#that commissions are open before i lose my nerve

[hartteart]

commission info

ALL COMMISSIONS ARE FULL FLAT COLORS ONLY

[finniestoncrane]

Queen of My Heart

Gotham!Mad Hatter x Female!Reader, word count: 2k commission: jervis and his partner roleplay as the hatter and the queen of hearts commission me here! request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: oral sex, dom!reader, penetration, clean-up

With a smug smirk and a gentle twirl, you shimmied around and settled back to looking at yourself. You winked at the reflection in the mirror as you straightened the plush, shimmering crown on your head. There were only a few minor adjustments to make on your costume, teasing out fabric creases, smoothing down the skirt of the dress, feathering the softer, fluffy ruffles of the underskirt to make it plumper. All of it to make sure that everything was perfect for this evening. Standing back to appreciate the look in its entirety, you smiled at how well it had all come together, even before the entire look was finished. You were definitely displaying a look of regal power, of authority as the Queen, The Queen of Hearts. The Queen of Jervis’ heart. Once you had slid your feet, clad in white, knee high stockings, into the buckled pumps, you once more approached the mirror closely and pulled a tube of lipstick from the dresser. A bright red shade, perfect for the final piece. You drew a small heart over your lips with it and filled it in, ready to stamp the shape across Jervis’ cheeks when he made his appearance.

And right on queue, he appeared in the doorway, blushing instantly as he took in the sight of you, his eyes drawing upward from your shoes to the crown, a shocked smile, mouth open in disbelief as his dreams began to come true right there in front of him.

“You’re not saying anything, Jervis. That has me worried. I know it’s not accurate to the books and is perhaps a little more inspired by the Disney movie, but this is the best it’s going to get. So, could you just say something? Or do you hate it?”

He shook his head, soft curls bouncing with the movement as he did so. You could see his knuckles whitening, the grip on the brim of his top hat, which he held bashfully in front of him, strengthening as he tried to keep his focus on you, tried not to lose his cool before they had even begun.

“No, no, my dear. I’m simply taking you in and giving you the respectful attention you deserve. Besides, I might add, you have taken my breath away.”

Sinking into your role, you did your best to maintain the noble qualities of a Queen in charge as you took a careful, slow step towards Jervis, followed by another, and another, as you crossed the floor towards him. He placed his top hat back on his head, a different one to his usual outfit. He was dressed up too, slightly different, taking on the role of the Mad Hatter from fiction, as opposed to the Mad Hatter of reality that he was. Swallowing the lump of nerves in his throat, he sank backwards into the wall as you stood before him, feeling his insides tingling, his skin prickling with heat as he flushed with desire.

“Well? Aren’t you going to kneel before your Queen? It’s not very gentlemanly of you to stand there and gawk at me, after all.”

With a thud, Jervis immediately fell to his knees before you, staring up at you with large, dark, brown eyes, pleading for more of this, your exertion of power over him.

“Yes, my Queen! My most humble apologies!”

Arching his back, his sweet, small rear in the air, he bent as low as he could, his face on the ground, cheek pressed to the cold floor. He turned, lifting his chin slightly, eyes looking up with a hopeful glint as he wondered if he’d done enough. You were more than pleased, but kept your face neutral, waiting to see what else he might offer you. And, with a slight hesitation, Jervis pressed his lips to the toe of your shoe and placed a delicate kiss to it.

When he looked back to you, he noticed the pleased smile, slightly easing into your cheeks, and knew he was onto something. Another kiss he placed on the front of your foot, one more on your ankle, further and further up as he held your legs, his palms skimming over your skin, over the intriguing texture of the socks you wore. Ruffling up the hem of your skirt and underskirt, his hands found their way to your ass, cupping at the back of your cheeks as he kissed the front of your thighs. All the while, you tried to balance yourself in midair, your body succumbing quickly to Jervis’ worship, twitching and convulsing completely when he placed one long, lingering kiss to the front of your underwear.

With his lips pressed so close to you, he could feel your heat, his nose buried into your skin inhaling the scent, the wet spot that only grew the longer he stayed there dampening his lips even through the fabric. Pulling back, he shot a glance in your direction, trying to avoid the scrutiny of your glare as you wondered silently why he had stopped when you were obviously enjoying it.

“Perhaps, dear Queen of Hearts, I could apologise properly. Make it up to you, in a way.”

Pondering only briefly, you nodded your head, carefully so as not to knock your crown askew.

“I think that would be wise, Hatter.”

With your permission, he stroked his finger down the front of your panties, hooking it under the lining and pulling them to the side, exposing your cunt to him. Jervis leaned in, slowly, his breath hot against your sensitive mound, but he found himself being pulled back by your hand, knocking his hat to the ground and tangling your fingers through his dark curls.

“But remember, dear. If you do not satisfy your Queen until she is content then it’s off with your head.”

You pulled on his hair, grip tight as you tugged him away from your body, aiming his gaze at you as you carefully spoke the next words.

“And I do not mean the one on your shoulders.”

Jervis stuttered over his response, licking his lips and swallowing the build up of saliva before he drooled over the way you stood in control above him.

“Y-yes, my queen.”

As his tongue flitted over your folds, circling your clit when his lips closed over the sensitive bud, you moaned in pleasure. The way he felt, like silk against your skin, the way his hair gently tickled you as it brushed against your bare thighs. It was good, but it wasn’t enough.

You pushed him back, smiling at the shocked look on his face as he felt into a sitting position on the floor. Dragging your eyes down his outfit, you stopped on the obvious bulge that tented the front of his pants. As you stepped towards him, you slid your panties off, lowering yourself before standing back up when you realised Jervis was sitting still, staring dumbfounded at you.

“Well, Hatter… are you going to let loose that impressive member?”

Nodding, still unblinking, Jervis unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock, letting it bounce, stiff and entirely erect, as you lowered yourself onto it. He hissed as he felt himself disappear between you folds, deep into your entrance, inch by inch. You were warm and wet, sticky against him. The way your hips rolled as you rode him had him choking on his own breath, unable to do anything but gratefully accept his fate of being used by you.

“Now don’t hold back from your Queen, Hatter. I would hope you might have the strength and prowess to sire me an heir while you’re graciously allowed the pleasure of being inside of me.”

The way you spoke, putting on an air of regality, your voice so condescending, making him feel small. All of it turned him on, lighting his blood on fire, sending heat coursing through him. He couldn’t take it any more. He knew you were in control, and he wanted it to stay that way, but his body was twitching desperately, his muscles tensing as he tried to fight the urge to take you on his own terms. The desire, the urge, to rut into you brutally and quickly was too much to take, and before he knew it, he had his hands behind your back, lowering you onto the floor and taking you by surprise with this display of dominance.

“Hatter! I don’t think you should be taking control of your Queen like this.”

Searching quickly for an excuse, he finally stuttered one out.

“B-but my Queen, I do not think you should have to do the work. Should you not be laying back and enjoying yourself? Please, allow me to pleasure you while you lounge comfortably below me. Please?”

You nodded silently, allowing Jervis to enter you with a forceful push, taking you roughly as he began pounding himself against your thighs, which he held up against his chest and over his shoulders. His pace was brutal, and the swiftness with which he moved only served to over-excite him. Before he realised it, he found himself losing control, falling apart, coming undone inside of you.

With a final grunt, his body convulsing as he dug his fingers into your hips with a tight grip, Jervis felt himself cumming in thick, white ropes, filling you up as requested, secretly hopeful that he might have been good enough to properly breed you, spilling his seed within you and leaving a part of himself behind with his Queen.

Still on top of you, he pulled his hips back, a small trail of his cum landing on your mound as he shifted slightly to your side. With an almost innocent gaze he looked to you for approval, for a compliment on his hard work and efforts. You fought the urge to praise him, to shower him in kind words, to stroke his cheek and rest your hand under his chin and kiss his sweet, soft, reddened lips. you had to be in control. You still felt like you owed him a proper experience with the Queen of Hearts.

“I’m disappointed with your lack of self-control, Hatter. You’ve gotten excited and wasted the opportunity. I hope you haven’t provided me with an heir under these circumstances. You should hang your head in shame.”

The slight smile on the corner of your lips told Jervis that you weren’t serious, that you were living up to the role you were embodying in the moment. So he kept up with the roleplay also, even though they were both finished and satisfied. With an exaggerated pout he hung his head down and muttered an almost silent, very soft, apology before you spoke again.

“And that mess you’ve made. Clean it up!”

Nodding solemnly, but heart racing with excitement at being ordered to do something so degrading, so delightfully lewd, Jervis lowered his body, sinking down the bed along your body until his head was level with your slick, plump lips. Each twitch of your body as your muscles relaxed post-orgasm saw a little more of his cum dribbling out of you. With his tongue protruding, he ran it up in one slow, stiff motion between your lips, the tip collecting his own cum from between your folds. He let it linger there, salty, warm, tinged with the flavour and scent of you, before he swallowed it.

“Don’t think you’re finished yet, there’s more inside.”

With a dutiful nod, he lowered himself again, this time laying his tongue flat on you, to ensure that your cunt was completely clean, before he dove within you, his tongue wagging inside of your entrance as he closed his lips around and sucked. Your moans were music to his ears, and he let out a soft, pleasured whimper of his own as he tasted himself once again at the back of his throat.

He pulled back, looking up at you questioningly, expectantly, as he awaited your approval.

“Not quite fit for a Queen, yet, but with practice, you’ll be an excellent Royal Assistant, dear Hatter.”

Jervis nodded, lowering his eyebrows as he smirked. He knew very well that the promise of practice meant that you had enjoyed his efforts far more than you were willing to let on. He’d done a good job for the Queen of his heart.

[jerzwriter]

Falling for You

Book: Open Heart (Book 3 Timeline) Pairing: Tobias Carrick x F!MC (Casey) Rating: Teen Words: 1,100 Summary: Ice skating has always been a big part of Casey's life, and for the eight months they had been together, she kept saying how much she was looking forward to doing it with Tobias. He tried to put it off as long as he could, but the day of reckoning was upon him... and panic set in. Could a quick call to his best friend, Kerry, calm his nerves? Or is Tobias about to fall flat. A/N: First and foremost, thank you to @weetlebeetle for this adorable commission of my little lovebirds. This is so precious, and I just adore it! Those of you familiar with some of my older fics may remember Kerry, Tobias's lifelong friend. Information about her and other OCs in my Tobias x Casey HC can be found here. She was instrumental in helping him and Casey get together, and she thought her work was done. Well... maybe not. lol

His fingers tapped against the coffee table, the dull thud echoing throughout his empty home. But it wasn't enough to release the nervous energy he was feeling, and before long, he was on his feet, pacing the length of the room.    

“Come on, come on! I know you’re off... answer!”

To the shock of many, Tobias Carrick had proven he could be a patient man, and it had paid off dearly, playing a big part in how he was happily coupled with the love of his life today. Casey. The mere thought of her usually brought a smile, but right now, it only amplified the fear coursing through his veins. He needed someone to help him through, and his best friend was the only one he trusted with the job. But his patience was wearing thin as he tried to reach her. About to disconnect the call, he finally heard her voice.

“T?” Kerry answered breathlessly. “What’s going on? You OK?”

“Thank God!” He exclaimed. “Where have you been?”

“At Brenda’s soccer game. I told you she was playing today.”

“Ah! That’s right,” he said, smacking his head. “I forgot; why don’t you get back to her.”

“Because after ten missed calls and as many texts saying ‘CALL ME,’ I assume you have something important going on. So, spill.”

Tobias fell back onto the couch with a sigh.  

“I have a big problem... I... I have a date tonight.”

“A date?” Kerry asked quizzically. “What’s so terrible about...” her face fell as she went silent, fearing the worst. “Tobias Charles Carrick... please tell me your date isn’t with someone other than Casey, because if it is, I swear to God I’m going to drive to Boston and kick your ass.”  

“What!” He gasped. “No! Don’t be ridiculous! Of course my date’s with Casey.”

“Good!” she said with relief. “But then what’s the drama? You have a date with your girlfriend, so?”

“Yeah, well... it’s an ice skating date.”

The line went silent again, then Kerry burst into a full belly laugh... not exactly the support or sympathy Tobias was seeking.

“That’s nice! Laugh it up! You won’t be laughing when I make a total ass out of myself, and she dumps me. I’m not stupid. I know you like her better than me.”

“Well, that goes without saying,” Kerry teased while wiping a tear from her eye. “She’s far more likable than you. But what the hell possessed you to go on a skating date?”

He ran his hand down his face with another weary sigh. “Obviously, it wasn’t my idea. But Casey loves skating, and she’s good, really good. Like almost did it competitively when she was younger, good. And I’m....”

“Far more suited for a basketball court. Not gonna lie, T, you suck at ice skating.”

“Thank you.”

“What? I’m just stating facts. The time we went skating on Mr. Belmont’s pond remains one of my most horrifying childhood memories. I thought for sure we were going to lose you that day; little did I know you’d end up sending your brother to the emergency room instead.”

“Hey! In my defense, if that idiot hadn’t been trying to make me fall, he wouldn’t have ended up with my skate blade in his thigh.”

“Jordan can’t help being obnoxious," Kerry laughed. "It’s a Carrick family trait.”

“All well and good, but the last thing I want to do is impale Casey tonight."

"Really?" Kerry chided. "And here I thought that was usually your goal?"

"Very funny, Ker. I'm being serious here! I don’t want her realizing the error of her ways and kicking me to the curb.”

“For the love of God, Tobias... do you hear yourself? Do you think you may be exaggerating just a little? It’s ice skating. Take a deep breath, and just go and have fun.”

“But what if I fall on my face?”

“So what if you do? That’s part of what makes it fun. Just relax and enjoy the time together. Knowing Casey, she’d probably find you falling all over the ice endearing.”

“You think so?”

“YES! As hard as it is to believe, she loves you for you... not your ability to qualify for the 2026 Winter Olympics.”

“You’re right,” he surrendered, his heart feeling lighter.

“I usually am. Now, just go and have fun. Let me know how it went later.”

Buoyed by Kerry’s words, Tobias set off for his date, and just hours later, they sat at the side of a beautiful rink just outside of Boston. Casey grinned from ear to ear as she laced up her skates, oblivious to her boyfriend’s inner turmoil.

“I’m so excited,” she beamed. “I’ve been waiting to do this with you since we started dating! I love sharing the things I love with you."

“Yeah,” he chuckled nervously. “I do, too.”   He pulled the laces tightly around his ankle, hoping against hope that a skate malfunction would spare him, but when he realized that wasn’t to be, he took her hand to confess. “Case... I’ve gotta tell you something.”

“Sure,” she smiled. “What’s up?”

“I... I kind of suck at this. I haven’t gone skating since I was twelve years old, and that time, I sent Jordan to the ER.”

Casey’s eyes widened, "You did?" she asked, her melodious laugh filled the air. She placed her gloved hands on his frigid cheeks and pulled him in for a tender kiss.

“Tobias, skating skills really aren’t high up on my list of traits I find desirable in my partner. Let’s just go and have fun, baby. That’s all I want to do.”

They took to the ice hand-in-hand, and while Tobias stumbled and fell throughout the afternoon, he wasn’t embarrassed. Instead, they laughed, teased, and shared a whole lot of kisses. He felt foolish for worrying so much, and the date served as a reminder that the best memories are those made when we let go of fears and enjoy time with the ones we love.

Hours later, they were toasty warm in his car as they headed back to Boston. Smiling as she recalled the day, Casey rested her head on his shoulder.

“That wasn’t so bad after all, was it?” she smiled.

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Still, I don’t think it’s something you’ll want to do too often,” she grinned.

“But you love skating,” he replied. “And if you love it, then I’ll love going with you.”

“You don’t have to,” she assured. “There are plenty of other things I love doing with you. I got you on skates once; that's all that matters.”

