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heyitsspiders · 7 months

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Lucifer x Transmasc! Reader - Falling for the Fallen Angel - Chapter 10

Preening

Lucifer teaches you how to preen his wings! And nothing else! Totally!

a/n: this is the last chapter so as usual, i hope yall enjoy and i hope my silly little fic was fun to read.

“However, I do need to make dinner,” You looked over Lucifer’s six ivory to blood red wings. They were covered in what looked like quills you’d see on a hedgehog as well as bald spots, “and I have a feeling this might take too long to do it before.”

Lucifer rubbed the back of his neck as he chuckled nervously, avoiding eye contact, “Yeah, It’s uh- It’s been awhile.” It was hard to tell but it looked like his already puffy and red cheeks darkened in color a bit from embarrassment.

“I can tell,” You laughed, setting a hand on his shoulder.

Before you could gaze over them any longer, the six disheveled wings slipped back into Lucifer’s back. How he did that made no sense to you. Where did they go? Were they just hanging out with his skeleton? Maybe you’d ask later but for now you got up and dusted yourself off. Apparently, unkempt wings are very dusty.

“Do you wanna come with?” You asked softly as you looked over him.

Lucifer hesitated and mulled over his options, a knuckle held up to his mouth. A smile crept over his face as he looked back at you, which was refreshing to see after watching him sob.

“What if,” he began, drawing out the ‘fuh’ sound, “I made dinner for you so you could start on preening. And so no one sees me like this.” He added the last bit quietly.

You laughed softly, “You’re adorable. Okay, that works.” You offered your hand to him.

He stared at your hand for a few seconds before taking it and standing up. He snapped his fingers and a golden ring appeared beside the two of you. When you looked through you could see the dining room, “Here, I want to avoid as many people as possible.”

Lucifer led you through the portal, soon closing as both your feet landed on the smooth wood of the room. You blinked several times as your eyes adjusted to the new bright lights. When your eyes stopped tearing up you looked to Lucifer, who had apparently been wearing duck pajamas this entire time. Oh my god they were adorable. They were a matching set, both fuzzy and a light blue covered in a duck pattern. It took everything in you to not comment on them but you didn’t really need to as your big smile said enough for Lucifer to avert his eyes, blushing. You softly chuckled and checked the time again.

“Yeah, okay, this is a good time for dinner. What do you plan on making?” You asked curiously as you watched Lucifer wave his hand, golden magic spilling from his fingertips and dashing to the table. You watched in awe once more as the magic crashed into the table but instead of destroying it was made neat with several dishes atop.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get over how cool that is,” you comment, the delicious scent of sirloin roast grazing your nose.

Lucifer chuckled as he put his hands on his hips, puffing out his chest a bit. He looked so proud of himself. You placed a kiss on his cheek before turning to the doors, leaning out and announcing the completion of dinner. Not even two seconds after the words left your lips you were pulled through another portal and landed back in Lucifer’s messy, duck-filled room. You placed a hand on your head and closed your eyes as your head spun. Portal hopping that quickly was something you were not used to.

You could hear the bed groan as Lucifer climbed on and rustled the sheets. You opened your eyes and looked at him as you walked over, he was back in his blanket-pillow nest with his wings out. Lucifer put his hands together before gracefully moving them apart, yellow sparkles glowing before dying away to show a replica of a wing with more of the quill looking things on it.

“Okay, because I don’t want to deal with the pain of you accidentally breaking the sheath of a blood feather, I’m going to demonstrate here.” You had no idea what any of those words meant – a bit horrified at the thought of breaking a ‘blood feather’ because that sounded not good and a little scary – but you sat beside him nonetheless. Curled up next to him, you watched attentively. The last thing you wanted to do was hurt your boyfriend and apparently have him bleed everywhere.

Lucifer pointed to one of the weird ass feathers, “This is a ‘pin feather’, it’s a keratin sheath that protects the feathers as they grow and develop.” He explained. His claws pointed to a different pin feather, “This one is not done developing, you can tell by its darker color compared to the other ones.”

You mentally took note of all of this as he pinched a more lightly colored sheath in between his fingertips, “These are smaller than mine but the process is still the same. You just pinch and roll it between your fingers until it slides off.” As he spoke he did just that, the pale covering slipping off.

He offered you the replica and you took it, the fake feathers felt soft but synthetic in your hands. “Give it a shot,” He smiled.

Your hands nervously shifted through the many feathers until your fingertips grazed the hard shell of a developing feather. You looked at it, it was a pale white color. Those were good to take off right? You pinched it and gently rolled it between your fingers until it effortlessly slid off. You looked to Lucifer, who was smiling widely at you.

“Good job!” Despite watching your victory he still seemed a bit hesitant to turn around and set you loose on his fragile feathers, which was fair. “Oh!” He exclaimed before flicking his wrist, a spray bottle materializing in his dark hands before handing it to you, “Here, feathers get really dusty and before preening it's good to mist them.”

You took the cool plastic in your hands as Lucifer gulped and turned around. He took a deep breath and tugged his fuzzy sweater off, which wasn’t needed as his wings were already on full display but hey, you weren’t complaining. You got to stare at his smooth, pale skin and you restrained yourself from running your hands along his back and feeling the warmth of him under your hands. You went to reach out a careful hand before you remembered the weight in your grip.

Ah right. You had to spray his wings first. You lifted the bottle up and pulled the plastic trigger as you moved along his wings. As you misted his wings your hands had the pleasure of feeling his soft feathers, well, the ones that were fully developed and weren’t trapped in what looked like a Saw trap for caterpillars.

Once you figured you had put enough water – his wings looked like the aftermath of bathing a cat, feathers bunching and separating in weird places – you set the spray bottle down on the bedside table. You turned back to the mess of feathers that lay before you and gently rested your hands on the base of one of the top wings, you could feel Lucifer shudder under your touch. You carefully maneuvered your fingers to a row of pale pin feathers. Being the most gentle you could be, you held the pin feather in between your thumb and pointer finger, rolling it back and forth. These pin feathers were much larger than the one you had practiced on, which made sense considering Lucifer’s wings were fuckin’ huge.

After a few seconds of working it between your fingers, the keratin sheath slid off, revealing a beautiful ivory feather in its wake. And that’s how it went for a couple of hours as you worked your way through the maze of pin feathers that littered Lucifer’s wings. When you were about half way done on the fifth wing you finally decided to ask a question that had been lingering in your mind when you started.

“Hey, darling?” You ask, your fingers still flowing through his feathers, so soft you could swear he was still an angel.

“Hm?” Lucifer hummed, a tired smile on his face as he turned his head to try to see you.

“Why are there so many spots that are featherless?” You really hoped that wasn’t a dumb question.

Lucifer’s smile faltered and you could feel his muscles tense. He coughed like he was choking before covering it by laughing, “Ha ha- uh- what?”

You tilted your head curiously and reasked your question, “There are spots without feathers, why?”

“Well- uhm- that’s uh- my fault?” He laughed nervously, now no longer trying to look at you.

“What does that mean?”

“Uhh- so-” He cleared his throat. “Sometimes when I get anxious or uh, stressed I maybe pluckoutmyfeathers.” Lucifer sped through the last bit, flashing you a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

It took a good moment for your brain to process what he said. “What? Why- Why would you do that? Doesn’t that hurt??” You were baffled.

Lucifer waved his hand dismissively, which was hard for you to see considering you were behind him, almost like it was more for him than you, “Oh yeah, of course it does! But y’know it- it’s fine! Really, no need to worry, my love.”

You shifted so you could make eye contact with him but he no longer wanted to meet your eyes. You crawled around and sat in front of him. You grabbed his chin with a dusty hand, looking at him with soft eyes.

“Darling, it’s okay, I get it. I’m not condoning your actions but I get it,” You spoke gently. “I know healthy coping mechanisms aren’t something everyone has. Hell! I’m still trying to figure out some, but I’ll always be here for you, okay?”

Lucifer smiled back at you, his eyes shiny before he blinked away any tears that were threatening to fall. He placed a hand on yours and leaned into your touch, “Thank you, my apple pie.”

You kissed his soft lips before smiling at him, “Of course.”

You moved your hand from his face and went back to behind him, “Now, let’s finish this.”

Lucifer hummed as you went back to working, the pile of pin feathers on the bed and floor growing with each passing minute. Not to mention all the fucking dust everywhere, your hands especially being covered – they looked more white than blue at this point.

As the last pin feather dropped onto the sheets you sighed. Finally. It had been like, a million years since you started. Though, other than the aching that had started in your hands, you didn’t really mind. It felt like you and Lucifer were even closer than you two had been before. Like this was a secret test and you passed.

Lucifer flexed out his now neat wings – other than the bald patches – and he hummed contently, “That feels so much better!”

He shook himself before returning his wings to lay under his skin. He quickly turned himself to meet your eyes, a big smile on his face as he brought you into an embrace. You quickly returned the hug and finally allowed your hands to roam over his back, the heat of his body humming under your touch as your fingers smoothly slid over his spine. Lucifer shuddered, tightening his grip on you before planting a gentle kiss on your neck.

“I love you,” He mumbled into your skin, which quickly heated up.

“I love you too, darling,” You replied as calmly as you could. You lowered your head so your chin rested on his shoulder, taking in the sweet honey apple scent that followed him everywhere. God, you could stay in his embrace all day.

Lucifer’s hands seemed to fidget before he cleared his throat and pulled away from you. You frowned, instantly missing the warmth.

He put on a confident smile as he spoke, “I have a question to ask.” Before you could say anything he added “- but you have to close your eyes.”

You looked at him confusedly before agreeing, closing your eyes. Your ears perked as you followed the sound of Lucifer getting up, rustling through a drawer and then walking behind you.

“Okay, open your eyes- oh, and turn around.”

You did as you were told, opening your eyes and turning around to see Lucifer standing there, his hands behind his back. “What’d you want to ask?”

Lucifer took a deep breath before falling to one knee and presenting a box in front of you. You gasped as he opened it and presented a beautiful ring sitting inside, “Will you do the pleasure of marrying me?” He looked up at you with a nervous grin.

You blinked several times as you stared at the ring, mouth agape. Lucifer opened his mouth to say something but you cut him off by smashing your lips onto his and wrapping your arms around him. His eyes widened before fluttering closed and pulling you closer to him. After a few minutes you pulled away, both of you heavily panting.

“Is-” He gasped for air, “Is that a yes?” Lucifer laughed.

You nodded, “Yes, I’d love to marry you.”

Lucifer’s eyes welled with tears for the third time this night as he hugged you tightly, “I love you so much my love- I can’t wait to spend the rest of eternity with you.”

You couldn’t help but sniffle a bit as well, “I love you too and I’m so happy you are the one I get to spend my afterlife with.”

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aaaaaaaaaand thats it! i'm not sure this ending is all i wanted it to be but y'know, i was starting to run out of motivation to write and i'd rather finish it now than have it abandoned. don't worry though! i do plan on writing oneshots on anything i can think of so i hope y'all enjoy those too.

thank you all for reading! :D

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer magne #lucifer morningstar #lucifer #hazbin lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer magne x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #reader insert #x reader #transmasc reader #no y/n

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thereignwolf · 1 year

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Find the Word/Manuscript Search Tag

tagged by @seraphfighter -- thank you, this was a ton of fun!! :D my words to find are: sound, tense, break, and care Sound

So far, no humans were in sight. Chances are, they were all safe and sound in the labs, trusting their overloaded bot security to be enough. V could almost laugh at that.

The next problem, however, comes when a door to a security booth opens and a human guard steps out. He takes one look at the collapsed droid before him, and V curses his lack of forethought as he hacks into the guard and takes out his optics right before cutting him from the communication mainframe. The guard keels over with a cry, and V aims a knife before throwing it, watching as it sharply pierces right through the guard’s helmet with a sickening crunch. He drops dead on the spot.

Tense

“I thought it was a joke, I really did,” Denny says, cutting Johnny’s sentence off; he scowls in response but bites his tongue. “The rumors are one thing, and I blew them all off like all of the other crazy conspiracy theories this city’s cooked up over the decades, but when Kerry accidentally name-dropped you at dinner the other night, I realized they weren’t rumors, and you really are back.”

“Den, I can explain—”

“Nuh uh, no way!” She cuts him off again, shaking her head in disbelief, the action making the curls of her fro bob and wave. “Let me talk, you loudmouthed dick. You come back to life and don’t even bother reaching out, who does that! Not like we weren’t friends for years – I had to get the whole story from V that same night. Figures it was actually you playing the guitar in our little reunion show and not the kid, though I have to say his talent is starting to rival yours, Johnny.” She huffs, but the tense frustration of her expression starts to fade as a smile tugs at the corners of her lips, turning it into something almost fond. “I cannot believe you, except that I absolutely can, and this is exactly something you would do.”

Break

Meandering into the kitchen, Johnny starts the coffee maker before hoisting himself up onto the counter next to it. He scrolls through his feeds mindlessly for a bit, mulling over his conversation with Santiago. It would take a lot to get him out there in the first place – he’d have to go back to the penthouse to grab the rest of his shit, and that thought alone makes him want to be sick.

Shoving it to the back of his mind, Johnny flings the cupboard above the coffee maker open and snatches a kitschy mug out of it. This one’s oversized, with neat block text that says, “Good morning, I see the assassins have failed”. He snorts as he reads it, wondering which of Hawk’s mercs had gifted this specific mug to him. Once he’s got it filled with coffee, he sips from it slowly as he thinks more on everything he would need to handle before he took off from Night City. He’s got the contract at Hawk Insight’s that he’d hate to break this early, he owes V more money than he can fucking think of right now, everything he fucking knows is in Night City.

And maybe that’s part of the problem.

Care

Dropping his phone back onto his nightstand, Johnny gets to his feet and stretches, wincing as his back pops in synchronicity with his shoulders. The new arm was far and above better than his old Arasaka one but living with that heavyweight for nearly two decades had fucked his back and shoulder over far more than he’d like to think about. There was always a constant lingering pain that he mostly ignored and moved past, except the last few days of hustling about the farm without much care for his physical needs was clearly starting to take its toll.

Today was supposed to be a more laidback day at least; between him and Santiago busting their asses over the last few days, they’d caught up on pretty much everything that needed done. Pulling on a tank top – figuring he’ll shower later – Johnny pads downstairs to the kitchen. Santiago himself is leaned against the counter, nursing a cup of steaming coffee.

“Morning,” he greets, motioning at the coffee machine with a full pot sat on the counter next to him, “just in time, just finished brewing.”

Grinning, Johnny grabs a mug from the cabinet. “Morning, Tiago. Perfect timing.”

all snippets are specifically from my Cyberpunk 2077 long fic, Johnny and the Stolen Lives, in no particular order. read the full series here: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2796019

i'm not going to be outright tagging anyone for this, but if you see it and wanna do it, here's some words: heartache, feral, dancing, and poison.

#tag game #my writing

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shokobuns · 4 years

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“𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭”

in which you slowly give into your desires.

PAIRING: maid!zenin maki x f!housewife!reader

GENRE: smut, some fluff, some angst, slowburn (ish)

WORD COUNT: 5.6k

WARNINGS: nsfw, 16+ smut, slowburn ish?, mentioned misogyny, infidelity, unhappy arranged marriage, angsty marriage, overstimulation, fingering, oral (f receiving), kitchen sex, sex in shared bed, face sitting/riding, 69, exhibitionism, squirting, light degradation, praise, pussy slapping, finger sucking, spit kink, consensual panty stealing, masturbation (f), first time for oral, slight corruption, implied dumbification, dom!maki. slight mommy kink, humiliation (kind of)

“I love you.”

“Love you, too, Honey.”

You peck your husband on the lips goodbye before he’s out the door with a briefcase in hand and his suit as neat as ever. Staring at the leftovers, you sigh before eventually picking up the plates and pilling them in the sink, scrubbing off the sticky mess of maple syrup. Soap suds cover up your gloves as you lather them in bubbly water and plan out the rest of your day. The dishes, the laundry, a few episodes of that one show you barely pay attention to, lunch, more dishes, more laundry, a start on dinner.

You can’t help but wonder — Is this it?

You love your husband, something you remind yourself repeatedly when he’s gobbling down on the rice on his dinner plate and when he’s leaving his dirty clothes all over your bedroom floor. You love him. You want to bear his children, want to raise them, want to do the chores so that he doesn’t. You want to cook, to clean, to do everything for the sake of his pleasure. It’s what your mother insisted, it’s what she did, and it’s what her mother did. You love your husband.

Is this it?

Twenty years old, a husband with a stable living, something that can suffice for the rest of your life. All you need is to do your chores, give him your body, be his prim and proper wife. It sounds fairly easy, another thing that your mother insisted, so what is it?

Why do you crave more? Why do you have to remind yourself that you love him, love this life at all?

Your thoughts are interrupted by a knock on your door. When you open it, you’re met with the sight of a tall girl with glasses. She’s in a black maid dress that stops at her knees, complemented by the white apron that flows along with the part of the skirt, ruffling at the end. She has a bag hanging on her shoulder and her expression shows slight amusement at your surprise. Surely, she’s at the wrong house, right?

“Are you (Y/N)?”

“Y-Yes,” you stutter out, not realizing that you were staring, “Uh, w-who are you?”

“I’m Zenin Maki, but you can call me Maki,” she observes your figure, noticing the sly nervousness radiating off of your expression, “Your husband hired me. Said he wanted someone to help you out.”

“O-Oh.”

“May I come in?”

“Of course.” You move to the side, watching the woman scan your house. It’s slightly messy, a result of your husband not cleaning up after lounging in the living room, and she doesn’t waste time to clean it up, rearranging the decorative pillows and helping you carry the leftover dishes to the sink. Just as you’re about to put on your gloves, her hand comes out to grab your wrist and the other takes it out of your hand. “Don’t. I got this.”

You step back, watching Maki put on the gloves herself, lathering the dishes as you did before. You don’t know what to do, standing there awkwardly as she places them in the dishwasher. It’s a given opportunity to observe how her skirt stops right above her knee, flowing out naturally and modestly accentuating her body. Her headband compliments the look, her hair tied back with bangs covering up her forehead, stopping short of her glasses. Warmth creeps up your neck to your cheeks and you sharply look away, focusing your vision on the bowl of apples on the center of the dining table.

“You can rest, Miss. But I’m going to need help putting away the dishes later. Is that okay?” She asks and you turn around to give her a nod. “Is there anything else you need done?”

“Oh, no, it’s okay, you really don’t need to-”

“I was hired to help you out with chores. Please, do not worry about me.”

You sigh in defeat, looking directly at her face, her pretty face. She had a sharp expression, piercing eyes that can bore into your soul, defined cheekbones. A sensation of uneasiness rested in your lower belly and you realize you’re staring when she waves a hand over your face. “Hello? Miss?”

“S-Sorry! I was just thinking about something!”

“Oh. Well, I was just asking if you can help me put some of the dishes away just for today. I don’t know where everything is and I don’t like disorganization.”

“Of course. Of course.”

“You need anything else?”

“Folding the laundry, for now, I think? The clothes should be dry. Everything is upstairs.”

She follows behind you as you bring her out to the terrace where your laundry hangs on a string. Dresses, button ups, and ties of earth toned colors adorn the area and you touch the fabrics. The sun had definitely done its job. Maki is already setting up the ironing board that was previously laying in the corner of your bedroom and gathering your husband’s work attire together. When she’s done flattening the creases on the pieces of clothing, you take them, hanging and folding. With her help, you were finished in half the time it usually took you.

“Thank you, Maki. Really, I appreciate it.”

“You don’t need to thank me, Miss. Your husband hired me to do my job and I am happy to help.”

As you hang your last dress, you give her a smile.

—

“Honey, I’m home!”

Your husband’s voice sounds throughout the house as he’s met with the sight of you and Maki laying out plating foods and placing them on the dinner table. He smiles and you walk towards him to greet him with a hug and a kiss. Maki continues with the task, sparing a glance at the both of you. “You didn’t tell me you hired a maid,” you whisper to your husband, “Though, she has been very helpful.”

“I’m glad, Honey.” He replies, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Kind of curious as to why you hired one in the first place.”

“I’ll tell you later. Let’s have dinner, alright?” He shoots you a grin before looking over to Maki. “Feel free to stay for dinner, Maki!”

“I’m alright. I should get going anyways—”

“Nonsense!” You husband eagerly responds, pulling out an extra chair just for her, “My dear wife here says you’ve been helpful.”

“I have classes.”

“Oh. Well you might as well take some home!” You suggest, walking over to your tupperware cabinet.

Before you go back to your husband, you plate some food for her to take home and make sure she makes it back to her car as she walks out the door. You let out an involuntary sigh, leaning against the doorway and feeling content that you now have an extra hand.

“So?”

“So, what?”

“Why do we need a maid?”

“Simple,” he grabs your hands from across the table, “I think we’re ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“Ready to have kids, silly woman!” His laughter booms throughout the entire room, “I mean you’ll have to get off birth control and everything, but I think it’s time.”

You laugh nervously as he leans in for a kiss. “Honey, don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t know about this.”

“What?” He stands up, his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion, “Why not?”

“I’m just kind of, uh, scared? I don’t know if I’m ready and we just got married a few months ago, you know?”

“Come on, don’t be scared,” he reassures you, kissing your cheek, “I hired Maki to be our maid to lay the stress off of you. I offered her an in-house job, which she’ll be starting next week, just so that you could rest easy while you’re pregnant.”

“In-house? Is she going to live with us?”

“Of course! She’s a college student, so she doesn’t mind getting paid and living in a house,” he explains before going back to the topic, “So please. I want you to have our baby. We can start tonight.” He suggests, wiggling his eyebrows.

“O-Okay.”

—

The next few days, the cycle continues.

Maki comes in the morning, usually just about right before your husband leaves for work, and she helps you throughout the day. Doing dishes, folding clothes, cleaning the bathroom. Most of the time you help her, usually against her will, but it leads to a calm and comforting silence when you work together. She’s moving in soon, two days to be exact, and you think it’s time to get to know a little bit about her.

One problem; She’s reserved, which intimidates you, and you’re too scared to start a conversation.

Eventually, you’re going to have to break the ice. So you do it as she’s ironing the clothes and you’re putting them away. You think up a few basic questions, mulling them over as to not make her uncomfortable because you want to get to know her.

“My husband tells me you’re in university right now. What’s your major?”

“Sports science.” She replies bluntly, continuing her task.

“Oh, cool cool,” you try to figure out a way to continue, but come up blank. Maybe she doesn’t want to talk.

“What do you do when your husband is not around?” She asks curiously, as if she sensed your desire to hold the conversation.

“Chores, usually,” you frown, “Sometimes I watch TV, but I wish I was able to do other stuff. I really like painting, too. But I haven’t done much of that ever since we got married.”

“Oh. Why not?”

“Well, I’ve always wanted to become an artist. I’ve been doing it since I was a kid, but my family wanted stability for me so they introduced me to a family friend’s older son,” you smile, memories of your younger self filling up your head before a sense of sadness falls over your expression, “They said this would be good for me. And it is. My husband is a good man, I have a roof over my head and dinner on the table everyday, you know. I’m not complaining,” you pause, reeling out of your own thoughts, “Sorry if I just overshared.”

“No, don’t worry about it,” she reassures you, “Just out of curiosity, how old are you?”

“Twenty.”

“That’s funny, I’m twenty one.”

“You’re closer to my age than my husband,” you laugh, folding another white button up before placing it in a drawer, “We are in very different positions.”

“Yes, we are,” she chuckles, “A struggling college student and a cool housewife.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say cool—”

“Nonsense!” She grumbles, an attempt to mock your husband.

“Nonsense!”

The both of you laugh and you realize how she seems almost angelic. The look in her eyes that was once piercing and intimidating was soft and heavenly. Her cheeks are flushed red and her smile was alluring. Before you even realize it, a feeling of warmth settles in your lower belly and it gets harder and harder to take your eyes off of her. Her chuckle was music to your ears and you’ve internally decided that it was one of your favorite sounds.

—

“Goodnight, Honey.”

He plants a kiss on your sweaty forehead before turning his back towards you, opting to hug a pillow on the side instead. Everything is wet, sticky, and gross, but before you can say anything, your husband is already fast asleep, little snores filling the air of the master bedroom. You lay down for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling in the dark until you gather up the last of your willpower to get up and clean the mess between your legs.

It was an okay night.

Sure, you came, but it was just boring. There was nothing to it, only the huffs and groans and praises from your husband as he lived out his fantasy of finally being able to breed you. You’re happy to provide him, as long as it makes him happy, because he loves you and you love him. Even if you have to clean up the mess yourself, even if you don’t finish, even if that rush of loving emotion that everyone seems to describe never hits you.

You’re happy.

That’s what you tell yourself anyways. Yet, your fingers rub furiously on your clit while the other pumps in and out of your dripping cunt. You’re close and you pretend that it’s her fingers You pretend that it’s her fingers that you’re clenching around, her mouth leaving soft kisses from your neck down to your exposed breasts. You pretend that you’re tugging on dark hair, asking for more, but when you come down from your high, the ringing in your ears stops suddenly and the snores overtake your hearing once again.

Maki.

It’s wrong, disgustingly wrong, but there’s no way to escape her. Not when she’s in your house in the morning, the afternoon, and the evening. She helps with everything, things that you didn’t even consider yourself, talks to you about the things you like. And you know that her favorite color is black, her family would have much rather preferred if she went the same route you did, and she likes junk food a little too much.

You also wonder when you should tell your husband that you definitely have not gone off those pills.

—

“Miss?”

“Yes?” You respond, a grocery bag in your arms filled with different fruits, vegetables, and meat. Although you've made a few additions to your list and you were unsure at first, but as Maki empties it, her eyes light up at the sight of the bright little bag.

“You got chips?”

“Well, yeah. They’re for you. I know you liked them.”

She beams at you and it’s almost blinding. There’s an odd flutter in your stomach and you ignore it, but it only becomes stronger when she rips open the bag and munches on the whole thing in seconds. The small satisfied moan from the first bite has you internally celebrating. She looks at peace. All she’s doing is eating a bag of her favorite chips, yet it fills you with some unexplainable feeling of warmth. You make another mental note to buy even more next time.

—

“What do you think of him?”

“Who?” She asks, sitting up on the couch as she watches you get lost on the canvas in front of you.

“My husband.”

“Oh,” she pauses, her hand coming from under her chin to think, “He’s pretty cool, I guess. He also pays me which is pretty cool, you know.”

“Come on, I won’t tell him,” you insist, coming close, your hands involuntarily brushing over hers. She doesn’t pull them away, letting you rest them, enjoying the extra warmth.

“I mean, he’s a man, alright.”

“What does that even mean?”

“No offense,” she continues, finding the least rudest way to say it, “He’s kind of basic, you know? Which isn’t bad but he yells at the TV when watching football, has you light his cigarettes, and waits for you to serve him food. Just your typical husband things, I guess.”

“Are you saying my husband is boring?” You ask with a stoic face, watching the fear fill her eyes.

“No, no! That’s not what I—”

“Kidding,” you chuckle as she purses her lips before joining along, “I was just curious.”

“Well, why?”

“I don’t know,” you say, sighing as you think of all the times he did anything romantic for you, “He’s a good man, you know that, right?”

“Well, of course.”

“He brings me flowers, gives me goodnight kisses, tells me he loves me, but—” you pause, afraid to finish the thought. Your heart pounds at the mess of ideas on your mind and you’re ashamed, “I don’t know if I feel that love thing those people always talk about.”

“What do you mean?”

She’s intrigued to say the least. You’re fiddling your thumbs with a nervous smile on your face. All the while, the music you put on fades in the background until it’s only the two of you, hearts beating fast, blood rushing to your cheeks. When you finally look her in the eye, she doesn’t miss how glassy they look and that’s when her suspicions are confirmed without a verbal sentence — you’re unsure.

“He- Well, I don’t know. Forget I said anything about it,” you clasp your hands together before getting back to work in the kitchen, “And please, don’t tell him.”

Uncertainty, you’re most definitely full of it, but Maki is almost sure she’s figured it out before you have and she likes to think that she’s gotten to know you. She’s picked up how you play with your fingers when you’re unsure, how you smooth down your dress when you try to keep your composure, how that your smile loses genuinity while you’re at the dinner table. She decides it’s not her business, she’s only the housemaid and you’re just the housewife she works under.

But she’ll always be there for you with open arms if you need it.

—

“We gotta make breakfast, Maki.” You poke her side, waking her up from a deep sleep.

You’re already ready for the day, the top half of your hair already tied in a bun and a lilac colored dress adorning your figure. She’s caught off guard when she opens her eyes and you’re sitting up on the side of the bed poking at her hip. Her vision is blurry without her glasses, but she can clearly smell the sweet scent of vanilla perfume. Taking in a deep breath, she sits up, too, reaching for her glasses on the bedside table.

And her sleek, black hair cascades down her shoulders, though it’s slightly messy, you’re tempted to run your fingers through the soft looking strands. You’ve seen Maki in her maid uniform at home, jeans when she goes out to shop, but the sight of her in a satin night dress was different and your breath hitches when the blanket falls off the upper half of her body. It’s a loose fit and she looks absolutely ethereal, almost like an angel.

She turns her head to the side and you fake cough, trying to make up for staring a little too long. “I know your day doesn’t start yet, but I was hoping to get some help on breakfast today. Is that alright with you?”

“Of course, Miss. I’ll go get ready right now.

“Cool.”

You walk down to the kitchen, preparing a pie crust for your quiche and reading through the recipe you were given by a friend. By the time you blind bake the crust, Maki joins you in her usual attire. “Need anything, Miss?”

“While the quiche is baking, I just need you to make some cookie dough. Just the usual, my family is coming over later.”

“Of course.”

She gets to work right away, finding the ingredients immediately as you fill up your empty pie crust and dance around the kitchen. Right after the quiche is placed in the oven, your hips sway along with the music that plays in the radio. It’s all soft and slow, Maki smiling at your antics while you jokingly attempt to serenade her. She’s mixing in the chocolate chips into the dough and you walk forward, energetic and lost in the song.

You don’t think much of it when you grab her hip and your faces come closer together. One second, you were playfully dancing around your kitchen and the next, your breaths mingle, the gap between the two of you closing. It’s her who decides to lean forward, soft lips meeting together, your back suddenly meeting the edge of the counter. Her hands rest on the surface, each on either side of you, and her lips taste like cherries. Your hands come up to her cheeks as your mouths meld together until it’s hard to breathe.

You pull away first, remembering that your husband is still sleeping upstairs. “What are we doing?”

“Don’t know,” she replies, her hand starting to trail under the skirt of your dress, “It feels right, though.”

“Should we stop?” You mutter, just barely enough for her to hear.

“Do you want to?”

“No.”

It gives her the extra rush of courage to get under your dress and push your body until your back is flat on the counter. Luckily, there was nothing underneath except for a pair of plain black panties, a damp spot right in the middle. Her thumb presses on your clothed clit and by the way your body squirms she knows you’re sensitive which only adds to the sadistic fun of pulling down your underwear at an agonizingly slow pace. “Need you,” you breathe out, your legs being positioned on her shoulders, “I need you, please.”

“I got you, Baby. Don’t worry.” She replies with a smile, her breath hitting your wet cunt.

Your breath hitches as her tongue trails up from your hole up to your sensitive pearl and she moans at the sweet taste of your arousal. Her hands keep a firm grip on your thighs, holding them open as you bite your lip to contain your moans. He’s right upstairs, you think, but any thought of caution starts to leave you once her soft lips wrap around your clit, sucking on the bundle of nerves causing your knuckles to turn white as they grab onto the edge of the counter.

Your husband has never touched you like this. Ever.

The feeling of her mouth is foreign, but welcome. Before you know it, the grip on one of your thighs loosen and two fingers slip into your soaked cunt. She’s gentle at first, the pumps of her digits ever so delicately pressing against your g spot, but once you hike up the skirt of your dress and thread your fingers through her hair, she speeds up, hitting hard and fast. “M-Maki— Shit!”

You squeal when her tongue starts massaging your clit and your walls clench despite being empty, “Such a pretty girl,” she coos, watching in awe at how your slick coats her fingers, “Such a pretty pussy.”

Lewd praises and squelches fill the kitchen air as the coil in your stomach builds and snaps until your cunt is gushing all over her. Your back arches as you reach your high and she leaves a trail of kisses from your thigh to your sopping pussy. Bringing her fingers to your mouth, she gives you one command.

“Suck.”

You obey, wrapping your soft lips around her digits, swirling your tongue and she gives a graceful smile, brushing a thumb over your flushed cheeks. A sheen of sweat covers your forehead, but the sound of footsteps brings you out of your thoughts. Maki pockets your underwear, giving you a wink, before washing her hands and taking the nearly forgotten quiche out of the oven.

By the time you hear the footsteps of your husband, you’re decent, minimal signs of physical exertion just barely noticeable. She’s going through her usual routine of plating your food in front of the two of you, doing the dishes, laundry, everything. You want to say something, you really do, and you’re left with your own questions.

At night, you’re left pondering the strong women with silky black hair whilst in the arms of your husband.

—

Two days.

