#because his vulnerability and the fact that he's dying makes them so uncomfortable

[viiinz]

everyday I think about him (Ippolit Terentyev)

#idk why of all characters he's the one that has left such an impression on me but oh boy #it's been over a year since I've read his 'explanation' and everything that followed and it hasn't left my mind since #ippolit terentyev #the idiot #god all he wanted was some sympathy and recognition #and they just make fun of him #literally all this boy wants is to be taken seriously and no one does #they either laugh at him or beg him to shut up #because his vulnerability and the fact that he's dying makes them so uncomfortable #and he's so ashamed as well over his own vulnerbility #that even when people aren't laughing at him he'll imagine they are #and people blame him for being self absorbed?? like of course he is!! #he's EIGHTEEN and DYING #this is a teenager who's just come to the realisation that he has no agency over his life whatsoever #and that all that awaits him are the cruel laws of nature #he has a right to be upset about that #he's literally the man condemned to death that myshkin talked about #and yes he's ridiculous and awkward and not always right and incoherent and all that #and he can really be insufferable and contemptuous and unfeeling towards others #and even the state he's in doesn't really serve as an excuse for that #yet i feel bad for him #and he's such a teenager too he's so insecure and just wants to impress the people around him #and yes he's doing it for attention #of course he wants attention #can you blame him?? #all he wants is to be heard #to feel like his life mattered #but instead everyone's just begging him to shut up #like they're just waiting for him to kick the bucket so the uncomfortable ordeal can be over with #sorry i just have a lot of thoughts about Ippolit and I'm being very incoherent because i didn't plan on typing all this lol

[tornoleander]

Jay’s been through it

CW: Sexual assault Implications brief discussion of sexual predators + lotta swearing

(Please let me know if I missed any content warnings and Check if you are ok to hear this theory before reading. This type content has potential to help or hurt you depending on who you are as is the nature of problematic themes. Safety over curiosity.)

This is cannon compliment. Uhh kids show?! Yeah I know shouldn’t really have these themes but they’re there hear me out. Spoilers for season 6/8 I guess.

I’m bothered by this scene and how It connect to certain events so I’ll cautiously share

Sons of Garmadon Episode 7:

Here is the clip

Kelo asks “Where’s the green Ninja”

WHAT THE FUCK! Dude the double take I had when first watching this.

So he looked at Kelo’s… lower half and basically said ‘Cole shut up that man’s crotch is too close’. And not in Jay joking tone, he’s like dead serious and stressed. (The scene just cuts away after)

Jay you ok? Why is it implied some guy might have tried something?! Why else would he say that?! Who the FUCK touched my boi? What even is this scene?!

The fact it’s Jay that said it out of everyone is bad because it’s been implied to him before.

So let’s talk about the darkest Ninjago theory that’s been quietly circulating for a while in fan content. For simplicity I’ll call it captains quarters theory, If you’re unfamiliar I’ll explain.

Basically some speculation happened because of a certain villain that displayed subtle ongoing predatory behavior. And a part when Jay was his prisoner that caused people to worry what happened before the scene started.

As some of you have caught on It’s the scene where Cole rescues Jay from Misfortunes Keep.

He didn’t find Jay in his cell where he should have.

Cole found him beaten as ninjago has ever depicted except when literally dying.

Alone

no explanation given.

In the corner of Captains Quarters.

Nadakhan’s room.

Dude :(

And his concern afterwards.

And thinking he didn’t deserve saving.

“Thank you for trying to save me,-

It’s Just a lot.

Doing awful things to make Jay wish it all away is terrifyingly in Nadakhan’s character. Not just the sadistic torture part.

Nadakhan has many behaviors similar to a sexual predator. I’ll go over it briefly but see my last post for a detailed analysis.

He Seeks out vulnerable people for victims. The Ninja are teens and he waits till or makes them emotionally vulnerable. The way he talks about gifting his wishes and giving his victims anything they desire can be read as grooming behavior. His secrecy in getting all the ninja alone and doesn’t even talk to his crew about his plans. Manipulative and Controlling obviously.

