#thinking of calling this Guilded Cage AU if I write much more for it

[clementine-thedestroyer]

In reference to this post, I also really like the idea or, specifically with songbird hybrid reader x osprey hybrid Simon is the idea that not all avian hybrids can fly.

A bird of prey hybrid’s wings would be probably be bigger, more muscled, ect- than a song bird hybrid’s wings, and since it’s already borderline impossible for humans to fly with wings (suspend your disbelief) some song bird hybrids just can’t fly depending on how their anatomy works out.

Maybe it’s just that that can’t fly unassisted, they’re able to glide from high up, but they can’t really fly.

Maybe it’s 50%, maybe more, maybe less. Maybe it’s only people with certain species as their hybrid part (some bird species have smaller wings compared to their body I believe, so I’m sure that would carry over)

I like the idea that reader is one of those on the unlucky side of the statistic- with big, pretty wings that look strong enough to send them soaring, but in reality do nothing but look pretty.

It probably feeds into Simon’s kinks. He likes the idea that your hybrid features serve no purpose beyond aesthetics- that you’re made for nothing more than to sit and sing pretty for him.

You’re his pretty bird, and it’s okay that you can’t fly and that you don’t have any sharp teeth or talons to bite with, because all you have to do is sit pretty for him, and he’ll protect you.

Even from yourself, if he needs to.

[mcfreakin-bxtch]

Young Gods (Mandalorian AU)

Pairing: Sin!Din (or OOC just in case) x Reader

Warnings: Smut, Oral (m &f), Fingering, Light choking, Daddy kink, Thigh riding, Rough sex, Soft sex, Use of a safeword, Drug/Alcohol use, Violence, Guns/blood, Mentions of death, Mentions of police (not heavy), Language, Fluff, Barely there angst. (if I’m missing any I apologize)

Word Count: 12K+

Summary: Taken in by the Guild in the rough part of the city, you quickly meet Din Djarin, the best of the best. Who knew of the path it would lead you to?

A/N: The warnings did change from the preview, that’s always a given. I was going to make this fic a little darker but got carried away with it, but I’m willing to write oneshots off this because I simply love it. Also HUGE thanks to @ben-is-a-hoe​ for their unwavering patience for their request, you rock

***

You never knew your parents. Your biological ones, anyway. 

Lila and Billy took you in at a young age, raised and treated you as their own. Life was good with them, and they were amazing parents; you loved them, always had a good relationship with them but you just… fell into the wrong crowd. 

It didn’t take long for the fallout. The screaming matches when you came back home in the middle of the night, sometimes in cuffs or other times wasted with the new necklace you managed to snag. They kicked you out when it became too much and really, you don’t blame them. Not at all. 

From then on you jumped from group to group, big and small, did the jobs, and left. You never stayed, not for long, no matter what; they could never hold you down. 

So when Greef Karga found you pocketing the screamers and betters of cage matches down in Sorgan and asked you to join his Guild, you said yes on the spot.   

Bounty hunters. Mercenaries. Thieves. 

Call them what you like, they just got the job done. With good pay.

They reside in one of the most dangerous parts of the city, hidden in the shadows of the deep underground, in a warehouse that’s not too noticeable or colorful. Nervarro is pleasing to the eye day and night, if you turn away from the horrors that coincide within. That’s the trick, how it drags you into its claws.

That’s how you’re about to meet ‘Target Practice’ Din Djarin, infamous for his name from a well known joke after a job well done. 

“Tell them, tell them what you said after the state of that guy.”

“Tell them how you always get the job done.”

“Tell them the joke man.”

“What’d you say? To that guy right before…”

“Target practice.”

Though he doesn’t have a big name (yet), word still travels around about the Guild’s best bounty hunter, rarely seen without the signature leather jacket that signifies the kind of group you’re in; his signet is printed proud and big on the back of it. 

“Yeah Din Djarin, you know, the guy who fucked up Ran’s group. Took them all out like it was nothing.”

He’s dangerous. Ruthless. Punk. Traveler. 

You wonder if you’ll be here long enough to add more to the list. 

“Relax, kid,” Greef pats you on the back. 

You hadn’t realized your anxiety was showing. Why are you nervous? This isn’t your first time meeting someone equally dangerous, and he is going to be your new partner, after all. 

Because sometimes he comes back with trickles of blood on his knuckles. 

“Ah, and there he is!” 

Din come’s strolling in like he owns the place, with, of course, that jacket, skinny jeans and (biker?) boots; he oozes swagger and confidence, the kind that can really irk a person. And what kinda makes it worse is that he’s handsome as fuck, too, even in the punkish get out. Dark, floofy curls that match the intensity of his eyes—and his outfit—plump, chapped lips with a curl, crooked nose and tan skin; he’s beautiful in your eyes, but you are not going to admit that. 

“Din, this is the new recruit. She doesn’t know much now, but she’s got a lot of spitfire and eagerness to make up for it. Set her up, make sure she’s comfortable, then get to work.” Greef nods at the both of you and walks away. 

Oh, great. 

“H-hi,” you clear your throat. Pull yourself together! You tell him your name and stick your hand out. 

Dark chocolate brown eyes glimpse once at your hand before he shakes it; firmly and short, with no smile or offered greeting in return. You expected as much. 

“Start off by telling me what you know first.” 

His voice. Oh his voice is light with age but deep and gruff; it could melt you and put you to sleep. 

“Well I can pick locks, and I’m pretty okay at stealing.” That sounds so pathetic compared to this batch. 

“Hand-to-hand it is today. Follow me.” 

You follow him around the warehouse—a big, comfy warehouse you’re finding out—and he leads you to what you can automatically tell is the gym; or training room, you should say. He walks around the mat in the middle of the room, and throws a set of keys inside what you assume is an office and shuts the door with a click. 

“Before we do that, I want you to show me your skills,” he instructs. “Karga is cheap, and so is about everyone else here. They’re not going to be happy if they cannot get into their office, or if they have to break the door down to get in. So prevent that from happening, newbie.”

Newbie?

“Newbie?” You repeat. “What are we in, middle school?”

You could’ve sworn his lips just twitched there, but he quickly shakes his head and huffs, leaning against the wall next to the door with his arms crossed. 

He doesn’t say anything, and you realize that he’s waiting for you, so you kneel down and take your pins out of your pocket—a habit to always, always have them in hand. 

You twist your wrists carefully, listening for little clicks and ticks, until it lets out one more loud one and swings open under your pressure; he had to have known it was an easy one, so when you stand up and look at him, he looks unbothered and unimpressed. 

“Good,” he pushes himself off and shrugs his jacket off, throwing it on a chair nearby. He’s wearing a short, black sleeve shirt underneath, with jeans on, too. So are you. 

“Should we change into something more comfortable or?” You ask awkwardly. 

He ignores you again and climbs in between the ropes of the ring. You sigh and climb in, thanking the Maker you didn’t fall or get tangled; it’s a lot harder than it looks, okay?

“Okay, now wh—”

Your feet sweep out from under you. It all happens so quickly, you don’t even know what hit you and you’re falling straight on your back on the hard, wooden mat. A gust of wind leaves your chest in huffs, your back arching and stinging under the assault. 

“What the—ow, fuck—what the fuck was that?” You wince as you help yourself up, rather pathetically if you ask but you just got your ass handed to you in the simplest way. 

“You need to be aware of your surroundings” Din says, not in a gloating way as you suspect most of the others would show towards the new people, but in a way that’s instructional and you internally thank him graciously for it. “Doing these jobs, being a part of our group, it means you have to be alert at all times. Understand?” You nod. “Good. Let’s go again.”

“Okay,” you take a deep breath, bouncing on your feet. He puffs his chest out a little—he’s got a slim but muscular build, not by much but you know it’s there—and you clench your fists, readying them in a defensive stance. 

“Good, you know that much.” 

It’s so sarcastic you want to punch him. 

So that’s what you try doing by lunging at him, hoping to catch him off guard—and hey, on the first day too? You can use that—but next thing you know his wrist wraps around your closed fist and twists. 

“OW!” You howl, straining under the pressure; he twists your arm just a little deeper, making you flinch in return. 

Pine, you smell pine, leather, and… you think that may be gunpowder. 

“Don’t be so predictable,” he says, barely there whispers of his breath hitting your neck. You hope he doesn’t feel the shiver that just went through you. “Trying to catch someone by surprise can be good, if you know the right way to do it.” He finally lets you go and you sigh in relief as you clutch your arm to your chest. “We can stop for today, if you want.”

You want to say yes in the worst way, already so done after feeling like your arm was about to be ripped out of its socket, but you also don’t want to seem like you can’t handle it on the first day.

“No, I can keep going,” you tell him confidently. 

He takes you down again and again, and when you’re eventually shown to your room, you pass out as soon as your head hits the pillow with a very, very sore and beaten body.

The smell of pine is faintly stuck on your pillow, and when you wake up, you think about that one curl on the top of his head that twirls almost down to his eyes.  

***

Din trains you endlessly for weeks and weeks and weeks until you start showing progress. 

The fighting is actually easy once you get the hang of it, and you’re proud to say that you’ve knocked the man off his feet once or twice.

What’s frustrating though is that, for being your new partner, he barely talks to you at all. Sure, when it’s during training or about jobs he will, but other than that he makes no attempts on at least getting to know you. It pisses you off when you see him trailing behind his small group of friends, a whiff of smoke that smells green airing off them, laughing up a storm with them. 

And what’s worse is that you’re not sure why you’re so hurt and frustrated by this. It’s not like you were supposed to be friends or anything. That was usually your number one rule. 

It’s the dreams, you think. It’s the smell of pine and leather and powder that’s specifically Din. It’s imaging what his cock would feel like pounding into you. It’s watching silently from afar, trying to piece the enigma of a man out; the puzzle. 

