I say about that name?!"

"I don't know, I think you like it."

"nuh-uh I don't!"

you pepper a haste kiss to her knuckles still forcepped in your clasp, totally deterring the crime you've just committed when a half impish half taken aback smile creaks her lips.

"c'mere." vaults from her tongue before she lunges her body forward and tackles you in a saucy position riddled with love bites. guess you'll be reading her palms in a different way tonight.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ V. ☆ an bonus hc, you'd totally mention out of the void about her tattoo n the mystic meanings surrounding moths, like, its for sure one of the topics you'll ramble about one night cause you just feel so wise for knowing. "y'know, moths play a pretty large role in the metaphysical world." "really? i mean, i knew they had some kind of.. 'symbolism' to them-" ellie's hand rolls over the knoll of her forearm, reading the bumps glamoured in that beautiful inking. "yeah, like- luna moths represent transformation, renewal.. oh! and death-head moths are an omen of death.. an- and black witch moths mean either good luck, or bad-" ellie is amused at your prattle shown by her raspy giggles, legitimately having to conceal her scrunched face. "what?" "nothin' you- you're just so cute." "stop.." the embarrassment catches up to you, now having to hide your face to the shadows beneath your hands. her finger cranes out to hook and uncover your nerdy grin, assuring, "never stop tellin' me bout this stuff, ok babe?" a wide delighted beam syncs on her cheeks. goddess above, her dimples and nasal lines are to die for. ⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

𖤐

in general; she's a curious dork n will ask you oh so many questions, i mean, she loves space and a futuristic sci-fi comic for crying out loud, she's alrdy so imaginative so ofc she'd be open to a realistic amount. she'd also be so respectful and helpful n defend ur practice with so much love. maybe she'd pick up some little traditions and customs like folding letters a specific amount of times, drawing little pentacles, mixing liquid in specific directions, just the simple things that grow on her.

#ellie williams #ellie x reader #ellie williams x fem!reader #ellie tlou #the last of us #the last of us 2 #ellie williams fic #ellie williams smut #lesbian #sapphic #ellie williams headcanons #ellie smut #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams x reader #ellie the last of us #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x witch #ellie headcanons #tlou headcanons

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silassinclair · 2 months

Text

Introduction!! Yandere Wild West Outlaw x Reader

CONTENT WARNING: Guns, Violence, Fem Reader, For 16+ Readers Preferably (Ik i cant stop you younger little shits from being here)

Mayor John L/n should have known better than to attract the attention of Maddox Graves; the West's number one most wanted criminal and outlaw. But Y/n L/n's Father, John L/n, is a fool.

It all started when John L/n rode into town on his fine horse. Tonight he was going to drink at the bar and chat with the other townspeople about some small town drama. When John arrived outside the saloon however he noticed all of the posts had horses tied to them already. John looks around and sees a free spot! Just as John hopped off his horse to tie the rope around the wood post another man beat him too it.

The man shoulder checked John as he tied his black horse to the post.

“Hey I was about to tie my horse there you brute! And how dare you hit me!” John says angrily.

"I had my horse tied here first old man. Go find some place else to tie yours." The Mexican American man says; his accented voice rich and deep. The bottom half of his face is concealed by a dark red bandana. His cowboy hat is a dark brown color, a contrast to the black attire he adorns.

"Do you know who I am young man? I own this town! Now get your filthy horse out of my way before I teach you a lesson!" Mayor L/n shouts aggressively.

The outlaw frowns disapprovingly under the cloth of his bandana. This greedy old fart dare insult his stallion? And threaten him?

The outlaw brings his masked face close to the older man, making the older man back up nervously. Bringing his rugged hands to his hips the outlaw moves his long black leather jacket to the side, revealing one of his two revolvers. Each revolver being a stunning silver color with black metal engravings. No other gunman in the west had such weapons, no one other than Maddox Graves.

The mayor notices the shining gun and he gasps in fear for his life. "Those guns! Y-You’re M-Maddox Graves!" He shouts in newfound fright.

"That's right old man. You fucked with the wrong guy. Telling me to move my horse and insulting him in such a way? You're a real old fart I tell ya. Ya had some real balls o’ steel to threaten me too." The outlaw says as he pats the back of his midnight black stallion.

The mayor doesn’t waste a second as he goes to his horse as quick as possible. He gets on it's saddle to ride off. Luckily, he escapes the outlaw. However the outlaw already knows where the mayor lives.

And he will not let him get away with what he has done. No one disrespects Maddox Graves unless they want to end up in their own grave.

"Father? Are you alright?" A young woman says. The woman's name is Y/n L/n, and she's the one and only daughter of Mayor John L/n. In this shit stain of a small town that is on the bottom corner of maps, she brings light and joy. The townspeople adore her presence and work ethic. Though she is wealthy and the daughter of the mayor she does volunteer work in local farms and helps look after the town’s children.

Though Y/n L/n has no Mother, not anymore. So John L/n protects her with his life. She’s all he has left and he may have just lost her tonight for what he has done.

"How can I be so foolish?! Oh god what have I done!" The old man says in despair as he rushes over to his daughter. He embraces her in a desperate hug which she returns gently with a pat to his sweating back.

"Father whatever is the matter? What has you in such a stress?" She asks with genuine concern.

The old man holds her plush face gently in his wrinkled palms. He gazes into her eyes, for it may be the final time he get to do so.

"I have made a mistake Y/n... I insulted a dangerous outlaw and he may come here to our home. I need you to hide okay... Whatever you hear, do not leave your hiding spot."

Y/n feels her Father tremble. "Father I don't understand! Please whatever it is let me hel-"

"NO! I CAN HEAR HIS HORSE OUTSIDE! GO UPSTAIRS AND HIDE NOW!"

The poor young woman yelps as her Father pushes her away. She is about to argue but the desperation in his eyes makes her only nod and run up the stairs and do as she's told. Y/n goes to her bedroom and opens the door to her oak wardrobe. She hides behind a few gowns and shuts the door enough for there to be a crack.

There are sounds of talking downstairs. Y/n can hear the voice of her Father and another. The other voice is deeper and strikes fear into her core. She can hear how desperate her Father is as he pleads for his life.

“You got a little girl right? Would be a shame if she lost her Father.” The deep voice says.

“Yes! So please spare me Graves! I’ll give you money, anything you want! So please leave us in peace!” The old man begs on his knees.

“Hmmm.” The dark outlaw ponders.

BANG

Y/n covers her mouth as she yelps in horror at the sound of the gunshot. Her body trembled, the silence now was frightening. No longer did she hear the sound of her Father begging for his life. All that was left was a deadly silence.

Her Father was dead.

“Come out girl! Your Father isn’t dead~ He’s just sleeping.” Maddox taunts as he blows the smoke from the end of his gun before returning it to its holster.

Tears fell from Y/n’s eyes as she struggled to steady her breathing. She could hear his footsteps ascending the stairs. Slow, and taunting. He was taking his time.

“I don’t like playing games. Now come out before I kill you.”

The hiding woman refused to make a sound. Her survival instinct made her once trembling body as still as a statue when she heard his footsteps enter her room. She felt frozen as his steps stopped right outside the closet door.

“I know you’re in here little girl. Now come out.”

She didn’t.

“Okay, you asked me to do this.”

Light flooded into the wardrobe as Maddox nearly ripped the doors off the hinges from swinging it open so hard and fast. Inside he heard the scream of a woman and suddenly a boot clad foot coming out from behind gowns kicked him in the groin. Keeling over in pain he clutched his jewels and fell on his knees.

“OO- YOU BITCH!” He yells. His eyes widen when he sees her though. She peeks her head out from behind the dresses and gowns. Her face is soft and stained with dry tears. Rather than a young girl who he thought, it was a pretty woman who looked to be a few years younger than him.

“You’re a disgusting man!” She says angrily and runs out of the closet past the kneeling outlaw. Dashing down the stairs she sees her Father on the ground, bleeding from his side.

“Father!” She calls to him desperately as she kneels by his side and cradles his head. He’s still breathing, thank god. But he’s losing a lot of blood. So Y/n grabs the hem of her dress and tears off a strip of the fabric and ties it around his torso.

“I-I’ll run to town and call for a doctor Father.” She says with a weak smile. His eyes are closed, he seems to have passed out from shock.

Just as Y/n stood up to run out the door to get help a gunshot rings out and the bullet hits the doorknob she was just about the grab. Whipping her body back in shock she looks up and sees Maddox at the top of the staircase, his smoking gun aimed at her.

“You’re a wild one aren’t you missy?” He says with a smirk. A freshly lit cigar hangs from his mouth.

Y/n stands by the door as still as a statue as Maddox comes down the stairs. Now standing before her the height difference is very stark. Her head only reaches his shoulders.

“Let me leave… My Father is dying. I need to get to a doctor.” She says with a wavering voice.

Maddox blows smoke in her face and laughs.

“He may as well be already dead girly. He’s lost a lot of blood. And besides, even if you did make it to town you would come home to him dead. There ain’t enough time for dilly-dally.”

He was right, unfortunately. Y/n tried her best to hold back her tears. She had to stay strong, she couldn’t show weakness to this bloodthirsty killer. But she could only handle so much.

She looks behind the outlaw and sees her Father grow more pale as the seconds tick by. The moment she noticed her Father’s chest still… and a final breath escape his lips.. Y/n felt like her life was over. Her Father was dead. All hope is lost for her as she crumbles like an ancient statue.