That’s how long it’s been since you’ve gotten the most mind blowing orgasm of your life. Your panties are still missing, though you don’t mind knowing who has them. And when you think about the things your mother has told you repeatedly about your perfectly structured life, it crumbles with each second. When you look at the face next to you, the indifference in your heart starts to become more and more prominent.

And even though you should feel guilty — well, you do — you also don’t regret it at all.

You still do your chores as expected, make the bed, cook dinner. You still organize the laundry, do the dishes, and tend to your rose garden. You still disinfect, fold, and have sex with your husband who’s indifferent to your pleasure every night. Almost every domestic activity was accompanied by Maki, who often sought to take over or help.

Yet, she wouldn’t even look at you.

She wouldn’t say anything that didn’t pertain to a grocery list or a command and it was infuriating. Still, you were determined to bring it up — how could you not? As you fold blankets on the couch and think, you call out her name. “Maki?”

“Yes, Miss?”

“Are we going to talk about what happened?”

“What do you mean?”

Your heart drops a tiny bit, it was an expected response based on the fact it felt like she was avoiding you, but you still had to swallow the lump in your throat. “Nevermind. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” She asks as you’re looking down on the rug, trying to focus on the pattern instead of the woman in front of you.

“I’m just sorry I brought it up. I’m sorry that I made you uncomfortable. I’m sorry that we did whatever that was,” you take a deep breath as forming tears blurred your vision, “I’m sorry that I can’t fucking do this, Maki. I don’t love him. I can’t love him.”

She sighs, scooching forward and closer to you then pulling the half folded blanket from your hands. “You shouldn’t be sorry. This was my fault.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“You’re just, I’m just—” you inhale again, trying to find the right words to say, “You’re different. You’re different from him in all the best ways. You listen to what I have to say, you care about how I feel.”

“That’s something that any good friend would do—”

“I don’t want to be your friend.”

“Oh.”

She brings her fingers to your chin, nudging your head up until you’re looking her in the eyes for the first time in days. She gazes at you, appreciating every curve and every mark on your skin. You take this as an opportunity to lean in, planting a soft kiss on her lips. She doesn’t stop it, instead indulging in the act, cupping your cheeks.

It soon becomes hungry, her tongue slipping past your lips, you being rolled over onto your back as she slips her hand under your floral dress. She presses a finger against your clothed cunt, causing you to gasp and throw your head back. At the same time she leaves sloppy kisses on the exposed skin of your neck and you struggle to form a coherent sentence.

“M-Maki, stop,” you whimper and she pauses, “Wanna make you feel good.”

“Oh?” She smirks, giving you another breathless kiss, “Wanna put that mouth to use, Baby?”

“Yeah,” you breath out, “Wanna make you feel good, Mommy.”

Her expression is filled with pride as she drags her fingers across your face and into your mouth. You comply with the silent command, wrapping your lips around the digits and sucking softly, swirling your tongue around them. “Good girl.”

You let out a hum while she discards her panties somewhere on the ground and her bare cunt hovers over your face. It’s intimidating, yet the sight of her glistening folds makes you wet. All you wanted to do was taste her, drink up all of her juices, and when you finally do you can’t get enough. Despite the lack of experience, you do what you think would feel good, giving experimental licks, noting when her body twitched and when she would let out a saccharine moan.

“Fuck — you’re doing so well,” she coos, carding her fingers through your hair, admiring the sight of your half lidded eyes and the feel of your tongue, “You sure this is your first time eating pussy?”

You hum in response which sends vibrations throughout her body, causing her to throw her head back. You grip onto her lower back, desperately bringing her wet cunny closer to yourself and she rolls her hips, grinding herself on your mouth. You’re already addicted, lapping at all of the cum she has to offer, watching intently as her mouth forms an o shape and she soaks the lower half of your face.

“Such a good fucking girl, aren’t you?”

She gets off your face and you smile with pride, tugging off the rest of her maid uniform until she’s completely bare in your living room. Every curve of her body fills you with even more lust and you’re sure your panties are soaked just from the sight. Her thighs are defined, muscular even, and you kiss them before going back to her ruined pussy, lapping at all the slick.

“You’re so pretty, Maki,” you utter, your breath hitting her neck as you come back up to her face.

She pushes you backward until you’re flat on your back, pinning your wrists together before ripping off your panties. Maki wastes no time, two fingers entering your hole and curling with every thrust. “You got this wet from eating me out?” She questions cockily, leaving an open mouthed kiss on the shell of your ear along with a nibble, “You’re a cute little thing, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” you whimper in between breaths, “Feels s’good.”

“Yeah?” She responds, watching you come undone underneath her.

Your orgasm builds up with every pump, the coil in your stomach tightening. She fastens the pace, every movement being calculated, her fingers knuckles deep in your cunt. Her fingertips manage to brutally hit the spongy spot inside of you, causing your legs to shake. Your back arches when her lips wrap around your clit, the simultaneous stimulation making your body tremble in delight. You’re gushing all over her fingers and she stares in awe as your slick drips down your thighs.

“Can we go to the bedroom?” You request meekly, barely recovering from your last orgasm.

“Of course, Baby,” she beams at you, body gleaming with a sheen of sweat, your heart fluttering in your chest.

Maki picks you up bridal style with almost no effort, pressing kisses all over your face on the way upstairs. When you finally get to the bedroom, she lays you down gently, almost as if you were a delicate piece of glass. But the moment of soft intimacy doesn’t last.

It doesn’t last when her pussy hovers over your face with her head buried in between your legs, licking hot stripes on your folds, sucking on your pearl while her fingers brush on your legs before finding their way back to your ruined cunt. Your tongue presses on her slit and her hips lower until your mouth is full of pussy. Her sweet taste is addicting and concurrent moans only heighten the pleasure, vibrations shooting through both of your bodies. Her thumb circles your clit furiously as she pulls away from your cunt to speak.

“You like this, don’t you? Ain’t this the same bed where you get fucked by your husband?” She questions demandingly, slapping your cunny.

You whine into her cunt, the sudden pain causing your walls to clamp around nothing. She laughs sadistically, pinching your clit, biting at your inner thighs.

“S’good, such a good little slut,” she coos, her nose tickling your clit as her face inches closer, “Bet you like getting fucked by your maid, don’t you?”

You can only respond with a squeal, her hand laying another blow to your aching pussy. “Don’t worry, pretty girl. I got you.” She reassures you, mouth ravaging your cunt, slurping every drop of cum you had to offer. She’s close to her own orgasm, you can tell by the way she rides your face, soaking the lower half until the sweet droplets slide down your neck. You massage her clit with your tongue as she comes down from her high, but after yours, she doesn’t stop.

Instead, she continues to feast on your cunt like a starved woman, the pressure in your stomach building for the nth time that day. Coming again almost hurts, but she ignores the high pitched wails spilling from your lips, the sounds only encouraging her to keep sucking until your body trembles. At this point, you’re light headed, vision gradually becoming blurry. Your walls are pulsating, your mind is unable to process everything at once.

Especially the shocked man who stands in the doorway of your bedroom.

And at that exact moment, you let out a sob as Maki sadistically looks your husband right in the eye, her mouth still devouring your overstimulated cunny with fervor. Your hole leaks milky white, staining your shared sheets and you cry out her name, hopelessly gripping onto the plush of her ass for stability, digging your nails into the flesh. When she pulls away, a string of spit connects from her mouth to your pearl and her pupils are blown, cheeks covered with your arousal, all the while maintaining eye contact with him.

As if there was no one in the room, she readjusts her until her face hovers over yours, her swollen pussy present on your thigh.

“Open.”

You comply readily and she grabs your face with one hand, squishing your wet cheeks so hard that they start to ache.

“Good girl.”

She spews into your mouth, watching the blob as it glides down your tongue and you swallow obediently before she comes down for a sweet kiss. The taste of yourself makes your head dizzy with lust. Let it be known that the horrified figure standing in the doorway could never make you feel as good as the maid.

Oops.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

Portrait of a Dangerous Man🎨4

Warnings: (series) non-consent sex and rape; slow creep; cucking; (this chapter) only plot hehe

This is dark!mob!Clark Kent x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Your dream of having your work hung in an art show comes true but your first buyer is not all he seems to be.

Note: I’m at my tipping point, I swear. I’m dealing with everything in our household, new bed (delayed delivery yay!), cleaning, cooking, dog walking, and working. My only escape are my fics and this weekend I’m telling everyone to fuck off so I can do the writeathon... but sorry for the rant, enjoy more Clark.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Wednesday trickled by like sand in a glass. You could hardly keep your eyes open as you typed away and a double espresso shot was the only thing that saw you through your hours at the gallery. Vanessa was excited for her next event and already asking after some new pieces from you. You promised her some from your storage unit to stave her off as you held in your yawns.

You collapsed into bed that night beside Marcus. He complained about his day until he drifted off and you followed suit shortly after. You awoke with a decision, the echoes of your boyfriend’s gripes in your head and heart. You hated how miserable his job made him, how dull your own was. It felt like there was nothing else but the almighty dollar.

You called Clark after an email to Jim, your nerves alight in anticipation of the disgruntled reply. It didn’t matter. You were done. You didn’t need to worry about the all caps messages and curt zoom calls.

“Hey,” Clark picked up, he sounded out of breath.

“Oh, hey, sorry, it’s me,” you swiveled in your chair, “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Nope, just getting in a work out,” he grunted, “you’re not bugging me if you have good news for me.”

“I think… I do,” you forced out, “I just sent in my resignation.”

“Mmm, you don’t sound… happy,” he hummed.

“I am, I think I’m just processing it,” you replied, “I said I’d let you know today so I’m letting you know.”

“Well, how soon can you be here?” he asked.

“Today?”

“Sure, why not?”

“I guess, I could leave as soon as you want me,” you said.

“I’ll send a car,” he intoned, “I’ll give the driver your number, if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah,” your voice almost squeaked, “I can do that.”

“Alright, sweetheart, see ya soon.”

The line cut out and you lowered your phone slowly. You stared at Outlook and the new email icon along the taskbar. You closed the laptop and stood. You could worry about the fallout later, right now, you had to get ready for another day of painting.

🎨

It was starting to feel like deja vu every time you arrived at Clark’s house. You got out and thanked the drive, Jeremy, before he drove off. The doors opened before you got to the top of the steps and your host was already dressed in the same outfit he wore for each session. His hair was neat but his beard was even thicker than before.

“I think you can tell I’m a little antsy to start,” he chuckled, “how are you, sweetheart?”

That pet name caught in your mind again. It might just be a habit of his. Nothing more than an absent-minded word.

“Me too, honestly,” you smiled, “but I have a weird question for you.”

“Ask away,” he said as he walked with you through the foyer.

“The beard… you want that in the portrait or--”

“Oh, ha, yeah,” he ran his fingers along his jawline, “I guess I wasn’t thinking. You’re the artist, what do you think?”

“Well, erm, either way is fine,” you said, “I was just… wondering. I’m not even close to starting on, uh, you yet. I mean, right now I’m just working on the background and basic shapes.”

“I’ll let you make the call when you get there,” he said, “say the word and it’s gone.”

“Alright,” you came to the top of the stairs and he pointed you ahead of him.

He followed you as you entered and you went about filling the jar with water and resituating the set up. He sat as you mixed and chose your brush. You climbed the ladder and peered around the canvas at him. He took on the same pose as usual and you dipped the bristles into the pigment. You could make a happy life of this.

🎨

Clark shifted and cleared his throat. You rolled your wrist and glanced back over at him as you drew your hand back from the canvas. He braced the chair and pushed himself up.

“How about a break?” he asked as he shook out his arms, “back’s a bit stiff.”

“Sure,” you said, “I think I could sit down for a moment.”

You took a step down the rung of the ladder but your toe slipped and suddenly your palette was against your chest. You slid down backwards as Clark rushed over and barely kept you from toppling the entire thing over. You laughed at yourself as he righted you and looked down at your paint-streaked shirt.

“Jesus,” you muttered.

“You okay?” he asked as he kept his hand on your upper arm, “be careful.”

“Yeah, I’m-- clumsy, is all,” you carefully pulled away and set down your brush and palette.

“Come on, sit,” he pulled up the stool and planted it before you, “take a minute.”

As you sat, he stretched his arms over his head and then out to the sides. He paced around the other side of the table, long strides as he worked the cramps from his long legs. He stopped and came up to play with a brush as you leaned an elbow on the table.

“Well, I did have another offer for you,” he said, “I was thinking of waiting but might as well ask now.”

“Oh?” you raised your brows curiously.

He swished a slender brush in the air then lowered it and picked at the tip.

“I’m having a get together on Saturday, some business friends and the like,” he said as he set the brush back with the rest, “it won’t be work. You’ve earned some time off. You can even bring the boyfriend.”

“Saturday?” you pondered, “I’m usually at the gallery on Saturdays.”

“It would be great networking,” he said, “and I already told all my friends about you. They’re excited to see your work. It will almost be like a viewing and it’s only right the artist is there.”

“I could make it work,” you mulled, “Marcus would love to come back.” You snickered, “he loves this place.”

“It’s a nice house,” he said casually, “a bit big for one person… hence, the party.”

“I’ll put it in my calendar,” you stood and slid your palette closer and cleaned it off to remix the mess of paints.

“Great,” he said as he rounded the table and brushed close to you, “it’ll be nice to look at a mug besides mine, huh?”

You laughed as you squeezed out the dark paint and nodded, “ha, sure.”

🎨

The rest of your week was spent much the same. Jeremy drove you to Clark’s and you went up to the studio to continue your work between small talk and silences that grew so thick you had to break them with mindless comments. It wasn’t enough to focus on the path of your brush as the man tugged at your attention.

Marcus was excited when you told him about the party. He raved about how he needed to let loose, about how much expensive alcohol he was going to drink, and the awesome backflip he was gonna do into the pool. You reminded him, he hadn’t done anything like that since college but he swore he could still do it.

You didn’t share the sentiment. You were anxious. You were flattered to be invited but despite what Clark said, it still felt like work. His friends were going to be there and he apparently was trying to sell them on your art.

You didn’t realise until after you hit send on your email, but you put your livelihood in this man’s hands. A man, you reminded yourself, who was little more than a stranger.

On Friday, a day you were thankfully not called to the mansion to teeter on the ladder and paint, the buzzer rang and drew you off the couch from amid your YouTube binge. The man on the speaker called back that he had a delivery and you let him up. You took the box from him, the thick silver ribbon giving away the sender even before you could read the tag.

Inside you found a black dress with little gemstones set into the fabric like stars in the sky. It was nicer than anything you’d ever owned before and a pair of silver shoes were tucked in beneath the outfit. You took the shoes from the tissue paper and something else shifted in the bottom.

You reached in and revealed a velvet box from the depths of overzealous stuffing. You opened the lid and found a simple chain of diamonds. You gaped in disbelief. They were real. The fake ones didn’t look so nice.

You phone chimed before you could even think to call Clark. It was as if he could see you. You answered and your voice warbled pathetically.

“Hi, I was just gonna call,” you touched your throat as it constricted.

“Yeah? I got the notification that it was delivered,” he said, “you like it?”

“It’s too much,” you gulped out, “really, I can’t--”

“I want you to look nice. I want you to feel good and have a good time,” he said, “I feel like you’ve been working so hard. You need a chance to just let it all go.”

“Look, I…” you were uncertain how to handle it. It was more than generosity but you felt wrong denying it as much as you did accepting it, “I’ve never had a boss buy me diamonds. At least let me give those back.”

“Boss?” he mused on the word, “I suppose, but you gotta dress the part now, sweetheart. You’re gonna rub shoulders with a lot of rich dicks like me. Pardon my language.”

“I didn’t realise it was such an upscale thing,” you put the velvet box down and turned to sit on the couch beside the large box. You played with the silver ribbon and chewed your lip.

“Sweetheart, it’s nothing, you got this,” he said, “trust me, if you can win me over, my friends will be child’s play.”

“Mhmmm,” you stared at the tv mindlessly, “Clark?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you doing all this?”

There was silence and you heard him sigh then a subtle metallic click.

“Because I can. And you’re a talented artist. Didn’t all the big painters used to have patrons back in the day? You know, Da Vinci and all that.”

“Sure, I guess--”

“Look, sweetheart, I’m glad you like the dress, I gotta go.”

He hung up abruptly and you turned your phone to stare at it in confusion. You were starting to get a bad feeling and that little voice in that back of your head, that little sabotaging bitch, whispered in your ear. No, you wouldn’t let your self-doubt get the best of you this time. You either grabbed this chance or you spent the rest of your life doing menial work and painting the world as it passed you by.

🎨

Friday night, Marcus couldn’t stop rambling about the party the next day. You just couldn’t get over the tickle in your chest, the same one you got before job interviews and doctor’s appointments. You were on edge, even as you spent your stress on him, your body writhing against his as you panted and pouted. It had been a while since you fucked. All the work and the stress had just let things slip past you. Maybe with your new gig, you could get back to those early days when it was all you wanted to do.

You slept soundly. You blamed the sex and the momentous week. You got up, had a lazy brunch time meal, and beat Marcus at MarioKart several times over before he convinced you it was time to get ready.

You pulled on the gifted outfit after fighting with your make-up and hair. You gave a little tada spin to Marcus and he lifted his brow as he tried to figure out his tie.

“Wow, where’d you get that?” he purred, “fuck, let’s be late.”

He ran his hands over your hips as you neared him and fixed his tie for him. You giggled and planted a kiss on his lips.

“Jeremy’s on his way,” you warned, “I don't wanna bite the hand that feeds.”

“Oh, and it feeds you well,” Marcus chirped, “you think he’ll let me have a spin in the McClaren?”

“Maybe, but I wouldn’t. I don’t need to scrape you off the side of the road,” you took your phone as the screen lit up, “come on, he’s here.”

“Fuck, babe, really, you’re gonna make me follow you out of here with your ass looking like that?”

“Stop,” you tittered, “you know, there might be more sellers tonight?”

“Oh yeah? I guess you’ll be paying a mortgage soon enough.”

“Me?” you scoffed.

“Sure, I’ll be your sugar baby,” he kidded.

“Well, baby is accurate,” you teased as you stepped onto the elevator, “please, just behave.”

🎨

You were surprised to see Vanessa at the party but reassured to see a familiar face. Clark had been distracted by his other guests and you did your best to mingle, letting Marcus take the lead until he was distracted by another guest’s Rolex and started asking too many questions. If you did start selling art to these kinds, you suspected you’d be paying for a lot of overpriced brands. That was a worry for another time.

You stood with Vanessa and a man she introduced you to. Bruce Wayne was tall and his dark-hair was combed back neatly as he spoke over the glass of wine in his hand. You were bored of the Monet-Manet argument, one you’d heard a million times from the stubborn gallery owner, and you were at your limit of socialisation.

You excused yourself and put down your unfinished drink on a table. You looked around but couldn’t see Marcus anywhere. The last you saw him, he was with Clark but you couldn’t find him either. You frowned and wandered between the pairs and trios gabbing around the room.

Just past the bar, you looked back and still no sign of either man. You huffed and your heels clicked into the foyer and to the stairs. You’d go to the studio and sit for a moment and collect yourself. You just needed to take a breath.

You climbed the stairs slowly, the din of the party floating up behind you. You came to the top but stopped as your eyes were drawn to a pair of open doors opposite the studio. You neared and stayed against the wall as you peeked inside. Marcus admired an old-six shooter and spun the barrel.

“You got everything, man, I swear,” you hid behind the door frame and listened.

“Eh, it’s all just things,” Clark replied, “I bought that from an auctioneer down in Texas. A verified antique but it just hangs here. Not good for much but looking at it.”

“Dude, what I wouldn’t do to live here? Have cool guns and even cooler cars? Shit, you know how fucked it is that my lady is making bank and I’m over here with my dick in my hands? I mean, I’m proud of her but… I mean, if I could get paid thousands for drawing, I would’ve tried to learn.”

“She’s good. Dedicated,” Clark remarked, “she’s special. Worth more than money.”

Marcus hummed and you heard the barrel click back into the place. Neither of the men spoke as you heard something shift and Clark cleared his throat. Subtle footsteps moved around the room and you pressed yourself to the wall. You should leave and let them talk but you couldn’t help but be curious.

“Isn’t she?” Clark prodded.

“Y-yeah, but… I don’t know. I just wish I had more,” Marcus said, “I probably sound like a chump, huh?”

“You can’t have it all,” Clark replied.

“Says the guy who can buy anything and everything,” Marcus moped.

“Oh?” Clark intoned, “so… how about it then? Fifty thousand.”

“For what?” Marcus chuckled nervously.

“Her,” Clark answered.

“Her-- I… my girlfriend?” he sputtered.

“If money can buy me anything, that’s what I want,” Clark said firmly, “it’s a one time offer… whether or not you agree to it, I’m gonna fuck her.”

You skin crawled at his words and you covered your mouth in disgust and shock. You inched closer to the door to hear better as you waited for the response.

“One hundred,” Marcus said.

“Seventy-five,” Clark countered.

“That’s my girlfriend, dude,” Marcus hissed.

“And yet you’re haggling with me over her. Eighty.”

You tore yourself from the wall before you could hear anymore. You felt hollow and heavy all at once. Your eyes were glossy as you scurried over to the studio doors and pushed the left one open. You unhooked the diamond necklace and tossed it onto the paint-stained palette and rolled up your brushes.

You stormed over blindly to the easel and pushed it over. It clattered to the floor loudly but you were already out the door and halfway down the stairs. You gripped your clutch and the bundle of paintbrushes tightly as you continued on outside and the blurred outlines of luxury cars passed you by.

You stomped up the long drive in your heels as you flicked away tears and pulled out your phone. You knew it was too good to be true. Any of it; your art, Clark, Marcus. You weren’t good for anyone unless they could get something out of you.

#clark kent #dark clark kent #dark!clark kent #clark kent x reader #fic #series #dark fic #dark!fic #superman #portrait of a dangerous man #dc #dcu #mob au #au #mob!au

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danses-with-dogmeat · 3 years

Note

Howdy! I got an ask/react for the Fo4 companions! How would a romanced companion react to Sole (preferably female) doing things to make them feel 'stronger' or 'protective' over her? Some random examples: Sole "can't" open something and has to ask for help/Sole conveniently forgets her overcoat when she knows it's going to be cold out, etc. the little things :) (Extra thing: you don't have to but if you could go into a bit more depth for Deacon and Hancock's response that'd be great :D )

Okay, this was so. much. fun. I took a few... creative liberties with the prompt, but I hope it’s still in the realm of what you were looking for! And, of course, thank you so much for the ask! I hope you like it!

Cait:

Sole pressed a cold cloth to Cait's cheekbone, and she hissed at the pressure of the contact on her swollen cheek.

"Shit, sorry, Cait."

"Eh, I've had worse licks than this."

"I know, but still… this one is definitely my fault."

"It's hardly yer fault, luv, I'm the one who got meself inte this."

"How? I'm the one who started the fight." Sole protested, pulling her hand back so she could look her companion in the eye.

"Maybe, but I'm the one who gave you yer drinkin’ problem, and that's what got us inte the fight in the first place." Sole chuckled at that, shaking her head. The two had had this discussion what seemed like a hundred times, both trying to take the blame for the constant slew of bar fights that they found themselves getting into.

Tonight, it had been four intoxicated men who had decided it was a neat idea to discuss the details of what they’d do to Cait if they could get her drunk enough. While the redhead hadn’t seemed to hear, Sole had briskly made her way over to the group to give her two cents on these ideas of theirs. So, Cait had a point, maybe if Sole hadn’t had quite so much whiskey, she could’ve tried to solve the problem more... verbally. But alas, her confrontation had officially started with her fist landing at the temple of the man nearest to her, effectively knocking him out. And it had ended with Cait hauling Sole to her feet after disposing of the man’s companions.

Cait picked absent-mindedly at the scabs forming on her knuckles as Sole brought the wet rag up to her face once more, dabbing at the blood next to Cait's lip.

"God, how is it that you always end up with the injuries? All I got was a bruise to the cheek, and yet, here you are, looking like a human punching bag."

"I can tell ya that. It's cus it's always me rushin' in te save your arse. Why do you always take on more than ye can handle?" Sole snickered, not knowing if Cait found her own words as amusing as she had.

"Because, I know no matter how many assholes I take on, you'll always be there to save me." Cait made a disgusted sound, rolling her eyes at that, much like Sole thought she would, before letting her emerald gaze meet Sole's eyes.

"I wish you weren't, but yer damn right." Cait said, and Sole felt a little jump in her chest at the sentiment. Cait wasn’t the most tender person in the wasteland, but somehow, she always seemed to know what to say; to Sole, anyway.

The pair sat silently for a bit as Sole finished cleaning up her defender. Wiping down her bloodied hands, and the remainder of the crusted crimson on her face.

"Are ya done fussin yet? I'm tellin’ you, I'm fine. Can we just go te sleep already?"

"One more spot left." She told her, bringing the rag up to her bruised face once more. Sole's eyes fell to Cait's swollen lips as she drew the cool fabric over them, before leaning in to press her mouth softly to Cait's. Sole pulled away, but stayed close enough for Cait to feel her warm, whiskey-tinged breath fan over her as she whispered,

"Thank you for saving me tonight. I really was way in over my head." Sole looked down, embarrassed at her admission, as Cait smiled at her.

"It was my pleasure, luv. As you said, I'll always be there te save yer arse."

Curie:

"You know, you don't have to come to me for something as small as zhis." Curie said as she examined the minor cut on Sole’s arm. “You could patch zhis up yourself easily!”

“Well…” Sole felt heat rise to her cheeks as she searched for an explanation. She knew that every time she came to Curie for something like this, she was taking up the doctor’s precious time, but she couldn’t help herself. What was she supposed to do when Curie insisted on working all day when they were at a settlement? They usually came to settlements to relax, to help make repairs and look into any problems the settlers might be having, but Curie always insisted on doing check-ups for everyone in their vicinity. Sole loved her selflessness and dedication to her work, but… When were they supposed to spend time together? This is what I get for having a workaholic for a girlfriend.

“You know, infection is a big problem out here. I just thought it would be best to seek the help of a professional.”

“Oh, of course, of course. How responsible of you.” Sole bit at her lip as Curie laughed at her. Well, she really has caught onto the whole ‘sarcasm’ thing.

“Fortunately, you do not need to worry about infection in zhis, it iz not deep. But come here, with me.” Curie urged Sole off of the cot she was seated on and brought her to a table at the back of the clinic.

“Wait here, se vous plait.” With that, Curie disappeared around the corner, and Sole stood around, twiddling her thumbs, as she tried to think of an excuse to get Curie off of work early.

“I was going to clean my supplies with zhis, but we can do your arm first.” Curie said as she came around the corner, a bucket of soapy water in-hand.

“Here.” Curie set the bucket onto the table and had Sole hold out her arm as she produced a clean rag from the pocket of her lab coat, and dunked it into the warm water. Sole watched as Curie wrung out the cloth, and brought it to the miniscule wound on her arm.

It was comical, really, the care that Curie took in cleaning the cut that couldn’t have been more than an inch long, and was almost too thin to see. Another rush of heat made its way to Sole’s cheeks as she realized how ridiculous she must seem to the doctor, but Curie made no complaints as she used the other side of the rag to dry off her arm.

“Zhere! It should be all better. I can wrap it for you too, if you’d like.”

“Thanks Curie, you’re a lifesaver. But I don’t think you really need to wrap it.” The synth laughed at her as she threw the rag into a basket and picked up the bucket again.

“Oh, mon dieu, I don’t know about zhat.” She shook her head, a pink tint coming to her pale cheeks at Sole’s flattery as she turned to go into the back of the clinic again.

“Wait!” Sole said, reaching out her “good” arm to stop Curie before she could vanish around the corner once more. Curie looked at her, a questioning expression on her face. Sole stood, her hand still wrapped around Curie’s forearm, utterly at a loss of what to say. I just don’t want you to go. It’ll be another four hours until you get off.

I think you should take a break?

Maybe you should have a half day?

Do you need some help here at the clinic? God, when did I become so damn clingy?

“Hmm.” Curie’s eyes pierced into Sole’s as a knowing look washed over her face. “I zhink I know what it is you want.” Sole just stared ahead, wondering silently if that were true. The doctor set down the bucket yet again, delicately taking a hold of Sole’s “injured” arm once more. Slowly, she brought it upwards, then lowered her head to place her lips gently over the cut. “Iz zhat better?”

Sole giggled, still embarrassed, but definitely glad she had come to interrupt Curie’s work. I guess I can wait a little longer. Maybe make us a nice dinner for tonight...

“Much. Thanks again, Curie.”

“Of course! Anytime, mon amour.”

Danse:

Sole sat at the kitchen table, draining the last of her coffee as her gaze fell to Danse, where he was seated on the steps outside the front door of her Sanctuary home. He stared ahead blankly, brows knitted together above his lusterless eyes as his hands worked to remove a spot of rust from a piece of power armor he had taken off his suit temporarily. Lately, the ex-paladin had been adept in putting on a show for Sole, making her think that he was okay, even after everything that had changed in his life over the course of a few hours. It had been over a week since he had found out about his true identity, and in that time, Sole could tell that he had tried to remain strong. For whom, she wasn’t sure. She thought she had made it clear to him that she didn’t care about his “strength” in these times, she just wanted him to get through them, whatever the means. Yet, he only seemed to don this look of despair and hopelessness whenever he thought she wasn’t looking, and if she tried to bring it up, he would always attempt to change the subject, or he would tell her not to worry and simply say that he was still working on “adjusting.”

She hated when he didn’t talk to her. The seemingly insensitive man was always happy to listen to Sole’s problems and offer what advice he could, often suggesting that she discuss her own issues as a form of therapy. But God forbid she tries to get him to do the same. Sole sighed as she mulled over what to do, and noticed Danse’s head twitch to the side, listening, before his gaze dropped down to focus on his task.

He’s been working on that same spot for almost an hour. If it’s not out yet, I don’t think it ever will be. Sole looked around the room, trying to find something that could possibly serve as a proper distraction for Danse, and her eyes fell to the wooden stereo below the window in the living room. She had left it there because she simply didn’t have the heart to scrap the old thing. Too many good memories surrounded it. Memories of her and Nate, dancing the night away as the records spun on and on playing soft love songs until the sun rose; of her rocking Shaun in her arms as she mosied around the living room, listening to the nursery rhyme vinyls that she had received as gifts at her baby shower... But those memories, they were from another life.

Sole shook her head. This is about him, she thought, not me. I can deal with my shit later. Right now, I need to focus on Danse.

She huffed another sigh, this time a bit louder, and watched as Danse ceased his hand movements and tilted his ear towards her again.

“Is everything alright?” He turned to look at where she sat, and Sole tried to look melancholic.

“It’s just… You know… nevermind, it’s not important.” Just as she assumed he would, Danse stood up and walked inside the house, setting the piece of armor and the rag on the table, and pulled out a chair so he could sit beside her. He looked down at her hands, which rested on top of the table near her empty coffee mug. She could practically see the sweat beading on his forehead as he hesitantly brought one of his large hands to rest over the top of her own. Ever since he found out what he was, he’s been afraid to touch me. So... this is a good sign, at least.

“If something’s wrong, I want to know.” He said as he looked up to meet her gaze, his worried expression matching the concern she was feeling towards him. Sole took a breath to appear as though she was steadying herself.

“It’s just… being in this house. It’s great, I mean, it’s still my home and everything, and I don’t want to go anywhere else, but…” she trailed off, her troubled expression only half-feigned at this point, given the truth behind her words. His eyes never wavered, silently encouraging her to continue.

“Some things are harder to look at than others. And that damn stereo over there just has to be staring straight at me every time I sit down at the table, it’s the hardest one for me to see. It's just, it was a house-warming present from my parents. They gave it to me and Nate after the wedding, and now… well, there are no more records to play on it. They were all ruined, and even if they weren't, I don’t think the thing would work anyway. But every time I see it, it reminds me of the people I’ve lost. My parents… Nate… even Shaun.” Sole didn’t have to fake the tears that came unbidden to her eyes as she recalled the memories of her loved ones, and she knew Danse hadn’t missed a thing when he started rubbing her hand softly with his. They sat there in silence for a moment, as Danse tried to reassure her with his gentle touch.

Then, still remaining silent, Danse stood, reaching his hand forward to brush his thumb over Sole’s cheek, wiping away the tear that had fallen. He then turned towards the living room, but instead of going straight to the stereo, as Sole thought he might, Danse opened the side door that led to the covered driveway. She watched as he doubled back, now approaching the stereo. Sole wasn’t sure what she had expected him to do when she mentioned her problem to him; maybe offer to help her take the thing apart, or try and see if it still worked, or simply give her another perspective on how she should view the piece of 200-year-old furniture. Whatever she expected, it certainly hadn’t been this.

Danse squatted down in front of the large wooden beast of a stereo, wrapped his broad arms almost all the way around it, and stood, lifting the whole damn thing up until he was standing completely upright with the stereo held firmly to his chest. Sole’s mouth hung open as she remained seated at the table, seemingly paralyzed by the shock of what she was witnessing, as Danse sauntered awkwardly towards the exit. A thick vein protruded from his neck as he twisted the piece of furniture to fit through the door, and made his way out into the driveway.

