#time flies when you are having fin

[montereybayaquarium]

What do you mean it’s already May??

[sirdindjarin]

The Concession - Din Djarin x f!Reader

gif from @rebeljyn 's gifset here

Din Djarin falls in love. Whoops.

The Savior / The Concession / The Choice (END)

AO3 Link

TAGS: S2 Din Djarin, "Who Did This to You?", P in V, Unprotected Sex w/o consequences because who likes those, m!Masturbation, Fluff, Pining, touch-starved!Din, helmet-less!Din, soft!Din, protective!Din, Grogu bein a sweet shit.

WARNINGS: Star Wars cursing/slang which I know annoys some people lmao, abusive shopkeepers.

A/N: "Shit" is Star Wars canon (thank you, Andor); Din is a groaner (Chapter 5 of TBOBF); & Din is a bit of a poet (thanks pledge to Bo-Katan in Chapter 23); I have cited my sources LOL.

"No," the Mandalorian snaps. "No droids." 

A gloved hand flies to his holster and the rusty pit droids screech to a halt, beeping nervously.

Leaning against the frame of the Razor Crest, at the top of the boarding ramp, you roll your eyes at Din Djarin's back. His distaste for droids had been made clear to you the first time he'd stopped for parts.

Those droids had been considerably less polite about Din’s preference, and he had taken too much pleasure in enforcing it.

"Listen, buddy, they're my refueling dr-"

"Then I'll take my business elsewhere."

The attendant sighs loudly, glaring at the Mandalorian. The skinny, maroon male with a fin-shaped head rises from his chair behind his workshop desk. He walks toward a shaking pit droid and grabs the refueler.

"It'll cost you extra," the attendant's eye-stalks narrow at the bounty hunter.

Din comes to an agreement with the disgruntled worker, sullenly agreeing to a slightly higher rate.

As the Mandalorian keeps watch over his ship, your footsteps clang down the steep ramp, and you sidle up to him, saying, "We need some things. Ration packs are gone. And - don't tell him -" your voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, "But I think Grogu deserves a treat." 

"He would agree with you.” Din’s elbow brushes your shoulder, and he realizes he’d leaned closer as you spoke.

You continue, “And you need something to relax.” 

At that, Din’s helmet turns. “I do not.” 

“You’re even more impatient than usual. You’re on an anti-droid campaign; the last time we stopped, you threatened to yank out one’s navigator circuits just for bumping your foot.” You look up at him, raising a teasing eyebrow. 

The Mandalorian goes as still as one of those droids he had deactivated. His intimidating, T-shaped slit brands into your vision. Behind it, you know he’s boring holes into your face. 

“Alright. Nothing for you, then.”

Your shoulders drop when you turn away from him, almost relieved to be out from underneath his piercing, hidden gaze. 

The Mandalorian had paid you a few days before, and this was your first real opportunity to spend your own money. You can’t stop smiling, even as you place the kid in his white pod and stuff your pocket with your credits. Grogu is as excited as you are - giggling in his quiet way.

As you pass the statue of Din Djarin, he extends a closed fist. Obediently, you hold out your hand. The tan-hide fingers of his gloves open and credits fall, clinking. You look up questioningly at him.

“For the food. Your wages are not meant to be spent on communal necessities.”

 Your lips curve into a lopsided, sweet smile that Din immediately commits to memory, and you nod.

Turning to Grogu, his fuzzy ears perked and eyes wide, you ask, “Ready, kid?”

***

The marketplace is huge. Stretching the length of the entire square, it’s busy for a planet this remote, but the size increases the options. 

Grogu floats along beside you, and you keep one hand on the lip of the pod, just to be safe. The responsibility of the kid is the greatest charge you’ve ever been given, in more ways than one. Grogu often holds your hand or squeaks to get your attention to point at something glowing or stinky or flashing. His outright affection is a lamp to your lonely heart. 

After visiting several vendors, you’ve resupplied what was necessary (with credits left over), and now you move on to something for Grogu. You’d be buying that with your own wages. Din could say whatever he liked, but what else do you have to spend your money on except the cute baby?

You walk past a booth advertising repair supplies, but when you realize it’s for clothing repair, something clicks in your brain. Grogu’s ears flop forward with your sudden stop. Your eyes run over the objects, and you select some, a smile splitting your face. You hope he will be pleased.

Several minutes later, Grogu makes a bah! sound, pointing at a live amphibian display. You’re pretty sure it’s a pet vendor, but the look on the kid’s face tells you he won’t take no for an answer. And maybe you should parent him - tell him no - but that’s Din’s job, not yours. 

“Hi. How much for the frog eggs?” You politely ask the vendor, digging in your pocket for credits.

The bug-eyed lady tells you in a language you don’t speak, but she holds up three short tentacles on her hand. She pushes six eggs toward you, which you gratefully take and set in Grogu’s pod. 

When you try to hand her the credits, she’s pushed out of the way by someone behind her. A man with a smushed nose yells in the same language the lady had spoken, and points away, clearly telling her to leave. 

You watch warily, and once the woman has gone, the man turns to you. 

“My apologies. The price is one credit per egg,” he simpers at you. 

Disliking the hike in price, you move to return half of the eggs, but he protests, “Once the item has left my possession, they must be paid for.” 

“But I can give them back to you,” you assert. “I’m not paying that much for frog eggs.” 

His smushed nose twitches up like a feral Loth-wolf, “Yes, you are.”

"I'm not." You set three eggs back on the counter. 

The man seizes your wrists, holding you in place. The crowded market is loud, but your indignant cry and the vendor's screamed accusation of theft cause several people to stop and watch. 

You try to twist out of his hold, but his scaly skin tears at yours. The snarling vendor suddenly ceases making noise, and he releases your wrists to clutch at his throat. Shocked, your head snaps to the child.

Grogu has one little, three-fingered hand raised and curled. 

“No!” You gasp, slamming the button on Grogu’s pod to close it. Far, far too many eyes watch. 

The vendor, choking and sputtering, recovers quickly and lunges at you across the table. His hands grip your upper arms, but you wrench out of his hold. Hoping to draw all attention to yourself, you punch the vendor with all your might. The vendor stumbles.

“Never seen someone pretend to choke over three credits,” your lie is an incredibly lame one, but you hope it’s enough for passersby.

He clutches his jaw; his spat insult is garbled, and he begins to inch around the long table, trying to get a better shot at you.

You turn and walk away with as even a pace as you can manage. Running would make his accusation true. The crowd swallows the two of you up well, and you lengthen your stride.

 But the vendor is regaining his volume. Nervously, you check over your shoulder. You jolt when Grogu’s pod bumps into your hip, then zooms away.

“No,” you yell again, grasping for the white vessel, but it comes to a hovering stop in front of a tall, silver man.

“Thank the Maker,” you sigh with relief. “We have to go.”

Din immediately notices the red ring of heat around your wrists and along your knuckles. He strides toward you. The closer he gets, the safer you feel - his protective aura slowly engulfing you.  

Din grabs your forearm and examines your wrist. There’s a raw quality to your skin where the man’s abrasive hands had clamped down and twisted. After a moment, his face locks onto yours.

“Show me who did this."

Cold, calm, his words are a promise.

Confused by his reaction, and still so used to answering when asked a direct question, you wince over your shoulder. Din finally seems to hear the vendor shouting in the distance as he searches the crowd for a ‘thief’ and her ‘dangerous pet’. Din abruptly straightens and steps past you.

Running after him, you reach for his gloved hand, fingers sliding home. “Din, please; we need to go.” 

The familiar contact makes him stop and turn to look at you. He says nothing, so you use the opportunity to explain.

“The ki- I made a scene, and it would be best if everyone forgot about it. A Mandalorian publicly roughing up the very same shopkeeper would give them more reason to gossip.” 

Din Djarin frowns the longer you speak. He knows you’re right. The kid is far more important than his sudden anger. He nods curtly.

The man’s vicious insults about your likely occupation and parentage echo down the street and make Din’s lip curl. But for the sake of the child, he manages to turn back toward the Razor Crest. It’s only when he passes Grogu’s stationary pod that he realizes he’s still holding your hand, fingers loosely intertwined. 

He gently flexes his hand, letting go.

____________________________________

As the Razor Crest speeds away from the planet, you smile. Vacuous and bone-chillingly cold, space is the worst. For most of your life, the inhospitable conditions had been worsened by your constant transport in the dark hold of some Creator-forsaken vessel.

But the cabin of the Mandalorian’s ship is warm and full of life, occupied by the kid's excited babbling and your semi-nervous laughter.

The kid waves his stubby arms in the Mandalorian’s lap as the Razor Crest dips and rises through a relatively calm asteroid field. Expertly maneuvering the expanse, Din Djarin has little motivation to do so except the smiles on his passengers’ faces. If you ask, he’ll tell you it’s a shortcut to the next system, which is only mostly untrue.

It’s been three months since Din collected the bounty on your former master. During that time, the Mandalorian had found one of the kid’s kind. A Jedi who could’ve taken Grogu, she declined the task. She told the bounty hunter of a place, a Seeing Stone, where Grogu could reach out for a Jedi master himself. 

Though a week has passed since learning of the Stone, Din had yet to bring Grogu to it, instead taking a couple of jobs. The stoic Mandalorian won’t admit, especially to himself, that he’s reluctant to let the child go. 

Reaching a lull in the slow-moving asteroids, Din draws the thruster back to stationary level, then looks down, his helmet nearly touching his breastplate, at the child still waving his short arms. Din turns his silver face to you questioningly.

Before he can speak, you joke, "I don’t want to learn to fly out here, if that's what you're about to ask.”

He shrugs with acceptance. Your eyebrows pinch in surprise, wondering if he’s playing along or serious.

“Okay, kid. We're done here,” he tenderly lifts Grogu and passes him to you. 

Grogu makes a protesting sound and hides one of his hands inside his robe.

“Big, mean Mandalorian is no fun,” you mutter to the child teasingly. Grogu coos in agreement.

Din shakes his head and swivels back to the control panel, flipping switches and entering data. The kid catches your attention, triumphantly showcasing a small metal sphere from his robe. You press your lips together and wink, silently promising you won’t tell. 

The Mandalorian’s gloved fingers run over his ship’s control panel like he’s conducting the Coruscant Orchestra, and then, suddenly, his right hand freezes in mid-air as he reaches for the thruster. 

“Grogu,” Din growls, spinning in his chair.

You laugh openly, “He’s a toddler, Din. You can’t close your eyes for a second.”

The Mandalorian rises, his bulk taking up the entirety of the cabin. He gently wrestles the ball from Grogu's fingers.

Long, soft ears droop, and massive, black eyes turn glassy. 

“Oh, look what you've done,” you croon, looking up at Din with an expression mirroring the kid’s.

Though he doesn't move, you can somehow see when Din’s annoyance is overruled by something stronger. Then the Mandalorian’s wide shoulders slowly rise and fall, a long-suffering sigh leaving his body.

“You are both menaces,” the Mandalorian accuses. He extends his hand, palm upward, “Grogu. Take it.” 

You hold your breath, allowing the child to focus on using his power. Grogu closes his eyes. The metal ball wiggles in the concave of Din’s large palm, then zooms to Grogu’s tiny hand.

Din makes a fist in excitement, “Great job, kid.”

Beaming at the Mandalorian, even more enthralled with him than the magic child in your lap, you wish you could see his proud smile.

Noticing your expression, Din's chin swivels to the side, clearly questioning. 

"Nothing. It's just that - it’s good to see you like this.” You shrug, trying to minimize your staring. “I know you’ve been stressed.”

The silent moment draws out as he assesses your observation. Still standing, the Mandalorian’s right hand hesitantly rises to whisper across the left side of your jaw. The gloved softness of his thumb caresses your cheekbone for an instant and a lifetime.

Din drops his hand like it weighs as much as a rancor. He turns around and sits back in his pilot's chair. Silver armor reflects the red and yellow lights around the cabin as he finishes his navigational procedures. 

Cheeks aflame, you duck your face down into the kid. 

___________________________________

“‘Occasional repairs,’’' you quote at the Mandalorian. “Every karking week there’s a new hole in this poor ship.” 

On the other side of the wing, busy soldering panels together, the Mandalorian's head snaps up. Unmoving, his expressionless mask simply stares at you. You bite your lip to prevent a grin and continue replacing bolts.

The beskar helmet remains for a while longer, hiding Din’s thoughts. He imagines what you’d look like if he put you on your knees and made you pay for your jokes. If he wiped that pretty smirk off your face. He feels a stirring in his flight suit, so he wrenches his mind away. 

The act the two of you committed in that field has not been repeated. His dedication to his helmet - to his creed - is paramount. And you tempt him too much. 

For the second time in the past year, Din has accidentally grown attached to someone - first the kid and now you. But with you, it’s a danger of a different kind.

Din had hoped that he just needed to get it out of his system. Get you out of his system. He had won that mock fight in the field, but he had yielded to his desire for you. 

Instead of feeling sated, Din feels hungrier as the days go by. Useless information, such as the number of sonic showers you've taken, clogs his mind. He would be ashamed of his counting, but he's too battle-weary to care. He does not count how many times he's taken advantage of the privacy of his bunk, remembering your eager face, your receptive body underneath him. 

All that armor wasn't worth a damn thing.

It’s easier for you. As inexperienced as Din but with your self-esteem already in the sarlacc pit, it wasn’t a stretch to imagine he'd had his fill of you and… well, that was that. Though you dream of it nearly every night, waking up to the strange feeling of both gaining and losing something.

Of course, the Mandalorian still needed you to care for the kid or help him replace several wing panels when he inevitably damaged them, as you were currently doing. 

At dusk, white trees sway behind you in the biting wind. This planet is rather cold, and Grogu, asleep inside the Razor Crest, doesn’t join you for the lovely, young Gornt dinner that Din had hunted. The two of you butcher it in silence and place it on the makeshift spit.

You then plop onto a log and snuggle down into your clothes, shivering. Though the items Din had given you months earlier are sturdy and warm, some of the chill of the night manages to seep through. You cross your arms, rubbing them.

Din vanishes from the other side of the fire - the smoky, dark air impenetrable. Squinting, you try to spot his reflective armor, but it works against you in this instance, easily blending him into the flickering, dim light.

A heavy material suddenly falls onto your shoulders, and you jump.

"Oh!" 

The Mandalorian stands directly behind you, the thick cloak he was trying to give you still partially in his hand. 

"I was focused on trying to see you through the smoke. I didn't think you'd be there." You clutch the brown garment tight around you and softly smile up at him, "Thank you."

Din nods, the clinking sound of metal audible as he returns to his log across the firelight. Your mouth gapes for a moment when you realize that the material around your shoulders is his torn cape.

"Do you not get cold?"

"I do." 

"Why not wear one yourself then?" You lift part of the cloak in indication.

"Mandalorians are taught to withstand uncomfortable circumstances. As a foundling, I frequently exercised in far less temperate weather." 

"A foundling?" You query, your eyebrow raising.

The Mandalorian leans back and shifts his legs apart to better distribute his weight.

"My youth was upended by war. When my village was destroyed, I was found by a Mandalorian."

"The name is quite literal, then?" 

"My people are quite literal," Din crosses his arms and his commanding presence is distracting.

He looks so big sitting on the log, his legs open, back straight, and arms folded. 

"We have similar beginnings," you swallow, trying to ignore the burning inside that has nothing to do with the fire.

"I was a little more fortunate in who found me," Din states. He leans forward to finally adjust the rod holding your dinner.

You lose your gaze in the flaming light, remembering.  

“I still can’t believe how much things have changed,” you murmur. 

Din Djarin can’t either. He has a life-altering decision to make, and a child to let go of, and both thoughts weigh on him like a karking Mudhorn. Din sighs internally at his unintended choice of simile.

Your eyes stray upward to the navy sky, breathing deeply. The frigid air burns your lungs, but you only draw more in, relishing your freedom to do so.

"You did not deserve that life," Din’s rough, mechanical voice answers over the sound of the crackling fire. 

You frown, "No one does." 

Running with the Mandalorian was a great way to stay ahead of the slavers. Paid employment, constant movement, and no one besides Din knowing your name - it was too good to be true.

Dropping your head from the sky, you level the Mandalorian with the most heartfelt gaze you can manage, "Thank you. I would've never had the courage to run without you."

Unable to see his reaction, you feel the distance most acutely. It isn't just flame and metal that divides you.

"I-" Din starts, but you cut him off.

"But mostly it's thanks to Grogu," you grin, trying to lighten the mood.

The helmet bobs as though he's amused, then Din sighs dramatically. 

"I need to separate you two."

"I love him," you giggle, remembering a moment a few days earlier when he had picked up a very dignified, sentient species of frog and tried to eat it. "He is such an agent of chaos." You laugh into your cloak-covered hand. 

Grateful that you can't see the fervent emotion glimmering in his brown eyes, Din studies you. Your fond smile is lit by the glowing fire and the cold winds blow redness into your cheeks and nose. You’re secure in his cloak, and it makes his chest ache.

"Shit," he breathes. The hiss through his modulator doesn't pick up the word well, to his relief. 

It's not a surprise if you do truly love the kid. He is adorable and you've been with him every waking moment for three months, but the word you've just introduced is jarring to Din.

Talking about Grogu brings the dangers you all face to the forefront of your mind. Your smile falls.

"Will you continue to teach me to fight?" You don't immediately register the sudden rigidity of Din's posture, so you press on, "It’s upsetting to me that I'm better with a blaster than with the skills I was taught and trained in by my family." 

The Mandalorian is relieved. You've given him an excuse to say no.

"I cannot teach you the methods of your people." 

“That’s alright; anything would be appreciated.” 