As she said that, a little lightbulb went off Tobias’s head, and a tiny grin came to his lips. “Yeah.  At least we got to do it once.”

~~~~~

A/N 2: Tobias recalls that he knows someone else who skates really well... and right now, his wheels are spinning. More to come! :)

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics @choicesholidays (solely because it's winter-themed! :)

[simping4villains]

Here’s chapter 5 of my Shigaraki fic “Losing Streak” which is posted both on Wattpad and ao3!

Warning: Sexual content, non-con/dub-con elements

  "What?" You asked even though you knew you'd heard him perfectly fine.

"Take them off," he repeated, a little harsher.

"What about your game? Don't you want to finish—"

"I don't care about that anymore."

Not now that he had you to play with.

"Alright," you whispered, barely being able to speak as your nerves swelled in your throat. You had to stall. You had to figure a way out of this. You needed an excuse. "But, um, could you get me a glass of water first?"

"A glass of water?"

"Yeah, you just really took a lot out of me, you know?" You batted your lashes at him, trying to sell it.

He smirked, clearly proud of himself. "Oh yeah?"

"Mhmm."

He ran his hands up your thighs and nodded toward the bed. "Will you wait for me over there?"

"Whatever you want," you replied. You knew he'd eat that up.

"That's more like it." He smiled and pressed his rough lips to yours once more before helping you off of his lap.

As soon as the door shut behind him, you grabbed his phone from his desk and started trying to guess his passcode, which was admittedly a pretty stupid idea. It wasn't like you even really knew anything about him to base your guesses on.

You started searching his desk, looking for anything that might give you a clue. In one of his drawers you came across a picture frame. It was turned upside-down in the drawer. You pulled it out and flipped it around to see a photograph of a much younger Shigaraki standing next to a man that you guessed had to have been his father? You couldn't help but wonder why the picture was tucked away.

Even as a kid, Shigaraki looked like an outcast. His hair was black instead of pale blue, but it was still a messy heap that spilled over his face, and you could just barely make out the faintest red lines on his neck.

In an act of desperation, you tried to use the photograph to trick the facial recognition feature on Shigaraki's phone. It didn't work. Of course it didn't. You hadn't really expected it to.

The knob of Shigaraki's door turned, signaling his return and sending you into fight or flight. You threw the picture frame back in the drawer, giving it a faithful shove before launching yourself onto the bed. You landed with a grunt, briefly knocking the air out of your lungs.

"What the hell are you doing?" Shigaraki asked when he came back to find you practically wheezing on his mattress.

"Nothing."

"Are you. . . are you still catching your breath from earlier?"

"Yes," you lied as he handed you your glass of water.

A grin spread across his face. "Wow, I didn't realize I would put you out of commission for so long. Do you need a little break?"

The man was really giving himself too much credit.

"Please," you replied, giving him your best attempt at a sheepish smile. You hated to stroke his ego, but it was worth keeping him away from you a little longer so you could make a plan for how to avoid sleeping with him.

"Alright. I'm gonna finish my game while you recover a bit. Just keep drinking your water."

You forced another smile. You deserved an oscar for the performance you were giving him. "Okay."

He crossed over to his desk, but when he pulled his chair out he became very tense.

"Is something wrong?" You asked, suddenly feeling your own heart drop.

"Did you go through my stuff?"

The way that the blue light from his monitor hit his face made him look wild, like he could make you crumble to dust under his gaze. You felt yourself starting to shrink away from him, trying to seem less threatening, like you couldn't possibly be plotting against him.

"What? No, I—"

"This wasn't open before." He pointed to the drawer in his desk. The picture frame hadn't settled right and it was blocking the drawer from closing.

He picked it up and turned it over in his hands, frowning.

"Who is that?" you asked. With the way that the photo was stored you figured it had to be a touchy subject, and you were willing to do anything to kill the mood.

"It's no one."

"Really? I feel like if that were the case then you wouldn't have it hidden in—"

"Will you just fucking drop it?" He snapped. "I didn't invite you over so we could get to know each other."

You hoped this time would be like the others, that he'd replace his rage with some annoying comment to tease you, but that wasn't the case. You had crossed the line. The rose-tinted lens of affection that he'd been viewing you through had shattered the second he saw that picture sticking out of his desk, and any remorse he felt for his actions, however minimal, had disappeared along with it. He didn't care what you thought of him now, and that made him especially dangerous.

"Get up."

His tone was so chillingly even, barely bordering on the edge of control, that it sent shivers down your spine. Before, he was just a nuisance, some prick who was blackmailing you to get his dick wet, but you were actually afraid of him now.

You did what he wanted, standing in front of the bed, fiddling anxiously with the hem of your sweatshirt. He dropped the picture back in its drawer and crossed the room, stopping directly in front of you. He was so close that you could feel his breath against your skin.

He grabbed you by the waist and pulled you forward so that your body was flush against his, crashing his mouth into yours and moving just as desperately as before. You were frozen in place with fear. It wasn't until he barked at you to kiss him back that you were jolted into action.

You went through the motions, trying to match his sloppy movements. When he slipped his tongue into your mouth you didn't put up a fight. You just kept your eyes closed and imagined that it was your crush kissing you instead of the monster before you.

It was your crush tugging your sweatshirt over your head before taking off his own, your crush unbuckling his belt and stepping out of his jeans, your crush sliding your sweatpants and panties off in one motion before shoving you backwards onto his unmade bed.

"Will you open your fucking eyes and look at me?"

He was standing above you, palming his cock over his boxers. You didn't think it was very fair for him to be able to keep them on while you were left so exposed, but you didn't dare take it up with him.

"Not like that."

You didn't know what he meant. Horrified, most likely. You felt like prey before him, and you were moments away from being slaughtered.

You couldn't believe this was really happening. You couldn't believe that he'd actually beaten you and forced you into this position, all because of some drunken mistake.

You weren't sure you'd ever be able to drink again.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

He didn't respond, he just pulled his boxers off and climbed on top of you, spreading your legs apart as he continued to stroke his cock. With how upset he seemed, you didn't expect him to show any sort of restraint. You figured he'd just ram into you all at once and fuck you without any mercy, but he didn't.

He was looking down between the two of you. Following his gaze, you realized that he wasn't hard. It was everything you'd wished for, but somehow in that moment it terrified you even more.

"God fucking dammit," he muttered.

You didn't dare say anything. You didn't want to draw attention to it and give him even more of a reason to be pissed at you.

He started kissing you again, grinding against your thighs to try to wake his dick up. All he wanted was to touch you, to feel your soft skin against his and have you wrapped around him, crying out his name, so what was wrong? He didn't understand why he couldn't get hard now, and it made him even more mad than when he saw that fucking picture poking out of his desk.

You weren't supposed to see that. You weren't supposed to see the real him.

Why the fuck did you have to go snooping around when he'd left? He was doing you a fucking favor, after all. He was being nice and you took advantage of him. Did you have any fucking manners at all or were you just a bitch to your core like the rest of those girls he always saw you with? You wouldn't have ever given him the time of day if it weren't for that stupid literature project or those fucking photos you wouldn't shut up about. This was wrong. Everything was all wrong.

He snapped, backing away from you and climbing off of the bed, quickly grabbing his clothes from the floor and pulling them on. He suddenly felt too vulnerable in front of you, like finding that picture had made you able to see through him. He didn't feel like he was in control anymore and he hated it. His irritation pooled under the skin of his neck, and he couldn't help but run his nails over it, probably creating a fresh set of tracks.

"Forget it," he said, in a voice so low you almost missed it.

"What?" you asked, not sure you'd heard him right.

"I said fucking forget it!" he yelled, throwing your clothes at you. "Get the hell out!"

You pulled your clothes on as fast as you could, trying to get out of his room before his rage got even worse. You barely had your sweatshirt on as you ran out into the hallway, and it wasn't until you were halfway back to your apartment that you realized you'd left your bag with him. It didn't matter enough to go back. All that was in it were a few textbooks and, well, your laptop. That was pretty important, but it would have to wait until another time when Shigaraki didn't want to tear you apart. Either that or you could try to scrape together some cash for a new one. Both options seemed just as viable at that point.

   Later that night, you struggled to fall asleep, and not just because the music from the party was blaring well into the morning. You kept thinking about the way Shigaraki had changed so suddenly, like a switch had flipped. While you certainly weren't going to waste your sympathy on someone like him, you couldn't help but wonder what it all meant.

[grandmaster-anne]

Don’t put a tiara on my sculpture, late Queen told artist

Elizabeth II requested bronze bust without the usual decoration, because she wanted to appear ‘the same’ as her husband Prince Philip

Queen Elizabeth II asked a royal sculptor to depict her without her tiara so the bust would be “the same” as the Duke of Edinburgh’s alongside it, the artist has revealed ahead of a new exhibition. Frances Segelman, who was granted three sittings with the late Queen in 2007, said she asked the monarch if she would like a version of the bronze cast to sit alongside the one she had previously made of the Duke at Buckingham Palace. “She said that would be very, very nice,” recalled Ms Segelman. “But looking at the photograph I was showing her, she said: ‘I wouldn't want the tiara on next to the Duke of Edinburgh as he's got just a shirt and tie. So I wouldn't want my tiara on, I would want us to be the same.” It meant Ms Segelman had to make one version without the tiara, redoing the monarch’s hair.

The sculptor added: “I thought it was very lovely. She was so caring [and] obviously loved him very, very much. Those two are there in the palace together like that and all the others have the tiara. This is quite unusual.” Three of Ms Segelman’s sculptures depicting the monarch, the Duke of Edinburgh and King Charles feature in an exhibition called Majesty: A Tribute To The Queen, which opened at Quantus Gallery in Spitalfields, east London, on Wednesday. The exhibition unites three royal artists - Ms Segelman, Rob Munday, who created the first officially commissioned holographic portrait of Elizabeth II in 2004, and Christian Furr, who at 28 became the youngest artist commissioned to paint an official portrait of the sovereign in 1995.

Ms Segelman said the late Queen had been so chatty during her sittings that she struggled to concentrate on her work. “I really wasn't getting very far,” she said. “Normally, I don't let my sitters talk because I can't get it done otherwise.  “I thought I'd try and find a way of having a bit of a gap so I said to her: ‘Your Majesty, I don't mind at all if you feel like you would like to have a rest or not talk to me. I'd be absolutely fine.’ “I had to pluck up so much courage, but she never took any notice, she still carried on!” The late Queen expressed a particular concern for the tourists milling around on the road outside Buckingham Palace before the layout was changed. She also chatted about the various visitors to the palace and a journey she was due to take by train. Ms Segelman, who has recently been commissioned to sculpt the Queen Consort, said one of the most nerve-wracking moments was having to measure Elizabeth II’s head with callipers - an intimate moment that involved touching her hair and her face. “It was terrible,” she said. “It was just a memory that I'll never ever ever lose. And you worry, because they’re pointed. “My intention at the beginning was to go back to my table and write down the measurements from the calliper. But every time I got back, I'd forgotten it or it had moved because my hands were shaking.  “So I kept going backwards and forwards and in the end I decided, you know what, I'm not doing anymore of it because I've just got to relax and enjoy her.”

The Telegraph By Victoria Ward, 28 September 2022

[trashytoastboi]

~🍞Toasty update🍞~

I quite enjoy doing these little updates now and then. In a sense I feel it connects me a little closer to my followers and reminds peeps that a living toast person exists outside of the confines of this patch of internet.

Recently I've been doing a few polls and have some plans to add. I'm quite excited for the future. Along with adding more fandoms to my writing list, opening ask box again, as well as opening my commissions.

I'm now proceeding with somewhat of update and vent, if that is not your jam you're free to scroll on by🍀

So in the update aspect of things::

I'm planning a rather large writing event that will span over 2 weeks

I'm working on the backlog and have a few things ready to be posted. All the current requests will be answered

I'm opening up my commissions

Updating Fandom list with new fandoms to write for

Ask box will be opened again

Updating masterlists and revamping the blog style

Working on easier navigation

Warning - Vent ahead: Might get a bit rambling and sad.

Life has been... otherwise as of late.

I had to bid a very sudden and devastating goodbye to the closest person to me. In light of their passing, life itself flipped on its head. One never realizes the overwhelming physical (and metaphorical) void when losing someone you've lived with your whole life. A lot of things seem strange, and foreign. Since I was a bun in the oven, there was never a moment where they had not been there for me. The world feels a little weirder, and dull without them.

The home is now just an empty house. Quiet and too big for just me. It lacks the usual sounds and presence, the little annoyances and traces.

I am in the process of embarking on a new adventure, moving to a new place. Me and my two cats are under so much change it's terrifying. Though in some ways under the nerves and fear lays hope and excitement in light of the new venture.

I'll be balancing my studies, part time jobs and trying to make the time to write. As I mentioned before I'll be opening commissions as well since they do contribute towards my living expenses.

My little closing message for everyone.

No one is ever ready for this kind of change, or loss. Let the people you love know your appreciation, have a little more patience, make a little more time. Rethink hurtful words. They will surface in painful memory and you will regret a lot. Give them a hug, and cherish the precious people in your life. Answer the calls and messages, don't fall into the complacency of "There's always later/next time/tomorrow."

That is all from this toasty boi, I'm a soggy slice right now but I'll bounce back again.

[sweatshirtghoul]

Relief

Summary: Secondo is being more of a menace than usual, you decide to do something about it. Commissioned fic! Inquire about one on here or twitter @moirawebbb 

Pairing: Secondo x f!reader

Warnings: mdni, blowjobs, sex, dirty talk, soft Secondo

  You fidgeted with your habit nervously as you waited in Papa’s office. You had heard from everyone under the sun today about Secondo’s bad mood, and it was only barely into the morning. The Second was normally one to be feared in a minimal sense, but when in a foul mood he could scare even the most feral of ghouls. Truthfully, you had no idea if he would even allow you to be waiting for him like this. Although your Papa seemed to show you a certain level of favoritism, he never maintained a “relationship” with any of his pets. Your nerves started to get the better of you, and you considered getting up and leaving instead of facing his wrath. As you approached the door, however, it swung open with such force you felt a slight breeze graze you. You looked up at your Papa with wild eyes, unsure of how to talk your way out of this. He looked down at you with an equally intense gaze, looking terrifying as ever in his paint.

  “Is there a good reason you are trespassing in my private office alone, pet? I am in no mood to play today.” He regarded you calmly as he spoke, but enough time with Second revealed he was seething underneath. “S-sorry, Papa. I was j-just…” You were silent as his gloved hand grabbed your chin harshly, pulling your stare to his. “Spit it out, before I cast you out. You know you have earned my favor, but my patience is thin today.” You whispered shakily. “I wanted to check-” “Louder,” he interrupted. You forced yourself to stand up straight and match his gaze. “I wanted to check on you.” You said, the tremble in your voice gone. “Hmph. I am not a child and I am not my inane brother. I do not need supervision. Dismissed.” He cruelly walked past you, not sparing you a second glance. He stopped in his tracks when he heard you sniffle.

  He turned around once more to face you. You began to back out of the room and stammer. “Sorry, Papa. I’ll - I’ll go now.” You turned around to leave, but he prevented your exit once more. You tried to look at the floor to avoid his searching eyes, but he grabbed your chin again. “What is it, little one?” He asked, concern in his voice. “I’m worried about you, Papa.” You confessed, feeling that you had nothing to lose. “You’ve been working so hard, picking up Terzo’s slack. It’s taking a toll on you and everyone is noticing. I know you say you don’t need the care of others, but know you have it if you wish.” He said nothing, eyes searching your face. For a moment, you worried you had overstepped. However, you were completely taken aback when he strong arms enveloped you, pulling you into a tender embrace. He rested his head on yours and and inhaled deeply, feeling his body relax as he smelled your hair. “Perhaps…” he trailed off, “I am a bit tired. However, that is no excuse. I have duties to His Unholiness and duties to the church to fulfill.” You peeked out from under him and dared to lightly brush your fingers against his cheek. When he didn’t pull away, you cupped his face in your hands and pulled his forehead to yours. “Please, Papa. Take it easy, just for today.” He let out a groan and gave you an exhausted smile. He took your hands into his gloved ones and rubbed his thumb over your knuckles. “I do not know of any other pet that would dare speak to me in such a way,” he mused. “I’m beginning to think you’ve hexed me with how you’ve bewitched me so.” 

  You blushed at his words and once again tried to hide your face. Once again he did not let you. He brushed an errant hair away from your ear. “You would deprive me of such beauty, cara?” He pulled you in and placed a tender kiss on your lips, content to not deepen it, just savoring the stolen moment you two were sharing. You were breathless when you pulled away. The chime of the church clock startled you both out of your stupor. You bowed quickly and started to make your way towards the door. “Sorry, Papa! I have to get to my duties or Sister will kill me!” Once again, he stopped you. You were beginning to think you were never to leave his office. He pulled you in by your waist and began to press slow, opened-mouth kisses to your neck. “Senza senso, today you will serve your Papa in favor of your duties. If anyone takes issue they may come to me.” You smiled up at your Papa, and he returned a ghost of one down to you. He began to walk over to his desk, holding out his hand. “Would you like to sit in on what will no doubt be some pointless meetings, my pet?” You gingerly nodded and took his hand, which he then used to pull you into his lap. You giggled and started to kiss his neck, the same as he had done to you. He gripped you roughly and ground you into him. “Careful, little one,” he warned, nipping at the shell of your ear. “Don’t start something you cannot finish.” You craned your neck to give him more access. “What if I want to finish you, Papa?” You smirked. You felt him smile against your neck. “Non preoccuparti, dolce. Mi prenderò il mio tempo con te più tardi.”