And the most glaring issues he’s WAY tooo fucking touchy all the time. Like watch his body language during Skybound and see how uncomfortable it is

“Too slow junkyard boy”

Not to mention how explicitly he doesn’t care about consent….

And “If you don’t come willingly Nya, I will take you regardless” followed by a forced marriage.

Side note he doesn’t refers to Jay with his name and the things he calls him…uggh “What lies is our little canary whistling now, hmm?”

So… It’s cannon compliant that something was attempted or happened to Jay. Bruh wtf.

Well if you feel like you resonate with this or it may help there a few great fanworks that explore this I can recommend if interested. Mmm comfort angst.

(Note don’t bother anyone for enjoying Nadakhan as a character. It’s fiction and it hurts no one)

#captain’s quarters theory #ninjago #ninjago jay #ninjago ninja #ninjago nadakhan #ninjago nya #ninjago thoughts #ninjago theory #ninjago angst #tw sex abuse #cw swearing #tw predator #tw implied abuse #cw sa implied #cw language #ninjago skybound #Oli speaks #Oli’s Skybound insanity #skybound slander

[canonizzyhours]

I've been dying to talk about this, so bless whoever is running this blog. Really appreciate having the space to do so. But okay, the sudden jump in Izzy's characterization and motives in season 2 really quite bothered me, to the point where I can't even jump on the "Calypso's Birthday is the best episode" train and things equivalent. As someone who did view him as more of an antagonistic presence in season 1, and someone who believes him to be rife with toxic masculinity, a lot of the jumps in this season just felt...unearned?

Maybe unearned isn't quite the right word, because I don't think anyone has to earn kindness or anything of the sort. Maybe jarring is a little better suited.

But I digress. It was just so odd to me to see him go from telling Ed that his softness and femininity was "a fate worse than death" to wearing drag makeup and singing a love song in front of the entire crew. You know??

I was actually quite on board for the developments in the earlier episodes—excited, even! To see him experience the repercussions of his actions, and have to quickly backpedal and change his tune before even more damage could be wrought was very interesting. I also liked seeing the rough and tough façade crack. I adore seeing any sort of toxic masculinity begin to falter. So I actually really loved seeing him cry, seeing him receive comfort from Frenchie and Fang, and just...slowly unspooling whatever mentality he had been locked in.

That's just the thing though—slowly. It felt natural in episodes 1-5 to me, because he was working alongside the crew and being more receptive to their kindness—to the atmosphere Stede had fostered. And even him working alongside Stede felt natural to me because it was like, "Okay, this twat is here and he's here to stay, so I might as well learn to work alongside him just as I have with everyone else." Not to mention also that Stede showed kindness and mercy numerous times, which I'm sure has to resonate with anyone on receiving end.

But then all of a sudden comes episodes 6-7, and so many moments that just had me scratching my head or feeling outright uncomfortable. The drag show in particular, but also the morning after interruption, the "made your boyfriend blush," the "I think you're good for him," etc etc. Because, genuinely, where did any of that come from? Where did acceptance and vulnerability to that degree come from?

The morning after interruption just feels so off to me that it has almost become my new "Oooo Daddy" moment. Meaning, I watch Ed and Stede talking, but then skip over Izzy interrupting them. I just can't even watch it. Because, Izzy joking about gay sex?? Izzy congratulating them for having sex??? Where and how???

Him being more receptive to kindness and camaraderie is one thing, as is working better alongside those he had a problem with. I'll gladly take both of those developments. But him suddenly just being okay with the things he thought deserving of death? The things he called Ed a slur for? The things he thought "did something to his boss' brain?" And then some, because he was even allowed more open vulnerability and femininity than Ed was???