Din shifts his thigh on the log, agitated, and you struggle to fill the silence, “You don’t have to, of course.”

Then, as the silence lengthens, and you watch his helmet glint as he looks away, you realize what he must be so uncomfortable about. 

“Oh. I am not asking we repeat that. I’m sorry,” you raise a hand to chest height as if you’re trying to physically defend yourself from the awkwardness. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“I know.” 

“I- Din, really I only meant the…” you grimace and clamp your lips together, unable to bear the tension. Standing, you insist, “I swear to you, I never expected more.”

Forgetting to return his cape, you unconsciously hold it closer as you retreat into the Razor Crest. 

The Mandalorian does not watch you walk away. His conflicted eyes remain trained on the crackling fire. Sparring with you brings every heart tug, every little attraction he has to you to the surface, and that's too frustrating to manage while IMPs track him and he deals with letting go of Grogu. 

But Din knows he really should continue to teach you. It’s in your best interest, as well as Grogu’s. His hangup is entirely selfish, and Din is not a selfish man. 

***

Hours later, when the sun has started to rise once more on this short-cycle planet, the Mandalorian finds his brown cape hung on the door to the refresher. He jerks it off its resting place, and goes to tuck it back around himself, when he notices that something is wrong.

Frozen, the Mandalorian stares at the brown, rough material in his hand. There are no holes in it anymore, only stitches. 

_________________________________________

Combined with the sound of intentionally-loud footsteps, Din places Grogu - who had jumped between the two of you all night - on the edge of your cot, allowing the child to wake you up. Din strides to his weapons cache.

You yawn, then snicker at Grogu’s delighted face as he babbles what must be his version of Good Morning. 

“Morning, kid.” You pet his ear and he begins to purr.

“You should stop babying him,” the Mandalorian doesn’t look at you as he searches among the weapons.

“Why? He’s a baby.” 

Din shuts the doors to his stash. “He is fifty years old."

“He's what?” 

Din shrugs and inclines his head in humor. You stare incredulously at the middle-aged child who rotates his little head between you and his father. 

“His species is unknown, but they age differently than we do.” 

“Uh, yeah. Fifty?” 

Din’s modulator makes a rasping sound. It could’ve been a small laugh, but you’re not sure. 

“Is fifty so terrible?”

Something in Din’s voice makes you look up at him. He casually leans against the hull. 

Unsure if you should have the gumption to even ask, you stutter, “A-are you also fifty?” 

The beskar mask does not move as the man behind it debates his reply. He decides on honesty.

“No,” Din states. He clasps one hand over the other in front of him, adding, “But I will reach that number in less than a decade.” 

You make a small, accepting gesture as you had subconsciously placed him around his early forties anyway. In any case, it doesn’t matter to you. He is the Mandalorian who (somewhat inadvertently at first, you’ll admit) saved you. Even without that gratitude, you would feel an attraction to him. He was strong and kind and protective. Ruthless, sure, but only when necessary.

Din pushes off the wall, “You didn’t ask why I woke you.” 

“Oh.” It hadn’t occurred to you, so used to being woken up - far more rudely or violently - each morning for the prior two decades. “Alright, why did you wake me?”

He reaches behind his back, unhooking an item, and holds out the fighting stick he had used in that skirmish between the two of you. 

“I will teach you what I can.” 

***

Din Djarin is careful not to touch you, even through his gloves. He doesn’t trust himself anymore. Instead, he instructs you in tactics. After clocking your strategy in less than three moves, Din is worried about your future opponents doing the same. 

“You dislike giving ground, but there will be times you’ll have to. It’s how you will outmaneuver them,” the Mandalorian stands, hands folded, his knee cocked, as he speaks. 

“How do you know that?” You ask in response to his first statement. 

Din clenches his jaw at the memory so very close to other memories, and answers you in a contained voice, “You were not subtle.” 

You smile, abashed. “See, that is why I asked you. I’m far too inexperienced.”

Din closes his eyes in frustration.

You continue nervously, thinking about how hesitant he had been to agree to this, “My master took me to many fights, and you’re the best I’ve ever seen. I value your opinion.”

Din is used to compliments. Those whom he returned quarries to often praised him for his work. But your praise is one he actually wants, and something throbs in his chest. Then he grows irritated with his rampant, immature yearning for you. 

Din speaks harshly, “This is for the protection of the child. You are his guardian when I am not nearby.”

Locked onto that T-shaped, black slit, your eyes flicker a little at his callous, impatient pronouncement, but you nod. 

“Of course. For the kid.”

__________________________________

Unhappy to be removed from where he had curled up on his father’s pilot seat, Grogu had insisted upon sleeping in the cockpit with his little metal ball. You had assured the Mandalorian that you didn’t mind staying in the passenger chair for the night. The cushions were comfortable enough, and it made the child happy. 

An hour after Grogu had begun purring in his sleep, you’re brought to consciousness by a deeper, labored sound. Bolting to your feet, worried about the Mandalorian below, you descend the ladder. 

The door to the Mandalorian’s bunk had not fully closed, apparently jamming on some loose junk part that Grogu must’ve picked up. There is no light on in the enclosed space, so you cannot see him. But you can hear the way he mutters your name once, rough and agitated. You can hear the sound of material jerking and his rasping, vocoded grunts. 

Your throat tightens and your breathing stops. Eyes wide, you slowly back up, terrified for him to find you in this way. A molten weight in your stomach wants you to push open the door and take care of him, but after the manner in which he spoke to you the entire afternoon, and the obvious way he tries to forget about that day in the field, you can’t. You can’t even fathom why he would be uttering your name. It’s too confusing.

Dazed, you return to the cockpit and try to block him out. Sleep does not come to save you for far too long, and when it does, it provides you no escape from the Mandalorian.

__________________________________

Din’s tortured use of your name had kept you awake far into the night. When you groggily open your eyes the next morning, you know you won’t be able to let this go. You must talk to him. Bravery is a muscle you’re trying to flex anyway, so you might as well try it on the scariest thing you can think of: an angry Din Djarin. 

While Grogu plays with a ship part you pretend to have never seen, one Din had pried out of the receiving slot of his bunk door this morning, you and he traipse down the boarding ramp, intending to save the rest of the Gornt meat for traveling. 

Absolutely guessing at how you’ll begin this conversation, you decide you’ll just hope for the best. 

“I- I heard you last night.” It’s barely more than a whisper.

The Mandalorian stops dead in his tracks and you stumble, trying not to run into him. He turns on you, a solid wall of muscle and metal, but says nothing. You swallow and force what shred of courage you have to the front. 

“I heard you say my name. You don’t have to do that alone. I can help you,” your final words are almost inaudible.

The Mandalorian provides food, shelter, and companionship. Ignorant to any kind of normal relationship, friendly or greater, you want to show your gratitude. And if that was how you could help him, all the better.

Your inner self, the one that’s been unthawing since the day your master was frozen in carbonite, wants Din in a far more genuine manner. You want him. His compassion and honor, his fatherly love for Grogu, his non-pitying care for you, and his primal confidence have you in danger of becoming a hopeless devotee.

“Help me,” he reiterates, his tone worryingly neutral.

“Passage for assistance,” you try to ease the tension slightly with another old quote of his. “I can still assist you. It’s repayment for your aid.”

Even as you say it, you feel the depth of the lie. You want Din for yourself.

He’s silent. At his side, the fingers on his right hand fidget. The broad bounty hunter leans over you. As he tilts his head, the cold sun glints off his armor. 

Din’s voice is as sharp as his vibroblade but twice as lethal, “You are no longer a slave - do not make me say that again. This is not a business transaction.” 

Not a business transaction? While technically a rejection, his clarification makes you dizzy. Your breath comes out shakily, fogging in the chill air. 

“Okay. What if that’s not my real reason for asking?”

That does it. Stunned, the Mandalorian might as well be a statue made of beskar. Din had found it easy to believe you allowed him to touch you because you felt in his debt, and he hated it. Made him feel as slimy as a Hutt.

“Tell me.” 

Din watches your facial expressions run the gamut and he knows that whatever you’re about to say is the truth. 

“I care about you.” Will you ever stop whispering? “For you, not just what you’ve done for me,” your second greatest act of bravery this morning is touching his cold chestplate. You swallow as you look up into that blank face. 

Din doesn't move. Doesn't think he can move, but then his body responds before his mind does. Soft leather brushes your cheekbones as he takes your face in his large hands. He tilts his cold helmet to your forehead, and you instinctively close your eyes, sighing in relief. This was not what you were expecting when you followed him out here.

You can't hear the first thing he says, but it sounds like dank farrik. You laugh quietly in his hands.

"You are a menace,” he mutters a little louder, the modulator somehow enhancing the timbre of his voice. “You and the kid.”

Grinning, you open your eyes as he lifts his helmet from your skin. “Don’t bring him into this,” you joke. 

Din’s thumb ghosts across your lips and you shiver. The Mandalorian is calm. This is inevitable now. He need not fight himself any longer. He grasps your wrist and brings it upward. Gently guiding your fingers underneath the edge of his helmet, Din presses them to his lips.

Utterly shocked at this new gift, you gasp. A scratchy cloth wraps around the bottom of his chin, but above it, his soft, scruffy facial hair and plump lips make your skin tingle. Nerves jumble in your lower stomach. He presses another kiss before slowly lowering your hand.

You tell him disbelievingly, "I thought there was no way -” 

“What you thought was wrong.” 

Your heat signature rises at the sincerity in his voice. Din tilts his head, watching your reaction to him. He lets his covered fingers drift over your lips again, then he drags them down the column of your throat and past your exposed collarbone, enjoying your whimper. Your pupils are dilated.

“You want me now, don’t you?” He asks, his voice hoarse. 

You nod, whispering past your suddenly dry mouth, “Yes.” 

The Mandalorian crouches for a split second, hefting you into his arms with no effort. Your legs automatically wrap around his middle, arms around his neck. His hands clasp underneath your thighs as he strides up the loading ramp as though every second he delayed was one wasted. 

Din lays you out on his bunk and hits the button for the door without looking at it. He does not turn on the light. In the tiny, black room, you can hear him divesting himself of his flight suit and armor. It makes your heart throw itself against your chest. You sit up and struggle out of your own clothes, wanting nothing between you and him.

“Will I ever get to kiss you?” You ask timidly.

Din answers you immediately. His rough palms bracket your face, then he reverently pushes his lips into yours. His facial hair brushes against your skin and you weakly moan into his mouth, parting your lips for more. The Mandalorian groans, as well, enraptured by this new sensation. 

Din wraps a muscled arm around your waist, crushing you to him in the small space. His warm, broad chest forces yours to mold around him. Your hands gently drag along his torso, mapping him. He shudders underneath your fingers.

His lips break like waves around yours. You could be floating above the bed and it would feel no different. He kisses you like it’s what he needs to survive; his occasional noises of desperation stake your heart and dampen your thighs.

“Need to touch you everywhere,” Din’s real, untampered voice knots your stomach. 

“You can do whatever you want,” you breathlessly repeat the unspoken affirmation you’d given him the first time. 

He chuckles, and you shiver again, drunk with lust. Din lowers you back onto the hard bed, settling over you.

His hot mouth surprises the sensitive skin of your breast. Din moans, involuntarily you think, as he tastes you there, gently pulling and sucking. You jerk, pressing up into him with a cry. Who knew that could feel so good?

His big hands flow down your sides, pressing into you, exploring, and you get a burst of understanding. This man is starved.

Your hands comb into his hair, and while you wonder what its color is, you’re choked up to find that it’s soft and wavy. Din groans loudly when your fingers rub on his scalp. He seems invigorated by it as he growls and returns to your lips with a fever. His tongue demands you allow him inside, but there is no resistance on your end. 

Suddenly, Din breaks the kiss with a wet pop of his lips. He vanishes from above you, but then two large hands slide up your thighs. He pushes them apart and your breath hitches. 

“You trust me?” The Mandalorian knows the answer, he just wants to hear it.

Nodding dumbly in the dark, you realize he can’t see you and squeak, “Yes.”

He shifts down and presses a row of kisses up your inner thigh. His nose brushes your coarse hair, and your breathing breaks a second time. 

Din flattens his tongue and licks the spot he already knows you like. You jolt and his arms wrest around your thighs, holding you in place for him. You whimper as he buries his face in your folds, shocking your system. Your hands return to his hair, and his chest swells as he quickly shoves you toward your end. His nose continually nudges your bundle of nerves and each time it feels like you’re hurtling through hyperspace.

Your back arches when he traps your clit between his lips, and he responds with another obscene noise. This time, the vibration of his deep voice rips your orgasm from your marrow. Crying out his name, you quake, chest heaving through the waves of euphoria. 

Too overwhelmed by all his options, Din moves back to your mouth, breathing heavily himself, “Incredible.” 

He licks into you again, his hand cradling your face to allow him deeper. Taking advantage of his position, you wrap your legs around his trim waist, pulling him down. His hips cant toward you, and you feel his length fall onto your abdomen. You hadn’t forgotten how big he was, but the heft of it makes your body tremble. 

The Mandalorian could be a patient man, but this would never be one of those moments. Din fists himself, rubbing once along your soaked seam. He pushes forward, steadily feeding his cock into your tight, forgiving heat. Din grunts several times, overstimulated. 

“You don’t know what you’ve done, mesh’la,” he gruffly murmurs, his naked voice still so shocking to hear.

You have no idea what he means, and you file it away for later study. Solely focused on how he feels halfway inside you, you clutch at the back of his thick thighs, encouraging him. But then he snaps his hips, driving himself to the hilt.

“Din, oh,” you sharply gasp. 

He grinds his pubic bone into your mound, stimulating you; his chin tilts up, proud, when you shudder. The Mandalorian grabs one of your hands and brings it to where he’s joined with you.

“You feel that?” Din’s voice is weighty, meaningful.

“Mhm,” you sigh, your fingers leaving his hand to explore his dark curls. He’s right. The deviant way his thick member disappears inside you is intoxicating.

He languidly draws himself out, letting you experience every ridge and vein, pulsing with your filthy sounds. He re-enters you just as intentionally, and when he’s given you everything, he leans down and drags you into a kiss. A kiss that means something to him. His tongue surges through your mouth in a single stroke before his full lips pull on yours, one hand gripping the back of your neck.

He lets you go, trailing his mouth down your throat, obsessed with the taste and the feel of you on his skin.

Din returns to your lips, his forearms framing your head. His fingers twist in your hair, and he begins to pump faster. His length strokes along a spot that makes your eyes flutter in the pitch blackness. Your nails carefully rake at his toned back, drawing a strangled moan from him as he shoves himself inside again and again. Losing a measure of self-control, he thrusts hard, placing a palm on the back wall for stability. 

Your hands finally, finally, reach up for his face, expecting at any moment that he’ll stop you. His lips are parted as he pants in exertion, his facial hair fluttering with his breath. Din’s cheekbones are round and high; his nose is angular and fitting. 

“I knew you were handsome,” you praise, the words fluctuating in cadence with his pounding strokes. “Wouldn’t have mattered.”

He scoffs, barely conscious of what you’re saying. His forehead drops to yours again, and he can’t believe the life he’d known had unraveled so drastically. In under a year, Din had gained a child and this. 

“Turn over,” he orders.

Of course, you obey without hesitation.

His calloused fingers slide around your hips, pulling them upward. With your chest still pressed into the bunk, you moan when he slowly re-inserts himself. He nearly chokes when your body draws him in; the angle and drenched grip of you makes him shake his head in disbelief. 

“You okay?” He rumbles. 

Your chin scrapes on the metal bed as you nod, “Please move.” 

He clasps an arm around your middle, hunching forward. His scruff and lips tickle the top of your spine as he begins to rut into you. It’s already too much - Din grunting, his chest hair scratching your upper back, his muscled arms holding you in place as he fills you over and over. You begin to clench around him again, crying out harshly in a rush of pleasure. Your legs shake, giving out underneath you.

The Mandalorian’s large hand splays across your breast, and he pulls you backward onto your knees alone, welding you to his perspiring chest. As his length plunges up into you, his lips brush your ear. He’s whispering something, but you can't understand the words.

Then, Din exhales with a groan and rolls several long, pulsing strokes, burying his come as deep as he can with a final, gravel-filled grunt.

***

In the dark, there’s only the sound of two people fighting for breath. Din has leaned against the cool wall; he tugs you to him. You sit somewhat beside him, your legs tangled together. Your head rests on his heaving shoulder, and every now and then, you feel the press of his lips in your hair. He laughs once, quietly.

“What is it?” 

“Your life is not the only one that has changed.” 

Blinking rapidly, your heart glows with warmth. Yours had changed the most. This Mandalorian had come into your non-existence and given you everything. Courage, freedom, responsibility, love. 

“I know you like to fight, but this is one I’ll win,” you laugh softly. 

___________________________________

Tagging:

@morks-watermelon

[harmonysanreads]

hello <3

wishing you freedom and happiness from academic hell before diving in. you opened requests so 👉👈

forgive me if this counts as idea stealing since you posted about it but yan! neuvillette with a darling who wants to file for divorce would be such a messy situation. court proceedings go to him now that the oratrice is no longer functioning. how do you expect to win against the law of the land?

filing divorce in a different land also isn't an option, because it is written in your marriage contract that you cannot leave fontaine without your husband and he sure as hell isn't going to come with you for something like this

oh well.

Jeux de Vagues

Yandere!Neuvillette x Reader

cw(s): yandere, implications of forced marriage, slight dehumanization, manipulation, fontaine archon quest act one spoilers, old married couple bickering (literally)

wc : 3k

hiii zuri!! i have been brainrotting this fic since version 4.0 so thank you so much for just giving me the opportunity to unleash it lol. for plot reasons this takes place between act 1 and 2. i dedicate this fic to all the anons who brain-rotted with me and kept me motivated to think about neuvillette with their creative asks <3 btw you get a 🍪 if you can recognize where the title comes from :>

“Husband, I wish for a divorce.”