Sole heard a groan from outside, accompanied by the sound of something hard hitting concrete. She stood up, prepared to head outside and see what exactly he’d done with her “problem,” but before she reached the doorway, she heard him call from outside,

“You can’t still see it, can you?”

“Um… no. But Danse, is it-- I mean, are you okay? It took like, four people to bring that thing in when we first moved it to the house.” The brawny ex-soldier appeared in the doorway, his chest still heaving from the effort of wrestling the wooden monster outside. He nodded to her,

“I'm fine." He huffed, "You don’t need to go out there. I’ll take it apart later, if you’d like. Or we can store it somewhere for the time being.” She shook her head at him, a little smile touching her lips. Even after everything he’s been through, he's still always looking out for me. Even with something as small and insignificant as this.

“You know,” she said quietly, “you didn’t have to do that.” Danse looked down at his feet, seemingly searching for something to say in response.

“But thank you.” Sole finished, and his eyes came back up to meet hers. For a moment, she saw a spark return to Danse’s amber eyes as the smallest hint of a smile softened his expression, and Sole felt hope. Hope for him overcoming his grief in this time of crisis, and hope for herself in being able to move on from the memories that had kept her chained to her past for so long. Together, she felt like the two of them could overcome anything.

Deacon:

“Yes. Two please.” Sole said as Takahashi voiced the only question he ever seemed to ask. The robot placed two bowls of scrumptious smelling power noodles in front of her, and she reached for the bag of caps hanging from her belt. As she looked down to count her money, she heard a clatter of bottlecaps hitting the counter beside her.

“Got it covered. Come on, let’s dig in.” Deacon grabbed a bowl in each hand and headed over to a couple of empty seats at the bar.

“I thought you were still trying to stay undercover?" Sole gestured to the Diamond City guard outfit that the spy donned. "Doesn’t it kinda ruin the illusion if you’re seen in public with me?” She said as she followed him over, sealing up her cap purse once again.

“What? You’ve never seen one of these guys at the noodle stand? Cuz I sure have. Just don’t talk to me, and I’ll be good.” Sole shook her head as she took a seat beside him, instantly deciding to ignore his request.

“Hey officer, I’ve got a question.” Sole swirled her chopsticks around the steaming bowl in front of her, before taking a bite.

“Yes, citizen?”

“Hold on--” she said through a mouthful of noodles.

Deacon laughed as he looked at her full mouth,

“Why--” He tried to talk through his bout of chuckling, “Why would you say you’re going to ask me a question and then take a big bite of food? What did you think would happen?”

Deacon thought he heard her tell him to ‘shut up,’ but it was hard to tell, given the noodles that filled her mouth, and the fact that she was nearly choking in her own fit of laughter.

Eventually, she managed to swallow her food successfully, and was finally able to get some words out.

"No, okay, serious question--" Deacon interrupted her with a snap of his fingers,

"Serious answer." Her genuine curiosity forced Sole to ignore him, and continue with her question.

"Tell me, why do you always pay for everything?" She asked.

"Ma'am, I am a law-abiding security officer. I always pay for the products that I intend to consume."

"I said serious, Deacon."

"Hey, shush!" He brought a hand up to Sole's mouth at the mention of his name, "What part of undercover did you not get?" She cocked a brow at his faked panic expression, noting the grin that he was trying to hide, as he lowered his head and turned back to his noodles.

"Like, okay," she continued, expanding on her inquiry, "whenever we go anywhere, you always pay for everything, and it's really odd. I've never met anyone in the wasteland who's done that, everyone's too busy trying to keep themselves alive to worry about paying for others. So, what? Are you, like, rich or something? I mean, c'mon, what's the deal? I have caps on me all the time, you know that, right?"

"Oh?" Sole saw his eyebrows rise above the tops of his sunglasses as he turned to look at her, "you don't think I'm doing this out of the goodness of my cold, black, heart, do you? No, I'm running a tab over here, honey. You owe me, big time." Sole narrowed her eyes at him, her uncertainty keeping her lips sealed.

"You mean, you didn’t know? Look, I don't know what to tell you," Deacon continued, "I thought you knew! Man, I'm glad you found out this way. Now it won't be such a rude awakening when the invoice comes."

Deacon turned back to his noodles, shaking his head at the thought. Sole's gaze bore into him, trying to figure out his level of seriousness. I really wish I was better at this. This is why I believed he was a synth for a month and a half.

"And if I don't have the money… you're not gonna call out a hit on me or anything, are you?"

“Hmm," he brought a hand to his chin, stroking his finger over it animatedly, "surely there must be some way you could pay me back…” He turned to look at her, wiggling his eyebrows as he did so, and she rolled her eyes, looking back to her noodles as she scoffed.

"Hey! What's with the face! I was talking about community service. Y'know, helping the children, and the elderly, all that good stuff. Get your mind out of the gutter, perv. And to think, I was going to have you volunteering at the children's hospital next week."

Sole instantly regretted taking another bite, as she tried desperately to fend off a fit of giggling in an effort to keep from choking again.

"I can't keep up with you Deacon," she said as she swallowed her food. "You're gonna kill me one of these days."

"Eh, don't worry, I can pay for the funeral." Sole raised a hand and shoved him in the shoulder playfully as he grinned at her.

"Okay, really, though. You do know I can pay occasionally, right?"

"Yeah, I know, I'm your partner, remember? I'm pretty much right next to you whenever you get paid.”

"So… then, why do you do it?"

"Do what?" Sole's nostrils flared at his obnoxious question.

"No? Joke didn’t land? Okay. Serious time," he flung his hands in the air as if surrendering, "I read about something… wasn't it, like, customary before the war to pay for stuff for your… friends?" Sole scrunched her eyebrows in thought,

"Friends? Not really. Significant other? Yeah, a little more common." She looked to where Deacon stared down at his noodles.

Is that, is he... blushing?

"But hey, I don't mind if you don't." She finished, tilting her head forward, in an attempt to catch Deacon's eye. She spotted a flushed little grin spread on his face, before he leaned his head back, restoring his cool composure.

"Oopsies, sorry about that, then. But I did warn you, I'm pretty new to this whole friend thing. So… you know, that's on you."

Hancock:

The ghoul lounged comfortably on the couch in the Old State House, idly playing with his combat knife as he waited for Sole to finish readying herself for their outing.

“Ahhh!”

Hancock leapt from his place on the couch at the sound of Sole’s shriek, his combat knife instinctively falling into a position poised for violence.

He ran across the hall, crashing through the door and into the bedroom. Teeth bared and eyes wide, his head lashed from side to side in search of Sole’s assailant. He spotted her, cowering in the corner as she raised a shaky hand to point at the opposite side of the room.

Hancock’s glare followed Sole’s fear-stricken gaze, and he started towards the desk in the corner she had pointed to, but ultimately failed to see what it was causing her distress.

He turned back to her, an eyebrow cocked, as he raised the silent question of what had been the cause of her terror.

“On the desk!” She said, pointing towards it again, this time with greater intensity. Hancock slowly approached the corner of the room, knife still at the ready, as his eyes continued to search for any sign of… well, anything, really. An exasperated smile spread across his lips as his eyes fell to your attacker. A small, brown, spider picked its way through the objects littering the top of the desk, and Hancock had to hold back a laugh.

“This is what had you all riled up? Oh, sweetheart, he’s just a little spider. C’mon now, he won’t hurt ya.”

“You don't know that.” She said firmly, her round eyes still trained on the desk. It had sounded like a joke, but her expression remained serious.

“Alright, you want me to get rid of him for you?” She nodded her head vigorously, and he chuckled as he turned his attention to the unsuspecting arachnid. He watched as it delicately stepped over a series of writing utensils, and Hancock frowned. Bringing his knife up to the top of the desk, he rested the flat of his blade directly in the spider’s path,

“That’s it, up you go, little guy.” He said quietly, as it stepped onto his steel vessel. Hancock twisted the knife around in his grip as the spider crawled around it, and made his way to the balcony. Once outside, he tipped his knife to the railing, encouraging the spider to crawl off the tip of the blade. Once the spider was safely making its way along the top of the railing, Hancock turned back towards the doorway.

“There,” he said, stepping back inside, “Now he can’t hurt ya, he’s all the way out there.”

“You… you didn’t kill it?” She asked, tentatively standing up.

“Nah, we only hurt the ones who hurt somebody else first, remember?”

“You don’t know that he didn’t hurt anybody.” She mumbled as Hancock sauntered over to her.

“Aw, give him a chance, maybe he can change, y’know? He doesn't really seem like the troublemaking type to me, anyhow.” He brought his hands to your waist, a smug expression playing on his face.

“Oh yeah, just like the way you always tell people you’ve changed?” She said, sliding her hands up his chest to rest them on his shoulders. “Way I see it, you’re still just as bad an influence on me as when I met you.” She said, a playful glint dancing in her eyes.

“Hmm, maybe you’re right, sunshine. Maybe I can't change any more. Maybe it's just my nature to be a bad influence on you.” He said quietly, a wolfish grin spreading across his face as he leaned into her.

“Huh, maybe so. But bad influence or not," she pulled away from him slightly, to look up into his smoky eyes, "you really did save me back there. And, I know it seems silly... but I am grateful." His eyes softened at her little confession and, though he knew this too was silly, he couldn’t help but feel a swell in his chest at the thought of "saving" her.

“And I’ll always be here to save you... from any spiders we happen to come across.” He pecked her lips tenderly, their close proximity practically forcing his mouth to hers. He should’ve known better, once he had a taste, he couldn’t get enough of her.

“Even though,” He continued, as he pressed a kiss to her nose, “I’ve seen you,” then to her right cheek, “take down,” now her left, “deathclaws,” another to her jaw, “single handedly,” and now down to her neck, “I’ll be sure to handle all the unruly arachnids.” He whispered into the crook of her neck, before moving upwards again and pressing one more kiss to her forehead. He watched, grinning like an idiot in love, as a crimson flush crept up her cheeks. He wasn’t sure if it was from the embarrassment she felt regarding her phobia, or from the heat of his lips on her skin, but he decided it didn’t matter. Either way, he found it irresistibly adorable, and with that, he set his sights on her lips once more.

MacCready:

MacCready sat on the floor, legs crossed, as he counted his ammunition cartridges. There were four of the .308, six of the .50, ten of the 10mm, and a few of the .38. There certainly wasn’t as much as he’d hoped there’d be, but he wasn't worried. Sole always seemed to have ammo to spare, and she wasn't stingy with it like he was. It was yet another perk to being with her.

He gathered his full magazines together near the ammo bag resting beside him, so he could begin placing them inside in preparation for their next outing.

"How are you doing over there, babe?" He asked as he stored the outlying bullets in little bags.

"I think... you know what, nevermind. I'm good." MacCready ceased his action, turning to look at where Sole knelt on the carpet of her Diamond City home. A pile of bullets and empty magazines surrounded her, the stack of seemingly full cartridges was pitifully small compared to his own.

"You, ah, need some help?"

"... No.”

"Mmhm, okay.” he narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously, but she wouldn’t look up at him.

“Well,” he continued, “I'm going to put my full mags in the ammo bag, why don't I grab yours too." The sniper stood up, and made his way over to her, bending down to grab the cartridges that looked full.

"Wait! No, these, um, these ones aren't done yet." MacCready's eyebrows furrowed, but the shadow of a smile began to spread to his lips as he realized what was going on.

"So," he said, kneeling down so he could see her pretty little embarrassed face. "You haven't finished loading any of them?"

“No." She said quietly, refusing to meet his gaze. MacCready lowered his head so that he was looking up at her as her eyes stayed fixed on the floor. A lock of hair was draped over her forehead, obstructing his view. He reached a hand up and gently pushed it behind her ear, leaning in to give her nose a small peck with his lips.

"You want some help?" He said as Sole raised her gaze to meet his, a small blush forming on her cheeks. She didn't say anything, only nodded yes.

"Alright, you know, you could’ve just asked. I might have said ‘no’ the first time, but you know me, I eventually would’ve come around." MacCready said as he set to work with the magazines that had appeared full, but in reality, only housed half of the amount of ammunition that they could fit within them. He snickered in understanding, it really was the second half of bullets that was hard to load.

"Thank you, sweetie. You’re just so much better at it than I am." She said as she watched his practiced fingers make quick work of what probably would've taken her another hour.

"Of course... but, you are paying me for this, right?"

"Ohh, I think we might be able to work something out." She said, a sly grin playing at her lips.

He just chuckled at her words, but she could've sworn his fingers starting moving a whole lot faster at her suggestive phrasing.

Nick:

“Tell me, why is this now a regular part of my job duties?" Ellie asked as she finished sewing up yet another tear in Nick's trench coat. "You know you're just going to end up with more holes in this coat every time you leave the office, and I don't seem to recall you ever caring about this old thing's appearance before…" she trailed off.

Nick knew that Ellie was fishing for answers. One specific one in particular, but he liked the ambiguity of the situation. It was this little game he and his secretary would play. He would leave clues here and there that pointed to the nature of his and Sole's relationship and wait to see if Ellie would say anything. All while she continued to try and force the truth from him verbally. He wasn't going to lose this round.

"What? A private detective can't keep up appearances for his clients? I think it's just good for business."

"I think it's a load of bologna. You know we gave Sole her own trench coat after she saved you, right? She could just wear her own, rather than steal yours every time you two go out on a case."

"What kinda fun would that be? I don't mind it, it's not like I get cold anyway. And the poor little lady never knows how long we're going to be gone, so I don't think it's her fault when we're out after dark and she wants to wear it."

Ellie rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh as she poked the needle back through the worn, beige fabric once again.

"She's got you so tightly wound around her finger, it's a wonder she doesn't call you 'Jared'."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know, it’s something I’ve read about, I guess it was a ring shop, or a jewelry company, or something before the war. I thought it sounded clever. Just humor me, won't you?"

The synth just shook his head, uttering a low chuckle as he watched Ellie tighten the thread, forcing the last hole closed.

"There." She said, tying up the last bit of string left over, before cutting off the excess. "It's done."

"Perfect, thanks a million, doll. I'll see you soon, I've just gotta head out for a--"

"Date?" She finished the sentence for him suggestively, raising her eyebrows in question.

"A case. We're going to head out on a case, Ellie."

"Uh huh, sure. Well, here," she handed him back the coat, "now she doesn't need to worry about the cold air seeping in through all those holes. Let me know if you want me to insulate the damn thing when winter rolls around."

Valentine smiled, an uncharacteristically goofy smile, at Ellie's words. He was so obvious, why didn't he just come clean already?

"Will do, I’m sure she’ll enjoy that. Thanks again, Ellie. You're the best."

"And don't you forget it." She said, turning back to the mound of paperwork still on her desk beside her sewing supplies.

“Ah well, I’ll get him to admit to it one of these days.” Ellie mumbled as she began sorting through the files in front of her.

Piper:

Piper looked up at Scarlet from the table in the corner of the Dugout Inn,

"Yes, so I think we'll both have a nuka cola to start off. Then I'll do the crispy squirrel bits, and she'll have the Salisbury steak." Piper pointed her finger to Sole, who was busy looking down at the table, before making a last-minute decision, "Aaand you'd better bring some of those snack cakes at the end, too."

"Hm, as usual." Scarlet chuckled at that as her pen scribbled across the notepad in her hand.

"But that sounds good, you two. I'll have that out in just a minute." The waitress grabbed their menus, Sole reaching up to hand it to her with a smile on her face before turning to peer at her partner from across the table. She waited for Scarlet to disappear around the corner to the kitchen before speaking.

"You really don't find it annoying?" She asked.

"What?" Piper loosened the scarf around her neck as she looked questioningly at Sole.

"I know that I ask you to order for me whenever we go out to eat, or drink, and it's gotta be getting a little old at this point, right?"

"No, not at all, Blue!" Piper said as she took her hat off and placed it on the table, mussing her hair a bit with one hand. "This reporter actually finds it to be pret-ty endearing. It's like, the one thing you can't do. You’re good at, like, everything else, but this I get to help you with. It's a welcome change." Piper's hands dropped to the top of the table as she began absent-mindedly fiddling with her silverware. But her eyes stayed on the woman across the table as Sole smiled at her, still appearing a little embarrassed.

"I don't know why I can't do it," Sole tried to explain, "I've just never been able to order for myself, even before the war. Just one of those bizarre anxiety things, I guess."

"Well, like I said, I don’t mind at all. In fact, I think it's cute."

Preston:

Sole approached her Lieutenant, shaking her head at him, and she saw him sigh.

“No, the river just keeps going until it reaches a ravine." She told him, "And it’s too steep to climb down. Any luck on your end?”

“Hmm, not really. It's a little more shallow upstream, but it’s still about ten feet wide.”

“Damn.” She said, “We need to get across.” A settlement had sent a distress call across radio freedom almost an hour ago, if Sole and Preston took any longer, they might be too late.

“I guess we’ll just have to go for it.” She said, her face painting a picture of clear disgust at the thought of wading through the murky water.

“Well, let’s at least head upstream a bit. To the shallow part.”

“Okay.” Sole said begrudgingly, her footsteps unconsciously heavy as she followed her companion to the shallow part. Not shallow enough, I bet.

And she was right. As the pair arrived, Preston turned to Sole to gauge her reaction, noticing the way her nose wrinkled at the sight of the brown, swirling water.

Preston heaved a sigh, and started forward. Before he reached the waterline, he turned to see Sole still standing back, feet seemingly glued to the muddy ground. He couldn’t help but smile sympathetically at her, eyebrows creasing upwards as he watched her eyes look longingly at the far shore.

“Come here.” He said.

“I know, I know. Just start going, I’ll follow.” Preston chuckled at the exasperation in her voice. Instead of repeating his command, he simply walked over to her as her eyes remained locked on the other side of the river, when he reached her, he slowly pressed his hand to the small of her back.

“Hey, what are you--?” Before Sole could finish her question, Preston had scooped her up into his arms, bridal style. She let out a squeak of surprise, and he couldn’t keep himself from grinning.

“Is this okay? He asked, the brim of his hat pressing against Sole’s forehead as he looked at her.

“A warning would’ve been nice.” Preston laughed, shaking his head as he adjusted his grip on her, ensuring she was secure before making his way towards the river.

“Hold onto me.” He said, and Sole wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders.

“Ready?” Sole nodded to him, and Preston took a step forward, frigid water seeping in through his boots as he waded in.

“Wait, are you sure you want to do this?” She said, her eyes trained on the river as it raised up to Preston’s knees.

“I might be wrong, General, but I think I already am.” He said, the amusement in his voice faint as he gritted his teeth against the cold.

She felt his body shutter as he continued forward, the water reaching up almost to his waist, as he held Sole up higher to ensure it wouldn’t reach her. She let out a small sigh of relief as they reached the end of the channel. The water became more shallow, and Preston quickened his pace with each step that brought him closer to their destination.

Once completely out of the water, and past the muddy shoreline, Preston finally set Sole down gently. As her feet touched the ground, Sole kept her arms wound about Preston’s neck.

“Thank you, love.” She said, her voice soft as she addressed him as her partner rather than her Lieutenant.

“It was my pleasure, m’lady.” He said, briefly removing his hat from his head as he did so. Sole smiled at him warmly, but detected the faint chattering of his teeth, and when she looked down, she couldn’t help but notice the goosebumps littering his skin.

“Oh, Preston…” Sole said as she pressed herself to him, rubbing her hands against his back and arms quickly, in an attempt to warm him with her friction. She felt hot air wash over her neck as he released a shaky breath of relief, leaning into her touch. The pair stood there for a moment, Preston syphoning off Sole’s warmth as she tried to repay him for his earlier act of kindness. Her hands slowed from her vigorous rubbing to a more tender sort of touch, before Preston’s head shot up.

“Shit, Sole, the settlement! We’ve got to move!”

X6-88:

This had become a common routine of theirs, and X6 wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about it. Every time they were in Sole’s Diamond City home, she would insist on making dinner for the two of them. That, X6 didn’t mind too much; although, after consuming nothing but food supplements in the Institute for so long, it did take some getting used to. But eating the food wasn’t the issue, it was the making of it that had him perplexed.

As far as he knew, Sole had been the one to install the shelves in her kitchen; and yet, every time she was in need of a spice of some sort, or a condiment, or one of her dishes, she would ask X6 for assistance, given that the shelves were apparently too high for her to reach. Why Sole continued to store her items on the too-tall shelves, he couldn’t begin to guess. But here she went again, asking him to reach for the box of blamco mac n’ cheese on the top shelf, the highest one, one that he could barely even reach. X6 decided it was time to voice his confusion.

“Ma’am?”

“Yes?” She asked distractedly as she focused on the strength of the flame burning on her stove.

“Why do you use these shelves?”

“What else would I use, silly?” X6 scrunched up his face at that, trying to hold back a verbal scoff at her wording.

“Would you rather I just store everything on the floor?”

“Well, no. That would… hardly be sanitary.” He wasn’t sure if she was joking with him or not. Did she think he was joking with her?

“Why do you ask, X?” She grabbed the box from his hand as he extended it towards her, and began tearing at the top of it with her finger.

“Well, it seems nonsensical to me, for you to continue placing all of your items out of your reach. What happens if I’m not here?” Sole placed a saucepan filled with water over the stove and turned to look at him.

“But you are here.” she said, shrugging, “What? Don’t you like helping me out in the kitchen?”

X6 blinked. What the hell did this have to do with what he liked?

“Well… I don’t dislike it. I’m just having trouble with-- I don’t-- I just... do you want me to fix the shelves so they are the right height for you?”

“No, I like them the way they are.”

X6 felt his eye twitch from beneath his shades. Confusion built up inside him, making the courser feel as though he might explode.

“Ma’am--” His voice faltered as he realized he didn’t know what else to say.

“I know they’re not practical, X. But you can reach them, and I like that about them. Even when I’m here alone, the fact that I can’t make dinner without you makes me smile.” X6 furrowed his eyebrows. That explanation didn’t help at all.

“Don’t you get hungry?”

“I'm not completely helpless, you know, I can usually figure something out.” She attempted to look annoyed at his question, but her grin gave her away. X6 narrowed his eyes at her, still not completely satisfied with the way the conversation had gone. He was still just as confused as he was before.

“Huh.” He said, mulling over all she had said on the subject. “Perhaps... in that case, we should ensure that I am by your side for any missions near Diamond City. That way, I can be sure the future director of the Institute doesn’t go hungry.”

“Well, if you think that’s necessary, who am I to argue?” The left side of X6’s lip tilted upwards in an expression of amusement, and Sole openly smiled at him, laughing a little to herself as she turned her attention back to the boiling water on the stove.

“Can you hand me the pepper mill? Second shelf.”

“I know which shelf. But yes, I can.” He said, turning around to grab it, as Sole continued grinning to herself.

Now I just have to make sure he never looks under my bed. Sole thought. If X6 ever found the step stool she had hidden there, what would happen to her kitchen helper?

355 notes · View notes

alittlebitmaybe · 4 years

Text

i’ll stay warm

for @sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo!

Prompt: ice skating

Relationship: Geraskier

Rating: G (with very mild language and a tiny bit of blood)

Warnings: None

Other Tags: Fluff, Companionable Snark, Already Dating But Too Dumb To Notice, First Kiss

“Let me get this straight,” Geralt says.

Jaskier waves him on.

“You’re going to tie those—,” he gestures to the slim planks of iron on Jaskier’s kitchen table that have leather cords threaded through holes bored into either end, “—to your shoes, and you’re going to go down to the river and stand on it.”

Jaskier, unperturbed, says brightly, “Uh-huh!”

Read more on ao3 or below the cut!

“Let me get this straight,” Geralt says.

Jaskier waves him on.

Jaskier, unperturbed, says brightly, “Uh-huh!”

Geralt says, “Why?”

“Because Priscilla asked me along, and it’s good fun, and you can do all sorts of loop-de-loops and swirlies and spinnies and whozits and, uh, whatzits. I dunno, Pris knows all the tricks, I never got the hang of it. But, Geralt, people have been doing this in Oxenfurt for years. It’s the only way fashionable and exciting persons such as I pass the winter these days, gliding as an angel over the ice, cheeks chapped fetchingly pink, you know, it’s all very attractive, one may say winsome—”

“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” Geralt crosses his arms over his chest as he leans back in the small chair and tucks his shoulders in. He takes up too much space in Jaskier’s quarters, and already he rues the day he agreed, in a fit of insanity, to pass the season in the city instead of trekking up to Kaer Morhen as usual. “You’re going to die.”

Jaskier hacks a laugh into his steaming mug and nearly spills tea all down his robed front.

“Nonsense!” he cries, once he has recovered himself. “We go every year once the freeze is hard enough, me and Pris and all my many other dazzling friends, which I absolutely have.”

“And if Priscilla told you it was fashionably good fun to walk yourself off a cliff…”

“I’d do it, obviously,” says Jaskier, not missing a beat. “Haven’t you ever had to cross a frozen river on your travels, Witcher? How’d you go about it then, if not on skates?”

Geralt levels him an incredulous look. “How would I get a horse across a frozen river?” he asks, and Jaskier frowns in thought as he takes another sip.

“I mean, you could just—,” he mimes pushing outward with one palm, “—give ‘er a good shove and see how far she gets.”

“Could give you a good shove. Bet you wouldn’t make it far.”

“I’ll have you know, I have the grace of a, a, er…elk? Are elk graceful?”

Geralt nods and says seriously, “Especially the newborns.”

“There you have it. Graceful as a tiny baby elk with those on my feet, I am.”

“Maybe you should wear them all the time.”

“What good would that…” he starts, and then comes, “Hey. Rude. Remind me why I wanted you here?”

Geralt grins and shrugs. His own mug is on the small table, and he sniffs the steam coming off of it. Floral. He takes a sip. Carefully does not spit it back out. Sets the mug back down farther away.

When he has successfully resisted the urge to spit on the floor to clear out his mouth and looks back up, Jaskier is still holding his own mug gently in the curl of his long fingers, and a lock of rumpled hair has fallen into his eyes. His robe hangs open at his collarbone, down the line of his chest. He wears a strange expression that lies between the exasperation Geralt expected and something startlingly softer.

“So you’ll come with us,” he states.

“Someone has to take your body back to your mother when you break your neck,” Geralt says.

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “You jest, but Mum would be thrilled to see you. Likes you better than me, I think. Her only son! But you’ll come, eh?”

Geralt ducks his head quickly to hide the smile creeping across his face, grabbing his boots and yanking at the laces before acquiescing, “Yeah, I’ll come.”

“There now,” Jaskier says, appeased, “that wasn’t so hard, was it.” He knocks back the dregs of his tea, then stands and pads to the sink, talking on. “You should’ve known I wouldn’t let you stay cooped up in here all winter. I’ll have to see if I can dig out my spare pair of skates, they’re older—animal bone, not iron—but they might be big enough for your witcher feet, and it really works just as well. Or maybe Pris knows someone…I even heard they’re renting the things out down at the river now. Industrious, isn’t it, the ways people come up with to make some coin?…”

Geralt half-listens as he ties neat knots, lost somewhere in the midst of mulling over what Jaskier has described, trying to give it the benefit of the doubt despite its obvious frivolity. Based on the day’s weather it will be a clear night with a brisk breeze, a bright moon. The wind chill will have them each bundled up in furs, and the tip of Jaskier’s nose will go pink as he rubs his gloved hands together for warmth and glances happily over at Geralt. The river ice will be torchlit and smooth as glass, and they’ll strap on their skates and step out onto it. They’ll have a good hold on each others arms, for balance, but then as they gain their footing they’ll find their fingers threaded together and neither will let go. Geralt will listen to the quickened beat of Jaskier’s heart as they pick up the pace, and eventually Jaskier will break their hold to skate backward and taunt Geralt with a small twirl that ends only a little unsteadily. Geralt will smirk and give chase, chuckling when Jaskier squawks and takes off at speed. It’s no use, of course, even with Geralt’s inexperience; Geralt will anticipate his movements, head him off, catch him by the wrist, by the shoulder, and they will collide chest to chest with a huff, the momentum from the chase sliding them a few more feet across the ice before they come to a halt. Their cold noses will almost be touching, there will be frost on the riverbank, there will be a distant owl hooting its nighttime song. Jaskier will quirk his lips and say, “Gotcha, Witcher,” and Geralt will lean in, feel his hot breath, press their lips together—

“Geralt,” Jaskier says, tapping him on the shoulder. A hand waves in front of his face. Geralt keeps his expression carefully neutral as he comes out of his sudden reverie, though he’s been caught red handed. “Are you meditating? We’ve got to be off to the market. Have you even been listening to me?”

“Never,” says Geralt, and Jaskier scoffs and whacks him gently upside the head.

The riverbank smells like dead fish.

Geralt knew this. He doesn’t know what he expected. He doesn’t know where the pine-scented idyllic winter wonderland from his earlier distraction even came from, because it couldn’t be farther from reality.

Besides the fish stink, his boots squish and stick unpleasantly in the muddy ground, and the place is teeming with cityfolk, the crowd so thick that you can’t see the opposite bank even despite the abundant torchlight.

“Are you sure it’s frozen solid enough for this?” Geralt asks sourly.

“Of course,” Jaskier replies.

Geralt’s frown deepens. “Couldn’t we go around the bend where there’s not so many people?”

“And where’s the fun in that?”

“Breathing room.”

“I asked about the fun, Geralt. Ah, there’s my girl!”

Priscilla pushes through a group of loitering teenagers and throws her arms around Jaskier’s neck, only her toes left on the mud. “Jask! I see you got your…friend to join us.”

She pauses before friend, eyeing him overtly, but Geralt doesn’t notice because one of the teenagers has been shoved, giggling, into him by another of the group. He steadies her, and does not react when she turns to apologize, catches his unnatural gaze, and stifles her laughter. He doesn’t see Jaskier watching him past Priscilla’s ear, the fond crinkling around his eyes when Geralt gently straightens her and returns her to her place in the circle, which subsequently puts a few feet between itself and the newly-noticed witcher.

“It was either this or die of boredom in the dark, wasn’t it, Geralt?” Jaskier says finally as he releases Priscilla.

“I chose the dark,” Geralt lies, and Jaskier sticks out his tongue.

“Well,” Priscilla says, straightening her skirts, “shall we?”

Geralt pulls both sets of skates from his deep cloak pockets and passes the iron pair to Jaskier, who hops around indelicately while securing them over his boots, rather than plop himself on the soft ground—which is, of course, what Geralt does to put on his own. Priscilla and Jaskier waste a few minutes on a tiff over whether it is polite or belittling for Jaskier to insist on helping her with her own skates whether she wants it or not, but eventually they are all ready to go.

Geralt is the first to the ice. He tests the toe of his bone skate against it, judging the friction of it, deciding if it is likely to hold his weight even with the evidence of the dozens of people currently gliding and spinning past him. It seems stable. Stepping out, he finds it surprisingly easy to get a feel for balance, the minute shifts of weight that send him one direction or the other. He swings himself wide and turns around to see Priscilla and Jaskier also stepping out onto the river, Jaskier clutching tightly to Priscilla’s sleeve, face white and eyes trained on his feet.

“It’s okay, darling, you’ve got this. You made such good progress last time, come on now,” Geralt can hear Priscilla murmuring under the loud chatter of nearby skaters.

When Jaskier sees Geralt watching them, he bodily removes Priscilla’s hands from his person and says, “Please, Pris, I’m a capable man.”

She bristles immediately, leaving him to stand on his own. “And I wasn’t a capable woman when I was putting on my skates?”

Jaskier ignores her to begin shuffling awkwardly across the ice, his knees locked straight.

“Jaskier?” Geralt says apprehensively.

“Doing peachy, thanks, it’ll come back to me, just need to recall how to, um—oh no—” Jaskier starts with a strained voice before he promptly stops, because he has begun to slide inexorably forward. Priscilla and Geralt both reach toward him, but they’re too late; Jaskier’s arms wheel wildly, he tilts on wobbly ankles, and he faceplants onto the ice.

“Ow,” squeaks the Jaskier-shaped lump.

“I think your nose is broken,” says Geralt. He dabs at the blood on Jaskier’s top lip with the edge of his own cloak. They are safely back on the bank, and Jaskier is, this time, sitting in the mud. “I guess you were right,” he goes on wryly. “You’re exactly as graceful as a baby elk.”

“I knew you were making fun of me,” Jaskier says thickly, due to the nose injury. “I also knew you’d be a natural. Bastard. I could never get the hang of this stupid bullshit.”

Geralt hums and wipes off the last of the blood. At least it’s clotted quickly. Maybe it’s not a break.

“You didn’t need to lie about your abilities. Who are you trying to impress?”

Jaskier snorts, then winces in pain. His fingers twist in his lap. “Oh, that’s funny.”

Now, Geralt is often joking, but he’s fairly certain that that wasn’t one. Did Jaskier also hit his head? He pushes back Jaskier’s fringe to check his forehead for signs of bruising and doesn’t find any. “Um,” he says, “what is?”

Priscilla skates past holding hands with a woman that Geralt thinks she met approximately three minutes ago. She calls, “All right, Jask?” and in reply, Jaskier gives her a bitter thumbs up. She winks and swoops away as quickly as she came.

“Because I was trying to impress you, obviously,” he answers, gazing after her, before he turns his eyes back to Geralt.