“F-Father, my Father is dead! You killed him-!” She breaks down and grips her hair in her hands, sinking to the floor. Maddox only watches with a small grin as he tosses the cigar to the side.

“He was an old man who was gon’ kick the bucket soon anyway. I only sped up the process a lil’ princess.” Maddox says with a mocking coo. But Y/n looks up at him with a piercing glare. Her hands turn to fists and she strikes. Her fist collides with his face, causing him to whip his head to the side. Y/n stills as she awaits his reaction. He is eerily silent and his downcast gaze is dark.

But then she is suddenly met with a chuckle. His deep, rich laugh radiates throughout the home. Like an infection that invades the young woman’s eardrums. She can’t stand it.

“You hit hard little lady, I like that in a woman.” Maddox grips her chin, squeezing her face and puckering her lips.

“Such soft lips… Wonder how they’d feel against mine. Poor lil thang like you needs a strong man in her life.” His condescending tone sparks rage in Y/n. This man, no… this beast. This murderer. She needs to take revenge. To kill the man who killed her Father in cold blood. But not now. No, she would have to wait. She needs the right moment to strike.

And she doesn’t mind playing the long game. She’ll play along for now.

Hey yall, it’s me. I’m SLACKING so hard. School and work has been busting my balls and writers block is eating me alive. But this Oc got me out of the gutter. Hopefully yall like him! I plan to write for him more.

#yandere #yandere x reader #x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere cowboy #yandere outlaw #fem reader #obsession

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hana-no-seiiki · 1 year

Note

how they act around reader! you know the usual, how horny they get and how the reader is potentially uncomfortable because not even they can handle the harems hormones.

MIDNIGHT DARLING HEAD-CANNONS (Unang Yugto / First Part)

YANDERE COLLEGE BASED OCS x READER

Hoo boy we have a lot of characters to go through and I haven’t even named all of them so *cracks knuckles* Let’s go with my favorite children for now.

warnings: dead dove do not eat territory here. yandere themes (lotsa violence). please don’t read this if you have a wild imagination like me oh god im aboutta faint at darling’s section. cannibalism. knife play. necrophillia. a transphobic society.

[previous ask for more context]

[next part] - yandere! faculty

Let’s start with our boy Justin Del Rosario [Yan Jock]

He’s incredibly sweet and caring. At least when you two were dating. The type to always check in on you. Always makes sure you’re hydrated and keeping up with your self-care routines.

As if popular! reader isn’t completely meticulous when it comes to their image.

Looks like a bad boy but is an actual sweetheart. Your relationship started off as a transaction of sorts. Being the softie he is though he developed feelings. Quick. The masochist.

Is a whole ass push-over when it comes to you.

Now post break-up Justin is a bit of a freak.

Like I said in my previous post of his experience as your boyfriend, he has gone through shit.

Suddenly his grades are perfect. People are actually tolerating if not appreciating his presence.

He’s becoming a threat to your place as the ruler of the campus.

But unlike you his fans aren’t declined atrocious yet.

How does Popular! Reader feel about him? Not much really. Their whole relationship was a transaction to them. I can’t emphasize how much of an apathetic bitch I wrote reader to be ya’ll I’m sorry. But in order for their harem to thrive they gotta turn a blind eye.

In terms of Horni Levels it’s uh - not so bad. Once he lost his virginity to you (yes you took his virginity) he found it to be the best stress relief and got addicted. But he’s also super respectful of your boundaries.

That was when you were originally dating though. He’d probably pound you to oblivion if you ever got back together. Pent up horni does that.

Actually, that event might not even need them getting back together. I won’t be surprised if current Justin just takes you even with his relationship with Darling.

For your favorite, Darling De Leon [yan good girl] . . .

⚠️THIS IS THE PART WHERE IT’S DEFINITELY DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT.

Hella shy around you. You almost didn’t know she existed if it weren’t for her consistent placement as second. At least before Isabel came and Justin’s grades shot up.

She has a pretty shit past.

Has always been a little scared of you.

Extremely possessive. She had always been overshadowed by her siblings, and her time abroad without you had really shattered her self confidence. Although she’s deathly afraid her past actions would be revealed, she’s more scared of losing you to someone else.

She thought that by agreeing to date Justin, you’d think of him as disgusting for moving on so fast.

Definitely enjoyed her time on your lap a little too much.

Which brings me to Horni Levels.

If you think Justin is bad. Darling is just the worst out of all the yanderes. She’s the kinkiest one too. She has been saving herself for you, waiting for the time you corrupt her. Hoping that by that time, every obstacle has been removed.

The type to have you fuck her atop the corpses of her rivals kind of kinky. The type to fantasize about you using a knife and inserting in every way possible inside her type of kinky. The type of kinky to fuck your dead body or eat any and every part of you to fully make you two as one.

She’ll own you, dead or alive, one way or another.

How popular! reader feels about her is again, indifference. Maybe a little horni for her soft aesthetic and cute demeanor. Definitely plans to gobble her up once Justin is done playing pretend.

A character that hasn’t been mentioned yet is Isabel Labrador [yan! nerd]

Isabel used to go by the name Isaiah. She used to be pretty alright with being assigned male at birth until popular! reader suddenly announced one day that she’s more horni towards women.

She got disowned for transitioning, and like Darling, disappeared from your life for quite a bit that you forgot about her.

Similar to many of the harem members, she’s very pliant to your whims. She does many of the assignments and projects that aren’t worth your time or would lead to you lacking sleep.

Not like the professors assign you much.

A bit of a whiny brat. Used to be hella spoiled when she was younger so she’s a lot more outspoken when it comes to your sexual escapades. This leads to you beating her up the most out of everyone in the harem.

Popular! Reader is the only one who knows she’s a trans and is surprisingly very respectful about that part about her.

The two of you are mostly amicable.

Horni Levels: Pretty normal for a young adult. Loves to tease you by showing more skin sometimes. Though she always covers up when anyone else is in the picture.

Her hella religious upbringing made her pretty conservative about sex and all that but it’s often balls to the wall when they see you. Literally. Never knew she was into pegging til you took her one day.

How popular! reader feels about her? Mostly a means to an end. She’s the least careful when it comes to her simpery. It gets tiring having to discipline her every time but the angry sex makes up for it.

This one will be short since I plan on him and the rest to be minor characters. Nobody knows how Ricardo Peralta [yan! president] became the President with how much he hates your ass.

People who voted for him were probably like. ‘If a person who doesn’t even want [Y/N] became president. We won’t have a threat.’

Jokes on them he has more notes on you than the entire student body combined.

Boy is the Candace to your Phineas/Ferb. His entire mission is to bust your ass. (and for you to bust a nut in his-)

…

You don’t even know he exists.

LAST BUT NOT LEAST LET’S TALK ABOUT YOU.

It was almost as if you were made to be the apple of everyone’s eye. Not one person in campus could remember a time where they didn’t know you.

No, it was more like they didn’t want to. Why imagine a terrible era such as that?

A lot of the students from the college are spoiled brats that absolutely adored how cut throat you were. How you weren’t afraid to put them in their place unlike those push-overs they usually meet. Some were just drawn to your charisma and confidence.

Or well, just general fuckability.

People think you’re also rich but you just get a lot of stuff from the students with money.

Your birthday is a bloodbath and a half. You started celebrating it alone so that people wouldn’t see your reactions to the gifts. Both because you wanted to keep them guessing and ‘cause the person whose gift is liked will probably get murdered.

You have to routinely check for cameras or tracking devices.

It takes you every bit of your self control not to just twerk in front of the camera if not give it the finger by fucking someone who you know is innocent right in front of it. They don’t even get to see you properly in the angle.

You strategically use pussy as both a punishment and incentive.

It’s super effective!

It’s super effective.

You often use pussy to discipline or incentivize your harem. It’s super effective. At least, considering you haven’t been kidnapped and/or killed yet.

You’re a bit of a sadist.

Yeah you’re a bit of a sadist.

Popular! Reader uses pussy a lot to keep everyone in check. You’re used to giving your body away to get what you want that you’ve become numb to it.

No one is normal in this College. Not even you.

You don’t even know he exists.

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leighsartworks216 · 6 months

Text

Brown Eyes

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Wrote this really quick. Idk if I'm happy with the ending but I wanted to write something before I go do work until probably midnight

Based on this post by @lumar014ad

Warnings: swearing, slight sexual implications??

Word Count: 670

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You gently trace under his eye, trailing your finger down his cheek until he catches it in his hand. He lifts your knuckles to his lips, feather light and meaningful. It was perhaps his favorite way of showing affection.

You hum. “You have such nice eyes, Star.” It was a delicate subject, and certainly not one you enjoyed broaching, but the thought was implanted in your mind since you caught a glance at yourself this morning. Your hair, wild and untamed. Your cheeks, flush from exertion. And your eyes. “It’s like looking into a barrel of wine. Deep and rich.”

Astarion grinned, but it was tempered. He didn’t like focusing on his vampiric traits. “Not half as lovely as yours, love.” You couldn’t stop your scoff; it had been entirely unintentional. You flushed as he raised a brow at you.

“They’re just brown. They’re not that special.”