In Spring, the snow of the bygone winter thaws and raises the tides. They twirl to the edges of the shores ; push and pull, back and forth, mesmerizing the nation of Hydro with their temptatious dance. You wonder what it'd take to entice the waves to your direction, to have the power to make them rage and placate. When one desires to control something great, they see its reflection upon mundane things — just as you envision yourself dictating the tides upon cups of dainty porcelain, noon to evening and midnight to dawn — your spoon conducts its rhythm.

In Summer, the waters boil and vaporize upon the touch of sunlight to reach the heavens and complete the cycle. Just as wisps of steaming tea tantalize their way upwards from cups and tea pots. Beyond that translucent veil stares back a pair of watchful eyes, undecipherable are their emotions and primordial their age.

“The tides of time heed no one's orders or pleas. Very well, mon trésor, let us begin this trial.”

You're quick to catch the hint and slow to react, deliberate and relaxed as you bring the rim of the cup to your lips. The tea scathes your lips and paints your tongue bitter, bitter, bitter — a smile stretches across your tingling lips, deeming the liquid's taste adequate to your present temperament. You are bitter, not because of the contents of this ‘trial’ but, due to the delay of it. You've been crossing days after days from heaps of calendars, preparing all your accusations and aligning evidence to back up your claims for this chance only comes once every fin de siècle.

“I heard your justice machine broke?” a ‘clang’ accompanies the tea cup meeting the saucer. You focus on the chirping of birds and the noises of crystal flies buzzing past instead of the possible damage done by your words. You hear it, the swell of rising waves before they pacify with a purposeful cough. You don't let the event’s lamentable duration plunder your motivation, more precisely, you take it as a good start.

“Calling it broken is quite the stretch. You and I both know that the Oratrice Mechanique d’Analyse Cardinale—”

You swat a hand and the waves placate completely, sans any questions or any other brewing feelings. “I'm quite aware of what it's called, husband.” ‘I just could not care less’ goes unsaid.

You point your finger towards the Iudex of Fontaine, “You,” then return it back to yourself, “and I, both know the purpose of me bringing that incident up in our private trial.”

No amount of sensory loss would render someone ignorant of the mockery of your words. You bite the inside of your cheek in a lazy attempt to suppress a smirk, times like this really make you regret not having the privilege to face off against Neuvillette in the Court of this land ; you're quite sure your most recent stunt would earn you many bewildered gasps. If only the gates of your husband's manor crashed down, perhaps incapacitating him in the process for good measure.

“...Yes, we do. Your intention is to insinuate the impending prophecy and learn how we plan to prevent or battle it.”

Neuvillette's words resemble velvet in the manner they roll off his tongue, you catch his gaze drifting towards the chalice to his left, from where his reflection returns his stare. There are many tales passed among melusins of the equanimity practiced by your husband in even the most dire situations. But you have seen the depths of the ocean, where its secrets are forever concealed by an ever stretching darkness.

“Correct,” you affirm.

“Unfortunately, mon trésor, our investigations have not yet reached a decisive conclusion. While I can guarantee you that we'll do our utmost in the face of the prophecy, I cannot yet give you the specific details. Besides, this information is quite... arbitrary to our ‘trial’.”

The ocean returns your scrutiny, threatening to yank your breath away to that unknown darkness. You watch the ripples along its surface, wondering and devising plots to uproot the ocean's schemes from your safe space. You want to tear through that ataraxia and illuminate those depths for all to see its hideous secrets — so that your claims will no longer be deemed senseless.

“Well, you could try acting the part of the Iudex first.” you exhibit great interest in your nails.

“Apologies, mon trésor. The trial is now in session.”

The most preposterous trial there ever was, in fact ; spectated by cups of tea and plates of desserts, overlooked by the jury of birds and bees under the naked skies and one stubborn ‘judge’ to lay down the final verdict — who was also the accused in question. It'd be more fitting to call this some courtroom version of playing house and you wonder if Neuvillette sees it as exactly this ; since the notion of normal matrimonial life flies past his head.

You swallow your profound irritation at his nonchalance and that prickling soft gaze, the calm of the ocean surface is just a facade, you remind yourself.

“O honorable Chief Justice of Fontaine, riddle me of what I must do with my husband. He sees fit to cage me down while preaching justice simultaneously and allows me not to indulge in ‘rudimentary interactions’ with any other life forms. Do you not think that such hypocrisy is utterly ridiculous?”

Your hand cradles your heart, fully embracing the spirit of a mistreated spouse. Neuvillette regards it with an almost comical graveness, nodding as though he understands. Had it not been for the situation, you would've marveled at how willingly he's playing along with this fiasco.

A gloved hand stretches out to you in suggestion, “Perhaps it's because your husband just worries too much for your well-being?”

Your right eye twitches, “I’ve made it acutely obvious to him that I'm far from a toddler in need of constant supervision.”

The Iudex smiles succinctly, “I’m sure that he's not ignorant of that fact. But if, as you say, your husband guards you with such determination that you're not allowed to interact with any other forms of living organisms besides himself, it means that you hold great value to him.”

You cross your arms petulantly, it's not that you're forbidden from talking with everyone, many of Neuvillette's most trusted melusines do come to add flickers of color to your otherwise bleak existence sporadically. You're grateful for their kindness and brief companionship but, this small leeway does not outweigh the rest of your husband's misdeeds. Your eyes flicker to the patient eyes of the man separated by one small oak table, barely suppressing a scowl at his serene composure.

You despise it when he acts like the raw image of propriety, of an ideal husband ; so withdrawn from the covetous creature that he actually is — because it poses you as a lunatic, a lunatic who demands separation from what the rest of society perceives as perfection and debilitates all of your claims. The more you think about it, the more frustrated you get — you don't want to let frustration consume you, you don't want to lose this one opportunity for freedom. Your nails dig into the sleeves of your apparel as your mind scrambles to search for more accusations.

Why did you want a divorce again?

You control your erratic breaths forcefully, “Well, I don't feel safe in Fontaine anymore. A deadly prophecy is at our door and with no solution in sight. I'd much prefer to relocate to someplace with less volatile weather, like Liyue or Mondstadt.”

Neuvillette tilts his head, “Ah, you want to go on a vacation, am I correct? To be honest, I've been entertaining the thought of traveling to the other nations with you by my side for quite a while. Though, things being the way as they're now, that is not possible. I can promise you that after everything has been settled, we will go on a journey together, mon trésor.”

This time you don't bother to conceal your disbelief, of course he focuses on the part that most serves him and twists the narrative to further enrich his fantasies! You bite your tongue from yelling that you don't want a vacation, you want freedom from these suffocating high walls of marble. You don't just want freedom from Neuvillette, you want freedom from this cursed nation and it's solely Neuvillette's fault you were unable to do so with your kin five hundred years ago.

“Fontaine will face diplomatic and political consequences soon. Because you threw that Harbinger of Sumeru—”

“Sneznaya, mon trésor.”

“—I know that. My point is that we might face backlash from the Fatui in our vulnerable state and who knows? Fontaine might just collapse as a nation! I don't want to stay in a city like this.”

You freeze at the sigh that escapes Neuvillette's lips, you've been probing and digging for a normal human reaction from this man for a while, but at the instance that he actually gives it, you cannot help but find it jarring.

“Fontaine will not collapse from something as trivial as diplomatic pressure from the Fatui. Even though the prophecy looms above our heads, there are many factions that are actively working towards prevention. And even if Fontaine were to be drowned tomorrow, I have faith that not all of the citizens will be dissolved and you would always be my first priority. As for that Sneznayan Harbinger… we've merely followed the Court's protocols. If we did indeed convict him of crimes he did not commit, we'll most certainly compensate him to the fullest extent allowed by the law.”

For a transient eternity, all that echoed throughout the garden of the Chief Justice were the chirping of birds. Your mind carefully assesses the words from moments ago, searching for even a modicum of dishonesty. You watch the Iudex's unfettered gaze, at last giving a glimpse of the tumults raging beneath the pretentious still surface. You can hear the swelling of waves again, albeit not for the purpose to engulf but, with the determination to protect.

You'd recognize that look on Neuvillette's face even in your (unlikely) deathbed, the causation of your bafflement though is that, this is the first time you've seen it appear in correlation to something other than yourself. Your right hand idly smoothes your garbs and your left grips the wooden handle of your seat, you find both of your palms drenched in sweat upon contact.

“You’ve gone soft, ______”

You blankly admit in your semi-dazed state and it's Neuvillette's turn to take a deep breath. It's been a while since you've spoken that name aloud, the one that is only permitted to be uttered by you in private ambiances such as this and which serves as the origin for this clandestine marriage. For some reason you cannot quite comprehend — especially since your husband does not seem to suffer from it — your memory enjoys having a love-hate relationship with you. From what you recall at this instance, the last time you called the Iudex by his true name was when he gifted you this garden. Its utterance is so rare that even the bearer is rendered speechless each time.

Neuvillette copies your previous antics and pastes it onto the current situation with a prolonged look-over of your person, “Your apparel today suits you most exquisitely, mon trésor.”

You answer with a gracious eye-roll, “Don’t change the subject.”

The Chief Justice of Fontaine straightens his posture with a somewhat bashful chuckle, the afternoon sun's soft hues make the ivory strands of his hair sparkle. “Apologies, I've been meaning to compliment your appearance, not that it is ever short of radiant — I just could not find a suitable opening.”

You submit to the urge to slouch ever so slightly with a sigh, “You don't have to apologize for every little thing, you know?”

“Apologi—” Neuvillette corrects himself with a cough concealed by his fist, you watch with intrigue as soft coral dusts his pale cheeks, “As for your ‘question’, I will admit that throughout my coexistence with humans as Fontaine's Iudex, I've come to appreciate their ideals, characteristics and interpersonal relationships. In a way, I've understood myself to a great extent through observing them. Just as you wished I would.”

You furrow your brows in genuine confusion, “What do you mean?”

Your husband seems to steel himself for something, hands intertwined atop the oak table and eyes drained from his earlier playful light all too quickly. “You’ve always wished to become human. To view this world through the eyes of a mortal, to be able to have a taste of their myriad and complex relationships and... to die alongside someone you truly love.”

Somewhere in the crevices of your archaic mind, there's a vacuum hidden beneath the symphony of sea waves. Unchanging, uncharted and unperturbed by your attempts to identify what used to occupy that space. Neuvillette's cryptic admission creates a crack on what you assumed to be an empty spot occupied by white noise, the cleft dents your memories and spreads, a raucous scream threatens to rupture your eardrums.

“Are you, perhaps,” your fingers clasp onto the silk of your garb, “insinuating that you've granted me my ‘wish’?”

If you had gathered the strength to look up, you would've been blessed with the sight of the Iudex thrown off-guard. But the lapse in composure is short lived, “Of course.”

Something about his easy confirmation annihilates your decorum and replaces it with a rage of unknown origin, “So you think imprisoning me has made me happy? That it's made me feel human? That your kindness and preachings of justice have bewitched me so much that I've considered you as a lover for even a second? No, no and no! I have never and will never stop hating you, ______!”

But why do you hate him? Your thoughts echo back to you ; he's ensured you never have to ask for a meal, he's clothed you, he's provided a solid roof above your head and he's given you his heart — or at least that's what he says. For not once does a memory that he's mistreated you arise in your head but, what does bubble in your heart is an inexplicable hatred. A hatred so grave that it motivates you to not surrender to this unfair trial, contemptuous waves swell, rise to heights unseen, crash down—

“Do not forget that abandoned property belongs to whoever finds it first.”

And drag everything to the ocean's dark depths.

A jolt shakes your whole body, your eyes rise to meet the tempest in disbelief and suddenly, the dam shatters. Now you can see the serpent leering behind the charming flower, an unrestricted view of what the fair and ideal Iudex is inside those glimmering garbs of honor — a dragon with manicured claws and perfumed scales, seated to a chair of judgement yet, forever guilty of a sin he refuses to purge.

Only you remember that Neuvillette wasn't always like this ; in days not noted down in history he'd been an enigma, unsure of the significance of his existence, burning with contempt for the so-called Usurpers and sometimes cruel. But at least, he wasn't a hypocrite. He'd dug his talons deep into your heart and skin and engraved his name within your soul, he'd defiled the waters that construct your being with hatred and malice but at least, he hadn't refused to acknowledge that it was him who shackled you to this godforsaken nation, separated from the rest of your kin.

Neuvillette takes a deep breath upon noticing your erratic trembling, the tsunami recedes. “It always ends like this,”

It does. This excuse of a trial with your freedom as the wager, born of your husband's ironic belief of justice, that you should still be given a chance to speak up against iniquity. He'll take great note of any other issues that might cause you distress, but the actual concern will never be addressed — that's how it's been for five centuries. It is the kind of judge that Neuvillette has become in matters that concern you, finding loopholes to keep you attached to his name yet hidden from prying eyes ; all because of his principle that having a public personal relationship will bring the impartiality of the judiciary system to question.

“However, it must be done to ensure your safety.” you tense as he rises from his seat, gloved fingers trace the silk table cloth.

The grass crunches beneath his heel, “For who knows what the public's reaction would be if it was to be leaked, that the Iudex Neuvillette's spouse was the progenitor of the prophecy?”

You feel the familiar texture of Neuvillette's glove supporting your face, wiping the cascading tears that escaped without your notice. “Do you not remember, mon trésor, that you need me?”

Your vision blurs and all you see is blue, his blue or yours, your mind refuses to confirm. But what it does corroborate are Neuvillette's words, that you would not survive without his care, that you are the first who had wished to become human and that you are the first sinner.

You feel his touch more firmly this time, it's not warm like all the other times ; but soothing and sedating. As though, a cavity within your soul was given meaning and a portion of your memories hidden away. Your eyes are defeated against the temptation of slumber, but before the darkness engulfs you, you vividly hear the rumbling of an ensuing storm, the first of many tears of the sky hitting your skin.

“I suppose this must be my punishment. But, I would rather prefer being the recipient of your scorn and contempt than to not have you at all.”

But why go through such lengths? Neuvillette's conscience asks as he takes your limp body in his arms, the sound of heavy rain follows his footsteps back towards your shared ‘home’.

To this, he consoles himself : the words unspoken are the flower.

Trivia for Jeux de Vagues

[eggyrocks]

𖦹track twelve: waiting so long𖦹

m.list

kuroo wants her to look up.

because she's sitting, facing him on the couch with her folded knees brushing against the tips of his. because her head's tilted down, biting down on her tongue in concentration, eyes fixed on the way her fingers lift and reposition his own over the frets of her guitar. because if she lifted her gaze, she would find that he was looking at her, studying that expression, taking her in. because if she looked up, she might realize how close she had gotten to him; she might want to get closer.

her touch isn't gentle. she forces his long fingers into strange and unnatural positions, cramping and stretching them to play the correct chords. the tips of her own fingers are weathered, the indentations from metal strings look permanent.

but still, when she is this close, the feeling of those rough, calloused hands on his own is enough to make his heart seize up in his chest. he forgets that there is a world outside of the two of them. there's nothing else happening but her hands on him and the buzz in the air.

"there," she says, leaning back and examining his hands with narrowed eyes and a furrowed brow. "now strum."

kuroo does what he's told. he mimics the strumming the motion he's seen others do, and the vibration of the strings sounds harsh and clanky. she winces. "no, not like that," she tells him with a shake of her head. she lifts her own wrist and strums invisible strings, "do it more like this," she tries to explain, and then does, what looks like to kuroo, the exact same thing again, "you did it like this, which is wrong."

he laughs. "you just did the same thing twice."

she opens her mouth, but is cut off by the shrill ringing of a phone. kuroo watches while she pulls it from her back pocket and contemplates if it would be worth it to remove his fingers from their placements just for her to tocuh him again.

her expression finds neutrality as she stares down at the screen, reading a contact name kuroo can't see. she doesn't answer it. she just places her phone down on the hardwood floor beneath her, and with a sharp motion, slides it to the other side of the room.

kuroo turns to watch as it flies, only stopping when it crashes into the wall of the adjacent kitchen. "who was that?" he questions, returning his attention back to her.

"just my mom," she answers with a shrug.

he looks back over his shoulder at the still-ringing phone, its vibrations made louder against the wood floor. "are you, uh, not a big fan of her?"

she flops back onto the couch and kuroo leans forward without realizing it, fascinated with the way the features of her face have shut down, not revealing anything about what's running through her head. "that's a fun way of putting it. sure. i'm not a fan of my mom."

kuroo wants to say something else, to get her to keep talking. but he moves his hand just an inch and she's upright again, grabbing onto his wrist and shifting it back into place. "c'mon dude, it took me like five minutes to get that right."

and she's back to where she was, leaning in close and taking hold of his fingers. so he can't really complain. "sorry," he says with a crooked grin.

she scoffs. "no you're fucking not."

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rules i did not think i had to state: don’t copy my shit !

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[thesharktanksdriver]

Sharky throws hands Fins (Platonic)

Part 1 part 3 part 4 part 5

@crazyfandomist Maybe a request!! Sharky goes out on a mission with them and they see Sharky doing the up most terrifying take down along with a good scare of when they get hit by a bullet? Of course Sharky is fine but now they’re in lockdown till they’re fully healed

You asked and you shall receive. Really like this request and decided to go the full mile. You guys can expect some more Sharky stuff with shadow company and eventually some other stuff.