You thought Papa was joking about you sitting in on his meetings, but he kept you in place in his lap, facing his dark oak desk. When the heavy doors opened, Papa Nihil entered. You tried to bow as a sign of respect, but the hands locking you in place prevented that. Nihil gave you two a strange look as he onced-over, but merely waved his hand in dismissal and took his seat in the lush, green chair. “Secondo,” Nihil addressed with a small bow of his head. “Papa.” Secondo returned, voice flat. “I understand we have a visitor joining us today?” The older man inquired, nodding his head at you. Secondo’s hand tightened around your waist. “Sí. I understand you took many liberties in your Papal duties back in your day. Questo sarà un problema?” The two men stared intensely, both daring one to challenge the other. Nihil backed down first. “Non c'è problema.” “Grazí, Papa. Now, what did you wish to discuss?” 

Figuring it was not your place to eavesdrop on official clergy business, you busied yourself by committing everything in your Papa’s office to memory. You took in the green accents covering the office. He always liked to fly his colors. Hearing Nihil drone on and one about clergy dining options began to take its toll on you, and you let your head rest in the crook of Secondo’s neck, closing your eyes. You quickly realized what you were doing and made a move to remove yourself, but a gentle hand eased your head back down. Papa’s eyes were still on Nihil, but another hand started to rub soothing circles on your lower back. You started to feel for the man. He was by no means a monster, and certainly always a gentleman, but he was never known to be affectionate and receptive. You stared at him for as long as you could before sleep took you, content to be lulled by the steady beating of his heart.

A warm hand stroking your cheek roused you from your sleep. You blinked a few times to see Papa, now alone once more. He looked like the day had taken its toll on him as well. “I’m sorry, Papa.” You yawned. “You’ve done so much all day and I fell asleep. I shouldn’t have been so tired.” He gave you another soft smile and smoothed your hair with his now gloveless hands. “​​Non preoccuparti caro. You have given me much to think about today.” You felt your stomach flip. “Good things I hope?” He chuckled, a deep rumble coming from his throat. “Certo, little one. I have just been thinking of the kindness you showed me. And how best to reward you.” “Papa, today is about you!” He held up a finger to silence you. “As I said earlier, pet, I’m going to take my time with you. It is the least I can do to thank you for keeping my sanity.” He placed his hand on your throat, holding pressure there. You moaned as his hand went where it had so many times. You relished in the feeling of him holding your neck, not squeezing, but being just sturdy enough for you to know who was in control.

Scooting his chair back, he urged you between his spread legs. You wedged yourself between them on the floor and stared at the growing bulge under his vestments. Your mouth watered as you ran your hands up and down his thighs, waiting for your Papa’s permission. “Prendi quello che ti serve, tesoro.” He finally said, looking down at you with mismatched eyes. His gaze was one of lust and adoration. Needing no further encouragement, you undid his belt and let his heft cock spring out, his piercings momentarily cold against your cheek. You began to place small kisses around the tip, licking around the metal embedded in his shaft. A hand suddenly grasped your hair tightly. “It is not wise to tease me today, sorella.” He said through gritted teeth. Getting the message and feeling your arousal build between your legs, you began to take him in your mouth, inch by inch. You gagged when he hit the back of your throat, you would never get used to his size. You used your free hands to gently massage his balls, the other lightly brushing your thumbs over his Jacob’s Ladder piercings. He moaned at the sensation, throwing his head back and mouth parting slightly. “Che bocca peccaminosa su di te, sorella.” You moaned at praise and redoubled your efforts. 

Your rhythm was thrown off as you were roughly pulled off the cock you were sucking by your hair. “Enough,” he panted. You did as you were told, sitting up on your knees and scooting back. He picked you up harshly by your shoulders and backed you into his desk. Feeling his urgency, you perched yourself on the edge of the desk, spreading your legs. He slotted himself between them and started grinding himself against your clothed pussy, the friction of the damp underwear making your eyes roll back. He began to nip the shell of your ear as he roughly pulled the thin layer of fabric between you down. “Verrò così profondamente nella tua fica che sarò sempre parte di te.” He whispered. You wrapped your legs around his waist at the praise, and began to slowly shove into you. You whined as he teased you, desperate to be filled. He chuckled again and spoke languidly into your ear. “Normally I would love to hear you beg, pet, but I do think we both need to be indulged.” 

With that, he shoved in to the hilt and began thrusting roughly into you. The desk began to shake with the force of him bottoming out inside you, and the moans and sounds of wet skin-on-skin echoed in the office. With the frenzied pace he was going at, you knew he wouldn’t last long with as worked up as he was. You began to slam your hips to meet his, the lewd sounds alerting anyone outside to what was taking place. He snaked a hand between you to circle your clit, deft fingers occasionally stroking your folds. You felt your orgasm approaching first. Feeling you tense up, Papa changed his angle and began to hit deeper. “Just a little longer, pet. I want to feel you clenching when I spill my seed.” You both cried out as your orgasms took you, lazily fucking each other through the aftershocks. 

He collapsed his head on your habit, paint staining your breasts. You cradled his head close to yours. “Thank you for using me for relief, Papa. I’ll leave you to it.” You started to hop off the desk, when once again his arms trapped you. “I don’t think so, little one. You got your reward, for the rest of the night I will take mine.” You grinned and your heart fluttered at the thoughts of what the rest of the night would bring. 

Translations: 

Senza senso - nonsense

Non preoccuparti, dolce. Mi prenderò il mio tempo con te più tardi - Don’t worry, my sweet. I will take my time with you later.

Questo sarà un problema - Will that be a problem?

Non c'è problema. - It is no problem

Prendi quello che ti serve, tesoro. - Do not worry, dear. 

Prendi quello che ti serve, tesoro. - Take what you need, darling.

Che bocca peccaminosa su di te, sorella - Such a sinful mouth, sister.

Verrò così profondamente nella tua fica che sarò sempre parte di te - I’m going to cum so deeply in your cunt that I will always be a part of you.

[corruptedroses]

— Stolen Light M.List | Ask Box [open] | Commissions[OPEN] | Ko-fi | Patreon

Fandom —  Five Nights at Freddy's Pairing — William Afton/OC Summary — William considers himself to be a patient man. Patience, however, can run thin. Content Warnings — Rough sex, drinking, possessive behaviour, boss/employee dynamics, anal sex, anal fingering, breeding kink Word Count — 4,008 Author's note — Mafia AU, commission

William Afton considered himself a patient man, he considered himself an understanding man, but, he knew that he was being none of those things as he dragged one of his workers down the hallways, his grip so tight on the other man’s wrist that he knew he was probably going to be leaving behind bruises, but that was the least of his concerns. Connections, contracts, he didn’t even consider the one that had sat at that retched bar, sipping that cocktail — Fergus was a man who thought he could own it all.

But here in Hurricane, here in his city, there would be things that Fergus knew he couldn’t touch. He couldn’t touch his children when they had been around, he couldn’t touch his wife when she had been alive, but, even if Follett was just one of his workers, Fergus knew that he couldn’t touch him. It didn’t stop him, William watching as the obese man tried to charm his way into the worker’s pants. He could ignore it for a little bit considering that Follett knew what to do.

Fergus, however, always did hate to lose.

To control his anger had been difficult when the man was more inclined to do the things he knew that he shouldn’t do, couldn’t do. Touching him, flirting with him, offering money in exchange for things that he wanted. It had become too much for the man to bear.

William Afton lost control, and not in the way that he wanted to. Watching Fergus get more aggressive in his pursuit, more aggressive in his want to touch Follett. William had stormed right in and had taken Follett without as much as a further thought, leading them to where they were now.

“Sir,” Follett called from behind, William suddenly becoming aware of the hand on his wrist as he felt Follett’s fingers attempt to loosen his hold, “You’re hurting me.” William almost threw Follett into the elevator once it had opened, stepping inside and watching as the other man stuck himself into the corner. It was a pathetic sight, to see the man that he had saved from Fergus cowering, but, he knew how intimidating he could be, how even a smile could be the most unnerving thing.

Huffing out a breath through his nose, he pressed the button for the floor his office sat on, and then a few more, the elevator making a noise to let him know that the code had been entered correctly before they started to head up.

“I apologise,” William muttered, pulling his glasses — wrapped in a soft, purple cloth — from his pocket, unwrapping and polishing the lenses before he placed them on the bridge of his nose, “That was uncalled for on my part.” A lie was as sweet as the money that flowed from his palm, but, as he watched Follett settle a bit, unpeeling himself from the corner, William knew that he had at least soothed the nerves of the prey that shared the space. “Fergus knows he should not be touching the staff.”

One raised brow, barely noticeable, but William caught it all the same, humming to himself as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. The doors opened and the two men walked out into the office space. Purples and blues and even some mahogany, too, decorated the office space, leaving the man in an apron to feel small as William made a bee-line to his cabinets, pulling out a crystal bottle of amber.

“This isn’t just about the Funtimes, is it?” William had to stop the bottle from dropping from his hands as Follett said his question just loud enough to fill the space, William’s eyes turning first before his head. “I haven’t just been imagining it, have I?”

Having prided himself on the concept of being unreadable, William couldn’t help but suck in a deep breath as he felt the gaze of Follett almost pierce him like he was a window — the quiet, usually reserved man that wore his hair tied back to where you could see the grey roots beginning to show almost seeming to challenge the space William had made as he sat on one of the chairs.

‘He probably doesn’t realise it.’ William justified himself, grabbing a glass as he slowly poured a drink. He probably didn’t realise how he looked so pretty sitting there, hands in his lap, patiently waiting for a response, a command. Follett probably didn’t realise how tantalising he was with those big eyes staring at him, a throb of pleasure shooting to William’s cock at the thought of how pretty they would be brimming with tears.

“Maybe it wasn’t just about him,” William muttered, shoving down the thoughts of their playful flirting and banter from his mind, turning around with the glass in hand. “Maybe it’s about you.” The glass side table made a soft ‘clink’ as the whisky glass was sat down, William making himself comfortable on another couch as he watched Follett, watching how still and quiet he was.

Obedient. Everything that William wanted in a partner.

William’s fingers itched for a cigarette or cigar, but, he kept them from reaching for the box that was nearby, instead, ruffling his own hair as he collected his thoughts. The walk had been calming, it had allowed his brain to soothe, but, as Follett’s clothes ruffled with movement, William watched as he pulled his hair out of the tie before redoing his hair again.

“I want you.” Follett, like a deer, froze in the light, his hair half done in a ponytail and face calm, yet, his eyes held all the emotion William needed to know; confusion, shock, longing, William leaned towards the man, brushing a few of his fingers across the skin. Warm, soft, perfect to sink his fingers into as he grabbed Follett’s chin, forcing him to look right at him. “This isn’t a game anymore, Follett.”

If Follett did or didn’t know, it had driven William crazy; from his brilliant blue eyes staring at him from across the room to his intoxicating laugh, all of it, all of it had made him yearn for him more and more. He needed to have this man more than life itself, he needed to be able to breathe him in, gaze at him, own him.

If he couldn’t… there was a part of him that knew he wouldn’t regret what he would do next.

“I need you to be at my beck and call, I need you to know that I crave you,” William said, keeping his voice as even as he could, “I need to know that I’m the only man that you’ll ever want.”

So let me own you.

He had never craved another this much, not even his former wife, but, as he grabbed the glass with his free hand, forcing it into Follett’s, he watched as the animation finally came back to Follett’s limbs. So confused, so beautiful, William removed the hand from the man’s chin to force his fingers around the cool glass.

“Drink this, and you’re mine.”

It wasn’t like Follett had much of a choice, either. To have the attention of the William Afton in this city was a target, one that could never be washed away. He had all the power and money he needed to make sure Follett could never disappear… or he could spoil Follett rotten, never allow him to work again.

Was this what an addict felt when they had met their fix?

Follett’s beautiful blue eyes flickered between the glass and William’s face, on his lips, on his eyes. Those words that were trapped behind Follett’s lips struggled to form the words needed to respond, to tell him what he thought. To capture that gaze, those lips, that mind, it was something that had him riled up more than he thought could be possible. Watching as Follett’s mouth finally stopped its attempts at making noise, the cup being raised to his lips before half the amber liquid poured down his throat, William was willing to take that answer.

William took the cup and downed the rest of it, pressing his lips firmly against Follett’s as he stole the man’s lips with his own, feeling as he gasped and William took his breath too. The glass was abandoned on the side table as William pushed himself off his couch, hovering over the other man, caging him between his arms. To have, to consume, to own, it was like bliss as he committed the lips to memory.

Follett’s fingers looped themselves under the lapels of his suit jacket and William helped take it off, not caring that the fabric would be wrinkled and creased when he picked it up next, not caring that it was expensive fabric falling to the floor to be stepped on. “Want to undress me already?” William couldn’t help but chuckle against Follett’s lips, already feeling as his cock was hard and aching in his slacks. A warm hole was a nice thought, but even he wanted to ease into it.

And eyeing that perfect skin that wasn’t covered, he knew how.

The buttons of Follett’s shirt went flying before William even realised what he had done, forcing the shirt open so fast that the buttons had no choice but to fly in multiple directions, the man underneath him yelping in surprise at the sudden gust of cold air that met bare skin. Licking his lips, William let his eyes roam over the flesh — he didn’t know where to start, from the flesh of his stomach to the pulse of his neck, he decided to taste it all. His tongue picked up the natural taste of Follett’s skin, as delectable as his lips as he flattened it against the flesh, drawing a gasp from the man, his hands flying to William’s hair and giving it a slight tug.

William’s thumbs brushed against the bulge in Follett’s pants as he placed his hands on the man’s thighs, spreading his legs to allow him to be closer, pressing him into the couch cushions as he began to slowly nibble and suck at whatever skin he was able to mark and find. Collarbone, neck, check, everything was on the table for him as he worked his way around. Pressing, gasping, even a whine, it made William’s cock weep in his briefs as he bit the flesh of his neck, enough to leave indents as he pulled away.

Yet, that wasn’t enough. Fuck, even as the bruises began to bloom and the bites turned red, the need to leave an everlasting impression on him grew in need between his loins. Follett’s slacks needed to go, too.

To hell with being overdressed himself, he needed to see all of Follett, now. Tearing, shredding, watching as the tatters fell to the ground, more unblemished skin was exposed, more skin begging for his teeth to sink deep in. All of this skin was for him, all of it for his viewing pleasure and his alone, he knelt between the man’s spread legs, seeing from the corner of his eye how Follett’s cock jolted in surprise. Weeping with pre, red at the tip, it silently begged to be touched, to be felt, more emotive than the person it was connected to as William felt to the side table’s drawer, searching blindly with his fingertips until he found what he wanted.

William dragged the man’s hips forward, watching as Follett’s head sunk lower on the couch from below, hearing the shocked gasp that drew from his lips as William forced the man’s puckered hole to reveal itself to him. “You’re going to be a good boy and stay still for me,” William muttered under his breath, pouring the lube over his fingers as he spoke, watching as the clear liquid coated his fingers and slowly descended on his palm. Cool against his heated flesh, he didn’t give it a chance to warm as he slowly rolled a finger around Follett’s hole, watching as it flexed without anything having entered it yet.

Though William’s smile faded slightly as he glanced up, noticing how Follett tried to hide from him — there was no shame that needed to be felt in the presence of William Afton, not when he was giving the decency of at least preparing him before fucking him full. “You put those hands down before I make you,” he warned, watching as Follett’s beautiful blue eyes peeked out from between the fingers, “I want to be able to watch every expression you make.”

There were many things William could do if Follett didn’t listen, so many things that could be used to tie those hands in a way that he wouldn’t be able to hide. Rope, a belt, even zip ties that were hidden nearby, but, he wanted to give Follett a chance to behave, to listen, the smile that spread his lips unnaturally wide returning.

If those didn’t work, William had other ways of making Follett behave.

Follett, however, did choose to behave, William letting out a huff as he watched the hands as they instead gripped the couch cushions. It was too silent, too still, Follett not making enough expressions to his liking. Licking his lips, William pressed a finger beyond the ring of muscles, watching as the man’s mouth fell open, no sound coming out. As much as Follett wasn’t vocal, he made the cutest faces, William watching as his brows furrowed, how his lips mimed out the noises that refused to escape his throat, how his fingernails dug into the couch cushions as he tilted his hips up just slightly to give William more access.

The perfect hole.

If William had known that Follett’s expressions would be this delicious in the first place, he probably would have gone after him sooner. He wouldn’t have let the burning jealousy build up, he wouldn’t have let Fergus have a chance with the man, and he wouldn’t have had Follett working at the bar when he could be the perfect little eye candy on his arm. He was able to finally coax a noise out of him with two fingers, pressing up against the fleshy walls.

“William…”

Nothing would be able to top the noise that came from Follett’s mouth; no amount of screams, of pleas for their lives or homes, nothing would be able to top the sound of Follett’s first whimper of his name, his eyes squeezing shut, his cock jolting as William fucked his fingers into him slow. Stretching him out, preparing him, William took his time, his own toes curling in his expensive loafers as he pressed a thumb against the skin between the pucker and his balls.