He frowns, pulling your hand from his lips. He looks almost pained to think you would ever thing any part of your person, no matter how small, was anything but unique and wonderful. “Don’t be silly, darling,” he chastises lightly. “They’re not just brown.”

You hum, unconvinced. “You’re right. They’re shit brown.” You chuckle, but he frowns deeper. Uh oh.

One moment, you lay beside each other in bed, close as you could be. The next, he rolled you over onto your back and straddled your hips, hands cupping your cheeks. He could feel the warmth beneath his fingers as he tilted your head so the candle light caught them just so.

“They’re so much more than brown, my dear.” He leans down and presses a kiss just below your eye. “When the sun catches them, they’re golden; a warm and hardy ale. Sweet and soft like melted caramel, especially when you look at me.”

You don’t miss the smirk that paints his lips as he teases you. You can hardly be embarrassed when you know it’s true. Besides, he did the same with you. How many times now had you caught him watching you with such fondness, so much that it overflowed from his eyes into a tender smile and relaxed shoulders?

He kisses his way across the bridge of your nose. He doesn’t take his eyes from yours. The prolonged eye contact only flusters you further. “The color of deep, rich soil after summer rain. Oh, don’t even get me started on how they look at night, when every star reflects in your eyes.”

His lips brush yours for just a moment. His hands holding your face keep you still, so you can’t chase after them. Your hands slide up his thighs to his waist and grab onto the bottom of his sleep shirt.

“Even now, dove, you look at me with shimmering jewels. Amber and topaz and jasper.” He catches your mouth again. A restrained passion keeps him contained, as though he simply couldn’t resist kissing you again when you looked at him like that. He sighs longingly as he pulls away, remaining close enough that his nose brushes yours. “A million things - but never shit.”

You squeeze his hips playfully, but your eyes are half-lidded as you stare up at him. “This was meant to be flattery,” you repeat his own words back at him, “not poetry.”

He smirks. You feel it rather than see it; he’s so close. “How can I resist with you, my love? Now, where was I?”

You look away bashfully. “I think you’ve made your point, dear. You can stop now.”

“Not yet, darling. I don’t think I’ve fully captured each aspect of your lovely eyes. I haven’t even told you how they look when you’ve had too much wine, or the way the firelight catches to make them burn. In fact…” He sits up, catching your eye again as the movement attracts your attention. He looks quite self-satisfied, like the cat that got the cream. “I think we’re going to be busy all night; until you realize just how gorgeous your eyes are.”

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Tag List:

@hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog @catching-fire-in-the-wind @phantoms-fandom-blog @thespectacularspaceace @lynnlovesthestars @sylverqueen_cosplay @yarn_yogi @tototini @teardropcup @ashrio20 @bambamwolf87 @astarion-imagine-archive

#fanfic #fanfiction #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate astarion #baldur's gate tav #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate tav #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #fluff

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greenhappyseed · 8 months

Text

Anyone interested in some fic recs? Here’s a few ones I recently read and am enjoying — I prefer long, slow burn stories heavy on characterization/character study with adult protagonists, so that’s what’s on the list! As always, check the ratings and mind the tags; almost all are M for themes/language and a few have E chapters. This list is not exhaustive, and doesn’t include many older works, so if you have q’s or want more recs, ask away!

EraserMight

Blood Orange by @flyingjemsaucer is my happy place right now (the author has other lovely EraserMight fics too). It’s a wonderful AU with orange farmer/vendor Toshinori and teacher Aizawa. This one is interesting and different because Toshinori is un-injured and Aizawa has his post-PLF disabilities. As a bonus, this fic also has great DadMight and Dadzawa, with David Shield and married Mic/Midnight as the best friends of the lead pair.

Closed Fist and Bleeding Heart by MoonlightAndDust (who I believe also wrote this AU twitfic). Just all around good, canon universe, angsty EraserMight.

EraserMic

Nine Lives by machiroads (also check out the author’s Naruhata Noir, which ties in to Vigilantes lore). This one is set during Aizawa’s canon post-war hospital stay and features a super fun Mirko, snarky little shithead [affectionate] Shinso, and good OCs. Honestly, the EraserMic romance is just one part of the story, and that’s fine because it’s full of other things.

And When It All Goes to Hell by @purekesseltrash (also check out the author’s Rooftop Necromancy series for a band AU). Both of these fics are examples of an author’s other hobbies/interests making the fic truly special. This one is a hockey AU and it’s great! Filled with lots of cool details, it cuts between the teenage rooftop trio and the adult Hizashi and Shouta reuniting after 10+ years to figure their shit out. Knowing some hockey stuff helps, but isn’t required at all — the drama is still there! And if you want to read about 1A students in this hockey AU, then you’re in luck because the author has that too (though I have yet to read it myself only because I prefer adult protagonists).

ToshInko

Naive Melody by @aconstantstateofbladerunner. I also like many of the author’s other works including For Kurou and Dekugate, but I think this one deserves more attention for its terrifying premise and action sequences. It keeps the core “hero society” concept from MHA and then goes and does its own thing. Also, I love the Talking Heads references — you KNOW how I get with my 80s new wave music!

Bones of You by @thoughtfulraven. A really sweet story set in the canon universe, with BFFs Inko and Mitsuki and a closer look at Toshinori’s mental state.

Nighteye/All Might

Happiness by @puddinginthemix made me like Nighteye, and that’s a feat. Set in the canon universe with canon events…I’ll just say this one made me tear up a bit.

DadMight and gen All Might

Living Well by @krisingtons is super sweet. If you want some DadMight fluff, this is where you go. (I also happen to really like the Quirk Development Theories series, especially the OC that pairs off with Inko in one of the later stories because they all work together so well to support Izuku).

Learning to Trust by @siriusfan13, a longtime favorite. Not only is this a fantastic look at All Might in the year before he agreed to work at UA, but the author links some amazing DadMight/genMight fic recs at the end of (most) chapters.

Kacchako & also Hawks (WhaaAAaa????)

Toy Soldiers by AJLenoire is a bit of a wild card on this list, but it’s really well-written. The multiple subplots within the Kacchako plot and the Hawks/OC plot are all fun, and the Hawks/OC relationship is a blast.

#fic recs #mha fic rec #bnha fic recs #EraserMight #eraserMic #toshinko #dadmight #kacchako

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birdiewriteslit · 3 months

Text

wildest dreams au

luke hughes x abigail abernathy

masterlist

glamorousgail🔒

tagged rudeth, drewstarkey, jonathandavissofficial, madisonbaileybabe

Liked by rudeth and 17 others

glamorousgail miss this gang

View comments

drewstarkey soon🏄‍♂️

madisonbaileybabe summer cannot come soon enough

glamorousgail @/madisonbaileybabe literally three days into january and sick of it

lhughes_06 @/glamorousgail you live in new england

glamorousgail @/lhughes_06 fine i’ll just move to florida without you…

lhughes_06 @/glamorousgail DO NOT

madelyncline i miss you cutie pie

❤️ by author

jonathandavissofficial pogue life is the best life

glamorousgail @/jonathandavissofficial if that ain’t the truth

carlaciagrant ugh i miss these vibes

hichasestokes 🤙🤙

rudeth guys i inspired this post

❤️ by author

lhughes_06 @/rudeth well aren’t you special

January 3, 2024

—

messages 5:04 pm

luke: are you seriously still talking to rudy

abigail: he’s my friend so yes

luke: do you remember why he broke up with you

abigail: believe it or not i do and we’ve talked about it

abigail: he feels really bad and i don’t want to fuck up what we have right now especially with season 4 on the horizon

luke: gail that doesn’t fix what he did

luke: i’m looking out for you

abigail: i know that’s what you think you’re doing but trust me luke i know how to handle this

abigail: i’ve had exes who didn’t like our friendship and when they broke up with me bc of it it’s never bothered you this much

luke: whatever just forget about it

abigail: good luck tonight

read 5:17 pm

—

Abigail set her phone down and rubbed a hand over her face. She let out a frustrated sigh. It was true, she had a few ex boyfriends who hadn’t loved the idea of her being so close with other guys.

Rudy was one of them, but him and Abigail had finally reached a point where that didn’t matter, and they could go back to what they were before they started dating during the filming of season one of OBX.

She wished Luke would understand that Rudy had changed, but she knew the real reason he was upset about it, even if they pretended it never happened.

December 31, 2023

After the fireworks and the party, Abigail and the boys had successfully made it back to her apartment.

They made a great drinking game out of Monopoly on her bathroom floor, and it was getting a little wild.

Jack had almost flipped the board a few times because Abigail threatened to take his properties (even though that was against the rules).

“That’s it! I can’t afford a fucking hotel, I’m quitting this,” Quinn announced, standing from the bathroom tile, wobbling a bit before taking a few slow steps toward the door. He didn’t make it far before he slipped on some spare Monopoly dollars and came crashing down into the bathtub.

Jack laughed hysterically as Quinn groaned from the tub.

“I’ll go get some water for these guys,” Abigail decide, patting Luke’s arm before heading to the kitchen.

Luke glanced down at his phone in a nervous manner. “Wait up,” he said, following her into the hall.

Abigail took two glasses from the cabinet and placed them on the counter. “You think I need help?” she said, teasing.

“I think you’re perfectly capable,” he said, hands in his pockets as he stood by the island.

“Alright,” she responded skeptically.