If there’s one thing that the entire squad of 141 can agree on it’s that your a bit of a wild card

A wild shark as Soap would joke in the heli as it landed and everyone felt the true weight of their guns now in their hands

They knew you were rambunctious, a bit of a hot head and maybe a bit fucked in the head from the shit you constant spouted out

But this was a whole new level of bullshitery that they had to unpack

It all started out as a relatively normal mission that turned into yet another battlefield

Intel was wrong and everyone walked into a trap that lead them all to scatter for cover

Intel was wrong and everyone walked into a trap that lead them all to scatter for cover

Intel was wrong and everyone walked into a trap that lead them all to scatter for cover

Intel was wrong and everyone walked into a trap that lead them all to scatter for cover

Intel was wrong and everyone walked into a trap that lead them all to scatter for cover

Intel was wrong and everyone walked into a trap that lead them all to scatter for cover

Intel was wrong and everyone walked into a trap that lead them all to scatter for cover

Intel was wrong and everyone walked into a trap that lead them all to scatter for cover

Intel was wrong and everyone walked into a trap that lead them all to scatter for cover

Like the others you ran, your smaller form being able to be somewhat ignored by the enemies as dust clouded the air

Sadly though even with this you got shot in the scuffle and now had to deal with the pain that rumbled through you

Adrenaline was kicking in now but you still took the time to try and deal with you wound as best you could with limited resources

Seems like Ghosts’s gorilla warfare class actually came to good use unlike algebra like your teaches insisted

Hushed cursed words fall from your mouth as you climb the stairs of an old decrepit home, carefully placing each step in case of any trip wires

“Kid you alright?!” Seems like your com wasn’t broken, that’s good but what isn’t is the amount of worrying that was gonna make Price’s hair go grey. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” You try to hid the smile hidden in your voice as you role your eyes. You hear a sigh of relief on the other end, you continue through the empty home before getting to the top floor that contained some extra ammo that you nabbed.

“Where are you?”

“Old house. Looks like something from a horror movie?, Texas chainsaw vibes honestly. Wonder if they’ll have the dead teenagers as well”

You get a array of different responses over the live that makes you giggle as you look out the broken window

Seems like they’ve made good work, most of who’s left are dropping like flies to the shared effort of everyone else

A once yellow and dusty ground painted a rouge red by a liquid your so familiar with now

Through a gust of wind you notice a form

You instantly recognize it’s not price, too small, not ghost, not as bulky, not Gaz, not as slim, and not soap, doesn’t have the swagger in his step

Oh and they aren’t wearing the same uniform

That was probably a better identifier but by now you had memorialized your teammates and it was easier to identify people by that alone

He had his back turned to the house, hiding behind a small rusted over car as he gazed out its windows with his gun raised

Oh hell no

You get closer to the window you spied out of, pulling out your knife as you placed a foot on the windowsill

You could just shot the guy, it would be quick and easy but you decided to bite the bullet today

You’d seen ghost do something similar once and had to admit it was pretty badass

Probably something someone would put into some “top ten badass military moments” list by watchmojo or something

He’s unfocused and not paying attention to his surroundings

He’s dead before he even realizes you jumped from the second story window

Knife plunging into him as you wrap yourself around him, legs squeezing his waist and one arm pulling his head back allowing his throat to be open season

Like a scythe reaping a crop, he’s left falling to the ground with the spoil of your reaping

A curtain of red spouting from his neck as it stained the ground and your blade

You get up with terracotta coloured dust sticking to your fingertips like cheeto dust with a mixture of blood

Your then meet with your slack jawed team mates all of whom glanced from his corpse to you, to his corpse and then to your bleeding arm

Shit

Safe to say they all have varying reactions and are all not very happy about you lying about being ok

Ghost is a mixture of annoyance, anger and some slight sliver of pride

He’s not happy about you lying about not being harmed in the events of the attack

For fucks sake it could’ve hit something vital and you could’ve died before they got there

It makes him realize how your reliance on yourself is both a blessing and curse that they need to find a balance on

But on the other hand….nice

Listen, he’s still bloody pissed and is giving you a good old British style verbal smack down but he has to admit he’s very proud at watching that takedown

Yours was slightly adjusted to suit you better but it worked like a charm

Makes the old man proud even if he’s still vibrating from anger

It kinda makes him worried at the same time though since it shows your being influenced by him

He’s afraid you’ll become like him, lose that annoyingly bright smile of yours that never failed to lift him from the trenches of his mind

He knows he can’t protect you from the hardships of this job, the crusted blood on you is a reminder of that

But, keyword is but, he will do everything in his power to protect the one last semblance of good in his life

After he simmers a bit he eventually ends up pulling you into his arms, hands slightly shaking

His grip is strong as he holds you, a hand gently maneuvering itself to cradle your head carefully. As if your made of glass. “Please don’t do that again” he sounds painfully fragile, a thin wooden house that can be destroyed by a simple breeze. “I can’t lose you kid. So please don’t do stupid shit like that again or become like me…aight Sharky?” it sounds less like a command and more like him pleading. You pull back slightly and nod, watching as hidden eyes that were surrounded by black voids became slightly wet. It smudges the black makeup around his eyes as you return the hug.

Price as you can expect is pissed and worried like ghost

Like he’s going full on disappointed dad mode as holds your hand in med bay as a nurse removes the bullet

Your grounded for the next 2 weeks

No amount of whining will be able to guilt nor change his mind. Don’t test him cause he may extend it if you try to weasel your way out of this

He frequently checks up on your wound making sure it’s healing correctly

Him along with Laswell are the ones who help you change bandages and disinfect it from time to time

Doesn’t want to admit it but he Almost had a heart attack when he realized you were shot and still proceeded to jump out a 2 story building

100% pulls you into his office after you got your wound properly patched up and have you a serious talking to

It’s moreso about why you had lied to them about being fine when you were short

It’s then on like ghost he realizes this could become a reoccurring issue if he doesn’t do anything about it

He personally teaches you how to properly treat yourself with limited supplies

And also teaches you the importance of relying on your teammates

Plus how important it is to not ignore what can look like a simple bullet wound

He probably opens up a bit, telling you an experience he had when he was younger. How something similar happened to a friend of his who thought it was nothing but paid for it in the end

It sticks better than most of his angry comments since you can see genuine fear in his eyes

You nod, getting a sigh in return from him as he settles down in his cushioned leather chair

Cigar smoke lingers up in the air as Price taps it against his ashtray, you notice that there’s more ash than usual piled up in it. “Do you get why it’s important now?” His voice is stern as usual but you can see a hint of vulnerability in it, shining through the cracks of his built up walls. “Yes sir” at this be nods, a smile finally finding a place on his face as he adds “good. other than that you did good out there, great takedown. now your still in lockdown but you allowed to train with some limitations”. The praise makes you smile and has a surge of pride claw at you.

Soap is low key still kinda concerned but he’d be a hypocrite to say he hadn’t done the same before

Only difference is that he hasn’t gotten caught…often

He swears Ghost is like a fucking blood hound cause that’s the only reason why he’s been caught hiding a wound

On the way back to base he’s two seconds away from complimenting your takedown until he gets the side eye from both Price and Ghost which shits him up

Well shuts him up until he visits you that night

Kinda has to sneak to you room but once he gets there he’s full on pat on the back and taking nonstop

He suggests you teach him lol

Probably jokes at one point that ghost is jealous that you do it better and that why he’s all pissy

While he isn’t upset about what happened he still suggest not to be stupid (like him) and hide stuff like that often

He tries to convince Price to get body cams but he shuts that down sadly

No watchmojo top ten sadly nor one of those military propaganda TikTok’s

To make you possibly feel better about getting shot and getting a scar from it he tells you about all the scars he got

Going into detail with each and maybe making up a few fake stories to make them more interesting rather than “I feel down the stairs and then laid there face down for 15 minutes before their found me”

Though to be honest that would probably be funnier but he has his pride to keep intact

Pokes your wound which leads you to slap his hand

During your grounding he gets you some dvd’s and give you his Netflix password (despite the fact you already have Netflix)

You cancel your subscription and now mooch off of him

Your profile is named “parasite” due to this

Sends you a lot of TikTok’s that he thinks will lift your mood

Likes to spend his free time In Your room in your mountain of shark and ocean animals plushies

For once he lets you play with his hair

Your hands rank through Soaps hair as the sound of a random Netflix documentary plays in the background. He’s leaned back, head resting in your hands as you use hair clips and hair tied to mess with his hair. He lets out a small chuckle when you mumble that “i bet with this look you’d be the prettiest princess of them all”, it also receives an eye roll from him as he clutches one of your many shark plushies.

Gaz is kinda a mixture of soap and Price. Like that was rad as fuck but at the same time wtf are you doing walking around with a gunshot wound

Honestly the most neutral about it

Like he pats you on the shoulder for how impressive that was but he’s also telling you please not ignore wounds next time

Like Soap he visits you during your grounding and makes sure to tell you what happened

Probably tries to lessen the blow by being “nah nothing much had been happening on those missions your not missing much”

Give you free reign to go in his room and play on his Xbox while he’s gone

Might’ve even bought a few extra games to keep you busy

Also delivers snacks

He constantly checks to make sure your wound is ok despite the fact you told him Price and Laswell check up on it

Listen he’s just worried and can’t sleep easy after seeing a soldier a year back getting a nasty infection and dying

Doesn’t tell you about this though since he doesn’t want to worry you about it

He doodles on your skin in his free time with crayola wash markers

Their all fun little drawings of the team, their actually well down in a cute but simple kinda way

You might be tempted to actually get it tattooed

And might’ve done it impulsively so when he got back he’s confused as to why one of his drawings seemingly stuck

When he finds out though he slam it cries cause he finds it really heartfelt

Seems like this forced vacation wasn’t bad after all except for ghost bonking you in the head for getting something like that done without a second thought

Ghost admittedly does think it’s a cute tattoo and has a nice meaning but still, he urges you to tell at least him next time so he can take you to his tattoo artist

Gaz now colours in your tattoo with those same Crayola markers for fun with a giant smile

“Fuck I can’t believe you actually got this done” he says taking out a blue blueberry scented marker, the smell is strongly synthetic but it brings back a lot of memories. “Worth it though!, I now have your hat permanently on my body” he makes a face from that which makes you laugh, his brows crinkling up ever so slightly.

“Please don’t phrase it like that “

[everythingne]

hey yall :D!

i've just moved back into my dorm for classes today but i don't start any actual work for a while. im gonna be a bit slower now with work and such but I wanted to let y'all know of some upcoming fics to expect :)! please let me know if any specific ones interest you as i am in a bit of a slump and any encouragement seriously helps <3

-

growing pains - dr3

(3+1) three times the girls pain makes you and daniel realize they're not always going to be your little ones. (a first period, a first breakup, and moving out) and one time, the girls come back to show all the lessons you've taught them, and that no matter their age they'll always be your little girls.

mrs mclaren - ln4

the winner of the mini series vote for my 300 follower special was lando, friends to lovers/mutual pining, angst/whatever. so born from that is y/n mclaren, the granddaughter of bruce mclaren, who may just have a huge crush on her driver and somehow literally everyone but lando knows.

wasted summers - op81

to try and solve your huge two decades old crush on your childhood best friend, you attempt to capture his love over the short summer break, with the help of F1 twitter and other racers. it goes about how you would expect.

gripped - ln4

Roxanne Powell's quick thinking on a film set saves Lando from serious injury, the moment making an unlikely connection between one of the top Formula One drivers who takes all the fame and glory for his team, and a girl whose work is hardly credited to herself. it takes seeing the other side to open your eyes.

more below (max n logan)

the one with the wedding - mv1

max grapples with the fact he's getting married on his wedding day. slightly inspired by friends and real weddings i've attended. luckily charles and daniel are there to ease his fears, and you end up having a picture perfect monaco wedding.

akin to a pride verse - 'i truly am my fathers child' - mv1

when brought to tears by ruthless bullying by reporters, reina snaps and hits a reporter out of fear, but the media claims its anger. with no other option, hana flies max to london help her daughter out of a depressive episode caused by reina realizing she's more like her father than she ever wants to be. its a conversation that makes max think back on his actions too.

drunk walk home verse - 'stalkers tango' - mv1

isaiah doesn't go away, not after max nearly shatters his nose. late night phone calls, text messages, and dms lead to a break in that terrifies you and the f1 world. luckily, you're away for the break in, but its not safe for you to return alone. don't worry though, max enlists the help of a few drivers to move all your stuff to his while you 'hunt for apartments.'

wing damage ch 2 - mv1

nadine struggles to accept the fact that she's single and alone in her now too big yet claustrophobic apartment. luckily for her, max is only a phone call away. and a few too many drinks lead to what is probably the stupidest decision for two newly single people who are hurting in their own rights.

meet cute, stay cute - ls2

logan keeps having meet-cutes with you throughout london, noticing the same thing each time, a book tucked under your arm. when you move in next door, he capitalizes on the opportunity to make this meet cute permanent by buying you romance books he's recommended by friends and twitter as a means of flirting.

out of the woods ch3 - ls2

dhanishka struggles to accept the fact that even her best performances can be deemed unfit, and the actions of herself when shes drunk. logan struggles to accept he may have cut things off early. charles needs more wine to deal with this.

go fins! - ls2

logan is only following one miami dolphins cheerleader, you. and you don't think its a big deal until he comes to visit to get an honorary helmet for the miami gp, and they have you give it to him. the clips circle for weeks, begging to know if you're dating the driver, and sometimes its more fun to make a rumor be true than to shut it down.

[busycloudy]

Aww congrats on 200! I am here to contribute to the cafe ^.^

I’d like to request a dorsal fin lollipop with a brownie and coffee! Have a good one Cloudy!

Walking With An Eel

Dorsal Fin Lollipop(Jade Leech) Brownie(Walking with them) Coffee(fluff)

A/N: Hello Hydra! Thanks for the congrats! Glad to see your placing an order:3 I had fun writing this, and I hope you enjoy reading it!

You were on your way to Ramshackle, walking down the sidewalk. The cold breeze blew in your face. When you breathed you could see it. You rubbed your hands together.

It was freezing. Even with this jacket and gloves, you still felt a bit cold. You heard footsteps. "Ah, Prefect, nice to see you here" Jade came up beside you with a smile.

"Oh! Jade, hello!" You gave him a smile back. "So, what're you doing here?" Jade asked. "Hm? Oh, nothing much. Just heading back to Ramshackle" You answered. "You?" You asked, raising a brow. "Oh, nothing much, just... Thought it'd be nice to take a walk" He gave you a smile. One of his "mischievous" ones. Jade seemed like he was up to something, but you didn't ask.

In reality, Jade had actually come here knowing you were going to Ramshackle. How? It's unknown. Anyways, he had come here to walk with you to make sure you were safe.

Jade then took your hand, and the two of you continued walking along to Ramshackle.

It was quiet. Both of your footsteps could be heard along with twigs snapping. The leaves were crunchy and the sidewalk was bright with orange and yellow because of them. It was relaxing, really. You wanted to start talking to Jade before you got to Ramshackle though, so you started a conversation.

"So uhm... How has your day been?" You asked. "Hm? Oh, it's been well. I find some fascinating new mushrooms today and thought I should make a dish with them, though, Azul seemed to not like that idea" Jade chuckled. "Well, I'm glad to hear your doing good" You smiled.

The two of you talked until Jade came to a halt. You turned your head to see Ramshackle dorm. Oh how time flies bye when you're having a fun time. "Oh, thank you for walking me here!" You said to Jade, letting go of his hand. "It's not a problem Prefect, if you need anything do know you can call me" He smiled. You waved goodbye and went into Ramshackle, the warm air swallowing you. You should go on walks with him more often...

[forlorn-crows]

Pull Me In Your Waters

aka, @iamthecomet's birthday fic! i asked her what she wanted me to write for her birthday and she said "mist/dew . . . i'd love to see them together. [i dont know how, but] you know i gotta ask for that little fucker". enjoy 🖤

Pairing: Dewdrop/Mist

Rating: E for Explicit. W for Wet

Tags: first times, outdoor sex, inexperienced (but eager) dewdrop, hand jobs, frotting, topping from the bottom, anal fingering, anal sex, dick riding, water ghouls are wet, dirty talk. dont have sex on the beach kids, you will get sand in all your holes.

intersex!Mist, w/cock, cunt, folds, dick to refer to her anatomy

Words: 4,879

Summary: He’s such an innocent, carefree creature—one that has Mist’s fingers itching to touch, to ruin, to defile. Like he’s a mere mortal waiting to be drawn in by her hellish siren’s call. But there’s a budding affection underneath that, too. Call it kin, call it an elemental draw to each other, call it even a mentor-like protection over the fledgling ghoul. Beyond the lust there’s respect, admiration. An urge to simply get to know and raise the ghoul who’s set to take her place. She can’t deny there’s some weird, mothering nature buried deep within the confines of her stoney nature. But it is deep, and right now it’s very much shrouded behind a curtain of curiosity, of hunger.

Read on AO3 or below the cut 🖤

You’re a pretty fishy, aren’t you? Mist coos at Dew. Their native Infernal feels comfortable on her tongue, if not a little rusty from disuse. But the new water ghoul provides a perfect time for her to use the language as he adjusts to topside life. 

Dew chirps from across the lake, offering her a toothy smile. He preens under her gaze and puffs up his gill fins, which are a curly and opaque milky-white. The water ghoul dives back under the surface. His equally fluffy-finned tail curves over the water, flinging droplets of water into Mist’s direction.

It’s a boyish display he does each time they swim. It’s partially why she named him Dewdrop—well, droplet for his nickname. 

In a handful of seconds he surfaces next to Mist on the sandy embankment, squirting water at her through his front teeth.

Don’t go asking for trouble, little one, she chides playfully, shaking the water off her arm.