And also, I know that a lot of his vitriol and toxicity stemmed from the fact that he didn't want to lose his anchor: Blackbeard. Blackbeard was power. Blackbeard was a threatening name to stand behind. Blackbeard was something of a shield for him. With Blackbeard in place, he had credibility and power of his own—the ability to throw his first-mate status around. Without Blackbeard, as shown at the end of episode 9 in the first season, he has none of that. No backing, no power, no credibility, no ground to stand on. And anything that came to threaten that, aka Stede, was immediately a giant no-no, because it would take that safety net from him.

But then, when he crams Ed back into that box at the end of the first season, I think it's the breaking point. The horrible pit Ed falls into finally clicks something in his brain, and makes him realize it's not sustainable for anyone. Like, after years and years and years of trying to hold Ed in place, it's finally bad and severe enough for him to realize that that's no longer an option, that it's damaging and that there are repercussions.

Which, again, nifty development! No longer being ugly towards Ed for his own personal gain? And maybe trying to stand a bit on his own? Sign me up!

Yet, to me, that still doesn't explain the sudden jaunts towards queerness and femininity! It still feels out of place with everything he said and did in the first season! Not only to Ed, but to Stede, Lucius, etc etc!

And maybe, admittedly, I'm even more bothered by all of this because it throws even more fuel onto the "he's the main character" fire. He gets so much of this limelight, and for what? Surely because his days were numbered, and so there was this inclination to give him his moments. But I couldn't really enjoy any of them, because they just felt so...off, and I knew they would only give a select group even more kindling.

Which is unfortunate, because queer joy is beautiful, and should be celebrated. As should growth. As should kindness. But in this instance, it just feels like so many pieces are ill-fitting, or that, with an ironic quote usage here, that, "the atmosphere on this ship is...fucked."

Anyway, thanks again for the space, and for allowing me to say my piece, as jumbled as it may be.

#124.

#ofmd #izzy hands #canonizzyhours #❤️

[misfithive]

Thank you for the way you handled that ask about Wille's and Simon's drama. Because that sentence 'On the other hand, Simon needs to have a bit of more drama thrown at him' made me so furious. It was so insensitive! The fact that he suffers in silence and alone in his room not to bother other people doesn't mean he doesn't suffer enough and needs some more! The fact that he didn't jump on the table or say he feels like dying doesn't make his experience any less traumatic than Wille's. What he needs is to process his trauma rather than brushing it aside, not to get some more.

Once again thank you, you put it all beautifully.

Yes 😭 this is a very common hope for Simon to get pushed to the point of a breakdown but it’s like .. at what cost?😩 He has been thru enough trauma for a lifetime and a half. And the thing is, most people cannot actually stop and process the trauma if they are constantly being hit with more. I think we are more likely to get simon opening up if he is able to find safety which he did not really have. he is expected to be the strong one by everyone in his life. His friends try their best but still, telling him to rebound is the same message him mother gives him of “you are strong”. Bc they dont want him to sit with his feelings and cry (it’s uncomfortable and not the norm for them), they want him to forget about the Prince and move on. Up until s3 he has not had someone to cry to- thats why he writes his songs and holds wille’s sweater. Even when he is talking to Rosh and Ayub in the kitchen if he was actually crying to them i feel they would show it- it appears he probably cried on the way home before they came (this is my hc if yall think he cried to them u can believe that if u want)

i think Simon’s character is very accurate to what a lot of men, people socialized as men, and also people of color experience and how we deal with our emotions. I get that for a lot of people it is cathartic to sob but for many of us, crying like that especially in front of someone else is terrifying. we are conditioned that letting other people see u in that vulnerable state is a weakness (puts you in danger or will be used against you & that anger is safer). I know some men who have not cried since they were children and told me they dont even remember what it feels like to cry or how to actually let the tears fall from their eyes. It is messed up. Is that fair? No. Is it true that it is a weakness? No. But not everyone learns that. The patriarchy sucks and harms us all lol i wish people would understand that and have empathy for the deep sadness that simon is carrying and hiding whether he lets it out or not.