Geralt pauses. “Why?”

“Because I’m actually always trying to impress you. And everyone else, constantly, but…mostly you.”

“You don’t do a very good job of it,” he says, and regrets it when he hears how it sounds coming out of his mouth.

Jaskier smiles. It’s genuine, if a little wistful, like Geralt has amused but not surprised him. “I am well aware, thanks.”

He reaches for the words that will take that edge of resignation off Jaskier’s face, feeling like a fumbling fool. “That’s not what I meant. I meant you don’t need to try to impress me.”

“Yes, I know it doesn’t matter, but I can’t help—”

“No,” Geralt interrupts, “I mean you don’t need to try because you do.” He clears his throat. “Impress me.”

“Oh,” says Jaskier, and then nothing more. “That’s. Okay.”

“Yeah,” says Geralt. He has never been so exposed in his life. He thinks that’s probably a bad thing. “How’s your nose? We could try again, if you want.”

Jaskier looks around at the laughing crowds and shrugs. “Came all this way, got all bundled up. Might as well! I’m sticking with you this time, though.”

They find a spot at the farthest reach of the torchlight where the ice is less populated to step out. Geralt goes first, as before, and finds his footing even faster this time. He returns to Jaskier’s side after a moment of testing the reliability of his newfound skills, and presents his forearm as a handhold. Jaskier does not protest about his capability this time and takes the offering. With a long preparatory exhale, he puts one foot and then the other onto the ice.

“I’ve got you,” Geralt says quietly.

Jaskier replies, “I know you do.”

“Can’t let more harm come to the money maker. I’ve gotten used to staying in inns.”

“Good gods,” says Jaskier, “I’ve broken him.”

They gradually move farther from the bank. “Loosen up,” Geralt tells him. “Don’t lock your knees. It’s like you’re trying to fall over.”

Jaskier grumbles but takes the advice, and eventually he gains the confidence to move a little faster, though not to stop hanging on to Geralt. They stay on the fringes where they are less likely to be run into by a distracted stranger, gliding along at pace, with Jaskier remarking on the who’s-who of Oxenfurt society who are also out tonight. Geralt recognizes some of the more powerful names, but mostly he lets Jaskier chatter on so he doesn’t think too hard about his feet.

Priscilla passes by and greets them a few more times with her new companion, who at one point proclaims, “You two are so cute together!” before Priscilla drags her back into the mob. Geralt glances over and thinks Jaskier might be blushing, but that might also be due to the swelling around his nose.

“Should ice your face,” says Geralt.

“Sure, later. Hey!” He swings around to face Geralt, stopping their progress. “Spin me!” At Geralt’s no doubt dubious expression, he pouts. “Geralt, I demand to be spun. It’ll be fun!”

“Fine,” Geralt sighs.

He takes Jaskier’s hand, and has a flash of his daydream. There’s too many people, and it does still smell like fish, but this isn’t too far off—

He collects himself, holds their joined hands over Jaskier’s head, and gives him a little push to start him spinning, not too quick, but Jaskier takes it upon himself to propel himself a little faster. Jaskier laughs and maintains his balance remarkably well, until he exclaims “Oops—dizzy—!” and topples directly into Geralt, succeeding in knocking them both down, Geralt on his own back, Jaskier flat on his chest.

Geralt, trapped between the frigid ice and Jaskier’s weight, looks up as Jaskier starts to laugh. The steam of his breath hits Geralt’s cheek, and his knitted hat has gone askew, and his nose is turning purple, and Geralt puts his hand around the back of Jaskier’s neck and pulls him down and kisses him.

Jaskier leans away. “What?” he asks, eyes wide, then continues, “oh, who cares,” and leans back down.

Later, with an ice pack pressed to Jaskier’s face and two more hot mugs at the kitchen table, Geralt watches Jaskier rummage through his cupboards. He comes back with two packets, one matching the floral tea from earlier and a different one. He hands the latter to Geralt.

“Black tea,” he says, “for you. Noticed you didn’t like my herbal stuff. I don’t either, to be honest, but I already spent the coin on it.”

“Thanks,” Geralt replies, oddly touched.

As Jaskier passes Geralt to take his seat, he leans down and pecks him on the cheek. Smiling faintly beneath the ice pack, he says, “You know, Witcher, I’m glad you’re here and not up in some weird lonely castle,” and Geralt finds that he is, too.

#my fic #the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier fic #it's fluff time friends!

206 notes · View notes

nightowlfandom · 4 years

Text

Yandere! Levi Ackerman- Taken Care Of

I lost the ask but I know they wanted some yandere Levi

CHECK OUT MY MASTERLIST HERE!

Okay sooooo DISCLAIMER TIME!!! VERY DESCRIPTIVE mega violence warning, blood, murder, Yandere-ness...Seriously skip this if any of that shit makes you uncomfortable.

Leggo!

...

You couldn’t fathom the scene before your eyes. Blood stained every wall, both fresh and old looking. You couldn’t mull together any reason as to why Levi’s office was covered in blood, seeing as he was a neat freak. Your first conclusion: Levi was hurt. He had enemies, not doubt about that. Maybe a traitor had managed to get a hold of him.

“Sir?!” you felt your blood go cold. There was a lot of it, everywhere. The desk, the windows, the floor. “C-captain!?”

There was a grunt, followed by footsteps. Levi seemingly stepped out of the shadows, his entire front covered in blood, most likely the same blood that had been dripping down the walls.

“Cadet...what are you doing here!” his authoritative side had came out to play.

“The others told me I was the only person you’d wanna see right now.” You shivered. “Are you hurt!?” you instantly jumped to conclusions. “W-what’s going on!”

“Cadet, lower your voice.” he replied. He took slow, predatory steps towards you.

“Why is there blood everywhere? Why are you covered in blood!” you began freaking out. Your first instinct was to grab Levi’s hands just as he got to arms reach. “Are you sure you aren’t hurt?!” You began inspecting him.

“You’re worried about me.” was his answer. You were praying the damage wasn’t too bad. “I’m not the one you should be worried about, L/N.”

(Descriptive gore ahead, proceed with caution)

“What do you mean-” you stopped talking as you saw something out the corner of your eye. “Levi what’s that?” You let go on his hands. You could barely make out what you saw, but it looked like a leg.

“See for yourself...” he made room for you to walk over to his desk and take a gander. His face was unreadable, it made you a little reluctant. You slowly walked over, your heartbeat growing louder and faster. The sight was ghastly. A barely recognizable mutilated body. Their clothes were practically torn to shreds. Their face was...practically gutted. Their stab wounds were deep, like they were meant to stick out. Confusion and fear was all you could express, but you couldn’t speak.

You couldn’t figure out who it was, even if you tried. It was too ghastly to even look at.

“I was always a firm believer that your outer appearance should be a reflection of you are on the inside.” Levi stood behind you. “Does this person look familiar?”

“ I can barely recognize them.” you answered truthfully. You wouldn’t scream or run, that’d make it worse. “Who is this!?” You turned towards him. “Why would you-”

“You should know.” you could hear the hate in his voice. “I seem to remember this man being a source of grief for you?”

“...No...not him. P-peter?” was the first name to leave your lips. It wasn’t intentional, but it was the only conclusion you could come to.

“You tried to keep him a secret from me...but you should know that as your captain, I know everything. I have soldiers everywhere.” he looked down at what used to be your former friend. A ‘nice guy’ gone wrong. “As your captain, I make your personal affairs my business.”

You knew what that meant. That rule was in order only for you. Levi had an entirely different set of rules when it came to you. You were his favorite cadet, which meant something else aside from getting special treatment. Everyone was scared to even bump into you. You were rarely ever chosen for sparring matches when Levi was around. It was hard to even have friends when he was near.

Shit, you could barely catch a break when he wasn’t. People had thought you two were secretly married or something, but no. You just happened to catch his eye. Something in him snapped and got those gears running, he didn’t care about anything else. You were his only priority. His infatuation for you came before his hatred for titans.

You didn’t even think that was possible.

“You killed him.”

“Oh no, Cadet....I annihilated him. I slaughtered him...all for you. He was a problem, and I solved it.” you felt one of his arms wrap around you. “Like I’ve said many times before, you’re my cadet.”

“How did you even find him?” you barely choked.

“I followed him of course, what a silly question..” he scoffed. “He barely even put up a fight.” he snarled. “Killing his worthless ass was easy.”

“What was the hard part?” you dared to ask.

“Figuring out how to hide it from you.” a sick smile broke out on his face. “But you caught me red-handed.”

You ignored that pun, stepping away from him. “Why would you do that?!”

“Because he had it fucking coming.” he grunted in reply. “He’s lucky that’s all I did to him. I was gonna dismember him and feed him to the grass when I was done when you walked in...but now that you’re here...” he trapped you against the wall. “Tell me, Cadet...why are you here.”

“I overheard that y-you were upset...you didn’t wanna see or talk to anyone. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Using your privilege's as my favorite.” he leaned closer and closer. “Tell me Y/N...I don’t believe I’ve heard a thank you for taking the garbage out.”

He was close, too close for comfort.

“Go ahead...say it...’Thank you, Levi.’ “ he smiled again.

“T-thank you Levi.” you didn’t know what else to say. If you didn’t respond, you’d probably make it worse.

“Good girl.” before you could register anything else, Levi had kissed the corner of your mouth. “I’ll make sure you’re taken care of, I promise.”

#attack on titan #attack on titan au #attack on titan imagines #attack on titan levi #attack on titan x reader #aot #aot x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman imagines #levi ackerman au #levi ackerman lemon #anime fan fiic #anime scenarios #anime x reader #anime lemon #anime imagines #levi x reader #levi aot

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heli0s-writes · 5 years

Text

Eat the Rich*

Summary: You’re just a girl in a bar way above your tax bracket and Ransom really doesn’t care for what you’re wearing.

A/N: There are no spoilers for the movie. But, there IS... Smut. Dirty talk. Class warfare in the form of hate-fucking. 2.9k words of FILTH. I need to be exorcised for this. Thank you @evanstarff and @tropicalcap for sending me straight to hell.

The entire lounge seems to turn when you enter. Eyes slide back and forth your way, mid-conversation mouths dipping into low frowns. Amidst the old-money frat boys from Cambridge, Beacon Hill Barbie socialites, and Downtown business young bloods, you’re a flagrant contrast in ripped jeans and an old hoodie.

A favorite hoodie. An incendiary hoodie.

The kind of hoodie that is worn with pride around these West End parts. Even the group you arrive with tried to hackle you out of it— bachelorette party decorum, they cried, will you please take that thing off?

Your cousin might be marrying Silverspoon Asswipe and stringing herself up pretty next to all his call-girl friends, but you are a Jamaica Plain girl through and through and you will not stuff yourself into a glitzy cocktail dress before this hoodie.

She waves her hand at the hostess to distract her from your outfit, rustling the satin sash over her glossy sweetheart neckline, “Reservation under Prentiss; it was booked this morning?” And then a sharp look at you as if to say, you made the reservations, right?!

Duh. Your eyes respond when the hostess begins to lead your party back. You follow the tail end of the throng, veering off towards the bar; the miasma of Chanel perfume is enough to gag, and the cigar smoke is only a tiny bit better. Not like they’d care or even notice.

“Do you have PBR?”

The bartender stutters and before you can make him any more uncomfortable, a deep voice from beside you nips it in the bud.

Broad shoulders turn until you see his face. Amused, with a single raised eyebrow, mouth just barely tilting up at one corner. Mid-thirties and extremely well-groomed. Slicked back brown hair and classic Ray Bans hang from the collar of his sweater. Too handsome for his own good with the unmistakable swagger of someone grown up filthy rich.

“She’ll have the Glenfiddich. Neat.”

Certainly smug enough to butt in like you’re old friends.

“Will she?” You ponder defiantly at the pursed lips nestled over a strong jaw.

His own thick crystal glass is easily tipped into his mouth when he takes a too-large swig. Signet rings on two left fingers glimmer, and with a low exhale bordering a growl, he hisses through his teeth, “Yeah. I think you will.”

Bold blue eyes roam over your top and the statement printed there for a second before he scrutinizes your face. Then, purposefully—and knowing that your eyes are on him-- he looks back down to the swell of your chest.

A hum of approval before he faces forward again, only giving you his side profile.

“Wow,” you scoff, “Dick.”

The grin that splits his mouth for a second looks angelic if angels could be full-grown men with full-grown egos to match. “Close. It’s Ransom.”

Amber sloshes when the bartender returns, and you chance a sip because even your pride isn’t stupid enough to pass on a free glass of Glenfiddich.

The whiskey bites for a second before rolling smoothly down your throat. There’s an inherently superior taste to these luxury drinks, but you pull a face all the same, unwilling to give him the satisfaction. Ransom chuckles, head turning just a tad as he looks to you from the corner of his eye.

“You making a statement with that thing on, or what?”

“You’re the one making a statement with that ladies wool scarf from Drake’s.”

Ransom jerks to you fully now, attention snatched by your wit as he leans in, “Where’d you come from, little girl? Not everyone walks into Carver’s dressed in rags.”

He really is a piece of work. When you tell him your neighborhood, as expected, he snorts with disdain, but his eyes fall back on you again, highly intrigued. “There’s more to you, isn’t there? My scarf, that attitude. Someone taught you a thing or two, didn’t they?”

The single-malt mouthful is singing in your veins and if your confidence was thinking about simmering down for a second, it’s forgotten itself inside the furious swirl. The hand around your empty glass clutches just a tiny bit tighter.

“Oh, come on,” Ransom waggles two fingers for another round, “Let’s see, I’m thinking… blue-collar parents, siblings, maybe with shared rooms in your dilapidated Jamaica Plain home?” A tap of his finger to that pink bottom lip too damn pretty to be on his wretched face, he pretends to mull a thought over.

He looks you up and down, taking just enough time to where you feel violated under his gaze, “I know: Public college. Two-year community. Working a day job in Back Bay made you bitter, didn’t it? Hence, statement piece.”

“Asshole,” you snap, unraveling at the seams with rage, and the bartender quickly flits away again, “Full ride to Northeastern, four years with honors. Back Bay can’t fucking afford me.”

You don’t know how he does it, but his derisive silence incenses you even more. He couples it with a slow flick of his tongue over teeth, flagrant staring, and the piercing blue of his eyes spotlight a trail—across your shoulders, down your arm, jumping from your fingertip to your thigh, and then it dips between.

Every inch of your body prickles alive with reaction, so naturally, you spit, “Fuck you.”

Ransom’s smile grows until it nearly looks genuine, but then the sharp points of his canines sink right into your gut.

“When?”

There is something ugly and incredible simmering behind his thick curtain eyelashes. A clear ocean grows stormy, sizzling like a cruel tempest rushing to life. The yellow gaussian blur from dim scone lights suddenly cast shadows over his sharp nose.

He slaps too many bills on the polished ebony and the swish of his scarf flicks over your knee when he stands. Ransom towers over you, light pink flush of inebriation and excitement growing hotter on his sculpted cheeks. He leans in, the open flaps of his overcoat falling around your shoulder, threatening to swallow you inside all his dark.

Low timbre and dusky spice goads, “Put your money where your mouth is, scholarship; that sweater’s not all talk, is it?”

Dick!

Big hands yank the hem up over your head for a second before something changes his mind. The heavy steel door is latched twice over and he’s pushing you into it with his imposing frame. Your skull hits the metal as his knee parts your thigh, leg shoving itself up in-between until you’re on your tip-toes, with nothing to do but land on him. The heat of it rushes all the way up to the top of your head, pouring from your mouth in a choked mewl.

Ransom rucks the top over your breasts until the words scrunch up at your collarbones and you think it must bring him some masochistic satisfaction to know their unforgiving glare:

Eat the Rich

His warning chills your spine.

“I’m gonna fuck that line from your brain. Fuck it right out.”

He yanks everything south of your waist to your ankles and pulls himself free from his pants, effortlessly tearing a condom from inside his leather wallet and slipping it on. Between the time he gets your bare ass on the counter and the sound of the rubber snap, he’s already branded a purple streak onto the side of your neck and you’re embarrassingly wet.

Your breath hitches in your throat when you see his length rising from beneath his cable-knit. Bright pink and angry, and so goddamn thick it makes you whimper. Ransom smothers it with his demanding and hungry mouth, impatient at being empty, stinging with whiskey and force. He’s probably never waited on anything in his life and within a short fifteen minutes of meeting him, you know that to be true.

Not a care in the world is given as goosebumps break out all over your arms.

He spins you into the sink countertop and then the two of you are staring at each other in the mirror’s reflection. His hands return to your hips with a bruising clutch and those thick fingers begin to rub the slick between your folds all over your thighs. Fucking A-- It’s good. Idiot rich boy does have the Midas Touch.

One long leg kicks your jeans completely off, sole of his shoes stomping all over them. He’s unforgivingly large and he knows it because everything about Ransom Drysdale is a statement: his clothes, his attitude, his dick. There’s a joke in here somewhere about him being the very epitome of it, but he’s glaring at you with that pretty bottom lip stretched between perfect white teeth and maybe you can forgive the fact that he’s leaving boot marks all over your jeans and bruises in the shape of fingerprints on your back.

“Tell me,” he teases, slipping one finger in, the metal of his ring pressing up against your clit, “Tell me you’ve had it like this before.”

A slow roll of his hips against your ass, letting the weight of his cock pressed hot and tight between his body and yours. You find yourself inching higher, micro-movements attuned to his, staring but unseeing at his face, buzzing with the raw need to be clenching around more than one finger.

“Not like this, not off Glenfiddich, in Jamaica Plain…”

And without thinking, because there isn’t much to think about, you hiss, “Oh, fuck you!”

Ransom chuckles into your ear because your voice breaks just a tad and he’s going to win this fight. Claws and teeth out sharper than knives, he bites down on your shoulder and slips in another finger. The distinct sensations—soft, slippery, strokes and the sting of his teeth—are scrambling your brain.

He grips himself tight, pushes in with uncharacteristic restraint, and you’re so desperate and aching for it all you can do is push back and pray the sound you might be making isn’t loud enough for everyone in the damn place to hear.

You stifle a grunt with his next languid stroke and Ransom raises an eyebrow, “What? You suddenly shy now?”

It might be just a restroom, but it’s one of the nicest places you’ve ever been inside. Carver’s cigar room’s private single occupancy nook and he’s usurped it to screw you senseless. As if reading your thoughts, he rolls his eyes and continues, glaring at your half-lidded reflection.

“Who gives a shit?” Then, another smirk, “If you’re gonna scream, get my name right.”

Your belly is quivering from the pressure, holding yourself together as best you can before he takes you to pieces. The grooves in his rings cut into your skin. His hand squeezes your neck, fingers crawling up your chin to shove inside your mouth.

Like everything else he’s ever wanted in his life, he’ll own this, too.

And then it’s only punishment. Ransom twists your hair around one fist, other forearm pressing like an anchor on your sternum, wrist shoved through the neckline, hand splayed open and clutching your throat and it goes nearly all the way around. The reflection of your panting mouth and bouncing breasts matching his every thrust is lewd and vile and so goddamn good.

“I bet you fuck on top, don’t you, scholarship?” He releases your throat to pinch your cheeks together, tipping your head derisively, making you nod yourself stupid—awful and humiliating but it unexpectedly thrills.

“Bet you’re too proud to ask.” He makes you nod again, “Bet you want someone to fuck you open just like this—all filthy and sloppy—“

And he doesn’t have to make you agree that time, you’re already limp in expectation and your reflection, damn her, she nods.

He’s still fully dressed, coat swaying to cocoon the both of you in what is probably a hundred thousand dollars. His watch, his rings, his fucking boxers. That stupid cable knit sweater.

A yelp leaks out with your orgasm- unexpected and high and quick, like a wounded animal as you tip your head back onto his shoulder. He doesn’t stop, even for a second. Ransom thrusts deeper, and on the cusp of your second undoing, he licks an errant bead of sweat down the back of your neck.

“You got one more. Yeah, that’s right— one more— God, your pussy loves it. Squeezing me fucking good.” He’s sick. He’s sick and Jesus Christ, aren’t you, too? “Yeah. Push back on my cock. Fuck yourself with it…”

He guides your fingers to your clit with his free hand and begins to rub in motions. Your eyes flutter when he breathes into your ear, “There you go, scholarship, you’ll never get dick this good again—so go ahead and be selfish. I wanna see you all fucked out, fucked stupid, coming all over my dick.”

With two fingers sluiced with your spit, Ransom crams them up next to his cock and you can’t believe how he did it so easily but maybe you can. Yes, filthy and sloppy and never like you’ve had before. Your hands grip the counter top so tightly the tips look white and bloodless and the strained coil inside snaps clean in two.

“Fuck! Oh fuck! God!”

You slump backwards, fingertips to toes shocked tingly numb, boneless and empty of all thought, but he holds you up with ease. Ransom shushes your gasps, paws your breasts and fluttering sternum, runs his hand over your face and throat. The pinch of his fingers returns to your cheeks and he drags his other hand from inside your pussy up into to your mouth. Slick and dripping, a little rubbery from the condom, but otherwise just like yourself.

“Well, look at that. Aren’t you just…”

He pauses to view your blissful face, covered in a sheen layer of sweat, head resting on his shoulder, slanted just enough so that the tip of your nose brushes his jaw. A quick laugh, strangely knowing and a bit sweet or maybe you’re imagining it in your delirium, before he turns cold again.

“Make good on your slogan. Get on your fucking knees.”

His hand looks ridiculous, big and strong and wrapped around the best part of him, completely filthy with you smeared over his fist and you slide to your knees, forehead resting briefly on his knee. His pants have fallen around his ankles, boxers still midway, and you’re so exhausted you can hardly do much more than give him a light kiss to his inner thigh—God knows why—before you peel the rubber off.

It lands into the toilet and you obediently stick out your tongue, still panting to catch your breath as Ransom aims toward your open throat. “There you go,” he groans, fisting himself, “That’s it. Don’t let a single drop go to waste.”

And you don’t.

“So,” your old mentor asks, familiar low drawl of his voice crackling with the tone of a lifelong smoker, “What do you think?”

A hum passes through from your end as you think about all the ways Ransom Drysdale Thrombey pulled you apart and in all the ways you’ll probably think about for at least a couple of months.

“He’s exactly who you think he is.” You rock back and forth on your feet near the curb, “Disrespectful…” Scholarship, Ransom’s voice sneers, “Selfish…” Who gives a shit? “Manipulative.”

Well look at that… aren’t you just… And the glimmer of those big blue eyes half-crazed with lust and control, drinking in your reflection in the mirror, makes you clench up right there in the parking lot.

“You think he’s a killer?” Blanc asks quietly.

“I don’t know,” You reply, “Depends. He takes what he wants when he wants it… Could care less if he burns the world down with him. You divine the rest.”

Benoit Blanc’s frustrated sigh is all the response you expect him to give. This case with the Thrombeys really has gotten him all twisted up. He wouldn’t have called you for a favor if it didn’t. Of course, when he asked you to check Ransom Drysdale Thrombey out, he’ll be at Carver’s tomorrow around ten, he probably had other scenarios in mind…

“Well,” he mumbles, “Thanks again. These people sure are hell to be around. Give the new Prentisses my best, won’t you?”

You say your goodbyes and tuck your phone back into your pocket, shifting with a wince when the soreness between your legs throbs again. With a sigh into the dark autumn night, you shove your hands inside the center pouch of your hoodie, keeping your head low but still wary enough to find your Uber.

Ransom left you in the restroom about ten minutes ago, sitting on your haunches, still trying to remember how your lungs work. Right before the door shut, he had turned around and gave you one last smirk, pointing right at your top with glee. “How’d I taste, baby?”

Blanc needs to be careful, not that he isn’t— because he always is, as nutty as his brain works, he is. But Ransom is the only Thrombey you’ve met and if there are ten more of them… Blanc would do good to watch his ass and maybe get some extra help.

A jangle disrupts the quiet when you begin to play with what you’ve taken. Jagged metal edges. Heavy iconic insignia laying benignly in your palm before you tug it out.

Idiot. Good dick or not, an idiot is an idiot is an idiot— especially his kind. Didn’t even notice you slipped these right out of his coat pocket. You swing the ring around your flexed pointer in swift, angry circles, keys clanging together before your hand shuts it up.

With a hard wind of your arm back, you fling the set long into the night, satisfied when it lands behind a building some distance away.

Ransom Drysdale, you think, enthusiastic smile growing on your face as your ride pulls around the corner, have fun looking for those tonight.

Dick!

Ransom tags: @mermaidxatxheart @dumbubblegum @sapphirescrolls @gothambrat @southerncross47 @bubblegumpeeeach @fiercephantasmagoria @saliarheva @amberakawolfie

Perm tags: @whothehellisbucky @serpentbaby @badassbaker @alagalaska @cake-writes @crist1216 @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @infinity-saga @jamesbarnesthighs @pinknerdpanda @xoxabs88xox @imsoft-barnes @momc95 @typicalangel @wretchedgoddess @readeity @iwannasail @ya-lyublu-tebya @geeksareunique @wildefire @satanxklaus @jhangelface0523 @wkemeup @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave

#knives out #ransom thrombey #ransom drysdale #ransom x reader #smut #fanfiction #reader insert #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale thrombey #ransom x you #eat the rich heli0s

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mandalorewhore · 4 years

Text

Common Ground

Part 2 of Hunter (formerly Hunter and Prey)

gif by @themandaloriandaily

Rating: Explicit Content Warnings: SMUT, Oral Sex (fem recieving), Cock Warming, Descriptions of violence/blood , Edging (maybe?), Dirty talk, Praise kink, Size kink, Big Dick Mando, Blindfolded Sex Words: 11.7k AO3 LINK

Summary: Reader and Mando land on Nevarro to meet with Karga

A/N: im sorry to niceguy!Karga in season 2

This would be less awkward if you knew how to talk to the man.

The awkwardness is probably one-sided though you doubt he’s brooding over what the two of you did last night in this cockpit. You’re not a blushing virgin afraid to talk about sex, but it would be nice if you actually knew something you both had in common, since you’re going to be spending a lot of time together. The extent of your conversations have been about sex, mechanics, and killing people. That’s pretty fitting for the two of you, you suppose. He is… Officially? your bounty hunting partner now.

However, he’s very comfortable in silence, so much so that it seems to be a central part of his character, much like the armor strapped to his body. Is being reserved a part of the Mandalorian creed too, or does he just prefer it? Does he want to talk about how you sucked his dick mere hours after abandoning your jobs as mercenaries? What is he thinking about right now? You could probably ask him all this, you know. Your internal argument is boiling over like a forgotten pot as you ruminate in the passenger seat of the Crest’s cockpit.

You woke up in his arms a few hours ago, curled up in the pilot seat together, your face feeling a bit grimey due to not scrubbing it clean after he gave you that facial. Feeling cozy in the quiet moments that follow waking, you snuggled in closer to his warmth, still only separated by the thin layer of his undershirt. You started when his palm squeezed your shoulder, his way of letting you know he was already awake.

There’s an unspoken feeling about the way he fell asleep in your presence. You may work together now, but you’re still virtual strangers and Mando is a professional. You doubt he’ll pass out in front of you again.

Slumped in your seat, you mull over every second that passed between the two of you. Meanwhile, he’s just sitting there like a lump of metal. Unaffected. Impassive. If you didn’t have first-hand proof of the deliciously warm skin he hides, you would’ve passed him off as a droid.

Actually when you think about it… when it comes to conversation topics, maybe metal is the place to start. As in, the ship that is now your impromptu home for the foreseeable future. You’ve gleaned that the Crest is like home to the Mandalorian and, come to think of it, he seemingly opted to sleep on his little cot down in the ship’s hull instead of taking up a bunk back on the space station. If he were anyone else, the gesture would’ve been ostentatious. It gave the impression that he was ready to leave at any moment.

But no one wants to confront a Mandalorian.

Bringing up the Crest is probably a safe option and you’re knowledgeable about ships. You can hold your ground when it comes to the technicalities of mechanics. Plus, you can be charming when you want to be; on merc jobs you weren’t put into the femme fatal role for no reason. Although you’ve casually lured men to their death, you’re more nervous to chat with Mando. But you’re determined to try. Try to be appealing...

“I’m curious… Once I have some credits saved up, would you be interested in adding mods to the Razor Crest? I haven’t gotten a good look yet, but I’m floating some ideas around.” You bite your lip automatically out of apprehension, but hoping it comes across as playful. You’re not out of line or anything; it's been hours since you last exchanged any words so it's not like you’ve been chatting his ear off. Still, you worry that you sound extra loud to someone who’s spent so long in stillness.

“That may be useful. What were you thinking?” Mando’s response comes only a second later, and even though he faces the cockpit’s transparisteel windows as he speaks, you’re giddy at his swiftness to respond.

“Well, I would love to touch her up a little. There are some issues with the hyper-drive and coms that could be fixed pretty easy. As for modifying, I saw that you installed a mobile carbonite-freezing chamber for bounties?” He nods to affirm your guess. “I could move that ‘round to utilize the space for storage and better suit two people living here. Either install a bed that can swing down or-”

“Separate beds are unnecessary. We can sleep in shifts or share the bunk.”

“O-oh. Sound’s good.” You gulp, feeling a little warm. The implication makes you sweat even if he shot down your idea. “Well, upgrading the deflector shields would be a good idea. Protect her better, plus efficient heat dispersal during atmospheric flight would let us jump into hyperspace faster. If we need to run or just want to fuck off somewhere.”

“Hm. That is a good idea. She’s fast but there's always room for improvement.” He accentuates his response by patting the console lightly, and something about the way his hand lingers gently on the surface reminds you of a parent touseling their child’s hair. A smile stretches across your face, finally relaxing a little after being so tense all morning. For someone that you thought was so serious, he sometimes reveals a sentimental side to his personality. It makes you want to ask him more, to know more about him and how he thinks, but you’re so nervous about asking him anything even slightly personal, anything that has to do with his preferences or opinions. Your short exchange about his ship went pretty smoothly you think, maybe you can ask him more, you’ll just stay on the topic of starships. That should be fine.

“Do you have a dream ship?” You blurt, sounding a little less casual than you were trying for. Oops.

He takes longer to respond this time, seemingly thinking the question over. “No. Maybe when I was younger. I have the Crest now, there isn’t a need to plan for another ship.”

There's that seriousness again, the way he responds to you makes you think that he has never had to answer hypothetical questions before. It makes perfect sense, the average person doesn’t go around asking tall, intimidating Mandolorians about their hobbies. What a Gonk Droid. I’m jealous he can get away with talking like that. Still, you do want to continue this conversation if only to hear his voice. “Nothin’ about planning Mando, just a little make-believe. Personally, I like an A-Wing, the RZ-1 variant is classic even if the 2 is flashier. X-Wings are neat too, minus the pigs flying them.”

A weird huff passes through his voice filter and he finally turns to face you. You’re caught off guard by the sudden eye-visor contact, so it’s a second later when you process what that noise was, and the realization makes you positively giddy. “Oh shit, did I make a Mandolorian laugh? Am I on Spice?”

“That’s funny- pigs don’t deserve the nice Starfighters.” He laughs again, clearer this time while warmth feelings bloom within you at his reaction. It’s so unbelievable to you that he’s here laughing at something you said. You never once heard a reaction like that from him before now. “Those fast ships are impressive and great for combat, but I need a bigger space… a YV-929 would suit my needs.”

“Of course it would, there’s like 1000 guns on that blocky thing. Plus the Empire banned it and you like to break rules.” The ship he named is virtually the same build as the Razor Crest, just with more guns, which is amusing to you.

Creature of habit, you think, finding yourself leaning subtly closer to his body with every exchange. You don’t think you’re imagining him doing the same.

“16. Could add more though.” He murmurs and something in his voice makes you think that he isn’t being entirely humorous.

Maker, he is probably mapping out all the baster mods he could stick on that bulky freighter. You’re still amused by his very literal sense of things. You settle back in your seat to observe the hyperspace light streaking across the cockpit, a comfortable silence falling over the cockpit.

As you sit there and ruminate, the topic of weapons brings forth a vague memory in your mind.

Someone once told you that Mandalorians aren’t considered great fighters due only to reputation and rumor. Most people are aware that armor and weaponry is part of the Mandalorian culture, but fewer are aware that such items have religious significance, going much deeper than a learned skill. Mandalorians are revered as great warriors not just because of their physical training, but because fighting and waging battle is a form of prayer.

Despite finding rumors about Mandalorians to be generally exaggerated, you feel this one may be true.

You’re curious but afraid to ask him to elaborate. The fact that neither of you exchanged more than a few words when you worked together is proof of his preferred privacy. Even though you’re pretty sure he wouldn’t mind giving you some sort of explanation about his culture, you decide to avoid any personal questions.

Plus you really don’t want to come across as asking about his helmet.

You break the silence shyly, trying to smoothly bring up a different topic. “Down in the hull… I haven’t explored much of your ship, I don’t want to come across as snooping. But I’m wondering, what sort of manpower have you got stored here?”

“I installed an armory. Do you want to see it?”

Fuck yes you want to check it out, his personal collection must be a wet dream.