It’s when you catch him glancing away from you when you turn to him, whether that be during training or across the room during a meeting or that one time, when you got caught in the rain and ran up to your room, drenched and shivering, and you accidentally ran into him in the middle of the hallway. 

“I’m sorry!” You scrambled in his arms. 

His warm, very warm, strong arms. 

You looked up, waiting for him to let you go, but his arms stayed wrapped around you. When you looked up to say something—hey, there’s a puddle starting to form at my feet and I’m sure you don’t want damp clothes for the rest of the night, wherever you’re going—you didn’t miss the way his eyes sought after the beads of water that was trailing down your face and chest, or the way he quickly licked his lips when they slipped underneath your shirt.   

It made you shiver in a different way and he noticed.

Finally he seemed to shake himself out of his daze and backed away from you like you lit him on fire; perhaps in a way, you did.     

It’s when you find yourself studying him; when he’s eating lunch alone, when he’s leaning against a corner of a wall in whatever room you may be in, watching everyone else. When he never turns down a job and always usually comes back successful and you feel glad. 

And especially when, in the middle of training, he’ll press up extra close to you, letting you feel the hard (soft) planes of his body, or when his hands linger longer than they should on your knees when helping you stretch. 

It’s like this building tension between you that’s so thick you’d need a machete to cut through it.

But other than that, you can’t complain. 

“C’mon tough guy,” you mock, bouncing on your feet on the mat. 

Din stands up, rubbing his neck in a wince and throws you a dirty look. 

“Don’t be an asshole,” he mumbles.

“I’m not,” you say defensibly. He leans on one of the ropes, lifting it up. “Oh come on really?” You pout, stomping towards him. “I barely lifted you up and you’re acting like a chi—I–ILD!”

You scramble and flail like a chicken with its head cut off as you fall, barely able to blink before you’re flat on your back. You groan in pain with what little strength just left your body—it’s really not that bad because he took most of your fall with his—

Holy shit you didn’t realize he was practically laying on top of you. 

His breathing is even compared to yours, with his hands wrapped around your head and lower back, preventing you from being seriously hurt; the tip of his nose is touching yours and, today, you can smell the Melioorun on his breath. 

This feels like one of the most awkward and hottest moments of your life. You don’t move, don’t speak or breathe, and one day you’ll have to ask him how he always stays so fucking calm when it feels like you’re about to explode any second now. 

Should you move? Just bite the bullet and risk it all?

His warmth leaves you just as quickly as it happened in the first place and holds his hand out. You stare at it dumbly for probably too long and take it; it doesn’t help when his hand flexes in yours. 

“Guess I deserved that,” you say sheepishly. 

It’s hard to decipher what he’s thinking about. His expression is unreadable to you and he’s characteristically quiet as always—so, what’s new, really?

“You start a new lesson tomorrow.” He says, and walks away just as you’re about to ask what it is. 

That night it’s the juice and his arms you come to. 

Does he know?

Now, you’re assigned to Omera, a very kind woman, who is going to teach you on how to shoot. You hear it’s not hard to figure out. 

“Hi!” She greets warmly in a hug. “It’s very nice to finally meet Din’s new partner.”

“Yeah,” you chuckle. “Don’t think he likes me very much.”

“Oh he’s like that with every new person he meets,” she assures you gently while setting up the targets. Target Practice. “I wouldn’t take offense to it. Just need to give him some time.”

“Right,” you nod absently.

“Here.” She hands you a pair of sound cancelling headphones. “Put this on and grab the gun when you’re ready.”

Your heart beats a little faster when the cool heavy weight of the pistol touches your skin. Omera shows you the proper stance and how to set your sights, and lets you try your first shot on your own; the kickback is small, and the thrill is accelerating. 

“Wow okay,” you laugh, setting the gun down very gently and taking the headphones off. She joins you, probably knowing the kind of high you’re feeling right now. 

“It takes a little bit of time to get used to,” she explains. “But you take your time with this. Better safe than sorry, right?”

You wanna be as good as ‘Target Practice’ Din Djairn?

“Right.” You nod.  

This lesson is longer than Din’s regular, but considering, it’s nothing but fair. When it’s over and you go out to eat, you’re surprised to see the man that’s been pestering your thoughts just about everyday, sitting at the bar with a cold drink in his hands; alone. 

Your palms start to slicken with sweat. Should you go over there? Just casually sit down like you didn’t even notice he was there? Was it really worth such a bother in the first place?

Your heart thuds in your ears as your body decides that, yes, it was time to make a move; he was your fucking partner for Maker’s sake. 

“Hey,” you greet normally—just like you didn’t notice he was there.

He looks up at you in surprise, clutching the glass in his hand tighter. He scowls and that makes you feel so small under his gaze. You should’ve just walked away. 

“What’re you doing here?” He asks annoyingly. 

Okay, now you’re just as annoyed as he is. “Why are you always such a dick to me, huh?” You demand quietly to not make a scene. “I barely know you and you act like I pissed in your drink.”

He snorts, looking in front of him now. “You didn’t do anything,” he sighs. You listen intently. “I just… look, right now this is just about work, alright? I don’t need anyone or anything distracting me.”

You roll your eyes in mild disgust. “Oh please, stop acting like the world revolves around you. There’s nothing wrong with at least being civil with the people you’re working with, no matter how much you don’t like them, and quite frankly, I don’t like being treated like shit for something I didn’t even do.”

Din turns back to you, staring at you with those intense eyes, not giving you the slightest hint of what he can be thinking about right now. It makes you not only nervous, but giddy, too; it’s enough for a small pool or arousal to flare between your legs. 

Finally he takes a large gulp of his drink, setting the empty glass down with a slam. “You’re right.” You gleam. “Tomorrow. You think you’re ready for your first job?”

On a whim, you say yes. He nods and reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket, slapping a handful of credits on the bar; the bartender reaches over to take it. 

“It covers her tab, as well,” Din tells him. 

You stare off in shock as he walks out of the bar.

***

Okay. Your first job. A simple, easy job. 

And you’re stuck in a small ass closet with a man who smells so fucking good and is currently pressed tightly against you, watching through the blinds for our quarry to come. 

It’s been at least an hour of this. 

Now the whole reason as to why you’re in a closet, is well, people. This man must love handing his keys out to his friends—or family, you don’t give a shit—and you were nearly caught twice before Din decided it was best to wait it out by hiding.      

You feel okay, that’s not what the problem is—you mean, you would really love it if you didn’t have to stand in a small space for seemingly hours now—but that’s not all that’s getting to you. 

It’s the man directly next to you that keeps bumping his hand against your thigh, so very close to your ass, and while most of it is accidental, you think that the other bumps are not. The warmth of his body is also quite distracting. Your mind starts flowing between images of what it may look like if he ever fucks you and what might happen when the quarry walks through that door.

“Stop moving,” he growls. Your leg hits the space between his, luckily lightly enough that it doesn’t sting but he grabs your shoulder to stop you. 

You can’t help but squirm again. “I’m sorry, this is just—hprm—uncomfortable.”

Din sighs and looks back through the blinds. “It could be another hour before he comes, so please just stop. Moving.”

You give him the best glare you can muster, and give him the finger since you’re at it. 

Another minute goes by. Tick tock. Maker it’s too hot for this. You didn’t sign up for this shit. You should be out there stealing something or picking locks like you were picked to, not stuck in this closet. Not with the Din Djarin, who can’t even grumble an ‘hi’ to you most days. 

Is it always going to be like this until you leave? Will Din still come to you, then, in your dreams, with honey dripping from his lips? 

…Are you seriously about to consider fucking like this?

“Stop it,” he suddenly snaps. “I can practically hear your thoughts and it’s not making this situation any better.”

Pfff. 

You purposefully jab your elbow deep in his ribs, happy with the pained grunt you receive. “Go fuck yourself.”

He curses and moves, childishly trying to put space between the two of you, and you swear you don’t know how this happens in the midst of your arguing and scurrying, but his knee ends up right against your clothed core and your thigh unintentionally rubs against the crotch of his skinny jeans. 

It’s barely there, but it still feels amazing. 

His hands, large and rough, grip your forearms tightly; not enough for it to hurt, but enough to get the point across. 

“Stop.” It comes out in a whisper, brushing right against the shell of your ear. Your pussy slickens and you can’t move, too enthralled with the turn of events (is he getting hard behind you holyfuckhemightbe) to reconnect with your mind. 

Curiously, you ponder on whether it’s always going to be like this, this little dance you and Din like to play—no, I wasn’t staring at you. No, I don’t think about you at all. No, that’s not how you’re supposed to do this, or steal that. No, that’s not my dick pressing up against you right now. No—

“You know I don’t normally fuck on the first job.” 

It comes out so thickly from you that it surprises even yourself. You practically hear the moment he freezes and stops breathing, and a smirk graces your lips in triumph. 

Before he can react, if he was going to, you hear the door that you carefully picked through open and in walks your quarry, sighing in relief as soon as the door closes behind him; if only he knew. 

Din busts out, gun in hand like none of that did not just fucking happen, pointed at the man—Terry, you believe you saw on the file—who flails against the door, trying to open it. Your gun scares him enough to make him stop. 

“I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold.”

You smirk at the line. It sounds so much like him. 

“L-look I’ll pay you double! Both, e-each, and I’ll-I’ll disappear, I swear!” 

You look towards Din with a side eye glance, just for your own amusement; you’re glad that he plays along, making a pathetic whimper escape from Terry’s lips. 

“Not gonna happen,” you chime. “C’mon, don’t make this harder for any of us.”

Terry is smarter than he looks because he reluctantly nods. You put your gun back into its holster and pull the cuffs snugly tight around his wrists. 

“Good choice.”

Easy. 