‘Little one,’ he snorts. As if you’re so much bigger than me.

Why don’t you come here and find out, droplet, she goads. She stretches out her lithe body in the sand, bearing her naked chest to the sun high in the sky above them. 

Dew chirps again and pulls himself out of the lake. Water flies off him in a whirlwind as he shakes out his fins. Mist watches him fondly out of the corner of her eye, snickering when he hiccups as the last of the water bubbles out of his gills. 

He’s such an innocent, carefree creature—one that has Mist’s fingers itching to touch, to ruin, to defile. Like he’s a mere mortal waiting to be drawn in by her hellish siren’s call. 

But there’s a budding affection underneath that, too. Call it kin, call it an elemental draw to each other, call it even a mentor-like protection over the fledgling ghoul. Beyond the lust there’s respect, admiration. An urge to simply get to know and raise the ghoul who’s set to take her place. 

She can’t deny there’s some weird, mothering nature buried deep within the confines of her stoney nature. But it is deep, and right now it’s very much shrouded behind a curtain of curiosity, of hunger. 

He flings himself onto the towel spread out beside her with a contented sigh. Lake water still clings to his skin, accenting it with freckles of refracted light. He pushes wet hair off his forehead and leaves a streak of muck straight across it. Some remnant of something he found in a crevice somewhere, no doubt. 

He’s bare like her, preferring to connect with their element without any barrier. The weather’s good for it too, toasty and warm right down to the bone. But where she’s donned a pair of faded swim trunks with the waistband rolled over, content simply to sunbathe and share his company, he’s naked—and notably half-hard. 

Mist’s eyes linger on his crotch where his cock rests underneath his taut belly, the little head tinged a dusty lilac. A droplet of water clings to the ridge of it, dangling. Mist watches it give way when Dew shifts, rolling down, down, down . . .

Dew mrrp’s at her, questioning. The sound is yet another damned cute thing Mist can’t get enough of. She meets his blue eyes with an easy smile. 

What’s that, droplet? she asks, tipping her head towards his lower half. There’s truly no teasing to it, just a lazy question to see what kind of answer it will earn her. 

Huh? Dew glances down at himself, eyes growing round at the sight of his chubby dick. Truly oblivious to the state of it. I . . . um . . .

You know it’s nothing to be ashamed of, Mist reminds him. But it’s intriguing of you not to notice.

Guess I was . .  distracted, he says at length. He doesn’t elaborate what he was distracted by. Mist gets a feeling it’s a double entendre, that he’s hiding behind the relatively simple explanation. 

She hums noncommittally, and his cock perks up fully, springing up to lie between the v of his hips. His mouth falls open, eyebrows twitching upward as the blood rushing south starts to make him throb. 

Excited, guppy? Mist teases, licking over a sharp fang.

Dew gasps. A pearl of pre leakes out into his sparse happy trail. A little, he admits, looking back to her with big, round eyes. 

Mist tilts her head at him then, icy-white braids falling off her shoulder. He seems so small. Fragile. Innocent. 

But she hears him pulling at himself late at night through the thin walls, hears his halted moans and stifled whines into his pillow when he thinks the others are asleep. Dew is anything but pure, and he’s certainly not naive. 

How she’s wanted to slip into his room unannounced, catch him with a blush on his cheeks and a hand on his wet dick. How she’d take that hand and wrap it around herself and capture his lips in a bruising kiss that makes his eyes roll. The raw sound he’d make as she slips inside his tight body would be worth it. He’d let her do it, let her in—she knows he would.

But it’s a stunt better suited to someone like Ifrit or Aether, big ghouls with unabashed, impulsive decisions regarding their desires. Strong personalities that rival Mist’s own. Cliche would say that their statures mirror their confidence. That Dew’s small, agile body lends something to his more reserved nature. 

To Mist, he just hasn’t seemed interested in propositioning anyone. Lucifer, how she’s thought about it, though.

Could help you with that, if you’d like, she suggests, eyes darting down to watch his dick twitch in response. She meets his eyes again just as quickly, narrowing them coyly. 

With you? he asks softly. 

Mists snorts. Yes, me, you silly ghoul, she laughs, rolling her eyes. Why not? You’re already quite smitten with me, aren’t you?

Dew bites the inside of his cheek to hide a smile. Maybe. His fingers twitch against his sides, stopping short of actually reaching for her. 

You are. But luckily, I am quite fond of you, droplet. Mist rolls onto her side, shimmying her way onto the edge of the towel. They’re only a few inches apart now, separated only by humid summer air and the almost palpable sexual tension. She places her hand on his sternum, spreading her fingers. No pressure, just resting it there.

Do you want me? she asks simply. 

Dew looks down at her hand and bites his lip. He nods fervently. Yeah.

Her hand drifts down an inch or two. Have you been with anyone yet?

N . . . no, he whispers. Shakes his head a little. He looks at her with pleading eyes, and she just about jumps him right then and there. But she resists the urge. It’s not her current intentions.

Her current intentions are to get her hand wrapped around his little cock and drink down every last moan he gives her like ceremonial wine. 

Then perhaps we should change that, she says huskily. She quirks an eyebrow at him in a silent question, giving him every opportunity to say no, to back out. To—Satan forbid—save himself for someone else. 

Dew groans, cock kicking against his stomach again. Please, he agrees. Want to. With you. 

Mist smiles wide, genuine but absolutely predatory. She drags her hand down his chest, stopping just above the tiny puddle of precum already pooled on his belly. It jumps under her fingers, and another breathy sound bubbles out of Dew’s throat. 

The ghoulette closes the distance between them, pressing her lips to his jaw. Mouth just above the highest slit of the gills on his neck, so close that she can feel the fins fluff up and tickle her chin. 

Mist, he groans, head falling back to expose his throat further, Adam’s apple jumping as he swallows. 

Yes, Dew.

His hands ball up at his sides. Fingers no doubt digging into his own palms. He leans his cheek into the touch of her lips, silently asking for more. Touch me? It comes out like a question when his breath hitches at the end of it. 

With pleasure, she purrs. Mist trails her hand the rest of the way down, lithe fingers grazing over the sticky head of his cock and wrapping around the shaft. 

The combined noise they make when Mist squeezes is far too indecent to have been made out in the open. 

Oh, Dew groans, squeezing his eyes shut. His thighs jump like they might do the same, especially when Mist kisses lower down his neck, over the delicate fins of his gills. 

So hard, guppy, Mist coos. Does that feel good?

Uh huh, he whines. 

Different from your hand, I bet. How do you do it? Fast and hard? Or do you like to make yourself writhe with how slow you take it? 

Dew’s cock kicks hard in her hand at that. Fuck, he huffs. F-fast. Feels too good. 

Well then, she lilts, squeezing firmly from base to tip, milking out another blurt of precum. She smears it around with her thumb, biting back a noise as her own cock starts to fill out in her shorts. Why don’t we draw it out a little?

Mist lets him go and sits up, motioning for him to do the same. Come here, she encourages, scooting onto the towel and spreading out her legs a bit. Sit on my lap. 

Dew does as he’s told, swinging his skinny thighs over hers and huffing a moan when his balls squish against her. He grips her bare shoulders and puts all of his weight on her, whining when the head of his cock brushes against the smattering of hair on her stomach. 

Now I can see that pretty face better when I touch you, Mist says. She smooths her hands along his sides, admiring the fins that start at the top of his hips and go all the way down. 

He truly is pretty like this; stunning, really. Has been since Mist helped drag him out of the summoning pool. Perched above her, his head eclipses the sun, casting him in a bright halo of light. His silvery hair is plastered to his head, curling slightly in the middle of the strands as it dries. The skin on his narrow chest is almost translucent, dark purple and cerulean veins shining through, offsetting the bright milky-white of his fins. 

And, of course, his cock, standing hard and flushed and wet. A nice little sensitive handful. 

Mist, he whispers. Will you—hah—will you kiss me? He looks almost bashful asking. The innocence of it all makes Mist throb. 

She pulls her hands back up to cup his angular cheeks. His eyes are as big and round as the lake, flitting everywhere over her face as she pulls him closer. Mist smiles when he swallows hard.

Pucker up, pretty fishy, she mumbles, pressing their lips together. He opens up for her instantly, letting her agile tongue dip inside and lick along his teeth. Dew whines into her mouth, wrapping his arms around her neck and rutting against her lap. 

Eager, aren’t you? Mist teases. She gives him a playful nip when she pulls away, wrapping her hand around his cock once more. She starts to feel the slick spread across her folds, the tip of her dick equally as wet. Dew tosses his head back with a moan, and she tucks her face back into his neck. 

Mist strokes him loosley with the tips of her fingers, his little cock spitting pre over her chipped baby blue nail polish. Dew looks down at her hand with lidded eyes and a slack mouth. Letting soft noises fall from his lips unbidden as she touches him sweetly.

There you go, she lilts. Excited little thing, aren’t you? Just can’t help it.

Feels s’ good, he groans. Fuck, that feels really good. 

Sensitive, she breathes. Not gonna blow on me already, are you? She grinds her hips up experimentally, breath fanning over Dew’s gills in a huff. 

Dew bites back a yelp. If you do that, I might. 

Tempting, she teases, doing it again. But I’d quite like to do something else, if you’re keen.

The ghoul chirps in interest—though he seems quite keen to continue bucking up into MIst’s hand until he spills all over her knuckles and stomach. But Mist puts her hand on his back, smoothing along the ruffly fin that runs down his spine. All the way down to the small of his back, pulling him even closer. The angle makes his back curve just so, just enough to lift his ass off her thighs. 

Mist dips her hand lower, putting it squarely on his tiny ass and grabbing a handful of it. Her pointer finger creeps close to his hole. Dew nearly yelps when she presses the pad of her finger to it, the wet rim fluttering as he bucks against her. 

Ever touch yourself here? She asks, as nonchalantly as asking for the time. In private, does it make you wet to think about being filled?

Sometimes, he whispers, nodding with quick little movements of his head. Hard to . . . hard to reach, though. 

Mist hums, pressing her finger in a little. Dew clenches around her, head dropping down to her shoulder. Even with those long fingers, droplet?

Ah fuck, he groans. He rocks back and forth between the hand on his cock and the finger up his ass, so wet at both ends. Can’t—can’t get ‘em the way I want.

I’ll get mine just the way you want, if you’re up for it, Mist purrs. She matches his thrusts with rolls of her hips, getting more breathless the longer they go at it. At least let me feel you against me, she mutters against the shell of his ear. Feel your cock against mine. Get each other nice and wet.

Oh, Lucifer, Mist, Dew gasps. Please let me feel you. Want that so bad. 

Yeah? Gonna pull me out, droplet? Mist removes her hands from his body, bracing them on the ground so she can lift her hips. Go on. 

Dew does so clumsily, head still lolled onto her shoulder. Reluctant to actually move his dick—or any part of his body—away from her. He fumbles for a moment despite the simple elastic and tie. Panting against her skin and grunting under his breath. 

Mist is about to tease him when he laughs, breaking the heated moment. It’s one of the most beautiful, breathy laughs Mist thinks she’s ever heard, every time she hears it. And giggling about not being able to get her pants off is perhaps almost too endearing for her to handle. 

Dew shakes his head against her shoulder, little chest jumping with that continued laughter. Mist, gotta help me here, he smiles, totally helpless. Think my hands forgot how to fucking work. 

Mist huffs a laugh of her own, sliding her hands down next to his and easing them off her hips. There you go, droplet. 

Her cock finally bounces free and reveals how wet she’s gotten, the entirety of her groin wet with pre, folds shiny with slick. Dew settles back into her lap and groans at the sight. 

That’s better, isn’t it? Mist says, guiding him to sit nice and close. Their cocks press flush together with Dew’s balls nestling between her folds. He throbs against her, and she can’t help but groan. 

Fuck, Dew swears. He all but melts into her, silently inviting that hand to drift back around to his hole. Lucifer, you feel so good. He ruts their dicks together, the both of them completely slicked from tip to base. 

Mist hums, nosing along Dew’s jaw and placing her mouth next to his. She wraps both arms around him, settling one just at the base of his tail and the other between his cheeks. He whines, pressing an open-mouthed and sloppy kiss to the corner of her lips. 

Thought about having you for so long, guppy, she breathes. Will you make all those pretty sounds you make in your bedroom for me, too? Mist nips at his bottom lip and presses against his hole at the same time, and she swears Dew drools a little when he whines against her cheek. 

Yeah, he groans. 

Good. That’s very good. Mist rolls her hips against his, setting a lazy rhythm while she presses that first finger past his slick rim. The other hand grips the base of his tail and pulls upward, just enough to expose him to the balmy air.

Fuck, unholy shiiiit, Dew whines. It sounds just like it does in the middle of the night, albeit less muffled. Those same noises come pouring out of him the more she wriggles her finger. Rubbing against soft walls and making him clench and gasp. 

Little different than your own, isn’t it? Mist mutters. She dips her head to lick along his gills, tonguing against his soft fins. Slow, purposefully wet. When she pumps her finger in and out, just a small thrust, Dew jerks his head back with a feminine moan. 

Better, he chokes out. Different. Just—fuck, just keep doing it.

Think you can take another?

Dew’s eyes roll back into his head as he nods. Yeah. Yeah, another.

So Mist obliges, pulling the one digit out so she can snuggle a second alongside it. She presses the tip of it against his fluttering rim, teasing a stretch. What’s the magick word? 

Dew’s chest rumbles with laughter once more. He puts his back into an exaggerated arch, flicking his tail. He whimpers when her fingers push against him. Please? he breathes, half teasing, half actually desperate. 

What a good little water ghoul you are, Mist purrs, letting him have the two. He takes her so easily, sucking her in like she was meant to be there all along. Like being pet here, don’t you?

So much. Wanna—oh, Dew bites back the rest of his sentence.

Mist pulls him close, pressing her lips to his ear. What do you want?

The timbre of her voice makes him shiver. You. Want—fuck, Mist, want you inside me. 

That was the plan, droplet, she sing-songs, crooking her fingers. Press the head of my cock right here, ruin you for everyone else. 

Dew keens, and Mist can feel the thick glob of precum dribble from his slit down both of their lengths. And once it starts, it doesn’t stop, pre bubbling out like a leaky tap as Mist rubs that one spot over and over. He’s soft and slick there, pleasantly warm despite being a water ghoul. Tight, too, and if Mist thinks about it too much she might just flip him over, press his chest in the sand, and claim him for herself. 

Mist, he whines. Dunno if I’m gonna last—gonna—oh fuck, you gotta—

She shoves another finger in before he can say anything else, hissing along with him when his nails dig into her back. Just a little more, guppy. You can do it for me, can’t you?

Dew swallows. Pants slack-jawed into the shaved side of her hair. Then he nods, body tensing as he staves off his impending release. It’s tempting to let him just come apart. Let him suck her fingers in, clench around them. To groan as his balls draw up against her cunt and he paints her belly white. 

But she’s been waiting patiently to get her hands on him, and by some unholy miracle she gets to be the first one to have him. Mist wants to savor, at least for a moment, the feeling of being sheathed inside him, caressed by his quivering body until the tension takes them both over. 

Think you’re ready to try? she asks, splaying out her fingers to spread him wide. He stretches so easily, so willingly for her. 

Lucifer, please, he groans. 

A line of slick connects her fingers to his body as she pulls out, more of the wetness seeping out when the digits are removed. Mist wipes the excess on her thigh, shelving the urge to work those same fingers past Dew’s lips to make him taste himself. 

Lift your hips, droplet. She lies flat underneath him, scooting down a bit lower. There you go, spread those thighs. Mist rubs her hands up and down his hips, attempting to soothe but wanting so badly to grip him tight and sink in. His cock jumps between his legs, wagging in front of him and leaking drops of pre onto Mist’s stomach. 

Fuck, she grunts, pulling at herself a few times until she’s nice and hard. 

Dew reaches back to spread his own cheeks, blushing a little as he lowers down. He gasps when the tip of her cock kisses his hole. Digs his own nails into his skin. 

Let me in, she coos. Don’t clench. Just like that. The tip slips in, his rim gripping her nice and tight. Fuck yes, like that.

Yeah, he breathes, sinking lower. He bites his lip and fights his eyes from rolling. Unholy shit, Mist. 

He sucks her in, centimeter by aching centimeter, until his balls rest on her pubic mound and his taint sits flush to the place where her sex splits. He lets out a soft oh, sagging fully onto her with trembling thighs. Everything between them is wet—from the water still dripping from his hair to the slick coating insides of Mist’s thighs. 

Dew gives an experimental roll of his hips, keening when the head of her cock drags against the deepest parts of him. He looks down at her with blown pupils and clenches. Hard. 

Shit. Mist’s head thuds against the towel-covered sand. She grinds up against him, making him gasp again. Keep squeezing it like that. 

Dew balls his hands into fists at his sides, opening and closing again like he doesn’t know where to put them. Like he wants to touch himself but he’s visibly resisting—poorly resisting at that, considering how his left hand twitches towards his dick. 

Held out for me so well, guppy, Mist breathes, a little strained. Her cock kicks, dragging a groan from both of them. Let go for me. Let me feel you come apart.

It’s like a dam breaks inside him somewhere, that last little resolve cracking as he whisper-cries out thank you. His hand wraps around his dick, a tight vice that flies over his length and squelches with every stroke. Mist watches him fold in on himself, like he must when he’s alone, grinding his hips in tight circles. 

The ghoulette grips his knees, planting her feet so she can get a better angle to match his movements. The shift causes him to tip forward, free hand coming to grab at her side. 