“Yes, precious?” William muttered, his voice almost being drowned out by the hard thumps of his heart in his chest making him feel as if it would burst open any second, that Follett could reach in and grab the organ and claim it for his own gain. He needed to hear more from him, he needed to hear the man say what he knew he wanted to say. Slowing his fingers to a snail’s crawl, he had to suppress the laughter that threatened to bubble from his throat as he heard the barely there whine that came, the muscles clenching down on his fingers, trying to get him to start again. “What do you want?”

Just three words, that’s all he needed.

“I want you, please.” William couldn’t get his pants around his ankles fast enough. Removing his fingers completely from Follett’s form, William almost broke the fancy buttons of his pants as he sent his belt flying away from him, pants crumpling down to his feet with his boxers as he watched the man shrink underneath him.

“You know how to get me going, huh?” William said, pouring lube into his hand before fisting his cock, head red and throbbing with a need that sent shivers down his spine with each swipe of his hand over the sensitive flesh. A sinful need, carnal in nature, William leaned over the man as he prepared himself, feeling that nagging feeling in the back of his head begging him to just hurry up, to shove it inside of him before Follett could run away.

But, William could see in those blue eyes that he wasn’t planning on ever running. Seeing his face in the reflection, smile almost unnaturally large, he struggled to not shudder against the cool air as it touched his lube-covered cock, William placed a hand on the back of the couch. “I’m letting you pick the position, quickly.”

He didn’t need to tell Follett twice. The man easily adjusted himself on the couch, his back facing the wolf that drooled from the corners of his mouth and leaving so much more untouched skin exposed, arms pressing against the back as he presented himself to the man that craved him more than water itself. Pressing his hips against the curve of Follett’s rump, William watched his cock rut against the flesh, precum dribbling down the shaft and onto the untouched skin. Follett almost seemed to suck him in, muscles clenching down around the shaft once William guided himself into the hole, watching as Follett greedily sucked him in, claiming every single inch for himself as he laid his head on the back of the couch.

How long since William had fucked a hole as tight as this, as wanton as this? He couldn’t help it, sucking in a deep breath as he pulled Follett’s hips more towards him, watching as the curve in his back deepened and his face pressed against his arms. He wanted him like this, always, the idea of him waiting for him, ready to be fucked, filling his mind as he drew his hips back and experimentally thrust into the man.

“Fuck.” William muttered as he heard Follett moan, clenching a hand on the couch’s cushions, leaving one hand on Follett’s hip. That moan, the way he fluttered around his cock, all self-resolve William had was swiftly shattered as he began to fuck the man with wild abandon.

William prided himself on being a man who was in control of his emotions, but there was just something about Follett that made him lose it in his presence. A feral animal, a wild animal, William was no better than what they were in the wild now, ten years ago, even a thousand years ago, chasing his own pleasure as he listened to the man whine and pine underneath him, rolling his hips, whispering hymns of his name in hushed breaths. The wild animal in William wanted to claim him, hold him, keep him there forever — he was sure that if Follett had been a woman, William would make sure that their sins against god would take a soul.

He bit into the flesh of Follett’s shoulder, feeling as his teeth sunk in enough that there would be a bruise, that the sucks of his need to have him there in his mouth would form a mark that would be a reminder of their time. “You’ve been wanting this,” William grunted, feeling as Follett tightened around him, forcing the man to look towards him that their bodies created a sinful melody that only their mortal bodies could.

Follett looked even better when his face had nowhere to look but him, sweat rolling down his face, hair undone and flying freely. William knew that hair would look so good trapped between his fingers, forcing him down his cock.

Follett looked even better when he was barely able to catch a breath between sharp thrusts and concealed moans that threatened to rip his soul apart. William knew that eventually, he wouldn’t be so shy to hide those noises from him, letting him know what he felt as he would possibly scream his name.

Follett looked better when he was being claimed by the man that he had been yearning for since the moment he walked through that door. William’s heart fluttered in a sick glee as those tears of Follett’s streamed down his face, pattering away on the leather of the couch as he was forced to open wide to accept the cock of his boss, the man that had saved him from a man that was even worse than him.

William had his prize, he had his reward, and as he stole the breath from Follett again with a kiss, the hand that had held his chin travelled down the other man’s front, down his chest, brushing against the puckered nipples, until his hand, still slick with lube, wrapped its warmth around Follett’s cock, squeezing him as Follett squeezed down on him, feeling the way his moan rumbled against his lips, searing the noise against William’s flesh.

“Dirty…” And all for him. The hair on his head, the sweat on his skin, his eyes, his attention, his soul, William would make it all his no matter the cost, a hand on Follett’s cock, the other trailing to intertwine fingers, holding him fight. Flesh and soul, William would take over this mind and make him who he wanted to be. Fergus would never get his hands on him, no one would ever get their hands on him.

Follett’s body slumped against the couch as William felt the man’s cock jolt and shudder, no doubt painting the leather that was under him in a pretty shade of white that would never come out. The couch could easily be replaced, but William would never forget that blissed face, the same one that cried as William chased down his own high, slamming his hips into the man over and over until he felt himself too fall into that same bliss.

Where slapping skin once was, heavy panting filled the air, William his fingers shake as he reached to unbutton his shirt, not caring that he smeared cum on the fabric, nor caring if the shirt got wrinkled and creased, instead, he sat down, forcing Follett to sit in his lap with his cock still firmly buried inside, hearts racing as William put his shirt on Follett.

Eyes glancing at the clock that ticked its gears as time passed, he listened as the elevator opened and the man who had wanted to see him appeared.

“So, I wanted to—.” Fergus stopped, blue eyes staring at the scene before him, William shielding the man who was too spent to move away from the prying eyes of the man who had walked in. The rage inside of him was hot, it was burning, and it was something that only Fergus could have, watching as a million easy-to-read thoughts almost filled the man’s head at the same time as he stared them down.

If he could, Fergus would have shot William by now.

But he couldn’t, he wouldn’t be able to make it out of the building without someone figuring out that it had been him that had killed William, that it had been him that had left him lying on the floor.

Fergus had no power here, so all he could do was stand and stare.

“Fuck you.” It brought so much joy to William to hear those words that came from Fergus’s mouth, tearing his eyes away from the clock on the wall to watch as the man went back to the elevator and disappeared without a second glance, only taking with him a broken ego and a sight that wouldn’t disappear from his mind any time soon.

Gently dragging his fingers through Follett’s hair, he listened to his drumming heart against his rib cage, listened to the heavy breaths that Follett made as he almost faded to and from this world.

“You won’t ever need to work again…” William muttered, lips pressing against Follett’s head as he watched the man shudder in his shirt. Follett was right where he belonged, and William would make sure that he never left his side, never again.

[nyxicnymph]

Extended Hand, Extended Heart

Ayaka/Nilou

General audiences.

Written as a Christmas gift for my dearly beloved @eenochian ! Merry Christmas, my love!

Summary: The Kamisatos are hosting another festival on Rito Island, and guests are coming from all over Teyvat. Ayaka meets someone special. 1808 words.

--

Ayaka nervously smoothed down the front of her dress, her nerves finally getting the best of her. Ayato, the entire Yashiro Commission, really, had been planning this international cultural festival for almost a year now. Ayaka really didn’t want to be the one to ruin it all.

The first guests to arrive were from Liyue. Members of the Liyue Qixing like the Tianqiang and Yuheng were among them. Ayaka could have sworn that there were two half adepti in the crowd, their horns and antlers being just too real to be headpieces. Even a funeral parlor was represented, by a young woman who made a beeline for the Yuheng, and a tall man with amber eyes who kissed the hand of the ship’s captain before making his way over to his employer and the other Qixing.

Then came guests from Mondstadt. Many of the Knights of Favonius, including Albedo and Klee, who Ayaka waved extra hard at, and another child, with cat ears, that seemed to be friends with Klee. Albedo introduced another guest to Ayaka briefly, a shy young lady by the name of Sucrose.

Even Aether showed up, bringing a guest of his own from Liyue. The two young men didn’t stay out in the crowd very long, just long enough to greet Ayaka back, and introduce the second man as Xiao, an honored adeptus, but not fond of crowds. Then they left.

Even with Thoma’s help, Ayaka was beginning to flag. And there were still more ships scheduled to land today.

Thankfully, the guests from Sumeru would be the last ones of the day, leaving tomorrow for any other guests.

Ayaka straightened up as she saw the leaf shaped boats sailing in, and she smoothed back her hair. Just one more round of guests, and then she could go to the inn and sleep until the next morning.

Footsteps echoed on the wooden planks of the dock, and Ayaka curtsied.

“Welcome to Inazuma, guests. I am Kamisato Ayaka, your hostess.”

As she stood up again and opened her eyes, she froze. Literally. She could tell the ice beneath the dock had frozen over, and a tiny part of her mentally chided herself for losing control. But the rest of her was awestruck by the lady before her.

“I’m Nilou,” she introduced herself. “I am with Zubayr Theater. It is my honor to be here.”

Her clear blue eyes gazed gracefully into Ayaka’s own. Everything about her, actually, was graceful. Ayaka felt like a newborn kitsune next to this paragon of grace and elegance. Her red hair was tidy in its pigtails despite having just walked off a boat, her traveling clothes highlighting her figure, a dancer’s figure, her hand movements like crystalflies.

Thoma came to Ayaka’s rescue. “Ah, yes, welcome welcome. I will escort you to the inn. My lady, make sure you rest well before tomorrow,” he added to Ayaka. Ayaka caught his eye, and nodded. “Good, good. I’ll be on my way soon.”

Ayaka laid awake in her bed for quite some time that night. She couldn’t stop thinking about Nilou. Her eyes, her hair, her voice.

Ayaka felt her cheeks burning as she rolled over, desperately beating her brain into unconsciousness.

-The next day-

Ayaka took her place by the docks again the next morning, only for her brother to bump her away.

“Ayato!” She exclaimed. “What are you doing?” “Greeting my guests, Ayaka. I did organize this festival, after all. Go, enjoy yourself.” He turned to the guests coming up the docks. “After all, I had my fun yesterday, and we’ll have plenty of fun this next week. But it’s only fair to split the duties.”

He shooed her away, leaving her standing, quite bewildered, alone in the crowds.

Ayaka slowly turned towards the center of the festival, not quite sure of where she was going, but wandering anyway. It wasn’t often that she got time to just enjoy herself.

She made her way through the crowds, gracefully weaving through all the people. She spotted a cluster a little ways away. Curious, she changed course and walked that way.

People parted like water before her, and when she reached the front, it was like time stopped.

The Sumeru girl was there before her, dancing her heart out. Ayaka could feel the unrestrained passion Nilou had for her art, the endless hours of devotion and practice. Ayaka was breathless just watching.

And strangely moved. She desired that kind of passion, that kind of joy and pride in her own arts and hobbies.

Ayaka really wanted to join Nilou up there. She didn’t know the music, nor did she know the choreography, but she wanted to be up there with the dancer. Free, unrestrained, and happy.

Sometimes she wondered why she ended up with a Cryo Vision instead of Anemo.

That thought fled from her mind as Nilou’s dance slowed and then stopped. As she held her final pose, one of her troupe mates stepped forward.

“Is there anyone in the crowd who would like to dance with Nilou?” He asked, his gaze sweeping the crowd.

Unsurprisingly, many people in the crowd jumped at the chance, raising their hands, jumping up and down. Nilou finally released her pose, and began to scan the crowd. Ayaka waited to see who the dancer would choose, content to just watch Nilou do her thing.

Until suddenly, Nilou was in front of her. Ayaka’s breath hitched as she looked into Nilou’s eyes. Nilou held her hand out to Ayaka.

“I want you to dance with me.” She smiled softly. “I think you’ll look beautiful.”

Ayaka felt her face heat up, and for once was at a loss for words. But she gently placed her hand in Nilou’s, and let herself be pulled onto Nilou’s stage. Nilou removed her hand with a flourish, and Ayaka felt a twinge of disappointment.

“Just follow my lead, Miss Kamisato,” Nilou said.

“So you do remember me from yesterday,” Ayaka whispered as she began to mirror Nilou’s motions. Ayaka’s internalized perfectionism combined with her years of precision practice helped her out a bit, even though she was completely unfamiliar to this style of dance.

“Of course I remember you, not only did I meet you yesterday, but you would be hard to forget,” Nilou replied softly, stepping into a slow spin. “You are quite stunning.”

Ayaka almost tripped over herself. “I… I am?”

Nilou giggled. “Of course. And may I say, you are much better at this than I was expecting, my lady.”

Ayaka felt herself flush again. “I may not be familiar with this particular style, but I do understand the basics of dance.”

The music slowed, and so did their steps. Nilou drew close to Ayaka, looking calm, serene, and gorgeous. “I would like to see you again later, if that’s acceptable. Would you agree to meet me by the docks?”

The music was fading fast as Ayaka stammered out, “Yes.” Then, as the music stopped entirely, the two dancers stepped apart. Nilou curtsied, and Ayaka did as well.

As Ayaka prepared to leave the stage, Nilou whispered, “I’ll see you soon.”

Ayaka felt her face heat up again, and with a nervous smile and shaky wave, left the stage. As she re-entered the crowd, it dawned on her that all of the people around her had just watched her dance on stage with Nilou. The eyes of the crowd suddenly rattle Ayaka like they never have before, and she rushes away.

She finds Thoma first. Desperately, she asks, “Have you seen my brother recently? I am… possibly having a crisis.”

Thoma immediately set down his items, and turned to Ayaka. “Are you hurt? Are you being followed?” He stopped, then asked a different question. “Are you sick? Your face looks red!”

Ayaka covered her face. “Oh. No, I’m not sick, I’m just- Thoma… I-”

“Ayaka, are you all right?” Ayato said from behind them both.

“Ayato! Thank the Archons. I’m having a crisis.” Ayaka said, not without some extra dramatics.

“Oh? And what kind of crisis?”

Ayaka stood up straight and cupped her cheeks in her hands in a valiant effort to hide her blush. “I ended up dancing with this really pretty dancer and now she wants to meet me by the docks later! What do I do?!”

Ayato laughed, and Ayaka smacked him. “Stop laughing, I’m serious! I’ve never done this before!”

Ayato slowly stopped laughing. “Well, if you want my advice… Just go meet her.”

“But do I bring a gift? Do I change to a different dress? Thoma?”

Thoma raised his hands in defense. “Don’t ask me, I don’t know anything.” He pulled a face. “Just the same trite ‘be yourself’ motto everyone says in books.”

Ayato hummed. “If this is your first private meeting, I doubt you will want to gift anything more than some flowers. Maybe some Inazuma specialty flowers, since I assume the dancer is a foreigner.”

Ayaka tucked a stray hair from behind her ear. “She’s from Sumeru.”

Thoma stammered, “Sumeru?! Ayaka-”

“Where she’s from doesn’t matter! Okay, so. Flowers, I can do flowers. Thank you, Ayato!” She ran off to find the best flower vendor at the festival.

Lucky for the lady of the Kamisato Clan, the best flower vendor at the festival was not too far from the docks. She purchased a medium bouquet, filled with a variety of Inazuma’s local flora. She waved at Aether’s Adeptus partner, who was purchasing a bouquet of his own alongside the girl with blue hair and horns who was also from Liyue, then took a moment to compose herself. When she was ready, she started her trip to the docks.

The sun has reached it’s zenith, and the docks are far from empty. This is not the most romantic scenario Ayaka could have dreamed of. Far from it. She could have invited Nilou to a candlelit dinner, or personally escorted her around the festival, buying her the best souvenirs, highest quality food, and showing her the best entertainment.

And yet.

Here she was.

Heart skipping a beat as she caught a glimpse of deep red hair. Breath stopping when she realized Nilou wasn’t wearing her headpiece. Freezing in place like her Vision had gone out of control when Nilou turned and made eye contact. Finally melting at her radiant smile.

She finally made it to Nilou, and shyly offered the bouquet. Nilou accepted with a smile, a “thank you”, and a soft blush. Ayaka felt a small flare of pride at finally getting Nilou flustered.

They stood on the docks for a moment, just like that. Finally, Ayaka took her chance.

This time, she was the one to extend a hand.

“May I escort you around the festival, Lady Nilou?”

Nilou flushed again as she accepted Ayaka’s hand with her free one. “Of course.”

-end-

[jerseydeanne]

Don’t put a tiara on my sculpture, late Queen told artist

Queen Elizabeth II asked a royal sculptor to depict her without her tiara so the bust would be “the same” as the Duke of Edinburgh’s alongside it, the artist has revealed ahead of a new exhibition.

Frances Segelman, who was granted three sittings with the late Queen in 2007, said she asked the monarch if she would like a version of the bronze cast to sit alongside the one she had previously made of the Duke at Buckingham Palace.

“She said that would be very, very nice,” recalled Ms Segelman.

“But looking at the photograph I was showing her, she said: ‘I wouldn't want the tiara on next to the Duke of Edinburgh as he's got just a shirt and tie. So I wouldn't want my tiara on, I would want us to be the same.”

It meant Ms Segelman had to make one version without the tiara, redoing the monarch’s hair.

The sculptor added: “I thought it was very lovely. She was so caring [and] obviously loved him very, very much. Those two are there in the palace together like that and all the others have the tiara. This is quite unusual.”

Three of Ms Segelman’s sculptures depicting the monarch, the Duke of Edinburgh and King Charles feature in an exhibition called Majesty: A Tribute To The Queen, which opened at Quantus Gallery in Spitalfields, east London, on Wednesday.

The exhibition unites three royal artists - Ms Segelman, Rob Munday, who created the first officially commissioned holographic portrait of Elizabeth II in 2004, and Christian Furr, who at 28 became the youngest artist commissioned to paint an official portrait of the sovereign in 1995.

Ms Segelman said the late Queen had been so chatty during her sittings that she struggled to concentrate on her work.

“I really wasn't getting very far,” she said.

“Normally, I don't let my sitters talk because I can't get it done otherwise. 

“I thought I'd try and find a way of having a bit of a gap so I said to her: ‘Your Majesty, I don't mind at all if you feel like you would like to have a rest or not talk to me. I'd be absolutely fine.’

“I had to pluck up so much courage, but she never took any notice, she still carried on!”

The late Queen expressed a particular concern for the tourists milling around on the road outside Buckingham Palace before the layout was changed. She also chatted about the various visitors to the palace and a journey she was due to take by train.

Ms Segelman, who has recently been commissioned to sculpt the Queen Consort, said one of the most nerve-wracking moments was having to measure Elizabeth II’s head with callipers - an intimate moment that involved touching her hair and her face.