Din watches you silently as you lead the way to the car given (stolen) to you—a gorgeous black convertible—and, now you’re positive about this, you’re absolutely sure you felt his eyes on your ass the entire time. 

You wiggle when you help Terry into the seat and bend over riiiight as Din walks by to get to the other side. When you slide in the passenger side, his jaw is clenched tightly and his nose is open in a flare.

Ha. 

***

His friends invite you out to celebrate. 

Given that it was your first job—an easy one, really, with no blood spilt and an easy capture—that must mean that you’re worthy enough to be part of the clique now. Which means going to the local bar and drinking till the heart's content. 

You asked Omera if she would join you, but respectfully declined so you asked your other friend, Jem, whom you liked but she was rather loud. She said yes, of course, which is how you end up at the bar in one of the booths in the back, watching Din play pool and nursing a few fruity and expensive drinks. 

Jem already left you in favor of a young woman who made Jem giggle like a schoolgirl at every chance; well, good for her. 

So it was just you in the booth, debating on how drunk or sober you should be tonight. You’re leaning more towards the latter considering Jem wanted to drive you here when a shadow looms over you.

“Wanna get outta here?”

Din stands over you, looking so intently at you. You gulp and nod your head without even thinking. 

He indicates with a tilt of his head to follow, and you do without so much of a glance back—other than to let Jem know that you were leaving. 

He takes you to the back of the bar and through your confusion you realize he’s walking to a polished black motorcycle; you recognize it, see him with it so many times and yet it doesn’t register in your brain in that moment until you see it. You slow down at the sight of it. 

“You scared?” He asks when you stop. 

“Well I—” you lick your dry lips. “—I’ve never ridden on one before.”

He nods in understanding and holds out a helmet. “Trust me?”

You hesitate, not because it’s him that you don’t trust, but it’s the vehicle itself you do not trust. “Yes. Just please don’t crash.”

He chuckles as you slip the heavy protection over your head and sits himself down, waiting for you to situate yourself behind him before he starts the bike. The loud rumbles vibrate through you immediately and when he revs it you screech and clutch onto his middle in a death grip. 

“Hold on tight!” He shouts and takes off. 

The lurch barely drives you back yet it feels like you’re about to fall. Your head spins under the pressure, and your stomach is doing flips and turns all over as he pushes through the wind. 

You don’t want to open your eyes. You’re not very keen on seeing your impending doom, and this has to be one of the most scariest, exciting moments of your life. 

You feel him zigzag through the roads and alleyways; it’s late, late enough to where there’s no traffic in sight and the city is almost quiet. After moments of encouraging yourself, you finally open your eyes and pick your head up. 

Boy are you happy you did. You can see why Din likes riding this; it’s freeing, feeling the wind brush around you, buildings and lights blurring from the speed. Knowing that at any moment anything can happen but you don’t care; you’re invincible. 

You can also feel the warmth seeping off him and it reminds you of the closet; the vibrations under you doesn’t make it any better. 

Before you know it you’re already back at the warehouse. You’re a little disappointed, both from the short joyride and the short time spent with him, but it’s not like you’re exactly that surprised, either. 

You stand up on trembling legs—the good kind—and hand Din his helmet back with a smile. “Thank you.”

He nods and findles with the straps, looking down at his feet. You don’t know whether you should start walking away or not, so you shift on yours. 

“Wanna smoke with me?” He looks up. “On the roof?”

You grin, knowing what kind of smoke he’s talking about; it’s not your first time, and he’s asking you. “I’ll bring the snacks?”

He smiles; it’s a beautiful smile, a breathtaking one. “Yeah.”

You’re practically skipping towards the kitchen once you’re inside and you watch Din run up to his room. You grab a bunch of snacks that you like and have to wander around aimlessly for the ones you’ve seen Din pick off for minutes before you eventually have your hands worth and sneak up as quietly as you can to the rooftop. You kick at the door once you’re at the top. 

Din helps you place the snacks by the chairs he has set up. When you sit, you understand why he picked this spot; it faces directly towards the quietest and darkest part of the city, making it so the moon and stars shine brightly above. On this type of night, with a cool and gentle breeze in the summer air, it’s perfect. 

“There’s a blanket,” he interrupts your thoughts. He throws the thick pullover at you and you catch one part of it, the rest of it draping over your lap and slapping your face; he chuckles when, again, you give him the finger. 

He rolls the joint and you watch, his fingers moving delicately and expertely over the wrap. It’s even better watching him take the first hit, the way he inhales the smoke and holds it until he exhales it in swirls, his adams apple bobbing. When he passes it to you, you do it exactly the same. 

“Didn’t take you for the type,” he comments. 

You pass it back. “There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Din.” You tease. “Don’t judge a book by its cover.”

“Fair enough.” Pass. “So tell me then.”

This catches you off guard. “Oh,” you exaggerate. “Now you wanna know.” You both laugh, the effects setting in. Pass. “What brought this on?”

Pass. It’s out by then, but it’s not like you mind so much; he’s already rolling another. 

“You really wanna know?”

The way he asks it is like a dare. I dare you to say yes, because you may or may not like what you hear, but I promise you’ll be thinking about it. 

It is a tempting dare. 

And you’re falling for it. 

Hit. Pass. “Yes.”

Your body tingles with excitement when he eyes you up and down, goosebumps flaring your skin. Pass. Another second goes by. Pass. His eyes are getting darker if that’s possible. 

Your pussy is officially drenched now. 

“I know you watch me sometimes,” he says casually. Your heart stops. “I get it, I do… I pay attention to you, too.”

You don’t know whether your heart is going to completely stop or burst through your chest. “Yeah?” It comes out breathless. 

“Yeah.” Pass. “I know that you like that awful soup Rully likes to make.” The old man can make a mean soup! “You’re a thief, though it’s in moderation, save for that convertible of yours. You like to draw, I see you doodling on the walls all the time. You never stay in one place for long because you’re afraid of becoming attached, but mainly because you like to be free. You scrunch your face in this weird, adorable way when you’re concentrating, and you’re kind; you’re a good person and a good friend and I… as your partner, and maybe even friend, I trust you.”

Hit. Pass. 

You were speechless. 

How can you even top that off? You thought you had him all figured and yet here he is, blabbing facts about you that you didn’t even know he knew. 

Hit. 

“You like to be alone,” you start. “But you crave moments like these, too, with someone you’re comfortable with. You try to avoid conflict if you can despite your reputation, but you’re also not afraid to take it to that… level if need be. You respect the Guild and everything in it, and you want to be free, just like I do, and I can see that in the way you ride your bike, and the way you look at the sky now. It’s addicting, isn’t it? Being able to do what you want when you want, however you want, the peace and quiet you get with it...” 

He spreads his legs slightly wider as you pass the joint back. 

This moment is tense. It’s in the air, in the way the smoke curls around you and the way the dirty thoughts in your head makes your skin prickle even more. 

He’s looking at you in a way that makes you feel there’s nothing in the world but this. And you can’t help but feel like you understand him a little more now. 

“I’ve been thinking about the closet,” he finally says. Your breath hitches. 

A few seconds go by and you vaguely think that he’s probably waiting for you to answer, to see if this is okay. 

“M-me too.”

The chair squeaks quietly under his weight. “You felt it, didn’t you?” He almost coos this sweetly. “The way I was starting to get hard from your ass rubbing against me. You just could not stop moving and I started to think about all the things I’ve been wanting to do to you for so long.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” You whisper—it feels right to, as to not disturb this precious moment that’ll either make or break you. 

He shrugs, looks away like he has been doing when he’s getting shy; it’s an odd sight coming from such a man as himself, but it’s also cute and endearing. “I don’t know… I haven’t—I mean I have it’s just—”        

Din sighs in frustration. You get it—well, you get that he’s struggling, but not exactly sure as to why—and you don’t want to push him if he’s not ready to tell you what it is he wants to say, so you ignore the butterflies fluttering around in your stomach and sit up straight. 

“You want an encore?” You interject boldly. “Because I’ve been thinking about it too.” You stand up, reveling in the way his eyes never leaves you; you have his whole attention now. “How your body was pressed just right against mine. How, some nights, I do imagine fucking you until you can’t handle it.” He audibly inhales sharply. 

You’re standing in front of him now, looming over him just as he did you at the bar. You feel powerful just doing this with the way his eyes light up and his mouth hangs slightly open and his fist tightens on the armrest of the chair. 

Nothing stops you from carefully settling each leg on either side of his hips, ass resting on his thighs. You take the joint from him and take a big, long hit. You hold it in as you stub it out and gently cup Din’s chin, digging your fingers on the undersides of his light stubble cheeks; open. 

His mouth opens without resistance, taking in the cloud of smoke you’re breathing into his open mouth and nose. In the end, your lips meet his in a dirty, sloppy kiss that’s nothing but tongue and spit and teeth; it’s not perfect by all means, it’s a little painful with the clashing and there’s limited space given the chair, and, let’s be honest, your breaths are not the greatest either. 

But it’s like a coil snaps and he growls, wrapping his arms around you, grabbing a fistful of your hair to angle your head however he likes as he viciously attacks your mouth; his tongue glides over your teeth, swirling with yours in a battle you both know he’ll win, and you whimper into the kiss when his hips buckle up into yours. 

“Show me,” he orders gruffly. “Ride my thigh. Show me what you’ve been dreaming about.”

You don’t hesitate to jump off him and pull your jeans off—you stumble in your haste, but you could care less on how ridiculous you look doing it. You keep your underwear on, the air being slightly more chilly now, and climb back onto his lap and wrap your arms around his shoulder. 

He grabs your hips and helps you adjust your hot, drenched pussy over his clothed, beefy thigh; he pushes your panties to the side and teases you with a swift swipe over your clit. 