Little uh uh uh’s tumble from Dew’s lips. He’s already racing towards the edge, if the upturned eyebrows, slack mouth, and splatters of precum flying from his dick are anything to go by. Mist doesn’t dare look away, no matter how little he’s actually moving on her. The visual—and the way his ass clamps over her dick every other breath—is more than enough to get her breathing ragged. 

Satanas, Mist, I—hah, oh oh fuuuck. He whines a slew of other syllables that don’t make sense, legs shaking against her hips as he tries in vain to keep some semblance of rhythm. He alternates between aborted thrusts of his hips and quick jerks of his dick. Like he can’t possibly do both simultaneously anymore. 

Fuck, you’re cute when you’re about to bust, Mist groans. Gonna give it to me? She bites her lip, tiny fangs poking out. Her hands migrate up to his hips, thumbs pressing above the jutting bones and just under the line of curly fins. Holding with an unyielding grip. 

Dew tosses his head back, the look on his face pure ecstasy. Mist watches his brow furrow even more, his eyes roll behind closed eyelids, and his neck crane to an almost unnatural angle. His tail goes rigid behind him, curling up at the end. His mouth falls open with a low groan, one that keeps going until his voice cracks, hand jerking fast over the flushed tip. 

Fuck. Gonna. He moans, high-pitched and thoroughly wrecked, balls going taught against his body.  ‘S gonna come out. Mist, I—

That’s it, cum on me, Cum on my cock, Mist growls, hips already poised to snap up against him. 

Dew whines when he cums, shooting ropes over her stomach and ribs, even reaching as far as her tits. He pulses around her cock, clenching and unclenching so rapidly her knuckles almost blanch where she’s digging her fingers into his hips. 

It’s only a few more spasms before Mist can’t take it anymore, forcing Dew to flop against her, chest to chest. He goes down without a fight, and before he can so much as huff another groan, Mist is wrapping her arms around him like a snake sizing up its prey, pistoning her hips up and into him as fast as she can manage. 

O-o-oh, Mi-i-ist, he groans, voice jumping with each thrust. 

Yeah, gonna cum in this pretty little ass, Dewdrop, she hisses. So good for me, taking me so fucking well.

His legs twitch against the towel, overwhelmed. A fantasy flashes through her mind of working him into overstimulation, tears running down those sharp cheekbones, little dick still leaking into the crease of his hip as she folds his legs up to his ears. How he’d whine and writhe. 

Just as he does now, really, panting into her neck, still fluttering around her as she fucks into him. 

Please, Dew begs, want you to cum in me. His lips graze against her own gills. The soft and delicate way in which he avoids smothering them affects her more than it ought to, and her belly curls with such an intense spike of arousal that she tumbles over the edge right then and there.

Oh, Lucifer, she moans, shoving her dick in as far as it’ll go, spilling deep inside. Legs shaking as she hovers off the ground, and no doubt leaving nail marks in her own forearms. Her cunt, too, spills in its own way. Slick seeping out, trailing down the cleft of her ass and dripping onto the towel. 

Dew makes some unintelligible gurgling noise, going completely lax against her as his body milks her for all she’s worth. It only takes a few more haphazard twitches before Mist sprawls out too, limbs heavy and starfishing out beneath him. 

Mist sighs heavily, content. The sand is warm on her arms, pleasantly so. Dew’s weight too, like a sleepy kitten—well, closer to a sopping wet, but still amicable, kitten. 

Hmm, Mist, Dew mutters sweetly. 

Mist gives him a scritch behind his horns. Yes, droplet?

That was really hot.

Mist barks a laugh. Dew giggles in return, inadvertently clenching around her and turning her laugh into a groan. 

Guppy, you’re going to have to let go of my cock if you’re going to be silly, she chides, pinching the tip of his ear. 

Dew picks his head up, wearing the poutiest look on his pretty face. The pout, though, is vastly diminished by the residual blush across most of his face, pleasure betraying his token protest—not to mention the smirk also tugging at the corner of his mouth, that signature mischief poking through. 

Cute, Mist teases. Come on, up.

Dew wriggles, Mist’s cock slipping from his body as he shimmies upward and rolls off of her. Grains of sand stick to the residual water and sweat on his skin immediately and coat the back of his body in sediment. She sits up and looks at him, flushed body and sticky cock, and just has to smirk at the state of him. 

You certainly looked like you enjoyed yourself. 

Dew closes his eyes to the sun, grinning wide and goofy. Absolutely. 

It’s quiet between them for a moment, only the lapping of the lake waves and the squawking of nearby grackles breaking the silence. Then: You wanna go again? 

Mist snorts, pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers. I’ve awoken an insatiable monster, haven’t I? 

He chirps happily, smugly, before springing off the sand with a gleeful smile. The boyish charm is back when he asks Mist: If I beat you to the other side of the lake, we get to go again. He points at the far side of the lake, just visible if they squint. 

Mist looks down at herself, covered in slick and Dew’s drying spend. She wrinkles her nose. Suppose I could go for a swim. She stands up, tossing her braids behind her shoulders, off her face. She glances at Dew, who may as well be a cat ready to pounce after the tastiest mouse it’s ever seen. 

Mist smiles, all teeth. 

Before he can even blink, she takes off, fast as anything. Dew can only scramble after her, laugh ringing across the water before he dives in after her. 

[happyk44]

The cabin door was locked. Nico stiffly knocked on Percy's door, but no response. He wasn't sure why Percy had called him. He'd loudly yelled for Nico to come to his cabin and then hung up. Didn't even have the decency to unlock the door first.

Nico sighed, finding a dark spot behind the cabin to slip into. The inside of the Poseidon cabin was always homey. Maybe it was Percy - an instinctive creature comfort to Nico. Or maybe it was the water motifs, the bubbling fountain and soft blues, that reminded Nico of Venice and sitting in his mother's lap while they sailed down the canal on a gondola.

The cabon itself was empty, but rhedoor to the batjroom was creaked open just a smidge. Nico eyed ir warily. "Percy?" he called out.

"In here!" Percy called back.

"You better be decent," Nico grumbled as he pushed open the bathroom door.

Percy was, in fact, decent. Well, as decent as one could be when they were a mermaid. The first thing that Nico noticed was the dark blue tail. It was squished awkwardly in the bathtub. The end fins, whatever they were called, stuck out over the end of the tub.

Percy, himself, was sitting hunched over, looking absolutely miserable. His spine had a series of spiked fins, more rigid than the near translucent tail fins but just as floppy. They were a grayish blue, and trailed down his back into his new tail. Nico couldn't see much below the water but he had a sense that if he followed that trail, it would lead him right to the end of Percy's tail.

A small series of shimmery dark blue scales spotted up from the tail and over Percy's stomach before fading out by the time it reached his chest. His fingers were webbed.

Brows furrowed, Nico stepped closer. "How..."

"I don't know!" Percy wailed.

It was sharp and deep guttaral sound, that vibrated through Nico's core and rattled his bones. Percy groaned and hunched over even more. The fins on his back fluttered angrily.

This time, when he spoke, it was quieter. "I was visiting my dad yesterday because he asked, and I wanted to see Tyson." He flicked at the still water pooled around him. "And maybe.. got into it with Triton."

"About what?" Nico sat, criss-crossed, beside the tub.

Percy scowled. "Tyson wanted to make me a shield for my birthday, he told him not to deviate because they're still restocking Dad's armory I told him to lay off Tyson, he can do what he wants, we started arguing and..." His eyes darted away as he trailed off.

Nico stared pointedly at his cheek. "And?" Percy tilted even further away. Nico stared harder. "And?"

Percy caved, wincing from his shoulders all the way down to the flip of his tail fins. "I kind of... Punched him."

"Percy-"

"He was being a dick!" Percy protested. He covered his face and groaned. The water churned dangerously beneath him, going frothy. "He's always such a fucking asshole when I'm around. I get it - I'm Dad's illegitimate whatever but like fuck off, I don't want your shitty throne, I just want to live to see tomorrow, you jackass."

Nico twisted his ring as he considered what he knew about Triton. "He doesn't like most of his demigod siblings, Percy. It's not the illegitimate aspect - he just thinks if you're going to be associated with Poseidon, you should be under his rule." Nico shrugged. "You're human, so you won't be. And you're his son, the untameable, uncontained ocean. So living under someone's rule isn't really for you."

"So Triton's the fuck-up?"

Nico rolled his eyes. "Triton is Triton. You are you." He prodded Percy's tail. "So why the tail?"

"I don't fucking know." The water began to boil. "But I do know once this shit wears off, I'm kicking his fucking merman ass."

"Because that's not gonna exacerbate the problem?" Percy shot him a dirty look. Nico grinned wickedly.

He flicked Nico's forehead. "Just help me get to the beach so I can swim down there and kill him."

Nico snorted. "I'm not doing that. I will, however, get you breakfast since..." He gestured loosely to Percy's... everything.

Percy's tail flipped in a huff, but he sighed dramatically. "Fine."

Pushing off the ground, Nico headed for the door. A thought blistered by him. He smiled quietly and pushed through the doorway, peeking back in. "Also I'm taking a picture."

A sprout of water hurtled for him just as he slammed the door shut. Behind it, Percy shouted, "No, the fuck you're not!"

Nico giggled to him as he slipped into a nearby shadow. Yes, the fuck he was.

[nervousalpacahologram]

The Fish Theory

I'm Making this post so I can either be proven right or wrong when the DLC Comes out.

In Elden Ring, there's a suspicious hole in the story. That hole is perplexingly mermaid-shaped.

When Godwyn is found in game, something's happened to him. He's become gargantuan, twisted, stuck in the pose of his death and staring listlessly out into the darkness of the Deeproot Depths.

He's also a mermaid.

Why?

One could chock this up to a cool design decision, invoking the Ningen and the other aquatic imagery associated with Those Who Live In Death (Boats, Scales, Fins, Stagnation, Flies, etc). His head resembles a clam, and his hair is matted like it's wet. He has a tail, scaled and mermaid like. This could all just be a cool design.

But Fromsoft, the ones who put staggering amounts of detail into random pieces of iconography, building techniques, and even the road tiling to denote who created it and why, are not one to toss something into a game for it to look cool.

There has to be a reason Godwyn looks like that.

I personally believe that Godwyn was always this fish monster, and never a regular Demigod.

My Evidence:

1: Godwyn's face is never shown.

"But there's paintings of most characters!"

Not Godwyn.

"But the Statue of him cradling Miquella and Malenia!"

There's no confirmation that this is Godwyn. it may very well be Messmer, given his relationship to fire, his descendancy of Marika and/or Radagon, and his neat fit into the Butterfly Theory (Miquella=Nascent, Malenia=Aeonian, Messmer=Smoldering). Again, no confirmation.

"But we see him in the Intro and the cinematic trailer!"

That I will give you, however there is precedence on how this could be subverted. In the shot of him dead:

His face is obscured by shadows and hair, purposefully keeping him anonymous. And yet, a power of the Golden Lineage, demonstrated by Morgott and Mohg, is to project versions of themselves elsewhere:

(Godfrey even displays this to a lesser extent, with the golden clone of him in Leyndell.)

I believe that images of Godwyn and his appearances in the Lands Between are projections of him.

In every shot of Godwyn, you never see his face fully or his legs at all. Both are obscured, and even the shot of his eye only shows the barest hints of skin, which could be the more alive version of his clam-head skin. His forearms, where the fins grow out of in his Prince-of-Death form, are even suspiciously covered up. The skin of the Prince-of-Death is even the same as the head, so no contradictions in skin color there.

My final piece of evidence is this:

All of Queen Marika's children are cursed.

I'm talking specifically of Marika, and not the ones descended from Radagon taking charge. Morgott and Mohg are Omens. Miquella, Malenia, and Messmer are cursed or appear to possess unnatural features (Eternal youth, rot, serpentine characteristics). Ranni, Radahn, and Rykard appear perfectly fine.

So why does Godwyn appear normal, when none of his borthers or sisters do?

I think Godwyn was born as this mermaid-thing, or at least partially. He was born in the Age of Plenty, a time close to the Crucible, and may have inherited inhuman characteristics. But perhaps they were more easily covered-up, or perhaps he could project a version of himself that was more human, or maybe he simply wore a Mimic Veil.

This could explain his alliance with the Ancient Dragons, also creatures of the Crucible. It could explain why Deathroot confers aquatic features on those it effects, instead of the more avian features already associated with Death in the form of the Twinbird: Godwyn, already cursed, is the source of these appearences.

Godwyn doesn't look like that because of the Deathroot, Those Who Live In Death and those infected by Death look like that because of Godwyn.

[usafphantom2]

ONLY A FIVE-SECOND WINDOW TO HIT SR-71

Recently, SR 71 pilot Steve Grzebiniak wrote, “Deceptive jamming, essentially defeated the SAM ( surface to air missile) capability to successfully intercept the SR 71 as the window to acquire track and launch was very limited.”

Jim Goodall, a well-known author of books about the SR-71, responded in messages to me. Then, SR 71 pilot David Peters responds to Jim about the subject of the SR 71 jammers and the probability of being shot down by the Russians.

Jim said, “As for the “Deceptive Jammer,” when searching for Habu’s to shoot down, the enemy has only about five (5) seconds to find, lock on, and fire its ‘boost glide’ SA-2. And they would have to be looking for it.

When one drives this 34-ton Black monster, remember that it flies through the heavens at over 3,200 feet per second, or 43 miles a minute.

With less than a half percent of the atmosphere at 85,000 feet, the SAM would have to hit the Blackbird, an impossible task as the control fins on the Soviet SA-2 are useless at 85k.

The only way to take down an SR-71 was to try to F.O.D. the aircraft by detonating it in front of the flight path in hopes of FODing the engine or shattering the cockpit windscreen.”

Lt. Col.David Peters responds, “As I have said many times, we only feared the SA10 nuclear. That’s because of exactly what you are talking about. A nuclear blast in front of us would likely prevent evasive action, unlike a 2 or 5, which we could theoretically get around. But suicide was never in the Russian mind, so we felt it was more than improbable. The other factor was they didn’t have very many, and they were mainly deployed around Moscow. It definitely factored into our emergency war order mission planning, as most of those were post-nuclear BDA around Moscow.”

I am grateful that these men took the time to respond to me. This confirms what I thought before that there was really nothing to fear while flying the SR 71 so close to Russia. I am still and always will be amazed at the talent of Kelly Johnson of the Skunk Works and his team that built the amazing SR 71.

~ Linda Sheffield with David Peters,Jim Goodall and Steve Grzebiniak

@Habubrats71 via X

[saetoru]

TOO LATE — HANMA SHUJI.

「 SYNOPSIS 」 ⋮ hanma + exhibitionism — in which you show the subordinate just who you belong to

♱ kinktober ⋮ find the masterlist here !!

♱ pairing ⋮ toman! executive hanma shuji x reader

♱ length ⋮ 1.4k words

♱ contents ⋮ nsfw and 18+ content, fem! reader, reader with twisted morals my beloved hehe, exhibitionism, blowjobs, cum swallowing, mentions of violence, guns, blood, and death (hanma and toman activities), use of pet names (sweetheart + baby)

♱ notes ⋮ another heavily edited repost from my kinktober last year that i abandoned jhsdgsdfo

hanma shuji has never been one to be known for kindness—his name with the word kind is almost an oxymoron when put together. he’s never been known for compassion, and the man standing before him, eyes wide and face apologetic is proof of that. there’s not one ounce of hanma that feels even a small wave of sympathy, not as he looks over at you and sees the way you pout down at the torn sleeve of your new dress. it only makes his jaw harden and all the anger in him ignite even further.

poor choice on this subordinate’s part, hanma thinks.

“i-i…sir,” the man chuckles nervously. “i didn’t know you had a girlfriend,” he says frantically. “o-otherwise i’d n-never…”

“oh,” hanma drawls. “that’s okay,” he nods slowly. “you didn’t know.” the man stares up at your boyfriend hopefully, making you smirk in amusement. “looks like i’ll just have to teach you,” he sneers, pulling the pistol he carries in his pocket out.

the color drains from the man’s face, and you smile to yourself, content with his ensured demise. it’s what he gets for tearing your sleeve as you tried to walk away, after all. you look back down at the frayed material, pouting up at your boyfriend.

“shuji, my dress,” you whine. “it’s all ruined. and you didn’t even get to see me look all pretty,” you mumble dejectedly. hanma holds a hand out for you, beckoning you over with a sympathetic face.

“you always look pretty,” he says instantly, pecking the crown of your head, “but don’t worry, baby. i’ll get you a new one. then you can get all dolled up for me again, alright?” he rubs the small of your back, leaning in again to press a sweet kiss to your cheek this time, making you grin. “in the meantime, why don’t you show this bastard here who you belong to?”

“i’d love to,” you grin excitedly, dropping down to your knees before your boyfriend, rubbing over his thigh through his slacks as he spreads his legs to make space for you. you watch as a small bulge starts to form even despite not doing anything yet. hanma looks over at the man, pointing at a chair.

“sit,” is all he says.

the subordinate drops down immediately—he doesn’t need to be told twice. and in an instant, you’re rubbing over hanma’s crotch, palming him until his tight pants are just that much tighter over his hardening cock. a low groan flies from his mouth as you rub circles over his erection, his head throwing itself back as he grips the table he leans on tightly.

“fuck, baby,” he groans. you pump him a few times through his pants, watching as he grows a little frustrated before starting to unzip his slacks, pulling them down his legs.