Luke cleared his throat. “There’s a minute until midnight,” he said suddenly.

“Really? I didn’t know it was that late already.” She filled up each cup and put them in front of Luke on the island.

“Time flies when you’re having fun.” He looked at her like he was expecting something. He wanted Abigail to make the connection. He wanted her to round the counter and get closer to him. And then, he wanted her to kiss him when the countdown was over.

He could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Abigail wasn’t saying anything. She was looking at him with her lips parted, her eyebrows pushed together. Luke thought, for a moment, for a good thirty seconds, that that look meant she didn’t want what he did.

On the tv in the living room that was still playing from before they all left to go see the fireworks, the countdown had reached twenty seconds.

Luke’s eyes glanced down at Abigail’s body, he couldn’t hold eye contact for much longer without imploding. The strap of her tank top had fallen from her shoulder. Absentmindedly, he reached out to fix it.

When he did, he looked back to her face and saw she was staring at his lips. As the countdown finished, she grabbed his hand and guided it to her neck, pulling him forward simultaneously and kissing him hard.

Cheers could be heard from the television, but Luke could hear nothing over the sound of the blood rushing to his ears.

Maybe it was the alcohol that made Abigail that confident, or maybe it was just how tired she was of wanting to kiss him but never being able to.

She pulled away faster than she wanted to. Luke stared at her with a dumbstruck look on his face. Abigail avoided his eyes and grabbed the glasses from the counter, taking them to where Jack and Quinn were waiting.

January 3, 2024

Abigail didn’t talk to Luke about the kiss after it happened. Luke never mentioned anything about it to Abigail either, but she couldn’t help but wonder if it had been more than just a mistake she made when she was drunk.

What did it mean to him? How would it affect their relationship if he wanted it? Were they just going to stay friends or become more?

“I can’t do this right now,” she muttered to herself, before throwing herself back on the couch and passing out.

When she woke up, the Devils game was over. They won, but her nap rendered her groggy and feeling even worse.

She found her phone on the floor and picked it up, deciding to make a call. It rung for about a second before Quinn picked up.

“Abby, what’s up?”

“I just took a fat nap and I feel horrible,” she stated plainly.

Quinn laughed on the other side of the phone. “I feel that. Did you catch the game?”

“No, I’ve been asleep, Quinn. I can’t do this sun down at four thing.” She scowled at the dark sky outside her window.

“Even though you’ve lived in Boston your whole life? I’d think you’d be used to it by now,” Quinn said. “Are you okay?”

Quinn heard it in Abigail’s voice. She didn’t take that nap because she felt overwhelmed by the darkness. She sighed into the phone.

“Luke and I got into a sort of fight before the game. It wasn’t really a fight, he’s just upset I’ve been out with Rudy.” Abigail conveniently left out the whole kissing his brother thing, she just needed Quinn’s reassurance, like she always did.

“He seemed pissed tonight, at least on tv. Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really, but thanks for picking up, Quinny. I just wanted to let somebody know. You know, before I think about it too much.”

“We wouldn’t want that.” Abigail could hear the smile in his voice. They said goodbye and hung up the phone.

Abigail opened her messages and saw nothing new. Then, she checked twitter, and promptly closed the app after realizing she couldn’t escape her problems.

#birdiewriteslit #birdiewritesfics #birdie’s aus #birdie’s edits #wildest dreams au #abigail abernathy #luke hughes x abigail abernathy #luke hughes x oc #luke hughes fic #luke hughes #jack hughes #quinn hughes #rudy pankow #nhl fic #nhl #nj devils #smau #media edit #lh43

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pokemoncenterofficial · 5 months

Text

hmmmm... we need a little more holiday cheer on this website of websites! and i need to post more on this account! (sorry everyone, work's been... worse than usual. holidays are always busy for the social media reps, lol)

i propose a rotomblr secret santa! slash discreet delibird, slash sneaky snorunt, et cetera, et cetera.

if you've never done a secret santa, it works like this.

reblog this post to sign up!

once signups are closed, i'll write down the blog URLs of everyone who's joining and use the power of Some Dice I Own to randomly assign everyone a person to get a gift for! (don't worry, i won't say who has who!)

i'll message you with your present target!

get a gift for the person you were given! you could make it, buy it, sneak around on their blog to see what they want, go wild! just make sure not to tell anyone who you've gotten!

on december 23rd (seems like an uneventful-ish date, right?), everyone reveals who they've gotten and pelipper mails them their gift! fun for everyone!

you can sign up until sunday at midnight (//GMT-5)! the gift limit is... uuuh... i don't think we need one. whole several different currencies and universes thing makes that hard. dont buy anyone a new tv or anything and we're fine! gifts will be given on december 23rd (but if you can't be there, feel free to give it before or after!)

//hi! yeah! mini event! will just kinda go basically as told, but feel free to PM me for gift ideas for my characters if youd like. use the tag #rotomblr secret santa if you feel so compelled? feel free to sign up multiple muses! this is just a teeny tiny little thing and i hope you all have fun!

#rotomblr secret santa #pkmn irl #pokeblogging #pokemon irl #pokemon #rotumblr #pokeblog #pkmn-irl #rotomblr

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sweaterweatherever · 1 year

Note

Could I maybe request a Xavier one-shot where reader is part hell hound and he doesn't know that's a hell hound and so he meets hell hound version of her every night at his shed and he just takes it in as his pet but then one day she has a slip up maybe she got too angry or something and accidentally transforms infornt of him and ends fluffy or smutty if smutty then maybe he calls her his pet and it's kinky

Imagine is just cuz it looks nice and I was excited to share it when I found it looking on Google lol

Stray (Xavier Thorpe x Reader)

Pairing: Xavier Thorpe x AFAB Reader

Warnings: Friends to enemies to lovers. Smut. AGED UP CHARACTERS. Minors DNI. Pet play. I promise you, it’s not as dirty as you might think! Unprotected vaginal sex, mentions of anal. Xavier gets whiny, and actually calls the reader a bitch during a fight.

A/N: I finally did it and changed the colors and icon! As for the fic, I made it so no one knows what reader is because it made more sense for Xavier not catching on. Also, go to therapy. Don't be like them. Maybe OCC? Thank you all who encouraged me to post it, because it is wordy! I just love writing desperate romantics.

Requested: Yes. Loved getting the image @littlewierdalien Sorry if I just took your idea and went wild.

You stretched while sitting cross-legged on your bed. Your arms came to raise high over your head, and then you bent forward. It was no use. Your joints were still hurting.

“You should go run.” Yoko said, bored out of her mind. She was scrolling in some social media app on her phone, with the sound off, so you were unable to tell what it was. “I can hear your back pop from here.”

“Yeah, maybe. It’s just I don’t…” You walked to the window. Not a full moon, you should be safe from werewolves. But the weather was still nice, and it was before curfew, so there was a chance there were some students out there. “I don’t think it is a good idea.”

“No one will see. And if they do, what does it matter? As long as they don’t see you shift, no one needs to know you are anything else but a stray.”

“You are pushy today.” But still, you took off your jacket, leaving you in your t-shirt and sweatpants. You took your shoes off too. Quickly, you connected your phone to the charger and plugged it in.

“You are driving me crazy, with all the popping and stretching. You will get, like, arthritis or something.” Yoko said, frowning. She was somewhat right. Your senses were enhanced too, and you knew hearing your joints creak could be creepy. If you could stop it, you would, but staying too much time in one form tended to make things like this one happen.

“Fine.” You grumbled. “I will be back before midnight.”

The halls of Nevermore were quiet, so close to curfew. There were barely any students out of the dorms, and you stuck to the shadows, making sure of not being seen. Your feet were hurting from the cold, but it was for the best. The fewer clothes you took with you, the less you had to hide when you shifted.

No one bothered you as you made your way to the forest. It was a beautiful night, the forest smelled like wet earth and leaves, but it had passed enough time since the rain that there were interesting scents there. Your inner hound was begging you to let her loose, so she could chase them and exhaust herself running down some prey.

You found a secluded path and started stripping, placing your clothes beneath some trees. When you were younger, changing had been as easy as breathing, often shifting between the two in your childhood home, secluded from society. But then, you had gotten older, you had needed to go outside your protected little bubble, and you had to put an end to it because it just wasn’t normal. Little girls weren’t supposed to turn into big, salivating hellhounds, it just wasn’t right. It didn’t help that hellhounds were an endangered species, since they were the perfect guard dogs. If anyone found out what you were, you could have ended up hunted down by unscrupulous people, who would love to use you as a breeding mare for perfect little soldiers. And so, you had learned to space out your shifts, spending a long time in your human form and hiding what you were.

In Nevermore, that made you a mystery. No one, except your roommate, knew exactly what kind of outcast you were. Some speculated you were a normie, here by chance. You and the staff had encouraged that perception, even at the cost of making you an easy prey for bullies. It was for your protection, Principal Weems had said. She didn’t want the kind of attention that your secret being known would bring to the school, or to you.

Shifting was harder, now, body out of practice, out of tune with your double nature. You took a deep breath and prepared for the pain that always came when you spent too much time stuck as a human. The crackling of bones, the joints popping, and the hair piercing skin was as unpleasant as ever. To you, it felt like it took an eternity, but you knew thanks to Yoko the shift was smooth. One second there was a girl there, the next a black hound stood.