“Din,” you moan wantonly. At the first shallow thrust, you’re already a mess, the want finally getting the attention you’ve been begging silently for. Your clit slides deliciously against the rough fabric and you wish to the Maker above that you could scream as loud as you can without attracting attention, because by just the first few thrusts you’re already putty in his arms.

“Fuck I can feel you, pretty girl,” he gushes. “Even through my jeans I can feel how wet this pussy is for me.”

“For you,” you whine, continuing a slow grind. “For you, daddy.”

He groans and throws his head back when your knee bumps against his obvious hard on; it looks so big, even hidden behind clothes, and you know without a doubt that it’ll stretch you out to the brim. “That’s right babygirl. You’re doing good.” Then he grunts your name. 

You know what that means, somehow, and move your hips faster against him. It feels too good. Your entire body feels like it’s on fire in all the best ways, like he’s everywhere all at once and consuming you. You don’t want it to stop, it feels amazing and holy shit he’s flexing his thigh. 

He kisses you, makes you forget your own fucking name, and trails his lips down your neck, feeling around for your sweet spot. When he finds it behind your ear, he bites down and licks around the tender flesh. 

“Fuck!” You hiss, your pussy fluttering around nothing, clit pulsing deliciously under the friction. “I want your cock, Din. Think about riding it just—“ you swirl your hips and rewards you with a guttural grunt. “—like this.” 

He’s moaning with you now, gripping onto your hips tighter and tighter to the point of bruising, and you’re happy it will because you want to remember this moment, and the way just his thigh alone is making your cunt clench and body erupt in the most pleasurable way possible. 

“I-I’m gonna cum,” you moan, throwing your head back, clutching at the back of his neck and pulling on the small strands of hair you feel. “Din make me cum, I wanna feel it so fucking badly, oh shit.” You can’t stop, the words just escaping you like a broken faucet. 

He pushes his leg harder against your pussy and moves hips upwards in time with your thrusts. “I-I am t-too,” he stammers in a pitch; it sounds so erotic coming from him. “Cum with me, cum for me, now.”

As if you needed the permission, your pussy spasms on his leg and gushes the tight jeans, your mouth open in a silent scream, body tingling and squirming in his grasp. 

Din moans so sweetly it should be a sin and clutches at you, biting down on your chest through your shirt.   

The air is perfect now for your slick, hot skin. It takes a few moments for your head to reconnect with the rest of your body, and when it does you slump your weight against him. 

“Did you,” you take a deep breath, your voice hoarse and scratchy. “Do you want me to?”

Din looks up lazily from your chest, understands what you’re gesturing to and shakes his head. 

“Already did.”

You look down and see the big, wet patch on the crouch of his pants. You laugh airily and stand up; your legs are wiggly, but your body is sated and happy, and he looks like he’s experiencing the same kind of bliss.  

Your thighs, slick with your own juices, slide roughly against your jeans uncomfortably as you pull them on, watching him adjust himself and clean himself off as best he can with the blanket he threw at you. 

“So,” you drawl. “Another session tomorrow night?”

Din smiles and sighs. “You read my mind.”

You feel like the happiest woman in the world. 

***

It’s heaven.

Being with him. The late nights, where you come back from a fight or a job laughing and stumbling over your feet in desperation to feel the other. The fucking. 

Din fucking you on every inch and corner of yours and his room any chance he has regardless if you’ll get caught; littering your skin with his marks and fucking you so hard you can barely walk without wincing the next day. Being able to feel the press of his lips against your skin, on your pussy, his hands caressing and bringing every ounce of pleasure from your body. 

Whispered words stolen by a kiss. Giving pieces of yourself that he equally returns. Feeling whole and alive for the first time in your young adulthood. 

It’s fucking paradise.

But the credits you have been saving reminds you of the intentions you had when first joining. You don’t even want to think about leaving right now. 

It isn’t the right time to worry. You’re out on a stakeout with Din, looking for a highly dangerous and wanted woman who, and you heavily admire her for this, once plucked a man's eyeball out with her bare hand. 

It’s the most fucked up and badass thing you’ve encountered yet. 

“Wanna play 20 questions?” You ask out of boredom. 

“No,” he huffs. 

Grump. 

“I Spy?”

“Fuck off.” 

“Thumb war?”

“What did I say?”

“Suck your dick?”

“No. Waitwha—yes, we can do that.”

You giggle and playfully shove his shoulder. “Perv.”

“You’re the one who suggested it.” 

“Yeah, only because you said no to everything else.”

“And we're on a job,” he quirks. “Pay attention.”

You stick your tongue at him. “There is such a thing as multitasking.”

“And I think you’re terrible at it,” he says, but it’s light to let you know he’s only teasing. 

“Whatever.”

…

“You know I think you still have time to suck my dick,” he comments.

“Fuck off.”

She doesn’t show until the sun sets, which you should have expected given the track history; it was easier to disappear in the dark. 

“There,” Din points to the dimly lit alleyway. She walks out of the door, looking both ways before closing it. 

He moves quickly and quietly with you trailing behind. The goal is to try and make it to her before she drives alway; she’s worth more alive than dead. 

You watch in the comforts of the shadows—she’s walking to a car that you hope is hers—and follow as close you can without raising suspicion. 

Just as your feet hit the curb on the street she’s on, glass explodes behind you in shards. 

She’s quick. You forgot to add that little detail. 

It’s all happening too fast for you and you’re standing there like a shocked dumbass, a fish stranded on land. This is the first time that’s ever happened. 

Another bang echoes through the still air and without warning you’re being shoved to the hard concrete ground, scraping your elbows and knees against the pavement. 

“Fuck!” Din hisses in your ear. “You gotta cover me from the left.” You take your gun out of the holster and nod; breathe. 

“Now!”

You whip up at the same time in different directions, guns up and aimed. 

And when you hear a chorus of blasts, you hope to the Maker that Din is still standing to your right.

All you can hear is the sounds of your pants. There’s something lying on the sidewalk where she was at, with something even darker pooling around them. 

Logically, it can’t be him because he’s supposed to be standing at your right, and there’s no logical way he got to the other side that quick, but you’re still in a state of shock by what just happened and where the fuck is he?

“Hey,” It sounds far away. You can’t even tell who it is. “Hey, baby.”

Baby. Only one person would be calling you that. 

Your name. That’s the way he says your name. You hear it. 

“Din?” There’s tears in the back of your throat, but you refuse to let them fall. 

He’s here, in front of you, hugging you to his chest. You’re actually clinging to him, you can feel the leather beneath your fingertips and smell the powder and sweat on him.

It’s him. He’s alive. You both are. 

“We need to go.” Sirens sound off in the distance. 

You never ran so fast in your life. 

The entire ride back you’re in a daze, replaying those fatal moments over and over until your hands start to shake. Din notices and places his hand on your knee, rubbing soothing circles; it helps a little. 

You could’ve died. He could’ve died. It was the first time you were ever caught in a gunfight, been so close at death's door, and yet…

And yet as terrified as you were, there was also a thrill to it; a different kind of excitement you never felt before, a feral type that makes you push Din right up the garage doors of the warehouse as soon as they close. 

He stumbles against the door, caught off guard by your sudden attack. You kiss him before he opens his mouth, your hands already desperately fumbling with his belt. Once it’s off you attach your lips to his neck, biting and sucking the taunt skin, while unzipping his pants; he’s already half hard. 

He grabs a handful of your ass, moaning into the kiss when your hands touch the bare skin of his lower abdomen. When you caress the soft, velvet skin of his cock, he buckles in your grip. 

“I’m gonna do what I said I would do,” you tell him as you get down on your knees, face to face with his leaking red tip. 

You don’t give him the chance to react, darting your tongue out to lick around the head of him before taking him completely in your mouth, moaning at the salty taste and sliding down until he’s hitting the back of your throat with a gag from you. 

His hips jerk without hesitance with a pained whine, making you choke around him. You have to unlock your jaw wider to make it comfortable for you. He fists your hair and keeps you still. 

“Makerfuck pretty girl,” he groans deeply. “G-give me a warning next time.”

You hum, swirling your tongue along the veins of his thick girth. He lets you set the pace then and you pull him out for an intake of air, fisting and pumping your spit and his precum as lubricant. 

“Can never get enough of this,” he pants, already tensing beneath your hands. “Seeing you on your knees for daddy. Fuck I wish you could see yourself right now.”

His breaths become ragged when you take him back in your mouth, this time fisting what you can’t fit and pumping him at a furious pace in tune with your mouth; you let your teeth scrape gently on the underside of the head.

“Hmm that’s it,” he hums. When you briefly look up, he has his head thrown back. “Keep going babygirl.”

The sounds you’re making is beyond obscene, and you’re well aware that anyone can just walk in at any given moment and become witness to this, but here’s the thing: you don’t care. If anything, it makes you suck him harder just to get more out of him. 

“So good for me,” he sighs, now taking back control and thrusting shallowly. The sting of his tug adds to the growing pressure in your pussy. 

You know he’s not going to last long by the way his breathing picks up and his thighs shake and tense; you dig your nails into the skin, and he whimpers, fucking whimpers. 

“A-almost there sweet girl, cover it—yes just like that, beautiful, fuck. Keep going—mhmm.”

His moans get deeper with every slosh of your mouth and hand moving rapidly on his dick. The ache in your pussy is almost unbearable to ignore, but right now you want to make this about his pleasure; you want to be the one in control, bringing him to the same levels of euphoria he brings you and more, to hear those whimpers and growls directed at you. 

A few more sucks and he’s twitching in your mouth, groaning a symphony of curses and praises. 

“Fuck I’m gonna c-cum, go-gonna fill that pretty mouth of yours up, and you better swallow every drop, princess.”

Oh that’s got you gushing in your panties. You whimper, spit and drool trailing down your chin and the length of him, and slip your hand to his balls, giving them a gentle but firm squeeze.

