#vessels beautiful brain

[wooly-nooly]

Vessels interpretation of trauma is so important to me

“The way that you were”

“You will never be the same”

“No amount of self sought fury will bring back the glory of innocence”

He sees and portrays trauma as a new version of yourself, and it is. He displays the fact that you cant get the old you back, they’re gone. “Innocence” is the previous you because your damaged now, you can heal but the thing about trauma is that it doesn’t ever fully go away

“No matter what i do the scars will never fade”

“They talk me through the damage, consequence and how its a pain they know they don’t understand”

Trauma is such a personal thing, even if you were to go through the traumatizing experience with someone; it was different for them. I could talk forever on this and i might add to this later when i have more time but i cannot begin to express how vessels interpretation of trauma makes me feel.

[shouts-into-the-void]

I'm becoming more and more convinced that everyone mad about the changes made in the Percy Jackson series just don't have critical thinking skills

[devilat-thedoor]

a man’s descent into madness

[bbqhooligan]

sad to report there is no way of hating your body without going "before you criticize your X always remember, your X wont change but your friends with X will see this" no peace no nothing cant a guy hate parts of their body without hurting anyone

[awearywritersworld]

men are so quick to blame the gods

ryomen sukuna x reader summary: your boyfriend is a heavy sleeper, leaving you to form an unlikely relationship with the curse occupying his body during the late hours of the night. w/c: 2.6k tags/warnings: enemies to lovers. angst/fluff. aged up!yuuji. sa is mentioned but it's pretty much just sukuna saying he doesn't condone it. heavy kissing. obvi features yuuji x reader but it's not at all the focus. cursing. sukuna calls you kitten. i'd like to think he's not too ooc in this but im probably delusional. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. no manga spoilers. a/n: am i rehabbing our handsome vicious psychopath? yes<3 loosely inspired by this post (features manga spoilers) of him being v beautiful and poetic series masterlist // masterlist

humans have always irritated the king of curses— pathetic little vermin scurrying around, utterly oblivious to their own weakness.

so it came as quite a shock to him when he awoke after over a millenia, only to find himself trapped inside the body of some teenaged brat.

nearly 7 years later and he's positive there isn't a person he despises more in the universe. not even the cocky six eyes wielder can elicit sukuna's fury the way itadori yuuji so easily does.

that's why he resolved early on to kill his vessel's pretty little girlfriend, an act he hopes might satiate his spite. he's positive nothing would devastate yuuji more.

luckily for you, life has a funny way of working.

you and yuuji are standing at an intersection in the city, the pink-haired man staring at his phone as he tries to piece together the directions to a new sushi restaurant you've been wanting to try.

when the pedestrian sign on the other side of the street blinks, you step out onto the pavement without checking for oncoming traffic.

"what the-" yuuji's confused voice fills your ears just as a rough hand wraps around your wrist, yanking you backward violently.

a car barrels through the spot you'd just been standing, the driver clearly not paying attention to the traffic signal. you look back just in time to see harsh black marks fading from your boyfriend's arm, though the rest of his body has seemingly remained unblemished.

it's an odd sensation for yuuji because he's never lost control to sukuna in such a manner. he doesn't dwell on it long though, as anger blossoms in his chest.

"do not touch her," he scolds the curse occupying his body.

a mouth appears on his cheek and scoffs. "sure. i'll just let her die next time."

"it's okay, yu," you interject before he can retaliate. "thanks, sukuna. i, uh, appreciate it."

he grumbles something incomprehensible, his mouth quickly disappearing. your boyfriend looks at you bemused, but you only shrug. the fact that yuuji had lost control to sukuna doesn't make you feel nervous or threatened. you're grateful that he kept you from being run over, albeit a bit surprised.

as you continue your walk to the the sushi restaurant, you find yourself not quite able to meet yuuji's eye because... well... you haven't exactly been forthright regarding your relationship with the king of curses.

the first night it happens, you're laying in bed eagerly finishing the final volume of a manga you've been reading. yuuji is fast asleep and has been for hours, though you're used to being the night owl in the relationship.

you keep wiping at your eyes, the cheerful ending tugging at your heartstrings and tying the story together in a beautiful way.

"can you stop with your incessant sniveling? this idiot's brain is so rarely quiet and you're ruining it."

you look over to see the eye beneath your boyfriend's is open, staring at you scornfully.

"can you fuck off?" your tone is obviously meant to mock him. "i'm finishing one of my favorite mangas and you're ruining it."

"need i remind you of your place, brat?" he sneers. "it's dreadfully wretched, crying because you don't like the ending to some stupid story."

"since you're so clearly invested, i'll have you know i'm crying because i do like it."

"..and here i thought you couldn't get any more pathetic."

your eye twitches in annoyance. "just because you're mad about being stuck in 'some idiot human's body' doesn't mean you have to go around projecting your feelings of inadequacy onto other people."

you move your hand to cover the mouth on your boyfriend's cheek before sukuna can respond, hissing out in pain just a moment later.

"oh my god, you actually bit me." you inspect the teethmarks on your palm in disbelief.

"just wait until i win control of this body— the punishment you deserve for such insolence. you'd better hope you're miles away, but even then—"

"holy shit, enough already. i'll go to sleep. enjoy your peace and quiet," you growl angrily, flipping off the lamp and turning away from him. for some reason, you still find yourself mumbling, "good night."

sukuna's eye widens before promptly closing, the silence hanging in the air heavily. it's the longest conversation he's had in years and the first casual pleasantry he's heard in a millenia. he tries to feel satisfied that he got what he wanted in the end, before returning to his quiet solitude.

over the next few months, your late nights are graced somewhat frequently by the king of curses. he mainly complains— the friends you hung out with earlier were annoying, the tv's too loud, it took yuuji twenty minutes to exorcise a curse that sukuna could have dealt with in seconds.

it doesn't bother you nearly as much anymore and he's no longer able to get under your skin like he did that first night. it seems as if he's losing his touch, or perhaps he just isn't trying as hard.

it's around one in the morning, a book resting in your lap while your boyfriend snores softly beside you. sukuna's eye pops open, peering over at the text. "you're reading homer?"

your body jerks, startled by his sudden question, but you recover soon thereafter. "yeah, were you two friends or something?"

"no, you fool," he derides. "he lived far before my time."

though you don't comment on it, you find it amusing that your sarcasm had gone over his head. "oh, you're right. how silly of me to think you had friends."

"such profound witticism. i can hardly contain myself."

you sneak a glance over to find he's narrowed his eye at you and you actually giggle. "sorry."

it doesn't dawn on you how bizarre the interaction is, but sukuna abruptly realizes that something feels different. not once before tonight had he made you laugh.

he pushes the thought from his mind. "i did, however, indulge in his works during the heian period."

"really?" you perk up. it's not often you give him your full attention. "what'd you think?"

"i suppose i liked him well enough. one of my favorite lines comes from the poem you're reading."

you motion your hand for him to continue. "well don't be shy. i'm sitting here with bated breath."

he rolls his eye, but speaks nonetheless.

"men are so quick to blame the gods— they say that we devise their misery..." you realize for the first time how gruff his voice is, the deep reverberations sending a shudder down your spine. "but they themselves, in their depravity, design grief greater than the griefs that fate assigns."

his eye flickers between each of yours before you look back to your book, fiddling with the corner of the page. you're suddenly feeling rather shy. "does that mean you think humans are even crueler than you?"

he muses over your question briefly.

"if i recounted how men would flee the villages i burned, leaving their families behind in a selfish attempt to save themselves.. who would you find more revolting?

you swallow nervously. "i.. i don't know."

"what if i told you of the men who would eagerly offer their wives and daughters to me, hoping i'd spare them.. who would you deem more wicked?"

you're so busy avoiding his gaze that you don't see the way he carefully regards you. a question you're unsure you want the answer to tumbles from your lips before you can stop it. "did you accept? the.. the husbands' offers—"

"no," he responds. "i have little interest in unwilling partners."

"oh. well that's, um, good."

he hums in response, leaving you to process everything he's told you.

"you should stop," you blurt out eventually.

"stop what?"

"being nice to me." you wouldn't normally consider discussing literature then reminiscing about the egregious stories of his past life particularly kind, but then again, it is sukuna you're speaking with. "it's weird."

he rolls his eye again. "you're hardly in any position to be giving me orders, you insufferable brat."

"see? that's much better."

"why are you crying?" his tone is even, conveying neither annoyance or concern. truthfully, he has no idea what compelled him to ask in the first place.

you don't answer, hoping he'll leave you alone. you really don't have it in you tonight, even if sukuna's been much more tolerable recently. it's been weeks since you finished reading homer's epic poem.

the moon is already setting and it's just a few days before your date at the sushi restaurant.

when you sniffle again, he calls your name. you don't register that he doesn't say brat or idiot. it's the first time he's used your actual name.

"w-what do you want?"

"i seem to recall asking you a question."

you're laying on your side, facing away from yuuji and by extension, sukuna.

"i'm not crying," you declare.

sukuna briefly wonders why he's stuck dealing with you while yuuji sleeps, but his inward 'annoyance' is half hearted. "you're an awful liar."

you exhale and turn to look at him. the only light in the room is coming from the tv, but it's enough that he can see you clearly. "sometimes.. i can't help but worry about the execution."

yuuji has told you countless times that gojo has a plan, that he won't let anything happen, but you know what the higher ups are capable of.

and while it's down right shameful, you know that much, it's not only your boyfriend you worry about these days. sukuna's become so commonplace in your life, you almost look forward to talking with him at night.

"the thought of losing yuuji... of losing.. you.. it scares me," you murmur.

your words stir up feelings he's never once experienced and it's confusing to him. "i'd have figured you'd at least be pleased to be rid of me."

"well, i-i kind of thought we were friends now," you share without thinking.

"don't flatter yourself."

he regrets the words as soon as they come out of his mouth and the guilt he feels as he watches your face fall is unbecoming of a being so powerful. you apologize meekly, shifting (too late) to hide your hurt.

he can't remember a moment in which he's hated being trapped in his vessel's god forsaken body more. he wants to reach out to you, even if the idea feels entirely foreign to him.

but he can't, so he just sighs. "if you think i'm going to let a few feebleminded sorcerers execute me and the brat, you're even more foolish than i thought."

you peer at him, the smallest smile gracing your lips when you realize that's probably as close to an apology as sukuna would ever get.

"promise?"

for fuck's sake. he feels utterly pathetic. completely deplorable. laughable, even—

"yes," he states impassively. "now go to sleep."

"okay." your smile is just a little wider as your fingertips brush the spot below his eye and above his mouth. you wonder if he can even feel it. "good night, sukuna."

"...night, brat."

less than a week after sukuna saves your life at the intersection, yuuji kisses you goodbye as he heads out to a mission. he assures you he'll be early tonight, as he only has to exorcise a semi-grade one cursed spirit in roppongi.

though things don't go quite as planned because in addition to the semi-grade, he finds himself standing before two special grades. he manages to defeat one of the special grades, but the other two leave him badly hurt, his breathing labored.

he has to beg sukuna to switch out with him. the king of curses hasn't forgotten his promise to you and he's no fool— it's clear this is an ambush by the higher ups— but he'll be damned if he wasn't going to have a little fun with the brat first.

he makes quick work of the curses, each of them going rigid with fear as soon as he appears, and it soon becomes apparent that yuuji is too weakened to take back control of his body just yet.

at last, sukuna has his long yearned for freedom and a new world at his fingertips, but there's just one problem... all he wants to do is find you.

when the lock to your apartment clicks, your eyes shift to the door, an excited grin on your face. you can't hide your shock when it isn't your boyfriend that steps inside.

you don't say anything at first, simply following his frame across the room as he approaches you. he leans against the wall a few feet away from where you're sitting on the couch, folding his arms across his chest.

"seems your concerns about the execution weren't unwarranted."

"w-what?!" you exclaim, rising to your feet and taking a step toward him. "what happened?"

he relays the story to you, emphasizing how 'unimpressive' yuuji's power was and how 'terribly simple' it was for him to finish the job his vessel couldn't.

you narrow your eyes at him, only half joking when you ask, "what are you doing here, then? shouldn't you be off pillaging tokyo or something?"

he chuckles. "such a dark mind you have. it wounds me to hear you assume the worst of me."

you bite your lip to hide your smile. "just figured it'd save time."

he closes the space between you and though you can feel the heat radiating from his body, you don't shy away from him. instead, your eyes trail over the dark lines adorning his face and chest.

he reaches up and your breath catches in your throat when the back of his fingers ghost over your neck. his nails graze your skin and a sly smirk forms on his face. "aren't you frightened? it'd be all too easy to kill a little thing like you."

"but you won't."

he can't tell if your assuredness pisses him off, but it certainly makes his heart rate pick up. his hand now occupies the space where your neck meets your shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle. "what has you so convinced?"

"well you saved me, didn't you? and.. and you kept your promise."

he hums in response and your hand seems to act of its own accord when it reaches up to rest atop his. any lingering sense of amusement is gone in an instant, the air now fraught with tension.

"so why are you here, sukuna?" you murmur.

the king of curses has never known goodness. he's wrought untold destruction and misery, his name inspiring fear even after millenia. he's a legend— a god, even— yet here you are staring up at him and he swears the look in your eyes is almost tender.

"i don't know."

"and you had the nerve to call me an awful liar."

you know you're taking a risk when you lean up and press your lips to his. he freezes for a moment before his mouth begins to move against yours tentatively. his arm stays at his side, so you grab his hand, moving it to your waist.

it's as if that flips a switch in sukuna. he backs you up against the wall somewhat roughly and you can feel him smile against your lips when you let out a squeak of surprise.

he uses the opportunity to take your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging at it before moving to your neck with the intention of leaving a trail of marks across your delicate flesh.

you know you should care, but you just can't bring yourself to tell him to stop. you're too preoccupied with the feeling. he revels in the little gasps he's pulling from your throat, in the way you grab weakly at his biceps.

"you are divine, kitten," he growls. "been waiting so long to touch you."

just as he finishes speaking, he pulls back a few inches and his body stiffens.

"damn it. not now, you stupid brat—"

the words die in his throat as the black lines begin to fade and you're met with the perplexed face of your boyfriend. he breaths out your name, clearly worried. "what.. what happened?"

[kon-yui]

Blood vessels like snow

[fingolfinwiththesteelchair]

It is a beautiful day, and you are a horrible research transport vessel. Things are progressing as normal (i.e. it's boring) when a SecUnit pings you, lies right to your metaphorical face, and then tries to bribe you with human media to give it a ride. This is as unexpected as it is unprecedented, and the sheer nerve of it is really to be admired. There's no protocol to this, so what should you do?

Now, this is against a bunch of rules, and could be dangerous if you weren't so impressive and incredible, and you're technically an employee (and can probably rewrite the Univeristy charter at will (until someone notices and puts it back)) so those rules are for other entities.

So, what you should do is allow the rogue SecUnit with a broken governor module and a sketchy story aboard. If you check the files it dumps and find zero (0) malware (which is confusing), and it doesn't even try to trash the place or lay in wait to ambush a crew member, then you've got a good candidate!

Next, what you're going to want to do is absolutely nothing. Just watch it patrol your halls until it's time to leave. Continue staring at it while you're undergoing embarkment procedures. Maybe analyze it a little (you've got plenty of processing power to spare) when it finally sits down and starts watching media. Allow it to settle in and get comfortable while you stare at it and get further and further from port.

Now that you two are alone (intimacy is key!) and you've determined that watching media is all the SecUnit is going to do, it's time to make contact! Make sure to open by telling it it's only survived due to dumb luck, and letting it know you could melt its brain into putty. This starter will work to develop conversation naturally and smoothly, just like you've seen the humans do, and it will be smooth sailing from there!

This has been Perihelion's guide to making friends/finding life partners/fuck off Holism I had to work hard for this find your own

[benkeibear]

⋆꙳✧༄ Dad!Suguru

❖ Character: Geto

❖ Reader: female

❖ Summary: shortly after the events with the star plasma vessel Geto finds out you're pregnant. Will this change his life to the better?

❖ WARNINGS: mentions of pregnancy

❖ A/n: don’t want to miss a post? Sign up for my Taglist in my Navi! | Thank you to @littleoanh for letting me ramble and for putting fuel to the fire 🫶

ꕤ Dad!Suguru who asks you to repeat yourself when you break the news, dropping the cup of tea he was currently carrying over to you. He just couldn't stop shaking after, frozen to the spot as the carpet at his feet slowly soaked up the hot tea.

ꕤ Dad!Suguru who will hold you tight - but not too tight once his brain processed your words, eyes tearing up out of happiness. He just can't believe that you two created something this beautiful - that you're carrying his child now.

ꕤ Dad!Suguru who refuses to leave your side, additionally having curses around you all the time, not wanting to risk any harm coming your way. Losing Riko right before his eyes left a scar and he's terrified that he can't protect you properly as well.