Not to mention everyone deals with their trauma differently and i think it is cool that the show is realistic and shows people dealing with things in different ways. Simons character is relatable bc of this and instead of people saying “it’s not fair that Wille gets to express himself in this way and Simon doesn’t” i want people to think about WHY Simon is not be able to. I know wanting simon to cry comes from a good place but it does upset me a little bit bc even if he doesnt have a breakdown s3, that doesnt mean that the writers hate him and arent doing his story justice which is what people say abt s2. At the same time, if he does have a break down, that would be totally warranted. i'm just saying that if it doesn't happen that's valid too.

THAT BEING SAID. I think s3 is a great opportunity for Simon to hear from Wille that he doesnt always have to be strong and that Wille can be a reliable safe space. I think Wille’s tenderness is something that Simon sees and now that they are on good terms and Wille has worked to rebuild the trust, I hope Simon will turn to Wille for emotional support however that looks.

Ermmmn I’m very sorry that this turned into a dump but i had to get it off my chest.(made a few edits for clarity and spelling mistakes bc i posted this in the middle of the night)

#misfit answers asks #young royals #this is not targeted at the first anon i just see it a lot and have a lot to say on the topic #simon eriksson

[slytherinlesbians]

Whumtober 2023, Day 10: "You said you'd never leave."

fandom: criminal minds | characters: spencer reid (centric), diana reid, derek morgan, aaron hotchner, jennifer jaraeu, penelope garcia, emily prentiss | ship: past spencer reid/elle greenaway | trigger warnings: parent abandonment, depression, grief | content: spencer reflects on the people who have left him over the course of his life and grieves | word count: 1.3k.

“The five stages of grief,” Spencer says, standing in front of his geographical profile addressing officers on a case, “is a model developed by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, and became famous after she published her book On Death and Dying in 1969. Kübler-Ross developed her model to describe people with terminal illness facing their own death, but it was soon adapted as a way of thinking about grief in general. 

“We believe this unsub is not grieving death in his life, but rather, great loss in general. The five stages are often mistaken to only be relevant to death, because of the term grief. But in fact, you can grieve many things, and you can go through the stages in any order. This unsub has been left by so many people - his mother, father, siblings, partner and only close friend because of his sociopathic tendencies, and he is grieving these losses like they’re death. We believe he is in the anger stage, hence his violent behavior.” Spencer turns to look at Rossi, who takes point from there, going on to describe what the officers should be looking for. Once they’ve dismissed the locals, Spencer excuses himself. 

Once he’s out in the fresh air, he takes a huge, shaking breath in, and raises a trembling hand to rub at his eyes. Penelope had relayed a list of people who had left this unsub to them over the phone, and Spencer had found himself growing more and more uncomfortable as each name had been read off the list. It’s only been a few weeks since Hotch left to go into witness protection, and though Spencer knows there was no other option, he can’t help but feel betrayed. It’s torn open old wounds for him: the amount of people that have left Spencer is laughable. He’s only ever had a handful of people he’s let in close see his vulnerabilities, and it feels like it always ends with them leaving. 

Spencer’s brain knows none of the people who have left him because of anything to do with him. 

Spencer’s heart aches with loneliness and grief, and always finds a way to make it his fault. 

Denial

“Spencer, what are you doing? It’s nearly midnight,” Diana Reid says, shivering and pulling her dressing gown around her tighter. She approaches her twelve year old son, who sits in the living room, staring out the window that watches over their driveway. 

“Sometimes when Dad leaves, he forgets his keys. I’m just making sure he doesn’t get locked out if he comes back,” Spencer says calmly. Diana sighs and takes a seat next to her son. 

“Sweetheart,” she says, “look at me.” 

Spencer turns to face his mother, eyes wide and tired behind his too-big glasses. 

“We’ve been over this. Your father isn’t coming back,” her voice quivers and cracks. 