“It was terrible,” she said. “It was just a memory that I'll never ever ever lose. And you worry, because they’re pointed.

“My intention at the beginning was to go back to my table and write down the measurements from the calliper. But every time I got back, I'd forgotten it or it had moved because my hands were shaking. 

“So I kept going backwards and forwards and in the end I decided, you know what, I'm not doing anymore of it because I've just got to relax and enjoy her.”

Majesty: A Tribute To The Queen ends on Oct 12.

source: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/royal-family/2022/09/28/queen-elizabeth-ii-told-artist-dont-put-tiara-sculpture/

[tarnishedxknight]

Cygni carefully moved her hand about as she examined the sun pendant that lay flat against her palm. Examined the beautifully molded rays and how the metal fit perfectly around the red goldstone that glittered like thousands of stars with each shift. Truthfully, it came out even better than she had envisioned it - a perfect sun for the Princess that seemed to embody it herself - and, yet...

Her heart fluttered nervously in her chest like a caged bird. Would Ashelia even like it? There... was only one way to know, and she clutched the necklace carefully in both hands as she took a slow breath to try and steady herself. She was probably worrying overmuch as usual, after all, and knew Ashelia would not react negatively, but... she at least hoped the Princess would be honest. If it wasn't quite her style, Cygni was more than willing to commission something else for her.

Ah, but she was already getting ahead of herself with her worries.

With a shake of her head, she kept the necklace cradled in both hands as she made her way to the Dalmascan Princess. A small smile tugging at her lips as she tilted her head slightly. "I- I hope I- I am not inter-interrupting," she said softly to pull Ashelia from her thoughts, "but... there is some-something I- I wish to show- show." Her heart skipped a beat as opened her hands, and revealed the glimmering necklace to Ashelia. Biting her lip with a nervous hope as her smile widened shyly. "For- for you, my dear."

((I wasn't sure if this should be before or after their wedding? but I figured it'd be whenever they had some privacy!))

@lambofasolidor | {I'm gonna go with it being before their wedding, maybe it's the day before it or something. Because then Ashelia could wear the necklace at the wedding and that would be super cute. XD}

Ashelia was all butterflies, a mixture of good and bad. On the one hand, this was not the marriage she thought she would be having, nor did she expect it to quite be arranged in the manner it had been. But on the other hand, there had been a brief time when she'd thought she was doomed to marry Vayne Carudas Solidor, and that time had been excruciatingly frightening as well as infuriating. But then, someone unexpected had come into her life, and that the gods she had. In just a short time, she had fallen for Vayne's younger sibling, Cygni Soleil Solidor.

Her name was as beautiful as she was, and although the initial sting of being arranged to an Archadian had been there well enough with Cygni as it had with Vayne, they were such different people, Ashe had to admit. Cygni was not at all the pompous, manipulative, war-loving person her brother was. She was intelligent, sweet, funny, kind... and oh, there was this weird little flutter in her heart the longer she spoke to her that Ashe had knew had to mean something good.

How fortunate that both their fathers had been amenable to a shift from Vayne as a potential suitor for Ashe, to Cygni. Given her choices at this point, Ashe was content with what she was being essentially ordered to do, who she was to marry. But the more she thought on it, the more she felt like, had they met more naturally and under different circumstances, she might have chosen Cygni of her own free will anyway.

That didn't mean she wasn't a ball of nerves with the wedding coming up so soon. Her father didn't want to wait, lest Emperor Gramis change his mind and rescind the offer. With... her reputation dragged through the proverbial mud by Vossler and Nabradia, Ashelia knew beggars couldn't be choosers. But oh... she felt this was a good match, as good as any she could possibly have hoped for, and she didn't want to wait and risk losing it either, even if that meant she felt like she was going to explode with nervousness.

She'd been getting some air on the balcony where they'd first met - she thought that might serve to help calm her and remind her of the good points about this match - when she heard someone coming. Turning to see Cygni there, Ashelia smiled. "No, no, you're not. I was just... trying to breathe," she said with a little chuckle. "Are you as nervous as I am? Marriage is such a daunting thing, is it not? Especially under a magnifying glass, such as we are." Royalty had very little privacy on the world stage, as Ashelia had grimly already discovered. "But I think if I can just look at you during the ceremony, I'll be alright."

As Cygni announced that she had something she wanted to show Ashe and her hands opened, Ashe peered with curiosity at what she was holding. A little gasp escaped her and she smiled brightly. "Oh, it's beautiful! The sun!" she said happily, glancing up at Cygni briefly before looking back down at the necklace. "May I...?" she asked before taking it and turning the small likeness of the sun in the actual rays the shone down on the balcony as she leaned on the parapet. "Look how it sparkles..." she sighed.

She looked at her adoringly. "Thank you, Cygni, it's... Oh, I've lost my words. You're so sweet to give me a wedding gift, and here I am without one for you. I really am terrible at this, aren't I?" she said with an apologetic smile. Admittedly, she'd been a bit down of late with everything that had happened, and a bit inside her own head, but she'd have to make sure that changed. Cygni deserved her full attention now. "Will you help me put it on?" she asked, unhooking the clasp and turning around, drawing her hair aside so Cygni could fasten the chain.

[pandoraxharlow]

Blood in the Water // self para

He stalked her movements closely since his release, the precinct and the self-proclaimed murder house in Greenpoint, then losing her briefly as she visited Davenport on her way to see Eleanor Cabello, and waiting for the evening to settle to darkness before making his own move. Jason knew Pandora like the back of his own fucking hand, knew she was oftentimes a night owl staying up late as the party girl she was now no longer pretending to be. He should’ve left well enough alone, especially after his little beat down session with Detective Monaghan left him nearly out of commission, but if anyone were to blame for Derek’s misconduct, it was her. The liar, the skank, his one true obsession.

It was easy jimmying the front door of her apartment open, picking locks a skill he remembered teaching her at one point, just as Pandora yanked out the headphones in her ears from the safety of her bedroom, blissfully unaware what danger now lurked in the place that should have been safe. Wrapping the wire around her phone and placing it on the nightstand, Pan made the journey across the room and opened the door with the intention of grabbing herself something to drink before retiring for the night. Jason had only been in the living room for less than a few minutes, but in that time, he made himself out to be a welcomed guest. Something Pan should have expected from him even when she didn’t expect his presence the minute she stepped through the doorframe. “Jason.”

Jesus, his face looked like it’d been struck by a semi truck and then fucked by a train. Jason’s penchant for getting into fist fights on the daily were of little shock value, sometimes that rage and violent thirst turned onto her rather than a drunken stranger at the bar, so she knew the bruises and torn lip all too well. Something told Pan he shared the same thoughts as he raised a hand and pointed his index finger at his purple face. His nose was smashed, the left eye swelling profusely, nothing of which phased Jason in the least. “Hi, Panny. You admiring what he so generously gave me?” He took a few slow predatory steps closer, eyeing the girl in her delicious pajamas, gaze hovering over her midriff and spotting the sports bra barely peeking from the top of her buttoned shirt. Cute. “I know what you did, Pandora. You just couldn’t keep your mouth shut.”

“You gave me no choice, asshole.” Pan moved backwards little by little, hoping he wouldn’t notice as she inched toward the only route of escape at her disposal. “You really think I was going to let you wrap your hand around my throat without going to one of the only people who could fuck you up? When you were going to kill me?” She heard the sound of a deep chuckle emanate past his lips, the same laugh she heard when he was on the verge of doing something incredibly dangerous. It was a sound that used to thrill her, exhilarate her, but now wrapped a dark tendril around her stomach and pulled tightly with dread.

“I wasn’t planning on killing you back then, Panny.” Her and Jason shared a long hard stare that could have lasted an hour, that glint in his eye shining brighter than any. And Pandora knew, she knew then that he wasn’t planning on leaving this apartment with her still breathing. “But I am now.”

Pan’s senses caught up to her before her feet had, sending the blonde spinning on her heel a second too late as Jason trudged across the room with heavy boots, tangling his fingers through her hair and yanking as hard as his muscles allowed before she even made it into the bedroom. The force knocked a shout past Pandora’s lungs, the unimaginable pain shooting through every inch of her scalp and setting the sensitive nerves aflame. She had to regain the situation, steal back the control, and she couldn’t wait until fight or flight response kicked into the highest of gears. Her strength, though, her physical strength was no match for his and she knew this. Jason provided no opportunity for her to recuperate nor absorb what was happening, utilizing the chance to slam her forehead into the wooden surface of the doorframe. 

The knock to her head sent Pandora nearly stumbling to the ground, vision developing black spots and on the verge of passing out. “You betrayed me, Pandora.” She heard him say from a distance, though, that could have been her mind at the precipice of losing consciousness. Pan was left little decision but in that moment but to crawl on her hands and knees. The phone was only feet away, one call and this would be over. But Jason wasn’t allowing her off that easily. His steps grew closer and the same scorching sensation riddling her head seconds ago developed once again as the man’s nails scraped the flesh when he grabbed her hair again. “Did you actually think you could screw me over without suffering the consequences?” He spat, miraculously lifting Pandora to her feet as he dragged her towards the bed in spite of her feeble protests. “Bad girls deserve punishments, baby.” Jason flung her onto the bed, wasting no time climbing on top of her and pinning Pan’s back to the queen sized mattress with ferocity before his digits worked on loosening the button of his jeans, “And bad girls like you-”

“Jason, let go-” Pandora shouted in his face, struggling under his tight grasp. The panic began rolling down her body in waves with the removal of his belt, with each unfastening button and unzipping on his jeans. He would take what he believed belonged to him and then her life would truly be his as he always intended.

“Bad girls,” The man growled as the spiel continued, a hand reaching out to grip her throat as he had during their last conversation before his hands palmed the front of Pan’s shirt hungrily and grasped the seam running down the middle, “The very, very bad girls like you deserve everything that’s coming to them.” Jason moved his grip in opposite directions with as much brutality as a child would unwrapping presents on Christmas day, sending the buttons flying every which way and ripping the fabric to reveal the lingerie underneath. His morsel, his prize.

Is this how I die, Pandora thought to herself, to be reduced to another meaningless fuck and a senseless murder like those statistics? She did nothing to stop him from shredding what is left of her pajama top and her dignity, anticipating wholeheartedly to accept her fate and watch her life waste away. She was dead already, she needed to kill something inside herself to numb the pain that was about to arrive. Pandora thought about her sister, misguided and struggling to maintain a steady relationship but knowing she still loved her no matter what. She thought of Eleanor, spoiled as they come with a secret heart underneath, and she thought of Derek who risked possible disciplinary action by showing her leniency time and again. Would he be the one to find her deceased body? Bring in Jason for her murder or would this be swept under the rug while no one successfully avenges her? Mourn her? The key people in her life spun in flashes over and over again until one thought remained. One person she knew would suffer great devastation at her loss.

Benji. Her best friend, her future lover, her home. She wouldn’t leave him, couldn’t. So she did what she thought needed to be done in that moment...she fought back.

Pandora’s right hand crept underneath the pillow beside her, finger pads feeling the coolness of the gun’s metal before she fumbled for the handle. It was a matter of seconds, really, from when she pulled out the weapon and switched off the safety. The thing is, she never considered the consequences, never really using a gun unless it was for shits and giggles target practice. Despite her religious upbringing, Newford’s specialty practically thrust a gun in her hands the day she learned how to use one. In this moment, however, adrenaline ripped the steering wheel of control from her grasp. 

So, Pan pressed the barrel of the weapon to her ex boyfriend’s chest, braced for the instant kickback, and yanked the trigger.

The loud deafening pop reverberated against the walls of her bedroom, an alarming ringing partially clogging her ears as she watched the shock register on Jason’s face. Out of his own panic, he climbed off of her and stumbled to the carpeted ground at the side of the bed, hand clasping the scarlet red stain growing along the fabric of the white tee shirt he wore. A fatal wound, perhaps bleeding out is an option, but she could not risk his survival. It was her life or his.

She chose hers.

Pandora swung her feet over the side and rose to a standing position, raising the gun in both hands with a fairly shaky clasp with the barrel pointed at his forehead. She saw the fear in his eyes, witnessed the monster slowly drain away and find a replacement in the coward that he was. The psychopath. No amount of prison time or Derek’s saves would change him and help Pan move on with her happiness. He deserved far worse. “Pandora.” She heard her name fall from his lips in a plead for mercy. Useless, worthless, he would always deserve far worse just as he himself promised he’d give her. 

“See you in Hell.” Pandora pulled the trigger for a second time that evening, landing the bullet straight between Jason’s eyes and hearing the loud thud when he finally fell backwards, dead before he even hit the floor. She stood there over him for a few minutes, fingers still gripping the gun as if it were a lifeline and absorbing the reality of what she just did. Resolution, fear, freedom, a mixture of emotions overwhelming her senses. She might have slayed her demons, but this was no fairy tale where the hero princess found her happily ever after. The good guys didn’t win and she lived in a world that threw murderers in a prison cell. Pan glanced downwards at the gun in her palm and released a short sigh, heart racing a mile a minute. What did people do in this situation? Sit and cry? Watch as the blood stained the carpets and the stench of a decomposing body seeped into the woodwork, never to leave again as much as you scrubbed with a disinfectant? It was a murder, but not a crime...right? Self-defense? She didn’t kill with intent, not at first, that’s what she would tell any cop who would listen.

After an extended pause, Pandora walked over to the nightstand where she left her cell phone and lifted the device before dialing the one person who always helped her in her goddamn hour of need. Who knew exactly what to do in this situation and not allow her to fall into the awaiting fate of their failing justice system.

“Derek,” Pan’s voice wavered over the phone as her eyes landed on Jason’s lifeless body before the last statement reached the receiver. 

“I need your help.”

[copiousloverofcopia]

Can you please write a little something about Copia’s prime mover being pregnant and just absolutely craving some dick? I think he would be very worried not to hurt her to the point where she just gets fed up and pushes him on the bed and fucks the soul out of him lmao

Thank you for answering me Anon! And thank you for your ask...you are absolutely right. I think Copia would struggle a bit with physical intimacy while his Prime Mover is pregnant. It's not that the desire isn't there--cuz believe me it sure as hell is, but he's definitely anxious enough to be worried he may harm something so without further ado...

On a Pale White Horse

Also available here on AO3!

Also if pregnancy stuff makes you uncomfortable stay away and read tags y'all!

Definitely NSFW below the cut.

My asks and requests still open, commissions open on heart mug site.

You waited impatiently all day for Copia's meetings to be through. Sighing as you sat on the bench outside Sister Imperator's office. You had been there so long you were sure you'd be covered by cobwebs by the time he emerged. Regardless you waited, after all you really—really needed your Papa.

You passed the time by reading the memos on the bulletin board. Thankfully the board was littered with various things to occupy your mind: the Abbey newsletter; the notice for Taco Tuesday thrown by Cumulus, something of particular interest; and best of all your baby shower invitation.

You continued to sit, the aching between your legs, constant and unyielding. Your blood practically set aflame at the thought of him buried between your thighs. Things between you and your Papa had always been hot and heavy, so much time spent with your legs over your head, there were days you weren't sure you'd be able to walk upright. However since you entered your second trimester you felt positively insatiable, your need exponentially growing–only problem was as you began to show, Copia started to grow more cautious.

He let his nerves get the better of him, worried he'd put too much pressure on your belly or maybe even hurt something inside. The man had come up with every excuse under the sun lately, and now it had come to the point you were starting to lose your mind. Your blood was swirling, your panties wet, and your heart pounding—you'd had enough. You decided this morning when the two of you woke up and he kissed you goodbye on his way out, leaving you a wanton mess with no relief,, that you had to do something about it—so you devised a plan.

You crossed and uncrossed your legs, your sensitive flesh begging for friction, when the door to Imperator's office opened. The members of the Clergy all filed out, looks of boredom and their eyes rolling as they left. It was only a moment before Copia appeared. He looked so handsome today you thought—or maybe the hormones were helping. He had his hands full of books and parchment and as always, an adorably awkward demeanor.

"Cara mia? What are you two doing here?" He asked you, a sweet smile spreading delightfully across his face.

Copia made his way to you, sitting beside you on the bench and placing his hands over your belly. "I have missed you all day. What was taking so long?" You asked him, making small talk–wanted him to think everything was business as usual.

"Well it was mostly some bureaucratic nonsense and budgetary things–nothing too bad…just long and boring." He replied. Copia bent down to plant a kiss on your small bump and then peck in your lips–the tease of it sending your desire into overdrive.

"Listen…um…I wanted to ask you if you could sneak away for a bit. Maybe take me to lunch? You asked him, uncrossing and recrossing your legs once again.

"I am sure I can find the time for you cara, what are you hungry for?"

"I was thinking we could go to that little place, the one that's over by the bookstore I love so much. I can't recall the name—"

"Cunettos? Pasta again cara, aren't you sick of it yet?" Copia laughed, your penchant for pasta, of any kind, on overdrive since becoming pregnant.

"Lol this coming from you?" You laughed back an eyebrow raised high, knowing just how much that man loved rigatoni. Wherever he wanted was fine, you weren't really after the pasta. It was only an excuse to lull him into thinking your intentions were innocent. Copia took your hand in his and gave it a squeeze.