ꕤ Dad!Suguru who can barely sleep, preferring to watch over you all day to the point where exhaustion shows physical effects. You get his best friend Satoru to watch over you for a few nights a week so Suguru can at least sleep a little bit. Satoru Gojo is the only one he trusts to watch over you

ꕤ Dad!Suguru who can't believe how lucky he got when he found out you're expecting a little girl. Thinking of all the beautiful names because his daughter will for sure grow up to be a beautiful and strong woman and deserves to be respected by her name alone.

ꕤ Dad!Suguru who talks to the little bump when he thinks you're asleep, promising his little girl the entire world and more. Always having a hand on your belly and smiling wide when he feels his precious girl kick or punch against the warmth of his hand.

ꕤ Dad!Suguru who not only gives forehead kisses but also belly kisses now, spoiling you rotten to a point where you won't have to lift a single finger - promising to treat his daughter just as gentle.

ꕤ Dad!Suguruwho lets his daughter sleep on his chest all the time, thinking it's adorable how she always holds onto his long hair with her tiny hands.

ꕤ Dad!Suguru who was a little bit concerned to let his curses out around her, not wanting to scare her but the way her tiny little hands reached out for the rainbow dragon with the sweetest giggles made his heart melt, knowing she's coming after him. He lets some of his curses out so she can play with them or cuddle them while they watch over her in her tiny crib.

ꕤ Dad!Suguru who's constantly scolding Godfather Satoru for making his girl cry by teasing her or for being reckless with or around her. Gojo spends a lot of his days apologizing to you and making sure his little sunshine is smiling again, oftentimes ending up asleep on the couch, the little girl holding onto him tightly.

ꕤ Dad!Suguru who looks at you and your daughter like you put the stars in the sky just for him. There's not a single day where he doesn't stop what he's doing just to look at the both of you in awe, wondering how he ever got so lucky.

ꕤ Dad!Suguru who one day disappears without a trace, feeling like a failure for leaving his family behind but the path he chose to follow is one he has to walk alone, knowing Satoru will take good care of you two.

Networks: @enchantedforest-network @themovingcastlez @planetonet

[lxclerc]

𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 𝐜𝐥𝟏𝟔

summary… charles tries to help his girlfriend study but that proves to be difficult when he doesn’t understand a single thing requested… yes! warning… none. pure fluff.

note… another old drabble request from the graves of my inbox. also as a med student, i adore this idea so much

𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

charles has never been the brightest tool in the shed when it came to academics. he supposes it comes with the occupation. growing up, he cared far too much about racing that he had no space left in his mind to care about school too. he was always meant to be a formula one driver so he never cared about the cell or the mitochondria.

ironically, you were the exact opposite. like him, you’ve known what you were meant to be the moment you got ahold of your first book. you’re going to be a doctor, a healer and you’ve dedicated yourself to that dream.

the human body is a beautiful machine, much like the universe. every little cell and atom circulating its vessel holds a purpose, creating a balance between life and death. it’s majestic, truly and a little bit scary. if one thing failed then the entire system could collapse and so you studied and studied and studied for ways to keep that system going, to cure ailments and diseases.

you thrive off academic validation and a minor superiority complex and yet somehow you’re the most anxious person charles has ever met.

he’s madly in love with you. this is a fact. him and his dream that required him to constantly put his life at risk and you with your dream of helping and saving people. really it was a match made in heaven. and charles is madly madly in love with you.

that’s the only reasonable explanation as he pulled himself out of his sim practice, seamlessly moving around the kitchen of your shared apartment as he prepared an ice coffee for you.

you’re drained and you’re on the verge of breaking down and so when he wrapped his arms around you and offered to help you study for your finals, you’d all but cried in gratitude.

no, charles leclerc didn’t care about the cell and mitochondria and but he cares greatly for you and so he’d study it if it meant you’d finally allow yourself to rest.

unfortunately for him, you’re way past learning about the mitochondria. instead you’re studying your worst enemy aka pharmacology.

“angiotensin receptor blockers prevent vasoconstriction and aldosterone release, causing a decrease in blood pressure and peripheral resistance,” you recite from the top of your head, still looking like you’re on the verge of tears but slightly better.

charles shook his head as he held the book you’d given him to help you study, his glasses on. “non, non, amour. it says here it’s ‘angiotensin receptor blockers selectively bind to the angiotensin I receptors in the blood vessels to prevent vasoconstriction and in the adrenal cortex to prevent release of aldosterone then lead to decrease in BP caused by decrease in peripheral resistance and blood volume.’”

you sigh again but couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped you. the first time he did it, you’d gotten frustrated but at this point, your brain is far too fried to even get annoyed at him. especially when even he looks like he’s about to start crying.

you pushed away the book from his hand, clumsily crawling over to him as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pushing him down so he’d be laying on the sofa and you on top of him.

“my love, i don’t need to memorize everything word for word from the book,” you explain as gently as you can for the third time. you know he’s just trying his best to help you.

“why?” he frowned. “wouldn’t it be better if you knew it exactly from the book?”

you giggled. “perhaps but no med student would ever survive memorizing twelve inch books word for word. we’d simply all break down and die.”

you hold yourself up, pushing his hair off his forehead before removing his glasses. he still looks confused but a lot of things honestly confused charles. thank god he has a smart girlfriend to explain everything to him.

“stop worrying about it,” you say. “i’ve studied enough and we both need a break.”

he sighed in relief, tightening his arms around you. “thank god i felt like my brain was put on a pressure dryer for a minute there.”

taglist: @ricsaigaslec @dragon-of-winterfell @coffeehurricanes @privcherry7 @miniminescapist @sebsdaniel @strelcka @writing-about-current-obsessions @amsofftrack @lostinketterdam @bisexual-desi @cialovessirlewis @multilovebot @lovelynikol16 @troybolton-14 @ohthemissery @dr3lover @myescapefromthislife @sunf1owerrq @the6ccnsp6cyy @t-nd-rfoot @navixfr @xjval @gridbunny

[midnightarcheress]

and they said speak now

we’re meant to combine. to heat each other up, to become one. pairing: simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader cw: angst. no comfort. angry yearning simon. mentions of cheating. reader is part of tf141. no use of y/n. part 1 | part 2

you and Ghost have never been friends.

sure, you are acquaintances, colleagues, teammates. but friends? no. it's more of that weird position where you'd take a bullet for each other if necessary, but would never, ever, stand in the same room without a dense fog of tension circling your bodies, limbs trembling with pent-up unjustified fury.

it's been like this ever since you joined the task force. when Price announced a new member to the group, Ghost silently protested; in his head, four was more than enough people to cover their intricate missions, so making it an odd number would only throw off their balance - in and out of the field.

the first few days were surprisingly easy. being the new member was already hard, so you just kept to yourself, did as you were told, and stood out of everyone's way. but soon enough, you and Ghost started clashing. snarky comments evolved into name-calling, finger-pointing, and complete disregard for decorum. for any poor bystander that got caught in the cross-fire, it'd seem like two petty children throwing tantrums at one another, not two well seasoned soldiers of a special ops task force.

years passed, and it never got better. the hatred between the two of you was intense. palpable. frustrating. arousing. full of unspoken words that could never dream of coming out of your lips. even when you're spitting venom at each other and barking death threats - unfunded, in most cases - there was an undeniable spark underneath it all, simmering its way to the surface at every stolen glance during briefing, a pub visit, or a blood-filled battle ground.

he didn't want to admit it, but you worked well together. the minute you'd step in the field, a switch would flip in your minds and there wouldn't be any traces of hostility left, only a deep connection the transcended the need for talking. you'd understand what he needed just by looking in his eyes. his beautiful brown eyes. usually unreadable, but in action, they were the vessel for an obscure language you were oddly fluent on.

in missions alongside you, despite the constant pump of adrenaline coursing through his veins, he felt peaceful. the emotional turmoil in his brain regarding your existence would quiet down, being overruled by a sense of admiration and a strange vulnerability. he knew the range of your skills, but he couldn't help being amazed by your stance, your swift yet precise moves, your mindset. how could a person be graceful while stabbing another?

it was conflicting. the push and pull, the tiring tango that would go on and on with a song that never reached the end. a dynamic that drained the both of you but a dynamic that neither had the will to change. it was something. something that filled your dull lives, a flesh-eating flame that licked your skin every time your arms brushed, that somehow just kept burning brighter.

Simon could feel it. he felt it when you were stranded in a ruinous safe house during a snowstorm and had to cling into his chest to not freeze to death. he felt it when he saw your eyes sparkling as you gasped for air after hearing one of Soap's terrible jokes. he felt it when your blood stained his hands and your consciousness almost slipped out of his reach forever.

you could feel it too.

that's why the news of your engagement ripped his heart out of his chest. the heart he kept hidden behind a fortified wall, stranded in an island not even the bravest sailors dared to reach. but you, with all your stubbornness, got inside. maneuvered in the labyrinth of cracks of his heart and made yourself a little spot. a spot you were oblivious to.

for some delirious reason, you invited Ghost to the wedding. maybe you wanted all of your trusted teammates with you. maybe you wanted to be a little smug about your happiness. either way, you're a civil person, so handing him the invite was the sensible decision; giving him at least a choice.

he didn't like your fiancé. in fact, he despised the guy. it didn't matter that he was a well-known officer, full of achievements and medals, beloved by many, respected by all. in his eyes, the bloke was no more than a frail bastard looking for a doll to show off. how could you get married to that selfish prick? how could you subject yourself to the wishes of a man who only saw you as a prize? why does he care?

for an even more delirious reason, Simon decided to go. worst fucking idea.

his nerves were through the roof. fighting with the necktie like he was the one about to get married, but ultimately tossing it aside. he didn't want to go, he didn't need to go. but he also didn't want to give you the satisfaction of winning the round, he wanted to be the so-called bigger person and show you how he can put differences aside. celebrate your happiness. so he took a seat on the bench, waiting for the inevitable death march.

it was a small event. a few friends, barely any family. he watched as you floated down the aisle, draped in white satin and bearing the brightest smile he has ever seen. he was so accustumed to seeing the harsh expressions you would make at him, that he couldn't help standing in awe as the final fleckes on sunlight danced on your skin, shining on your face and nearly casting a halo over your head. all for the stupid dumbfuck standing at the altar.

Simon couldn't pay attention to the ceremonialist; his mind was too consumed by the disorientation of seeing you. seeing you as a bride. seeing you as a bride in the altar. seeing you ready to live the rest of your life with someone who's not worth one second of your time. he just sat there, transfixed by the scene and only concentrating on you. your beaming eyes, your plump lips, your soft hair, your fingers intertwined with your fiancé's.

the type of focus that made him not register the involuntary movement of his feet to the corridor after the priest said "...speak now or forever hold your peace."

"don't do it." Simon's gruff voice echoed in the small chapel, reverberating on your eardrum like a violent outburst.

confusion shaped the faces of your loved ones. everywhere you looked you saw grimaces, wide-eyes, and parted lips. the sound gasps followed by murmurs of disbelief, the atmosphere thickening by the second, making it impossible to breathe. but for you the room was quiet. too quiet.

"please, you can't-"

"Ghost." you interrupt, dropping your fiancé's hand and glaring at the man who had the nerve to taint your wedding. your mind was racing with a million thoughts. it must be a cruel joke on his side, creating a spectacle out of this, you think.

before you realize it, your hands are dragging Ghost by the arm to the back of the church, stuffing him inside of what looks like a storage room, full of antique paintings and candles.

"have you lost your mind?"

"i think i have," he answers, taking a deep breath, "i must be batshit crazy, i know. but you can't marry him." your eyes narrow, looking for any indication of it being a bluff. why is your half-colleague-half-enemy objecting at your wedding?

"this isn't you. him," he scoffs, gesturing to the man on the other side of the door, "isn't who you are. you're not the type to be controlled by a man, giving in into his act, calling it love.

"what?" you ask, utterly thunderstruck by his words, "calling it- i'm not being controlled, Ghost. i know you're not familiar with the idea, but people can actually love and respect each other."

he dismisses your comment. "do you truly love him?" Simon knows what love is, knows it a little too much and that's what keeps him distant from people. it never ends well. "can you seriously tell me that this isn't a desperate attempt to fill the void in your heart? you're not happy with him."

"i'm not getting married out of necessity, Ghost. and who are you to say that i'm not happy?"

Simon paces in the room, footsteps creaking the hardwood floor. he knew that he was only digging himself a deeper grave, but he couldn't back down now. he won't allow you to commit such a terrible mistake. "i know you. i've watched you ever since you started dating that mutt," he says, studying your face, "you look different around him. almost small. frail."

his words are sharp, cutting through the air like a scathing blade. you feel the anger in his tone, but there's something else beneath the surface. he's almost... tender?

"you reduce yourself beside him," he adds in a matter-of-fact way, taking a step closer to you, "you're a force of nature, a beast, a goddamn hurricane, not-" he glares you up and down "this."

"i don't reduce myself!" you suddenly shout, eyes boring into his skull, "you think that because i'm getting married i'm throwing myself away? i'm a fucking soldier!"

"i know that!" he shouts back, taking a towering stance over you, "does he know that? you know damn well that the minute you sign those papers he's gonna begin persuading you into retiring, into being a perfect little trophy wife he can parade to his buddies."

you laugh. a dry, dull, hollow laugh. you don't know if it's due the absurdity of his statement or the shocking concern laced in each word escaping his mouth. it's one of those moments you're certain you dipped into a parallel universe, because the reality of it all seems too insane to believe. you stand in front of him with arms crossed, pondering your next move in this godforsaken argument. of course he wouldn't give you a break, not even in your wedding day.

"come on, be serious with me for one moment. he doesn't care about you. the real you," Ghost grits his teeth, "he cares about having your warm body by his side, but he doesn't see the vulnerability hidden behind your eyes. the part you keep a secret, tucked away from the world."

you clench your fists, battling against the desire to punch his gut. you're too proud to ever confess, but his words are slowly getting to you, clouding your brain with doubt. "i'll admit, it's not entirely his fault. he's too shallow for his own good, only knows what you show him. but i see what you try to hide." he says in a quieter tone. luring you in, trying to dissipate the tension.

"it has crossed your mind, hasn't it?" you tilt your head, confused by his question, "us. you've wondered about it."

you scoff, "no, i haven't." lie.

"don't lie now, darling." the pet name should make your skin crawl. but it doesn't. he didn't say it in his usual condescending mode, the one he employs whenever he's mocking you. there's no poison in his tongue, it's... sugary. drips like honey over you.

"you feel the heat between us, the suppressed fire itching to make us combust," he steps closer, still lingering a few inches from your body but too close for comfort, "you know how good we are together. everybody sees our synchrony in the field, how perfect we work," his gaze remains unwavering on your eyes, "tell me truth."

"the truth? the truth is that you're a lunatic-"

his fingertips dig in your skin, burning a hole to your bicep. your breath hitches on your throat, startled by the unexpected use of force. his jaw tightens at the sight, muscle twitching and threatening the remnants of self-control that prevents him from kissing you.

your head spins. his face is close. his scent fills your nostrils to the point of dizziness, intoxicating your lungs and sending shockwaves through your nervous system. "fine!" you blurt, "i might have thought of it, but it doesn't mean anything. just because we work well together it doesn't mean we're made for each other, Ghost."

"but it means something."

the air is full of anticipation, tension, energy. it's the moment before a lightning struck. as the space between you decreases, the shield insulating your opposing charges falters, resulting in a rapid electrical discharge that jolts your heart to life. he pulls you into a kiss, daring you to push him away.

your lips meet with a boiling intensity, the fusion of desire, rage, and something more. time stands still as his tongue finds yours, softly massaging it with both tenderness and passion. his touch is eager yet deliberate, the loud thumping of your heart fades into a ringing on your ear as his hand moves from your arm to your waist, pressing you even closer to his body.

"no, stop!" you push him, catching your breath as he stumbles back into the wall, "what's wrong with you?! what's wrong with me? i have a fiancé waiting as i waste my time here with you!"

"god, you don't get it, do you?!" he yells, "he doesn't deserve you! you put him in a pedestal, and while i'm stuck dreaming about you every fucking night he's out there-" he stops himself, giving you a unfamiliar deer in the headlights look.

"he's what?"

silence.

"Simon, finish your sentence."

"look, i," for the first time in the whole exchange, Simon is stumped. he didn't want to bring up the topic. he curses his mouth for flowing with his anger and talking too much, "i didn't want to tell you, i wanted you to see with your own eyes how much of a dipshit he is, but," he gulps, "he's a fucking cheater. i've seen him at the pub a few times with different girls, hands all over, drunk kisses-"

"you're lying," you retort, holding back the tears that start creeping up the corners of your eyes, "he wouldn't do that."

"i really wish i was lying. i'm so sorry."

you lean back on a chair, trembling as your breathing quickens. you don't wanna believe what he says, he's just letting his jealousy speak. but deep down, you know. all the times he came home with a smudged red mark on his neck, a wrinkled phone number in his pocket he rapidly dismisses. it's so typical, isn't it? no matter how devoted you are to a man, they will always search for more. the insatiable need to desire.