“But you don’t know that,” Spencer argues gently. “You don’t know that for sure.”

“I’ve known your dad for a long time, Spencer. When he makes a decision, he sticks to it,” Diana says sadly. 

Spencer shakes his head stubbornly and turns to look back out the window. 

“You don’t know that for sure.” 

2. Anger 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Spencer says, his voice low and gruff. Morgan is taken aback by his friend's tone. He’s known Spencer for close to two years now, and he’s never heard so much anger in the young man’s voice. Spencer is by nature incredibly gentle, and he’s surprised at the sudden turn in emotions a week after Elle has left the BAU. 

“I get that. But you seem - well, really tightly wound. And I thought talking might help. I know you and Elle were… close-,”

“You can just say we were fucking,” Spencer snaps, and now Morgan is really concerned. The Spencer he knows would never use such colloquial language to describe the sort of relationship he and Elle had, let alone snap like that.

“I-,” 

“There’s nothing to talk about, Morgan,” Spencer says tightly, clenching his jaw. “I thought she trusted me enough to talk to me about what was going on, and I was wrong. She’s gone, she’s not coming back, end of story.” Spencer walks away, fists tightly balled at his sides. 

3. Depression

“I thought I might find you here,” a voice says, and Spencer looks up sharply from where he’s sitting, curled in the corner of the living room of Gideon’s cabin. He swipes at the tears on his face and sniffs, trying to pretend he hasn’t spent the last four hours sitting here, shivering and crying like a pathetic little kid. 

“S-sorry, did - do we have a case?” Spencer says, his voice shaky and hoarse. 

“No,” Hotch says, lowering himself to the ground in front of Spencer and watching him carefully. “No case. But I went to check on you at your apartment this evening, and you weren’t there.” 

“You came to check on me?” 

Hotch sighs. “I know what Gideon meant to you. And it seemed to hit you very suddenly yesterday that he isn’t coming back.” 

Even just hearing Hotch say it makes Spencer’s heart ache. His lower lip trembles, and he’s furious that he’s doing this here and now and in front of Hotch nonetheless, but he can’t help it. The tears spill down his cheeks suddenly. 

“It’s okay to be sad,” Hotch says gently, in a voice reserved only for Spencer’s lowest moments. “Allow yourself that.” 

“I feel like he took a piece of me with him,” Spencer sobs. 

Hotch reaches out and squeezes his hand. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

Spencer squeezes back. “Please don’t leave me too,” he chokes, and Hotch sighs shakily. 

“No, Spencer, I won’t. I won’t ever leave you.” 

4. Bargaining 

“But now that I know,” Spencer argues, “it’ll be easier for her to come back. She’s opened up to me and I understand why things were difficult for her, and if I just tell her that I’ll be able to help her through it, that we’re all supporting her-,” 

“Spence,” JJ sighs, “I know it’s hard, but Blake made her decision. We have to respect that.” 

“But if I just talk to her,” Spencer says, not taking in a single word JJ says, “I can help her understand. I can help her come back and feel comfortable.” 

“Spence,” JJ says again. “I know your relationship with Alex was unique. I know you trusted her quicker than  you’ve ever grown to trust anyone. She felt the same way about you, that’s why she told you about her son. But that’s all the more reason to trust that she’s made the right decision for herself.” 

Spencer is quiet for a moment. Then - 

“But if I just call her…” 

5. Acceptance 

“I miss him,” Spencer announces, entering Penelope’s office and flopping down on a chair beside her. “I miss Morgan.” 

“Me too, sweetpea,” she sighs, offering him a cookie from the tin she keeps on her desk. He shakes his head in response. She pulls one out and begins to munch on it. 

“I’m happy for him, you know? Like, really happy. I’ve said that, right? I told him I was happy for him?” 

“Only a million times,” Penelope says through a mouthful of chocolate chips. 

“But I still miss him. And I still wish he was here. Is that horrible?” 