“Shit, I’m—“ he chokes, neck going red and he cums like a bomb, instantly filling your mouth with his salty essence until there’s droplets of that dripping from the corners of your mouth. 

You let him sit in your mouth until he comes to, enjoying the taste of him. He pulls your head back and doesn’t give you the chance for you to even catch your breath before he’s bending over and stealing it away with a dirty kiss; he moans at the taste of himself on your tongue and laps at the remnants of his cum. 

“Thank you.” He whispers. 

You help him put himself away and pull his pants up. You’re able to steal one more kiss before he’s dragging you out of the garage. 

***

It’s been gnawing at you since the thought of leaving was implanted in your brain. The thought of leaving and living a life of your own without depending on anyone to achieve it. 

It’s never bothered you before. You always left, no problems, no aches or regrets. But this one. This one was going to rip your heart out and stomp it to the ground until it could no longer beat. 

The other night doesn’t help, either. 

You want Din by your side. The thought of leaving him or worse hurts, really fucking hurts, and in the months of your trysts and smoke sessions and partnership and late night talks and that awful moment that you thought you lost him, you realized that you were falling in love with him. 

When he told you about the loss of his parents, you fell in love with him. The fact that he trusted you enough to show you that part of his past made your heart beat funny in a good way. 

“The Guild quickly found me after,” he explained, your body entwined under his sheets. “Hans was the one who found me, actually, and just so happened to reside here. Taught me basically everything I know. Greef came in not that long ago, and I brought Omera in just a few months before you showed up.”

You rubbed your hand up and down his chest, tracing the light, faint scars that scattered. 

“So I feel like I owe them, you know?” He continued, absentmindedly tracing patterns on your back. “Because if it weren’t for them, I’d probably be dead by now.”

You froze. You didn’t like that. Ever since that night with the assassin, you didn’t like to think or so much as hear anything about Din’s death. 

He must have noticed your sudden shift because he lifted your chin up gently and pouted. “And if it weren’t for them, I probably would have never met you, either.”

It did make you feel better and you appreciated the change. You hugged him impossibly tighter to you, feeling his heart skip a beat beneath your ear. 

“I’m glad I met you,” you said into his chest. 

He sighed, a happy one. “Me too.”

And followed by his fears, insecurities, hobbies and passions, it grew. 

When he first held your hand as he ate you out, that love grew even larger. When he started to make sure you took care of yourself and vice versa, and never missed a chance at making you smile, you were absolutely fucked. 

You’re terrified, obviously. It’s not like you’re in an actual relationship per say, at least, if you are—which you have quarrels with, of course—then it’s unspoken; you couldn’t be angry if he didn’t want to leave. 

You just… want to feel that same type of freedom you felt that night. Build a life off of it. Although at this point, you just want any life with him. 

So you’re going to tell him. Now. In your room, where he’s lying right across from you, naked as the day he was born, on your bed with his hands behind his head. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks, tilting his head down to look at you. “I know somethings been bothering you all day.”

You sigh through your nose, pulling your sheets further up your chest. 

It’s now or never. 

“We should just… go,” you finally push out. “Like, ‘leave this place and don’t look back’ type of deal. Just drive off and create a new life for ourselves.”

A breath. 

Silence. 

It’s so fucking quiet you could hear a pin drop. His expression is unreadable, and you’ve gotten good at being able to read him since the half year went by. It’s too much already, making your chest ache and stomach pull in knots. You can’t take another second of silence. 

“Never mind, forget I said anything,” you quickly backtrack, reaching for your clothes when his hand reaches out to stop you. 

“Are you serious?” He demands. “W-why?”

He’s going to say no. You just fucked this all up. 

You shrug your shoulders absentmindedly; he can see straight through your bullshit, anyway. 

“I don’t want to be stuck here for the rest of my life,” you explain quietly, just enough for him to hear. “It’s great and all, don’t get me wrong. I… never intended to stay this long in the first place, you know that. And I know that you feel like you owe them but you don’t, Din.” You take his hand in your lap; he’s listening intently. “I’m not… I’m not forcing you to go. I’m not telling. I’m asking.” God you hope you don’t start losing it. “And if you don’t want to then… then we’ll figure it out. Or something…”

You’re too afraid to look at him. You’ve never felt so open and vulnerable like this before. It was foreign, alien to you and Din as well, you’re sure, so to say that you don’t expect him to roughly palm your cheeks between his hands and kiss you like there’s no tomorrow is a bit of an understatement. 

“Yes,” He whispers against your lips. “Yes.”

You’re bursting. A smile so wide spreads across your lips and you’re laughing and tackling him on the bed, rolling around on the sheets as your lips clash clumsily. 

“We’ll leave as soon as I make the credits,” he pecks your lips once, four times before you stop him.

“I have enough, and why wait?” You’re buzzed off the adrenaline, the knowledge that the man you’ve come to love is here in your arms, mirroring your smile with the wide, toothy one that you adore. 

He laughs, his chest vibrating against yours with it. “Okay.” He trails the tip of his finger down the slope of your nose. “Let’s go.”

You don’t pack much, it’s not like you had a lot to begin with, and it’s easier travelling light when you have no real direction in mind. You both agree to take your car rather than the bike for obvious reasons and it makes you feel guilty; you also feel guilty by not saying a proper goodbye to Jem and Omera. 

“Don’t worry,” he assures you, sticking the keys into the ignition. “I’ll get another one.” He winks at you and you laugh, all bubbly and loud. 

Din puts the car in reverse and backs out of the garage in a hurry, not wanting to waste another precious moment. You wave goodbye at the building as it disappears behind you; you’ll miss the people, even that Cara Dune they stopped by for weapons or to see Din; they had a history, he told you once, and were just good friends. 

“I left them a note,” Din suddenly says. “I knew you also wanted to say goodbye.”

You love him. You swear you love him more than anything in this galaxy. 

You palm the back of his neck and rub, showing your appreciation. He grins and leans his head to the left, sighing pleasantly. The hood is down on the car, the air whipping around you with the city disappearing behind you. 

You don’t find any traces of regret within you. This feels too good for it to be wrong. 

He drives and drives for hours until you have to stop at a motel. It’s old and rundown, but it’ll do. Your room is on the first floor, which is best for the few cars that are scattered in the parking lot.

You’re on each other as soon as the door closes. 

“Look at you,” Din marvels at your pussy from the end of the bed. 

Your hips squirm under his arm, laid out across your lower stomach to hold you down; your clothes are thrown all over the room and you're completely bare to him, spread out like a meal for his taking. “I’ve barely even touched you, pretty girl.”

“Please,” your body is littered in bruises and bite marks, wired and ready to snap at any moment. “Just do something.”

He nips at your inner thigh in retaliation, caressing your leg and throwing it over his broad shoulder. 

“What?” He croons. “What do you want daddy to do?” 

“E-eat me out,” you plead. “Wanna f-feel your mouth on my pussy, daddy.”

That pleases him. “Alright princess, I got you.”

He’s been teasing you relentlessly since you’ve checked in, high off the newfound freedom you both found in each other. The sheets are scratchy and the tv barely shows a decent channel, and you’re pretty sure that the bathroom is in even worse shape, but this is everything. 

“Yes!” You keen. 

He licks a long stripe from your entrance to your clit, using the tip of his tongue to curl under the hood. “Oh my—mhmm.”

His nose brushes against your clit as his tongue ventures back down, licking and sucking in between your folds. The hot, slippery and textured organ pushes in and out of your entrance, tongue fucking you with an eagerness of a man starved. 

Your mind starts to roll over in the pleasure induced haze and the coil in your stomach starts to tighten under his ministrations. He hums at the taste of you and practically envelopes your entire pussy in his mouth and sucks. Hard. 

Your hips jerk, being pushed down as soon as they move. 

“Din,” you whine, burying your fingers in his curls and tugging, earning a deep groan from the man devouring your pussy. He follows your guidance—he really loves it when you pull on his hair—and wraps his lips around your pulsing clit, sucking with audible slurps. 

“Yes,” you gasp, arching your back the best you can. “F-fingers.”

He obliges without having to be told a second time, pushing your legs up slightly higher and sliding two thick fingers inside your fluttering cunt and scissoring them immediately. You whine and wither, it’s so much and not enough and you’re going crazy. 

“What’s the matter, sweet girl?” He coos mockingly. “Is it here,” he stretches you wider. You mutter a breathless, “No.” “Here?” He motions teasingly right next to the spot that shoots bolts up your body. A small tear trinkles down the corner of your eye in frustration. “My poor baby is desperate, isn’t she?” 

Under any other circumstances, if you weren’t so wrecked, you’d make a snotty comment to rile him up; it’s a whole other feeling when he fucks you like a wild animal, but you’ve been so desperate the moment you drove off that you continue to whine and beg him. 

“I’m begging daddy,” you cry. “Please please I wanna cum on your mouth.”

He finally hits your sweet spot, curling and bumping against it until you're very close to screaming and your legs start to shake.

“Oh Maker I’m gonna—“ your entire lower half starts to tremble. When you look back down to meet his eyes, they’re closed and lost in his own pleasure, sucking harshly around your clit and scraping his teeth gently across the hood. 

Din pulls back with a gulp of air before hoarsely saying, “Cum.” 

He dives back in with a vigor and within five strokes of his fingers and tongue, your pussy clenches around his digits like a vice. 

“Yesyesyesyes FUCK!” 

It feels like you’re practically drowning with the man with the gushing feeling pooling from your core. He continues to eat you out, drinks the juices you give him with ease. 

It’s too much. You keep pushing against his head but he growls and latches on to you tighter, sucking and fucking you even harder than before. 

“S-st-stop,” you muster through the onslaught. “D-Din, Beskar!”