"I see your point. Ok pasta it is…let me just drop these off in my office first." Copia said–it was exactly what you wanted to hear. The two of you walked hand in hand down the stairs and through the main hall. Copia's office was close, as you inched your way there you felt the heat inside you swirling, hoping he hadn't caught on just yet.

When you made it to the office, you let him walk in first. He went over to his desk and set his papers down and went to organize things absent-mindedly when he could hear the click of the lock. Copia stopped dead in his movements, his back still facing you. Copia smiled, still facing the Giacomo Borlone de Burchis painting that hung on the wall behind his desk. Suddenly your random visit to Imperator's office made sense.

"Amore? What are you thinking?" He asked you as he slowly turned around. You made your way over to him, stopping to slip out of your panties, stepping out of them as they hit the floor. Copia gulped, his cock already starting to bulge in his pants.

"What I'm thinking is—I want to ride my Papa, like the pale white horse I know he is." You purred, tracing your fingers along the lapel of his jacket. Copia's breathing, becoming harder as you grazed your thigh against the swell of his cock. He ran his fingers through your hair, taking in the scent of your perfume. You kissed along the side of his neck, dragging your tongue gently across his skin.

"Sí…mmm…amore mia. You know what that does to me." He began, his body beginning to melt from your touch, when he gripped your shoulders and pulled you to face him–his body now backed up firmly against his desk.

"What's wrong?" You asked, already knowing the answer. Copia's eyes left your gaze and fell to the small bump of your belly. He brought his hand there, pressing his lips together into a tight smile. Copia brought his other hand to your jawline, you nestled your face in his palm—it felt so good to be touched by him.

"I–I just don't want to risk anything. You know how much this means to me." He reaffirmed. You couldn't blame him. Of course he was concerned, not only was the child the heir to the Emeritus bloodline, but also his—yours. His anxious nature had gotten the best of him and you'd be damned if you'd let it go on any longer.

"Listen Cope, you haven't touched me in what feels like forever. I know you're trying to be gentle with me, but I promise you I won't break." Copia tried to speak, but you put your finger up, covering over his lips as you finished what you had to say. "Now you are going to drop those pants and fuck me to Hell and back right now!"

"Uh…do I have a choice?" Copia asked, a hint of humor in his tone. You pulled his arms off your shoulders and walked around him to his desk, swiping the surface clear of all the papers he just laid down on it, leaving a bare spot for the two of you. "I'm guessing that's a no."

"Right now Papa, you're mine." You growled, pushing him down onto his desk and unzipping his pants. You freed his cock from the confines of his boxers, the tip already wet with precum. Copia pulled himself up on his elbows as you finished pulling off his bottoms. Slowly you began to stroke his cock, your hand sliding up and down his shaft, the precum aiding you with a smooth glide.

"Oh fuck cara…mmmm…" Copia moaned. You dropped down, kissing and licking along the head and down the shaft of his fully erected cock. Copia moaning and mummering in Italian as you brought your lips over it, stretching your mouth around him and swallowing him back into the hollow of your throat. "Ahhh…oh cara…mmm." He continued, biting down on his lip and wiggling at your touch.

Now that you had him relaxed and ready it was time to strike. In one fell swoop you had his cock out of your mouth and were climbed on top of him. It had been a few months since you had him here, praying now the desk would still hold both of your weight. You hovered above him, the tip of his cock slightly grazing your dripping folds as you shifted into place.

"Are you sure it's safe?" He asked you, his hands on either side of your hips. Fingers kneading your flesh as his mouth hung up waiting for you to ride him. You grabbed on to him, lining him up and sinking down on him slowly.

"Ahhhh…I am very sure." You assured him, as you rose and fell on the length of his cock. Copia's head fell back. You felt even more blissful than he remembered. Your body, hugging him so deliciously tight that he had to concentrate not to cum. You were barely holding yourself together, his girth filling you so well that your sensitive cunt pulsed hard against him.

You gripped into his shoulders, getting your balance while you rocked your hips with his. You could feel every vein, every pulsation, every twitch of his cock. You know at this rate it wouldn't be long before you flooded his lap with the evidence of how good he made you feel. Then he did one of the things he knew sent you over the edge. Copia met every thrust of your hips with his own, slamming hard inside you–fucking up into you like his life depended on it.

"Oh fuck yes Copia! Ah–fuck me harder! I wanna taste it as you cum!" You cried, hanging on to him for dear life. The sounds of the two of you, surely now billowing into the hallway with the most lascivious of symphonies. The desk creaked loudly as the both you, determined to see each other to completion, pounded away on its surface.

"Sweet Lucifer, you are positively insatiable! Ah!" Copia cried out as you shifted him inside you, grinding your cunt down hard on him. Suddenly you felt it–that divine sensation of him beginning to swell. You buckled down, removing your hands from his shoulders and leaning back on his thighs and you both thrusted. "Ah fuck cara, I'm gonna cum for you!" Copia howled, quickening his pace.

Your body started to tremble, your breathing ragged as you felt the warmth of his cum filling you. "Ah!" You cried, the sensation, so good it sent you over. Your body melted into his, as you felt your cunt clamp down, milking his cock for every drop of cum he had in him. With your need finally satisfied, you collapsed on top of him, mindful of your belly.

"Mmmm avevi ragione amore, avremmo dovuto farlo prima." Copia hummed, kissing the top of your head. You lifted yourself up, feeling heavy and exhausted, Copia still seated inside you. "Are you alright?" He asked, still a lingering concern for you and the baby's wellbeing.

"Yes, Cope. We are just fine." You smiled bending down to give him a kiss, his spent cock slipping out from inside you as you did.

"Oh." You laughed, filling the loss of him as you sat back up, your very satisfied Papa smiling back up at you.

"Well if that's the case—give me 20 minutes and we go again, sí?" He growled. You sucked in your lower lip. Your body was so sensitive and hot, but knowing now you would never miss an opportunity again.

"Sí." You you hummed, a coy smile on your face.

Notes: avevi ragione amore, avremmo dovuto farlo prima- you were right honey, we should have done it sooner

[no-droids]

Whenever You Want

Part Fourteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11.2K

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

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

***

Din said he’d meet you here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.  Shit.  What do you do?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink at him, frozen in place.

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

Quite suddenly you’re absolutely fucking horrified.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, nobody at the table moves.

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.  Great.  Thanks.

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

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

*** 

The walk back to the Crest lasts an eternity.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sweet girl,” Din rumbles slowly, a subtle warning for you to hurry up and spit it out.  His fingers tighten just slightly on your cheeks, still so gentle but needing you to communicate with him right now.

Tell him, you just need to tell him.  If he gets mad, then he gets mad, but at least he’ll know at that point and you won’t just be springing it on him out of nowhere.

“I fucked up,” you breathe out, eyebrows pulling up in the middle as you tighten your own grip on his hands.  “I’m so sorry, I fucked up and you were late and I got nervous and I didn’t wait long enough and I tried to make the exchange like you asked me to but then I had to take a fifth puck and I didn’t want to but Karga threatened to short change you next time around unless I agreed to take an extra one for the lowest pay just this once and I didn’t have any bargaining power and you showed up right after I agreed to the deal and I’m so so sorry—”

You cut yourself off with your own ragged gasp, not having paused once to breathe throughout the entire thing while your expression twisted up with regret more and more the longer he allowed you to speak.

Din stands there in front of you and doesn’t move, hands still attached to your face.

“Okay,” he eventually tells you.  Stunted words, like he’s trying extra hard to find them when yours just fell out of your mouth in a complete mess.  “It’s okay.  You did… good.”

The silence is tense and you’re becoming more and more anxious the longer he takes to speak.  He’s lying for your benefit, he must be.  When he drops his hands from your face and takes a full step back, you take the gesture as symbolic and nearly launch into panic.

“Maker, I’m so sorry I didn’t wait for—”  You start to say, but Din cuts you off.

“Did he make you…”  His back suddenly goes a little straighter, voice finding a quiet edge through the modulator as his fingers subtly twitch at his sides, “…Uncomfortable?”

You pull back at the sudden change in subject and furrow your eyebrows.

“Who, Karga?”  You have to think about it.  Did he make you uncomfortable, or were you just uncomfortable already?  You might’ve just been scared because you were making it scarier than it really was, you can admit that’s a valid possibility.  “Um… no?  I don’t know, not… not really, I don’t think.”

“No?”  He asks, taking a small step forward.  “You don’t know?  Or not really… you don’t think?”

You know you can only see the blade of his visor, but something makes you feel like you’re looking right in his eyes.  You even go back and forth between where you’re pretty confident each one is, trying to read his intentions right now.  It’s like he’s purposefully trying to keep space between you even though he looks like he wants to move closer, fisting his hands at his sides when he looks like he wants to touch you.

“No, he just… lowballed me towards the end of it and I got intimidated, but I’m also not…”  Your expression narrows in concentration while you try to find the words to explain yourself, wanting to be as honest as possible with him.  “I don’t know, I’m not like you.  I’m not that strong, but I’m trying to get better.  I think he was probably just being normal.  He did offer me alcohol a bunch, but I’m pretty sure he also did that last time, so—”

“And I didn’t like it the last time he did it,” Din says quietly, taking another small step forward.

You blink up at him, completely dumb.  This is what’s bothering him?  Is he really not upset with you at all for giving him more work?  It’s like the major fuckup on your behalf just went in one side of the helmet and out the other, he barely even acknowledged it other than the role Karga played.  He said it’s okay and you did good, which are like… five of the most common words in Galactic Basic, a Wookiee could probably find a way to say them.  How are you supposed to take that?  Were you just overthinking this whole thing from the very beginning?  You know anxiety tends to be irrational by definition, but has none of your panic from the past hour been justified whatsoever?

“Why were you so late?”  You ask him, but it’s not accusatory in the slightest.  It’s… concerned, worried about his well-being without having a real reason.  He’s clearly more than fine right now, he’s like a hurricane enclosed in metal and holding still in front of you.  Too much potential energy just waiting for a reason to be released, too much tension held tight and ready to snap.

“I’m sorry.”  He quickly reaches out to grab your hand and squeeze it, before dropping it just as quickly.  Fucking lightning quick, you’ll never understand how he can be so damn quick with all that extra weight strapped to him.  “It took longer than I thought it would and she’s not really someone you can rush.”  His response, ironically, feels very rushed, like he’s trying to address the tangent but also keep things on track, but something in the answer he gives catches your direct attention.  “Did he flirt with you?”

“Who is she and what can’t be rushed?”  You blurt at the same time, not even taking a split second to think about it.

Din stops short at the blunt question, staring at you in a silence that feels like it’s vaguely taken aback.

After a few moments of that… strangeness, of the two of you realizing that you’re both feeling slightly possessive over each other for absolutely no reason whatsoever, you start to feel… warm.  In another weirdly stupid, primitive way.  You know that letting those kinds of thoughts have their day in a relationship isn’t a good thing, but you can’t explain it.  Some deep-seated, prehistoric instinct inside you just goes fucking nuts whenever he gets in either provider or protector mode.  Now you understand exactly why he wanted to get you alone after you admitted to being jealous once before.  You totally fucking get it, you’re right there with him right now.  He hasn’t said anything, but you think he feels it, too.

“She makes things,” Din finally answers you, careful with his words and somehow managing to address your question while also sidestepping it, leaving you with only the smallest bit of information to go off of.  “Did he flirt with you?”

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly.  “Maybe.  He could’ve just been trying to be friendly.  What did she make for you?”

“She made it for you,” he responds, again not really answering the question but continuing to juggle two separate conversations for your benefit.  “Did he scare you?”

“For me?”  You ask, eyebrows shooting upwards.  Provider, that stupid cavewoman DNA whispers to your lower body, making your voice go a little breathless.  “You asked her to make something for me?”

“Did he scare you?”  Din repeats sternly, grabbing your hand and giving it a firm squeeze.  “Because I can go back, I swear—”

Protector, it whispers this time, and your knees nearly buckle.

“Everything is scary when I don’t know where you are,” you admit to him, knowing it’s the truth regardless of how self-deprecating it sounds.  The only times you’ve ever truly been brave was because of him or the kid.  Stabbing a Corellian and then immediately flying the Crest out to him afterwards, walking through a pitch black forest believing a dangerous criminal was hiding in it, dragging a dead body through snow and shoving it into carbonite, standing up for yourself and pushing a deal through when odds were stacked against you.  Though it’s nothing to him, it’s nothing, it’s leaps for you.  You’re slowly learning to find a backbone, and he’s the one inspiring it.

Din holds there for a moment, unmoving with his hand still clutching yours.  You can’t get a read on him but you know how you feel right now.  Achy.  Hot.  Needy.  Wanting him to come closer.

“Will you do something for me?”  He asks you after a prolonged silence.  His voice is quiet, but… incredibly restrained.  Controlled chaos—his body is rigid and he’s flexing muscles that aren’t necessary for just standing, feeling like a sprinter holding still on the starting blocks.

“Of course,” you breathe out.

Din lets go of your hand and tilts his helmet over at the corner of the hull behind you.  “Go turn around and face that wall.”

You freeze, immediately recognizing the undertone in his voice.  Heat ladles deep into the pit of your tummy, sends warmth pooling downwards.  He wants to do this here?  Right now?

“We’re—” you look around the enclosed hull, “Mando, we’re not in hyperspace, we haven’t even left the surface yet…”

He looks around too, taking a second to blankly take in his stagnant surroundings like he had absolutely fucking no idea, before turning back to you and not saying a word.  Maker, everything below your waist is already stirring, twisting hot and deep inside, but you’re trying to be the voice of reason for a second.

“What if somebody hears us?”  You whisper, and Din cocks his head to the other side.

“I can help you stay quiet,” he murmurs, and… fuck.  You don’t know what it means, but you immediately imagine his hand held tight over your mouth while he takes some of this stress out on you and you already feel yourself wilting at the thought.  Okay.

“Okay,” you breathe without needing anything else at all, before spinning around and standing exactly where he told you to.  It’s just a corner near the back of the hull, nothing else here to look at besides two metal panels meeting at a right angle, but that’s admittedly what makes your heart start beating quicker.  You can’t see him come up behind you but you can feel it.  Slow, measured, but so restrained.

But then he stops almost immediately, before the back of your shirt is suddenly being yanked upwards and you remember at the very last second.

Din carefully grips his blaster and then eases it out of your waistband, the metal sliding warm along your skin from pressing against it for so long.  You never told him you took it with you, and he’s so fucking quiet behind you.  You have no idea how he’s reacting to that piece of information you originally didn’t think twice about.

“Do you like carrying my gun around?”  Din’s voice murmurs soft through the modulator to you, but then the blaster is tossed uselessly to the side, skittering loudly across the floor of the hull.

“Yes,” you reply, beginning to shyly turn your head back to look at him, hoping to gauge his response.

“Don’t turn around,” he quickly interrupts you, pushing your shoulder back into position and keeping you facing the corner.  You blink at the metal walls in a bit of a daze but follow instructions regardless, feeling your heart pound at the sudden display of dominance from him.  He has a very valid reason for it and you don’t realize what it is until a few seconds later, but even if he didn’t and he was just telling you what to do for the fun of it… you’d still like it.

But then his helmet is carefully being lowered over your head and you shudder as your vision is replaced with a familiar black abyss.  Fuck, his helmet, why does he like it so much when you wear this?  Admittedly, you don’t have much time to contemplate—as soon as it’s fitted and secure, he spins you around and you have to just do your best to maintain your balance, not having any visual to help.

“Can you hear me?”  Din asks, and your clothes start to be ripped off of you.  Your shoulders tip sideways with how quick he is about it, feeling him pull the fabric off and hearing the soft sound it makes landing on the floor.

“Yes,” you tell him, but he doesn’t respond, continuing to strip you completely naked in the hull.  Once your upper body is bare and he’s yanking your pants and underwear down your legs, you try saying it again as you step out of them, louder for him this time.

“I can’t hear you,” his voice grunts after a moment.  You know he’s in front of you but you can’t really tell where, now that he’s not touching you.  “Scream.”

You take a second, not having hard evidence anymore but still very well aware that you’re parked close to a marketplace on Nevarro and multiple people are nearby while you’re wearing his helmet.  This is dangerous for him, and not sure if you should, but then an arm is wrapping around your back and a large leather palm rests directly over your chest.  Din repeats his last word very slowly and clearly for you, waiting to feel it under his hands.

Your sternum lifts while it rises with your deep breath and then collapses as you diligently yell as loud as you can into the helmet, feeling like you might deafen yourself with the trapped sound.

“Good,” he growls, suddenly spinning you around and pushing you back into the metal paneling.  “I can’t hear you, be as loud as you need.  Hit me or something, put up a fight if you want me to stop, alright?”

Arousal rockets through you and you let out a moan already, taking advantage of the noise suppression and beyond turned on at this point.  You feel like you’re buzzing with it, lit up with excitement and wondering with bated breath what he’s planning to do to you.

“Alright?”  Comes his voice from behind you once more, and you quickly jerk the heavy helmet in a nod for him.  You can put up a fight and you know he’ll stop, you don’t have any problem with that and the fact that he specifically made sure to wait until he knew you understood him makes you start to pant inside the hollow beskar.

But then you feel him flick a small switch at the base of the helmet and then everything abruptly cuts out and goes dead silent.