“Oh Spencer, no,” she says, swallowing and smiling at him sadly. “You’re allowed to be sad. I’m devastated, but I’m still buzzing with joy over the fact that there’s a little baby Derek running around. It’s okay to feel both, you know.” 

“Yeah,” Spencer says, sadly. “I suppose it is.” 

6. …

Emily announces Hotch has gone into witness protection, and it’s like the wind has been knocked out of him. He knows Hotch doesn’t have a choice. He knows Hotch will do anything to protect his son, including staying in witsec however long he needs to. But emotions still flood him, overwhelm him, kick and scratch and punch him. His face burns and hot tears threaten to spill down his cheeks. He squeezes his eyes shut against the tsunami of grief. 

“You said you’d never leave,” he whispers  to the empty conference room. Everyone’s gone, and now it’s just Spencer and the ghosts of all the people who have once sat in this room and chosen to leave him. “You said you’d never leave.” 

#whumptober2023 #no.10 #“you said you'd never leave” #criminal minds #fanfiction #grief tw #parent abandonment tw #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #jennifer jareau #elle greenaway #spelle #reidaway #alex blake #jason gideon #penelope garcia #the bau #diana reid

[champion-leon-imagines]

How about this: Leon has a nightmare of Eternatus killing his wife and Hop but he is woken up by her (his wife). Leon is crying, scared, lost and saddened because he thinks he couldn't protect either of them or his region. Things turn smutty when she comforts him, loves on him, making love to him and reassuring him. Comfort sex is the best and don't be afraid to write this as gentle and as loving (not rough) as you can, I feel like this is lacking in the Leon community and is so in-character for him. Please and thank you <3

Warning: NSFW-ish~ Warnings: The dream is maybe a lil bit graphic.. A/N: A friendly reminder, since I really hate my writings lately, english is NOT my first language. So please bare with my grammar *bows* Also a second side note, if nobody noticed yet: I REALLY SUCK AT WRITING SMUT. I LOVE IT OKAY BUT I HATE TO WRITE IT XD

It was around 2:00 am and Murkrows slowly made their way outside when they landed on top of a big and luxurious house. They settled in in their nest and cleaned their feathers with their bill. Suddenly a loud groan echoed through the open window and startled the Murkrows to fly away. Leon turned in his sleep uncomfortably, sweat dropped from his forehead and he had tears in his eyes.

Ever since he battled Eternatus he had recurring nightmares about this nightmare Pokemon. Of it destroying his hometown, killing his friends and Pokemon, but this nightmare hit different. The persons, he sees dying in this nightmare, were his family. To be more specific, he first saw Hop go up in flames . His screams and cries made Leon unable to move or react in his dream. All he could do was stretch out his arm, a helplessly try to reach for his brother before he disappeared in dust.

After this Eternatus rushed from his position in the air and opened its mouth to devour you, Leons beloved wife. "No!! Please!! Kill me instead, but please leave her alone!", Leon screamed in his dream, his tears falling when he had to see half of your body torn apart and eaten by this monster. "Y/N!!!!!!"

"Leon, it's fine. Please wake up, darling. I'm here.", your worried voice calmed his senses and a light and gentle tug at his shoulders made him open his eyes. His eyes were wide and teary, his mouth was dry from him shouting and groaning for hours in his sleep. His whole body shook from this nightmare and he looked down at his hands, seeing them still shaking. "I'm sorry.. I didn't mean to wake you up, sweetheart..", he mumbled apologetically and you hugged him tightly, because you knew too well what kind of nightmares haunted him lately. "It's fine. Really. It was.. an Eternatus related dream again, wasn't it?" you whispered, caressing his back soothingly to make his racing heart calm down and let his sobs soak in. All he could do was nod, since he didn't trusted his voice right now. For you, Leon always wanted to show you his strength. He wanted to be your 'tower of strength', someone you can rely on. Seeing him so vulnerable made you sad and you knew it pained him to show you his weakened side.