“that’s it, doll, you know what to do, don’t you?” he smirks when you nod, turning back to the awkwardly shifting man, eyes narrowed into slits. “and you, you watch good and well who she belongs to. ain’t no cock but mine’s ever feeling this mouth,” he rubs a thumb over your bottom lip, smearing the sticky lip gloss coating your lips along your chin.

you make quick work, kissing the base of his stiff cock, running your tongue up his vein, making him groan lowly as heavy pants heave from his chest while you move up to his swollen tip. you circle your tongue over it before taking the head of his dick in your mouth, sucking gently and swiping your tongue over his slit. moaning loudly, hanma throws his head back, closing his eyes at the feeling of your warm mouth on his pulsing member. the hand inked with sin finds its way to the back of your head, gently pushing you down to take more of his length.

“oh, fuck,” he grunts. “that’s it, baby. th-that feels good,” he praises. “fuck, just like that. always make me feel good—like a good girl. my girl,” he growls the last part, a hint of possession in his voice that makes you hum around his cock and leave him shuddering. rubbing his tensed thigh with one hand, you gently massage his aching balls with the other, fondling them delicately and making his back arch slightly as he chokes on a moan. “ah—fuck, fuck like that, baby.”

you stare up at hanma, watching how his face slacks with pleasure, how his glasses slide down the slightest bit from the sweat collecting on the bridge of his nose, how his face flushes with a rosy hue, contrasting the dark strands of hair that fall onto his forehead beautifully.

hollowing your cheeks, you suck harsher on his length, taking more of him down your throat until your nose touches his pelvis, your tongue gliding down the vein prominent on the underside of his cock. hanma’s voice cracks as he lets out a strangled groan, shaky calls of your name repeating from his lips like a prayer as you bob your head up and down. neither of you even remember there’s someone else in the room, too lost in your own bubble as you help work him to the edge of his release.

his hips buck into your mouth, matching your pace desperately as he gets needier, voice turning whinier—breathier, as he gets closer to his climax. your tongue swirls around his swollen head—angry and red, weeping with pre cum, and your hand works his heavy balls and pushes him closer to the edge.

“sh-shit, sweetheart,” he moans, whining slightly when you run your tongue through his slit, “‘m g-gonna cum, baby,” he grins as he pants, eyeing the subordinate across the room, face smug as he looks the man directly in the eye while he speaks to you, “make me cum in your mouth, baby. want my cum down your throat, don’t you?

you whine at the statement, hollowing your cheeks even more as you bob your head faster, sucking on his throbbing cock while he gets more and more out of breath. hanma’s chest heaves faster, his breaths ragged as he lets out strings of curses, thrusting his hips up to meet your mouth to his own pace now. you feel his cock twitch in your mouth, a choked gasp of your name telling you he’s seconds from cumming.

“and you—make sure you watch me cum down my girl’s throat, yeah?” he smirks to the man, eyes glinting with mischief as he glances over to the other side of the room.

you hallow your cheeks once more, and he groans loudly, cum shooting out in thick ropes as his body spasms, back arching from his orgasm. ribbons of cum paint the inside of your mouth, spilling in faster than you can swallow. hanma’s eyes are shut tightly, harsh pants and strangled gasps flying past his lips as he bucks his hips into your mouth to ride out his high.

“h-holy shit, b-baby, ‘m cumming,” he cries. “so good, fuck.”

he cums with a few more ropes down your throat, groaning when you slowly pull off his cock, cum leaking out your mouth and dripping down your chin. he lets out a breathy chuckle, collecting it with his thumb and pushing it past your lips, delighted when you swallow obediently. and when you lean and press a wet kiss to his softening length, he all but has a field day.

“good girl, baby. gonna fuck you in that pretty little dress of yours—even if it’s ripped,” he smiles, helping you stand to your feet. he presses a sweet kiss to your lips, hands wandering to the edge of your dress and hiking up your thigh to slide past your underwear, smirking at the wetness dripping between your legs.

“i wanted you to rip it,” you mumble.

“i know,” he nods, pulling you into his chest as he turns to the unlucky man sitting in the chair. you rub hanma’s chest as you stare at the soon to be dead underling, a victorious smile on your face as you wink at him.

“s-sir, i’m…i’m—”

“shut up,” hanma growls. “i’m gonna fuck my girl now—no way you’re watching that,” he sneers, reaching for the pistol, lips curling into an excited smile. “not letting you see my pretty little girl.”

“i-i’ll l-leave, sir—” and with a gunshot ringing through the room, cutting the man off, he slumps forward, blood seeping into his shirt.

“too late. now,” hanma turns to you, burying his face into your neck and pressing hot kisses into the skin. “where were we, my pretty baby?”

© hanmas do not plagiarize, repost, translate to other sites, or recommend on platforms outside tumblr such as tik tok

[do-not-fearr]

Cry Out - Echo the Siren

I am so very sorry for how long this took! Started this at the same time as the shark fic, but just couldn't get myself to finish it. The Drider x reader is even more delayed tho, considering I started that one before all other fics :P Oh well, it'll get there, eventually... You can't rush 4000 word smut fics!

...

Pairing: Siren x f!reader

Wordcount: 4001 words

Tags: hypnotising voice, bathtub sex, submissive siren boy

Summary: When you find an injured Siren on the beach, you bring him home and nurse him back to health. He's staying quiet for you; not wanting to hurt you with his voice, but can't help but let out little noises as you clean and bandage his wounds. The little sounds are affecting you a little too much, however.

It was a beautiful day, and you had decided to take a walk on a small, remote beach near your house. There was a strong wind blowing, and your cheeks ached and reddened with the chill of the salt water in the air. You were alone on the beach, as usual when you took this route, and you thanked your lucky stars you had come across this hidden gem in the first place, since the sand seemed as pristine as ever, indicating no other humans had walked here yet other than you.

Untouched sand, rocks and trees hiding the beach from view, the ocean, ahh beautiful- wait. What was that? 

There was something that caught your eye along the shore. Slowly you made your way over to it, getting a clearer look with every step. It seemed to be something washed ashore, a ton of netting with something sparkling inside of it. Was it a net with fish that washed here? No, you'd probably see a ton more flies around, and you'd smell it. But when you inhaled the air was fresh. 

The sparkling in the sunlight became more intense the closer you got, and despite your earlier thoughts it was clear they were scales... a couple more steps, and you stopped dead in your track. Was that... a man? An anxious feeling rose inside of you at the thought of having come across a dead body, but when you slowly forced yourself a little closer to be absolutely sure you noticed the man had a fish tail.

You had no time to ponder on whether it was fake or not (it had to be), because he moved, and you realized he was alive. Swiftly you ran over, kneeling down next to him. He was completely wrapped into the nets, and you pulled at it to no avail. Maybe you could call for help, and- 

The tail was real, it was attached to him, and it was bloodied and bruised. As a matter of fact now you saw how injured the man (merman?) was, he was covered in wounds, and you saw his chest rise and fall quickly. You could call an ambulance, but... who was going to help a merman? He was going to be dissected and researched, no. Your car was close by, you'd try to fix him up yourself, try to keep this a secret as well as you could. Carefully you turned the man so you could see his face, since it was hidden in the sand. The netting dug into his tail as you did so, and you decided to untangle him first. Maybe you had something sharp on you you could use... You had a belt cutter in your car, that would probably be your best bet for now. Swiftly you got to the car, driving it over carefully between dunes of sand and rocky earth, both relieved and sad to see the man still laying there. 

With the car close by, and the belt cutter in your hand you jogged back to him, instantly setting to work. It was fairly easy to take off the netting now that you had something to cut it with, but you realized something sharp had already been used to cut the nets before you had tried - to no avail. When you got an arm free you realized what that something sharp could've been. He had long, pointy nails, and fins attached to lower arms that you accidentally found out were razor sharp. A hiss left you as you cut yourself on it, instantly cradling the wound. It wasn't too deep though, and the man was much more in need of help than you, so you left it for later. It wasn't bleeding too much, unlike the wounds on the merman, and you finally got his tail free enough so that you could roll him over. 

He was beautiful, but pale as a sheet and his expression was tight from pain. Heavy pants left his mouth, and an occasional small moan in pain. It was a strange thing to think but his voice was so beautiful you had to almost force yourself to continue moving and not stop to listen. He had long, silvery white hair with a slight blue sheen, just like his tail, and despite how covered in dirt and blood he was, he was gorgeous. The sharp nails, various sharp fin protrusions, and also razor sharp teeth inside his half open mouth gave away that he was definitely a predator though, and you proceeded with caution. 

"I'm going to lift you up, okay?" you said more than asked, knowing he probably wasn't going to respond, considering he was still unconscious, but it felt like the right thing to do. You pulled at his arms, careful not to hurt yourself on the sharp edged fins again, and dragged them over your shoulders. He was lighter than you thought, but still... extremely heavy, and there was no way you were going to be able to lift his tail as well, just dragging it behind you in the sand. You feared about it worsening his wounds, sand now getting into them and everything, but there was no other choice at this point. 

-

You were able to get him on the backseat of your car, struggling to get his tail in, since it was covered in those sharp fins, and they were bigger than the ones on his arm, but you somehow managed without cutting yourself open too much. In the end your arms looked like you fought a lion, but he was on the backseat. You didn't know how long he could stay out of the water, so you hurried your way over to your house, filling the tub to the brim before going through the same problem you had before with dragging him to the car. You were so glad you didn't have to drag him up the stairs since you had a small beach house. It would have been impossible.

With all the power you had in you, and then maybe some, you dropped him in the tub, his body submerged while his tail was still out. It was the best you could do, and also enabled you to see his wounds and cuts more clearly. You didn't have anything to sew him up, but you did have disinfectant, and you hoped just bandaging him would be enough for now.

You started cleaning him softly, but realised that was not going to work, so you started going in a little harder. The wounds were starting to bleed again, but it also took with it the sand and debris, so you hoped that would be the good thing. You were cleaning and bandaging him so intently you didn't even realise he'd regained consciousness, and was looking at you from the tub. Only his eyes were above the water and some bubbles escaped his gills once in a while, but he was so quiet when you noticed you let out a yell, falling back on your butt and taking all your first aid supplies with it. 

He instantly came out, reaching for you in regret of scaring you, but the moment he realised he'd done that he immediately went back under the water. 

"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to startle you," you said, and he slowly went back up, pointing at himself then you in reply. It seemed he hadn't meant to startle you as well, so you slowly moved back to your earlier spot, uncertain if he was okay with you continuing your work. Your eyes were on him sharply, unsure still of his intentions. He looked back, and you finally had time to see his eyes. They were pure black, even the sclera, and you couldn't deny the slight fear that you felt whenever you made eye contact. Or, at least you assumed you did, since his eyes were pools of black and you couldn't really see where he was looking. 

"I found you on the beach," you started explaining yourself when he didn't speak, and the silence was becoming uncomfortable, especially as your hands itched to continue your work of helping him. "Injured and unconscious, so I brought you home... to heal you." You added the last words in a slight whisper, uncertain if there really was anything you could do. It was quiet, and you looked anywhere but his eyes, but the moment he carefully pushed his tail back onto your lap your eyes shot back at him again. He was submerged again, only his eyes looking at you from over the water, and you slowly resumed your cleaning and wrapping the bandages around him. You didn't even realise that you had started humming a little song to yourself as you worked, something you were so used to that you did it without thinking. The Mer rose up from the water slowly, interested in your song, but you didn't seem to realise his movement, still steadily and gently cleaning his wounds, further and further up his tail. 

Suddenly your hands froze as another voice joined you in song, and your voice trailed off as you lost yourself into the mysterious beauty of the sound. It was otherworldly, the most beautiful thing you'd ever heard, and it seemed everything around you fell away as your eyes were solely on the Mer in your bathtub. His eyes were closed as he sang his own song, and you felt yourself move closer without your knowledge or consent, your body and mind caught in the spell of his music. Somewhere in your mind alarm bells went off, but you were unable to tear yourself away from him, feeling your conscious mind fade away until all that was left was him and his song. 

The spell broke abruptly as you toppled over the edge of the bathtub, hitting the water and the Mer with a loud splash, and he startled so badly he instantly stopped singing, splashing away as he tried to get away from you to no avail as you were on top of him, trying to get out as well. The both of you were a tangled mess of limbs, the water soaked sides of the bathtub too slippery for you to get up immediately. Apologies tumbled from your mouth as you finally managed to sit upright, checking him instantly for any new injuries, but he was turned away from you. It was so awkwardly that it seemed it was hurting him, his tail pinned under you as his upper body was contorted the other way to be as far away from you as possible. 

Thankfully you found the sudden strength to get out of the tub, dripping wet and feeling terrible for what just happened. Though you had no idea how you'd wound up inside the tub in the first place, since your memory seemed blurry and hazed all of a sudden.

"I'm so sorry!" You stuttered, waving your hands in a apologetic manner, "I don't know what came over me. Did I hurt you?" 

The man shook his head, still not looking at you. 

"I really am sorry, I must've been tired... your song..." you were a mess of apologies, soaking clothes and awkwardness, and you really should leave, but before you could he grabbed your arm, turning your hand palm up to him as he carefully ran a clawed finger over it.

It took you a second to realise he was writing words on your palm, but you thankfully caught the end of his sentence.

[...so very sorry... started singing... very beautiful, couldn't help myself... are injured?]

Slowly you moved back, taking a second to register the words he'd written on your palm and trying to make sense of them.

"Oh, did I hurt you after all?" You replied, panic overtaking you again, but he shook his head again, writing on your palm once more.

[no, i injure you? ...very sorry... will not sing again.]

Oh, he was worried he'd hurt you instead. Well, no you were fine, safe for maybe a bruise on your ribs when you fell into the tub, but that really was your fault since you... oh, he mentioned singing?

Your brain seemed to work so slowly you felt like an idiot when you finally blurted out: "Oh! Are you a siren?" 

A firm nod from him as he looked away again, writing apologies on your hand once more, and that he couldn't help himself since he liked your humming so much he had to join in. Slowly you sat down next to him again, smiling despite what had happened.

"Well, let's not do that again. I like being in control of my actions, and I really need to finish cleaning your wounds." You were about done with his lower body, his tail a mishmash of poorly applied bandages and cleaned wounds. A wince escaped you as you saw your own handiwork, but you were nothing if not dedicated. "Can I ask your name? Mine's y/n." 

[Echo] he wrote on your hand, smiling a smile that was both sweet and a little pointy, and you felt your heart skip a beat. It was about to skip many more considering you were now moving on to his torso, slowly working up to his face, where scratches and cuts still littered the pale skin. He was still holding your hand in his, and you didn't feel the need to pull it away from him, opting instead to just clean his wounds with one hand. The bandaging would have to wait a little, and maybe he didn't even need them on these superficial cuts. 

His tail was definitely in worst shape, but that didn't mean you didn't have your work cut out for you with the rest of him. He sighed as you cleaned a cut on his stomach, and your movement got a little hastier. You were unsure if the sound was music to your ears because he was a siren, or just because of yourself. The closer you got to him with the little sighs, winces and sweet smiles, the more trouble you had focusing. This was not supposed to turn you on, but it sure the fuck was.

"I'm... I'm moving to your face now. Just squeeze my hand if it hurts, so I'll stop, okay?" you murmured to him, afraid to break the spell that had fallen over you both when you looked shyly into his eyes and saw them crinkle at the corners from yet another smile. A small squeeze before you even touched his face had you take a pause, but when you looked up again you heard him let out a cheeky little giggle, the sound throwing your brain into la la land. 

Oh you were in trouble. Deep trouble. And it wasn't only because you had a Siren in your bathtub, but that's where it all began. It was that the sounds he was making, despite trying to stay quiet for you, were starting to affect you greatly. As you tried to focus on the dewy skin on his face you decided that it was probably a combination of your own feelings and the power he had in his voice (or so you assumed), and hoped you could finish your work without doing anything stupid.

Like act on the feelings of lust blossoming in your lower stomach.

"Does it hurt?" you asked when a particularly hissed sigh escaped him, but he shook his head. You were unsure if it was just because he was just trying to stay strong for you, but it really didn't matter for the throbbing in your core at this point. His hand was still holding you, clawed thumb rubbing over your palm absentmindedly as you tried to suppress a shiver. 

He didn't suppress a shiver, and your eyes widened as a mewl escaped him and his fingers tightened around yours. 

Oh, was that a squeeze? Did it hurt? The thought was only fleeting as you stopped moving entirely to gaze into his eyes that gazed straight back.

And you realized how close you were to each other. His mouth was half open after the hissing sounds he had made, and a tongue peeked out to lick his lower lip, and you felt yourself falling. Closer and closer until your lips met his', and neither of you pulled away. 

The sound coming from him was unmistakable now, and you realized he had been affected as much as you had by your close proximity and your touch. Who knows, maybe the slight sting of your cleaning hadn't been as unpleasant to him as you first thought. 

You dropped the small towel you had used to clean his wounds, hands instead reaching for him. Your fingers grazed his razor fins, and you hissed as both of you pulled back at once. The cut was superficial, and at this point you barely cared, but Echo put his hands on the fins, keeping their sharp edges from you. His eyes conveyed concern, but his sounds conveyed arousal, and one sly hand reached out for yours as he pulled it to his lips to lick the shallow wound. 

More mewls escaped him and you shivered as sharp teeth grazed the skin, almost like they were itching to bite down. At this point you were sure you were in danger; he was drawing you in with every noise he made, but the way he reacted to your blood was telling of him being a predator that could eat you with a single bite. Echo was a siren, they probably preyed on humans... but somehow you couldn't find it inside of yourself to care, especially as he removed your hand from his mouth to drag it down his lithe body, resting below the waterline as you felt something prodding against your palm. 

Another groan as you realized his length had come free of his sheath, this time you mirrored the sound as you climbed into the tub, uncaring of how it soaked the clothes that were (sadly) still covering you. 