Nothing.  Nothing.  You’re standing in a pitch black room where no other sound exists besides your own labored breathing.  Just like the waterfall on Naboo, but you can’t speak this time.  Temporarily making you blind, deaf, and putting a proverbial gag over your mouth all with one powerful piece of armor.

You shudder and he kicks your legs apart before you can do much else, yanking your hips back while you just try your best to cling to the wall for stability.  You don’t know what he’s going to do, you’re completely isolated in here and the only way you can even tell he dropped to his knees is the hot glide of his tongue through your pussy from behind.

Oh fuck—you arch into position as best you can while hands wrap around your ankles to pull them apart, trying to make the angle better.  His tongue licks softly over your clit and each time is like an electric shock jolting through your body, making you twitch back and up for him, stretching and begging him to do it again.  You can’t see anything right now so your mind readily imagines the visuals instead, providing you with a third party view.  Din, fully clothed and face shielded by your thighs, eating you out from behind while you brace yourself against the wall, completely naked and at his mercy, head tilted down from the weight of his helmet and living for the moments he decides to drag his tongue across your clit.

Without warning, a sudden burst of sensation ripples along your backside and causes you to lift the beskar in surprise, but without being able to hear anything, it takes you a second to figure out that he just smacked your ass.  The realization comes more or less at the exact time he decides to flatten his tongue and follow the curve of you back and up.

You gasp into the pitch black and there’s a moment where you just hold utterly still for him, experiencing and processing the sensation for the very first time.  His mouth is soft and warm as he tastes you here, his fingers digging into the swell of your cheeks to spread you open.  You’re glad your face is hidden so he can’t see the shock in your expression, the way your mouth drops and your eyes close as you let him explore you this way.

His gloved hands leave you for just a moment while he continues gliding his tongue against you, along every single bit of skin he can reach, and then you feel a bare hand reach up between your legs and begin to rub slow circles around your clit.  His other arm pushes against your lower back and you’re forced into the corner even more, your naked breasts pressing hard against cool metal and feeling his hot mouth and strong fingers work you closer to the edge from behind.

You’re panting into the helmet, your hips arching back to feel that stimulation on your clit better, and as his fingers move over it slow and strong, you feel a soft vibration against your skin and you realize he’s moaning into you.  The knowledge sparks a different kind of heat through you and makes you suddenly go still and tense right here.  If he stays just like this for even just a few more seconds, you’re going to cum.

“Din, I’m gonna cum,” your voice warbles inside the enclosed steel—just as his touch decides to abandon your body.  You groan loudly in distress, completely alone without his hands or mouth on you anymore, but all he likely hears is the silence of the hull and the way your palm smacks against the wall with it.  You were so close, everything feels like it’s pulled up so tight and painful and it hurts—

A hand clutches your hip and then a thick cock is suddenly pushing up against your soaking wet entrance, going to alleviate that twisting discomfort.  Your eyes roll back and your whole body goes limp as he slowly eases forward and breaks you open, fitting himself deep inside where you love to feel him most.  Your hands claw down the walls with a swell of bliss as he pulls out and then starts thrusting—and fuck, you love this.  You love the way he’s trapping you up against the corner and making you see stars at the same time, the way he’s supporting your weight but crushing down into you, too.  It makes you go boneless and want to riot simultaneously, groaning loud into the quiet abyss as he gives you what you both desperately needed.

One of his hands sinks down between your legs to play with your clit again, while a slick finger presses up against your ass and you gasp as he slowly penetrates you there, too.  Din’s hips work steady and powerful behind you, pushing you into the wall with every desperate thrust, using the arm shoved between your legs to support you as well as stimulate, and you just feel yourself move into a different place.  You don’t have a name for it but it feels like hyperspace.  Silence so loud it feels suppressing, faster than anything light can touch, nowhere and everywhere, hurtling towards something you can’t see but know lies in the distance.  You can tell he’s still fucking the tension out of his body, you can feel him working another wet finger inside you and stretching the virgin muscles back there, but every sensation begins to slowly blur together in a wicked uprising of ecstasy.

You don’t know where you are anymore, just that his fingers keep rubbing your clit and you think he's trying to ease a third into you when your destination abruptly arrives.

You nearly collapse when you cum, contracting so hard around his cock and fingers that you cry out unexpectedly—and because of the helmet, you think it’s just as unexpected for him.  He stops moving—everything stops moving besides you.  Your hips stutter backwards into his stationary body, dragging your clit back and forth against the tips of his unmoving fingers and fucking him as best you can.  It shatters white hot and goes straight through to your soul, wringing pleasure and wetness between your legs in waves.

Your knees are knocking against each other when Din pulls out, his cock still deliciously hard and now soaking wet with your cum, and then they just suddenly decide to give up without warning.  You don’t fall necessarily, but you do slowly slide down the wall like a slug and Din follows you to the floor instead of holding you up any longer.  His sternum moves quick and heavy against your back as he breathes and then suddenly the same switch at the base of his helmet is flicked, and sound bursts into existence all at once.

He’s panting.  Harsh breaths behind you that match the rapid pace of his chest, and the ambient noise of the rest of the hull.

“Can you hear me?”  He gasps, sounding fucking wrecked, and you nod the helmet against the wall while gravity and exhaustion and his beskar chestplate squishes you into it.  “P-Put up a fight if you want me t-to stop, p-please—” he rasps out, almost the entire thing air and so close to cumming, and then his knees lift just slightly and the blunt head of his cock presses against your other entrance.

And, if you wanted, you absolutely could.  He’s got you boxed into the corner but he’s not constricting your movements, he’s given you every ability to struggle.  You could easily throw an elbow back against his side, push against the wall to shove him away, smack at his arms or even just flail against his body in panic—you could do one or all of those things to signal him to stop and you know he’d do it immediately, he’s asking you to.  You could struggle.  If you wanted.

Instead, you just grab hold of the beskar strapped to his thigh and drop the helmet to your chest, nearly vibrating with the thrill and preparing yourself for it.  You know he’s gotta be inches away from orgasm, you know from the tone of his voice that he’s right there on the edge and it’s not like it’s going to last a long time.  Thanks to him, you also feel like you’re just as slick and wet back there as you are between your legs, stretched open by his fingers while you came all over him.  You want nothing more than to give this to him, to let him be the only person in the universe that knows how you feel this way.

When you pointedly do not put up a fight and even go so far as to arch your lower back for him in presentation, Din curses and his fingers begin jerking back and forth over your sensitive clit once more.  It might normally be too much for you, but your body is sparking with lust and quickly acclimates to the stimulation, learning to burn and ache for it, too.  Fuck, it feels so good, you tense and melt into it at the same time, letting him ease you back up to that peak once more.

He pushes up against the tight ring of skin and you can’t fucking explain it—his fingers keep rubbing your clit and he’s slowly pushing into your ass and—

“I—I think I’m—” you suddenly lift the helmet to gasp out in surprise, forgetting he can’t hear you, “ngh—D-Din, I think I’m gonna c—”

He’s just barely able to breach the tight entrance and fit the head inside before he freezes—and even though everything happens consecutively, it’s all so rapid that it feels simultaneous.

Your hips could go forward, but they don’t.  Your body decides to send you backwards into him, pushing him inside nearly halfway all at once as your muscles lock down and just fucking strangle his cock.  Your piercing scream gets trapped in the silence of his helmet as you cum once more—painfully, madly and with every fucking part of you for him.  There’s maybe one or two mind shattering pulses of ecstasy before the rest of your body catches up and starts convulsing, and by then Din is already gasping and fumbling behind you, suddenly realizing what’s happening without hearing the sound of your ragged warnings and then ripping himself away just in time.

He punches out your name when he cums like you just fucking snapped him in half—his body hunches and the beskar digs hard into your back as warmth starts splattering along your skin.  You crumple while he shoves his hips up against your spine, riding and working the orgasm out of himself while yours just fucking obliterates you.  You think you whine his name—or a curse word or something, but it gets strained and your lungs lose air every time his powerful armored body humps you into the wall of his ship.

Finally he eases up and you just lay there and listen to the ringing in your ears.  Blissfully empty, still pulsing from cumming so hard and feeling like your bones just decided to stop existing and the rest of you was okay with it since you were already on the floor anyways.  You feel him shudder and twitch behind you, letting go of that last bit of tension until he too allows gravity to slouch his heavy torso over onto you.

You both stay like that for a while, until your eyes close and your everything below your waist goes numb.  Eventually you feel him shift and your head bobbles as the helmet is slowly removed, but a large palm cradles your chin to stop your face from slamming into the wall in exhaustion once it’s off.  You just continue to melt into the paneling like you’re nothing more than goo of a human being while he trades it back to its rightful place on his shoulders and tucks his cock back into his pants, before wrapping his arms around you and lifting you both up.  The floor and metal walls, once feeling like you and them were one, suddenly decide to disappear entirely as you’re hauled up into Din’s powerful arms.

He slowly carries your naked, fucked senseless body over to the fresher, and you squint your eyes open over his shoulder to see… he’s still got his rifle slung around his back while his cum is dripping down yours.  Not a single thing on him is out of place and you’re, well… a mess is a word that works.  Limp and doll-like, carried like your weight is practically nothing to him after years of having the densest armor known to the galaxy strapped to his body.

Setting you down is a mess, too.  At some point you think he just gives up and decides to return you to your humble floor abode with a patience and care unexpected from someone who just defiled you so thoroughly.  You hear the fresher door open and the faucet squeak, before he turns back around and crouches to your level.

“Stay here,” Din tells you lowly, his modulated voice coming gentle and warm through the sounds of water raining down against metal.  You don’t feel his touch directly, but your hair moves away from your face.  “I’ll be right back, okay—just stay here.”

Can do.  Easy.  He waits until you murmur a soft mhm to him before he leaves the tiny compartment, and then you soon hear his heavy footsteps ascending the ladder to the cockpit.

***

You don’t think you fall asleep, but the powering up of the Crest’s thrusters make you realize your eyes were closed.  Opening them barely qualifies as a squint though; you look around to see steam slowly filling the fresher, the water already running hot and welcoming in the small room.

You know you need to shower but you’re so fucking exhausted, you feel like you can’t even move your body.  You also know you can just do the same exact thing in there as you’re doing in here, you just need to muster up the energy necessary to get inside it and then fall back asleep.  He set you down in the small little space outside the shower door and then got everything set up for you, you can at least stand up and take a few steps.

Unfortunately, you might pick just about the worst time possible to plant your hands on the ground and work to struggle upright on all fours like a newborn animal.  The steady rise through Nevarro’s atmosphere pushes gravity down harder than you’re expecting—is he trying to fly quickly or are you just that dead-limbed?—and then of course, by the time you do manage to fight it and successfully get on two wobbly legs to hold yourself up, the subtle shift of the hyperdrive kicking in nearly knocks you back down again.  You stumble and grab the walls, bracing yourself against them and looking down at your knees in exasperation.  Come on, work.  Move forward.  Come on.

You’re glad he’s not here to witness this monstrosity, honestly.  Just opening the door and taking a few steps into the fresher is a feat—while you’re not in any pain and he didn’t leave any marks on you, you just feel… steamrolled.  Ran over by a truck.  Only having the strength to keep your feet beneath you as you finally move under the water and close the door behind you.

Oh, but this is wonderful.  This was such a good idea, he’s so fucking smart.  The shower falls warm and lovely against your body, wetting your hair and immediately heating you down to your bones.  You don’t move really at all—you kinda just stand there and slouch, closing your eyes against the spray and slowly breathing the mist into your lungs.  It feels so nice—not really restorative even though you like that word, it would imply the water provides you with any energy whatsoever.  It just feels like a comfort, a relief and sedative for your already wildly fatigued body.

You haven’t been in here for more than a minute or two when knuckles tap gently against the metal walls of the fresher, before the natural bass of Din’s unmodulated voice murmurs from somewhere beyond it.  “Hey.  Keep your eyes closed.”

How did he know?  You figured you’d be way ahead of him.  You’re standing but slumped over, wanting nothing more than to just say fuck gravity and pass out right here.  The walls are too cold to lean against now that you’re all toasty from the heat and steam, so you’re just unconsciously swaying on your feet, trying to balance the precedence of sleeping versus not falling over.  You don’t even comprehend the sudden flip of the light switch overhead beyond the fact that it makes it easier to snooze without being so bright behind your eyelids.

The door eventually opens at the very same time you realize you never answered him, but you just commit to the silence at this point.  It’s easy, you like it.  Soon you feel warm hands touch your shoulders, slowly spinning you around while you follow and hang your head, your neck not wanting to support it any longer, and then suddenly a bare chest is pressing up against you and powerful arms are wrapping around your body, and you can just lean all of your weight into him while your head rests right here on his shoulder.

He holds you without moving for a long time, keeping you just like this—your ear pressed against his skin while water rains hot and comfortable down your back.  Knowing you’re facing one of the walls, you crack your heavy lids just the slightest bit and finally notice the tiny compartment is dim and shrouded—the only light source is a single one coming from somewhere in the hull beyond the partially closed doorway.  It’s dark and quiet and you can barely see anything besides the metallic fresher walls and unfocused droplets chasing each other down Din’s naked skin.  Just you and him, flowing water with a sheet metal backdrop.

You think you spend an eternity like that and yet you still find yourself wanting another when he finally shifts, reaching over you to grab a bar of his generic soap but making sure to use the arm whose shoulder you’re not currently resting against.

It glides slow and hypnotic down your back, dragging up over your sides and then back down the curve of your spine.  He’s so sturdy and he doesn’t say a word while he does it, lathering it along your body and rubbing it into your skin.  His bar of soap, not yours.  They started out almost the same since you picked them up at the same vendor, but there’s just a slightly bolder and sharper scent to his that you recognize.  How the bar is far larger than yours because of how often he’s gone away.

Your eyes droop and you feel the water trail over your lips, dripping down your chin and pooling the dip of his collarbone.  The only other time you two shared this fresher was terrifying and he’s rewriting the memories right now, whether consciously or not.  Hot water, not freezing cold.  Standing upright and supporting you.  Heart beating strong under your ear, taking care of you this time until you can care for yourself.

You… you just worry so much more now, it’s becoming an issue.  You didn’t realize how much until you nearly lost him, and you know in your heart that he’s just going to go away again.  Throw himself into more danger, tempt death as always, risk his life for mere credits while all you can provide in return is this.  Skin to skin contact.  Someone to hold.  Someone who knows him, who knows the way he struggles between reaching out for a softness that life has always denied him and clinging to what is rough and familiar.  Someone to remind him that there’s still gentle and forgiving things in this galaxy that won’t disappear when he’s gone, and that he can always come home to them, as long as he can manage to find his way back.

Something sad tugs hard at your chest.  You want to tell him not to leave.  Again, again—you want nothing more than to beg him to stay.  You don’t have anything better to offer instead; if he asked you how it would work, how you imagine your lives would go if he wasn’t hunting quarry on a constant timetable, you’d be hard-pressed.  You don’t know.  But you know what you want to say, because it’s two words you shouldn’t say but always find yourself needing to say regardless.  

Don’t go.

But, instead of two words, you give him three.

Instead of asking him not to leave you again… in the haze and comfort of his arms, you think you just tell him that you love him.

And… you also don’t think the water falling down on the two of you is loud enough to cover it up this time.

It’s not ideal, you know.  You know.  From his point of view, he just got finished releasing all sorts of pent up tension on you, overwhelming your body with the strength and power of his in a way that normal people wouldn’t take as an expression of affection.  But you know him.  You know that he finds it much easier to express the things he feels in a physical way, which is why there’s a bar of soap against your back right now instead of his voice in your ear, telling you all the things you’ve always wanted to hear from him in return.  You know that sex is how this all began and it’s likely just the closest link between roughness and sweetness that he can really put his hands on, something that can fit him equally as well as it fits you.  Love is different, it’s thrilling and scary.  Even to someone like him, who lives everyday of his life surrounded by thrilling and scary things, who’s seen more bloodshed and suffering and pain than you can ever even imagine, you know that it’s scary.

Din doesn’t say anything back to your confession, and truthfully, not a single part of you was expecting him to.  It wasn’t said so he could say it back.  It just is.  Some things don’t need explanations, they just are.  You’re okay with that.

But, you eventually come to realize that he always waits until you’re just on the very edges of sleep, holding out until your blurry vision and fading consciousness can trick you into thinking you only imagined it.  You won’t ever figure out if it’s purposeful or if he just needs that long to find what he wants to say.

Another soft, lilting sentence in a language you wouldn’t be able to translate, even if you could pick out a single word.  It sounds so beautiful though, regardless of how mysterious and far away its meaning feels.  There’s something hidden underneath.  You ache to know what it is.