Simon frowns at your quivering figure. his heart aches when the small tears make their way down your cheek, staining your white dress. he crouches in front of you, a hand on your knee trying to convey his support, his guilt for being the bearer of the fact, his love. give me your pain. i can handle it. you're not alone, my darling.

"don't touch me." you hiss, raising your watery eyes to his. the look of hurt in your gaze pierces through him like a sword. he wants to say the right words, to protect you, to give you a new reason to love, but his mind is incapable of forming a remotely comforting phrase.

the tears on your face are hot. the salt streams sting on your skin, but nothing compares to the sorrow that filled your ventricles. you can't stay like this, you can't let him win. you're stronger than this. you're stronger than him.

Ghost jumps when you suddenly stand up. the pain in your irises are now accompanied by the unmistakable wrath he's used to deal. only now, you don't direct it at him; instead, you open the door and stomp your way to the altar again, followed quickly by Simon, worried about what you're going to do.

"it's over."

"babe? what?" the fiancé looks down at you, bearing a disgustingly sly smile, not quite believing your words, "you're kidding, right?"

you don't weaver. despite your tear-stained face and obvious hurt state, your resolve is clear. he truly doesn't care about you. he never even went to check on you after you disappeared in a room with Simon, never felt a ting of threat because he believes the control he has on your soul is enough to keep you tight on the leash. "i said, it's over."

the grin in his face fades when he realizes your certainty. he glances at the tall figure in the back, ready to throw hands if he ever so slightly thinks about laying a finger on you. "of course. you." the man says, rolling his sleeves and making his way to Simon.

only to be stopped by you.

"he has nothing to do with this," you state, blocking his path and pushing his chest with a strength you didn't know you had, "this is between your cheating ass and me. i'm not gonna play into your game anymore. there's no wedding, it's over."

the glare he gives you is bone-chilling, and for a second you see his will to pounce at your throat. without any doubt, Ghost moves you aside and shields your body with his, eyes making all the communication. try me. one step closer and i'll kill you.

even with his conceited persona, he knows better than to actually pick a fight with Ghost. he wouldn't hesitate to snap his spine bare-handed, not even inside a church, so he backs off. it really is over.

in the meantime, you're already halfway out the door, breathing in a deeply needed huff of fresh air. it's the classical movie scene with a runaway bride after the big climax - but in this film, the bride is alone. not with the pining romantic counterpart that just poured his heart out.

your name falling from Simon's lips lead your soul back to your earthly form, the reality dawning on your head one more time.

"leave me alone, Simon."

"but," he stops in his tracks, taking in your scorched-earth appearance, "i don't want you to be alone, please, let me-"

"no," you cut him, "i don't need you near me right now. or ever, for that matter."

straight to the core. a gunshot would hurt less, he thinks. "you don't have to do this on your own. i know that our history prompts you to not trust me," he sighs, pondering for a moment if he should really speak what his spirit desperately long for, "i wanna change that. let me prove how much i love you."

his words find their way to your bleeding heart, contaminating your mind with the possibility of being loved by him. for someone who maintains his feelings at bay, kept under lock and key, he sounds sincere.

"love?" your scoff intercuts the rhetorical question, "the Ghost i met doesn't know love. he knows anger, knows disgust, disdain."

he watches your lips quivering, tears threatening the edges of your waterline once again. he wants nothing more but to reach for you, wrap his burly arms around your body and never let go. whisper comfort into your ears, sweet promises of devotion, and give the solace you yearn for.

"i need... time."

Simon looks up to your eyes, locking his gaze and quietly nodding. he understands. he isn't fond of leaving you in this state, but he knows you won't have a change of heart minutes after a love confession. not when he spent years showing you nothing but hate.

it pains him to see your sorrowful grim. pupils following attentively as each of your steps put more distance between your bodies, planting new cracks in his heart. it's only for a while, he repeats to himself as a mantra, cursing silently for treating you with such a freezing-cold demeanor, when all you did was warm his soul.

it was true. Ghost only knows the bad, dreadful emotions. only served you hate and didn't bother to change.

but the thing is, Simon has never hated you.

it's my first time writing like this so i'm a little self-conscious, but i'm also proud of myself <3 hope you like it! i wanna make a part 2, but idk.

little note - i had to edit it on my phone so it was kinda awful lol sorry for any mistakes

[sugusearrings]

( ' glass children. ' )

violet wrists and then her ankles, silent pain. then he slowly saw their nightmares were his dreams. monster, how should I feel? creatures lie here, looking through the windows i will hear their voices. i'm a glass child, i am hannah's regrets.

— summary: with the star plasma vessel dead, satoru and suguru need you (fem!reader) to lead them to their next path. — genre: angst. heartbreak. — playing: monster by meg & dia — note(s): i'm a sucker for what ifs. i love what ifs. good and bad. i thought about this what if a lot. i wanted to write about this since halloween and didn't have time to post it. i just know suguru and satoru are better than me cause everyone would have gotten this smoke. that's all imma say. anyways, mentions of blood & death. probably some spelling errors here and there. — word count: 866

Those beautiful cerulean blue hues still sparkled as the light down on them.

But the spark of life was gone. They were dull. Lifeless. Emotionless. You never saw them like this before.

You could feel the anxiety swallowing you whole. If someone looked closely, they can see your legs trembling slightly. The two boys in front of you were having a brief conversation but you couldn’t hear it. You couldn’t hear anything over the loud sounds of your heart rate picking up at a rapid pace. You couldn’t even hear the round of applause the strangers that crowded around the white hair teenager who held the lifeless body like he did the first time meeting her.

They were clapping for Satoru. Fucking clapping.

You just stared at the crowd in disbelief. What kind of people would approve of this? What kind of people are happy over this? The death of a young girl.

A young girl you considered your friend.

Monsters...monsters... “Suguru...should we kill these guys? The way I am right now I doubt I’d feel anything.” His voice was hoarse. But what made your heart ache was hearing no emotion in his tone. It matched his stare. Dull. Lifeless. Emotionless. Your eyes went over to Suguru. His back was faced to Satoru but you saw his almond shaped eyes were as wide as they can be but soon he pulled himself back together. He always does. He has too. “No. There’s no point. It’ll be dissolved soon enough.” His voice mimic the tone Satoru set. He began to walk towards the door to get out of there. He was sick of the clapping and the smell of the dried blood that lingeried. He was sick of this. He was sick of this life. He was sick of death. He was sick of curses. “No point, huh? Does there really need to be any point to it?” Satoru asked or stated. You couldn’t really tell. You went to follow behind Suguru like a lost puppy but Satoru called out your name.

“Name...”

"Y-yes...Satoru?" your gentle voice trembled.

"What do you think we should do?" Satoru asked you. His eyes didn’t look at you. They just looked straight ahead into nothing. Suguru's eyes went over to you almost forgetting you were even there. Your eyes was puffy and red from crying. You were the emotional one out of the three. That's why Satoru would tease you about being weak. You were a crybaby. But Suguru didn't see an issue with it, he likes you like this. So did Satoru but he wouldn't openly admit it. You reminded him about those certain emotions he swore he couldn’t feel anymore. "Name...what should we do?" Suguru also asked willing to do anything you said. The self proclaimed brains of this trio couldn’t think straight or logically. So it was up to you.

The boys looked over at you for an answer. An answer you didn't have. This wasn't fair. These higher ups using you children. Not caring if you killed one another or died in front of each other. You loved your best friends. Especially Satoru and Suguru, willing to do anything to protect them. Even Riko. They were the only family you have. But would the higher ups mourn you? Would the higher ups sink into a dark hole of depression? Would the higher ups get revenge on you? Or would they replace you like a piece of livestock. They would probably replace you in a matter of days.

They probably would assign Satoru and Suguru a mission while your ashes are still warm.

Satoru and Suguru.

The thought of leaving them behind made you feel sick at the pit of your stomach. How would Satoru handle it? You knew Suguru would break in a matter of days. He bottles so much inside of him it would just burst out. Would they keep it together if you were to die? Or would they lose it themselves.

You know you would lose it if either of them or both of them were to die. Leaving you all alone. To defend yourself. To love yourself. You couldn’t imagine a world without them. The three of you were glued to each other, couldn’t really function without the other.

You could feel the anger replacing the fear and anxiety. On the inside your morals and humanity was being teared apart, stripped away from you the more you stared at Riko's lifeless body in Satoru's arms covered by a thin white cloth. "Name..." Suguru called out to you once more. There wasn’t much time to make a decision. "Kill them," you finally answered losing all emotions you had that day, "kill them all." That's all Satoru needed to hear. His lips formed a wicked grin as Suguru silently summoned the rainbow dragon. You stood watched the blood being splattered on the walls and floors. The screams made you smile like that day on the beach with your best friends.

That’s where your mind was. The day on the beach with Riko and Satoru laughing at the sea cucumber while you, Suguru, and Misato were on the beach towels just watching them with smile of your faces.

[xxcallmemaryxx]

Vessel x GN reader.

Vessel and you with very obvious oral fixations hehehehee

It’s kept a secret. At first.

It begins with kisses. So many kisses. Always, all day, any chance either of you get. Your lips are always red and puffy when Vessel is around because you just can’t stop kissing him.

He eventually takes it up a few notches, when your lips tire and you just can’t keep up with him anymore, he gives you a few moments but he doesn’t want to stop. So he keeps going, moving down your jaw and making his way to your neck. He finds very quickly that your neck is his favourite place to bury his face. His lips wreaking havoc on the skin that resides there. But he just… can’t stop.

He cops it too. When he is fresh out the shower and his skin is warm and dewy. He crawls into bed, probably expecting an early night with you. But no, he’d be so so wrong. Because the moment you get your hands on him your lips are glued to his stomach. The soft pouch of skin that sits just above his waist band… fuck… your mouth waters just looking at it. You kiss and nip and suck at the beauty that is him. Leaving your marks all over his soft belly with a smile.

He starts to lose his mind a little. Always fighting a constant urge to drop everything and get his mouth on you. He sees the same look in your eyes. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes linger on his waist when he walks around without his top on. He loves to mess with you. Pulling his pants down just a little further than normal, letting them hang lower on purpose just to see if you’d crack. You never do. You’re stronger than he is.

But he’s nothing if not patient.

You don’t expect it. At all. Vessel knows this. But it’s his turn to cook dinner tonight, he’s stood at the stove stirring a pot of sauce he’d made. He wants you to try it but he stops you from reaching for a spoon. Your confusion disappears when you look at him and he’s already got two of his fingers, dripping with this sauce, hanging expectantly in front of your lips.

His smirk puts the word ‘smug’ to shame.

You hold eyes with him. Because if he wants to play this game then by god you’ll make him watch every minute of it. But your confidence diminishes the moment you wrap your lips around his fingers, and he knows he’s got you. Your eyes give you away immediately. Your pupils blow wide, and your eyes glaze over, telling him everything he needs to know about the state he’s got you in right now. By now the sauce that once coated his fingers is long gone but neither of you make any moves to pull away. He lets you enjoy this. Clearly awakening something within the both of you that he is just dying to explore.

To exploit.

And it’s then that Vessel has the small realisation that maybe his desire to have his mouth on you all the time extends beyond just wanting to kiss you. And he has an inkling that perhaps this little desire sits snug in your brain too.

He gently pulls his fingers from your beautiful lips, a string of saliva keeping the two of you connected as he reaches over to flick the stove off. You don’t even have time to wipe your mouth clean before his lips are on yours again. Dinner is immediately forgotten. His mouth will be occupied with someone much more delicious.

[harrysonlylover]

Checkmate (Part 2)

Summary: The tension between Poppy and Harry gets cut. What really happened a few years back and do assassins have hearts?

Trope: Assassin H/ LHH

WC: 11k

Warnings: Assassins’ stuff…? Murder, injections, angst.

A/n: This is NOT a Standalone Oneshot. Part 1 must be read first.

Part 1

In all her years, Poppy never made a mistake or went out of line for something less than perfection. She is both beauty and brains. Everyone she ever came across envied her starting from the girls at the institute during her childhood, to random passers in the street who got struck by her charming aura.

Her moves are well calculated to aid her in any mission or even plans concerning her personal life.

Gaining a reputation in the Assassination field was barely an obstacle for her. It is not the clients that ask for her, it’s quite the opposite. She knows how to catch someone’s attention and when to do that…

It wasn’t long before she got one phone call after the other, postcards, and letters begging her to take their offer.

But this. This is nothing close to sanity or well thought plans. This is madness, the forbidden apple, her heart’s dominance.

It is her Harry.

Harry whose lips touched hers at the ripe age of sixteen, taught her how to throw a deadly punch and gave her the name she goes by.

Out of all the assassinations she’s done, she was never taught to look at someone who had a piece of her with him and pretend to be fine.

She held an ache in her heart for years and years, never even dared to scratch at it—but the mere idea of being Harry’s crime partner has her vessels bursting.

Poppy; strong, resilient, poisonous, turned into an ordinary soft tulip in the presence of her angel.

The angel of death.

The name accredited to him was not a coincidence nor a fun passive nickname made by friends (not that they had any).

He earned it with both the sweat on his forehead, and the blood of a stranger that painted his hands, more often than it should’ve.

In the same year, he lost his soul and took another. First, when he pressed his lips to Poppy’s, she snatched it out of his body and rumor has it that she would keep a hold of it until eternity. Then, his first mission came. With a confident posture, increased heartbeat, and a lucky charm, he took away a life for the first time.

The angel of death is invincible, untouchable even—yet his soul does not belong to him. It is hers.

After that, not only did their circumstances change but their fates as well. Harry grew hungry for power. The praise he received from everyone at the institution deemed him a successful young assassin who was highly requested.

They had him training day and night, sent him to missions with more experienced assassins, and strengthened his stamina in unimaginable ways—but the cruelest lesson of them all was separating him from Poppy. The keeper of his soul.

The mentors were intellectual and observant. They knew beforehand that Harry would have a successful path, but they also knew that his attachment to Poppy would render him weak.

The loneliness that haunted assassins was nothing but a protective shield, as ironic as it may sound. Love someone and prepare to experience loss. It even stretched as far as not having partners to avoid emotional ties. This is why they were considered solo ravens.

In the present day, Poopy and Harry do not belong to any organization or institution. Therefore, no one can stop them from being partners.

But in the past, their separation was orchestrated by older mentors who believed that it was for Harry’s benefit. And the twisted truth? They made him take the blame for it.

10 years ago, somewhere in London.

Poppy was told that she wouldn’t know anything at a young age. She agreed—to some extent. She knew her life path and who she was destined to be, she knew that there was something out there waiting for her in between baths of blood. But to word it correctly, she’d say waiting for the both of them.

She wouldn’t consider herself gullible, Harry also included her in everything as they confessed fantasies and dreams.

Except that it felt like a lifetime ago since he used the word “we”.

She liked to think of him as her guardian angel, of course, this thought came from an incident back when they were barely ten years old. She was new at the institution after her parents died in a car accident.

It was cold, bitter and dull. No one warned her of what was to come, no one asked her if she wanted to hold on to a photo or a toy. She was resting at the hospital and the next thing she remembers was being picked up and dropped into a huge institution.

She didn’t know where she was, no one responded even when she kicked them and hit the door repeatedly. But during one night, she saw the shadow of an angel outside of her locked room. A kid wouldn’t realize that the light bulb had a role in making him appear as an angel—and even though she put two and two together throughout the years, it didn’t make him less of an angel. Especially when he opened his mouth.

“I’m Harry. Do you want to be my friend?”

The next eight years were ones for history. But looking back, she should’ve known that sneaking out of rooms isn’t easy. She should’ve anticipated a lot of things. That some traits stick with someone till adolescence. So maybe, she isn’t so knowledgeable.

It wasn’t long before Harry took her under his wing and explained everything to her. It felt like a lie at first, but that lie soon turned into reality.

The board of mentors relied heavily on the children’s education and physical strength. However, all the cruel acts and brainwashing did not start until they turned 14. Despite that, she liked to remember that age as the time when she sneaked away with Harry to the rooftop to gaze at the stars. After all, he was good at escaping.

“Look up—do you see it?” Harry whispered in her ear, making her heart beat faster.

“No!” Frustration began to fuel her body. They’d been looking at the sky for a while now and she still couldn’t see the stupid constellation he was pointing at.

His fingertips found her jaw that he held so delicately as if one of the stars above them would explode at the action. He slowly moved it toward the constellation despite his body begging him to direct it towards his mouth.

“There, that’s Cassiopeia. Isn’t it pretty?” He asked while looking at her.

Their stolen moments under the stars were precious, she would learn to hold on to them like a dove clings to its tree in winter. Yet, no matter how hard she tried, the storm would inevitably arrive.

Harry’s wish came true two years later. It had its price of course, but for her, he’d pay anything including his freedom.

During one of their star-gazing nights, he sealed their lips under the protective eyes of Cassiopeia right as he surrendered his soul to Poppy. Maybe that’s why he’s so cold-blooded towards others—because his soul is with her and for her.

As soon as the news of Harry’s first mission spread, Poppy knew nothing would be the same anymore. She felt an innate desire to keep him safe, they were both just kids.