You opened your jaws, making them pop. It felt good to be in this form again. Things just seemed clearer, easier. Dog’s thoughts were much simpler than humans, and they were such instinctual creatures, too. It was all about the smells, the noises, the tastes. It was a refugee for when life as a human got too complicated.

You started sniffing the place. There were a few familiar smells in the forest. Boy, outcast, like you. You didn’t know who he was, but he was near. Strange smell, boy. The one who hanged around Wednesday, the barista. He had always smelled odd. Normie, female. Mrs. Thornhill. You liked normies's scent, it was much softer than outcasts. Her scent would be the one you would track for the night, you decided.

You did a few laps, the same she must have done when collecting her plants. Then, you got distracted by a bird, and choose to chase it, unknowingly dragging you closer to a well-travelled path. Again the smell, boy, outcast. Not nice, it smelt artificial. It made you sneeze. The boy's scent was covered by something, without it, it could be much nicer. It wasn’t perfume, you knew how that smelled. You were pondering what it was when the bird suddenly startled, and so did you. Someone was coming down the path. Your heart was beating loudly in your chest, your legs tensing, ears going down. It was a tall person, although you couldn’t see their face. Boy. Outcast. Not wolf, not gorgon, not vampire. Sirens and psychics, those were harder to detect. And much harder to fool. In your panic, you forgot the first rule of the forest. Watching your step.

You fell into a ditch with a sharp yelp. Pain throbbed in your front leg, and you started crying out almost immediately. It was instinct.

“Who's there?” A male voice asked. You shut up immediately. It was no use. You heard the tell-tale sound of leaves crunching underneath boots. Shifting would be a bad idea, leaving you hurt, naked and stranded in a ditch with a stranger. But staying like this left you vulnerable: What if it was a bad person and tried to hurt you? Some people did that to dogs. Or… seeing you were injured, chose to be merciful and kill you? People did that too to dogs, all the time. Or was it done to horses? When they broke a leg? Panic was grasping at your heart and your thoughts were racing too much to allow you to think. It was no wonder the stranger caught up to you.

“Oh.” The guy said, and you looked up to meet your eyes with the ones of Xavier Thorpe. Of course. Of all shitty things. You two didn't know each other, not formally. He was in some of your classes and Enid, Yoko's best friend, knew all the juicy gossip about him.

You growled, showing a row of pointy teeth.

“Shh. I’m not going to hurt you.” Thorpe raised his hands in surrender, and slowly approached the ditch. He was very tall. That was all you could think of. One of the tallest boys in your year and now, since you were in your hound form laying on a ditch, his height made it all more intimidating. You panted, eyes going glassy with the pain and fear.

Thorpe kneeled near the edge of the ditch, lowering one of his hands for you to sniff. He was brave, you had to give him that. You struggled to scamper away from his hand, but were unsuccessful. The pain in your leg was too great. You wondered if the injury would translate to your human form as a broken wrist.

“Easy there.” His voice was low and patient, hand still extended. You gave him a careful sniff. His fear was obvious in the way his body tensed, but his hand did not twitch. He smelled like the something that made you sniff before, some sort of chemical. Paint. You gave him a careful lick. Thorpe smiled. “Good boy.”

Thorpe patted your head. “I am going to get down there with you.” He announced, and sit down with his leg hanging in the border of it. You whimpered, but made no move to attack him. Thorpe lowered himself next to you. God, the boy was foolish, getting inside an enclosed space with a hurt dog that weighted at least 120 pounds.

“Okay, I’m going to try to lift you up.” He explained, as if you could actually understand him. You flinched when he touched your back, but allowed him to do it. One of his hands touched your hurt leg, and you started whimpering in pain again, showing him your teeth. Thorpe did not freak out, raising his hands in surrender again and standing very still.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” This time, his hands went beneath you, lifting you in such a way your legs were up in the air. The human part of you fought the instinct to growl and turn, hiding your weak areas. Thorpe was forcing you to expose your tummy and neck, and you didn’t like it. “Oh, you are a girl.” He commented, while placing you carefully in terrain next to the ditch. You tried to stand and run, but were unable to put weight on your hurt paw, whining again.

“Shh…love, take it easy.” Thorpe pulled himself out of the ditch, face stained with dirt. He was trying to calm you down, but you could tell he was nervous too. Hearing you wail in pain was killing him, so you attempted to tone it down for his sake. “I… I’ll get you water and food, just wait here.”

True to his word, he gets back with water and some food. You lap gratefully at the water, watching how he cuts a steak into tiny pieces, slowly, painstakingly.

“I couldn’t get dog food, but I snuck into the kitchens for these. Google says dogs can eat meat, both raw and cooked.” He offers you a tiny piece, and you chew it greedily. You are exhausted, and shifting burns plenty of calories. So does being in pain. “God, why I am explaining this to you? I lost it, finally.” Thorpe chuckles to himself.

You push your nose against his knee. He pets your head, and you close your eyes in pleasure. Petting is something only your parents used to do for you, and here, with half of the semester already gone, something you miss.

“I wish I could do more for you.” Thorpe rubs at your ears. “I don’t know whether your paw is broken or not, or where to take you.” He falls silent after that.

You stay there for what feels like hours. He keeps patting your head softly, and you start to doze, muzzle against his thigh. The moon is high in the sky when Thorpe gets up and leaves, giving you a regretful glance. “If you come back tomorrow, I’ll be here.” He says. You stare at him. When you judge he is far enough, you transform back into human.

“Fuck.” The pain on your wrist, it has to be one of the worst things you have ever felt. Transforming back hasn’t done you any favors, but you cradle it to your chest and hurry towards your clothes. Staying out of your dorm isn’t an option tonight, Yoko must be having kittens at your lateness. You had told her you would be out only half an hour and by the position of the moon in the sky, it must be near midnight. You manage to sneak in undetected, and notice that Yoko’s light is off, since you can’t see it from the hall.

“What the hell were you thinking?” As soon as you open the door, you come face to face with your disgruntled roommate, who turns the lights on like you are the teenager just caught sneaking around in some teenage movie.

“Oh my god, you just gave me a heart attack!” You clutch at your chest.

“Oh, I did?” Yoko asks, lifting an eyebrow in a way that’s so effortlessly cool you envy her. “And how do you think I felt when you disappeared for, like, four hours and I tried calling you and your phone was here?”

“Sorry, Yoko.” You walk to your bed, hiding your wrist behind your back. “I… I ran into Bianca’s ex. I couldn’t come back sooner.”

“You smell wrong.” She answers, eyeing you up and down. “Like blood. But not bleeding.” She takes a suspicious glance at the way you are standing with your hands behind your back. “Show me your hands.” Yoko orders.

“What? Why?” You try to play it cool, like you don’t know what she is talking about. But you aren’t exactly a great actress, so it comes out far too defensive.

“Don’t play stupid. Did Xavier do something…?” Yoko pounces like a shark smelling water, already thinking on the worst-case scenario. She has a soft spot for you, so even if she is friends with him, you know Yoko would kick his ass no questions asked.

“No!” You hurry to say, and show her your wrist. Under the light of the lamp, you can tell it’s starting to bruise. “I think I broke it. He startled me and I fell into a ditch.”

“A bruise, of course.” Yoko steps forward and gently cradles your wrist between her hands, fangs popping a little. She twists it, abruptly. You yelp, but don’t pull away. It doesn’t hurt as bad as you thought. “Only sprained, don’t worry. We will put it in a brace and I bet you will be better in no time. You got better healing than baseline humans, right?”

“Just like you.” You answer and allow her to take care of you.

Your wrist takes about two weeks to heal. Time enough for the hound to get antsy under your skin. So, the first night you get the chance, you announce to Yoko you are going running and that you might be out a while.

The shift is smoother, this time. Less pain, your body remembering it has changed not so log ago, but your joints still ache. Your front leg is still a little weak, and so, you skip the running tonight, choosing to walk. For some reason, the dog’s mind is very fixated on Thorpe’s smell, and you end up following it all the way to his shed. The door is halfway open, and since the hound isn't really concerned about boundaries in the same way humans are, you push it open with your nose.

He is in front of a canvas, drawing something with harsh, angry strokes. He jumps a little with the sound of the door opening, turning towards it with the brush held out like a weapon. His eyes scan the door, and when they meet yours, he relaxes.

“Hey, girl. You look better.” Thorpe greets, setting down the brush. He steps closer to you and rubs at your ears. You understand then why the pull of the hound towards this place was so strong. Dogs are social creatures, and she often feels lonely. It's like this deadly secret only you and Yoko know separates you from other people, like some sort of Cain’s mark that doesn’t let you be really close to anyone. The hound craves interaction, and Thorpe treats you like a human, and one he cares about. The hound loves it. “Came to see me?”

You nose his thigh, sneezing a little at the smell of paint.

“Oh, you poor thing.” He steps away, and you barely can stop the whine from leaving your throat. “Here, let me open the windows.”

Thorpe busies himself setting you up with a bowl of water. He then places a blanket on the floor and offers the space to you. If you were human, you would smile at his kindness, but the only way you can show your appreciation in this form is by wagging your tail and licking excitedly at his hands. He doesn’t seem to mind, petting you absentmindedly and going back to his painting. You doze then.