“Yes, I’d love to!” You reply excitedly. The weapons Mando carried were always fascinating. You especially admired that rifle he slung across his back. You’ve never seen it in action but you heard it evaporated its targets. The two spokes at the end made you wonder how it shot. There has to be different settings on the gun, it would be impractical to evaporate all your targets especially if you need to bring back bounties, dead or alive. The bullets he slung across his chest must be paired with the rifle based on their size and shape when you compare them to the rifle chamber. What sort of charge do they contain to completely disintegrate its victims?

You’re tapping your fingers on your bottom lip, calculating how the rifle might function when his leg brushes past you. Glancing up in surprise, you realize he’s already headed to the cockpit ladder, twisting his upper body as he turns his helmet to look back at you.

“Come on.” You’re unable to read his face but something in his body language makes you think he’s amused by you. Flushing red, you scramble upright from the leather seat to follow him down to his armory. He slides first down the ladder, not bothering to use the rungs. Being unfamiliar with the area you opt to carefully descend one portion at a time, unaware of the view you’re giving Mando. By the time you reach the bottom, he’s diverted his gaze.

Tall body moving to a panel on the wall, he punches in a four-digit code, prompting a smooth metal cabinet on the opposite wall to slide open with a hiss. You shake your head at this. The man has a tiny metal cot but he installed a hydraulic system for his weapons cabinet. But when you look closer at the exhibit your jaw falls open.

Oh my… Now that’s sexy.

The two side doors hang open to reveal a space in the middle filled with large blasters. His mid-sized guns are stacked horizontally above each other while the longer rifles lay vertically to the right of the center display. The doors contain smaller handguns of varying design and purpose. Each weapon is unique, there is not a single inch of wasted space given to any blaster if it doesn’t have distinct properties. Eyes locked on the arsenal, you scoot forward and make grabby hands at the cabinet.

“Oo, they’re beautiful! Can I- May I see?” You are immediately drawn to a cylindrical pistol mounted at the very top of the stack, the gun’s sight a smooth metal and grip warm brown. Despite its deadly properties, it is a fucking gun, something about it looks soft to the touch. You’re finding more and more that you enjoy the juxtaposition of lethality and softness.

Even though you’ve made no specification on which gun you want to hold, Mando reaches out and selects the very gun you’re attracted to and hands it to you. I should stare less, it's like he can read my mind. Despite resolving to do so the thought is fuzzy, unimportant when you’re so excited about handling one of the prettiest pistols you’ve ever seen. Mando watches you from a few feet away.

“Good choice. I usually conceal-carry that blaster since it’s small on me, looks like the perfect size for you though.” Mando’s compliment has you grinning up at him, feeling giddy and full of light, but you’re quickly drawn back to look at the gun. Turning the weapon over in your hands you admire the polished metal, the texture making a satisfying noise as you run your fingers on its silky surface. The weight is perfectly balanced as you aim it at the wall, lining up the sight with a seam in the metal paneling.

“You can carry it from now on.”

What? It’s a good thing you know your trigger safety otherwise you would’ve pulled the trigger in shock, probably ricocheting the blast into your head. The giddy energy drains from you, replaced by apprehension and confusion. Why is he giving me so much shit?

Of course you’re thankful. You’re incredibly thankful to be on the Razor Crest at all; however you can’t help feeling as if you owe Mando on a level where you’re incapable of repaying him. He didn’t have to take you with him when he dropped Ran’s crew, he didn’t have to indulge your sexual fantasies, he didn’t have to comfort you, didn’t have to partner with you, and he doesn’t need to give you this blaster. It is certainly a collectible, a rarity. A Mandalorian wouldn’t have it on hand if it were some run of the mill E-11 handed out to every Stormtrooper in the Empire.

But what can you even say to him? It would be incredibly awkward if you refused him right now. Your mind races.

Best focus on the easy stuff. As long as he doesn’t drop me off on some wasteland I’ll be fine. That blaster is too pretty to decline so with your willfulness broken by aesthetic pleasure, you holster the gun on your hip, opposite the blaster you already carry.

“Thank you. I’ll put it to good use.” You try to inject as much gratefulness into your voice as possible, even though you still feel odd about taking it.

“Yes, you will. Get ready and come back to the cockpit, we’ll be on Nevarro in a hour.”

------------------------------------------

You’re used to men like Greef Karga but that doesn’t mean they’ll stop being annoying.

The way he speaks like he’s owed something from you just because you’re listening, the way it’s clear that every decision he makes is in self-interest, the way he eyes the women around him, yourself included. He isn’t outright dismissive like some men; such as the guard placed behind him only having eyes for your partner; but you can tell he either doesn’t take you seriously or he is more concerned about how he can sexualize you.

He definitely isn’t treating Mando as a joke. Annoying.

But, it’s not all bad. You got a kick out of how a hush came over the dusty cantina when the Mandalorian entered. He had been walking behind you which, with a little imagination, gave the effect that they were all reacting to your presence instead. Even though in reality, no one had ever reacted to you that way unless they were leering. You like how they fear him. It's a turn-on.

You wish they would fear you like that.

Someone says your name, startling you out of your thoughts. You realize that everyone at the table is looking at you expectantly but you didn’t hear the question at all. Kriff, you need to show yourself up more. Mando’s reputation is practically handing you the job but you still need to sell your skills to get anything decent out of Karga. He’s so stingy with the quarry's, even with Mando despite how he kissed the Mandalorian’s ass when greeting him. You figure that Mando didn’t take on bounties often, which put his skills in high demand.

“Uhh, sorry. A bit distracted. Can you repeat the question, please?” You reply, accentuating the please with a bat of your lashes while looking Karga full in the face. If he’s going to objectify you, you may as well play into it. Smiling, he leans forward and pushes a glass of Spotchka into your hands, lingering a little longer than necessary when your fingers meet.

“I asked if you wanted a drink. Take it, I can see you need one.” He winks at you while you stare indignantly, wondering what he means by that. It’s not like you’re sweating bullets in here. You’ve been here countless times on countless planets. Seedy cantinas with seedier people. Hopefully, he’s just flirting and doesn’t think you’re nervous. Maybe the flirting is backfiring.

You grip the glass and wet your mouth with the drink, enjoying the burn for a moment. Mando tilts his helmet at the way you accept Karga’s drink, seemingly looking sideways at you. Narrowing your eyes at him, you drink again and turn back to Karga.

“Thank you, the Spotchka here is lovely.” It’s average, but flattery can’t hurt. Karga laughs robustly at this.

“It’s no Alderaan wine, but it’ll do.” He drains his glass then pours himself another, filling it to the brim before turning to your partner. “So, Mando! Word travels fast around here. I take it you’re a full-time guild member now! I’m not surprised, always took you for the loner type. In fact, I already updated your status to full-time before you landed.” Karga waits for a response from Mando but the man sits silently at your side. Unbothered, Karga continues, “But, I am surprised you stayed that long with Ran in the first place. Must be the pretty ladies he keeps around.”

The comment makes you cringe but you still smile brightly back at him since what he is inferring is clear. Can he just register you already?

“Not alone. She’s with me.” Mando’s reply is short and flat, with no reaction to how you’re attempting to work Karga’s attention, nor at the revelation that Mando’s departure from mercenary work has apparently spread across the sector.

Karga’s smile twists into a smirk as he glances between you and Mando, looking at both of you as if he wants to fit your bodies together like a puzzle. “Well, well, well Mando. Didn’t think you were the type. Is she a bed warmer?”

Your grip tightens on the glass. What the fuck is he implying? You’re rising in your seat, about to let loose on Karga when a gloved hand settles on your shoulder and pulls you down. Excuse me? Do I have to go off on everyone here? Why the fu-

“She’s my hunting partner, my equal. Don’t insult us again.” Oh okay, you don’t know why he stopped you and he still doesn’t sound all that offended, but at least he’s defending you.

Not wanting to be spoken for, you add on, “I’m prepared with my information so that you can register me in the Bounty Hunters Guild. Pull up your holo, I’m done with the small talk.” Your back is rod-straight in the cantina booth, trying to look down at the Guild leader even if he’s seated higher than you. “Also, your Spotchka is shit.”

Karga’s is unphased at your reactions, even rolling his eyes. He replies bluntly, “If you’re going to join my guild then you need to prove to me that I’m not wasting my pucks on you. Don’t rely on the Mandalorian’s reputation. If you aren't out of some brothel then you were a mercenary, were you not?”

At first, the audacity of Karga has you fuming, ready to stand again despite whatever Mando wants. However, as you’re looking out of the corner of your eye at the crowd you realize that the bodies filling the cantina are no longer milling around quite as naturally. It's subtle, to an untrained ear and eye not much has changed. The chatter around you remains at a consistent volume and no one is blatantly staring. But your senses are sharp enough to tell that everyone in this room is On Greef Karga’s side. If a fight broke out you’d likely lose, even with Mando being worth ten men and the shiny new blaster strapped to your hip.

Also, your prospects with the guild would be fucked if you fought everyone right now, which is the whole reason you’re here. You have to play nice and it infuriates you… But you still need the job.

Taking a deep breath to quiet your anger you look to your left away from Karga, only to be startled by Mando’s visor locked directly on you. Sharing a look, one that you can only guess the meaning behind, you find the patience to calm down. You turn back to Karga, locking eyes steadily.

“Sorry for insulting your drinks, that was petty of me. But I am not sorry about how you implied that Mando would keep some poor sex slave around, nor am I sorry for reacting that way. I’d like to start over… If you’ll accept my apology, I’ll accept yours.” You can’t help letting some stubbornness slip into your words. If he’s supposed to be your boss then you aren’t going to keep up a pretense of respect after that. Not without an apology.

You’ve never given much thought to how you look to other people, how you affect the crowd when you enter a room. It’s not that you don’t think you’re pretty. Being assigned roles by Ran that allowed you to dress up and distract targets was a direct affirmation of how you looked, even if they were creeps. But when you walked into this place, the only heads that turned were for the Mandalorian. You've never had the experience of being scary to other people. You’re always having to prove yourself and show everyone that you’re someone who can handle what’s handed to them, an equal to every other hard character in the galaxy’s Outer Rim... it’s tiresome.

Karga is looking at you again, a little differently this time.

“I respect you for being blunt. Do accept my apology.” He sounds sincere enough so you nod, lips drawn tight. Heavy metal suddenly settles on your knee, Mando’s vambrace is laying across the soft flesh on your upper thigh. He squeezes, oh stars. Now you’re feeling flushed for other reasons than anger.

“Do I get an apology?” Mando asks Karga quietly, voice frustratingly mild just like the other two times he’s spoken up in this booth. The other man grins at Mando, more jolly than he should be considering who he insulted.

“My apologies, Mando! Do stay with the guild, your skills are irreplaceable! I’m afraid my jokes can go too far.`` His response is light and humorous but no one is fooled by the tone. A Mandalorian is far too valuable to lose.

After a few seconds pass between the two men you clear your throat, annoyed by everyone dancing around each other while you’re still not signed up to hunt bounties. It’s your only purpose here but whatever. Karga directs his smile at you, pulling his holo from behind him out of his guard’s hand.

“I haven’t forgotten about you, sweetheart. Now, I’m going to put your basic details in… Do you happen to be registered elsewhere, such as under an Identichip?” You shake your head; you always worked behind a moniker. “Great! That makes this easy for me. Simply provide a name, real or not, and I’ll set up a chain code so quarries are tied to your data.”

You provide your name while Karga fiddles around on the device. It’s unclear if it is really that complicated to work the thing or if he is just stalling. This feels a little too easy so far. Didn’t he make a huge fuss about proving yourself? You decide to ask outright, wanting to bring it up instead of waiting around for him to finish.

“I thought I needed to prove myself to you. Aren’t you worried about wasting pucks?” You were trying to tease but the bite in your voice can’t be helped. You worry you might’ve gone too far when Karga looks up at you with open annoyance.

“Do you want to go out back and shoot a few bottles down? Seems childish to me.” He huffs out a short breath and returns to his holo. “I know that you worked with Ran’s crew on mercenary missions which grants you some cred. You can tell me what your specialties were on such jobs and it might convince me to give you the mid-level pucks instead of entry.”

This is unfair, everyone knows it, he’s the one who told you to prove yourself and now he’s making you feel stupid for reminding him. He’s the one who was so concerned about wasting his precious pucks. But now that you’re here… you might actually be able to talk Karga into giving you a better quarry. Taking a deep breath, you start to list your qualifications.

“On mercenary jobs, I usually took a stealth role due to my stature. For certain missions, I would dress to infiltrate a group, sometimes carrying hidden weapons but mostly I would conceal poison in my jewelry, skin powder, or anything similar. I’m a great shot and am knowledgeable about starships. When I first started I had to work my way up the ranks, the lowest being mechanics. Within a year I managed to go from handywoman to assassin... There’s more if you want to hear, although I can’t directly prove anything.” You wish you could actually show all these skills to him instead of just telling him. Karga is right, shooting down dusty bottles like some sort of carnival game would be pretty useless, but at least it would feel more substantial than this.

You’re about to open your mouth and tell Karga more when you’re interrupted by Mando, and he finally sounds emotive, no longer inscrutable in tone. “This is all true. I haven’t worked closely with her on every job but I noticed her when I did. Her stealth was critical to our success during hits. She often worked on my starship. The Crest always came out in better shape once she looked at it.” You’re not sure what emotion is in his voice but whatever it is, it reminds you that his hand is still resting on your knee under the table.

Trying not to smile too widely, you bring your hand down on top of the one on your leg, giving it a pat of thanks. Karga’s eyes follow your movement but thankfully he stays silent, leaning back with a pensive look.

“Alright, this is all very interesting. Tell you what, and don’t take this as an insult, you can either have two entry-level pucks or one mid-tier. It all adds up to the same amount of credits, however, the mid-tier quarries will boost your rank… Mid also comes with a time constraint.”

There’s always a catch with this man you think, a little displeased, but at the same time, you understand that he can’t maintain his business if all pucks were given away in good faith. Mid-tier seems like the best deal, and you aren’t just here for the money. Presumably, this will be your job for a while so you may as well aim ambitiously.

“What are the last known coordinates of the mid-tier bounties?” You ask him, trying to sound like you’ve not already decided to take it.

“One for Corellia and one for Mimban. Neighboring planets.” You grimace, recognizing the names. How lovely, you get to choose between two shitholes. Karga is correct, the planets are right next to each other, so at least you don’t have to worry about fuel. Corellia is more dangerous but the planet is explored thoroughly when compared to Mimban and you’ve already been to Corellia once.

“I’ll take the Corellian bounty, thank you.” Karga slides the puck across the table with an unpleasant scrape before drawing out three more, stacking them in front of the Mandalorian one by one.

“Two are bail jumpers but the credits for each are decent. I also threw in one S level criminal, let's see how you do with that one now that you’re dedicated to my wonderful guild.” Karga grins at Mando so widely that it is almost a grimace. Well, he didn’t have to beg for the good pucks. Yeesh… Mando’s arm lifts from your knee and he gathers the pucks wordlessly.

Mando moves to leave, rising quickly from the booth and leaving you scrambling behind him, slipping your puck in the pocket on your pants. He’s at the door by the time you remember to say goodbye to Karga. Not wanting to be rude even if you don’t really like him, you turn and wave. “Um, bye! Take care.”

He waves back. “You as well, girl.”

A powerful hand grips your forearm and pulls you none too gently to the doors and out into the acrid, volcanic air.

----------------

It would be nice if the man who called you his equal an hour ago would tell you his plans. Instead, he had placed a small bag of credits in your palm and told you to go get some food and wait. You couldn’t find it in yourself to snap at him since you were starving, the last time you ate was probably several days ago, before Cantonica. Your hunger might explain the snippiness you’ve felt all day, actually.

Having finished your meal of dubious-looking soup, you get up to explore a bit before heading back to the ship. The settlement is small and you think it may be the only town on the planet or at least the only one in the area. The land around you is flat enough to see for miles. It’s impressive that Mando disappeared considering the lack of terrain to hide behind. He must be in the city somewhere.

As you wander through the busy main strip, peering at different vendors and booths, you start to feel dejected. Mando defended you, spoke up for you, and even backed up your claims so that you’d look better in front of Karga. Then he just… disappeared. Somewhere. No communication. That's fine.

It’s a little worrisome, the speed at which you’ve become attached to the man. You’ve been together for less than three days, and you already feel weird being alone. You know that you’re being unfair to yourself right now, it's not abnormal to feel lost on a foreign planet plus you literally just lost everything you’ve worked for as a mercenary. But in the end...

Being here, alone and penniless, reminds you of home, the one you had as a child. It’s something you try to forget about.

Swallowing the memories away into that off-limits area within yourself, you decide to leave the bustling road and wander down a dingy alley. Probably not the smartest move but you do have two blasters on your hip. The sounds of the crowd fade in the background as you wander farther and farther down the twisting path.

It’s almost funny how quickly things go south.

Mere minutes later, you find yourself backed up into a wall with two Rodians aiming their blasters at you, your huddled form reflected in their massive, black eyes. One of them jabs your arm with his gun saying something in that grating, echoey voice that most Rodians speak with. You get that they’re both aiming deadly weapons at you but you’re honestly just irritated.

“I don’t have credits on me fellas, you can search me but you won't find shit.” They must understand Basic because one of them pins you to the wall while the other pats your body down, searching for anything valuable. Pulling the empty credit pouch from your belt and throwing it to the ground, he twists you to face the wall, grabbing at one of your blasters. The rare one that Mando just gave you. You start to panic now, the positioning of your bodies making you nervous as you realize how vulnerable you are, fearful that they aren’t just looking for something to steal. Kicking backward at the Rodian pinning your arms, you start to struggle against them, trying hard to wiggle free and pull your other blaster.

You must’ve connected with a kneecap because you hear a sickening crunch at the same time the Rodian howls, falling to the ground. His companion makes a furious sound then lashes out at your face, fingertips just barely connecting with your cheek as you duck slightly too late. Your face stings and feels wet, his gloves seem to have sharp points on the ends. You pray that they aren’t spiked with poison.

The injured member is still preoccupied with his hyperextended knee, granting you just enough time to pull the other blaster from your hip before he joins his partner and turns on you. You throw yourself to the ground, aiming at the same time and squeezing the trigger right before you hit the earth. The shot connects with the Rodian who swung at you and he falls to the ground, shriek cut short. Twisting to your side so you can attempt an evasive roll, you attempt to line the sight up with the chest of your living assailant but your shoulder connects with debris on the ground, jerking it out of your smooth movement.

The blast misses by a few inches.

The pain from whatever you landed on shoots to your fingertips, numbing them. Noticing your distraction, he hurls his body at you thankfully unable to jump accurately due to the injury you gave him. Despite that, he lands on your legs and starts to drag you toward him, abandoning his blaster in his rage while dirt billows around your struggling bodies.

You’re terrified, fear making you clumsy as you handle your blaster. You don’t want to die being strangled by some alien in this dirty alley but the numbness in your fingers has you moving slower than usual, hand heavy as you try to aim again. Sucking in a deep breath you scream, hoping that someone on the busy strip will hear you. But no one is coming for you and there is no time to wait. Panicked, you fire in the direction of the Rodian, not taking care to calculate possible ricochet points in the area. A shot connects, his heavy body falling on your hips, dead.

Fingers still numb, you hurtle upwards and try to wipe the dust out of your eyes to look at the bodies. The first Rodian you shot is a few feet away, slumped against the wall you were pinned to, blaster marks littering the brick surface from your panicked shots. Disgusted, you shove the dead body off of your legs and stand up.

As you analyze the second alien you realize something doesn’t add up here.

Somehow the blaster shot that killed him seems to be on the back of his head. How is that possible? Did I manage to reflect it off something and hit him from behind? You’re approaching the body to look for other possible causes of death when a large shadow leaps from the rooftop, landing heavily in a cloud of dust. You curse and aim your blaster at his head, pulling the trigger before you realize who it is.

He’s lucky his helmet is pure Beskar.

“Mando! What the fuck, I could’ve killed you!” Stomach feeling like it’s full of rocks, you march up to the man and slam a fist into his chest plate, hard. Looking up into his visor you feel a flash of misguided anger, lifting your fist to pound on his armor again. “Where the fuck were you anyway?!”

A large hand flashes up to catch your wrist before it can connect with his chest. He looks at you darkly. “Do you always hit people to thank them?” he asks, while his other hand reholsters the silver blaster back onto your hip.

“What do you mean, you-” The pieces connect in your mind, the impossible blaster shot in the back of the head of the Rodian and Mando’s positioning on the roof.

He saved your ass. Again.

You already realize your anger is misdirected, he didn’t do anything to warrant it. But the adrenaline and fear paired with your entire experience on Nevarro have wound you up to the point of lashing out. You shouldn’t be mad at him, and you should definitely apologize for almost killing him. Also, you should be thanking him for saving you even though you probably would’ve survived the mugging anyway. That criminal was unarmed at the end there.

But you don’t care. You weirdly want to argue with him, to try and break that cool attitude he’s been maintaining nearly all day.

“I could’ve gotten him easily. If I didn’t hurt my arm he would’ve been dead before you arrived, also you didn’t answer my fucking question. I thought I was your equal, Mando.” You mock his earlier phrasing from the cantina, hoping he’ll snap and say something back. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he does something so strange that all the turbulent emotions you’ve been harboring fly out of your body in one instant.

Bringing up one glove to cover your eyes, he holds the hand you punched him with at the bottom edge of his helmet, pushing it up with your clasped fingers. There is a quiet hiss and you can feel the weight of metal digging into your knuckles as the Beskar lifts. Your fingers meet with soft lips, coarse facial hair brushing your skin as he presses a kiss on the blossoming bruises there. Heat rushes to your cheeks and you suddenly can’t remember what you were yelling about.

It’s odd. You’ve seen the most intimate parts of him but only now, having felt his lips, do you truly recognize how rawly human he is.

Too soon- he draws away, the helmet settles back on his head. You step back blinking as the light hits your eyes, cradling your hand to your chest like it's been hurt. Which you guess it has. You can’t really feel it.

Unable to meet his gaze you stare at his boots, “You’re weird and I don’t understand you.” Your words sound embarrassingly breathless.

He chuckles quietly. “Good.” And after a beat of silence- “Do I get an apology?”

Annoyed at how he mirrored you throwing his words back at him, you look up glaring, but you’re unable to put any actual heat into your halfhearted expression. You’re still thinking about how soft his lips felt plus, you actually feel bad for lashing out at him.

“Yes, um, I’m sorry Mando, I was only mad because I was scared. I actually could’ve killed you, and those guys almost killed me- or worse.” You shrug, eyes round as you look at the violent scene in the alley. “Plus Karga is an asshole and you disappeared, telling me to wait around like a kid. I was in a bad mood.”

“Yeah.” He offers shortly. Is he gonna say more or- “Karga is an asshole.”

“...Is that all you’re going to address.”

“You’re a good shot. You could’ve killed these muggers without me, I just didn’t want you hurt.” He smoothes away a strand of hair from your cheek, tucking it behind your ear before gripping your chin, twisting your head to look at the scratches the Rodian left. “Pretty girl.”

Flushing red again while frozen in his grip, you stand there with him as he examines your face. His gaze is piercing, and you don’t know what he’s staring at. It doesn’t take this long to examine a face. You think he’s just looking at you.

“Let’s get back to the ship, that scratch needs some Bacta gel.” He drops his arm abruptly causing you to sway at the loss of an anchor. Hand flashing out to grip his bicep, you regain your balance before starting to pull him along, heading to the street.

----------------

The walk back to the Crest is short.

You don’t know your way around this city but shipyards are easy enough to find. You recognize the signs pointing it out after your time spent as a mechanic, streets gradually widening to form into a flat strip of land for the vessels, heavy machinery appearing here and there. As you walk, you oddly find yourself getting dizzy, steps starting to drag as you realize you may have injured yourself in the struggle. You can’t recall if you hit your head or if anyone hurt you aside from the gash on your cheek, which has begun to throb. Did you knock your head on the alley wall?

The Mandalorian grunts behind you when you trip, quickly overtaking your pace to throw your arm over his elbow, then walking at your side and subtly holding you steady. The Razor Crest rises into view over the horizon, so you speed up, relieved. You want to sit down so badly that you even try to jog but Mando holds you back. His helmet ducks down next to your ear.

“Don’t overexert yourself. I want to make sure that scratch isn’t poisoned.” He murmurs, voice overwhelmingly low. Your stomach twists with desire and surprise at the tone of it, he sounds like he’s flirting with you.

“Does danger turn you on or something?” You blurt, wondering if there is a pattern to the man's desires. He did let you suck him off right after yesterday's conflict and now he seems to be coming onto you after an attempted mugging. Is this a Mandalorian thing? Weirdo. He doesn’t answer you, but the ship is right there so you break away and march up to the lowering ramp.

You pause in the middle of the hull noticing some changes. The small cot seems to be upgraded, a patterned blanket is folded at the end and there is even a pillow. That sorry excuse of a fresher is more orderly too, shower hose hung from the ceiling like an actual, well, shower. There’s a sliding metal door for privacy installed on the entrance now too. The previously barren hull has a touch of coziness now, not enough to get in the way of efficiency, but everything is just a little more livable. It is unlikely that he did this just because you live with him now but the gesture is still thoughtful.

“Is this what you were doing?” You ask excitedly, walking across the room to sit on the end of the cot.

“Not the entire time.” He answers vaguely, fiddling with his vambrace to close the ramp and flick the lights on. You just sigh in response, laying back against the bed, the thin mattress has a soft squish that cradles your sore body. Eyes sliding shut you take in the lovely sensation for a few moments. A shadow covers the light behind your eyelids. You open them to peek at the end of the bed, already feeling a blush hot on your cheeks.

Mando is standing there, towering over you with his legs just brushing your dangling lower half. He leans over your frame, arm reaching over you like he’s going to prop himself on top of your body. Your heart pounds as he comes close enough to settle his hand next to your head, helmet hovering right above your forehead. The visor tilts down to look at you frozen underneath him, heat pooling in your lower belly. An almost inaudible hum comes through the voice filter sounding like the beginning of a word as if he were about to say something but decided against it.

You find your voice, asking him in a trembling whisper. ‘Wha-what? Did you say something?”

He makes that low noise again, replying, “Those scratches need Bacta,” before he gently shoves his hand under your shoulder and pulls, sitting you upright at the end of the cot.

Your eyes are round, lips pursed in confusion. Honestly, you forgot all about that.

“O-Oh yeah…” You manage to stutter out as Mando backs up from the opening, making his way to the storage shelves to rummage around. He comes back to the cot with a tin box, undoing the clasps to fish out a tube of gel and gauze. The imagery of medical equipment reminds you of the throbbing on your cheek, which is now accompanied by a throbbing in your cunt. Very conflicting feelings.

“There’s no discoloration or swelling, you’re likely not poisoned.” He starts wiping at your jaw with a wet fabric that smells of chemicals, cleaning off the rust-colored blood that dried there. “How are you feeling?”

“Ummm, fine pretty much.” His gentle motions make it hard to think, the swiping over your skin is so gentle that you’re zoning out. That is until he reaches the actual wound, which stings harshly from whatever liquid is saturating the fabric. You flinch, “Ouch! Well, it hurts now.”

“That means it's working.” Mando picks up the gel and dabs it on your cheek which helps to soothe the sting. “You say you feel fine yet you were stumbling around a minute ago. Are you sure you’re alright?”

His question is sweet but you don’t like how he points out your loss of balance. It both concerns you and is slightly embarrassing. Are you alright? You aren't sure, the stumbling could’ve been from a number of things, exhaustion, blood loss, or any other affliction. You feel worried now, grabbing at Mando’s free arm and locking eyes with the visor.

“I-I’m not sure… I’m kinda freaked out, is it possible that a toxin could have a delayed-release? What if I kneel over while we’re in hyperspace?” You finish the sentence a little high-pitched, unable to hide the worry in your voice. The Mandalorian circles your wrist with his fingers, bringing your hand to rest on top of your leg and placing his palm over it. His thumb rubs soothingly over your knuckles.

“I don’t think you’re in any danger. I’ll take a blood sample for testing then we can stay on Nevarro for an hour, just in case.” You make a sad noise when he removes his hand from yours, but he’s already sifting through the box of medical supplies, probably to find something to test your blood with. Pulling out a tube he turns to you and holds your hand again, which makes you smile until you realize the tube contains a needlepoint to prick your finger with. Oh yuck, you hate needles. A life spent surrounded by danger and that tiny jab still makes you nervous. Breaking out into a cold sweat, you look away as Mando jabs your pointer finger; he must’ve noticed your reaction because his thumb starts up that soothing pattern again.

“You’re a trained mercenary who is scared of needles?” His tone isn’t mocking, he seems to be trying to distract you. You just stick your tongue out at him instead of verbally responding, worried that your voice will shake. For some reason, Mando freezes at this, one arm halfway to the metal box, the tube of your blood in hand. It is so odd of him that you instantly take note of the reaction, wondering what you did. After a second he starts jerkily moving again, laying a small strip of paper down and dripping your blood on it. He pointedly keeps his gaze on the paper, refusing to face you even when you poke at him.

‘What? I can’t stick my tongue out at you?” You prod him again trying to provoke a response. You gasp when his hand flashes up and stops your finger in its path, his thick fingers wrapped around your wrist just like when you punched him in the alley.

“Not,” he punctuates the word by dragging your hand down his waist, “When it reminds me of my cock down your throat.”

Your clit throbs again, slickness starting to gather between your legs. “Ummm… sorry?” You reply dumbly, throat going dry when he presses your palm into his growing bulge with a groan.

His helmet glances at the strip of paper again. “Results are normal. We should still stay on the planet for an hour, just in case… How will we fill the time?”

You don’t know how to respond. Any former thoughts you had in your mind have flown away, leaving you blank. Staring at Mando, your mind races to form a decent response, but you must’ve hesitated for too long because he rolls his hips into your hand, fully hard now.

Whining, you lean toward him reaching out your free hand to wrap around his neck, but he moves away from your touch leaving you flushed on the cot. His helmet looks you up and down, contemplating something.

“Are you feeling alright?” He asks for the second time, voice an octave lower than before. He picks up the roll of gauze, unused at this point, and holds it halfway lifted in the air in front of you. You aren’t sure what he is going to use it for, you assumed to dress the wound but from the way he is holding it, he must have other ideas. He would’ve already patched you up if this were just about the fabric’s typical function.

“I’m feeling fine. The gel is working.” It’s the truth. You can’t feel your cheek throbbing anymore. The Bacta in your bloodstream has a calming effect as well, soothing your anxiety from before. You feel good even, clear-minded and thrumming with energy. You can’t imagine what he is planning but you know you want him so badly it hurts. Your heart quickens.

“Mando…” You breathe, the way you say his name is both a question and a prompt. He answers by unrolling a strip of gauze and holding it out in front of your face. The breathing through his modulator is audible now, pants heavy with desire.

“I cant- I can’t go slowly, if I fuck you right now. I want to try something else.” You nod fervently, completely ready for whatever he is thinking of doing to you however, you’re admittedly confused when he starts wrapping the gauze around your head and over your eyes. Mando unrolls several layers of gauze, a decently thick strip obstructing your vision to the point where little light penetrates the fabric. His voice startles you when you hear it right by your ear, asking, “Is this okay?”

You’re still wordless, nodding in response again. Mando hums and parts your legs with his hips, pulling you to his body and grinding against you. You mewl into the empty space in front of you and fling your arms out to find him, suddenly needing to feel as much of him as you can reach.

Hands connecting with his shoulders, you pull him down hard as if you were going to kiss him. The helmet bumps you in the face instead.

“Oops..” You murmur, embarrassed. Admittedly, you forgot all about the armor barrier between your bodies. Mando huffs softly and bumps you again, gently as to not hurt you with the heavy metal.

“Wanna guess my idea? “ He asks, sliding down your body, his fingers trailing over every inch of you, touching you as if to replace him kissing down your body. He reaches your hips and pauses there. You can’t see anything but you’re guessing he is staring at you, the thin leggings don’t leave much to the imagination. A finger presses onto your clothed slit, running up and down the length of your pussy to gather the wetness there. You can feel yourself soaking through your clothing, Mando’s fingertip is gliding wetly along your folds as if you were unclothed. You arch into his touch, needing more from him; the overwhelming sensation has you falling back onto the cot, laying there with your legs parted and the Mandalorian still between your legs.

The world feels like it’s spinning for a multitude of reasons, first and foremost being the desire you feel for the man crouched before you. Other, more complex thoughts on the situation swirl in your mind, paralyzing you with their intensity. You honestly didn’t think he would want you sexually again, especially not so soon. It just didn’t make sense for your idea of the Mandalorian, the image you carry of him as a person, all based on your time together even if much of that time was spent living separate lives. He flirted and inferred to sex a few times today, plus there was that kiss he lay on your bruised knuckles earlier. He defended you, backed up your claims, and spoke of respecting you and your skills. He’s done so much for you today, but you’re still blindsided as you sit here before him, unseeing in more ways than one. Most of all... you can’t stop thinking about that kiss.