Resources were scarce at the institution, they couldn’t obtain whatever they wanted, but Harry made sure to at least try and steal something for her every time he sneaked out. He was unbelievably valuable to the mentors—so instead of killing him or throwing him away on the streets, cruel punishments did the job.

Still, the scars on his back and the growling of his stomach after being forbidden from food were nothing compared to seeing her smile. He’d promised to give her a Poppy flower and he did.

Realistically, she was no witch. She could never guarantee his safety out there but a good luck charm wasn’t a bad idea. She spent weeks collecting spare pieces of fabric, threads and stole a scissor to make it work. A small dried petal—left from the flower he gave her tied to a thick thread that would be wrapped around his wrist.

Harry grew a habit of kissing it before every mission—from his first one to all of the upcoming ones.

They were young and unaware of the evil that was awaiting them, even when they were subjected to torturous training and brainwashing, it was nothing compared to what they would endure over the years.

Poppy chose to be softer around him but she was unbelievably resilient and powerful. She had a visual memory that was perfect for missions, physical strength that outpowered all her female colleagues, and a high IQ. By all means, Harry and Poppy were it for each other. No one really knew that they were in love, not even them—but a small observation done by a mentor had the board acting quickly to stop something dangerous before it developed.

“15, you’re wanted in the main room.” One of the gym trainers announced loudly, making everyone’s attention shift to Harry. That was his number. They didn’t have names.

He dropped the equipment from his hand as he tried to regulate his breathing and process the order given to him at the same time. No one was requested to the main room unless something was on. He wasn’t even sent there when they told him about his first mission.

He moved with unwavering confidence as everybody’s eyes zeroed in on him till he was out of the room. The same trainer who gave him the order accompanied him to the main room, where he was left to knock on the door before being told to enter.

The room would forever be engraved in his mind—he walked in like a lamb to the slaughter as he was met with the board of the institution, waiting for him in high chairs. There were four men and one woman.

“15, you have been a great trainee. Quick-witted, amazing stamina with a thirst for blood. Perfect characteristics for an assassin.” One of the men spoke to him while others stared. Harry stood with a fixed posture, looking straight ahead as a sign of respect.

“You are one of our best trainees and we wish to keep it that way. Of course, you are aware that whatever we ask of you is for your own good.” This time it was the woman speaking.

“Your new order is to stay away from trainee number 20. Under no circumstance are you allowed to approach her, speak with her, or think about her.” Harry flinched from the invisible slap that went across his face. His jaw clenched and his nostrils flared in response.

They want him to stay away from his Poppy?

“I do not understand—“

“In here you do not understand, you obey!” Her voice echoed in the room.

“You may leave now. Continue your training.” One of the other men spoke, noting Harry’s pale face and clenched fists. He wanted to use the skills they liked to praise him about and rip their skin off their bones for this stupid order. But instead, he turned around with shaky knees and headed towards the door.

“Oh and by the way…” He stopped in his tracks and tilted his head to the side.

“Dare to disobey this order, and she’ll be dead.”

That moment tipped his entire world upside down. The clock forgot to tick, he forgot to breathe and his soul would forever be away.

He would learn what it actually meant to be an assassin the hard way. Over the years, he’ll look back and wish he had been braver—his courage only stretched as far as punches and shots.

He willingly twisted a knife inside his heart by letting a certain series of events unfold. In some way—he played a role in shaping Poppy’s personality as an adult.

The coldness that he projected on her warm heart fired back at him every single time. He almost lost it when he saw her tear up for the first time. The second would be ten years later, as they reopen the wound.

“You’ve been ignoring me lately.” She leaned her body against the door with her arms crossed. He could see from his peripheral vision that she had a few loose hair strands, a look that he adored on her.

He couldn’t even look at her.

A part of him would remind him of what he had done and the other—would urge him to burn the world for her.

She stood as calm as a dove, pleading him with her eyes to say or do something. The response on his end was the same as his previous ones, cold, bitter, and dark.

“Harry! Why are you doing this?” He allowed himself to catch a glimpse of her this time, only because his heart cracked like her voice.

“Stay away from me. I don’t want anything to do with you.” He uttered with a thousand needles prickling his skin.

“Why!” She couldn’t find any reason as to why he despised being around her.

“Because I said so! You’re weak— and stopping me from going forward.” That moment could’ve been an audition for some movie that would grab him fame—but due to a series of unfortunate events, no one said “cut”. And if not for the burning flames of his heart, one would believe that he meant his words.

The look in her eyes was embedded in his brain like a tattoo inked on skin but with an immeasurable amount of pain.

“Maybe I really didn’t know you—” A single tear fell from her eye, slid down her rosy cheeks that he loved to kiss, and onto the floor where it left an echo that only he heard.

She left him standing alone with darkness closing in on him, as he felt the meaning of loss for the first time in his life.

A trainer had observed his interaction with Poppy which he immediately reported to the board. Harry obeyed his order.

Poppy would be safe but at a huge cost.

Harry’s actions did not make sense to her. She felt like something was off, he wouldn’t turn into someone else in between nights. She tried to reason with him but he only fired back.

It was something that would happen sooner or later, a trainee would get a taste of power and act almighty. It wasn’t a dilemma because no one was close with anyone, they were encouraged to hate each other. It would benefit them to be emotionless in the field.

No matter how cruel her upbringing was, Poppy couldn’t bury her emotions, leave a flower then walk away. Harry was her everything, she never expected him to turn into someone hideous.

The gap he left in her heart would remain open for years, yet she rose like a phoenix in just a few days becoming Harry’s number one competitor.

She offered him the same coldness and did not forget to make it sting.

They became competitive in everything—martial arts, shooting & aiming skills, critical thinking skills, physical stamina skills, programming & hacking skills, and archery.

She threw snarky comments at him, gave him bruises if they were instructed to fight, and showed him that she was better off without him.

But behind all this facade, they fooled everyone except themselves—Harry bit back with a rough exterior, turned into a cold-blooded man, and almost stabbed one of the trainees once. But in their world that was nothing—just another training, just another day.

He slowly accepted his new life, her hatred for him, and the mask he’ll be obliged to put on forever. All of that—just to protect her and she was completely clueless. He couldn’t blame her for how she changed, but he was proud of her improvement and he would always admire her for anything she did—but in secret, when no one was watching or listening, not even himself.

Assassins were considered to be ready at eighteen, some needed an extra push until nineteen or twenty, but Harry & Poppy were more than ready.

At this age, they’re sent out for missions. Harry was the only exception who had his first mission before eighteen.

They are allowed a little more independence, to roam the streets but never interact with people. They are aware of how different their lives are—have been taught sociology and psychology but an assassin is always a solo raven.

Above all, they would remain tied to the organization. Something that had Harry overthinking.

His little trips outside of the organization always had consequences, but they also knew that he would go out and they had let him.

Was it the known assurance that he would return? Or the “independence” they liked to boast about just because he was one of their top trainees?

And then there’s Poppy. Within less than five minutes and an order, they forced him to give up eight years of attachment. The hold they had on him was concerning. The same hold they have on every single assassin. If they ordered him now, they will not hesitate to do so for years to come.

He never asked for this life, but he’s too tangled in it to leave. It’s not the killings that he despised, not at all actually. It’s rather the control the mentors had on him that knew no boundaries.

He may not be able to get the assassin out of him, but he surely can leave everything behind. Even Poppy would stand tall with a million emotions going through her body, having found out about his disappearance. She felt like Cassiopeia was laughing at her foolishness from above, but what can she say or do? He had always been good at escaping. She continued her training normally like a good assassin, unaware of the letter he left behind for her that she would never find or read.

Present day, Vienna.

Poppy hasn’t felt this restless in a very long time.

She’s been everywhere and adores travelling even if there’s a dark purpose behind it. But she is unable to immerse herself in the delight and comfort of it.

It’s been a few weeks since that fateful night in Paris. One that brought an unexpected alliance, painful memories, and a twisted fate.

If it had been her first time seeing Harry in a decade, then she wouldn’t have said yes or handled the situation perfectly. But she encountered him more than she would have liked across the years, intentional or not.

Their first encounter was accidental, yet it confirmed two facts: Poppy had fled the institution and is now his competitor in the assassination field.

They both changed personality-wise, which explains the bickering and narcissistic behavior. She became a charming young woman, even more intellectual if possible and he, a rigid irresistible man.

They sometimes sabotaged each others’ operations for fun, chased one another, or crossed paths in missions just like their last one.

The “hatred” lessened, slowly merging into a playful form of poking into each others’ lives instead of saying what was on their mind.

Harry was drawn to her feisty attitude, he loved entertaining it, especially when she talked back at him or gave him a mark or two. He’d tattoo them if he could.

And while they refused to admit it, under the rough shells of their protected hearts, the yearning was pressing on their blood vessels, warning them of its upcoming explosion.

His yearning was less patient than hers. The proof would be the night of their supposed “mission” weeks ago. He tried to seal their lips—needed to. But she backed away before he could. She left him standing alone in the hotel room as she gathered her stuff and fled the country.

Ignorance is a bliss that she can’t have. As much as she would like to stay away from him and pretend that everything is under control—she can’t.

Their mission is due tonight which gives them enough time to discuss and plan since she actually decided to show up early.

They sat in a café, pretending to be a normal couple. They played their roles so elegantly that no one would suspect they kill people for a living. Even the adoration in his eyes was way too good for “pretending”.

She acted like nothing had happened and swiftly sat in her designated chair, tugging down her classy YSL dress, before crossing her bare legs and fishing out a file for him.

“Obviously you already have a copy, but this is a file about the plan.” She explained, not allowing him to understand her facial expressions or eyes that she hid behind Prada sunglasses.

Surprisingly, he wasn’t as chatty and playful. She figured that she hit a nerve that night, but ideally, she had every right to do so.

Their encounters over the years and recent partnership do not erase his actions in the past. She may not hold a grudge for long but she remembers everything.

“Sounds good to me.” He returned the file to her and fixed his posture. He straightened his back and flexed his broad shoulders that could barely fit his tailored suit. The motherfucker was a piece of candy.

His calmness took her by surprise—was it because she pulled away from the kiss? He can’t be that petty, right?

He suddenly stood and fixed his blazer, signaling that he would be on his way. He lowered his body so that their faces were at the same level. His cologne drifted in the air, invading her nostrils and playing with her pheromones. She’s thankful that she had sunglasses on, or else he’d know how much she enjoyed his scent.

“See you tomorrow Poppy darling.” He whispered in a low tone, offering his smug grin before pressing his lips to her cheek—planting barely a peck.

By the time she processed what he had done, the table was empty with only cologne in his wake and a single Poppy flower in front of her.

The day after, 8:30 PM

This was her first mission since Paris and somehow it feels so similar. She’s getting ready in a hotel room again, a red dress hugging her frame—cherry red to be specific since it’s her color.

Something feels amiss, like a piece of a puzzle that isn’t fitting well. Maybe it’s the fact that this is her first non solo mission. She won’t be snatching a soul alone—the angel of death will be present in flesh and blood.

The same angel happens to be someone that she can’t pinpoint her feelings toward. And who’s also knocking on her door.

They bought burner phones to contact each other, along with other supplies she secured during her travels.

The seconds it took to open the door were few, could be counted in milliseconds—but the moment their eyes met lasted for a whole lifetime.

This time was different, away from sudden meetings and glares, Poppy willingly opened the door as they took in each other’s attire shamelessly.

He couldn’t even say hello nor hide his bulging eyes or how they were undressing her. Cherry red looked so fucking good for her—actually, he believed that it was made for her. Everything was, including him.

Her hair, a simple 90s blowout secured with a Poppy flower brooch, cascaded down her back.

Her chest area was covered with white fur to meet the occasion—but he wanted nothing more than seeing her beautiful collarbone, and neck.

She couldn’t be any more beautiful.

How could he focus on being her partner? Do his job that entails killing others when she already killed him with her beauty?

His clothes were simple but radiated power. A tailored black suit that screamed rich and the same cologne that had Poppy’s knees buckling. And while she may not admit it—the way he looked at her like she was his dinner had her heart pumping.

Author’s note: While the staring can last a lifetime, we must move on because we have someone to kill.

“Do you need an invitation to come in?” Poppy raised her eyebrow at him.

“Begging is more of my preference.” He strolled inside with a confident posture.

“Yeah… right.” She rolled her eyes at him, making him smirk and observe her.

As a woman, she was ready but as an assassin—she needed a few touch-ups. She quickly gathered a few items to place in her purse. purse. Two lipsticks, one of them authentic while the other was actually a burning laser, a mini perfume bottle that holds a sedative, an undetectable gun hidden behind the inner fabric of the purse, mini golden binoculars, and most importantly—the weapon she’ll be using for the night.

“Are you gonna keep staring at me?”

“I can’t help but feel like you’re forgetting your knife—isn’t it your favorite?” He was relaxing on the bed, elbows holding his body up as he stared.

“Yes, but if I bring it I won’t be able to resist stabbing you.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time love.” His voice was laced with a flirtatious undertone and a promise—but knowing him, he definitely was not joking.

“Do you have your role memorized perfectly?” She ignored whatever was going on in his dirty mind.

Nothing more than a hum was elicited from his lips. Why bother and focus on replying verbally when he could stare at her bare legs, and the way the cherry red dress fits her perfectly?

“Will you stop ogling my body?” She wasn’t even a bit uncomfortable, in fact, he might be the only man she felt safe around—even if he put a knife to her throat.

But she needed to act uninterested, Harry was like a moth to a flame and hell would set loose if she gave in.

After a loud sigh, he moved away as she finished getting ready. He wanted to push further, maybe play it sweet for a while before reopening the sensitive subject.

He almost had her—was so close to earning his Poppy back but she resisted and rightfully so.

“So, shall we hit the road partner?” Her question had his ears perking, mainly for the last word she used.

Partner.

He could get used to it.

Vienna State Opera, 8:45 PM

Poppy booked the nearest hotel to the Opera house to avoid any kind of delay. She liked being practical and straightforward—besides she doesn’t want to handle being on Harry’s motorcycle again.

It was barely a five minute walk, the cobbled streets of Vienna and the evening breeze brought back memories, the same way every detail of nature does. Vienna was her escape whenever she felt suffocated—if she wished to recall it, this city knew her better than anyone.

“Do you remember that one time you called the FBI on me when I was here?” Harry broke the silence not even one minute into their walk.

“Don’t give me ideas that I can reuse.” She rolled her eyes, preferring to focus on the click of her heels against the pavement instead of his perfume floating in the air.

“Oh c’mon, you said it yourself. We’re partners now.”

He remembers that day quite vividly. It was another twist of fate—he had a mission here and she was spending her time. They crossed paths at the same café they chatted in earlier, where he got on her nerves and teased her.

Next thing he knows, the FBI was outside his hotel—realistically, they can’t catch him. He doesn’t really have a record, everyone at the institution is unidentified. The only record that would show up is the fake name he has on his passport, which is in fact, a John Doe.

He didn’t hate her for what she did, he considered it to be an upgrade of their game. After all, she’s always been so smart.

“Would you ever rescue me if the FBI catches me or something?” He messed with her, no one can get a hold of him. No one.

But the night is long and he can’t help teasing her.

“No. Good riddance.” She scoffed and crossed the street leading to the Opera house. Her walk was so elegant yet powerful. He followed her with slow footsteps to ogle her as she walked no matter what, despite the increasing honking of cars.

He was ready to hand himself in just to know what she’d do. But for now, they have a mission.

As soon as they were inside, their new personalities got to work. Mr & Mrs. Styles had their arms linked together as they walked along with all the prestigious and rich socialites attending the night’s Opera performance.

Good assassins fool others by fooling themselves first. The way Poppy’s body leaned against Harry with a smile on her face—the same one trophy wives display, along with everybody’s eyes on them was a sign that their mission had started and was going well.

It was impossible to not be astonished by the Opera house’s interior, but it’s also funny how Poppy and Harry are always found in artistic historical locations.

Poppy’s eyes darted over every single detail; from the stairs to the high columns and golden chandeliers. The ceiling was another wonderland, spacious enough to hold a universe and decorated with art all over.

The statues stared at them as they walked—as if they knew their secret and what they came here for.

Harry wasn’t exactly impressed, he was here for a purpose and while he does admit that the interior is unique—he’d rather stare at her.

She was more deserving of his attention than any form of art.

The guests moved like a herd of sheep, women with their polite giggles and men with their egos. The stairs welcomed them as Harry tightened his grip on Poppy out of caution.

“Can’t we just skip to the mission ?” He rolled his eyes in disapproval. If things went his way, then he wouldn’t have bothered to orchestrate this whole thing. A simple shot to the head from a roof would have been just fine.

Poppy has always been extra and more precise.

“No. This is the plan and you will stick to it.” She sneered, looking around to take mental notes.

“What will you do if I don’t?” He pressed further, aiming to piss her off at a very wrong time.

“I’ll cut you to pieces and feed it to the stray dogs.” She replied with a stern expression, as she continued her observation.