He stops at the safeword and with his chin glistening brightly in the dim light, teeth shining behind it like a wolf stalking its prey, you feel another short wave tingle through you; your body is flushed and spent, but you open your arms to him, welcome his just as equally bare body on yours, moan at the sweet taste of yourself on his mouth.

You feel the bulbous head of him at your entrance and with a nod from you, he pushes in in one smooth thrust; with his spit and your orgasm combined, he slides in with liquid ease and a wet, loud slosh of the mixed fluids he pushes through.

He swallows your whimper and settles himself to the brim inside you, the curls of his hair scraping against your pubic mound and his balls sitting comfortably on the base of your ass. 

“I know, baby,” he coos softly. He runs his hand over your breast, twisting the hard, perked nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Your hips buckle into his, making you both moan and close your eyes. 

“C-can I move?” He grits between his teeth.

“Yes.” You wrap your legs around his waist. 

He pulls out almost completely and thrusts back in without hesitance. The thrust is so hard that it pushes you up the bed. 

“You’re already squeezing the fuck outta me girl,” he pants, holding himself above you. You grip onto his biceps and feel your cunt spasm around him again; you’re still very sensitive from the previous orgasm and it hurts in the best way possible. 

“I ca—“ it’s so hard to think and talk and even breathe with his deliciously thick cock pounding into you with abundance. 

He moans and somehow goes even harder and faster than before, the slaps of his hips against yours so fucking loud that you can’t barely hear the cars outside anymore. 

“Gonna cum again?” He snarls. You nod weakly. “Fuck babygirl this pussy was meant for me, so good to me.”

A bead of sweat falls from his slick body and on your top lip; you wrap your arm around his neck and bring him down to you, licking the sweat off his neck. You bite down on the juncture between his neck and shoulder, making him grunt and his cock twitch inside you. 

“Harder,” you gasp in his ear. 

He groans and anchors himself by gripping onto the headboard tightly, slightly stopping the bed from banging against the wall like it has been for the past five minutes—you’ll be surprised if you don’t already receive a noise complaint. 

Your lower stomach tightens again as your orgasm approaches and you can tell he isn’t far behind from you. “I’m gonna cum daddy,” you whimper into the air, head thrown back against the pillow. “C-can I?”

He plows into you like he’s never felt the walls of a pussy before and shifts his hips a little to the left. The reaction is instant. 

“Oh Maker yes, keeping fucking me, right there.” The words are so ragged and broken. 

“Cum all over me,” he demands gruffly, deep from within his chest, staring down at his meal and boasting. He wraps his hand around your neck and squeezes gently at first until you nod, and then more pressure until your eyes roll in the back of your head. “Make daddy cum. C’mon pretty girl, sweet, sweet girl, please.” 

The combinations of his cock, hand, and the whimpered please that just left him do you in. You open your mouth but nothing comes out and the only thing you can feel is your cunt spasming around him, sucking him in when he pulls out; your whole self is lost in euphoria, but you can register his hips slamming sloppily into yours and the pitches whines that are tearing from his throat. 

“Oh fuck fuck.”

He’s about to pull out. You’re not on the implant, it’s something you’ve been meaning to take care of, but this time… this time you don’t want him to. You want to feel all of him in this new light, have another part of him within you. 

“No!” You clutch onto his neck as he reaches down in between your legs. He pushes himself up in shock but he takes you with him and now you’re seated fully on him—is it possible to feel this full and sore and complete at the same time?—as he sits back on his heels, staring at you in a mix of confusion and pain. You immediately feel guilty.

“You can—you can cum in me i-if you’re comfortable with it,” you stammer breathlessly, brushing the curls out of his face. 

Din stares at you in complete wonder, panting and holding your waist in a tight grip that’s slightly painful but you know he’s struggling to hold on right now, so you don’t really blame him for it. 

You’re starting to think you went too far. This is intimate; it’s a mark, it’s trust and security.

Suddenly he gives you a few, hard thrusts and he’s choking on a whimper, filling your stuffed pussy; it feels odd, but it feels just as good for you as well, especially when you see the blissed out look on his face, and you can already feel his cum and yours leaking from you and on to the sheets. 

You’re too weak to hold yourself up anymore, so you lay your upper half on the bed while the lower stays connected to his. His hands run up and down your body, soothing the hot, slick skin while he continues to stare at you; those eyes are so intense that it’s hard to return it without feeling like you’re being consumed. 

The only sounds in the room are your breaths. He lays his head down on your pelvis, gripping your hips in the same way the bruises show.

“Can I stay?” He eventually asks. You raise your eyebrows in confusion. “Inside you,” He clarifies, almost nervously. 

You nod, too tired to move or speak, so he adjusts the both of you back to the pillows; he apologizes when you wince or hiss, laying you on your side so that you’re comfortable. 

Din outlines the contours of your face as your eyes close, a barely there touch that tickles you but you make no moves to stop him. 

He mumbles something but you can barely register what he’s saying, lost in the colors behind your eyelids. 

There’s a soft, wet press on the top of your head before you disappear into your dreams. 

***

It’s hard to keep a low profile with the way you two are going, and without the protection of the Guild anymore, the law is after you more than ever.

That doesn’t stop either one of you. 

Nor does it strip the joy of the life you have with him. 

It’s not always easy for the most part, but you still can’t find any particle of regret in you, or in him. It’s like you were meant for this—doing whatever the fuck you want, when you want, with your partner, in so many ways now, standing by you.   

The sun is setting in the seering desert, the lines of a heat wave outlining it beautifully. The hood of your car is down, sunglasses on and Din.

Well Din is riding right next to you on his brand new bike, laughing and smiling with you. The cops are long gone now, lost in the trail of dust you left behind.

The whole chase was exhilarating, to say the least.

A new days version of Bonnie and Clyde. That’s what one of the papers called you. And no doubt, there was someone from the Guild coming after you for the hefty bounty that’s been placed on your heads. 

“Let them come,” Din says now as you sit on the hood of your car, watching the earth settle into the shadows of the night on the side of the desert, barren road. He runs his hand soothingly on your head, scratching the scalp lightly much to your delight; you can fall asleep right here in his arms like this. “We can take them.”

“I know,” you sigh. “But sometimes I just can’t help but feel like… like—” You can’t finish. 

“Look,” he sits up a little. “I don’t regret this. I don’t. I’ve never felt this happy in years and it’s because I’m with you. I’m experiencing this new life with you and that’s all I want. We’re fine, more than fine, and I have no problems reminding you for the rest of my days if that’s what it takes.”

He seems to always know what’s going through your mind and exactly what you need to hear to soothe it. 

“Thank you.”

He gives your ass a squeeze. You snort and settle closer to his side. “I’m sure my parents are horrified right now.”

You don’t know where that suddenly comes from. 

He shifts and you feel him look down at you, but doesn’t push you away. “Do you want to call them?”

It’s a dumb thing to do and he knows that, but you appreciate what he’s trying to do. 

“No,” you sigh. “Can’t.”

“Hey,” he lifts your chin to look at him; the sun makes him look like a God. “You still got me, alright? Until the end.”

You kiss him. You try to pour all the words unspoken into it, all the love that’s filled your mind and body and soul.

He reminds you at the nearest motel around. This time, he takes his time with you, explores with more depth; no rush, no interruptions. 

It’s soft, the way he cradles you gently and rocks into you. It’s caring, when he kisses you languidly and grinds his pelvis against yours, brushing delicately against your clit. Understanding, when he shushes you quietly. Stability, as he’s holding you close to him, your lips not even moving away from the other. 

It’s love. 

It’s love in the way your heart calls to him. The way you feel so safe and secure with him, knowing that no matter what happens, he’s the only person who will ever have your back in this shitty world. 

It’s love by the way you no longer feel like you’re trying to find pieces of yourself. In being with him, you’ve come to realize that you’re whole now; you’re not searching anymore, you’ve found everything you need right here in him—in the Target Practice Din Djarin, Clyde to your Bonnie, whatever the fuck you want to call it. 

And you tell him that, in hushed whispers. “I love you. Fuck I love you so much.”

Your heart bursts when he says it back. “And I love you. More than my own life.”

You giggle, just out of sheer joy and because you can and he joins you in equal pitch and giddiness. 

His thrusts stay slow and languid, a contrast to your usual roughness, but it’s perfect for the way you’re pouring your heart out to him, as he is to you, in ways old and new. 

“I’m yours,” he breathes on your lips as your core flutters around him. “Don’t you ever forget that.”

You won’t. You never will. 

“And I’m yours,” you seal this in a hard clench of your pussy and revel in the way his eyes roll in the back of his head. 

There’s no telling where you begin and he ends. It’s astronomical the way he seems to fit against you, in you, so perfectly, as if you really are a match made in Heaven. Or Hell. Or, you know, wherever you go after this life. 

When he comes inside you, shivering in your arms with his adorably scrunched up face, you vow that, even if they end up catching up to you in the end, you’ll never leave him unless he asks you. You’ll fight through tooth and nail, and you almost want someone to even try it; they’re trying, and they’ll keep trying until they get their prize. 

There’ll never be anyone like him in this entire galaxy. 

And if he goes down, you go down with him. 