You wake up when someone yelps, near you. Lost in the instincts of the dog, you bark sharply, still half asleep. You come to your senses when you see Thorpe with blood coming out of the back of his neck. You rush to his side, sniffing the canvas carefully. A monster squirms inside of it, trying to escape. You had heard about his powers, the art animation. He must have lost control in some way.

“Easy, there.” Thorpe says when the monster finally stills. “I keep dreaming about him.” He confesses, rubbing your back. You allow it because he looks shaken. It’s more for him than for you. “This monster… I think it is the one behind the attacks.”

You lick at his hand because what else can you do? You are terrified, but there is not a lot you could do in dog form about it, much less without blowing your cover of a domestic, totally normal, yet oversized dog.

It goes to hell that Monday. You are talking to Yoko, on your way to class, when a hand grasps your wrist from behind. You turn, eyes narrowed.

“I… Sorry…” Thorpe says, a blush creeping on his cheeks. His hand is still holding your arm, a grip gentle enough you could slip out of it if you wanted to. “You look familiar… Have we met?”

Yoko gives him an unimpressed look, grabbing your wrist and tugging it out of his arm. You mourn the loss of contact immediately.

“No.” Yoko answers. “My roommate and you don’t know each other.”

“Are you sure…?” Thorpe asks, looking attentively at your face. He is genuinely confused, and you panic. You need him to stop looking at you so closely, you don’t need this kind of attention. “Your eyes…”

“Those kinds of lines don’t work on me.” You laugh, airily, trying to do your best impression of a silly, flirty girl. You don’t want him thinking too much about your eyes, the same ones of the too intelligent hound he has met twice already. “I’m Y/N.”

“Xavier.” He says, caught out of guard. Xavier continues to stare at your eyes. “I feel like I have seen you before…”

“Yeah, in the like, five classes you share.” Yoko rolls her eyes and starts dragging you away. “We will be late.”

You should stop. You know it. It would be a risk, a stupid one, to keep going back to him when he is so observant. But you can’t help it. There is something about him that calls to you. The hound is obsessed with him, his smell, his gentle touch. She likes him, in a way she hasn’t taken to any other human before, except your family. You keep going to the shed and try not to feel too guilty when he talks to you and pets you, all kind words and soft touches.

“I keep seeing this girl…” He explains to you, one day, when the bags beneath his eyes are more prominent than ever. Xavier looks so tired, your heart hurts for him. You had assumed it was dreams of the monster keeping him up, but that is not it. “She… I have seen her in class. We talked the other day. She stands, naked in the forest, blood all over. But I can’t help her. When I call her name, the dream disappears.” He laughs, humorlessly. You place your paw over his leg, demanding pets. “I tried talking to her, but she thought I was flirting with her and… God, she is friends with Yoko and she is a menace. I don’t want to creep her out.” You press your paw, more insistently. Xavier smiles slightly and rubs behind your ears, just in the way you like it. You offer more of yourself to be pet.

It’s bad, then. You have gathered that Xavier’s only power isn’t just art animation, but that he is also a psychic. The only explanation you think is possible is that you get attacked by the monster, and you turn to defend yourself. Xavier doesn’t tell you if the blood that covers you is yours or is it from someone else. You can’t ask.

Living in fear isn’t a new sensation for you. You are constantly scared of your secret coming out. Living knowing danger is imminent and everything you fought so hard to keep buried is going to come up any minute, is strange. You are afraid, yes. You are also on edge. Yoko constantly sends you to run in the forest because she can’t stand you. You see more of Xavier.

One night, you find him sitting down on the floor, head buried between his knees. He smells sad. You lick at what you can reach of his face, cleaning his tears. That makes him laugh a little. He hugs you against him, burying his face in your fur, like a scared little kid. You feel a pang on your heart when you hear him breathe harshly, trying to calm down. Xavier lets out a puff of air, and you squirm.

“Fuck, sorry. You are such a good girl.” He says, scratching behind your ears. “I got bad news from home. My dad, he can be such an asshole…” And so, he tells you about his father, and you vow to keep it a secret because he doesn’t really know you understand what he is telling you.

Then, they take him in custody for the murders, and you don’t understand. You cry, and punch your pillow, and you can’t say anything because you are not certain, you weren’t exactly keeping track, but you think you can be his alibi. It would mean sacrificing everything, and it’s tearing you apart, and so, you spend many sleepless nights of your own.

It finally falls apart when Crackstone attacks the school. You don’t know it then, you will learn it later. What you do know, is that Enid is missing, and that Yoko is worried sick. She blurts out something about a secret society, torturing the barista at the Weathervane.

“I think she went after Wednesday, and she can’t wolf out yet. The others… It is a blood moon, you see. You are the only one who can turn into something heavy enough to stop the Hyde.” She pleads, grasping your hands in hers. There is a desperate look in her eyes, and you know, you know, you can’t say no. You like Enid and getting the Hyde would mean getting Xavier back. If you play your hand well enough, no one has to find out. “Go after her, Y/N, please.”

And you do. You don’t even change clothes, running out still in your boots and coat. In the woods, you find a pink werewolf holding her own pretty well against the ugliest monster you have ever seen, but Enid is taking too many hits for your liking. So, you change, and charge.

Enid wraps herself in her pink coat, but you don’t have anything to wear. Having rushed into the fight, your clothes didn’t survive. This. This was the moment Xavier dreamt about. Dread takes hold in your stomach because he will find out about everything. There is no hiding now.

You had never done what you were born to do before. The thing hellhounds were designed to do perfectly. Protect and guard. It comes easier than you expect, almost instinct. And both wolves and hounds are pack animals. It seems the instinct to take down your prey as a team is engrained on both you and Enid because you work together perfectly. The Hyde stands no chance, much less when the sheriff gets there. It turns back into Tyler and Enid, and you walk out of the fight with minor injuries.

“Oh my god, you were totally badass!” Enid says, talking a mile per minute. “At first you scared me, but you are so impressive! I can’t believe it! What are you?”

“Enid, I am cold.” You hug yourself, covered in blood from head to toe. You are evading her question, and it shows. “You were pretty cool too. Congrats on wolfing out.”

You look at the sheriff, who is trying to wrangle a disgruntled Tyler into a patrol car.

“Thank you!” She beams. “I could go get you some clothes?”

“It’s okay, just, let’s get out of here.”

Enid leads you out of the forest. When she steps outside, covered in blood, Ajax is immediately there to meet her.

“Enid!” He screams and throws an arm over her shoulders. Enid looks about to cry. He is trying to lead her away, but Enid turns, eyes meeting with yours. Someone else must follow her gaze because the whispers start then. It feels like the whole Nevermore population is here, standing and gawking at you.

“Is she…?”

“…Must be the monster, fucking weirdo…”

“No way, Y/N…. Maybe the monster took her…”

Painfully aware of your nakedness, you try to cover yourself, eyes lowering to the ground. You fold and sticky with blood, it is quickly drying over your naked body, you need a shower like yesterday. Your feet are sore from all the sticks and gravel you have stepped into, completely barefoot, but worst of all is the feeling of how all your secrets are bare for the world to see. Finally, time to face the music. Someone wolf whistles, and you sink more on yourself. A hoodie gets draped over your shoulders, and you quickly shrug it on. Ajax. He steps between you and the multitude, shielding you with his body.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?” He asks, gently touching your shoulder. Meanwhile, Enid is angrily telling off everyone who tries to approach you, loudly retelling how you turned into a giant dog and helped her take down the Hyde.

“She saved my life! And I won’t have you laughing at her or saying she is a monster!” But still, someone slips under her watch. Yoko. Yoko runs at you and hugs you so hard you can feel your ribs protesting.

“You are alive… You are alive…” She sobs, hiding her face on the crook of your neck, uncaring about the blood. “I should have never asked that of you! I thought Enid was going to die, but then I thought you were going to die and…” You hug her back, gently running your fingers over her hair.

“It’s over. It’s over. I’m fine.” You say to her, but your voice is breaking too. Everyone is muttering about what you are, really. A hellhound. And then there is Xavier and Wednesday and Bianca, coming out of the school, bruised and battered. The moment your eyes lock with his, you know he knows. His expression changes, pale as if he has seen a ghost, eyes wide. Then, it comes the anger.

“Your eyes… I know those eyes.” Xavier whispers. He is so far from you, you shouldn’t be able to hear it, yet you do. It is the only thing you can hear, the betrayal in his voice, and you fight to reach him. Yoko gives you an odd look, but you shrug her off.

He grabs your arm, and this time his grip is bruising. The betrayal has turned into anger.

“Xavier…” You approach him, still dripping in blood, still naked under Ajax’s hoodie. Xavier looks you up and down, and his mouth purses in distaste. It hurts, it hurts worse than having your secret outed to like half the school. He was your friend, he was kind to you and you were a coward. That’s the truth. “I am sorry.”

“We are not talking here.” Xavier half drags you, half pulls you into the forest. You don’t resist. It hurts your feet, you are cold and uncomfortable, but it feels like a fitting punishment. You can’t keep up with his pace, his legs much longer and with the advantage of actual shoes. You stumble, but he doesn’t stop.

“What do you think you are doing?” Yoko screams, but Xavier ignores her. She runs after you, grabbing at his hoodie. “Stop it, right this second. You are hurting her.”

“None of your business, Yoko.” Xavier barks, pulling at your arm once again.

“You okay?” She asks you, stepping in front of Xavier and blocking his path. “Want me to get you away from here?”