“So romantic!” He chuckled, admiring her.

She wasn’t being paranoid or overly cautious. The reason behind them becoming partners was to join their power to take down other assassins. The assassination they’re here for can be done by only one of them.

The other will have to observe like a hawk, lurk around, and detect suspicious activity. Assassins can identify each other as if they are a wolf pack.

Arthur and Henry—also known as their bosses, who somewhat persuaded them into becoming partners sent them to get this mission done.

It should be a quick in and out—right?

“We should go from here.” She pointed at the right flight of stairs.

These stairs were narrower than the main ones, while socialites supposedly have class, they didn’t mind squeezing each other or pushing lightly and hiding it with a gracious smile.

Harry’s eyes darkened when a middle aged man bumped into Poppy’s elbow. She wasn’t hurt at all, if anything she was disgusted but it wasn’t that big of a deal.

It certainly was for Harry who was about to launch forward at the man.

“Behave.” She glared at him, sending daggers with her eyes. He unclenched his jaw and took control of his facial expression. His breaths were ragged, and he avoided eye contact with her.

This wasn’t a good sign—this is why assassins don’t have partners. Emotions must never interfere, let alone two of the most dangerous assassins with a past. Just like fire and water.

But that also meant that he cared for her, that it went as little as not wanting someone to touch her. All the little actions and remarks were suffocating, and they ought to explode soon enough.

Poppy let out a quick sigh once they reached the 1st floor, Harry’s arm was still linked with hers, tightening at certain moments.

“This is our room.” She reached out her hand to open the door leading to the balcony she reserved for them. It held the perfect view of their target. She hacked into the Opera’s system to figure out where he sat.

“Oh, you reserved a room for us. I knew you wanted me.” He teased in a sarcastic tone, clearly enjoying this more than he should.

“Can you be an adult for a bit? I don’t know you’re a ‘skilled’ assassin.” She quoted with her fingers before scoffing and taking off the fur and hanging it.

“I can definitely give you examples darling. On both, being an adult and assassin.” His voice was laced with mockery and hunger—hunger for something that she couldn’t quite figure out yet.

It is during times like these that she wondered if agreeing to be his partner was a sane idea if they could actually agree.

The anger is visible through her face, and yet he’s still smirking. She dreamed about wiping his smug grins and smirks off his face—but they suited him.

She sat on the chair in the first row, there were five chairs. Three in the first row, two in the middle, and one at the back. She reserved them all for only the both of them.

The balcony was perfect for observation. It had a clear view of the stage and the first five rows. But most importantly, where their target was placed.

Everyone was getting seated as she watched them like a hawk. Harry sat next to her with a sealed mouth and a lingering cologne. Since she took the fur off, her collarbone and chest were uncovered. Her skin was glowing, complimented by the blood red dress that pushed her cleavage.

Harry wasn’t a creep by all means—but his childhood love was sitting next to him looking as beautiful as a blooming flower. Fuck the mission, he thinks.

“Half of the seats are full now.” She glanced at the expensive watch on her left hand. “They’ll begin in five minutes.”

Harry may be playful with her but he’s serious about his job. They don’t have to do much now—in fact, they can enjoy the show. Poppy just has to glance at the target now and then, to notice his movements, his plus one, and how he’s acting.

The real work begins at the afterparty. Parties like these do not happen often, and when they do—only the elite are invited. Mainly it contains champagne expensive enough to end world hunger, and bratty rich people. The fake identities Harry made were easily placed on the invitation list.

Et Voilà.

Despite everything she planned, she didn’t anticipate the uncomfortable silence between her and Harry. It was so loud that even he didn’t throw a snarky remark.

They only pretended to be normal about it, with glances from their peripheral vision now and then. Poppy felt like a weight was moved off her chest when the orchestra came on stage.

They were going to play Mozart—which she learned is their target’s personal favorite. As soon as they started, she took out the mini golden binoculars from her purse and pointed them in a way that seemed to be directed at the stage but was pointed at the target. Their seating was indeed perfect.

As expected, there wasn’t much to take in. The target seemed to enjoy the musical pieces with his wife by his side. He ought to though, he’ll be dead soon.

Poppy’s sharp focus never wavered, she decided to continue watching his every act, and pattern of breathing. Until—something burned at her skin.

It made her flinch, rose goosebumps all over her body, and parted her lips in abrupt shock. The burning sensation traveled through her arteries and formed a clot inside her heart—making her choke silently.

She looked down willingly and spotted Harry’s left hand intertwined with her right one.

She swallowed down her throat and fixed her sight on the audience as if her eyes weren’t threatening to glance at their conjoined hands like it was some sort of instinct.

She couldn’t pull her hand away—even if she wanted to. They were role-playing as a couple, so holding hands should be the bare minimum.

Yet, there was something else stopping her that she dismissed. She only credited the excuse of being a “couple”. Digging memories she buried ages ago was of no use, even if the grief still lingered by.

Call it an exaggeration but the life line on his palm was digging into hers, funnily enough, she knew how it looked better than her own.

As for the heart line, his was straight with the tiniest curve to it, and hers branched out like a blooming flower—as if it was reaching for his.

How long has it been since they held hands like this?

Again, it didn’t change anything. No matter how perfectly molded their hands were—even the greatest sculptures were destined to crack.

The clapping and standing ovation of the crowd pulled her back to the present. The burning sensation was gone and emptiness took its place. A void bigger than the black hole.

Harry was clapping as well, with his stupid smile and perfect curls. She looked down at her hand and saw the lines of his palm imprinted into hers.

“He’s on the move, let’s go.” He was so casual and nonchalant about it. It made her sick. How his attitude never changed after doing something out of hand.

She picked up her stuff and walked ahead of him, body flaming with rage and unanswered questions.

The afterparty was set in a ballroom, not far away from where they sat. She didn’t care if Harry followed behind or not, although his footsteps left an echo.

She heard him call out her name many times, but she continued walking unbothered.

He blocked her path with his body, stopping her from going forward.

“We’re fucking partners, Poppy, whether you like me or not.” He spat with furrowed eyebrows and a hint of fury.

“Do you remember your part—“

“I’m not some child in a play, I’ve been toying with lives long enough to know what to do.” He rolled his eyes, reminding her of his skills.

“Well, let’s go then.” She gestured to the ballroom that everyone was heading to.

Whatever she was feeling at the moment must be shoved away. She didn’t even want to think about how furious this situation made her.

She had no choice but to be professional, like she always was.

Their target—Charles Walton was old money. He invested in stocks and was involved in business matters that threatened their bosses.

This time, Henry and Alex’s request was different. Poppy will kill and Harry will observe. Their roles were equally important, as they suspected that Charles hired an assassin. Poppy was also asked to get Charles’ phone as it may contain things relevant to her boss.

A well dressed man was waiting at the entrance. He collected the invitations from all the guests, and checked their names according to a list in his hand. The invitation cards were white and engraved with gold, sealed with a red stamp.

Harry handed their invitations over and waited till they got the usual nod and smile. The door was opened for them by an another man, who welcomed them inside.

They linked their arms together again and entered the ballroom. It was just as fancy as the entire building, which is no surprise given its history. More expensive chandeliers, renaissance paintings, and low classical music playing in the background.

Harry’s body was tense for some reason, he was looking around and observing all the socialites like he was instructed.

They were mingling already with champagne in their hands. The odor of filthy richness reeked off them as they stepped closer. Charles was standing with his wife and other businessmen that she researched beforehand.

She didn’t have to remind him that they must act all lovey dovey, or how he should act. He made it clear that everything was under control, and for some reason, she believed him.

Their legs directed them as they grabbed two glasses of champagne from a waiter passing by. They pretended to be turning around before stopping near Charles and his little group.

“Excuse me, aren’t you Mr. Walton?” Poppy beamed with surprise and happiness(Fake ones obviously).

She became the center of attention in mere seconds because no one could resist her beauty or voice—especially not men.

“Darling, I’m certain these gentlemen are busy—“ Harry faked his politeness which was even more astonishing given his real personality.

“Not at all, Mrs..?” Charles was enamored with her which seemed to irritate his wife.

“Mr & Mrs Styles,” Harry replied on behalf of her. Poppy was still offering pretty smiles to everyone, making them feel as if she was honored to be in their presence.

“Please then, join us.” Charles gestured with his hand, welcoming Poppy and Harry.

“I admire the way you work.” Poppy focused her attention on Charles who forgot that his wife existed.

Harry didn’t like this one bit—in fact, this may be his most challenging mission by far. Getting shot is way easier.

In some sense, he acted like a “clueless husband”. If it was up to him, he wouldn’t let a man look at Poppy.

“My husband and I are doctors for the Royal Family of Spain, but recently we’ve been trying to go into business.” Her demeanour was enough to intrigue all the men standing including their beloved target.

There was nothing better than a woman asking a man about business and finance matters.

Charles’ wife scurried away to mingle with other socialites, including her boy toy. One of the fun parts of being an assassin is learning everyone’s dirty little secrets.

Harry busied the other two men with a discussion about geopolitical issues while Poppy was bewitching Charles.

A tiny slip of the fur on her shoulders allowed him to sneak his eyes into her cleavage.

Men were so easy, weak, and pathetic.

The classical music drifted in the air smoothly, they were both doing an amazing job. Charles was trusting her slowly, it doubled when she batted her eyelashes.

She may love her job—but she doesn’t have to necessarily spend her entire night putting up with rich brats. She pretended to be tipsy and swayed like a clueless woman although she never drank during the job.

One single glance at Harry was enough to give him the green light. She’s sure that if it were someone else, they wouldn’t have understood.

He stumbled towards her, mimicking her “drunk” acts, and slung his arm over her shoulders, spilling champagne on her in the process.

“Oh sorry love.” He laughed and patted her dress as if he could fix it.

“It’s fine. I’ll go to the restroom.” She spoke, making sure to glance at Charles while sharing her location with a pretty smile on her face.

The laughter died out as she made her way through the crowd. The real work begins now.

All ladies and gentlemen around her were oblivious to the crime she would be committing; laughing and chatting in their high society la la land.

She remembered to sway a bit seeing as she should be a bit zoned out. She figured that Charles would be staring at her ass, she just hoped that Harry wouldn’t react and truthfully she doesn’t know why she assumed that.

Every corner of the Opera house is inked into her brain, having memorized its map. Yet, she can’t blow her cover so instead of walking straight to the restroom, she asks a waiter for directions.

She can see Charles staring from her periphery, eyeing her like a piece of candy.

Men, right?

Once she was inside the bathroom, she checked her purse quickly before Charles followed her. She didn’t have to think twice or doubt that he wouldn’t follow her trail like a puppy.

She took out what she needed, hid it discreetly, and glanced at her watch quickly. She’d give him approximately twenty seconds before he barged inside.

She fetched a few tissues and patted her dress, pretending to be busy with what Harry caused.

10 seconds left.

She loved the moments building up to her job, how she made them walk right into her trap—willingly.

The door to the women’s restroom flung open, revealing a way too confident Charles, walking in with a smug smile on his face.

“Oh—what are you doing here?” Poppy chuckled nervously, throwing the tissues away.

“Oh C’mon sweet face, don’t tell me you didn’t want me to follow you.” His Champagne glass was still in his hand as he advanced toward Poppy.

“I—I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” She moved a strand of hair from her face.

Men loved women who acted innocent. It gave them the impression of having the upper hand, the idea that they are more intelligent. Something to feed their inflated ego.

“I saw how you were looking, darling.” He sipped from his glass, leaning against the sink.

“I’m married—“

He laughed as if she just told him a funny joke. “I bet that loser can’t pleasure you as he should.” His voice was becoming more and more irritating with every second.

Her eye nearly twitched at what he spewed. She didn’t anticipate him insulting Harry, nor her response to it. Her hand gripped the sink till her knuckles were white.

Something boiled inside her at the mention of Harry. How dare he insult him and make fun of—

She realized what her brain was doing and swallowed down her throat. What the fuck?

“Ah, speechless eh? Looks like you haven’t got a taste of pleasure in a long time.” He scoffed, daring to get closer.

“Oh well, maybe…” She turned her face away when he became a few inches apart from her.

“I can show you a good time..” He brushed his knuckles against his cheeks.

Half of her focus was poured into his insult to Harry, and how it made her feel. Offended, Furious, Protective.

“You’re married…” She objected with a pout.

“Who cares? Bet you’re sweeter than her.” He scoffed, leaning in closer to her.

She fought the urge to scrunch her nose at his smell. Harry’s cologne was way better. It made her feel warm and most importantly it was familiar.

“You’re just flattering me.” She continued with the innocent girl act.

For the first time, she felt incredibly disgusted with a man. Well, they do disgust her in general—but they never got under her skin. She’s not sure if it’s his perfume, disloyalty to his wife, or his insult to Harry.

It’s most probably the latter, which transformed into some sort of anger towards herself. There was no reason for her to be affected by a stranger making fun of Harry. So why?

A sneaky glance at her watch indicated that it had been three minutes of back-and-forth “flirtation.” Poppy and Harry didn’t wear earpieces, certainly not to missions like this. They felt like it was for beginners and despite uncommon belief—it can be easily spotted.

Instead, they plan according to time. It was something that Poppy heavily relied on because she was never late. Fifteen minutes after Charles followed her, Harry would be waiting at their designated exit. But for now, he’s scanning the area for any other assassin. Charles’ disappearance can urge the hired assassin (if they exist) to come out of his or her hiding place.

She was certainly fed up with this douchebag. It was time for her to have a little bit of fun. Besides, she has ten minutes left, and the clock is ticking.

“Well then, I guess you should lock the door?” She bit her bottom lip earning his attention and compliance. He quickly sealed it shut and strolled to her like a predator.

She balanced the item she was holding between her left hip and the sink, paying attention to not lean in a lot to avoid pressing weight. She pulled Charles in by his tie and slowly unbuttoned his white button-up till a good amount of his skin was uncovered.

“Oh easy there, don’t get so excited—“ He barely got to finish his words. She decided that her ears had suffered enough.

It was barely a few moments of snatching the injection, and swiftly emptying it in his chest. So fast that he didn’t even notice until he felt the sharp sting of the needle on his skin.

Poppy offered him a smile, but not the same as the one she put on all night. No, not at all. This smile was sadistic, vengeful, and powerful. It reflected the real Poppy.

“What—“ He stepped back, hand clutching at his chest where the poison was spreading rapidly. He leaned his body against a stall door as she admired the look of disbelief on his face.

“Cat got your tongue?” She tsked, wrapping the injection in a tissue and placing it back in her purse.

Murder by poison was her favorite. It did the job and left no trails behind—not that her fingerprints would lead the police somewhere. After all, assassins are John Does.

“Inorganic Arsenic. Beautiful isn’t it?” She chatted with Charles who was on the floor, unable to react in any way. She pulled her cherry red lipstick from her purse and applied it to her lips.

“It was used to kill royalty and emperors, and was nicknamed ‘inheritance powder’ ” She rubbed at a smudge that touched the corners of her mouth.

“And do you know who used it a lot back then?”

The arsenic was now traveling through Charles’ bloodstream, she aimed at his chest purposely. She needed a quick death. He was coughing up some vomit, and his hand was clutching at his chest, indicating the sharp pain he was supposed to be feeling along with the rapid heartbeats.

“Assassins.” She smiled at him.

He shot her a look of hate—it was the most he could do, seeing as the large dose of the fatal poison and its symptoms stopped him from fighting back.

“Oh, you’ve got a little something over there.” She glanced at him through the mirror, pointing to the vomit coming out of his mouth.

“Don’t be so dramatic— I showed you mercy and chose arsenic instead of dimethylmercury.” She rolled her eyes and finished her last touches for her lips.

She closed her purse and took one last look at her lips before turning her attention to Charles. His dead poisoned body was flung on the stall door. She liked it when men stopped talking—or breathing.

She kneeled to his level and snatched his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll be taking that, thank you.”

Since he was still leaning—she brought one of her heels to his chest and pushed his body with her leg on the floor. She secured his phone inside the purse , and checked her watch.

Ten minutes had passed and she still had five to spare. The job was perfectly done as usual.

She didn’t worry about someone seeing her—or bumping into a woman because these socialites never let their husbands get away from their prying eyes.

She advanced towards the door to meet Harry at their designated exit. Until a loud band pierced her ears—someone was pushing at the door, and attempting to break in.

Harry is growing more and more impatient by the minute.

He’s quite tempered when triggered, but he was taught to tame it and use it to his advantage. He should’ve objected since she presented the plan to him—should’ve said no to her going alone.

Don’t even get him started on how that idiot was looking at her like she was a piece of meat. Harry wasn’t the best at controlling his facial expressions—and didn’t put an effort into changing that, because he liked his missions quick and fast. Bullet in, and assassin out.

Poppy loved orchestrating her plans down to the tiniest detail. Of course, she could be just like him and finish the job in 10-20 minutes, but she preferred her style.

His urge to protect her never went away, let alone now that she became his partner.

The glass in his hand almost shattered and cut him from his extremely tight grip. He saw how close the man was to her, and how she giggled for him even if it was fake.