Seconds after you physically attacked him and he offers you a kiss. It was the absolute last outcome you expected from your efforts to taunt him, you wonder if he’s even allowed to do that considering his vow to never show his face. You knew he was actively sexual just from your awful experiences on the mercenary station, although you never gave much thought to that drive. It didn’t need much thought, in your opinion. He is a man after all. Face bared or hidden away from the galaxy he still has needs, even if he is devoted to a religion that you can barely fathom the depths of. Your wants and needs seem minuscule next to the enigma of the Mandalorian.

This all seems unimportant when his fingers hook in the waistband of your leggings and pull. You whimper and lift your hips, trying desperately to speed up the process and bare yourself to him. The blasters you carry are still attached to your waist but you don’t try to remove them. Sex and guns pair together perfectly for the man.

Cool air hits your pussy at the same moment he moans low in his throat. “Fuck, look at you. Beautiful.”

That reminds you, “Can’t look, can I? N-not like this…” You still weren’t sure about the gauze blindfold he secured over your eyes, your only idea so far is that he must be into this sort of thing. Not that you’re complaining. The temporary loss of sight has heightened every other sense you have, especially touch and sound. You’re certain you’ll remember every word of this encounter for the rest of your life. He’s complimented you several times over the past few days. Pretty. Beautiful. You’ll never forget that.

“Still haven’t guessed?” The Mandalorian rumbles at your thigh, pulling your pants off your ankles and spreading your legs as wide as the cot doorway will allow. A short growl rips from his throat, his touch leaving your thighs much to your dismay as he fumbles with something. There is a heavy thud that you can't make sense of, he had to have set something large on the ground to make that noise but you don’t know what- oh. Oh, stars I can feel his breath.

He took his helmet off. For you. The pieces are falling in place quickly but you can’t react to it- you can’t even breathe, every implication of his gesture setting your world ablaze. Your heart is pounding, arms stretched out from the tension you hold in your limbs, you need an anchor, anything-

There's a hot puff of air on your clit and gloveless fingers digging into your thighs. He must’ve removed those too.

It’s like you’ve been sucked into a stasis chamber, the buzz of your cerebral cortex halting all efforts to process what’s happening, enveloped in a place so quiet that you feel fucking crazy. The anticipation is killing you, you’re going to die here and that’s alright, that’s fine, you’d love to die here, in fact- wait where is he? His face is somewhere near your aching center, you know this because you can feel each breath he exhales ghosting over your pussy, the muscles in your hips want to squirm and seek him out but you can’t. Not with all this atmospheric pressure gathering, the weighted air pressing harder and harder down on you and you know you’re about to break. But you’re terrified you’ll disrupt the spell that keeps you both frozen here, still and aching with pleasure. You’re gathering the courage to make the first move when Mando finally breaks the silence.

“From now on,” you interrupt him with a gasp at how different he sounds without the voice filter, the tone is so much fuller and warm, but he then continues unperturbed, “This is fucking mine.”

Your yelp echos off the walls when his hot, skillful tongue liiicks up your slit, flicking at the very top of its path off of your clit.

Fuck this feels so good, this feels so good, how does it feel like this, so fucking amazing? He barely even talks, how is he so dexterous with his tongue? Tortured noises fall out of your throat as Mando licks through your folds, trying to taste everything his mouth can possibly reach. He rolls his tongue repeatedly over your clit making you tense up and shake from the overwhelming sensation. There's a sound in the hull, you can barely discern the source of it at first but you suddenly realize it coming from your own mouth, a filthy mantra falling from your tongue.

Mando-Mando-Mando-Don’t stop- Please dont-Mando

He stops.

“Hey! What-” Your hands fly down and flounder around finding soft locks of hair and immediately latching on for dear life. Impatiently tugging at his scalp, you try to scoot down and find his talented tongue, your clit feeling cold and achy without his touch. But he’s so strong, a solid pillar of immovable stone and you can’t budge him at all, his only reaction being a deep growl when you yank a little too hard on his head. You must’ve pissed him off because one hand is suddenly on your heat, cupping your pussy with his palm but leaving a gap between your bodies, torturing you with the lack of friction. You whine pathetically at this game.

“Mando-fuck- why… pleeeaaase.” His touch leaves you entirely and you’re more desperate than ever, writhing to the point where you almost slide off the thin mattress onto the floor. Your inner thighs connect with broad hips again, this time without the barrier of your leggings between you. When your cunt presses into his crotch you realize you can feel more than the cloth of his dark pants, he must’ve pulled his cock out because you can feel his skin, the skin of his cock brushing over you plus just a patch of it from where the hem of his pants is pulled under his balls. A ragged sound tears from both of you when his thick length parts your lips, grinding against your clit.

“I-I thought you weren’t, I mean you said-”

“I’m not g-going to fuck you-” he gasps out, voice breaking despite the clear determination in his response, “not yet. I want you to use me and make yourself-fuck- cum. Fuck yourself on me.”

You’re speechless, there are absolutely no words in any of the Galaxy’s countless languages, known or unknown, that can succinctly express just how fucking turned on his suggestion makes you. Is this his way of giving back to you after you made him cum the night before? You don’t know, fuck- you don’t care either. Fuck whatever complex you had about owing him, you deserve this and you want it more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your fucking life.

His broad body is propped over yours, cock grinding into you over and over again as he rolls his hips and groans out, “Well? You want it like this, pretty girl? Or do you-”

You interrupt him by reaching between your legs and finding his cock, pushing it down your lips to your aching hole. He sucks in a sharp breath and everything is frozen in that quiet place again, just for a split second, before you press his length into your body, sinking down to the hilt.

A broken sound comes out of you, your throat so tight that your vocal cords can’t rub together to produce anything louder than a squeak. However, the Mandalorian is not without his words, a string of curses tumbling from him in that gorgeous, rough voice. Fuck, holy fuck, you wish you could hear him speak like that for the rest of time, his real voice without the modulator hits you straight in the gut. He called you beautiful yet he doesn’t realize the power of his beauty has completely destroyed you. You’ll do anything for him, for that voice. When he claimed your pussy as his you realized that there was never a point in time where it didn’t belong to him. The Mandalorian moves mountains with his claims.

He is like a mountain himself, completely stilling his body the second you let him inside you. You clench down on his thick length and drag yourself off of him, leaving only the swollen head inside your hole. You’re burning up, a sweat breaking out over your entire body as you try to take his cock. He’s so thick inside you, stars you can't control your fluttering lower muscles that pulse from the strain. The saliva and slickness helped him slide inside initially but now you’re clenched around him painfully tight as you try and adjust to his size. He lays so still for you, still muttering curses at the feeling of you, yet patient as you work yourself on his cock. But at some point, you can’t help letting out a little wail when you fuck yourself on him, the debilitating mix of pain and pleasure is fucking overwhelming and he can tell you’re struggling.

Mando settles lower on your body, elbows next to your head and armored torso brushing against your upper half, the ridges on his cuirass catching your nipples through your shirt. The movement slightly ruts his hips, an inch of his cock entering you accidentally. You swear and freeze at the sensation, face screwing up-it’s so good but you hurt just slightly. His mouth must be close to your face because you can feel his breath on your skin when he starts whispering filthy encouragement.

“You’re doing so fucking good for me, taking my cock- fuck you’re so tight, how are you so tight- Maker that has to hurt, you can do it baby, keep-keep trying.” The elbow to your right lifts off the thin mattress, his hand caressing down your body, over your breasts, down your side, gentle trails from his fingertips ghosting over your skin and sending tingles all over. This helps to relax your muscles a little, you feel the walls of your cunt loosen just enough to relieve the uncomfortable ache. Wetness gathers around his cock from his encouragement, as you slide with more ease along him grinding yourself up and down on his solid cock.

It is fucking indescribable, a nearly out of body experience fucking yourself on him, every time you bottom out the thick head presses into a spot that sends flashes of white behind your eyelids. You can't even moan right now, the only noises you manage are shuddering gasps and whines as you feel yourself rise higher and higher. The peak is right there, you can feel it, you’re right fucking there-

“M-Mando, I’m gonna-gonna-fuck, I’m going-I-” You’re frantic, unable to string together the words

The hand exploring your body diverts its path, reaching between your legs to rub strong circles around your clit.

He’s saying something to you but you can’t understand him, a rush of blood in your ears drowns out all other senses, the only thing you can feel is your blinding climax and the thick cock in your body. You’re clamped down tight on him as the sensation rips through you, building you up and destroying you over and over again. You can’t comprehend how he has the control to just hold himself there, you feel like you’re being wrung dry with how tightly you clench around him with each pulse of your orgasm. Eventually, the white noise fades from your ears and sensation returns to the rest of you, limbs tingling as you stretch the taut muscles.

Mando is trembling above you, arms shaking from the effort of propping himself up for so long. A soft noise leaves you and you wrap your arms around him, trying to soothe the tightness in his muscles like he did for you but the armor gets in your way. He makes a low noise in his throat when you skim over his side, finally allowing himself to rest when he lays on top of you, one arm still holding his full weight back so as to not crush you. You reach an arm under his shirt trying to feel more of his skin, but the padding and metal still attached to his body prevent you from moving more than a few inches.

This time, you’re first to break the silence, “What did-what were you saying?” you ask, not wanting to miss anything he says to you in his real, unfiltered voice. He doesn’t say or do anything at first, his hesitation lasting long enough that you resign yourself to never knowing. But then he lifts his head from where it lays next to yours and you feel the sharp tip of his nose brush your good cheek, over the bridge of your nose to the other side, then press closer into you as his lips meet yours.

His kiss is so gentle that you forget he’s still hard inside you. All you can think about is the heat of his mouth crushing against yours, pressure held back enough so that he doesn’t dig into your injured cheek but filled with a promise of the energy he holds in his powerful body. You fucking hate those Rodians more than ever because you would give anything for him to kiss you with his full strength right now, holding back nothing.

But soon -too soon, he draws back from your mouth and pulls his cock out of you. You blush at the obscene noise your wetness makes as he curses and wrenches the last inch away from your pussy, leaving you empty.

‘Come back to me…” You whisper desperately, reaching out for him.

“Fuck I can’t- I don’t want to hurt you.” Mando spits out, sounding wrecked, “I want to so fucking bad but I-”

You try pleading with him, wanting him to feel just as much blinding pleasure as you did from the way your bodies fit so perfectly together. “You won’t hurt me I swear, I can take it-you said I could.”

He groans in a tortured, painful way, hesitating for a moment and you think you might’ve just convinced him to come back and fuck you- but the hand that eventually touches you isn’t anywhere near your pussy. He’s wrapping the gauze from your eyes, pulling it from your head to press into your cheek. You blink as your eyes adjust to the yellow light of the Crests hull, the usually dull fluorescents are piercing. Still, your vision is not quite blurry enough to hide the gleam of the polished Beskar sitting back on Mandos’s head. You swallow your disappointment at losing the pure tone of his voice to that damn modulator.

“I can't,” he says softly, “you’re bleeding again. It was too rough.”

You can’t argue with him. You feel a bit weak and dizzy which is not just from your powerful orgasm. Sleeping in the cockpit didn’t grant you the most restful night; you’re exhausted, slipping away even as he speaks.

“I’m sleepy...” You mumble, your speech very simple when you’re this exhausted. Mando makes a low noise, indiscernible in tone now that it is passing through the voice filter. You hate that thing for stealing away the depth of his voice even as it fades with your consciousness.

“Sleep now… I’ll pilot the ship while you rest. Sleep…”

And so you do.

------------------------------------------

It’s many hours later. The ship hurtles through hyperspace as you stand and examine your cheek in the tiny mirror of the fresher, basked in yellow light. The wound isn't very deep but it’s long, stretching from the high point of your cheekbone halfway down to your jaw. You grimace at the sight. That will definitely leave a scar...

The Mandalorian is moving quickly behind you in the ship's hull, arranging the carbonite freezing slabs in a way that you can’t make sense of but don’t really care about. You’re too preoccupied with your reflection to consider it. Mando takes note of this.

“Warrior marks.” He tells you, walking across the length of the ship to lean against the doorway of the small fresher. “Wear them proudly, burc’ya.”

Wear them proudly.

And so you do.

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x you #reader insert #fanfic #smut fic #mando x you #the mandalorian/reader #din djarin/you #din djarin/reader #the mandalorian fanfic #smut #din djarin #star wars #star wars fic #fanfiction

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aaetherius · 3 years

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@cxffexngel:

[ cxffeexngel ] modern AU!! || because this has been in my mind for days sFÑKDSFDf have soft time!

Unlike the pouring rains of an announced storm and a message sent in a whim. Sandalphon’s invitation fell on a calm day, with pillowy clouds dusting the canvas of the stretching blue skies on a quiet afterwork hours of sundown. A confession made in days passed and an evergrowing bond with stolen gazes and lips touching whenever extra eyes did not pry over them. Sandalphon adored kissing lucifer, adored those warm welcomes whenever Lucifer was the one already first thing in the morning for their shared shifts, or taking that mantle himself and welcome the taller with cups ready in their favorite spot under the gaze of the sun filtered through the windows adorned in flowers that never had ceased coming as offerings and all the more secret words his voice couldn’t hope to whisper to the other. The you g man resided now during one of those free days closing the flowershop, dusting off tables and leaves, changing pots and moving those that needed extra hours of sun before the evening would claim the rest of the day thorough. The slightest tinge of anxiety clinging behind his mind, after mulling for hours to pour just exactly which words to type over the phone and let Lucifer know he could come over if he wanted to, having deleted the message over and over until settling with the simplest ’ I have nothing to do, feel free to come over if you want ’ only to be replied within seconds with the most adorable message, if not perhaps a bit formal considering Lucifer’s tendencies if not to how he adorned his texts with cutesy stickers the young man failed to not blush for or ever not find them less than endearing when they were between sheep, drawn cats happy with sparkles and very colorful animated ones. Ah, he really finds ways to fall in love with this man everyday, isn’t he? With the flowershop properly locked, and turning over the ’ Open’ sign to seal it for the day, the young barista and shoopkeeper is done for the day, the welcoming aroma of freshly brewed coffee permeating every inch of his home as it rests in idle silence, if not by the gentle song of water heating over the stove not too far from the main room - and the open bags of beans and cups ready to be filled. For now, Sandalphon only attempts drowning every voice about how anything could go wrong, his coffee going acid, the temperature not being right - thinking too much like Gran often liked to poke fun at the cranky barista those days the young man inadvertently broke into his house somehow despise having checked each of his locks twice or even trice just to ensure that the pest the other adored to make himself out to be couldn’t get in. Always futile because it seemed like no lock was match against Gran’s lockpicking and his indestructible will to simply invite himself into Sandalphon’s home. Sometimes even with the girl in blue who made it even easier for the barista to simply cave in and let them stay and steal his food. - those memories are enough to ignore the impending doom that could brew should he mull over the little details about this and that. A soundless sigh slips past somewhat dry lips, tired eyes blinking calmly when attention flicks towards one of the windows as gentle breeze blows curtains into a serene dance matching leaves of branches and leaves outside, palm over his cheek scratching aimlessly any tension left that arises as spontaneously as it leaves. Only finding light within the autumn scarlet within his eyes when spotting the familiar shine of opal locks shimmering behind the blurriness barely transparent curtains of white could offer casting a shadow over that form that Sandalphon could arguably recognize even amidst a crowed street. His body moving before he could think towards the main door, and fingers curling tightly over the handle to twist it and push the frame open for the other, a sheepish smile drawn all over dusted rose pale features, sporting Lucifer’s borrowed hood and black legging the young man often wore whenever there was no work to be done, and the always needed pair of heeled boots rarely Sandalphon took off. “A-Ah! Welcome, Lucifer! ” Sandalphon almost wanted to visibly wince at how drearily hoarse his voice comes despise his initial joy - but he doesn’t, instead clearing his throat with a small cough over his palm. “ Please come on! I’m readying our cups, feel free to choose any seat if you’re tired. ” Continues, while stepping to the side giving the taller enough space so he could finally step in, and their time together start and go along however it takes - ah, how feeble his heart is that the thought alone of Lucifer in his home makes it leap into his throat, and rob any coherent thought or even the plans he mulled over the whole morning about everything.

Sandalphon’s text had kick started his heart after he had returned to his apartment to try out a handful of new coffee recipes he had written down in his journal when he hadn’t been attending to customers this afternoon - something that had become a less frequent habit of his following his confession as the slow hours were typically spent with his attention fixed on the barista instead of a notebook these days. He’d texted the other back before thinking much about his response - he could never deny Sandalphon’s company, and he had tossed off his work clothes to change into something a tad bit more casual in a matter of minutes as well…only to pause as he was slipping out of the door with a mildly displeased Ellie seated comfortably, he thinks, on the plush cushion nestled inside of the feline backpack strapped safely around his shoulders. After all, he couldn’t leave her alone for the night - that would be downright criminal when she’s spent a night on her since he had rescued her. His unwilling companion (who would have been perfectly content to romp around the apartment unattended) aside, he had realized that he hadn’t prepared anything to give to the other. Perhaps it was a somewhat trivial notion, but despite all of the flowers and beautiful poems Sandalphon had gifted him with, he hadn’t done much in return for the other. His own knowledge of flowers had come from the barista himself, and he had little talent when it came to writing out meaningful poems. Even Michael, who had known him nearly his entire life, struggled to follow his notes. Neat as his handwriting naturally was, he had a terrible habit of jotting down notes in a manner only he could truly understand. Ah, and bringing flowers to a flowers hop didn’t seem like a suitable gift either. Sweets wouldn’t do wither, Sandalphon favored bitter and savory foods, much like how he preferred his coffee. So, quickly, the smile upon his features had faded as he lingered in the doorway of his apartment, smiling softly at the various neighbors that walked past him. A low hum rumbles in throat for moment as he strokes his chin absentmindedly before turning tail back into the apartment, gingerly removing a handful of things from the cluttered bookshelf and carefully tucking them away behind Ellie so they weren’t terribly apparent before he slipped outside to a day distinctly unlike the one he had mindlessly invited Sandalphon over on when it had been storming dreadfully.

The walk to the flower shop is a short one, yet, despite that, he checks his phone constantly on the way. He had memorized the address when the other had sent it to him, but the rush of joy that had held his heart tightly enough that it made his chest throb was enough to make that information leap to the very back of his mind. He had never been to the barista’s home before, and he hadn’t been aware of the fact that he owned a flower shop until very recently - to say he was delighted would be an understatement when he feels something akin to excitement for the first time in years; perhaps for the first time since he had dabbled in coffee that fateful say more than a decade ago. And his hand comes up to press firmly against the center of his chest as if doing so would somehow quell the swan song of his heart as every step brought him closer to the one he loves most. For so long, truthfully, he had felt numb - the emotions he harbored had been tucked deep within him, unable to break free from the constant guilt and sense of melancholy that hung over him. He had forgotten what feeling excited was like - what looking forward to something could be like, and he had thought, for quite some time now, that he was incapable of feeling something so unbridled. But Sandalphon brings him more joy than he could have ever dreamed of experiencing, despite the pain that comes alongside it, so he can only tighten his hold around the fabric clumped between his fingers as he exhales in the humid air, and allows his gaze to wander upwards towards the clear sky. Its color paling now that the better part of the day had come and gone, but it still casts a gentle, blue shadow onto his pale features as he stops in front of the flower ship, and Sandalphon’s home. Pearly strands of hair absorb the colors cast upon them, and reflect them back with a gentle shimmer that almost makes it appear as if wayward strands of his hair are glowing in an array of dazzling colors. Sometimes, he’s reminded, the world can be a beautiful place. But, truly, he’s always found the sky to be something remarkable - something free; something wondrous, and grand. As a child, he used to dream of reaching his hand up high enough to touch the clouds despite knowing all he would come away with were damp fingers. Even now, a small part of him is still drown to the vast blue, and the gentle, creamy clouds that float through it without a care.

The click of the door draws him away from his thoughts, and he quickly loosens his hold on the white shirt he’s wearing before trying, and failing, to smooth out the wrinkles he’s formed in the fabric before trying, and failing once more, to cover them with the light blue sleeve of his hoodie as an impossibly warm smile spills onto his rosy lips. Their hue nearly the same shade as the color that dusts over Sandalphon’s features, though the utterly fond look stretched across Lucifer’s visage doesn’t quite match the other’s sheepish one. And it brightens all the more once he realizes the barista is wearing the hoodie he had borrowed from him. And that, too, makes his chest ache, but in a different way than the anticipation that had crept through his bloodstream a moment ago. Love is a strange thing, he thinks, it’s not a singular emotion but rather a collection of so many complex feelings he can’t place individual names to that he hardly knows what he’s supposed to feel at any given point in time. “Good evening, Sandalphon,” he offers, his voice gentle and soft and full of affection. And the sound of the other’s name appears to be all it takes for Ellie to meow loudly from her bubbly, lavender prison upon Lucifer’s back as she tries to crane her neck around to curiously peek beyond her owner’s shoulder at the younger man - her keen eyes narrowing into a glare once she spots that familiar nest of auburn hair. Lucifer, for his part, seems entirely unaware of Ellie’s struggles when he’s utterly captivated by the sight of Sandalphon dressed in his hoodie alongside his typical leggings and heels. “Thank you, and thank you for allowing me to visit you. I’m looking forward to tasting the coffee you’ve made, and – ah, I have something for you, as well, when we have a moment.” It’s hard for him to focus when he’s still awestruck by the sight of the homely flower shop that doubles as the barista’s residence. Something about it seems magical to him, perhaps if only because it’s where Sandalphon lives. And he can’t imagine a place he would rather be than beside the other, yet, even so, stepping into the smaller’s home is a strange mixture of comfortable and wonderful. His eyes wander everything and anything for a moment before he shakes his head gently to snap his attention back to Sandalphon. “I’m grateful you invited me over, and I’m so very happy to see you, Sandalphon.” Slowly, he reaches out his hand to push a few strands of auburn hair behind the other’s ear - his fingers gently gliding over the other’s skin as he leans forward to place a kiss in greeting upon the top of the smaller’s head before withdrawing again at the sound of another meow echoing against the rounded window of the backpack Ellie is still seated in, and he can’t stop the hoarse chuckle that falls from his lips. “Forgive me, I may have brought an uninvited guest along. She has never been left alone, so I’m afraid I didn’t have the heart to leave her behind today. I’m certain; however, that she’ll be on her best behavior. She’s rather fond of you after all.” Fond is not the word most people would use to describe Ellie’s feelings towards rival, and it most certainly wasn’t how the feline felt to the man she had dubbed an intruder in her quiet, and peaceful life, but, well, Lucifer, for whatever reason, was convinced they got along wonderfully.

#cxffexngel #| ☩ i would bend the skies; realign all the stars in space; just to be with you ☩ (cxffexngel: sandalphon) |#| ☩ to meet with you again ☩ (verse: au - modern) |#| ☩ thread 100: sandalphon: cxffexngel ☩ |#{ Thank you for sending this! }#{ Okay so I got hit with the new post editor finally and I am attempting to use my old man brain to figure out #how to works and what the heck I am doing }#{ so if I post this and it looks like a hot mess I'm sorry GFDJKHJBFCGKHD }#{ I am not afraid to admit that I have not a single clue as to what I am doing but I am doing it anyway gfdfjghjdkhjsf }#{ Lucifer 100% has one of those cat window backpacks no I do not accept constructive criticism bvfghfdkgjfvd }#| ☩ and once again the sky rises; sincere and melancholic ☩ (ic) |#{ Oops forgot that one fghdjgfjkd tungle ate all of my tags with the update ;u.u; fdjghjdhsj }

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vaguely-concerned · 4 years

Text

The Mandalorian Chapter 15 reactions; *nobby nobbs voice* ‘s all gone a bit percychological, sir

- so from both chapter 6 and now this: rick famuyiwa is incredible at portraying prolonged discomfort and tension (and also at getting din’s endless love for that baby across through the stress of being separated from him. this is the very first episode with no baby in it at all, isn’t it? wow that’s a heartbreaking milestone to reach im crying)

I liked this episode SO MUCH but I had to pause it pretty often and take a breather because it all made me so viscerally uncomfortable on din’s behalf -- not just the armour and having to take the helmet off and be seen for the (almost, ilu IG-11) first time in decades, people keep touching him in this episode when he clearly doesn’t want them to but can’t stop it and it makes me want to claw my own skin off in sympathy, it’s so awful. that’s really neat film making to manage to keep that tension steady almost all the way through!!!

honestly this episode felt a little bit like psychological horror, with the cheering storm troopers and din in the wrong armour and clearly not digging it and there’s the palpable absence of baby and that ever present dread of being Perceived when you’re not ready for it; everything’s turned upside down from how it should be. and it’s playing with that discomfort both in the main character and in us, the audience, in having the familiar be made unfamiliar and also introducing these questions that shake up everything (that feeling you get of ‘but... if it’s not the helmet, and not the armour, but there’s his face, but we’ve only seen that face once before so it’s still basically new to us, is this... is this still him. is this still Dad’ (oooh I wonder if we’re... sort of getting some of the ??? the baby would be feeling about it too?) we’ve all imprinted on that t-shaped visor like little baby birds, and this was a very clever episode to break us out of that and start to really get used to the thought of him having several faces that are real simultaneously, in a way, and not just a voice. it’s all very smart and interesting and I’m sure I’ll have a lot of incoherent thoughts about this in the weeks to come lol)

- the actual reason din can’t take off the helmet is that if people were able to see his wide confused puppy eyes they would no longer find it in themselves to send him on long arduous side missions and would help him immediately just so he’d feel better, and that would rob us of like 80% of the content for this show

mayfeld in this episode: clearly a casualty of this. he literally sees one glimpse of the vulnerability there and then within five seconds goes on to materialize a few redeeming character traits after being a complete jackass for an episode and a half. (I mean. he was 100% still an imperial so I’m a bit ‘hm.’ about how easily especially cara let him off the hook, but with the way it was set up I guess it would have been quite shitty of them to just throw him back in prison so I mean I GUESS. I would be endlessly grateful someone got my awkward bff out of there alive and well too I suppose)

- I actually think din’s sense/integrity of self has gotten so much stronger and more resilient (though probably still quite fragile pls handle with care precious cargo within); if this had happened in the first season I think it might honestly just have killed him (and if it weren’t for IG-11 it probably would have lol)

- can you beLIEVE din is so bad at lying that they literally should plan for contingencies over it fjkasdlhfskajdhfsdj

- very grateful for the scene with the spear throw that’s basically there to reassure us ‘uh-huh, he absolutely knows how to use it, don’t worry about that part at least’

I want to make a whole post about that fight scene, though, it’s just so GOOD! there’s so much storytelling and characterization in it! even out of the armour din has some real hand to hand MOVES!! he clearly came out of that aching all over, he can barely get back in his seat!!!

- so what I’m mainly taking away from this is that din absolutely cuts his own hair and you know what? he does a good job considering the conditions he has to work under, I love him

I still find it so goddamn darling that he meticulously maintains that little mustache/stubble combo under there even when there’s every reason to believe no one will ever see it

I suppose we can also gather that he did not ask cobb about whatever insane feat of magic he’s come up with to avoid helmet hair, but I don’t care looking a bit frazzled and tousled is exactly right for him (he’s so put together when he’s in the armour and a MESS when he’s out of it and I l o v e it)

- boba fett is honestly so fucking hot in this I don’t know what to do with myself haha. he’s so CALM and CALCULATED and COLLECTED in his newly painted armour and he’s GOT THIS and he made that ‘I’ve got one of those faces. one of jango’s many, many, many faces’ joke and he’s so thicc now, he looks like he could easily lift me over his head with one hand and he’s just quietly steady and undramatically supportive and sdalfhsdjhfsa

- ...din does know who the clone troopers were, right. I mean of course he does. he has to. but does he though. I’m sure he does and just wasn’t thinking.

- no matter how stressful it was I’m still really grateful that in the end taking the helmet off was something din got to do himself -- it’s under some duress, but it’s still his choice and for the sake of the baby, and almost in two more manageable steps between putting on the storm trooper gear for a different helmet before taking it off altogether. it’s not something done to him by gideon, for example, that would be. so much yuckier and worse. he still has that control and agency intact, even if it’s been tested really hard, and now gideon doing that doesn’t hold the exact same nightmarish power anymore because there’s already a little space opened in din’s mind for different things it can mean, if you see what I mean. I’m not sure I see what I mean actually I just have a lot of feelings haha. so I guess thank you mayfeld for being decent about it and helping him towards that realization that he can still be himself outside these really really inflexible structures he’s set up around himself for like. stability and keeping himself upright for a really long time, and that even someone halfway decent won’t disrespect the boundaries he still has about it at any given moment. man there’s a lot in this episode isn’t there

- the sigh din gave when he saw even more pirates coming and knew he had to get back up... never has a single moment in cinema better captured how I feel about being alive. most relatable man in the world din djarin

- it was really cruel of them to make me listen to din’s dead bleak voice say ‘the child is gone’ again, it wrecks my heart every goddamn time

- again... I wish carano wasn’t Like That in real life because the cara & fennec scenes should have been everything I could ever dream. ah well fennec was still wonderful and if I just allow myself to think in-universe for a few seconds it was really touching that din would entrust cara with his entire armour, that’s some prime BrOTP energy right there

I love that we got two female characters who were just allies and working together, no competition or nothin’. listen the bar is low but it’s nice to see something actually leap gracefully over it as well lol

- this was one of those with some pretty big open plot holes (why, exactly, would a scan of a completely unknown face be helpful to get into this classified system lol), but a) I don’t care, the emotional storyline was so sound it doesn’t really matter and b) eh handwave handwave let’s say mayfeld programmed that little stick with the good shit and overrode the code saying there needed to be an identity match within the system, it’s all fine

- I know I joke a lot about this but din really is one of the most relatable characters I’ve ever had. just watching him struggle with eye contact and going pretty much nonverbal under enough stress is like. wow a bit close to home there could we, perhaps, nOT?? (honestly though these are trauma/anxiety things I really don’t see portrayed a lot, especially in protagonists, it’s so odd but healing to see it in a character I love and who’s EXTREMELY competent in many other settings)

- din repeating gideon’s speech back to him word for word (except for the crucial detail that he calls grogu ‘him’ instead of ‘it’ 😭😭😭) and saying nothing else is truly Everything. I’ve said some stuff about din’s deliberate and thoughtful relationship to language in the past and this is such an amazing example of it; he’s remembered that pitch perfect all this time, he’s kept it around in his head and mulled it over and then redeployed it to change the meaning of it completely from dehumanization to love. can you. can you even imagine. and it’s yet another example of his hilarious wonderful petty streak and I can never get enough of it fasjhdfkjalhs

- din always noticing the children first and foremost Y_______Y (the kids running by is the only thing you see him sort of acknowledge when he’s walking into the covert in season 1 too)

- please... please I just need him to be able to hold that baby against his chest all safe and sound and okay again I can’t it’s........ hh

NO SEASON END CLIFF HANGER ON THIS I AM B E G G I N G YOU

- I would be having some thoughts about how much space there actually is on slave 1 and what that might mean (do not kill boba again please don’t kill him again), but honestly there’s only ‘GET BABY’ hours in here now, I can’t speculate about anything

#star wars #the mandalorian #the mandalorian spoilers #the mandalorian meta #this is an episode in the 'wow that was awesome but I need to go lie down in a quiet room for a while afterwards' tradition lol

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srhlsx · 4 years

Text

Miya Atsumu x Reader

Fake Dating request from the lovely @oikawannabeyourbabie

⬦Three Months Before⬦

Trudging up the steps to the floor you lived on, you let out a dramatic sigh as your feet dragged and made loud, stomping sounds. You were thankful that your door was right at the top of the steps so all you had to do was fish around in your bag for the keys. Grumbling to yourself, you tiredly let your head fall forward and make a soft thump against your door as you continued to search through your bag.

You didn’t think much about the sound of a door somewhere in your hall opening until a familiar voice quipped up. “Give it a score.”

You smirked at your door before rolling your head to the side and looking at your neighbor. He leaned cooly against the entrance to his own apartment, arms crossed over his toned chest and hair falling in messy waves over his forehead. As you finally found your keys and pulled them out of your purse, you mulled over your answer with a thoughtful expression on your face. “Hmm,” You started, chewing at your lip lightly. “Like a… three?”

“Out of ten?” He laughed, eyes going wide as he nearly fell over in disbelief. “That’s gotta be a new low.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” You laughed. “I almost gave that guy last week a three, he barely scraped by.”

“Fair enough,” Your neighbor also laughed. “Should I grab the wine?”

“I think whisky would be appropriate tonight,” You made a dramatic face as you opened your door and slipped inside your apartment. You heard your neighbor’s laughing oh ho ho before shutting the door behind you, being sure to leave it unlocked so he could join in a few minutes.

After changing into a pair of leggings and an old cutoff college shirt, you made your way back out to your kitchen to find your neighbor already standing at the counter, two glasses in front of him. After locking his phone that he had been scrolling through, he pushed one of the glasses forward towards you with one finger. You noticed he had prepared it the way you liked, a couple of ice cubes floating around in the amber liquid - his own was just neat and it made you gag a little.

“I don’t know how you can drink it warm ‘Tsumu,” After cheersing your glasses together, you crinkled your nose a bit at the first sip you took, then pulling yourself up onto one of the bar stools across the counter from where Atsumu was leaning.