You look at Xavier. At the way his brows are furrowed, at the hold he has on your arm, going laxer by the minute. If you say the word, Yoko would kick his ass, and remove you from the situation. But you think, if you don’t at least try to apologize, you might lose him forever.

“I’m fine. He just wants to talk. Nothing to worry about.” Your best attempt at an encouraging smile is cut short by the tug Xavier gives at your arm. You grimace. This wasn’t going to be an easy conversation.

“If he tries anything, you transform and attack him. Promise me!” Yoko eyes Xavier distrustingly. Xavier turns at that, looking at her in disdain.

“Oh, so you knew too.” Xavier smiles, a sharp, ugly thing. Then, he leans down and whispers in your ear. “Did you have fun, telling your girlfriend all my secrets and laughing at how much of a loser you think I am?” He lets go of your arm in favor of grasping at your shoulders, harshly. “I hope you did, really. I hope you enjoyed making me a fool because I will make your life hell.”

“Xavier, please…” You beg him. “Listen to me, I didn't mean to hurt you…”

“Know what?” Yoko asks, confused.

“That she is a shape-shifter and has been pretending to be a dog and hanging around me, like a pet desperate for attention!” He accuses and Yoko’s face falls. You flinch.

“Y/N is not a shape-shifter.” Yoko states, and you admire the way she has your back, so unconditional. You know she has questions, and she will ask them later, but in front of Xavier, she will take your side. “She is a Hellhound. Surely, you understand…”

“Oh, no, please, enlighten me.” Xavier mocks Yoko. She just pinches the bridge of her nose, looking back at the path she came from. No one is near, but with the way Xavier is screaming, you might have visitors soon. “I hope you enjoyed playing the good, obedient pet. It suits you well, being a hellhound.” He comes closer, towering over you. “You are nothing more than a self-absorbed bitch.”

“Xavier, I… wanted to be your alibi, I really did, but if I…” You plead, grabbing his hands in yours. He pulls away with an abrupt movement, and laughs. It’s a nasty sound. You hate how his face turns, from anger to absolute fury.

“You think that is what this is about?” Xavier rolls his eyes. “Oh, you are delusional. This is about the fact I poured my heart out to you, believing you weren’t a person.”

“And I never said a word.” You lift your hands, palms facing him. You hope he will calm down. “I am sorry. I just… I just wanted a friend.” And it’s true. You had felt so lonely and when Xavier cared for you, talking to you like you were human, it had made you melt. You desperately wanted him to forgive you, to keep providing you the safe place you needed.

“That’s not how friendship works, you asshole! You know all my secrets, and I know nothing about you.” Xavier crosses his arms over his chest. Then, cruelty glints in his eyes, and you know what he says next is going to hurt you. “Actually, yes, I do know something. You are a pathetic, desperate for attention, bitch. Don’t talk to me again, or you will regret it!” And he leaves the clearing, bumping his shoulder against yours hard enough to make you stumble.

Yoko stares, mouth hanging open. She places a hesitant hand on your shoulder and you start crying.

After that, Xavier takes every opportunity to make his distaste for you known. He glares daggers at you every time you are near each other, muttering sarcastic remarks under his breath. He is petty, you have to give him that. But thanks to the gods, the semester ends early, so you only have to put up with a day of that treatment.

Summer break gives you time to think, and so, you come to terms with all of Nevermore knowing your secret and losing Xavier’s friendship. Or, well, whatever it was. He was right about it, it wasn’t a proper friendship, and you had fucked up. You would feel pretty violated too if someone tricked you like that. You vowed to never approach him again because you had tried to make amends, but he had made his wishes perfectly clear.

At least, now that everyone knows, you can spend more time as a hound, and it proves a safe heaven against your more intrusive thoughts. It’s different in Nevermore, of course. The first day, you were met by stares, but Enid had chosen to take you under his wing, glaring at everyone who dared make a comment. That had started a new tradition, your quiet lunches with Yoko, Enid, and Wednesday. Both Yoko and Enid were chatterboxes, but Wednesday and you both preferred the silence. Since you spent so much time together now, you had instilled that lunches would be quiet, since they got the rest of the day to talk and chat as much as they wanted.

Quiet lunches, unfortunately, had uninvited guests every so often. And the guests didn’t respect the rules at all. Ajax. Ajax was the guest, and you could see him and Enid giggling over something or other every day, while Wednesday stared daggers at them.

“Love.” She stage whispered to you often. “Is a sickness.”

“Couldn’t agree more.” And you went back to your comfortable silence. But this left Yoko, bored out of his mind. Enid must have mentioned it to Ajax because he took it upon himself to resolve the problem. By bringing Xavier. To lunch. With you.

When you see him, you tense on your seat. He is walking after Ajax, jaw clenched. His lips are moving, probably in a protest, but you can’t hear what he says even with your enhanced senses because your blood is pumping loudly in your ears. You feel this weird impulse to run away, run from him. He had scared you, back in the forest, that night. But you won’t give him the satisfaction of it. You realize, you hate him a little, too. The things he had said to you, the way he had grasped at your arms… Xavier had lashed out, and you deserved it, but it had hurt.

The loud clang of a tray against the table makes you jump. Xavier has sat down nest to Yoko, with a sullen expression. To Yoko, he is still persona non grata, even knowing the whole story.

“So, Yoko, how was your day?” If you have to suffer through this awkward lunch, you at least will make sure Yoko isn’t the one paying for your mistakes.

“Oh, so you talk too?” Xavier asks, under his breath. “I thought you just wagged your tail.”

Yoko tenses up, ready to tear him a new one, but you place your hand on hers, squeezing. She is not fighting your battles for you, not again. Ajax and Enid are too absorbed into themselves to care, and Wednesday looks vaguely amused.

“Oh, I talk. Loads.” You answer him, clutching dangerously at your knife. He can be angry at you, hate you even, but this is taking it a bit far. The silent treatment might be best.

“Funny, I thought I was here because you didn’t.” Xavier smirks, leaning forward. You keep quiet because he has you. You can’t exactly contradict him, and so, you sink into silence once more. Yoko glares at him. You don’t finish your lunch and go back to your dorm. But the next day, he is there. Again. He has found a way of torturing you, a weakness he can exploit, and he is not letting go because he is petty and has been waiting for his revenge.

You skip lunch that day too. Soon, Yoko starts skipping with you, and it ends up becoming a not so quiet lunch hour since you start to get lunch together. But you don't forget. Neither does he.

Xavier enjoys torturing you in little ways. The invasion of his privacy from last semester has left him shaken. He doesn't like how you now have the upper hand all the time, what you know about his powers, his father, his mental health. He has discussed it with his therapist, he knows his fixation in you is excessive. The therapist seems to think it is a simple crush, but he knows it's not that. He hates you.

He spends more of his day than he would like to admit staring at you, and more of his nights dreaming of you. Because the dreams, they don't just go away after discovering who you are. And they are weird dreams too, Xavier can't tell if they are visions or the product of an overactive imagination. In some, he is running his hands gently through your fur. In others, he holds your hand. And in one he thinks is the worst one to date, you are on your knees, naked, a collar and a leash around your pretty neck.

Suddenly, you are everywhere. At every class, laughing in the lunch tables, in Jericho, in the coffee shop, running in the woods. Now that he is looking, he knows your presence is on everything that surrounds him. Even if you are not physically there. You haunt him. Every dog he sees, no matter how small or different colored, reminds him of you. He can't sit down to lunch with Ajax and Enid without remembering your furious expression. He can't paint without thinking of the time you spent with him there, in the shed, offering the balm of your company and affection on his wounds.

Xavier shouldn't be thinking this way of the girl he hates. He should not. Because he hates you. It's not a crush. It can't be. You are not supposed to get crushes on the girls that abuse your trust. This can never go anywhere and so, he stamps down his ideas and stupid obsessions behind a wall of pure, unadulterated hate. This is easier, this is safer. No matter if he has spent a whole hour staring at how the light hits your face when you take the seat window instead of Yoko. No matter if he likes the way you throw your head back when you laugh. No matter how soft your fur feels between his fingers and wonders if your hair would feel as soft. No matter he knows you can be nice too. No matter if he is obsessed with you.

Dog jokes. That is what it comes down to, in the end. A new, funny kind of torture that has the added advantage of making you flinch every time you see Xavier, but doesn't leave him feeling as guilty as calling you names. Or as guilty as he felt when he saw you crying after that stupid fight.

“So, I was thinking, for the group project we could…” You looked at Ajax. He wasn’t paying attention, too busy staring at Enid, who Wednesday had claimed as her partner. Yoko wasn’t in this class with you, and so, the teacher had put you as the third to Xavier and Ajax.

“Poor thing, you are barking at the wrong tree.” Xavier snickered. You ignored him, as always. You had learned this was the best way to deal with him. Ignore his taunts, and he would get tired of it. Lately, he had gotten nastier, intent on not letting anyone forget you could turn into a hound. It drove you up the walls. You were mistaken, yes, but was this necessary?

“Oh, come on, stop hounding him.” Xavier smirked. “Don’t you see he is in love?”

“Guys, please. Can we focus? We have to submit a proposal before the class is finished.” You begged, tugging at Ajax’s arm. Your patience was running thin, you would not fail botany just because you got assigned to work with these two.