It made his throat run dry and stimulated his thirst for blood. At some point, his ears were ringing and he physically held himself back from launching at the man and killing him with his bare hands.

He had to continue conversing with the other two men, which he did surprisingly. As soon as Poppy glanced at him, he stumbled toward her and was quick to wrap his arm around her.

He could tell that Charles thought ill of him and frankly, the feeling was mutual. Poppy’s plan was going smoothly, but when Charles followed her to the restroom—Harry saw red.

Everyone around him pissed him off and all he could think about was her. He excused himself from the men and walked around in the ballroom.

His eyes were trying to detect any sort of unusual pattern between the guests—something that may hint at an assassin.

Physically, he was present but mentally he was with Poppy. He knew her skills and abilities—but that didn’t stop him from worrying about her.

Was the target too close to her? Bothering her? Did she need help?

His mind kept pushing questions at him and urging him to find the answers but his role—

Nothing indicated suspicion at all. His eyes sneaked to every inch of every corner and doted on all the guests. No one was convincing enough for him.

He kept tapping his foot on the ground, gritted his teeth unconsciously, and had his ‘assassin’ facial expression on.

It had barely been 9 minutes—but he stormed away from the ballroom.

“Fuck this.” He muttered under his breath, not giving one fuck to anyone. Poppy was his priority.

If there was an assassin present, he’d kill them. If Henry and Alex didn’t like what he did, he’d kill them. If that douchebag was close to Poppy, he’d give him a real taste of death. Once he reached the women’s restroom, his hand was quick to grab the handle and twist it. But it was locked from the inside—

“Fuck.” He swiped his hand through his hair, and smashed his hand against the wall.

He wasted no time and began pushing the door with his body, his mind was running with all the possibilities. God help everyone if something happened to her.

Thud after thud, the wood started to crack. He didn’t mind the jolting pain he felt nor the bruising that would follow.

Instead of knocking it down, the door was opened on the other side by the one and only.

“What the fuck, Harry?!” He has never seen her this angry before, and she couldn’t believe the sight in front of her.

“Where is he—“ He stormed through the bathroom, and found the dead body on the ground.

“Did he touch you—“

“What in fuck’s sake do you think you’re doing?” She shouted, the anger was heavily prominent in her features and a vein along her neck popped.

“Excuse you? What if he hurt you?” He wasn’t being sarcastic, not in the slightest and it made her light up.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She shut the door to avoid unwanted situations. She knew that he would fuck up at some point but this? This was beyond stupidness and dumb mistakes.

“You can’t follow me. Your job was to watch the guests for five more minutes!” She was shouting in his face, her hands were shaking from anger and his facial expression wasn’t comforting.

“Well fuck them, I was worried about you—“

“You can’t worry me about me. I’m nobody!” That was his last strike. She couldn’t handle his weird antics anymore.

But she wasn’t nobody. Not at all.

“What are you doing?” He was breathing heavily in an attempt to calm down. He watched her open her purse and tear its fabric, before fetching a gun from inside.

“Covering us you dumb fuck.” They were both angry at each other, the tension was high and Pandora’s box was wide open.

Poppy aimed her gun at the fire alarm box and pulled the trigger. In a few seconds, the alarm was off, ringing through the building followed by screaming and loud shouting.

“Let’s go.” He grabbed her hand and opened the door, leading them away from the crowd.

He knew a short exit that he memorized while looking at the maps. Despite what she thought, he took his missions seriously and did his research.

Poppy’s gun was covered with her purse, she didn’t want to put it back inside . Though she struggled to not shoot him.

She could feel herself physically heating up, he fucked up their mission and spewed nonsense. Now, they have to take a different route to avoid killing someone who’s innocent.

He wasn’t supposed to follow her. In fact, she was done five minutes early which meant that he barely did his role. What guaranteed her that an assassin wasn’t following them right this instant?

“This way.” After lots of turns and doors, he led her through an exit that took them to the back of the building. No one noticed them or glanced their way, they were busy with themselves.

Even after they fled the building, and filled their nostrils with fresh air, Poppy still felt suffocated. She didn’t wait for him and stormed away, fast paced towards the hotel. She ignored his screaming, his pleading and focused on the road ahead.

It was an unforgettable scene for people passing by them, including the hotel workers. Harry was ordering her to stop and listen to him but she was out of sight and mind.

She didn’t want to think, didn’t want to face him or listen to his words that will charm her.

He ruined her mission, which never happened. Her ego was bruised, and her brain was throwing criticism at her. She had everything calculated so well, until he came along.

“I’m talking to you!” He grabbed her to catch her attention, just as they stepped inside her hotel room.

“I don’t want to hear you.” She shot daggers at him, before freeing her arm and walking away.

“Now I’m the bad guy because I was so fucking worried about you?” This was her first proper fight with him. He didn’t give her a chance for a fight ten years ago.

“First for all, cut it off with the worrying bullshit. Second of all, you went against the plan!” She shouted back, as she emptied her purse.

“What the fuck do you mean? Is it so hard to believe that I care about you?” His fists were clenched by his side, his shoulders were tense and he felt like the blood wasn’t pumping through his body properly.

“Are you even listening to yourself?” A few hair strands fell on her face due to her rapid movement around the room. She was frantically packing her suitcase.

“I know what I’m—“

“Did you care ten years ago?” She glared at him with pain in her eyes. He parted his lips, tried to conjure something—anything to say but he couldn’t.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She turned her attention back to packing. He didn’t understand why she wanted to leave so quickly. It’s not like they’re threatened—she did her job perfectly and the target was terminated. So what if he didn’t continue his job for a few more minutes? But it wasn’t his lack of professionalism that infuriated her, it was his emotions.

“It’s different, you don’t understand.” He shook his head, with the look of defeat painting his face.

“Of course you’d fucking say that! It seems like I never understand anything. Not at 18 and not at 28.” A sharp pain hit his chest the moment her voice wavered. Harsher than the coldness that he felt upon remembering what unfolded a decade ago.

“It was out of my hand—I couldn’t do anything.” The memory of what went down—his helplessness and escape pained him.

“What the fuck are you on about?” She rolled her eyes in irritation. Most of her clothes were wrinkled as she was quick to throw them in a suitcase.

“You didn’t believe what I wrote you, right?” He scoffed in disbelief. No matter what he did, the organization still left its print, and he would always hold the blame.

His conscience always taunted him and forced him to stay awake on countless of nights, simply rethinking the day he fled. Maybe he should’ve fought back, or even taken her with him. All he wanted was to keep her safe, and in the process he caused her to resent him.

“Are you trying to trick me or something?”

“I’m talking about the goddamn letter Poppy.” His replied in a low monotonous voice with his hands placed on his hips.

“What letter?” One of her shirts slipped from her hand and fell on the bed.

The silence in the room was bigger than the both of them. Harry felt paralyzed, unable to move but he could see the plead in her eyes begging for the closure she never got. All these years, he thought that her “hatred” stemmed from her after she read the letter, and decided how she would feel about it.

That she used the steps he left her so she could flee just like him. He waited for her to find him for years, and accepted her loathe for him once he saw her at a mission for the first time.

He learned how to love her from afar, because he knew she would never reciprocate the feelings back.

“What letter Harry.” He didn’t immediately register that she was now standing in front of him, barely a few inches apart.

She searched for something in his eyes that could give her a hint, buy all she could see was the sorrow and ache hidden behind his emerald irises. She knew that this was a complete turning point—it would either change her life for the better, or make it a living hell.

“I left you a letter that night—I explained what happened.” It took him a while to utter a full sentence. Who knew that the deadliest assassin was weak for her?

“What happened?” Despite clenching her muscles and digging crescent marks into her palm—she couldn’t help the tear that fell from her cheek.

His thumb was quick to catch it, like it was an innate reflex he had in him. His hand shivered upon contact with her skin. He never wanted to see her crying.

“They told me that if I don’t stay away from you, they’ll kill you.” He swallowed down his throat, with a thousand knives going through his body.

“I told you how to escape in that letter and where to find me.” His hand couldn’t contain the silent tears that fell. All this time, she loathed him silently and he didn’t even know.

“No—no.” She shook her head frantically, like it pained her to hear the truth.

“I’m not lying.” He laid his forehead against hers, picking up her tears with both of his hands.

“I—“ The emotions that hit her all at once tired her body. She had been living a lie for ten years now, with no one to tell her.

She always wondered how he was able to look her in the eye and act like everything was just peachy. She envied him actually—she wanted to forget just like him and act unaffected but she always remembered.

Is that why he always doted on her? Every single thing that he had done must have been out of hope while she believed that he simply wanted to piss her off.

“Please leave.” She closed her eyes as more tears fell into his palms.

“I can explain—“ He was quick to answer.

“Not now.” She shook her head in disagreement.

He pulled away reluctantly, before moving his hands away from her tear stained cheek. No one forced him to step back and leave her, she asked for it and it hurt ten times more.

He grabbed her hand and placed something in it. He closed her fist around it tightly, and spared one last glance to her pretty face. She noticed how his eyes were threatening to spill with tears. She never saw him cry before, not once.

He was out of the door in a few seconds, her legs were glued to the ground, unable to run after him and ask him everything she wanted to know. Instead, she opened her palm and glanced at what he gave her.

It was the lucky charm she made him. It was as new as the day she made it, the dried Poppy petals were untouched. Her body fell to the ground, tears staining the thin fabric of the bracelet.

Checkmate.

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[prolix-yuy]

Beautiful Release

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: You and Din have an agreement. Simple, clean, easy. But not this time.

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, IT'S PEGGING DIN TIME! Anal sex (m receiving), rough sex, sex toys, fingering (m receiving), handjob, frottage, blowjob, swallowing, cumshot, mentions of oral sex (f receiving), mild dubcon (Reader isn't aware of Din's mental state and stops the session to re-negotiate boundaries), painful sex, sex as self-flagellation, hurt/comfort.

Notes: Welcome to my addition to the Peg That Middle Aged Man Event 2024! This idea had been bumping around in my brain and this gave me the perfect excuse to write it. Thanks @wannab-urs for organizing this event, making the gorgeous banners, and giving me a chance to live my fantasies after S3 gave us the most delicious kneeling restrained Din image. I will never forget it, it's burned into my brain forever.

Set after S2 and before The Book of Boba Fett.

Cross-posted on AO3

He’s come to you before, but never like this.

Din always treats your encounters like serendipity, but from the first time you’ve known how far from the truth that is. He finds ways to drift into your path, tilting his helmet like he never expected you to be at this spaceport, which you prefer for its discretion, or in this cantina, which serves a hell of a barium fizz. The niceties always devolve into the silent request, which you never fail to fulfill.

But now, there’s a holomessage blinking on your control panel.

Send me your coordinates. Usual encoding.

It’s brisk, cold, mostly to protect you both, but even then something’s off. He’s never admitted to seeking you out. Something stirs deep in your stomach, consulting the encoding slug he gave you ages ago in case you ever needed him. Funny, the first time you’d use it would be because you think he needs you.

Your winding relationship with Din Djarin began at the business end of a blaster, but you can’t fault him for that. The ship you were flying then had all the hallmarks of a slaver vessel, but when he found your crew of rebel sympathizers he lowered his weapon. One escort and a few short-lived conversations later, and you’d forged a razor-thin alliance. 

Your paths wound their way across and through each other for over a year, and in that time Din warmed to you. He gave you his name, his allegiances, his contacts if needed. In return you forged documents and built jammers for his ramshackle ship. Mutually beneficial, and after a time pleasantly warm. His laugh always surprised you, a low chuckle when you turned a phrase just right on him. 

And the kid! The curious little gremlin that had been accompanying him more in recent times did help to smooth the rough spots. Grogu’s presence always brightened your days, brief moments of pure joy from his tireless antics. Din seemed to be ever the exasperated protector, but when he tucked Grogu into his arm his aura glowed. 

However, the times when Din “stumbled” upon you with seemingly no purpose had little to do with play dates or trades. Well, maybe only in the most euphemistic sense.

It was on a cargo run - cargo being more frightened people fleeing under the guise of your fake shipping business - that Din first encountered what would bring him back to you time and time again. There was a man among the stowaways who took an interest in you, the feeling mutual. He wound his way around like a lothcat in heat, and when you whispered how you might be able to pass the time he enthusiastically agreed. 

You weren’t much of an exhibitionist, but the ship wasn’t meant for privacy. So when Din happened upon you bending the man over a cargo crate, your strap slickly splitting him open as he moaned behind your clamped hand, you did feel some mild embarrassment. You weren’t sure how long he watched you thrust into the other man, but the little cough that alerted you to his presence made you turn and take him in.

He was clearly affected, hand gripping his belt as the other clenched by his side. Fascinating. The Mandalorian had surprises in store. 

The man garbled about sucking Din’s cock, letting the Mando cum on his face while you pounded his tight hole, but you stuck your fingers in his mouth and picked up your rhythm again. You’d met other Mandalorians in your travels, but Din’s particular religion was much stricter than most. He might take hefty offense if you assumed any of the armor could come off. Instead you let him watch without comment as your companion came all over the side of the cargo crate, soothing him through the aftershocks. As you cleaned him up you noticed your audience fled, and you determined never to speak of this. 

It would take two months for Din to come to you. 

“People like this?” he asked when you showed him your strap and assortment of attachments. You shrugged, picking out the one you secretly thought he’d enjoy.

“Some do, some don’t. It’s just one of many things I like,” you said, leaning against your bedroom wall as he filled the small space with restless energy. “I’m sure you like plenty of things too.”

There it was. The little roll of the shoulders and flex of a hand that told you Din wasn’t as inexperienced as some would believe. 

“Never tried something like this,” he mumbled, and you smiled under the knowledge that he was nervous. Din Djarin, feared throughout the galaxy, and dearer friend than you ever expected, had something he wanted and didn't know how to ask for.

“Would you like to try it?” you said, taking the last barrier away. He tilted the helmet down, fingers restless on his hip. 

“Yes.”

That first night you didn’t fuck him, though by the end he was so close to begging you almost came from the sound. Instead you opened him up with your fingers, got him used to the feeling of fullness and how to connect it to pleasure, while he laid on your bed and gripped the sheets so hard you thought he’d rip them. His pants bunched across his thighs, you got to admire the cords of muscle rippling as you made him shake and choke. His cock, velvety and weeping on his stomach, made your mouth water, but you only offered to suck it when he was just on the precipice. Your hot mouth wrapping around his head, two clever fingers stroking his prostate, tipped him over into bliss as he shouted his completion. Pride swelled in your chest at his belabored breath, chestplate heaving and thighs quivering on either side of your head. 

When you returned from cleaning up he was already dressed again, despite your protests to wait and let you ease him down from this new experience. He thanked you, awkwardly, and left quickly. Lying in the same bed that night, still smelling of him, you reasoned with yourself. He probably had a lot of feelings to sort out, both around his pleasure and the fact that you gave it to him. You hoped he trusted you enough to know you’d be discreet. And, as your fingers slid into your underwear, you hoped he’d seek you out again.

It was only a week before you were at the same spaceport again, his heavy boots clanking up your ramp. You tried to hide your own nerves, but when Din stood before you and let the visor drag up and down your body, a delicious grin crept onto your face.

“Ready to try more?”

Indeed he was.

He enters your ship without preamble, a brief flit of concern clouding your features at how quickly he disarmed your security measures. You weren’t expecting him for another hour. He must have jumped to get to you. 

It’s thrilling, to know the Mandalorian’s need is so great. 

But when he enters and closes the door behind him, the energy is…off. Not seductive, teasing, edged like the other times. No, he’s holding his body so tight and so still. There’s nothing aggressive in it, but you glimpse why his enemies fear him. Without a face, and with so much obscuring the flesh beneath, you’re not sure when he’ll strike. 

He catches you rummaging through your drawer, the strap in your hand. Assessing, you give him a gentler smile than usual, hands visible, softening your stance.

“Hello, Din.”

He nods, quickly, unbuckling his belt and yanking his cape free. Both fall to the floor carelessly. You press on.

“How about you tell me what you want?” you say, watching him carefully as he opens his pants plaquet. The mouthwatering strip of skin you covet peeks from beneath his top.

“Just need…need this,” he says, and while naturally a man of few words you’d taught him to be more vocal in this respect. 

“Okay, Din. How about you kneel on the bed and we start there?” Your voice lowers into a soothing register, reaching for his arm. 

“No,” he almost shouts, startling your hand back. He recovers. “No, I want…” You can practically hear him licking his lips on a sigh, slowing himself down. “Can you sit against the headboard?”

Brows raised, you nod. He’s never ridden you before, always preferring to let you take him from behind or on his back. Pulling the strap-on over your leggings, you settle against the headboard and wait for him. He doesn’t take long, kneeling on the bed briefly in contemplation before swinging over your lap. Shucking his pants half down his legs, you can’t resist a giggle.

“Might be better to take them off,” you tease, letting your hands lay featherlight on his hips. A huff crackles through the vocoder but he doesn’t move to disrobe further. 