But you’re so tired.  You just whine softly against his shoulder, not being able to transform the thoughts into sentences anymore but hoping he understands regardless.  He can’t just resort to bearing his soul in Mando’a all the time now, especially when you’re always on the verge of sleep when he chooses to do so.

But at some point, his arms subtly tighten around you and the pressure is one of the only things that’s keeping you awake anymore.

“I won’t ever ask you to,” he says to you, the quietness of his baritone getting lost in the gentle spray and your looming slumber.  “I’m…  not allowed to ask.  I can’t.”

Your expression twitches just the slightest bit against his shoulder in confusion, wondering distantly what word or sentence you must’ve missed from before that would make him make sense.  Was that a translation?  Or a continuation?

But then your wet hair is slowly moved away from your nape and his head tilts down, face pressing into your neck and voice lowering until it’s nothing more than a breath against your skin, nothing more than a confession that he couldn’t ever say out loud with his full chest.  It’s a secret he only ever wants you to know, a truth he’s choosing to admit to even though you could ruin him with it.  You have no idea how much, you won’t know for a long time just how much power he’s giving you by telling you this one very simple thing.

“But whenever you want to look,” Din finally whispers, the only version of I love you too that a Mandalorian knows.  “You can.”

[alcinadimitrescuwu]

The Portrait (An Alcina x Maiden Fanfic)

You walk into the Atelier and find yourself once again gazing at the portrait of the Lady of the Castle, Lady Dimitrescu. She must have commissioned the portrait when she was younger because she looked like she was in her mid-20’s. She stands in an ivory-colored dress with a full skirt, holding a glass of wine. Her face is clear of her laugh lines, under-eye circles, and wrinkles but she is still as elegant and beautiful as ever. You move closer to get a better look and suddenly wonder who might have painted this portrait. Were they close to Lady Dimitrescu?

“Do you like it?”

You whirl around swiftly and find yourself face to face with Alcina Dimitrescu. The corner of her mouth quirks up in an amused grin, making her laugh lines indent into her cheekbones. Her golden eyes are glittering with mischief.

“Well?” she prompts.

You come back to yourself. “I-It’s lovely, my Lady,” you stammer. “Did you commission someone to make it for you?”

Alcina lets out a laugh like tinkling bells. “Why, yes. In fact you could say that the two of us were rather close.” She steps closer to you and the portrait, a knowing smirk on her face. “It was actually me that painted that portrait.”

“You?” you blurt out suddenly. Then you realize how rude you must sound. "Forgive me, my Lady,” you say, ducking your head in apology. “I meant no disrespect. I just didn’t know you were the artistic type.”

“Oh, I’ve dabbled in a lot of different art forms in my life, pet,” she says, and you see her eyes mist over as she reminisces. “I was classically trained in opera, I’ve painted landscapes and portraits, written poetry...I even was a jazz singer for a time. I made that portrait when I was 25. I was a very different woman than the one you see now.” She smiles self-deprecatingly. “Well, aside from the obvious, anyway.”

“It’s exquisite,” you breathe as you lean your head to get a better look at the portrait. You think of something and turn to her. “Do you still paint, my Lady?”

“Lately I’ve taken to sketching. And now that you know my secret,” she says, giving you a conspiratorial wink. “Perhaps I might come in here and do my sketching while you clean.”

You suddenly remember the actual purpose of why you came to this room in the first place. “Right! I need to polish the bells! I’ll just get started on that, then!”

You hear her chuckle low in her throat as you scramble up the ladder, taking out your polish. You look over back at her and she has sat down on the sofa, slipping a pair of pearl chain half-moon spectacles over her nose. She takes out her pens and charcoal, flips to a new page in her sketchbook and bends her dark head down to work.

Soon you and Alcina have a little arrangement going where every time you enter the Atelier to work on your tasks, you know you will soon see Alcina ducking her head under the lintel to work on her sketching. While you are on the ladder, you sneak glances at her every so often. Her lashes kiss the tips of her cheekbones and her brow is furrowed in concentration. Sometimes you will look from her to the portrait and you conclude that if possible, her aging has made her even more beautiful.

You feel a hand on your back and jump making the ladder wobble slightly. The hand braces you against the ladder so you don’t fall and you hear a soft chuckle behind you. “I’m sorry, dear. I suppose I should have announced my presence beforehand. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s not a problem,” you say and you feel color flood your cheeks as you see you are truly face to face with Alcina Dimitrescu. Her face is merely inches from yours. Her golden eyes catch the light from the chandelier and up close you see they are not just golden but with hints of silver around the iris.

“There’s this spot around the gears that doesn’t get enough attention that I’d like to show you,” Alcina hands hover around your waist. “May I?”

You nod your consent and she gently moves you on the ladder until you’re on the other side. She bends down and whispers in your ear. “Just between the cog and the gear. Do you see it?” The smell of her perfume is intoxicating. You nod that you understand and she smiles. “Good! I know you always do a thorough job and I wanted to bring that to your attention.” With that she settles back down and resumes her sketching.

This goes on for a while, you working while Alcina is sketching. Occasionally she will take a break and stand nearby observing you as you work. You find it difficult to concentrate when she is around but she eventually smiles to herself saying, “Yes. Very good,” before returning to her seat. A couple times you are not certain but you think you might have seen a flush creep up her cheekbones before she resumes her sketching.

A couple of weeks of this go by and you notice Alcina is not satisfied with the progress of her drawing. You see that she is erasing more often and often starts from a completely new page in her sketchbook. “No, no, this isn’t right!” you hear her say aloud one day. You chance a look at her as you are on the ladder polishing the candlesticks. She is furiously scribbling on the sketchpad and when a loose lock of her ebony hair falls into her eyes, she pushes it impatiently away. You try to lean down further to get a better look. You’ve seen how talented she is, surely the sketch couldn’t be that bad…

Suddenly you feel the ladder twist from under you as you lose your balance. Your arms pinwheel helplessly in the air as you try to regain your footing but to no avail. You shut your eyes tight as you fall, hoping at the most you’ll just sprain an ankle.

Instead of the hard floor, you fall into something soft. You open your eyes and jolt back as you see Alcina’s aureate eyes staring back into yours. She chuckles. “It appears I cannot do much but startle you these days it seems.” She looks at you with a concerned expression. “Are you all right, dear?”

“Yes, my Lady, I’m fine,” you mumble. You blush scarlet as you are very aware that her gloved hand is on your upper thigh, your skirt riding up in her haste to catch you. She becomes aware of this too and smoothes your skirt down, murmuring an apology, but not before you catch the blush in her cheeks.

She turns her head quickly away to hide it, her hat covering her profile. “Would you like to take a moment and rest, dear? You’ve been working so hard, you deserve a break.”

You nod soundlessly and she takes you over to the sofa where she has been doing her sketching. She closes her sketchbook with a snap before you can get a good look at it.

A maid arrives with Alcina’s afternoon tea. “Set out an extra cup for Y/N, if you please,” she commands the parlor maid. The maid nods and pours you both cups of steaming apple cinnamon tea, perfect for a cold winter’s day.

When the maid bows and leaves, you turn to Lady Dimitrescu. You clear your throat. “Um, my Lady?”

She smiles at you over her teacup. “Yes, pet?”

You can’t help it. You’re positively burning with curiosity at this point. “What have you been drawing?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

Alcina’s cheekbones flood with color. “Oh, it’s nothing special really,” she says hurriedly. “Just some scribbles.”

You can hardly believe it. Was Lady Dimitrescu, usually so full of pride and grace, embarrassed? You see a scrap of paper on the ground near the sofa and pick it up. Alcina tries to stop you but you’ve already turned it over in your hands. You let out a little gasp of surprise as you see what Alcina has been drawing all this time.

There on the paper is a charcoal drawing of you polishing the bells. In the corner of the page is a closeup of you, your face shining in the chandelier light.

You look back at her, your mouth open in shock. When you finally gain the ability to form words, you ask, “Is this what you’ve been working on all this time, my Lady?” you ask quietly, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Alcina nods and opens her sketchbook to show even more pages of you. You staring at her portrait, you reaching up on your toes on the ladder to dust off a high shelf, you pouring her tea. There are pages upon pages of your likeness.

Alcina turns her head to face you. “I must confess that I had been in need of a new muse for my art,” she says. “When I saw you gazing at my portrait, something stirred within me. There is something about you that draws me to you.” She takes your chin gently in her gloved hand.

“Your hair,” she says, and she takes off your cap and settles your unbound hair about your shoulders. “Even pinned under your cap, it cannot conceal its beauty.” She takes your hand in hers. “Your skin,” she murmurs, pressing her lips to the back of your hand, making you feel a pleasant shiver go down your arm. “How it shines under the lamplight. Your eyes.” She is moving ever closer. “The way I could get lost in those fathomless depths. And your lips…”

Her face is so close to yours now, her lips parted. “What about my lips?” you whisper, scarcely daring to breathe.

You are not quite sure who closes the distance between you first, but you are suddenly in Alcina’s arms and you are kissing her fiercely, your hands weaving their way through her ebony locks. Her hands settle themselves around your waist as her tongue gently parts your lips. You lay back on the sofa and bring her head gently down with you. She braces one hand on the side of the couch while the other gently holds the back of your head.

The sound of the clock chiming startles you, making you break apart suddenly. Alcina lets out a girlish giggle. “We simply have to do something about those nerves of yours, draga mea,” she purrs. You smile and lift your head up to receive her kiss again.

[skiyoosmi]

post-break up heartaches

verse 1. in the car that used to drive us to our home

⤷ kuroo tetsurou, oikawa tooru — more characters coming soon

⤷ verse 2 | verse 3

⤷ play. never let me go by ghostly kisses, forget about us by clinton kane

commissions: open

⇢ KUROO sighs for the umpteenth time of the day. he was so fucking exhausted and his body's about to give in to sleep any moment now. work has been beating his ass; there was this newbie who kept on messing up the documents needed by the board and for the whole day, he had to be the one to fix said issues. it's not like he wasn't paid enough for that; if anything, his paycheck was one of the most beautiful things he laid his eyes on— but god, even his body has its own limits and yet...

"ya.... yer not supposed to do this anymore. y-ya left me, remember?" you slurred, index finger pointing right at his chest as he circled his arms around your waist, huffing as you practically dropped all your weight on him. here he was, suddenly given the task of having to take you home after your supposed-to-be designated driver, miya fucking atsumu, also drank his brains out with you.

"be patient. still heartbroken because of you, y'know?" kenma softly tells him despite the tipsy feeling lurking in the back of his mind, shaking his head as he looked at you, whose system finally shut down and were now dozing off in the black haired man's arms.

"..... still?" he mumbles, looking down at your figure and he feels his heart contract with pain all over again.

"you can't expect her to be fine immediately, kuroo. it was your wedding day, supposed to be the greatest day of her life and yet it became the worst one... you left her at the altar alone."

he didn't reply anything— or rather, he was unable to. because what can he say to refute the truth? nothing. instead, he proceeded to his car with you still in his hold. he places you on the passenger seat, locking the seatbelts before jogging to the driver's side.

the car ride was calm as you slept soundly with your head occasionally hitting the window lightly as it swayed from side to side. he was sure as hell that if you were sober right now, you wouldn't even have the thought of seeing him cross your mind. he just knows for sure that you despise him with your whole being... at least, that's what he thought until...

"i'm sorry, tetsu. please come back," you whimper in your seat, voice quiet but he heard it nonetheless, "tell me what i did wrong so i can fix it."

the pitiful sounds and mumbles you made struck kuroo right in the heart and which makes him pull over an empty but safe road, just a block away from your (previously shared) apartment. looking over your form, he finds himself reaching out to touch your face, caressing your cheeks as drops of tears fell down slowly on them, "you didn't do anything wrong. you were fine. you were so perfect."

you squint your eyes at him, probably wondering if this was real or just a part of your drunken imagination. nonetheless, you hiccuped, "y-you... you left me and i... i still can't even bring myself to hate you... i just wanna ask you why? i just want to understand."

he thought he also knew the reason why but every single time he thinks about it, he's only led to one conclusion: because he was a coward. no way was this any of your fault— it's definitely not your fault that right at that moment, as he stared at the mirror, wearing the black suit you chose for him, the sudden fear of commitment loomed over him. it's not like it was your fault he suddenly got scared of losing you the way his parents lost each other. but now he thinks it's ironic, because he lost you anyway.

maybe... just maybe, if he had just met you where you stood at the altar, instead of leaving you alone in it, maybe he would've been happier. maybe his days would've started more with a smile from you as you helped him fix his necktie before going to work. maybe, the working hours he spends in the shitty corporate world would've been more worth it if it meant he can come home to you at the end of the day. maybe... maybe he wouldn't have to be stuck with this lump in his throat as he wonders what could've been happening if he just chose to show up and vowed his life to you.

but he didn't.

"i realized i wasn't just ready to tie my life with anyone yet. that's all there is to it, yn."

so with a heavy feeling stuck in his chest and a quiet promise to never see you again for the sake of not hurting you further, he starts the car's engine again, ignoring the words you replied but he was sure they will haunt him for a very long time... again.

i can wait for you no matter how long it takes, tetsu, you know that.

⇢ OIKAWA gives you what seems like a guilty smile as he stands in front of you, opening his arms and gesturing you to come closer. but the stoic expression on your face takes him back to the reality that the last thing you wanted to do today was to actually fetch him from the airport. it just so happens that his three best friends were caught up with work that they had no choice but to send you, the main ex-bestfriend slash ex-girlfriend, to him.

why did you agree when you practically loathe him with your whole being? well, it was probably because you weren't the devil who would reject your friends when they were literally on their knees as they begged you and for some reason, you thought he'll look pitiful going back to his home country after five years with no one to welcome him. yeah, that's it. it's not like you're still in love with him or anything.

"my car's just around the corner," you begrudgingly walk towards the car park with him quietly following. at the moment, he knew better than to get on your nerves or else there would be war. he hates that this happened to the both of you but he can't blame anyone else but himself. because who wouldn't hate their ex-boyfriend if they suddenly broke up with them over a phone call?

tension filled the car as you both sat beside each other. perhaps, this was what other people were talking about when they say that it's impossible for exes to be friends again, to not feel any awkwardness because you were sure as hell that the word "awkward" was an understatement of your situation right now. nevertheless, your eyes couldn't help but wander to his figure as he adjusted his body, opting for a more comfortable position in the passenger's seat.

he looked more youthful and you felt bittersweet— proud that his whole aura screams of "success" which meant that gone were the days where he longed to get that winter cup trophy, nor the times when he overworked himself and put a strain on his knee which led to countless arguments with you. if anything, he looked happier and it sucks because you're not even close to feeling that way... not without him.

"i heard you've finally gotten yourself your own condominium? that's great, yn!" he exclaimed as soon as you began driving to your destination, a hope lit within him that maybe you might just respond to him. just one smile, that's all i need, he thinks.

but you remain focused on your driving, choosing to reply with a single nod and a soft "yeah..."

disappointment fills his heart as he faces the truth that your relationship has really been ruined, along with your friendship. all because he was foolish to think that he couldn't handle the physical distance between you two. realization dawns upon him that he just made that same distance worse as you pull your heart further away from him.

"... i actually bought it for the two of us, you know?" he whips his head to your direction in surprise, heart clenching as he watch you let out a sad chuckle, "i just... i thought it would be nice if we had a place to permanently stay at and for you to have a home to go to when you're at japan. but yeah... i guess things doesn't go our way sometimes, does it?"

"i'm sor—"

"it's okay. i'm fine now," you quickly reply, shaking your head but keeping your eyes on the road. he tries to ignore the tears that start to form in them because he has no right to stop them, knowing full well that he was the one who caused them in the first place.

as if on cue, you halt your vehicle in front of a familiar apartment and much to your dismay, you find yourself looking back in the past when you used to live in that same place, making wonderful memories with the chocolate haired lad with you. you clear your throat to stop the sob that desperately attempts to escape your throat, "uhm... we're here."

"oh, yeah. we're here," he numbly states, already missing you despite the mere inches of space separating the two of you. you just felt so far away and he hates it. but this was the path he chose so he gets out of your car along with his things, turning to you once more, "uhh... thanks for the ride, yn. i know you probably hate me but yeah... it's very nice of you to put that past us and i guess i just want to say sorry for hurting you... i just..."

"i don't hate you, tooru," you softly tell him, "i just don't want anything to do with you anymore. to see you this happy, without me, is like a slap in the face because i'm not. it still hurts and i'm not fine. i just hope this will be the last time we'll see each other. be safe on your trip back to argentina. welcome home."

and with that, you start the car's engine again, no longer having the energy nor the strength to hear his reply. but he wishes you did because as he watches your car drive further away from him, he can't help but wish that he can take back time so that you don't have to go to that condominium and instead, go inside the home you once shared with him.

but i'm not happy, yn. because how could i call this place my home when you're not here with me?

at that moment, unbeknownst to the two hearts that long for each other break at the same time, you finally let out the tears and cries that you've been keeping since you saw him, knowing that no matter how much you try, you'll never be as happy as you were with him— simply because he left you with a hole in your heart that no one else can fill.

© SKIYOOSMI, 2021. reposting, translating, editing, copying and any kind of plagiarism are strictly prohibited, thank you.