"You don't have to tell me, what happened. Buf if you need to talk about it, I'll-" "I saw Hop and you.. dying."

Your sentence stopped.

"I saw you dying in a grotesque way and felt so helpless. What if Eternatus escapes and attacks us again? I don't think I am able to defend the people I love.. to defend.. you.", his words made you sad, but you understood his fear. Eternatus was dangerous, there was no doubt about this fact. But you couldn't allow it to make you live in fear.

"Leon.", you spoke up, putting his face between your hands to make him look at you. "I understand how you feel. But don't worry. Eternatus can't escape. He is safe in the laboratory. Nothing bad will happen, you hear me?"

"Do you promise me, to let me protect you until my last breath?", he asked against your lips, his strong arms circling around your waist. You smiled at him and leaned in for a sweet and loving kiss. "I promise. And I promise that nothing in this world can do us apart. Not even death. And neither can Eternatus." "I love you.. so much.", Leon mumbled against your lips, his hands already mentally absent feeling your sides up and down. You kissed his chin, your own hands caressing his naked upper torso (Leon just sleeps in boxers) until you felt his nipples harden under your touch.

"I love you too. And I'll never leave your side.", you whispered back, chuckling lightly when Leon inhaled sharply because your fingers continued to tease his sensitive nipples. "You know what happens, when you tease me like that, don't you?", Leon warned, but you just smirked at him and pinched his nipples until he let out a soft moan. "Yeah, and you are responsible for waking me up. So.. it's just fair you help me fall back asleep right?", you purred and started to lick over his sternum.

Leon chuckled too and it seems he forgot his nightmare already. He stopped you from teasing his chest and pulled you over so you were straddling him. When you felt his bulge poking your butt, your smirk widened. "Ah, it seems someone's knocking~.", you teased and kissed his neck tenderly, before giving his skin a few nips and bites.

"Well, it's rude not to let him in, isn't it?", Leon teased back and started to massage your buttocks gently with both hands. Your hand travelled down to his clothed erection and gave him a few quick pumps. Leon groaned impatiently and squeezed your butt a bit rough for your teasing.

Things got quick now, his boxershorts and your slip were both discarded and thrown away carelessly while you grinded over his long member with your wet pussy without being penetrated. You both moaned in unison, holding onto each other und kissing passionately.

His hips moved on his own and meeting your grinding thrusts until his length grazed your clit with each thrust. "So impatient, love. Are you so needy feeling my walls clench your cock~?", you whispered in your most seductive tone and Leons cheeks heated up with a nice shade of red. He should be used to it now when it comes to dirty talk, but this sweet goofball managed to get embarassed everytime you two got hot and steamy.

"You're the one to talk, sweetheart. Why is your pussy already dripping? Admit it, you want me inside of you so badly.", he spoke after he got enough confidence to take you on in this dirty talk stuff.

You chuckled and took his member in your hand, rubbing it against your slick entrance and clit to moisten it for whats come. Your moans seemed to make him harder and when he finally slid it, you only felt bliss.

Leons thrusts were always slow at first. He was loving, caring and he made sure to waste no second to kiss you all over while he was moving inside of you. You put your legs around his torso and grabbed his shoulder to press him further against you and feel him hit your most sensitive spot.

"Oh god.. Leon.. right there.. Ah.. keep going and hit this place..", you moaned repeately as Leon obliged and tried to stay in this angle for a few times.

After some more thrusts, your lips left his, what made him whimper at the loss of feeling your warm lips. You chuckled and repositioned a little, so you were now riding him. You put your hand on his chest and moved up and down, moaning his name like a chant.

Leon saw your perfect breasts bouncing and he grabbed one of them with his hand, while his other assaulted your clit with rough and fast rubs while his hips thrusted upwards. "I can't take much anymore.. I am so close..", you panted, throwing your head back and screamed his name, while waves of lust invaded your body. Your vision got white and you swore you saw some stars, when you felt Leons hot semen while he came with you.