“That’s cause I’ve lost all sense of feelings,” He said with a quirk of his eyebrow, also taking a sip but making no face whatsoever. He set his glass down and leaned forward on both hands, looking at you with a studying gaze. “Tell me all about it.”

You grimaced. Making a few faces as you thought about what to say, you started to speak a few times but cut yourself off as you wanted to really get your point across. “He… I-... ugh…” Atsumu looked like he was trying to hold back a laugh as you gathered yourself together. “He chewed with his mouth open.” You finally let out.

Atsumu’s dark eyebrows disappeared behind the fringe over his forehead, a look of disbelief forming on his face at the excuse you gave. “That’s all it took for you to give the guy a three?” He asked. “Two weeks ago a guy asked, no, told you to pay and you still gave him a five.”

“Okay, okay,” You laid your hands out on the counter palm up as you leaned back a little. “He chewed with his mouth open and… he was wildly racist.”

Atsumu burst out laughing at that, not expecting such a dramatic turn of events. You waited patiently with your lips pursed and eyes wide, also trying not to laugh, as Atsumu calmed down with heaving breaths. “Wow, okay, wasn’t expectin’ that.”

“I know, I wasn’t either. Things were actually going well, then they brought out the appetizer and bam!” You clapped your hands together. “I lied and said I had food poisoning.”

Atsumu took another sip of his drink, a lazy smirk finding its way onto his face as he looked at you. “Why do you keep goin’ on these dates?” He asked, wiping at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand as he reached to pour both of you another few fingers of whisky. “Not one has gone well.”

“I don’t know,” You groaned, slumping forward to rest your chin on the cool granite of your kitchen, huffing out a dramatic sigh as you swirled the ice around in your glass. “I mean, I guess I feel bad just saying no since my mom sets them up and everything.”

“But does she even know how terrible all the guys are?”

“Of course she doesn’t,” You said. “She gets numbers from her friends and then tells them where to meet me and when.”

“So these guys could literally be serial killers,” He chuckled. “Or in tonight’s case, closet racists.”

“As long as there is a chance that I could find love and pop out a few grandbabies for her, I don’t think she’d mind.” You laughed, although a little bitterly. It was getting a little old being constantly set up on these blind dates by your mother, but you knew in your heart she meant well. “She just worries I'm lonely. Besides, she’d be horrified if I was the only cousin without a significant other at my sister’s wedding so I kind of need a date for that.”

⬦ One Week Before ⬦

It was pretty early in the morning but as always, you had left your packing to be done until the last minute so before you were set to leave you were shoving random pieces of clothing into your suitcase without much order. Leaving the next day you would be heading to your sister’s wedding... solo. All the blind dates over the past few months had turned out worse than the previous one, but at least you got a few laughs out of them with your neighbor when you got home.

As you thought back on a few of the funnier moments, you heard a distant thumping sound coming from next door. You didn’t think too much of it, Atsumu wasn’t the celibate type, so it came as no surprise that he might be having a girl over on this weekend morning.

Your eyes widened a bit as the thumping continued, shaking your head with a small laugh. “Good God, ‘Tsumu.”

“You rang?”

You let out a loud scream at the voice that had surprised you from behind. Turning around with a pair of shorts clutched to your chest, your eyes landed on Atsumu’s figure casually leaning against the doorframe of your bedroom. “What the-” You gasped. “How did you-”

“The balcony,” He shrugged, hiking a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of your main living space. Leaning forward suspiciously, you narrowed your eyes to peek past him and see that the door to your balcony was indeed open and that was where he came from. “You should keep that thing locked.”

“We’re on the fourth floor, why would I need to do that?” You gave him an extremely confused look, still wrapping your head around the fact that he was in your room and the thumping noises were still echoing from next door. You glanced between him and the wall that separated your homes, lips pursed together and eyes still narrowed.

“Ah,” He laughed, nervously rubbing at the back of his neck. “Mind if I hide here… for a while.”

Your eyebrows lifted in amusement and your lips turned upward in a disbelieving smile. “Miya Atsumu, what have you done?”

“Nothing!” He waved his hands around and took a few steps into your bedroom to dramatically plop himself down across your bed. “I just, y’know… didn’t call her back.”

You smirked knowingly at your neighbor, getting the idea that it was a little bit more than just not calling a girl back but willing to humor him and not ask for more details.

The thumping, you found out, was a girl Atsumu had previously had a rather interesting date with about a week ago pounding on his door. You laughed as you vividly remembered needing to sleep on your couch to get away from the screeching sounds that had come from his apartment that night. You had been getting ready for a run the next morning and saw her leaving the apartment, thinking that she was really pretty, but Atsumu explained to you that under her beautiful exterior was a level of crazy that even he couldn’t handle.

You both held your breath as the pounding next door seemed to stop, looking at Atsumu you shrugged your shoulders and watched as he visibly seemed to relax.

Until the pounding started on your door.

“Shit,” He cursed under his breath.

“Did she see you?” You asked, eyes going wide as you leaned back to look down the hall at your front door.

“There’s no way,” Atsumu groaned, his eyes also going wide in fear as he seemed to shrink into your bed a little further. He turned to you, “Please help me.”

You rolled your eyes and sent him a glare, not really wishing to get tied up in his affairs, but setting down the clothes you had been packing anyways and trudging down the hall towards your door. The pounding was incessant, rattling the door in it’s hinges with how aggressive the girl was being. With a dramatic flourish, you opened the door and looked at the girl standing on your doormat.

“Hello?” Your greeting came out as more of a question. You made a point not to open the door too much, fearing that Atsumu wouldn’t be able to keep himself hidden.

“Oh, hi!” The girl greeted you, a bright smile on her face as if she hadn’t just been trying to break down both your’s and your neighbor’s doors. “We met last week?”

You hummed an affirmative, sending her a sweet smile. You could tell she was trying to get a peek into your apartment, glancing over your shoulder as she tried to be subtle about reaching up on the tips of her toes. You made a point to lean against the doorframe and hug the door closer to your side to limit her version inside your home.

“Um, I was just wondering if you knew where Osamu was?”

You almost choked on your breath at the name. “I’m sorry, who?”

“Osamu? Your neighbor?” She pointed at Atsumu’s door while giving you a puzzled look.

“Right, Osamu.” You said the name a little louder, hoping for Atsumu to hear you back in the bedroom. “Yeah, no, I haven’t seen him.”

“Are you sure?” She asked. “He said he'd call me and it’s been a few days so I was kind of worried.”

“So you showed up here? At his apartment?” You questioned.

“Well yeah,” She said, like it was the most obvious answer in the world. “What’s he going to do? Tell me to leave?”

“Oof, yikes.” You said, trying really hard to hold back your uncomfortable laugh. Atsumu had been right about the crazy on this one. On a whim, you came up with an excuse. “You know what, he did mention something to me about getting out of town for a week or so?”

The girl’s eyes flashed at the thought that you might know where her estranged fling was. She nodded along as you continued to talk, even going so far as to take out her phone and pull up a new note to type on.

“Yeah, something about needing to get away from something? Or someone? I don’t know, he was kind of tweeking that night.” You shrugged a shoulder and waved a hand in front of you dismissively.

“T-tweeking?” She repeated, pausing on her phone to look at you.

“Mhmm, it’s kind of a problem.” You nodded with a sigh, giving the girl a what-can-ya-do? look. “Anyways, I’m sure he’ll call, he usually shows up after a few days like this. I’ll let him know you stopped by!”

Without another word you shut your door in the confused girl's face, sliding the chain lock in place before turning around to see Atsumu peeking out from around the corner. “You owe me,” You whispered as you passed by him, jabbing a finger at his chest.

“Hardly, you told the girl I was a drug addict.” He whined as he followed you back to your bedroom.

You laughed at his troubled expression. “I can't believe you said your name was Osamu.”

“Oh please, as if you haven’t given a fake name before.”

“I have, definitely,” You nodded. “But not my sibling’s name, and certainly not my twin’s name.”

He groaned and flopped back onto your bed, landing on the clothes you had previously been folding to pack away. “Now I have to disappear for a week, what if she comes back?”

“That’s not my problem, ‘Tsumu.” You told him, tugging at the sweater he was laying on to get him to move.

Atsumu rolled over and gave you a mock glare. “It most definitely is yer fault,” You could tell he was getting a little worked up by the way his accent was coming through more. He sat up in your bed, watching as you ignored his frustration until he seemed to come up with an idea. “Let me come to the wedding.”

“What?” You paused, hands hovering over your suitcase.

“Win-win,” He nodded enthusiastically. “I get away, you get a date.”

“Playboy Atsumu wants to play the role of loving boyfriend?” You laughed. “Nice try.”

“I can do it, may not seem like it but I can be pretty charming.” Atsumu stood up from his spot on the bed, brushing his chest against yours and raising a hand to gently cup your chin between his fingers as if to prove his point. “I’ll be good, promise.”

You laughed, pushing his hand away. “My family is… a little rough around the edges.”

“I can do rough,” He smirked, making you roll your eyes at his suggestive gaze.

“Fine,” You huffed, placing your hands on your hips and watching as Atsumu’s eyes lit up with excitement. “But you better get packing, we’re leaving tomorrow.”

⬦

Walking up the path to your parents front door, Atsumu had a duffel bag in one hand while the other carried both his suit and your dress in a nice garment bag over his shoulder. The train ride to the town where your parents lived was a few hours long and you had spent most of it filling Atsumu in on the ins and outs of your family.

“Baba Mimi will probably get a little handsy with you,” You warned as you walked up the last few steps to the front door and knocked a few times. “Especially if she has had a few glasses of wine.”

“So you take after her?” Atsumu smirked down at you, making you blush ever so slightly.

“I have never-” You started to cry out but were interrupted by the opening of the front door and chorus of greetings meeting your ears.

“(Y/n) is here!” Your sister greeted you and Atsumu at the door, calling out to your family over her shoulder and the echoing of a group of cheers responded. After giving you a hug and pulling away, your sister finally turned to see Atsumu standing next to you and her eyes widened. “And she brought a man!”

A crashing sound could be heard from further in the house and suddenly the whirlwind that is the combination of your mother and grandmother came bounding around the corner. Completely ignoring you standing there, they immediately greeted Atsumu by pinching at his cheeks, tugging at his hair, and feeling up the muscles on his arms. You had to laugh at the overwhelmed look on his face as he was ushered away from you and into the house as the two women chattered happily over each other, firing question after question.

You turned and slowly blinked at your sister, shaking your head as she shook her own. “(Y/n), I’m not kidding, they've been drinking since noon.”

You had to laugh, looping your arms together as the two of you walked into the house to join the rest of the family and save Atsumu from the craziness that was sure to happen.

“Anyways, (Y/n),” She said as you two came to the kitchen to see Atsumu surrounded by even more family. “He’s fucking cute, what the hell?”

You laughed a little nervously as your sister nudged you a few times while checking out Atsumu. “Yeah, it just sort of happened.” You shrugged, trying to be as vague as possible.

“Isn’t he your neighbor? I always thought you guys were just friends.” She asked, remembering having met Atsumu once or twice while visiting you. “That’s pretty lucky if you ask me.”

Your sister was a smart cookie and you had to hope with your whole heart she wouldn’t see through the blatant lie you were going to try to pull off for the next week. “Mom, stop.” You called out after seeing her running her fingers drunkenly through Atsumu’s hair, inspecting the undercut and dyed color.

Atsumu smiled and waved off your concern, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you came to stand next to him and push your mother away from harassing him even more. As you busied yourself with introducing Atsumu to the rest of the family that had gathered, you missed the way your sister studied you.

Her fiance sidled up next to her, also eyeing the two of you, but with less suspicion. “I didn’t know (Y/n) was seeing anyone,” He mentioned, nodding his head. “He seems cool.”

“Yeah, I think it’s new.” You sister responded, eyes noticing the way Atsumu looked at you with an amount of adoration that went unnoticed by you. She also saw the way his look brightened at the sound of your laughter, how his hand gripped your shoulder a little tighter when you moved.

She had been suspicious when you called late last night saying you were bringing a date to the wedding last minute. The two of you held no secrets from one another so it was a surprise that after all the horrid dates your mother had sent you on, you were suddenly going to bring a guy that you were apparently serious enough with to her wedding. She envisioned some random guy off the street who could barely make eye contact with anyone. She did not expect your handsome neighbor, who already fit in so well after meeting your family for ten minutes, and looked at you like you were the one to hang the moon.

⬦ The Day Before ⬦

The days you had spent at your parents house getting prepared for the wedding had been nothing short of chaotic. Between dealing with the florist, the caterers, your sister, and your mother you felt like you hadn’t done much breathing. Atsumu was a shining star playing the role of boyfriend, being neighbors and friends for the last year had made it surprisingly easy to fake a relationship in the eyes of your family.

He’d been by your side almost the entire week, except for when he was whisked away by the men in your family. Atsumu immediately made friends with your sister’s fiance, the two of them laughing and joking a lot of the time - usually at the expense of you and your sister.

The night of the rehearsal was no different.

Everyone was milling around your parents backyard after having run through the ceremony. A few fire pits had been lit and everyone stood around talking to one another and having a few drinks. Atsumu stood with a beer bottle casually hanging from his fingers as he talked about the latest news in the sports world with your father and soon to be brother in law. You hadn’t realized you’d been staring at him through the kitchen window, watching the way he laughed and smiled, until your sister waved a hand in front of your face to wake you out of the stupor.

“Wake up,” She laughed. You shook your head a little and focused back on the food you were supposed to be plating after brushing off your sister’s teasing.

Another moment passed and you looked back up to see that Atsumu was no longer talking to your dad and was instead in a conversation with one of the bridesmaids. He had a small smile on his face, nodding along politely as he took another sip from the beer in his hands.

Atsumu made a comment that you couldn’t hear, but it must’ve been funny by the way the bridesmaid threw her head back with laughter and playfully placed a hand on Atsumu’s arm. Her body angled towards him flirtatiously as she continued her hold on him, and suddenly it was like you forgot how to blink. You just kept watching the interaction, feeling an odd sensation in the pit of your stomach.

“Chill out killer,” You sister said. You looked down to where you had been cutting up some vegetable to see that the pieces were much, much smaller than they needed to be and your hand was grasping the knife with a white knuckled intensity.

You cleared your throat before speaking, “Sorry.”

When you looked up again, Astumu and the girl were gone and a sudden feeling of dread pooled in your heart. In reality, you had no rightful claim over Atsumu. Sure, he was pretending to be your boyfriend for the week, but the two of you weren’t together in the slightest and if he wanted to go off and flirt with a pretty girl then he was allowed to do that. You didn’t even think of Atsumu in that light - he was a good friend and your neighbor, the person you joked around with and complained about terrible dates to. So why were you experiencing the burning feeling of jealousy start to build in your chest?

“Hey, need any help?” You turned around at the sound of his voice to see Atsumu setting his drink down and coming to stand behind you. He casually rested his hands on your hips and peeked over your shoulder to see what you were putting together. You felt yourself relax, only to come to a startling realization that the reason you had been so tense in the first place was because you thought Atsumu had gone off with another girl. What was wrong with you?

The rest of the night was spent with Atsumu by your side, catching up with other family, and the constant nagging in the back of your head over that brief moment of jealousy that had happened. Even as you were getting ready for bed, brushing through your hair absently, your mind wandered while you stood in the middle of your childhood bedroom.

A knock at your door broke your train of thought and you looked up to see Atsumu opening your door carefully. He smiled as he saw you standing in your pajamas, posters of boy bands and television shows hung up on the walls, thinking that he’d never seen something as cute until that very moment in his life.

“You better get back down to the couch before my dad catches you,” You joked as he shut the door behind him and moved to take a few steps into your room.

“Or what? He likes me too much,” He laughed. He glanced around your room, taking in all the parts that made up who you were when you were growing up.

“He’s not the only one,” You mumbled, moving to sit on your bed.

Atsumu heard you and turned around with a puzzled look. “What was that?” He asked.

You startled a little bit, not thinking you had spoken loud enough for him to hear. “N-nothing,” You said. When he kept looking at you with those brown eyes, you shrugged a shoulder casually to play off your comment. “You just looked kinda friendly with that bridesmaid tonight.”

“Oh ho,” He laughed, eyes lighting up brightly as he fully turned to face you. “What’s this?”

Your eyes widened, realizing you had said too much and couldn’t take it back now. You shook your head, holding out your hands to keep some distance as Atsumu walked up to you. “What are you talking about?”

“Was that jealousy I just heard?” He smirked, now standing at the edge of the bed and looking down at you.

“What would I possibly be jealous about?” You snapped, rolling your eyes at his clear display of cockiness.

Atsumu paused for a moment, studying the way you refused to look at him before he acted. “I don’t know,” He said and reached forward. Propping one knee up on your bed, Atsumu leaned over you and grabbed your chin in his fingers to force you to look at him.

His closeness surprised you and made the breath in your lungs catch slightly. You were clearly flustered as he leaned closer and closer until the two of you had fallen back onto your bed, one of his arms bracing his weight next to your head so he didn’t totally crush you. He smirked, looking at your face for anything that would tell him to stop, before leaning forward to press his lips against yours.

Your muffled squeak quickly turned into the softest moan Atsumu had ever heard as he eased his tongue past your lips to deepen the kiss. A moment later he was the one to pull away, to your disappointment, tracing a finger along the side of your face. Atsumu smiled down at you, not a smirk but a genuinely soft smile. “You have nothing to worry about,” He whispered.

You stayed sprawled out on your bed as he hoisted himself upright again and left your room, wishing you a soft goodnight before shutting your door behind him. Still a little flustered, you pressed your fingers to you lips, feeling where Atumu’s has been only moments before. If you weren’t confused before, you were certainly lost now.

⬦ The Day Of ⬦

The morning of the wedding you woke up still in a daze and reeling from Atsumu kissing you. You weren’t a prude, you’d kissed and been with guys before, but it was the way in which he had kissed you - with such purpose behind it - that made it hard for you to snap out of your thoughts until you were being pulled in all directions.

You had searched for Atsumu before breakfast, but when you went downstairs to check on him he was nowhere to be found. Puzzled, you stared at his neatly made makeshift bed on the couch with your arms crossed.

“Oh he’s with the rest of the boys getting breakfast!” Your mom appeared behind you, patting your shoulder as she bustled around the kitchen. “They all went out before heading next door to get ready.”

“Huh,” You huffed, turning to try and snag some of your own breakfast since you weren’t sure how much you’d get around to eating later in the day. You had underestimated Atsumu connecting with your family, but if your brother in law had invited him along you guessed that meant he was making a good impression - just like he had told you before kissing you last night.

Hours later after being poked, prodded, twisted, and twirled all over you finally found a moment of peace. Your hair was styled in a semi-messy half ponytail, curls framing your face which had a light amount of makeup on it. As you rummaged around in the refrigerator, you were careful not to mess up anything that was already done for fear of the wrath your sister would bring down on you.

You heard the door to the back yard open, the sound of the setup crew’s voices flowing into the kitchen before being silenced when the door shut again. Righting yourself you peeked over the open door, pausing with a piece of fruit halfway to your mouth when you saw who had entered.

Atsumu stood before you in all his glory, navy suit pants and a nice white shirt tucked in. His top button was undone and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled half way up his forearms. He looked good, and if you had had any less sense you would’ve been a little more obvious in your starring. Instead you shook your head slightly and blinked hard before greeting him. “Hello Mister Popular,” You teased.

His brown eyes widened when he saw it was you greeting him, then quickly his expression went back to the same aloof smugness it always held. He rubbed a hand at the back of his neck, smirking at you as he spoke. “Ah, what can I say? Families love me.”

You rolled your eyes at his confidence, moving out of his way as he went to reach into the refrigerator for a few bottles of water. “It’s going to suck to tell everyone when we break up,” You said, surrounding your words with air quotes and smiling softly at him. “They’ll be so sad.”

Atsumu studied you face for a moment before answering, “About that, what-“

“(Y/NNNN)!”

The shrill voice of your sister yelling echoed throughout the house, making your eyes go wide with horror. Atsumu mirrored your gaze as you thrust the rest of your unfinished snack into his hands and bolted off in the direction of the stairs. Atsumu just watched after you, gazing at your retreating form clad in only one of those silky bridesmaids robes he’d seen on social media hundreds of times. Even after you had disappeared from his sight he still stood there, slightly disappointed, chewing at his cheek in a bad habit his brother always told him to stop doing.

“Later,” Atsumu mumbled to himself before grabbing the water bottles and heading back over next door where the groom's party was waiting for him. “I’ll do it later.”

⬦

Atsumu loved weddings. Last year when Suna had gotten married and he got to be a part of the big day he had had so much fun and found himself a sucker for the amount of love being spread all around. Today had been no different.

Your family may have been a little wild at first, but as you walked down the aisle with the best man and the tears started to well in your eyes when your sister followed after, Atsumu felt a smile of his own tugging at the corners of his lip. You’d been so focused on not tripping over the horrid yellow fabric of the long dress you wore that you didn’t notice Atsumu in the crowd until your sister passed by him with your father and your eyes caught one another, he was sitting next to your grandma - her hands tightly clasping his arm.

You couldn’t help it. You smiled a bright, toothy grin, your eyes unknowingly lighting up at the sight of him. Atsumu felt his heart catch a little in his chest, the feeling of your grandmother giving his arm a quick squeeze before sitting down brought him out of the daze that was centered purely on your eyes. Had he ever noticed how bright they were before today?

Vows were exchanged, speeches were made, and the dancing had been going on for hours. You had laughed wildly as your dad swung you around the dance floor like you were a little kid again, your hair whipping around along with your dress. Every once in a while you’d catch Atsumu dancing as well, only in his arms was your young cousin who laughed brightly with her flushed cheeks as Atsumu swung her back and forth. It almost broke your heart how cute it was, seeing him so open and at ease with your family.

As an old slower song started through the speakers, your dad smiled over your shoulder when he saw who was trying to cut in on the dance. With a handshake, your dad passed you off to Atsumu who easily slipped one hand into yours and the other around your waist to pull you close.

“You look really beautiful,” Atsumu leaned close and spoke into your ear, tightening his grip around your waist to pull you a little closer.

You had to laugh because you remember him specifically giving you a hard time months ago when your bridesmaid dress arrived, agreeing with you on how ugly it was. “Even in this disgusting thing?”

“Absolutely,” He grinned down at you.

The intensity of his gaze made you blush and you were thankful for the soft glow of the string lights above to prevent it from being too obvious. Scrunching up your nose, you smiled up at Atsumu. “Thank you,” You told him. “For everything. You really made this week a lot easier.”

“I enjoyed it, honestly.” You hadn’t realized that the two of you had stopped swaying back and forth, the music playing through the speakers long forgotten as you could only focus on the brown eyes boring down into you.

You felt Atsumu drag your hand up to rest around his neck, then let go and brought his to tangle in your hair. You pulled you forward, meeting little resistance on your end, and pressed his lips to yours in a kiss not unlike the one you two shared the previous night. You were thankful for the grip he had around your waist as he tilted you back and you felt like your knees were about to give out. The way Atsumu kissed, it was no wonder all those girls went crazy wanting to come back for more.

He started again, “I-”

“Alright ladies! It’s time for the bouquet toss!”

The sudden sound of the DJ’s voice shocked you out of your moment and you broke apart from Atsumu. Looking around, couples started filtering off the dancefloor and it was becoming more and more crowded with the single women in attendance.

Atsumu smiled down at you with a sigh, still holding onto your waist, his lips still so close you could feel them against yours as he spoke. “Meet me by the pond,” He whispered.

Unable to really speak, you simply nodded as you got your footing back and stepped away from him. You pushed through the small crowd of excited girls that had gathered in front of your sister, giving her a short wave to let her know you were not participating and getting a wink from her in response.

You’d gotten distracted by a few overserved relatives as you tried to navigate our way through the tables spread out in your parents backyard. Finally getting through, you slipped out of your shoes and quickened your pace through the small grove of trees that separated your parents property from the pond that lay beyond.

Sitting on a fallen tree trunk in all his cliche glory was Atsumu. When he saw you finally walk up to him, he bent over and grabbed a plastic cup filled with champagne. You thanked him and took a sip, sitting next to him on the rough surface of the tree. He was slightly hunched over, hands turning his own cup around and around as he smiled softly while deep in thought.

“I was thinkin’,” He started, lifting his head up to look out over the pond. The moon’s reflection rippled in the water, shining brightly. “‘Bout the whole dating thing.”

“You’ve been amazing,” You smiled. “Playing the part very-”

“What if we really did it?”

You nearly choked on your drink at his interruption. Your brows furrowed together as you looked at him with an amused and disbelieving smile. “Like, us?” You tried not to sound hopeful because in reality this week you had definitely formed some sort of romantic feelings towards your not-boyfriend, but still… him wanting to actually date? “Atsumu, you don’t do relationships.”

“I would with you,” He said, finally turning to look at you, still slightly slumped over with his elbows resting on his knees. The smile he flashed at you, the way his eyebrows rose on his forehead, all read that he too didn’t fully understand why he felt the way he was feeling - but Atsumu was never one to shy away from his emotions. “I’m sorry if it ruins things, but I like you (Y/n).”

“I like you, too.” You hadn’t even realized you were speaking the words until you saw Atsumu’s relieved expression. He laughed lightly, reaching over to rest a hand on your thigh with a gentle squeeze - the action, while simple and not suggestive in any way, made you break out in a giddy smile.

“It’s settled then,” He nodded, slinging back the rest of his drink with a dramatic flourish, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and tossing the plastic cup over his shoulder. You laughed as he leaned forward and captured your lips with his once again, both hands moving to cup your cheeks in a gentle but forceful grasp.

You’d worry about explaining the details to everyone some other time, if ever. For now, you were going to enjoy yourself, and drink up as much of Atsumu as you could in the glowing moonlight.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu!! x reader #hq!! x reader #hq!!#hq #Miya Atsumu #haikyuu atsumu #atsumu miya #atsumu x reader #friends to lovers #fate dating #reader insert #haikyuu reader insert #x reader #light on the fake heavy on the dating

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eerythingisshaka · 5 years

Text

Wish Granted

Word Count: 6K

Yahya Abdul-Mateen II x Reader

Warnings: Smut

Standing by the fountain, you feel a chill catch the inside of your coat. You tug it closer around you and flip the penny in your hand from heads to tails. A 2003 penny with Lincoln on the front, his memorial on the back. No different, always the same. Under your arm is a box with a new scarf and glove set for the man you thought you would marry one day. Before you could even get to dinner, he meets you at your hotel to say that things aren’t going the way he hoped and that you should call it quits before things got too serious. Like four years of commitment wasn’t serious enough.

You hold the penny up, allowing the fountains sound drowns out the surrounding world as you close your eyes and launch that coin into the fountain.

“Ow!”

You open your eyes to see a man standing in front of you, hand over his eye.

You cover you mouth, mortified. “Oh! Oh no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.”

Without thinking you run up to the stranger, reaching for his hand to observe the injury you inflicted. When he moves his hand, he blinks a couple times looking around to make sure he had vision. You take a step back, looking him over. Brown trench coat, snakeskin loafers, hair trimmed with that old school part in the fro. Epitome of tall dark and handsome if you had to categorize him. And now you’re about to add an eye patch to his wardrobe.

“I swear I wasn’t begging for change walking through here. Not today.” He rubs his eye again, looking at you with his good one.

“I wasn’t thinking. Why would I throw something with my eyes closed in a public area, honestly.”

He looks behind him. “You wanted to make a wish?”

You look down at your feet in embarrassment, “Kind of, yeah. It’s silly but-”

His smile stops your train of thought, lighting up your mind’s electricity with its beauty. Like a hand of dominoes, those teeth are hiding a hand that will have you laid out on a table in a minute.

“That ain’t silly, that’s what everyone around here is doing, including me. Did you drop that too?”

He points near you to the box by your feet, swiftly picking it up before you could say anything.

“Leaving a gift for the fountain too?” He quips, handing it over to you.

You roll your eyes, “No, but I don’t really wanna get into it right now, if that’s cool.”

His face drops as he nods, putting his hands in his coat pockets humbly. You instantly feel bad, especially for making that smile go away.

“I don’t mean it like-”

“No, it’s cool. I get it. We don’t know each other like that so…”

“Well, I mean...sorry, what’s your name?”

“Yahya.” He holds out his hand, face warming up again. You take it, giving him a genuine smile along with your name.

“Well Yahya, before I almost took out your eye, what was your wish to the fountain?”

He squints at you suspiciously in a way that sparks your inner challenger as his walls begin to metaphorically build.

“If I told you, wouldn’t that make it not come true?”

You mull it over in your head. “I mean, that’s for birthday wishes, not fountain wishes.”

Yahya chuckles, throwing his head back. “I like that logic, but I gotta plead the fifth.”

You tut at him. “Oh come on! I embarrassed myself just now, why can’t you?”

“Oh this all about you, to make you feel better?” Yahya asks playfully.

You love this back and forth, nodding to keep the game going whether he gives in or not.

Yahya looks at you a second before sighing deeply and looking around for anyone nearby who might eavesdrop. Every move he makes looks so damn cool, you feel anxious the more time passes between you two.

“Aight, but if I tell you, you owe me a drink.” He says with a smolder behind his gaze down at you.

“And why’s that?” You ask, clutching your chest.

On cue, Yahya holds his eyes bending over. “Oh God, my eyesight. How can I see people’s bullshit now?”

You whack his back to make him stop, the cadence of his laughter pops in the night air.

“Ok, drinks on me, cool?”

Promptly dropping his act with a deviant smile he says, “Cool. Let’s get them first.” He holds his arm out to you expectantly. You swap your box from one arm to the other before taking his and setting off to a nearby lounge. He opens the door for you and you find two stools at the far end of the bar.

You take a seat, setting your box on the bar as Yahya unbuttons his coat, flicking the sides behind him. You notice how his pants accentuate the length of his legs, as well as the fitted nature right around his upper thighs. You smile to yourself, thanking God for his blessing to man.

He orders a whiskey neat, you get a gin and tonic. By the time the drinks arrive and you warm up from first sip, your senses begin to loosen.

“Ok, you got a drink, now tell me about your wish.”

Yahya puts on a look of shock before placing the glass to his eye. You push him playfully.

“That doesn’t even make sense, you got it without ice!”

He shakes his head. “Just hating. Ok, um. I got one more request before I say this, cuz I don’t wanna have you running away from me when I say this.”

You sit up a little straighter at his words. “O...k.”

He licks his lips turning a little more in your direction. “After I tell you my wish, you gotta tell me what’s in that box. I can tell it’s not for you.”

“How?!”

He pulls it across the bar towards him. “It’s got a ribbon on it that is wrapped around the box, so it hasn’t been opened. You’re dressed nice but standing alone at a fountain at night making a wish and going to a bar with someone you just met, makes me think you had a rough night.”

Your heart drops at this lowkey reading that hit the nail on the head.

“...plus the tag says ‘To: James’.”

You pull the box back and pull your drink to your lips silently. Yahya feels your change of heart and switches gears.

“I didn’t mean to say that offensively, I was just answering your question. I get a little too blunt out the blue sometimes, I been told.”

You look at him and see his apologetic eyes, looking like a little boy being sweet to come out of time out. You reassess, turning back on the cool mode. Remember, he’s not your man.

“You...got the story without even having to ask me a question. So now you owe me. You tell me your wish and why you are wandering the fountain at night,” You say with a little bite in your voice. Since he so smart...

Yahya finishes his drink and raises his hand to order another. “On the rocks this time.” He turns to look at you, making time slow down while looking into your eyes like he is searching for something steady to anchor to. You hope he sees it because you already see it in him, crazy as that sounds.

He digs in his pocket to pull out a flat square grey box, setting it on the bar and pushing it towards you.

“I have a gift to that didn’t quite make it to the receiver.”

You take the box hesitantly, opening it to find a simple sterling silver chain.

“What happened? Why didn’t she take it?” You ask. “It is a little simple, but I mean, not break up worthy.”

“I don’t think it was her style in the end, but also,” He pulls the necklace out, bringing the backing with it to reveal a ring looped around it. You gasp, taken back it’s beauty.

“Oh wow, you were planning to propose?!”

Yahya nods, smiling solemnly. “I thought I had found what I was looking for in her, but she hadn’t found what she wanted in me. Luckily she hadn’t pulled the necklace out when she broke it down for me.”

“Wow.” You say, looking over the necklace and ring combo as you sip your drink, not knowing what else to say.

Yahya rests his chin on his hand, looking over the ring. “It’s not easy to find someone you connect with and see a future. That’s all I been wanting since I got grown. People date for a quick thing but I wanted more. I really thought we were headed there.”

“That’s how it was for me. I came here to meet with my boy- well now my ex boyfriend. We planned this trip months ago and the day comes that I thought for sure would be the next step in our relationship and he just stops me before we make it to dinner.”

“Did you all have reservations?” He asks.

You nod. “Yeah, now in 15 minutes actually, a block from here.”

Yahya checks the time and picks up your box. “All this heartache is making me hungry, and my mama didn’t raise me to let a woman drink on an empty stomach, so let’s go.”

He buttons his coat, digs out a couple bills from his wallet and lays them on the bar before holding out his trusted arm again. You take it again happily.