Tags: @justlovetoreadfics​, @lil-baby27​, @mando-vibes​, @beepbeepyabitch, @that-void-witch​, @im-the-music-whore​, @certifiedhunter​, @softpedropascal, @domino-oh-damn​​, @okaydacre​, @lemongrove​, @olyamoriarty, @pcrushinnerd​, @elusive-ivory​, @dizzydazed​, @dadzawas-eyebags, @parody-the-emi, @evalynanne, @purplewaterbird, @vikingqueen28​, @tedpicklez​, @blunt-cake-yes​, @agoldin, @lustriix​, @readsalot73​, @kateb013​, @eupphoriaaa​, @imalovernotahater​, @everything-lost-and-unsaid​, @dlmafa1, @hoodedbirdie, @drunkenliterary, @fioccodineveautunnale​​, @fangirlfree​, @mrsparknuts​, @amarvelousmandalorian​, @ironheart-hanako​, @bunniotomia​, @thisisthe-way​, @sando-rann, @meganoid1997, @adikaofmandalore​, @cahooter​, @charliepeaceout, @dreamgirl-67, @phoenixhalliwell​, @acrylics-and-sunshine, @sunkissed-winter, @oloreaa​, @equalstrashflavoredtrash​, @dyn-djarin​, @ben-is-a-hoe​, @altarsw​, @pascaliprincess​, @mandalwhoreian​, @roxypeanut​, @lark-cale

[friendlyneighborhoodborg]

Rose Appreciation Week 2k19| Day 3: Favorite Ship| “Angel -- Pt. 2/2″

Again, Ladybug ain’t mine.

I’m posting this past the R.A.W. deadline, but hopefully it’s still good.

[Link to Part 1.]

[Link to AU.] (to be added)

So, if you didn’t read Part 1 or the foreword to that, this will make no sense whatsoever.  I’m doing some weird things with Rose’s character, I thought they were cool, so... anyway, I’m sorry if it’s rushed or paced awkwardly, I finished this up in a rush and I may have missed some stuff.  Anyway, if you have any notes on my writing style, or if you’re confused about my Superhero AU, feel free to shoot me an ask and I’ll make sure to respond if I can.

(again, warning for OCs, violence, and language).

           The bolt sticking out of Leo’s arm was starting to smoke around the wound.  De Sang pushed the other two aside.  “Aspen,” she guessed, looking at the shaft.  “Be very careful when removing it, you might break it, and that will keep burning him if he doesn’t get it all out.” She took a deep breath, steeling herself.  “The longer it stays, the worse.”

           She took a firm grasp of the offending object and, apologizing, pulled slowly.  The flesh resisted, and Leo groaned in pain, but deliberate tension won over and the projectile was removed.

           She examined it.  “Intact,” she judged, relieved, tossing it aside, looking at Leo worriedly.  “Does that feel better?”

           He choked out, “A little.”

           De Sang looked at his shoulder, peeling up the scorched edges of his shirt.  “The burn’s not spreading.  That’s good.”

           She heard the whistle and acted on impulse, spinning around to whack the next bolt out of the air with her baton.  “That was a slow reload!” she shouted, sounding almost disappointed. “Even for a member of the Iron Cross!”

           “Iron Cross!”  Aria snapped to attention.  “They’re here?”

           The hero told Leo, “Get some iodine, that’ll disinfect it.”  And to all of them, “Make yourselves scarce, we’ve got someone who actually knows what they’re doing.  Stage entrance, I’ll draw their fire.”  At some of their worried faces, she smiled and nodded, assuring.  “I’ll be fine.  I survived you three, didn’t I?”

           As the other two vampires helped their friend to his feet, de Sang jumped onto one of the seats near stage left, on the opposite side.  “So!  To whom do I have the pleasure?”

           She waited a long moment for the reply, during which time the vampires fled.  Not even another crossbow shot signaled that she had been acknowledged.

           Then he stepped forward.

           He had wiry black hair, tied in the back, a tanned complexion and a crooked smile.  Green-tinted goggles with thick, black rims covered his eyes, and there was a brown-and-black crossbow in his dark-gloved hands.  He wore a beige capelet, and a brown leather quiver was strapped to his back. Under the capelet was an olive-green dress shirt and dark brown slacks, and de Sang presumed there was padding underneath. And he was much taller than de Sang.

           “They call me…” he said in an oily slick voice, “Èpouvante.”

           De Sang blinked and stifled a laugh. “Wait, they literally named you ‘Dread?’  And… they thought that was clever?”

           “Do not speak of the Iron Cross in that tone.” He grinned.  “Oh, just wait until they hear that I found you.  Wait until I bring you in.  Can you imagine what they’ll do you when they get their hands on you?”

           “That’s if you bring me in.  Do you happen to know who I am?”

           “Oh, of course I do…”  He walked slowly down the aisle closest to her, keeping his bow trained on her gleefully. “Madame de Sang.  What a fortuitous surprise this is.”

           “Hah!” she laughed.  “Finally, someone gets it. By the way, I notice you haven’t stopped aiming that weapon at me.”

           “No.  I’m not an idiot.  But I do say, you’re awfully short.”  De Sang frowned, but didn’t speak up.  “You’re not exactly what I expected from your stories.  I thought the dreaded mercy huntress was a veteran fighter.  Did you actually decommission thirteen guild members?”

           “I did.  Five resigned because they didn’t want to fight me again.  Eight were caught and arrested by police for multiple murder.”

           “I’d hardly call this murder.”  He gestured to the empty cage.  “Those creatures were about to condemn those humans to a torturous, cursed existence.  This is justice.”

           “Everyone makes mistakes.”  De Sang narrowed her eyes.  “This time, the damage was reversible.  How many lives have you taken?”

           “Countless.  You?”

           “None.”

           “None?”

           “If you’re lucky.”  Her hand slowly found a ruffle in her dress, which was a pocket. Inside was something she was going to need, if the direction Dread was glancing was any indication.

           “Bold words.”  He adjusted his grip on the weapon.  “But never any action.  Why should I be scared of you?”

           “You tell me.  Why haven’t you shot me yet?”  She smiled when she saw Dread falter slightly.  “You even let those ‘creatures’ escape because of your focus on me.  Apparently, I’m a bigger threat.”

           Dread didn’t answer, and his expression hardened.

           “Don’t worry.  I’ve heard it before.”  She hopped down from the chair and linked her hands behind her back.  “You’re scared of me, but you don’t know why.”  She took a few steps forward.  “We should fix that.”

           “One way or another.”  With a shot of his crossbow, the electric light in the center of the room shattered, plunging the room into darkness.

           He brought his hand to his face and adjusted a dial in his goggles, switching their function to night-vision.

           Right as Dread activated them, he saw a punch coming for his face that he didn’t have time to dodge.

           De Sang was also wearing night-vision goggles, having seen him adjusting his aim.

           Her baton found its mark, and the crossbow was smashed to the ground.  “Crossbows,” she said.  “So many little moving parts.  Very fragile.”  She armed a knife.  “I hope you brought a melee.”

           “As a matter of fact…”

           The swing of the baton was blocked by a pair of tomahawks from under the capelet.

           “Dual-wield,” observed she.  “Brave choice.  Let’s see if you’re any good with that.”

           As it turned out, he was.  Very good.  The axes were clearly under his complete control, neither one hanging loose at any time, and his grips on his handles were viselike.  Every blow that de Sang threw with her baton was blocked by one weapon, while the other went for the kill.  De Sang couldn’t match him.  De Sang only had one weapon.

           De Sang also had guile, which is sometimes just as good.  And throughout their whole fight, she never once stopped smiling, because she always had something to smile about.

           She allowed herself to be pushed back against the wall.  At the blow that came on her right, which held the baton, the Angel waited until the last possible instant before dodging to the right, and it had the intended effect.  The axe missed her by just a hair’s width, and his back was now facing her. The weapon implanted itself in the wall, leaving it stuck for just a second, and she seized her chance.  Dread’s hand was in one place while the tomahawk couldn’t move, so she swung at his forearm with her baton.  He was knocked away, and de Sang dropped her knife and pulled the axe out of the wall.

           “Second weapon down,” she said.  “Two-zero.”  She clipped the axe to her waist, where her baton usually went.  The weapon had a near-identical clip.

           “Blind luck,” accused her opponent.

           “Maybe it was.  It still worked.”  She went back into her fighting stance.  “Warning you now, I’m coming for the other one.  Once you lose the axe, you lose against me.”

           “I’m aware of the stakes.”

           “You hunters can’t fight without weapons.  That’s basic logic.”

           “Think you can take it from me?”

          “I got two of them already, didn’t I?  And I know how you hunters think.  For example, you didn’t come here alone, did you?”  She waited for a response, but Dread didn’t give one.  “I know I’m right.  They’re just outside, guarding the entrance.  They probably ambushed the vampires, and that’s why you didn’t go after them.”

           “So, what if I didn’t?”

           “You wanna know how I know?”

           “How?”

           “Because I didn’t come alone either.”  She cocked her head curiously.  “When’s the last time you saw your partner?”

           Dread lunged at her, axe swinging, and it clashed with the baton.  Now that they had one weapon apiece, they were much more evenly-matched, and de Sang had no difficulty in returning blows, finally going back onto the offensive.

           “I recall now,” Dread mentioned as he parried. “The Angel’s consort.  Your,” he sneered at her to accentuate his disgust, “bitch.”

           “You know, that wasn’t funny the thirtieth time.” No matter what, she couldn’t let the man get a rise out of her.  “You hunters need to stop thinking you’re so clever.  I heard fools rarely differ.”

           “That’s what it is, isn’t it?”  He swung, and she ducked.  “An animal.  A beast.”  She swung back, and he hopped to the side.  “My men will make short work of it.”

           “First of all,” she retorted, gritting her teeth, “she is not an it.  And you don’t get to talk about her like that.  Second,” she took a second to swat at his axe again before continuing, “do you think she’s survived this long because of me?  She’s been squaring off against your kind for almost as long as I have, bless her.”

            “My kind?”  Dread laughed heartily.  “That’s rich!  My kind is your kind, too!”

            For the first time in the fight, de Sang stopped smiling.

            “No, it isn’t!” She attacked him again, more ferociously than before.  “I fight monsters!”

            Still, Dread matched her, blow-for-blow.  “And so do I!”