You lost it, then. You snarled at him, much like a dog would do, showing your teeth. Xavier frowned, pulling his chair a little away from the table with a loud, rasping noise.

“Guys…” Ajax said, finally out of his daze. You ignored him.

“What is your problem with me?” Nothing else was needed. You were up and in Xavier’s face in less than a second. He just stared at you, unimpressed. He remained sitting, legs spread in a confident sprawl that made you want to strangle him.

“Stop it!” The teacher warned. But you were unable to look away from Xavier’s eyes, and he seemed to be in the same situation, staring up at you with such intensity, that if looks could kill, you would be already dead.

“Oh, you know exactly what…” He started saying, and you wanted to scream. You fucked up, you knew it, but surely, your patience with him all this time, not reacting to his taunts, it must qualify you for sanctity already.

“Cut the bullshit, Thorpe. Don’t you think it is enough? I apologized. You asked me to leave you alone, and I did. “ You point a finger at his chest, this time, getting so close your noses touch. Xavier seems stunned, mouth hanging open. “You are the one who keeps looking for me, circling me, you… You are the one who is obsessed with me!”

Xavier grabs your hand and forces you to lower it. His grip is loose, but the threat is there,

“Guys, the teacher…” Ajax says, nervously.

“Don’t. Don’t.” He pulls you in, legs spreading to accommodate you. Even sitting down, the height difference is notorious. You hate yourself for finding him attractive, even then. You know he is capable of being gentle, and he is handsome, even if not in a classical way. Xavier has always had something that pulls you in, and you are unable to resist, like a moth to a flame. “No, you don’t get to do this. Not when you keep smiling and laughing and looking…”

“Y/L/N! Thorpe!” The teacher finally screams. “Out! Out, or I will send you both to the principal’s office!”

At that, you pick up your bag and storm out of the room, face so red you look like a tomato. You aren’t ashamed of your fit of temper because you are so angry you can’t think straight. You wait for him to come out, and when he does, bag slung over his shoulder, you ambush him. This time, you are the one who grabs Xavier’s wrists and start dragging him out of the building.

“We.” You say, pulling with all your might when he digs his feet in. "Are going to have a talk. I am done with putting up with your tantrum.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.” Xavier turns his head away, avoiding your eyes. But he lets you pull him out of the school and into the forest, following the familiar path to his shed.

“Oh, really? Because if you refuse, I will just assume you are obsessed with me.” You taunt, smirking. It’s good to be the one with the upper hand for once. Xavier blushes.

“So what if I am?” He asks, crowding you, struck with a sudden bout of bravery. You step back, until your shoulders hit a tree. Xavier doesn’t stop crowding you, even when your hands come desperate to his chest, trying to put distance between the two. You can’t think straight, with him so close, and you think it must show because he leans down to whisper in your ears. “What if I am? What if I can’t stop thinking about you, dreaming about you? Wondering how your hands would feel on mine, how would you look down on your knees, in my arms? What are you going to do about it?”

“What if I told you…?” You start and promptly shut up. Thing is, you don’t have the words, you don’t know what to say. Having him so close, smelling his cologne, feeling the way his chest rises and down with each breath, your brain is in overdrive. And so, frustrated because you can’t find your words, you do what you do best. Act.

The kiss you press to his lips is desperate, more a siege than a kiss. It’s not gentle or romantic, you bite at his lips in hopes they will bruise, he grabs your jaw so hard it might be hurting you. You are both frustrated, filled with months worth of longing and rage against the other. Wetness pools on your underwear, and you scoff into the kiss. You are totally not getting your panties wet just because Xavier Thorpe is kissing you.

“You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to…” Xavier kisses your cheek, hands softer this time. “But…”

“You want to have your way with me?” You tease him. “Doggy style?” That startles a laugh out of him.

“Oh, god, that was terrible.” He gets busy sucking a hickey on your neck.

“You got weeks of dog jokes to make up for.” The phrase ends up melting into a moan because Xavier is excellent with his tongue.

“And you got weeks of looking beautiful to make up for.” His kisses make a path from your collarbone, back to your lips. Xavier kisses you again, slower this time. When you part, his pupils are blown. He is the one who looks more like a puppy, big green eyes peering at you. “Say yes, say yes. And if you do, know you won’t be going back to your dorm until tomorrow. Very late tomorrow.” He begs.

You jump him, then. Literally. It takes quite a bit of strength, to be able to just jump and wrap your thighs around his waist, squeezing just right, so you don’t fall off. Xavier staggers, but quickly places his hands under your thighs.

“That was so hot.” He mutters, nibbling at your ear. “Come on, to the shed.”

Turns out, he does want to fuck you from behind. And for someone who hates the fact you can turn into a hellhound, Xavier is pretty obsessed with it.

“Come on, hands and knees, just how pretty pets do it.” Xavier and you are both kneeling over a sheet on the floor in his shed, stained with paint. He had made already a pretty compelling case for you to forgive him, pressing kisses to your legs and thighs until you were begging him to put his mouth on you. Xavier had done as asked, bringing you to orgasm quickly. Then, he had risen from the floor, face glistening with your juices, and pulled you in for a dirty kiss.

You laugh, before realizing he is completely serious. Then, you can only gawk. He pushes you a little, hardness pressing against the small of your back. You are naked, floor hard against your already hurting knees from him eating you out, but you let him position you as he wishes. Xavier forces you to spread your legs and lines up, rubbing his tip at your entrance. He feels hot against your already clammy skin. You wonder how many times has he done this, and if he has a thing for being naked on his shed, or if the excitement is about you.

Xavier rubs his tip teasingly against your folds. It feels way too good on your already sensitive cunt, and if how he is whimpering is an indicator, it feels good for him too. You aren’t really in the mood to be patient, so you do your best to push backwards. You quickly find out that with him over you, Xavier has all the leverage and you got none.

“Oh, are you feeling neglected, pet?” He mocks you, one hand coming to grab at your hair, forcing you to throw your head back. You moan at that, eyes closing in pleasure. This is unexpected, but so very welcome.

“Next time, I will end you.” You threaten him, in a play for dominance you really don't mean. Xavier has already gone to his knees for you, you could let him have a bit of fun. “You will be crying by the time I am done with you.”

Rather than answering, Xavier’s hips do a smooth flex and roll, and he breaches your entrance. You can feel his smugness without needing to look at him, and you bet he looks ridiculously pretty, confidence glowing in an already handsome face. You can’t have that, so you clench around him.

“Are you going to fuck me or not?” You ask him, and Xavier trusts into you, harsh. It seems he is still frustrated. Your laughter quickly turns into moans. He is fucking you in an animalistic way, one hand wrapped firmly around your middle to prevent you from getting thrown away across the room. It’s good, great, even. His thrusts are hitting your walls just right, and you are so wet, you fear your slick is dripping down your thighs.

“Xavier, Xavier…” One of your hands comes to clench around his hip, blindly. You fear you will lose your balance and end up with a broken nose. He is holding you, but your knees are already sore and the way Xavier is punching the air out of your lungs is not helping. “Slow down. I’m gonna fall down on my face.”

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Xavier gasps, face coming to rest against your shoulder, pressing apologetic kisses there. Still, the sharp staccato of his hips continues. “Let me take care of you, pet.” At that, you moan, and you feel his mouth curve into a smile. Xavier presses into your shoulders, convincing you to lay down. You help him, extending your sore legs, until you are face down on the sheet. “Here, here, that's my good girl.” He then lies on top of you, holding you down and pressing kisses against your nape.

Xavier resumes the thrusting after that, and your breath starts coming in punched up little sobs. It’s too much. The way his hands run up and down your side, how he calls you a good pet, a good girl, praise freely leaving his lips, how he holds you so gentle. Your body can’t take the abuse he is inflicting on your walls, nor the way he then drops a hand between you two, over where you are joined, and whispers the filthiest thing you had ever heard him say, pressing his thumb against your other hole.

“You know, maybe I’ll buy you a tail, since you are such a good pet. “ His thumbs threatens to enter your ass, holds you open, never breaching. You hadn’t considered anal sex before, much less double penetration, but you can’t get the picture he paints out of your head. “Such a good pet, love. You are gorgeous.” It’s over for you, then. You scream, clenching and fluttering under him. Xavier fucks you through it, chasing his own pleasure. It doesn’t take long for him, either. He shudders and just collapses over you, crushing you.

“Fuck.” Your eyes close. You bet if you tried to stand, your legs would be shaking, and you don't want to give him the satisfaction, so you remain on the floor. “We need to do that again.” It's hesitant, but you need to say it. You like him, and if you can actually communicate for a chance, this could be great.

“I’m not sure…” Xavier teases, running a hand over your ribs. But the way he kisses your forehead tells you all you need to know.

“Maybe you can get me a collar?” You tease right back and he groans.

“You will be the death of me, you know it, right?” Xavier says, biting playfully at your nape.

“Oh, but what a way to go.” You laugh, and then fall silent as he rolls off you and cuddles by your side. The silence stretches, Xavier’s fingers drawing patterns over your hips, and then, the intrusive thoughts win the battle. “You know, you are pretty dumb. I look nothing like a dog, way too big, and I got peaks on my hair. Also, my jaw goes way back. “

You snort in response and snuggle closer.

“Oh, shut up, it was dark, and I was under a lot of stress.”

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