He recoiled slightly, holding his arms back and moving his hips in such a way that you weren't cut open with your rather adventurous straddling move, but when you managed to not nick yourself on anything sharp he bucked up slightly, letting out a desperate little noise. For someone that didn't speak he sure let out a lot of sounds and you drank them in like liquor, mind being affected in much the same way. 

You breathed out his name and he whined, arms held away from you as he tried getting friction against his leaking shaft without hurting you. He was in a delicious dilemma of being too afraid to take the reigns. After all, his entire body was covered in sharp edges and he wasn't planning on hurting you. But he wanted to fuck you so bad he could barely think straight. The only thing he could do was keep his pointy bits away from you and hope you'd impale yourself on him before he lost his mind. 

Hands leaving him, you started undressing, having trouble with the soaked garments. His ravenous eyes on you sped up the process significantly, and you found you even liked taking the process slow as he was practically salivating by the end, still stubbornly keeping his arms away. 

His mouth opened, tongue once again licking his lips and teeth as it seemed he wanted to ask, beg perhaps for you to impale yourself on his impatient cock that was heavy against your thighs as you finally got out of your jeans. 

You slowly rubbed yourself against him, keeping a sharp eye on his expression as you were pretty sure his eyes rolled back before closing entirely as you rubbed yourself against his dick, not yet guiding it inside but enjoying the friction immensely. A hissed curse left your mouth as your pussy throbbed around nothing, teasing yourself as much as you were teasing him. Your fingers gripped his hips tight, nails never penetrating the tough scales, as you rutted against him slowly. Steadily building towards a release, but never rushing as Echo leaned back, biting his lips. A small trickle of blood ran down his lip from the bite, and he licked it up quickly, eyes opening again to send you a pleading gaze, lips opening to form the word "please", as a shiver wracked his frame. 

A cheeky smile was on your lips as you decided to have mercy on the poor man, carefully lining up his leaking shaft with your core. 

A groan that vibrated through his chest, down his body and straight into yours left his mouth and you replied in kind, tightening around him as you mewled his name, nails digging in his hips a little harder. 

"So good," you murmured, "You're being so good." He was being good. He was still actively trying to not hurt you, but that wasn't even the reason you said it. It just came naturally after hearing him, and you wondered if your choices this day had been entirely your own. When you felt him rut inside you so deliciously you couldn't find it in yourself to care much, rolling your hips against him in a sensual dance. 

A dark blush was on his face, reaching all the way to his chest and you giggled as you leaned forward to nip the tops of his pecks. He had no nipples, which was strange to you, but he responded all the same as you kissed and lapped at his skin. When he bucked up a little too hard you accidentally bit down. Words of apology were about to spill as you noted the red mark next to his other cuts, but the way his hands finally found your hips to grab them tightly as a full body shudder wracked him, mouth open in a silent plea... the apology died on your lips. It seemed he liked you being a little rough, and you instantly made another mark right under the other one, enjoying the way his hips stuttered into yours immensely. Water splashed over the edges of the tub, but you didn't care, too lost in the feeling of him inside of you. He throbbed deliciously, and when he looked away, gritting his teeth and shivering as he gripped your hips a little tighter still you realized he must've been close. 

His neck was stretched out and ready for you to bite down on, and as he looked down with watery, pleading eyes you almost wondered if he wanted you to. So you did. Littering his chest and neck with marks as you murmured for him to let go.

He came with a call of your name, the first word he'd said so far. And what a sound it was, so hypnotising and titillating he pulled you straight over the edge with him. Searing heat filled you as you throbbed around his length, moaning his name over and over as in a mantra, while he kept thrusting his hips in to pump you fuller and fuller with his cum. 

Slowly it trickled out of you, troubling the little water that was still in the tub after your session. As you opened your eyes you saw him look down on you, blissful expression on his face as the blush returned. A slightly shaky hand found yours and you thought he was going to write on it again, but instead he brought it to his face, kissing the palm sweetly before giving it the slightest nip. The wounds on his tail had probably opened up under you, but you didn't care much for it. It seemed he was healthy enough, and what trouble was it for you to keep him around a little longer? 

You giggled as he put your hand over his chest, letting you feel his heartbeat as he leaned back. 

Yeah, there was no way he'd leave anytime soon. After all, you needed to redo his bandages.

[azumasoroshi]

minidura chapter 4 react

simon i SWEAR ill get you out of there and that horrendous art style

also though. TEENAGE SHIZAYA CHAPTER LETS GO???? idk if narita made the minidura or if it's a separate illustrator but they are giving the FOOD rn

i was wondering where the official knowledge that simon forced izaya and shizuo to eat sushi together came from. i mean i guess this isnt official and it was probably stated in the anime somewhere but still, good to see it illustrated pff

AAAAAAAAA ive seen this image around tumblr but i didnt realize it was from minidura 😭 i thought it was fanart or smth (<-dumbass)

wait im actually going crazy over this akwjhkjdshs they're washing dishes together!!! now we just need them to do laundry and taxes and-

im going to go over the image limit this time on god

wow cant believe they're bathing each other too (<-delusional)

something about the first shizuo panel reminds me of aggretsuko. which is. actually. huh. arent they both like adults with anger issues. durarara aggretsuko au when

also deadass i forgot dennis existed until i read about him in a shizaya fanfiction and i was like "who's dennis" pfgfkhkd

so true though never throw kitchen knives kids

LMFAO HE JUST GAVE THEM MORE WORK INSTEAD OF RESPONDING

they're gonna be here all day at this rate. actually shizaya as fast food/restaurant staff au when because they'd have the stupidest rivalry known to man and i need it

fucking imagine shinra walks in and sees shizuo and izaya working by the counter

i hope izaya gets to eat fatty tuna by the end of this though. god knows he's gonna look cute as hell

made funnier by the fact that izaya at least definitely knows how to cook with how long he's been on his own and needed to feed his sisters

damn ive actually never seen someone's vein burst in a way where blood sprays out in anime akshGKJHJKSD thats impressive actually

dont look now but this may or may not inspire me to make a mermaid/pirate au (<-obsessed)

who needs kaiju battles when you can have blue fin tuna vs crab

they're literally never leaving this place bro they're gonna be stuck here for eternity. anyway here's a literary analysis of durarara pointing out why russia sushi is actually representative of dante's inferno /j

i want to read those blurbs so baddddd screams sobs bangs table

rip dennis dude he doesnt get paid enough to deal with shizaya

rippp time to listen to izaya pine hopelessly for the man he cant stop annoying for five seconds

simon had the right idea. too bad shizaya are shizaya

what is that face izaya. i cant tell if he's irritated that simon's right or irritated that simon cant understand how instinctual their hatred is or amused that simon thinks he and shizuo could be friends or amused because he thinks meaningless fighting is hilarious

oh......that kind of hurts actually

i can imagine izaya suggesting it as a joke and then lying in bed that night thinking about how it's never going to happen and it really sounds like a funny joke huh? (he is not crying)

i cant believe simon's been dealing with these bitches for like 7 years now like dude has the patience of a saint

😭give him his 50,000 yen simon

we can see that the crack in the sign is actually fixed now too ahhh time really flies when you're stuck in a relationship of mutual hatred

chibizaya is so cuteeeeeeeee

im sure he intended to paint himself that way in his recollection though pff

THATS RIGHT SHIZAYA BE THE PORCUPINES. SNUGGLE. DO IT

step aside erika, simon is the face of the shizaya nation now. especially with that "you just have a shizuo complex dont you" quote that i found the other day which i still havent recovered from

HAUDGHUSDH orihara izaya, pro unreliable narrator

hilarious how we never see tom's face. just his dreads lmfao

dennis and simon are so done with like izaya bro i think they can tell at this point that he's horrifically pining and has no healthy outlet for it. the bills go to him because they're bullying him

it'd be funny if they billed him 50,000 at the end actually pft

I KNEW WE'D GET THEM EATING TOGETHER!!! I HAD FAITH

they're so cute oh my god can i make that my header or something

10/10 chapter im going to punt izaya into a wall and get simon flowers

[britany1997]

Just saw Paul and Fishy requests are open!! So maybe Fishy helps Paul clean his nest/room by telling the order to clean stuff and when he can take breaks? Like it got to the point Fishy somehow forced him to haha.

Hope ur having a great day today

An Impossible Task

Hey Webs! After a month of not being able to write anything for the boys, I thought a Paul and Fishy fic would be the best return😌 Thanks for this super cute request! Hope you enjoy this!

Comment to be added to the Paul and Fishy Taglist or to the main Taglist

Reblog to support my writing🫶

🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟

Fishy shivered in his bowl as he surveyed the wreckage of Paul’s alcove in the cave. Clothes littered the floor in piles, flies hovering around them. Fishy could almost see noxious fumes wafting off the unwashed clothes.

Fishy figured this was why he’d seen Paul in the same mesh shirt, white pants ensemble every night this week. Paul would sniff test and sniff test until he couldn’t anymore to avoid doing his laundry. Fishy guessed Dwayne had tired of doing it for him.

Paul’s floor, and other surfaces not covered by clothes, were covered in half-empty pizza boxes with furry green slices, Chinese food take-out boxes with noodles slimier than worms, and various sticky substances, and not the kind Paul usually preferred…Fishy hoped.

Fishy was stumped as to why Paul even had so many boxes of food when he didn’t even need them for sustenance. Paul just liked the taste, and with his metabolism permanently fixed for a man in his 20s, Paul could eat whatever he wanted.

Fishy looked around the room in fear. It was no secret that Paul was a bit of a slob, but it’d never gotten this bad before. Fishy couldn’t even breathe air, but he still felt like he was suffocating from the harsh smell. Paul may be in denial, but even he had to know things had gotten bad. He hadn’t brought a girl or guy home in two whole weeks!

Fishy didn’t want to come right out and tell Paul his room was a hellhole, Paul could be sensitive.

Fishy swam in circles pondering what to do. After he floated past his plastic tree for the hundredth time, he knew what he had to do.

Paul sped into his room, his foot catching on a pile of clothes causing him to tumble and roll until he collided with the table Fishy’s bowl rested on.

Fishy’s eyes widened at the contact as the water in his bowl swished back and forth. Thankfully, though Fishy was shaken, the bowl had not toppled.

Paul rubbed his forehead, “hey bud what’s up?”

Fishy blinked back his reply to Paul.

“That’s great bud, my night was good too, I watched Marko beat up on this asshole on the boardwalk for touchin his jacket, if Dwayne hadn’t stopped em, Marko probably would’ve torn into his throat right there! The dude was trying to…” Paul trailed off when he got a closer look at Fishy’s bowl.

Fishy’s tree was strewn across the bottom of his bowl, partially covered in his aquarium rocks and fish flakes. Rocks were lining the top of the little shelter he had and the bowl itself was covered in green algae.

“Uh Fishy…” Paul began, “what’s up with your bowl?” His eyebrows furrowed in concern.

Fishy swam around his bowl in mock concern for his surroundings, he adamantly waved a fin at Paul.

“Yeah bud, you do need to clean up, it’s a mess in there.”

Paul pointed to the flakes, “look you’ve got old food all over the place! That’s gross man!” Fishy blinked affirmatively

“All your stuff thrown everywhere?” Paul shook his head, “Fishy, you’ve gotta take better care of your things man?” Fishy wiggled his fin in agreement.

Paul reached into Fishy’s bowl gently to brush rocks from his shelter and stand his tree upright as Fishy worked to clear the rest of his bowl.

When they’d finished, Paul smiled with pride at the sight of Fishy’s freshly clean and sparkling bowl. The vision of Fishy’s home caused Paul to take notice of his own.

The piles of clothes, the discarded food, the sticky substances, Paul realized his space wasn’t looking to great either.

Paul turned back to Fishy, “hey man have you noticed what a mess it is in here?”

Fishy pretended to be shocked as he looked around.

Paul scanned the room, cringing as he realized the work that was ahead of him. “Well Fishy, guess I should clean up my room too.”

Paul brushed dirty clothes off his vinyl player and popped in Shout At The Devil, before pulling out a trash bag and getting to work.

Fishy watched the half empty pizza boxes and moldy takeout boxes disappear as Paul flitted around the room.

He offered splashes and bubbles of encouragement as Paul cleaned, bringing a smile to the vampire’s face.

Once Paul had taken care of the trash, he grabbed a laundry basket to tackle the dirty clothes.

His face twisted in confusion as he threw clothes into the basket. “I feel like these never use to pile up before…”

As Paul trailed off, Fishy decided to keep his mouth shut about Dwayne’s contribution to the lack of laundry monstrosity before now.

Paul shrugged as he carried the smelly mass of clothes out of his room and tossed them into the laundry machine.

He returned with cleaning spray and a rag. Paul furiously wiped down every single surface.

He went to lick whatever blue liquid was stuck to his nightstand, but the frantic waving of Fishy’s fin stopped him before he could.

Once Paul’s room was sparkling, he sprayed some cleaner on the outside of Fishy’s bowl and wiped that down as well.

When Paul had finished Fishy let out three bubbles.

“I should be thanking you bud,” Paul smirked, “don’t think I don’t know what you were trying to pull today.”

Fishy flapped his fin in embarrassment at being caught.

“Don’t worry about it buddy, I know you were just trying to help me out.” Paul hugged Fishy’s bowl, “and it does look a lot better in here.”

Paul smirked, “clean enough to bring someone home now that I think about it…”

If Fishy could roll his eyes, he would.

“But not tonight buddy, tonight can be just for us,” Paul smiled as he climbed onto bed and pulled Fishy’s bowl into his lap.

The boys fell into comfortable silence as they listened to the musical stylings of Mötley Crüe, enjoying each others company in a much cleaner, much better smelling bedroom.

🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟

Paul and Fishy Taglist❤️:

@anna1306 @pixielostboy @misslavenderlady @ghoulgeousimmaculate @consuming-karma @6lostgirl6 @lostboys1987girl @warrior-616 @solobagginses @bloodywickedvamp @sidefanficaccounttohidemyshame @paulxbathbomd @its-freaking-bats @warrior-616 @paperbackfangs @flower-crowned-lady @paulistwistedsister @mickkmaiden333 @henhouse-horrors @ria-coolgirl @gothamslostboy @moonbeam1987 @dwaynesluscioushair @peachpixiesstuff @vampirefilmlover @feardot-com @softchonk @besas-stuff @michael-after-hours

[leiascully]

X-Files OctoberFicFest Day 15: Hollow

This year, I'm using the October 2022 prompts from @artpromptcal.

TW: canon typical discussion of death/post-mortem

For an office job, it's surprising how much time they spend in the woods. She supposes that they mostly leave the bodies in dumpsters and abandoned buildings to municipal authorities, which is part of it. The mysterious corpses are all in the woods, decomposing under leaf litter and tangled in roots. She's learned to prefer the open air. It makes the flies more bearable. Predation is a fact of death - she knows that - but crows and foxes seem a more dignified option than rats.

There are less sinister reasons to venture into the forest, too: reports of strange creatures and lights that can't be explained. That's what they're chasing today.

"The Ozark Howler," Mulder explains again as they hike. "A wolf-sized creature with the muzzle of a dog and the shape of a cat, Scully. You might think that would be strange enough, but you'd be wrong."

Scully steps over a fallen branch. "Of course I would."

He grins. "In addition to those anomalies, it has red eyes and horns."

"Astonishing," she says, crunching through the leaves. There's a nip in the air that chills the tip of her nose. It's apple weather. Firepit weather. The mountains around them are red and orange and yellow, stippled with dark green pines. Sunlight sifts through the leaves when the wind sighs.

Scully doesn't believe any legendary creature would appear in the daylight - too easy to document, for starters - but a day like this is impossible to argue with. They deserve an easy case once in a while. Besides, something is killing chickens. She suspects a mountain lion or coyotes, but the reports are incongruous. There are bears in these woods too, somewhere. Any of those things would have the power to turn chickens into the smears of blood and feathers in the photographs in Mulder's files.

Mulder isn't finished. "The first reported sighting was in the 1800s by none other than Daniel Boone."

"I've heard of him."

"Reports differ on whether he was able to shoot one, but multiple sources have described seeing Howlers over the years, even up to present day."

"Mmhmm." Scully sips from her water bottle. "How did we get called in for chicken murder? That isn't a federal crime, or we'd be arresting Colonel Sanders."

"Someone from the local field office tipped me off to this one," Mulder said. "Chicken's big here. Anyway, this thing could be crossing state lines. The Ozarks Highlands span a four-state area."

"I see."

The trail in front of them crests the hill and descends into a hollow lined with a bonfire array of maples. At the bottom, a sturdy wooden bridge spans a chuckling creek whose progress down the slope is punctuated by tiny waterfalls. The trail is cut into stone steps just a bit too high for Scully's stride. Mulder wordlessly puts out a hand to steady her as she climbs down. His grip is warm and strong. She savors the moment.

They stop on the bridge. Scully pulls two apples out of her bag. Locally grown, the sign said. She and Mulder lean on the railing and eat the crisp fruit. It takes her a moment to realize that the woods are loud around them in a way that's so different from the city: birds and water and rustling leaves instead of traffic and people. Peace steals over her. There are bones in these woods, to be sure. These mountains are old, worn down nearly to hills. There are always bones in a place like this. But they're hunting a beast instead of a human murderer. It's old-fashioned, almost sweet. If these woods are haunted, it's by ghosts that belong here.

Scully unearths a bag of trail mix. She suspects that Mulder's hunger is greater than apple-sized. Mulder leans his shoulder gently against hers. She doesn't shift away. There's no one to see them here. They can exist in their most natural state: so close that the clouds of their breath mingle and their fingers brush as they reach for GORP.

"Imagine the Howler in a place like this," he says, and she can almost see it: a wild thing, crouching to lap from the stream, watchful red eyes and graceful horns and a tail that lashes.