At the restaurant you both order drinks and appetizers to share, laughing and chatting about of all things, your broken relationships.

“You know I waited on him for a month to come back on business trip before this? I just KNEW I was gonna get dicked down at the least. Excuse my language but he couldn’t bother with me to even giving me break up sex!” You say, a little too loudly for the stuffy restaurant you all were enjoying.

Yahya laughs so hard his eyes close up, wheezing at the crudeness of your talking. “I swear, where have all the gentlemen gone right?”

“RIGHT!” you concur. “Don’t do that to your lady, ok?”

Yahya bites off a shrimp and tosses the tail. “I don’t have a lady, remember?”

“Oh yeah. Well for your future lady. Always do her right. No matter if you happy or mad.”

Yahya looks over at you, eyes heavy from the liquor consumed, he holds his hand out across the table. You look at him snickering.

“Oh sweetie, you got something to say?” You ask teasingly.

Yahya scratches his beard, squeezing your fingers gently. “Nothing but I never told you my wish.”

You brush him off. “Oh you don’t have to, it’s not important anymore.”

“It is though because this night has turned from tragic to amazing in the span of just a couple hours with you. I had went to that fountain torn up and wished that I would find a wife.”

You sit there quietly, thinking about that box with the necklace and ring. You take your hand away from his.

“I don’t mean that means anything to you. We’re just friends obviously. If that!” Yahya says with a cool laugh, looking at the rim of his glass as he twirls his finger around it. You knew he wasn’t trying to sound crazy like you’re the answer to his wish but you grabbed you coat anyway.

“Follow me.”

You get your box and put on your coat hurriedly. You both walk through the tables, heading for the entrance.

“You paid right?” You ask, opening your gift box and taking out its contents.

Yahya nods. “Yeah, what’s going on?”

Taking out the scarf, you wrap it around his neck. “This looks pretty good on you, matches your coat and everything.” You hand him the gloves to put on. “I say let’s try and make your wish come true, huh?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, let’s live in the moment! No strings, talk to me like a loving husband, I’ll treat you like a wife. See if it even makes sense. You might not even care to have a ball and chain around your neck all the time. Who knows!” You’re oddly chill about asking for this odd request but Yahya’s face isn’t reading as all for it. You start to push the door open when Yahya pulls you back.

“Hang on.” He reaches in his pocket and pulls out the square box, undoing the necklace and holds it out to you.

“Take the ring off first.” You say cautiously.

He shakes his head. “Aren’t you my wife for the night? This is yours. Turn around.”

You obey as your cool begins to melt away, letting him put it around your neck, clasping it gently and finishing with a soft squeeze of your shoulders.

“Wifey, let’s take a stroll.” Yahya offers, leading you out into the street..

“My dear, dinner was marvelous tonight.” Yahya speaks in an uppity manner.

“Why yes, my compliments to the chef, indeed. I do apologize for not having cooked. I so know you were looking forward to it.”

“My dear wife there is no need to fret, you should at least have one day off. That’s what a gentleman would expect.”

You chortle haughtily. “My dear, you are too grand. I say we shall put the beds together tonight for some whoopie!”

Yahya laughs out of character. “What decade are we in?”

You think a second. “Well let’s say 70s and not differentiate from 1970 or 1870. Sounds good?”

Yahya gives you a thumbs up. “Works for me.”

As you walk along, you recognize the street you’re both on. “Oh, there is my hotel. We walked right up on it. Nice!”

Yahya smiles down at you. “Your methods are clandestine.”

You feign shock. “Wha? I hadn’t led us towards here subconsciously at all! But since we are here, I really don’t wanna keep our schtick short. You wanna come up? Oh! We can play house!” You say excitedly.

Yahya shrugs, opening the hotel doors ahead of the doorman. “After you milady.”

Your shoes click clack across the floor as you make your way to the elevator. With a ding, the doors open and let you in. As the door closes, Yahya takes your hand and jerks you toward him, spinning you around to the wall nearest to him and pinning you against it.

You hold your breath looking up at him, watching his hand move towards your neck, reaching around to pull the ring out from your coat collar.

“This suits you, you know. I just had to see it up close on you one more time.” His fingers run across the chain and collarbone to your neck, making you ticklish.

“You know there’s cameras in here.” You breathily warn, contradicting your worry when you place your hand to his back, bringing him closer to you.

He traces the outline of your face, turning your into putty even more once his lips graze yours. Barely registering as a kiss, you close your eyes anyhow, enjoying the warmth of him near you until you reach for his face and demand more. Soon, the doors of the elevator ding open and Yahya let’s you go, shielding your body in the corner with his to appear as casual as possible while the new passengers stepped on.

“You guys aren’t coming out?” An elderly white man asks.

Yahya looks back. “Oh sorry. We left something in the room so we have to make a second trip. What floor are we?” He whispers to you.

“11th.” You say as he pressed the button. He stands in front of you with his back to you as the man stepped on, pressing 8.

“Geez I hate when that happens. Gotta take those extra steps, feels like such a waste of time.” The man says.

You play with Yahya, poking his booty cheek, which he flexes once he notices your touch, looking back at you with a cross eyed look.

“Oh yeah. It can be real annoying. Blame this one.” Yahya points his thumb back at you.

The man appears to have just noticed you. “Oh buddy, don’t blame your girl. That will turn your night sour in a jif!” The elevator dings to open to his floor. “You kids have a good night. Sweetie, give him hell!” THrowing a thumbs up, he leaves you both in the elevator once again.

Yahya turns to face you, “Is this how married folk act in elevators?”

You smile and shrug, pulling at the scarf around his neck. ”Any marriage I’m in, it better be.”

The elevator dings once more and you lead him to Room 1142, rooting through your wristlet to find the card, growing distracted by the hug from behind that Yahya pulls you into, nuzzling your shoulder.

“Stop! I am gonna drop all my shit if you don’t quit.” You whine.

“All of it?” Yahya growls in your as he pushes up on you, letting you know what was definitely up with him.

You find the card and insert it to unlock the door, stumbling half drunk, half horny inside. Yahya closes the door and exclaims suddenly, “Look at this dessert, right here!”

Some chocolate covered strawberries placed neatly on a silver platter sits on a table with champagne chilling in a bucket.

You take off your coat, groaning in frustration. “Goddammit. I ordered this before James came up and obviously it didn’t get eaten. I hope the champagne ain’t burned.” You pick the bottle up from the half melted ice, checking the label.

Yahya takes off his coat, putting it across a nearby desk. “How would it burn?”

You unwrap the foil and start to twist the cork. “You know like freezer burn. Chill it too long and it can burn like steak left in the freezer too long.” With one twist the cork pops across the room, and an overflow of foam spills over your hands. Yahya takes the bottle, letting the alcohol spill across the strawberries and table before tipping the bottle to his mouth.

You watch his adam’s apple bob as champagne makes drips on his shirt. The muscles in his arms on full display as he tips the bottle back down, screwing his face up from the taste.

“That ain’t bad.” He puts a fist to his mouth, letting out a decent burp while holding the bottle to you.

You cackle taking the bottle for yourself as he takes a seat at the table with strawberries.

“You really went all out for tonight huh?” Yahya asks, looking around the room.

You twist the neck of the bottle, holding it to your chest nervously. “I tried. If I am committed, I can’t hide that. And I just want someone to see me at least halfway on my level, you know?” You take a swig from the bottle, letting the liquid do its thing to your bloodstream.

Yahya sits there with his hands on his thighs, spread wide in a way that is least annoying. It showcases his height, confidence, and body structure that you’re sure he takes pride in.

“No reason you can’t have that.” Yahya says quietly.

You stand beside him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “You could too. Hell, you had a complete ring here.” You pull on it for emphasis.

Yahya shrugs, giving a soft sad smile. “I don’t wanna think about what I could have. I wanna focus on what I got now.”

You feel the width of his palm wrap around your hip, looking up at you in need. You put the bottle down and hold his face in your hands. His hands massage your back, willing you to give in. But something holds you back.

“Let me sit real quick.” You plant yourself on his lap, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, distracting yourself with the berries.

“What’s wrong?” Yahya asks. “Your energy feel different.”

You take a strawberry in for a bite, savoring the sweet chocolate with the refreshing juice of the strawberry.

“It’s been a long night. This has been cute and fun, definitely better than how it started. But I can’t stop thinking about why am I doing this. For what? Like this doesn’t mean a damn thing. Nothing really does.”

Yahya gently squeezes your hip with a slight frown on his face. “I think it’s better to think about how you popped some dude in the eye, made him feel better by being funny, gorgeous and your heart is so innocent and open, I thought I would fuck this up quickly.”

You laugh. “You did almost.”

“I know, I talked too much at the bar-”

“No it was when you insisted I buy you a drink.” You retort.

“And I’m still waiting on it. I paid remember!” Yahya says with a little neck roll for emphasis that makes you smile bigger.

You reach for the bottle on the table and shake it. “You wasted most of this on the strawberries, here.”

“You don’t want more?” Yahya asks as you tip the bottle to his lips.

“No, go head.” You pour what’s left in his mouth and set the bottle down. He points to his mouth, holding the liquor in his mouth.

“What?” You ask before his hands grab either side of your face and pull you into him. Your body lights up having his lips on you again and you offer to raise the stakes quickly. Opening your mouth, he opens his allowing you to taste the final drink of the night. The bubbles dance around your mouth as the liquid begins to spill out a little, soaking your mouths equally. His hand navigates your thighs, playing around the hem of your dress to ease it further up. You push his hand back, breaking away from him to stand and lean against the table.

“Are you always like this or are we just getting too drunk?” You giggle nervously, squeezing your thighs together.

Yahya sits back, wiping his hand over his mouth slowly as he stares you down. “My head is clear, ok? I always liked the tradition of what’s mine is yours, and yours is mine. Two people, becoming one union.” His index fingers meet each others tip to point up at you.

You’re both breathing erratically, staring at each other daring who will pull the next move. You reach for the bottom of your dress, hiking it up slowly past your thighs exposing your lower half. Yahya’s eyes shoot to your undergarments letting out a low whistle, standing up in front of you, reaching under your dress to grip your behind.

“Is this what you want too?” Yahya asks as you feel his fingers slipping the waist of your panties slowly down.

You breathe out hard, locking eyes, your arousal reaches a peak where you forget how to speak.

“Y-yes.” You squeak out, lifting your hips so he can pull them completely down. He kneels in front of you, pulling one foot and the other out of your shoes then goes to look up at you.

“Your legs are fucking sexy, you know that?” he says as you feel him trace your marks and kisses the front of them.

You snort, wiggling a finger to signal him to stand up. “I thought the same of you when you finally got that coat off, with your long ass. Take something else off.”

His smile shines as he pulls his shirt out his pants and pulling it over his head. Your hands can’t stop from touching his physique, mentally counting every muscle lacquered in the finest deep tone melanin you seen in real life.

“You can’t be real,” you gasp as he unbuttons his pants. You quickly begin to take off your dress, thanking God you didn’t go with a bra today.

When he unzips his pants he stops you. “Slow down, don’t rush. I wanna take my time with it. Lay back a second.”

You do as you’re told, sitting on the edge of the table instinctively spreading your thighs apart. Yayha strokes his chin, licking his lips as he kneels before you, propping your legs further apart you feel yourself swell with desire, biting your lip in anticipation.

Yahya holds one leg up as his other hand traces yours lips. He looked like someone constructing a finger painting, eyes concentrated as his digits worked circles around your sensitive area. Your legs twitch every so often when he moves to slow, coaxing his telepathically to go lower or higher. Once he does, your back bends demonically, exorcising your cares as you moan with delight. You fall back into the table, squishing the fruit laid under your without. But nothing compared to his mouth fully consuming you. Your legs buckle around his ears as he suckles upon your throbbing clit, you feel yourself approaching the edge, cursing yourself for cumming too soon. You make the mistake of looking down to see his wide tongue gently stroke you. Your legs flies up too fast, knocking the champagne off the table.

“Oh shit! Fuck!” You curse, feeling slightly lightheaded.

Yahya goes to grab it but you pull him back forcing him to stand. Pulling him hard into you, you kiss sloppily, leaving no drop behind as you taste yourself, your drinks, your night all at once.

Yahya pulls back, bring you close to him before pushing you over face first onto the table.

“You cussin more about the bottle than me.” Yahya says as he pulls his draws down, holding your hips still and pushing your ankles apart.

You feel yourself crushing the strawberries under your but could not give a single fuck about it.

“I didn’t wanna make a mess, is all.”

He sucks his teeth as you feel his tip rub against your vulva. “Shit. That’s all I wanna do now. Which one should it be? Clean? Or dirty?”

Before you can answer, you feel his breath on your neck as he plants wet kisses, sliding his tongue down your back. You hear him making it sloppy and it threatens you to flip the table.

“Dammit, give it to me, baby please.” You look back at him with your head in the table watching him smile as he plants on hand one your lower back and pushes in gently.

You fingers almost rips a hole in the tablecloth as you tense up under his girth.

“Be easy. You can do this, I got you.” He says with a raspy voice, pushing further and deeper into you, wrapping his arms around to grip your breasts as you prop yourself on your elbows for support.

“Ohh shit.” You exclaim, feeling yourself stretch in a way the felt completely new. Your walls squeezed tightly, not wanting to let go of this new visitor.

Yahya exhaled sharply as he pulled back, letting you feel your lungs expand again until his next stroke came down on you. He keeps the pace slow, whispering in your ear.

“You like me inside you?” He asks. You nod.

“Tell me it feel good.” Yahya says. You grunt, biting your lip as you try to concentrate on your next nut.

His hand grabs your hair at the nape of your neck. “What was that?”

You gasp delightfully, taking the pain with pleasure. “It’s so good, baby.”

“You showing me it’s good. Keeping wettin me down like I like.” Yahya laughs, curing under his breath as he digs into you deeper, pulling out less. Your ass bounces against his hips instinctively asking for more.

“I wanna hear you too, baby. This mine and it’s yours.” You snarl, bouncing back on him until you body deceives you. The pace gets too good before you begin to curl into yourself, letting your orgasm take over.

“I can help you with that.” He grunts, lifting one leg up on the table, hitting you at a new angle he pounds into you, repeating how good your pussy is, demanding you cum on him right there.

You body twists under him, reaching back for him to ease up, typical fight or flight despite how good it feels. He pins your wayward arm behind your back.

His strokes slow down but dig deeper. The feel of his big tongue licking up your spine makes you squeal and twist under his advantage.

“Shit you making me cum aAGAIN,” you breathe hard.

He licks his lips, kissing each spot along his trail, letting your arms go to envelope your hands with his on the table.

“These berries taste better on you,” he moans in your ear.

“I love your tongue all over me. I’d marry that fucking tongue of yours. Fucking...shit!”

“Oh shit, oh shit.” Yahya barks as his body tenses up as he begins to pull away, face completely without chill until he pulls out of you, jacking himself furiously onto your ass. You feel the shoots of cum hit your behind, like confetti after a race. Your come down is filled with accomplishment as you hear him moan until he has emptied himself completely, smacking your thigh for emphasis.

“That’s what I call a wish came true.” He says proudly. Turning you over to kiss you deeply. Although you’re both exhausted yourselves, his kisses get better with each one. Tongue less timid, mouth more open, lips sucked dry.

You sit up, feeling like you just touched down from being in the clouds. Yahya pulls you into him, looking you over, checking the necklace around your neck again.

“I know what you’re thinking, but I don’t wanna go yet.” He says.

You sigh deeply putting your face in his chest. “I won’t ask you to stay.”

“I wish you would.” Yahya says seriously. “I won’t if you don’t want me too, but I don’t feel right being here without you saying you want me here.”

You look over his face for sincerity. If only that was a superpower, because he looks the same as you seen all day.

You reach for his hands walking him towards your bed as you sit down on it in front of him.

“Come on and stay. I ain’t got this king size for nothing.”

Yahya climbs over you in his stark nakedness to get to the other side and under the blanket. You find this hilarious, snuggling under the blankets with him, letting the plush warmth envelope you both. He pulls you closer as y’all lay face to face in the dark.

“Did you want to sleep with me when you saw me?” You ask.

Yahya takes a beat before answering. “Hell yes.”

You smack his face softly. He still screams ow.

“What am I supposed to say!”

“Something more gentlemanly.”

“Like you ain’t wanted to sleep with me? I saw your eyes on me at the bar. Felt like a piece of meat.”

“That’s what you are. An A1, Grade A, lean cut 80/20 muthafucka.” You say with some funk in your voice.

“Wooow, I’m a whole butcher shop to you.” He says with feigned hurt, feeling your face. You hands go from warming between your thighs to reaching out for his, running your hand up and down. You run the back of your hand across his stomach, feeling his breath inhale and exhale.

Without a word he takes the back of your neck, pushing your face into his with renewed vigor. Your hand reaches his dick, firmly stroking his shaft as he grows under your touch. You crawl over him, pushing him on his back so you can straddle him while he bear hugs you on top of him, sucking your neck. You nibble his ear as you continue to stroke him off, teasing yourself with his tip.

“If this is my favorite thing about you, could you blame me?” You moan in his ear.

“My favorite thing is what you do with your favorite thing.” He says before his eyes roll back once you finally sit yourself properly on top of him.

You feel your eyes open and the room is completely bright with light. You pull the covers over your head with displeasure, attempting to get a few more winks until you realize where you are and what you did. Your eyes shoot open, looking down at your naked frame. Now you really don’t dare stick your head out of the blanket for fear of seeing him or being in this room by yourself. You see the necklace still hanging off of you, he wouldn’t leave that behind right? You take it off and stare at it again. Did you really convince someone to be your husband for a night? And he was crazy enough to say yes? Your head pounds from last night’s activities, forcing you to sit up at least. You look over and find the bed empty beside you. You groan and cover your face. Duh! Why wouldn't he toot and boot. You look around the room at remnants from last night. Bottle on the floor, crushed strawberries, dress and panties in the middle of the floor. Nope, that wasn’t a dream after all. You scoot off the bed and head for the bathroom door to freshen up. When you open the door, you see him standing there, dick in hand, standing at the toilet.

“You’re up?”

You let out a scream as you suddenly feel your nakedness. Yahya jumps with fright as you run back to the bed and burrow under the covers.

“What’s wrong with you?” You hear his voice growing closer.

“Are you dressed?” you mewl from under the covers. This generates a chuckle from Yahya. You feel weight on the side of the bed and you peek to see the man framed by the golden rays of the sun sitting up in his underwear looking at you with amusement.

“I didn’t wanna wake you, my alarm woke me up.”

“What were you doing in the bathroom?” you ask.

“....peeing?” He says cautiously.

“No! I mean, why are you still here? How?”

Yahya folds his arms in thought. “I was hoping we could get breakfast or something. See what you look like in the daylight.” He pulls at the blanket around your head but you hold it tight.

“I’m not decent,” you whisper.

Yahya laughs. “I think you’re pretty decent. I’m not erasing last night, I hope you aren’t.”

You feel for the nightstand and reach to give him the necklace back. He takes it while holding on to your hand. You feel something familiar surge from his touch.

“My energy hasn’t changed from last night. I wanna know you as a woman, understand? I’m not worried about how we met.”

You take your hand away and sit up, pulling the blanket over your chest. “Less than 24 hours ago and we fucked. I really don’t do that.”

“I don’t either! If we both were truthful, we got out of committed relationships and found something familiar with each other. I’m not gonna let that slip by, that’s connection.”

You hug yourself, looking around at remnants of yesterday around the room until you met eyes with the main memory sitting beside you.

“Breakfast. But we gotta slow down, ok? It just makes things blurred and messy.”

He places a hand over his heart and one in the air. “Promise! I’ll get dressed, and you should have some hot water for the shower still.”

You barely hear as you watch those shapely legs stroll across the floor carrying that fine ass you can fully appreciate from his tight underwear. He picks up his pants, shaking them out.

“Oh, wait. Come here.”

Yahya looks at you, walking back with his pants in his hands to your side of the bed.

“You got something right here…” You paw at one side of your face, watching him mirror you until you wave him to come closer. He leans down for you to have his face but instead you hold him, kissing him gently.

You pull back,gripping his chin. “I would like to see you in the daylight too.”

Part 2

#yahya abdul mateen ii fic #shakafic

278 notes · View notes

the-wintershade · 4 years

Text

never believing in things unseen

pairing: loki x reader summary: you don’t need anyone but he still needs you wc: 2.9k+ genre: a little angsty, not much else

Mirage: mini series — 01 | 02 | ... |

“We think he’s after the Tesseract.” A holographic projection hummed a shifting blue in front of you. “And we don’t know why.”

It seemed pretty easy to you. The Tesseract could guarantee infinite access to space and anything it encapsulates. It would mean control over galaxies upon galaxies of life, minerals, and whatever else he demes useful. Noteworthy.

It was power, a desire rooted in the very essence of humanity, passed from bloodline to bloodline in a never ending spiral. Of course some were better than others in resisting its pull but everyone had to face the hunger of power at some point.

But Loki wasn’t human. He was a god. And gods always wanted fame, power, adoration.

It made sense.

“Agent?” Your eyes shifted back into focus to find fury’s dark eyes watching you intently. You felt bare, like he could see the events of last night written all over your eyes. Clearing your throat, you took a breath.

“If we consider the idea that he’s a god, and inferior to his brother, it could explain his greed for the Tesseract.” You splayed your hand on the table and propped yourself up on it.

He scanned your features again and you tried as best as you could to keep from shaking. You’d passed many simulations that included lying, heavily, but nothing unnerved you quite as much as fury’s stare — even with only one eye.

He crossed his arms and turned towards you. “I’m listening.”

You brought his attention to the Tesseract. “We don’t really understand the full potential of this object — and, to be frank, I’m not sure we ever will — but it’s likely he does. That makes it valuable to him. He has information we don’t which makes him valuable to us.”

He frowned and he peered at you. “Your point?”

You took a shaky breath, still surprised at you were about to do.

“How about we offer a trade?”

Fury visibly bristled at the idea and took a step back. “That’s not an option.” His tone, clipped and firm, deterred you a bit, but you needed him to at least listen.

“Look, no one said anything about actually giving him what he wants — it’d be like giving the nuclear arsenal to a power hungry terrorist — but a disguised trade. We give him something that mimics the Tesseract, it’s glow, feeling, sound, and in order to exchange ownership of it, he has to tell us what the Tesseract is.”

You watched his eyes shift, speculatory satisfaction flickering across them. You’d seen that look before; it always signaled how impressed he was.

“Say we go along with this plan of yours, what makes you think he’ll fall for it?” He peered over to you, expectant.

“I don’t think he will.” A flash of shock appeared in his features. “But if we give him something else to focus on, he’ll fold. All it takes is a distraction. Something to draw his attention away from the slight flaws in the fake Tesseract enough that he’ll cave. It’s like dreaming. You’ll never truly realize how strange it was until you’ve awoken.” You finish with what you hope is seen as reassurance.

He seems pleased and his arms unfold. “Okay, officer. What will the distraction be?”

You breathe before looking him in the eye. “Me.”

…

It wasn’t your finest moment. But it could be doable.

Loki’s promise still echoed in the recesses of your mind. The words raised initial anger but eventually traveled further than mere surface emotions and buried themselves in a place meant for very delicate feelings.

It was a place you hid because who likes wearing their heart on their sleeve to let it get crushed over and over again?

But to win Loki, to win his open honesty, you’d have to make him believe that his words unlocked something in you.

Which they didn’t. You were a thinker and a force of nature; you don’t have time for silly feelings and emotional attachments.

Hurricanes never stopped turning because their favorite bar was in the path of their destruction. Brilliant scientists worked better alone and lived in blissful solitude.

You didn't need someone in your life.

You never did.

…

You knew the click of those heels. You also knew the probability that you probably wouldn’t hear the end of this.

“Well, well, very inspiring.” She popped her bubblegum and took a seat next to you at the bar. “Another hero, ready to save the day. Life on the line.”

You smiled into your glass of whiskey. “Good to see you too, Nat.”

She ordered her usual — brandy, neat — before turning to you, smiling. “So, how’s my favorite fledgling spy doing? Kiss anyone yet? I hear it’s very effective.”

“Unfortunately, no.” You sighed as you set your glass down on the polished mahogany. “I think I’ll leave the part of the temptress up to you. You’re better at it anyway.”

She watched you as she drank. “You do realize, if you take this mission, you’ll be doing the same thing I am.” She ordered another drink. “The only exception: you likely won’t have to kill him.”

You swallowed, slightly uncomfortable. Her eyes, always analyzing and observing, no doubt picked up in the slight shift in your demeanor.

Natasha and you collaborated on a few projects here and there, nothing too exciting or noteworthy. But over the years you’d developed a friendship and, something you allowed yourself, trust.

You chuckled, trying to cover a bit of your worry. “I’ll try not to aim for the chest, or head, for that matter.”

“I get it.” Your eyes snapped to her only to find her brandy swirling in small circles in its glass. “I know that you don’t like the thought of killing someone and I know you have disguised emotions.” She smirked. “I know that this is going to be much harder for you because of it.” She took a sip of her liquor, giving you a minute to mull over what she said.

“But I don’t have any feelings for him.” You protested, leaning over to her as she drank.

She snorted. “Of course you do. When I even brought up the notion of killing him you immediately stiffened.” She gently put a hand on your shoulder. “But that’s okay. It’s alright to acknowledge your emotions, it gives you power over them. But you have to keep the end goal in mind.”

She kicked back the rest of her drink and a question you wanted to ask her for a while bubbled to your lips.

“How do you do it? Work past the emotional thing?”

She paused and sighed. “I stick to the plan. Even when it hurts.”

…

Overnighters sucked.

Especially when the only work you had left you feeling more tired than awake. It felt as if every word you read sucked more and more energy out of you. You were fairly certain there was a fine line of red rimming your eyes and the pouches underneath them were puffy and irritated.

But the longer it took you to return to your house the better. Loki would be prowling around your building again — as he always did every couple of days — and, without its inhabitant, he would begin to question, to worry.

He’d never seen you not available to him. You were always there, always available. The truth was you liked routine, you liked predictability, and because he was the least predictable being on the planet, that was confusing for you: and insanely irritating.

Natasha couldn’t have been right. You didn’t have feelings for him, far from it. It was annoyance and his childish disposition that bothered you when it concerned him. Feelings were never involved and would never be involved.

Besides, if those feelings came along you wouldn’t know them anyway.

You let out a groan as your head fell to your desk and onto your crossed arms. This wasn’t going to be easy and you knew you couldn’t change the way you acted as soon as he showed up. You hated admitting his intelligence but he was smart, really smart.

A slight change of attitude would tip him off to your intentions.

Besides, this was only pretend. This thing you were going to do wasn’t real; this was all imaginary. How you would convince him off the authenticity, you had no idea.

But maybe you could start with his idea of falling for him, slowly and gradually, and make him believe his witty charm was actually attractive.

Tricking him in the end though would be your best reward. Then he could finally leave and get away from you. And then your life could return to as normal as possible.

No distractions.

No tricks.

No deception.

And definitely no men breaking in at god knows when in the morning.

…

Your clothes cling to your skin and rivets of cold, wet rain slid down the sides of your neck.

In all fairness, you had no clue it would rain. But you were always prepared, your father always made sure of that.

You could see your black umbrella in the car underneath the seat as if you were staring right at it as you jogged down the street, arms crossed, hands digging into your biceps.

But what better a damsel in distress than a freezing cold, slightly sick one. One that let her walls slide down for a moment, an instant, before shielding herself again.

Didn’t he want to play the role of a noble knight, fierce protector? Wasn’t that his goal, to make you feel as though you needed him as much as he needed you?

He would get his sampling.

Slightly coughing and ringing wet, you slipped through the apartment doors. Just as you turned on the light, you heard the sound of a window seal popping and feet on the floor.

“Can’t I have just one second? One! To myself before you come running into my…” you couldn’t recall a time pure worry stood openly on his face and your complaint died on your lips.

His eyes, opened and slightly blue, conveyed fear and he seemed to walk to you in a slight daze. His fingertips felt like liquid fire as he gently stroked your face, moving your wet hair out of it.

“Where have you been?” He mumbled, deeply. Your brain turned off for a second and you started to lean into his gentle touch. Think. You snapped out of it and turned away.

Kicking your shoes off, you brushed past him and laid your things down on your couch. Just as you’d moved past the island of your kitchen, he was right in front of it, pressing you into it.

His nose hovered near your forehead and you felt your body heat respond to the closeness of him. “Don’t run away. I’ve only just begun to see the full picture.” His wall appeared again, the wittiness a deflector for your lack of response.

Loki made a good habit of using his charm and wit to cover up his concern. His open display of it at your door was new, but you couldn’t entertain it yet.

He holds your face between his hands, rubbing his thumbs soothingly across your cheeks. They feel soft but tough and strong and you try to keep reminding yourself about the mission.

“You have to take better care of yourself, you’ll catch a cold.” He takes a towel from the counter and starts to gently rub your hair. His eyes are still concerned but arrogance crept in and slowly you see his wall starting to harden, to take shape.

You feel his fingers acutely, as if they’re actually on your scalp and no separated by a towel. It almost feels as if they burn.

His finger covered towels press into your head and move around, collecting the beads of rainwater lying in your hair. You let him have his moment, relaxing slightly, then you slide the towel out of his hands and do it on your own.

You can’t appear to let your guard down completely. This is only step one in a long process.

He sighs and traps you with his arms, a smirk covering his face. “What took you so long? And why are you drenched? It’s a bit out of the ordinary to see you so unprepared.”

Tilting over slightly, your fingers nimbly gather your hair into the towel and with a twist, your hair sits in a cotton plop on your head. It gives you something to do as you try to think of a response. He lets you walk away as you turn from him and move towards the kitchen sink.

You could say you forgot it but he would know you were lying. You could say you were in a hurry to get home, but that would bring its own set of problems and concerns requiring sets of lies to cover — much too risky.

If you could somehow make him believe it was an emotional issue, that might work.

He wants to believe he can solve your enigma.

“I needed the walk.” You turn to him and find electricity in his gaze. It’s unnerving; it makes it hard to focus. “I…wanted a walk in the rain.”

He looks unconvinced but you hold your ground. If you’re going to lie, you’re going to do this right. “That seems to be out of the ordinary for you.” His footsteps remind you of the shackles on the ghost of Christmas past. They clang together, a metallic ringing of imminent doom.

“Yeah, well…” you lean against the counter, palms down and try to keep your voice calm but make it waver. The more angst you can create, the better. “Things haven’t been easy lately. They’ve been...nevermind.”

You move away and there is no surprise when you’re trapped against the counter again. “Ah-ah-ah, not so fast.” He smiles down at you, satisfied and triumphant. Then his eyes shift, worry coloring them again. “What’s happened?”

You create a forced laugh as if you’re trying to make light out of a difficult situation. “It’s nothing, really. Nothing I can’t handle. I really don’t want to get into it right now.” You try to escape his restraints, but his arms don’t move and they now move up to your arms.

His gaze deepens and he draws yours up to his as he slightly squeezes your forearms. “You can tell me. I won’t tell anyone else, swear it.”

You smile, half-fake, half-real. As much as you want to believe him, you know who he is. Just as he only lets you see what he wants you to see, you’ve been controlling his perception of you the whole time he’s been here.

This is a game for two.

This is a battle of the mind, not of the heart.

You’re pretty sure his care isn’t totally sincere, that there’s some ulterior motive; you expect it. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be standing here badgering you about an issue in Loki fashion if there wasn’t something else on his mind.

“What are you really here for, Loki?” His smile drops a bit and you giggle, finally seeing victory. You know he’s been controlling what you see; now he knows too.

His smile returns at your giggle but only with half the perfection it contained before. “To check on you.”

You ignored the small flutter in your stomach and focused on the facts. The facts would protect you. The facts would never lie to you. The facts would keep you safe.

You smiled again, tilting it to appear slightly saddened, your eyes drooping. Removing your arm from his hand, you reach up to his face and touch it like it could break. “If only that were true.” You mold your voice to sound sad, hurt.

His barrier is breaking, you can see it in his eyes. As he opens his mouth, you turn away and trod toward your bedroom. “But that’s what I’m here for. You didn’t come home till late and you're drenched, you're never this unprepared. This isn’t like you.”

You don’t respond and just keep moving. He hates it when you don’t respond.

Soon enough — you even have to suppress a smile — he’s in front of you. “Say something. Please.”

You have to stop because he blocks your path but you stare at his boots, looking despondent.

He tilts your chin up. “Say something.” He whispers in an open plea. “Tell me how you’re feeling.” His eyes explore your face but you keep yours straight, attempting to look far away.

When you do speak, it’s a real question, one playing around in your mind for a while. “Do you just come here for information?” Your eyes slide over to his and he watches you with sadness and pain. “Is that all I am to you?”

“No,” he breathes out. He reaches out and pulls your foreheads together. “No, that’s not all that you are.” He sighs and tries to speak again “I-”

You sigh and move away from him. “No, that’s okay. You don’t have to force yourself. I only see what you want me to. I get it.” You move around to your bedroom and closed the door just as he called out your name.

You'd only noticed now how cold your clothes are. You’d only just noticed the salt mixing in with rain droplets on your cheeks.

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