            “No!” she growled.  It was very alien to her, growling, but this man was being particularly mean tonight. “You fight people.  Those vampires are people.  My partner is a person!” De Sang raised her baton like a club and brought it down as hard as she could, which the man blocked.  “You, however, are a monster!”

            She ran at him, and Dread grabbed her and flung her into the aisle.

            It was all she could do not to lose her balance.

            De Sang cursed her own lapse in judgement.  She should have seen that coming. She needed to calm down and steady herself, or she was going to lose.

            She felt the axe behind her right before it hit, and she rolled out of the way and back on her feet.

            “The Cross trained me!  Yes, it did!” de Sang shouted.  While her earlier words had been fueled by anger, these were fueled by strength.  “It trained me to hunt, and hurt, and it told me how to kill.  But I won’t kill.  You see that as weakness.”  She advanced on him with a newfound vigor.  “But life is precious.  And you are all tantruming children in a china shop, smashing every life within reach if you don’t think it looks pretty. That’s why I stopped!”  She hopped onto an aisle seat, never losing sight of him.  “It trained me since preschool, just like every other kid they draft into their web of murder. And this is how I repay their trespasses!”

            When the axe stopped the baton this time, the curved head hooked around the shaft of the baton, catching on the globe at the end when he pulled. De Sang pulled it away, and almost succeeded in pulling the axe out of his hand, but he persisted.  The ensuing tug-o-war lasted five seconds.

           The Angel smiled.

            Her grip slipped, and she fell from the chair to the ground from the loss in balance.

            Dread kept his balance.  “Pitiful,” he spat, and he was on her in an instant.  “Did you think I, a fully-fledged member of the most prestigious monster hunters’ guild in the world, would be so easily defeated by a child.”

            “Maybe,” she panted.  “But I bet you did too, for a minute there.”  The axe blade pointed at her head, and Dread was standing on her chest, preventing her from reaching her knives.  “Be honest, I had you on the ropes.”

           “Cease your prattling.  I’ll cut out your tongue.”  He chuckled triumphantly.  “Finally,” he celebrated, “the rogue huntress who’s been a thorn in our side for so long is defeated.  The dreaded L’Ange de Sang, all mine…”  He trailed off, looking his captive in the eyes, and his tone lowered as his suspicion grew.  “Why are you smiling?”

           She couldn’t help it.  “When’s the last time you saw your partner?”

           What?

           Oh.

           Dread turned around.

           The sneering animal roared in his face.  He swung at it with the weapon in his hand—

           Which, because his attention hadn’t been on de Sang, was no longer in his hand.

           “Three-one,” a voice chirped below him.  “Game, set, match.”

           A strong fist struck him in the chest, knocking the wind out of him and sending him flying through the air at the cage.

           “That is a remarkable sturdy set piece,” the Angel quipped as she ran after him.

           The new entrant to the fight gazed after them both.   She didn’t have night-vision goggles, but she didn’t need them.  Her eyes shined gold, even in the dark.  She was just as tall as Dread, by the top of their heads, but her pointed ears made her an inch or two taller.  Her padded top and leggings were midnight blue with swirls of gold and silver, and the top ended at her elbows.  Her bare forearms exposed coarse, black fur, and ended in padded hands with hard, sharp claws.  Her bushy tail poked out the back of her shirt.  She had black combat boots and an indigo-and-silver cloth mask that was tied around her head. Her hair was long and tied in a ponytail, and her jaw was long and fanged.

           A human-shaped animal: a werewolf.  Bigger, faster, stronger, and more precise than a human, particularly with how much training she put in with her Angel.

           She tossed the previously-discarded baton in her grip to her partner, standing over the disarmed Dread.  De Sang smiled and pointed with it at her defeated opponent. “You’ll have to excuse her,” she chirped.  “Eventide doesn’t like sharing.”  She turned and lightly chastised her partner.  “You sure took your time.”

           “You didn’t need me,” the wolf replied in a gravelly voice.

           “The guard out front?”

           “Two guards, actually.  Tough pair.  Till some vamps stopped by.  They took one, I got the other.”

           She laughed.  “I taught them everything they know.”

           “What!?”  The wolf brought a hand to her face.  “Oh, you would.”

           “I like seeing people do good.”  De Sang pushed her playfully.  “You love me for it.”

           She shrugged.  “Can’t argue with that.”

Dread tried to stand up while they were engaged, slowly propping himself on his elbows.

Eventide growled at him again, baring her long teeth.  Dread’s arms gave out.

           “Scary,” the onlooker surmised.

           “Too much?”

           “Well, you don’t scare me.”

           “Really?”  Eventide crossed her arms.  “Practically everything scares you.”

           This was met with a giggle.  “Not you, though.”  Without even looking, she tapped the man struggling for his quiver on the head.  “Oi!  Dread-man! Stay down.”  She aimed her baton threateningly, as if daring him to try and stand up again.

           Eventide looked at her, mildly confused.  “What are you doing?”

           “Getting ready to fight, Darling.  What does it look like?”

           After a pause, the werewolf reminded her, “Sweetie, you’re not right-handed.”

           “Shush. I was making him feel better.”  At Dread’s dismayed look, she relented.  “Oh, well, I suppose you heard that anyway.”  She tossed the baton to her left hand—her dominant hand.  “Yes, alright, I was holding back, but you know what?  You looked like someone who needed a confidence boost.  So sure, I let you have me on the ropes, just this time. Positive mental attitude really goes a long way.”

           “Again,” Eventide chuckled.  “Only you.”

           Dread looked fearfully between them.  “What are you going to do to me?”

           “Well, that’s the thing.”  Huntress turned back to monster.  “Evie, you called the police when he arrived?”

           “Yes, Angel.”

           Angel once again faced sinner.  “And I assume you called your guild buddies for backup?” Not even waiting for a nod, she crouched down and calmly explained.  “Well, depending on who arrives first, either you’re going to jail, or you’ll get picked up and retrained, and you’ll have to fight me again, and I don’t know if I can keep handicapping myself.”

           His eyes widened under his goggles.

           “Well, we’ll see.  I’ve got a bet with my girl here about who will win.  I’ll see you again, maybe.  Or maybe not.  Depends.” She shrugged.  “Night-night.”

           The hammer swung around and boxed him in the jaw hard, knocking him unconscious.

           The street that the stage door entrance led to was bare at this time of night.  Eventide’s form changed as they stepped outside, bones shifting and fur receding to become a teenaged girl with long, black hair and pale skin.  Her mask, boots, and attire changed with her to better fit her shortened stature, and glowing gold eyes faded to a coppery orange-red.

           De Sang had recollected her lost knives and replaced them in her bandolier, and she now was carrying a duffel bag.

           “We good to go?” Eventide asked.

           “How long were you standing there?” Angel replied. “Inside.  How long did your fight actually take you?”

           “It was shorter once your vampire friends stepped in.”  She looked down sheepishly.  “I came in right when you took his first axe.”

           Angel pursed her lips.  “So, you were basically watching me fight for a few minutes?”

           “You didn’t need me.”  She coughed, blushing.  “And… you looked breathtaking.”

           “And who do I have to thank for that?”  The Angel twirled, making her dress and cape flutter.  “I never could have asked for someone as talented as you.”

           Evie smiled shyly.  “How is it on your end?”

           She tapped her chin thoughtfully.  “Let’s see: stopped a conversion, gave some vamps something to be proud of, caught a few hunters.”  She smiled as she heard the sudden whine of sirens nearby.  “And look at that!  The police got here first this time!  And it’s only what, two a.m.?  This was a great night!”

           “And it’s Sunday now?”  Evie bounded over to her, quietly embracing her.  “This calls for something.”

           “I was thinking we celebrate right now, actually.” She held up the bag.  “How about we both slip into something a little more casual?”

           “A quiet night in town?”

           “A midnight stroll through Montmartre?” Angel suggested.  “Walking through the moonlit gardens to Le Mur des Je T’aime?  Or we dance down Place Jean-Marais, or promenade past the cabarets?”

           “Chérie…” Tempting as it was, the werewolf had to play devil’s advocate.  “Your dad still thinks you’re sleeping over.  And my mom’s gonna be waiting with the boat, and Montmartre’s in the opposite direction.  What if we get caught?”

            “But it’s close.”  Angel looked at her, her smile warm and her eyes pleading.  “Come on, Julie.  Let’s ignore the rules tonight.  We’ve earned it.”

           “Rose…”  The werewolf acquiesced.  “I can’t say no to that smile.”

           “Wonderful!”  The huntress gave her partner a quick kiss on the cheek.  “Let’s get out of here, first, we don’t want police finding us.”

           And so the girls fled, and their dark clothing blended into the night, concealing them from the sight of casual observers.

           Rose’s hooded sweatshirt covered much of her costume, and her duffel bag held the bulk of her supplies.  She looked normal enough that no one would look twice.

           Juleka stepped out of the restrooms.  She wasn’t bothered by the cold too much, but she still wore a zipped jacket and a pair of sweatpants over her padded outfit, and her hair was out of the.  “Ready?”

           “Thank you,” Rose said suddenly. Juleka looked at her quizzically, so Rose clarified.  “I forgot to say it earlier, but thank you.  For having my back tonight.”

           “Oh.”  Juleka took her hand and caressed it.  “You didn’t need to thank me.”

           “I do.”

           “You don’t.”  She grinned.  “I already know.”

           Assured, Rose pulled the goth girl closer and hugged her tightly.

           The two stood like this for several minutes, letting themselves relax from the events of the night.

           “I’m always going to protect you, Rose.”

           “And I’ll always save you.”

           They separated, and Rose offered her arm.  “So, mon amour?  The gardens first?”

(3315 words, so it’s still pretty long.  I think it turned out okay, but I’d love to hear what you guys thought of it.  So any nitpicks you have, tell me, please.)

Thanks again to @wearemiraculous / @seasonofthegeek for hosting this event.