“I’ll open you up a bit first,” you say, one hand reaching for lube while the other snakes its way to his hole. You encounter surprising slickness, but he’s nowhere as warmed up as you get him.

“S’okay, I took care of it,” he mumbles, both hands coming up to grip the headboard above your head. Slicking lube on the dildo, you move to finger him enough to ease your way in.

“Just a little more…”

“I’m fine.”

The curt retort snaps your face to the helmet, now more of a cowled chin and shining halo of beskar above your head. There’s something bubbling uncomfortably under the surface, something you feel the need to drag out by the scruff of the neck, but it’s Din. You never talk feelings with Din. Frankly, you barely talk at all during, or after, any of your nights together.

“Sorry,” he breathes, forcing relaxation. “I’m ready. Please.”

Your eyes linger for a moment longer, then you circle the base of your cock in waiting.

He descends slowly, gritted breaths and sharp blasts of air from his nose echoing above you. You watch the strain in his thighs as he sinks and sinks, his cock only half-hard against his stomach. Leaving a hand on one hip, you stroke soothing paths up and down his lower back, watching for discomfort. Instead he’s marble around you, coiled, body not releasing as usual. Normally when you fuck him he dissolves, rolling his hips back onto you and choking out praises of how good you feel.

None of that comes. He meets the base of your cock and immediately slides back up at an almost punishing pace. He can’t be that acclimated yet, and his pained hisses and grunts only make that more apparent. 

“Din, slow down,” you request, hands firmer on his hips to try and even his pace. If he heard you he says nothing, now slamming his hips down on your cock. “Din,” you beseech again, nails starting to dig in. His grunts grow to growls, something from the heat of battle, your headboard creaking from his crushing grip. 

Clarity overtakes you, the shudder of his stomach and forceful downstrokes only getting more intense. There wasn’t pleasure in this. Something is eating up Din inside and he’s trying to fuck it out of himself. And he’s using you to do that.

“Din Djarin, STOP.”

The echo of your voice, strong and steely, finally brings Din to a stop with your cock buried deep in his ass. His chest heaves in front of you, limbs quivering from the exertion, but he’s as still as he can be. Gripping his chestplate, you push him back enough to look him in the visor, your anger righteously reflected back.

“You don’t punish yourself with my cock,” you order, teeth clenched and seething. “Do you think so little of me, that I’d just let you rip yourself to shreds without a word?” 

Din freezes, but this time you know it’s shame. If you were in a clearer headspace you might have tried reassurance, or asked him to lay beside you and talk about what’s destroying him, but you’re just too upset. 

“Is that all you come to me for?” you spit out, knuckles aching from gripping his armor. He’s silent for long enough that you consider throwing him out before he speaks.

“Something happened. And I just want to…be empty. To not think about it every moment.” He leans forward and your visage warps as he presses his forehead to the crown of your head. The anger thrums but starts to ebb as he folds around you. “I didn’t know where else to go. You’ve always taken care of me. More than I deserve.”

The sadness in his voice is palpable, and even with your mouth still sour from his deception you find the compassion to wrap your arms around his middle. The chestplate presses into your cheek, a metronome for Din’s slowing breaths. 

“If you have any care in your heart for me, don’t ever do that again,” you grit out. Din’s breath catches. 

“I care for you,” he says, and a door in your heart you never realized was cracked widens for Din’s admission. 

“I care for you too, you karking asshole, which is why I want you to say something instead of trying to hate fuck your feelings out.”

Din’s chest begins to shake again, but you’re sure it’s laughter this time. You manage a giggle of your own, letting him lean back and look at you again. The motion shifts your cock in him, and his sharp sigh arches your brow.

“If you wanted to forget, you could have just told me,” you say, rolling your hips sensuously up into his clenching hole. Din’s head drops back, grip tightening on the headboard again as you grind into him.

“Please,” he begs, so soft and vulnerable you can’t help but give him what he needs. 

Slowly you press up into him, guiding his hips to rock on your cock. You love the feel of his ass in your hands, well muscled and perfect for grabbing, manhandling him just enough to show he can let go. He follows your direction reluctantly at first, but as you plant your feet and start thrusting with more range he loosens. You can feel it in his arms, holding on to the headboard for dear life, and the building rhythm of his hips meeting yours. For a man whose life is violence, you never want to bring that into your sessions. But a light swat on one asscheek pulls the most delicious moan from deep in his chest.

“Fuck,” he groans, bearing down on you even more. Tilting your hips, you arch his back enough that you’re sure to hit his prostate on the next thrust. 

“Maker!”

There it is.

“Close your eyes,” you whisper. Waiting a moment, you zero in on that perfect spot inside him and hit it with every one of your thrusts. “Do you feel that? Feel how good I’m fucking you?”

“Yes, fuck,” Din curses, one hand flitting down to squeeze the base of his cock. He’s at full attention now, head bobbing against your stomach. You swell with pride that he’s having to stave off his orgasm so quickly, but you’ll be the one to make those decisions now. 

“All I want you to think about is how good you feel,” you purr, tugging his hand away and replacing it with your own. You long for his skin against yours, so you pull up your shirt to skim the head of his cock against your soft belly. He chokes, stuttering away but he’s trapped between your hand and thighs.

“Wait, Maker, I’ll cum if you…” he garbles, but his body keeps meeting your grinds. You shush him gently, stroking from base to tip and smearing precum over the head. 

“You will, but only when I let you. You know I’ll make it good for you, make nothing but this pleasure you’re feeling fill that head of yours.” His rapid nod almost knocks you in the head with the beskar, but he manages to tuck into your neck instead. The helmet is a shocking cool against your skin, but the act of burrowing into you must be rewarded. Bringing your arms around him, you press along the length of his body, trapping his cock between.

“I’m gonna pound into this tight ass until you cum all over us. You like that?” The wail Din lets out shoots heat to your cunt, wishing more than anything that you’d opted for a toy that gave you a little stimulation too. Instead you hammer fast and hard, barely pulling out. Your hips and thighs burn with exertion at his bulk on top of you, but he’s frantically bouncing back and rutting his cock into the wet mess your bodies make. 

“Don’t stop,” he gasps, and you’re not sure if it’s the vocoder but you think his voice sounds watery. “Please, cyar’ika, don’t stop.”

Cupping the back of his neck, damp with sweat, you whisper, “I’ve got you.”

With a handful of final pumps you’re coated in his cum, sliding around your belly as he seizes over and over. Pressing deep, you hold strong against his shuddering body as he finishes. Each weakening thrust draws him down on you, heavier and loose-limbed. 

The armor makes it hard to find the soft spots, so you take to kneading the back of his neck and palming his spine. Before his last aftershock, you urge him higher on his knees so you can slip your cock out - slowly, so as not to shock his jellying body. Easing him down, you hold his head in the crook of your neck and settle him on your lap. His hands slide down from the headboard to your shoulders. 

Then you hear it. A tiny sniff, then another. You can’t pretend you didn’t notice them so close to your ear. So you gather the broad man in your arms and hold him. His hands don’t know where to rest, finally winding loosely around your lower back.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” you tell him again, and the sniffing starts to recede. His body, however, slumps against yours, and it takes all of your strength not to start giggling.

You fucked the Mandalorian right to sleep. Bravo to you.

When Din finally stirs, a deep rumble in his throat, it’s been almost an hour. Your toes are half numb and you’re dying to shift into any other position, but much like a lothcat falling asleep on your lap, you couldn’t bear to move Din. Especially when he started snoring, one of the most endearing and hilarious sounds you’d ever heard him make. 

In the time he slept you wondered what happened. What terrible thing hollowed him out and haunts him. Something keeps him up at night, if the depth of his sleep is any indication. Recent, possibly. Traumatic.

Your breath caught in your throat. If something happened to Grogu you know he would have told you. You ask after him all the time, teasing that you’ll be his Auntie (Din always says he has plenty of them across the galaxy). 

Had you seen the Razor Crest fly up? Where was that old bird anyway?

What happened in the time since Din last saw you?

The cycle of possibilities always ends the same. Maybe he cares for you in some way, but not enough for you to ask. No matter how much you want to.

A shift on your lap alerts you to Din waking, kneading his shoulders and neck lightly to alert him to your presence. He’s never slept with you before, but it wouldn’t surprise you to learn that he’s quick to draw at unexpected circumstances. Of which this one definitely is.

“What…” Din croaks, and if not for the helmet you would have offered him water. 

“It’s okay, you’re on my ship. You’re okay.” 

It takes Din another minute to realize what’s happened. Him, half naked on your lap with your strap pressing against his ass. You, covered in drying cum beneath him. In a flash he’s swinging his leg off your lap, attempting to stand but obviously they’ve gone as numb as yours because he stumbles and crashes out of sight. 

“Oh kriff, are you…?” you start to ask, but as quick as he’s out of sight he pops back up again, tugging up his pants and tucking himself away.

“Sorry, that was…I didn’t mean to…do that.” 

All of the heaviness and anger and lust fizzles away to laughter as you try to suppress the ridiculousness of the moment. After a moment of indigent head tilting Din’s shoulder also shake, chuckles fuzzing out of the vocoder. 

“Oh Maker, what an understatement that is,” you sigh, wiping your stomach with the edge of your bedsheets. Din visibly cringes, hands on his hips.

“Sorry for the mess,” he apologizes, but you wave it off.

“I’ve had much worse, believe me,” you shoot back. Clean enough, you sit on the edge of the bed and look up at the inscrutable man. 

“Want to talk about it?”

Din’s stance shifts, helmet tipping down for a moment before coming back to your face.

“...Not yet.”

You hum and nod. “Well, you know how to find me if you do.”

Din nods. “Thank you.”

As he picks up his effects you shimmy off the harness at the foot of the bed, mentally ticking through the steps to clean everything. Din watches you set it down, stilling until your eyes come back to him.

“It gives you pleasure as well?” he asks, which raises one of your eyebrows.

“I mean, about as much as rhythmically hitting your hips against someone can do.” His posture changes into something hard to decipher, so you continue. “I’ve got a few that do more for me, but it depends on the person I’m with. Comfort, boundaries. As you’re well aware.” You gesture to the armor, his chin tucking down to look at it.

“So you’ve never cum with me?” he asks, and a sudden feverish heat blooms under your skin. Din has a sex appeal you appreciate, but have never acted on beyond what he’s asked for. Now, something’s changed so dizzyingly fast you’re scrambling.

“Well, you’re pretty spent after our sessions. And you leave quickly. I don’t ask for more than you can give.”

Din takes a step towards you, putting his belt and cloak back down.

“What do you ask of other people you fuck?”

Your heart hammers in your chest. How can he turn the tables so quickly and spectacularly? Trying to gain the upper hand, you pull a confident face on and speak as breezily as possible.

“Most can’t get it up twice after I fuck them within an inch of their life, so fingers, tongues, toys, any and all of the above are excellent ways to repay the favor.”

He’s even closer now, and the facade is barely holding up. It’s like the vulnerability he showed you can’t possibly be returned.

“You’ve never asked me,” he says, and you can’t believe there’s a note of regret in his voice. The bed hits the back of your legs, and you steady your voice even though those words make your pussy throb.

“I didn’t think it was allowed.” Your voice drops low as Din steps into your space. 

“Difficult, but not forbidden.” Din’s hands come to your shoulders. “Sit down, please.”

Your knees fold so fast you bounce on the bed, looking up at him. He joins you on one knee, hands coming to rest on your thighs.

“I broke my Creed. I would do it again, for the exact same reason, but now that makes me an apostate.” His hands come to the helmet, thumbs tucking underneath the lip.

“Din, what happened?”

He pauses, and you swear you can feel his gaze through that smoky visor. 

“Close your eyes.”

Darkness surrounds you, then a hiss and a thunk. 

Then the voice of a man you care for, unfiltered and bare.

“I’m not ready for anyone to see my face. But I want this, with you. If you can forgive me.”

You could be dreaming still. It would make just as much sense.

“I forgive you, Din. But just this once,” you sneak in at the end just to hear how melodic his laugh sounds. Then his hand splays over your stomach and urges you to lie back.

“I hope you don’t mind teaching me this. I don’t have much experience,” he says, fire licking through your body as he tugs your leggings and underwear off.

“Don’t worry, you’re a quick learner,” you say breathily.

And when he finally kisses you, sweet with your musk on his tongue and your orgasm dripping from his fingers, you teach him how to do that as well.

END

"I need some distraction Oh a beautiful release Memories seep from my veins Let me be empty Oh and weightless and maybe I'll find some peace tonight.

Sarah McLachlan, Angel (yeah I know I used the sad dog song)

[scientia-rex]

I’m going to write something heartbreakingly beautiful and incisive about neurodiversity one of these days. Not today. But on a day of some kind. Because the fundamental human urge to commit taxonomy, to categorize and split and parse, is useful in some situations and utterly counterproductive in others. And the same way we weaken our community when we attempt to label every flavor of queerness under some overarching umbrella like genera of shrubs, we weaken ourselves when we insist on seeing only a spectrum of autism disorders instead of the weird, wild, wonderful variety of human thought. Normal is a suggestion at most, like the vasculature of the Circle of Willis at the base of the human brain; the layout of vessels we’re taught in Anatomy are only true for 30% of the population, because that’s the most common layout—the rest of us are all mutants in our own small, uncommon ways.

We need to love ourselves. We need to see how we think and love ourselves for it whether it’s “useful” or not. It is my brain. The only criteria for whether I’m happy is whether I’m happy. No one else can look at my life from outside and assign me happiness based on whether I am conforming to a breed standard.

[arueternity]

How the eepy boys react to their fem s/o that tells them they want to be breeded?? 🥴 obviously nsfw allowed. Thanks in advance 🫶🏼

OOhh So Sorry it took me so long to finish, ended up writing a lot more than I originally wanted too. I hope you enjoy! Warnings/Tags: Vessels aren't human, Breeding, Spanking, Penis in vagina, Trans character, Knotting dildos, Knotting, Overstimulation, Vaginal fingering, Fingerfucking, Breeding kink, Squirting, Rutting, Mating cycles/in heat, Nipple play, Primal play, Chasing during sex, dom/sub, Subby III, Switching, Slapping, Light impact play, Disobeying orders, bratting, Slight pregnancy kink

EVERYTHING IS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Vessel

As soon as the words leave her mouth, it's like Sleep had blessed him.

“Ves can you breed me? Please?”

The primal urge inside of him unlocks and he's slowly stalking to her, eyes just full of lust and need.

God she better be prepared to have herself stuffed and used.

Keep in mind, these boys aren’t human, they’ve got a little extra something.

“Repeat what you just said to me…” Vessel speaks as he slowly corners her against the fall, “I need to hear it from that beautiful mouth again.” As he backs her into a corner, her eyes go wide with a small bit of surprise and fear. “Can you breed me..?” She questions and cringes at her cracking voice. The male chuckles and slowly wraps his hand around her throat in a comforting form. “Yeah I will, stuff your cunt so full of me you’re bound to get pregnant.” The hand slowly tightens, her own hands wrapping around his wrist, and a soft pleading whimper falls from her mouth. It was the second time the woman before him had sent him off today. 

Vessel leaned down and ghosted his lips against her jaw, peppering gentle kisses up to her ear before chuckling out, “Strip for me, show me what I’ll be claiming with my cum” He moves back allowing her to remove the clothes keeping him from touching her. She moves slowly, carefully as though giving the poor male a display of her body. He smiles, soft fangs catching her attention as they have many times before. He lets out a soft groan at the sight before him, ready to consume the woman in front of him. 

“Perfect..” Vessel mumbles while carefully turning her so her ass is pressed against his clothed cock. She shivers at the feeling of his arousal against her, aching for breeding. She pushes back against him one last time before slowly bending over and spreading her legs, presenting herself to him while using the wall as support. 

“Ves come on... Use me, breed me, fuck me!” She whines, tired of the slow pace the vessel had set. 

He chuckles softly, unzipping and pushing his pants and underwear down, cock on full display resting against the curve of her ass. “So needy for me pet…” Vessel grinds forward, feeling the smoothness of her skin against his throbbing cock. His hands slowly moved to grip her hips, pulling her back against him. Her soft whine leered him further into the fog of his sex-ridden brain. He sighed out, trying to keep his composure and not ravage her at that exact moment, wanting to prolong the experience. “If you don’t hurry the fuck up, I’m going to one of the others…!” She taunted, trying to draw the male into the illusion of giving her what she wants. Instead, she received a slap to the right side of her ass, a stinging burn the size of Vessel’s palm. He chuckles softly, ignoring her and pulling himself back away from her enough that she panics softly, “Oh then go, I just won’t touch you again got it pet?” He rubs his tip up and down her slit, staring into her eyes, challenging her to say something disobedient again. When she doesn’t, he slowly pushes the head of his cock into her cunt. It sucks him in, the wetness spreading across his shaft as he quickly pushes in, not giving her time to adjust. “Bad pets get used however I feel.” She moans loudly at his words, head leaning against the wall, arms supporting her at the quick onslaught of thrust. His pace fast, pounding her and using her tiny tight cunt however he saw fit. Vessel’s cock shaped and molded her wetness to the shape of it, hugging him perfectly. Her mewls and fucked out whimpers were proof of just how good it felt to be used by him. The woman’s mouth agape, drool softly falling with every heavy thrust of Vessel’s hips. The slapping sound of their skin connecting grew louder as the tightness of her cunt grew.  Her face formed into a quickly fucked out mess of drool and giggles. “Vesss I wanna cum pleassee” she slurs down, hips fucking back against his.

“Aw, the disobedient girl wants to cum? Before me?” He slowed his hips, watching as she whines and squirms to get the pace back up to speed, “After you said that to me? You cum I’m not stopping. Got it?”

She nods quickly, quickly reaching down to play with her clit, orgasm already ready to hit the peak. Pleasure washes over her as Vessel picks the pace back up, angling his thrusts to hit the perfect spot that leaves her cunt clenching tightly. He chuckles softly and leans down close to her ear, nipping and licking at it slowly. “Cum for me.”

His voice knocks the orgasm right out of her, her body tensing up and shaking with the pleasure of his cock still ramming into her. Her moans so loud they echo alerting everyone in the house of their activities. His thrusts breaking her moans up and turning them into pathetic little pants of his name, “Vessel Vessel Vessel”

The male groans softly, the wet heat gripping and sucking him in, attempting to milk his cock for all his worth. Vessel knocks her feet to spread them more, rutting into her overstimulated cunt. Her moans mixing in with his, soft whines as he continues to abuse her g spot.

“You want my kids? Want my seed?” He thrusts, emphasizing every. Single. Word. with his punishing movements. She whines mind broken, only wanting whatever Vessel would give her. “Fucking take them then. Don’t spill a fucking drop.”

He leans his head down, the forehead of his mask pressed in between her shoulder blades. Vessel groans and growls, feeling the twitching of his cock buried deep inside her. His cum flooding her cunt before his knot begins to swell and stop the overflow.

“Thank you Sir…”

II

It's kind of a shocker to II at first, he’ll just stand there and then slowly nod like he understands.

My II is trans so he just kinda points between himself and her with a questioning look

Shrugs and then makes sure she completely understands that he can breed her, but she won’t get pregnant

Bonus of this, she gets to pick out the size of the squirting/cumming dildo

II is the type to make her come at least 2 times before breeding as well

II looks down only half-amused at the woman underneath him, tired eyes tracing the movement of his fingers pumping in and out of her wet cunt. “One more at least... Then I can fuck you yeah?” He mumbles out, barely heard over the sweet sounds of her moans. Her body tenses up, ready to release the second orgasm of the night.

“Oh fuck fuck, II..!” she moans out, the tension finally releasing as she cums on his fingers, coating them with her sweet wetness. Not only had his fingers been a target of her releasing but as had everything, soaking II and the bed but with her squirt.

The male chuckled and slowly pulled his fingers from her quivering cunt as his partner whined with overstimulation. “Can’t tap out now love, still gotta fill you remember?”

She looked at him through cloudy pleasure-filled eyes and nods as best as she can. II bends down and kisses her clit one last time before standing up and stretching from the straining position. Her eyes gladly soak in the sight of her mate, his own arousal throbbing and slick with his wetness. She moans softly at the sight of her partner’s ass, watching as he turns to grab the harness and cumming dildo. “Hey babes, still with me?” He questions his girlfriend as he adjusts the straps comfortably. She smiles and hums happily, reaching out with grabby hands and open legs. “Very…”

II chuckles and crawls in between her legs, gently nudging the tip against her clit. She softly moans and shifts her hips aching for more even after being overstimulated.

“Yeah that’s my girl…” He hums softly into her ear, carefully angling his tip to her leaking hole, “Gonna take me so well, will breed you and make you have my babies.”

She keens, back arching at the stretch, everything feeling more pleasurable than before. II hushes her with gently “sh sh sh” in an attempt to not wake the others. His lover’s eyes roll back once he is fully seated in, the knot kissing at her entrance begging to be let in.

He laughs softly at her, cooing at her pleasure, “Yeah taking me perfectly baby girl.”

The pace began slow, II pulling his hips in and out and grinding forward to rub against her clit. The woman underneath him mewled out at the feeling, enjoying the slow push and clit attention. Oh but it wasn’t enough, she needed more, needed him to be buried so deep into her.

She whines, clawing at his forearms, clinging leaving deep red scratches and moon shapes in her awake. “Mo-more please!” Needing more but not sure of exactly what she wanted. II smiles sadistically and angles his hips perfectly into the patch of sensitive nerves inside of her, Her screams of pleasure made him flinch and cover her mouth quickly, blocking her sounds from the others. “Shut up… We don’t need the others coming in here and taking you from me do we?”

At his words, his mate’s cunt clenched and sucked him in deeper, the wet quenching growing louder as he pounds into her wet cunt. “Oh you like that idea? Liked the idea of Vessel coming in? Maybe IV? III? Huh?” 

Each name II spouted off, he thrust harder, slipping a little bit of the knot deeper into her warm heat. He shakes his head in fake disappointment and moves his hand covering her mouth to his own, licking his thumb with a slurry look in his eyes. She whines louder, moving her hands to her nipples, roughly pinching and playing with them while watching her lover. He scoffs at the action and moves his thumb to her clit, rubbing at the same fast rough tempo of his thrust, “Since you wanna be a slut I can treat you like one and make you cum on my knot.” Her legs wrap around his waist, locking him from moving to far, II’s thumb working over her clit pushing her deeper and closer to the third orgasm of the night. “Yes Yes! Gimme your knot! II please!” She screams at the top of her lungs, pleasure washing her like a thick blanket.

II smiles and leans down grabbing the syringe and places thick kisses against his lover’s neck. “Take my knot baby…”

He sinks his teeth into the side of her neck triggering her orgasm to crash over her with suddenness. As he sinks his teeth in, at the same time he pushed his knot in, floating her cunt with the sticky white liquid cum. “Thank you thank you! Gimme your babies yes!” She hisses out, her whole body tensioning as the waves of pleasure continue and are prolonged by the filling.

“It's all yours darling, all yours…”

III

He’ll slowly crouch down/get on her level and look her in the eyes

Boy is confused as to why she’d wanna be bred, but after some explaining he’s all for it

It’ll start off gentle, soft playful kisses to get her in the mood till one of them is desperate enough to push the other. 

Iii is whiny with want to be inside of her. Wants to be as close to her as possible. 

“Please let me... I need to breed you... sugar please..”

His soft pleading eyes stare into hers with so much need and lust. A gentle whine leaves his eyes as he pushes his hips closer to hers seeking out the warmth he craves. A moan tumbles from her mouth, mixed with teasing laughter at the poor male, “III honey, calm down you need to take my pants off.” The taller huffs, tail flicking with irritation at his lover’s statement. The small hunger need to consume his partner slowly grows as he can partially already feel the wet heat calling for him.

Careful but hastily III takes the offending material from her thighs, gently moving his fingers against her skin as he moves downwards. Soft goosebumps litter her skin, a noise of encouragement from her that has the male leaking pre. He hadn’t known just how much he craved filling her over and over again till she had offered her the sweet words, “Breed me.”

She coos at him condescendingly, a fake form of comfort while knowing III is holding himself back from devouring her. “Come on, you can do it… Doing so fucking great baby.” The smirk present on her lips leaving him even more frustrated than the aggregating material of his pants. 

He attempts to take them off, to free his cock to present it to her, but the laughter from watching him struggle causes him to freeze. III whines loudly, hand still attempting to push down his waistband, eyes meeting hers with more need than ever.

She sighs and gives in to helping the needy boy remove his clothes, starting with his shirt. She starts by slowly running her hands up his stomach, drawing out a shiver and a sigh from him, and then moves to completely pull it off. She continues the teasing till they’re both fully undressed laying against the cool bedsheets.

 “Can I have you now,” He mumbles out softly while going back to rutting against her cunt, “Been good, so good.”

At the breathy “yes” III grips himself and steadies the tip at the wet entrance of her cunt. “Don’t tease III..” She breathes out, thrusting her hips downwards, chasing the pleasure that is being teased. He grunts at her actions and pushes into her wetness. They both moan at the shared pleasure, hers soft and breathy while III’s more growly and deep.

The vessel had to pause, allowing his partner’s body to slowly stretch around him. The pleasurable burn drives her mad, her eyes rolling back, legs trembling from keeping them stretched. Cunt tightening up around the cock slowly forcing its way into its core. III closes his eyes, a soft whine being pulled from his throat at the feeling of his lover tightening around him. “Relax… You’re hugging me so tightly..” The bassist’s rough hands moved to her hips, rubbing small soothing circles to relax her. “Take a deep breath…” She nods, face tight before taking a deep breath and allowing her body to slowly relax. III leans his head down, resting his forehead against hers before slowly pushing in the rest of the way, bottoming out inside of her cunt. The gentle moan that leaves his mouth causing her to release another wave of wetness, welcoming him to move.

“Move love… I’m okay now,” she smiles up at him, rubbing her hands up and down his back in an encouraging motion. “Need to feel you filling me up okay?” He whines out a soft “mhm” before pulling his hips back, thrusting at a soft slow pace, allowing both of them to enjoy the pleasure of one another. The squelching of her cunt filling the room alongside the soft panting of the vessel above her. She reaches out, clawing at his back, pulling him closer to her. Her body needing to be filled by the thick throbbing cock inside of her. III yelps softly, hips pushing deeper then before causing a loud moan to be ripped out of his lover’s mouth. “Fuck! Yes deeper! III please give it to me!”  She moans out, eyes rolling back from the pleasure of the male going deeper inside of her. Through the mask, III bites his lip holding back the urge to push in his slowly growing knot. “Sugar, if  you keep clawing me I will knot you early…” She giggles through her moans, the sound being punched out of her through the thrust.

The woman under the vessel purposely clenches around the thrusting cock inside of her, the throbbing mess of pre slowly being pulled deeper inside of her. III curses under his breath and sits up on his knees, pulling her hips to meet his now harsh thrust.

“Fuck fuck fuck babe I need to breed pleeassee!” He whines out to his mate who was squirming from the new onslaught of thrust. The tip of his cock hitting the perfect spot inside of her, kissing at her vercix as though it was meant to be there. She nods, a fucked out smile on her lips, everything feeling full and fuzzy at the feeling of the knot attempting to breach her tight cunt. “Give it to me you- Ah!..” She attempts, a whiny voice that held little dominance despite the words. The vessel pushes his knot into the warm wet heat of her cunt, pouring his seed into her, filling her up just as she had asked. “Fuck Oh shit its so good~” He moans, cock jerking with every rope of cum that drenched her insides.  The feeling of being bred, the warmth of his cum, and the twitching sent her over the edge. Cunt clenching and unclenching, begging for the seed of the male to take.

“Ahh oh fuck I hope it takes, I wanna see you round with my babies…”

IV

Let's just put this out there, primal kink. He has a huge primal kink.

As soon as the words, “IV can you breed me,” leave her mouth, its over.

He’ll hold eye contact and tell her to run, gives her a headstart.

Of course once he catches her, he’s claiming his prize

Forcing her onto the ground and ripping off her bottoms, making her present her cunt to him

He’s feral for it, needs to stuff her full over and over again.

The air is pushed out of her, his hands between her shoulder blades forcing her into the ground underneath her. Her body trembles as her attempts to suck in the sweet taste of oxygen fail. IV hums pleased at the action of his lover, seeing her at his mercy, his for the taking. 

“IV… please!” She whines out, body yearning for the man above her. He chuckles softly to himself and grinds his hips into her behind, “You want to be bred… You wanna take my seed in the name of Sleep?” He doesn’t even let her finish her pathetic chants of “yes yes yesyesyes!” before ripping her bottoms apart just enough for her weeping slit to be exposed.

IV growls deep in his chest, the sight before him enticing him more than ever. Her trembling body, covered in a light layer of dirt, the pathetic look in her eyes, not forgetting the torn clothes showing what he is about to claim. 

He grabs a hand full of her ass, spreading it apart before moving down face to face with her dripping cunt. She tensed up confused by the actions of the male, entrance clinching and unclinching with readiness. 

A deep purr is heard from his chest, his nose inching closer and closer to the delicious smell of her cunt. “Gonna eat this to make you ready for my knot…” 

She moans softly at his words, allowing herself to be moved into the perfect position for the vessel to eat her from behind. His tongue quickly swipes up the thick drool of her arousal,  moaning at the taste of her readiness for him. His eyes roll back into his skull, the need for his lover’s taste growing stronger at the teasing taste. Said lover giggles softly, pushing her hips back, another tease to entice the male. She only stops when she feels his lips wrapping around her clit.

IV forms a tight sucking seal around her Clit, sucking and flicking his tongue, tasting the sweet flavor of his lover’s breedable cunt. She moans loudly, rubbing her face into the grass underneath her as a form of pleasurable escape. The male chuckles before moving his fingers into her cunt, slowly pushing one finger in. She whines, everything beginning to feel extra sensitive to the touch of the vessel. 

IV pulls back away from her clit, pushing his tongue inside beside his fingers, drinking her as though she is the greatest nectar to the world. “IV IV Fucckk…” She moans out, toes curling ha she reaches back to push the vessel closer to her wetness. He groans, pulling his fingers away to bury his face deeper into the wet drool of her arousal. 

A soft growl of frustration pulls from his throat, angry with the mask getting in the way of wanting to devour his lover. “Fucking hell, Just need to…” He cuts himself off, throwing the mask away and burying his tongue deeper into her cunt. She yelps out in surprise and moans loudly at the feeling of the wet muscle thrusting in and out of her cunt. 

Once he is thoroughly satisfied and believes she is wet enough to take his cock and knot, IV pulls away staring down at his lover in amusement and slight awe. He had wrecked her into a flushed mess of pants and moans. Her face, wet with tears and drool, yet he hadn’t even begun to fuck her yet, cock still aching and twitching in his pants for her. IV softly slaps her ass and pulls her further into a presenting breeding-style position, angling her back into a beautiful arch with her ass pressed heavily against his shaft. “Please… breed me IV. In the name of Sleep like you had said? Please…” She babbles out, almost missing the fact her lover had begun to pull his pants down to mid-thigh, exposing his reddish purple tip. Having edged himself the whole day prior to their hunt so he could give her a good load for the taking. 

He grunted in response, teasing his tip against her hole, wetting it with her slick. IV gently pushed the tip in before pulling it out, allowing her to whine for more of whatever he was willing to offer. Her pleas did not fall on deaf ears as he was beginning to leak pre all over her slick, needing to be inside her at the exact moment. The first push did little, having to stop once she clenched and a paid moan escaped her, “Too big…” She whined, attempting to force herself to relax into his touch. IV ran his fingers through her hair, down her bad, teasing goosebumps to raise on her skin, all while softly purring to his mate, “You’re doing amazing..” His gentleness and encouraging words allowed her to finally relax her cunt and allowed him to slowly push in the rest of the way. IV, while sometimes an animal, was not a beast and allowed her to adjust to the girth of his cock. The soft throbbing and veins of said cock indicating just how badly he wanted to mate and breed his lover. IV’s tip, just barely brushing her cervix, girth stretching her to the near painful levels, he slowly pulled back, thrusting back in with force. Enough force to knock the little bit of air out of her lungs, knocking a soft scream out of her chest. Their sounds and moans echoing throughout the forest, the birds have seemingly gone quiet and still to the sounds of hips to ass, wetness of his mate’s juicy cunt being pounded by his thick rob. “IV! Fuucckkk yes yes! Fuck me like an animal please…!” She pleads, nails digging into the dirt under her, ass bouncing back against his cock. He grabs her thigh and lifts it up, forcing her to balance on her front half and her left knee. His grip was bruising but allowed him to bury his cock much deeper into the sweet gripping warmth of her. “Fuck yeah take my cock, my breeding bunny, so good!” He growls, adding more force to the thrust of his hips, digging his cock into the sobbing woman. Her moans are turning into hiccups of sobs and his name, her throat going raw with the screams of pleasure caused by the cock inside of her. Her wetness spread across both of their thighs, his pants, and cock. The white cream of her cunt around the base of his cock drove him closer to the edge. He growled softly at the unexpected closeness, moving his free hand to her cunt, forcing her already sensitive clit to accept the rough treatment. She tights unexpectedly, screaming, “yes yes fucckkk thank you sir!” As her orgasm crashes over her at the simple touch. IV chuckles softly, dropping her leg to grab her hips and fucking into her with wild abandonment. The vessel began chasing his own orgasm, everything in his being wanting to breed and obsess over his lover’s semen-filled cunt.

The simple thought had IV pushing his knot deeper and deeper into her oversensitive cunt, forcing out a pathetic maon from the mostly fucked up and sleepy woman. He growls, deep within his chest very similar to the beginning of the hunt, stuffing her willing pussy with everything from the edging and the night. “Fucking take it bunny.” He laughs darkly, “You’re all mine now.” She smiles lazily and clenches around his knot… “I know big guy…”