You collapsed ontop of him and buried your sweaty face in his neck, catching your breath. Leon embraced you in a sweet and gentle hug and kissed your forehead.

"I hope that helped you to fall asleep again?", he asked with a smile. You smiled back and caressed his cheek.

"I'm afraid I need another round of this work out. The first never works.", you chimed, making Leon laugh whole-heartedly while he kissed you again.

"Alright, just give me a few minutes, love."

#champion leon #pokemon leon #Leon #Dande #Delion #Leon x Reader #pokemon leon x reader #Champion Leon x Reader #pokemon swsh #pokemon sword and shield #pkmn sword and shield #pkmn swsh

[refractical]

Lakey's Smash or Pass: Leigh Whannell Edition

Axel from The Matrix Reloaded (2003) dir. Lily and Lana Wachowski

Being a Matrix franchise character, I've loved Axel long before I ever started giving a shit about Leigh Whannell as an actor/screenwriter. I love Axel so much, I would do everything and anything to save him. If I were a character in this universe and a resident of Zion, I would try to get him to stay home and never embark on the Vigilant. Do not doubt my commitment. I need him alive, I need to be his lover. I care about him.

Verdict: SMASH

David from Saw (2003) dir. James Wan

There is absolutely nothing and no one that could keep me from pouring all of my energy and time and love and care into helping David defend himself legally after the events of the Saw proof-of-concept short film. I actually explained everything I would do if I were his defense attorney in this post. I don't really want to be his lawyer, though. I want to be his boyfriend. I want to be the one that posts his bail if possible... and, if not possible, I would come to visit him as often as I was legally and physically able to just to give him someone to talk to. I want to show up for his trial dates as moral support. I want to let him move in with me when he's finally acquitted and needs someone to lean on. I want to hold David. I want to hug him. I want to kiss him, kiss him softly. On the cheeks and neck and lips. I want to fuck this man. I will reset him, re-calibrate him, via prostate orgasm. I want to shatter his world and put it back together... who said that...

Verdict: SMASH

Adam from Saw (2004) dir. James Wan

I care very deeply about Adam. I would take care of this dude. I honestly just want to support him. I'm very aware of the fact that I have a service-oriented loyalty complex like some kind of human PTSD dog and I embrace that fact about myself. I love Adam like a really close roommate or a best friend or maybe an ex-boyfriend I'm on really good terms with and I still care a lot about platonically. I want to let Adam freeload. I want to let him move in with me and not pay rent because he needs the support and he's too depressed to care for himself lately. I want to wash his hair. I want to do his laundry with mine, I want to cook and share meals with him, I want to gently pressure him into calling his mom back because I want to see his situation and mood improve. I'd volunteer to go with him to appointments of any kind to be his advocate in any medical, business, social services or whatever setting. I'd know I'm not responsible for him but I'd want him to know he could lean on me when he needs it. But I don't really want to smash. It wouldn't be a non-option, but I'd much rather talk to him about politics and art over some dinner in our shared apartment.

Verdict: PASS

Spink from Death Sentence (2007) dir. James Wan

Anyone who actually, genuinely knows me knows that Michael Scofield from Prison Break was one of my first guycrushes... Not the actual first, but certainly one of them. Spink is the same kind of twink as Michael Scofield. Looks aside, he thinks he's tough and hard while compensating for shortcomings and vulnerabilities. I find that insanely attractive. I want to be the one who gets him off speed, I want to be the one who talks him into leaving the gang and fleeing to Canada or Alaska with me without police intervention so that he doesn't have to make deals he's uncomfortable with that will end up costing him his freedom and an actual chance at a fresh start. Where was I going with this? Doesn't matter. I'm smashing that twink.

Verdict: SMASH

Matt from Dying Breed (2008) dir. Jody Dwyer

I can't, in good conscience, say that I would smash Matt, at least not on his own. Conditional smash. I'd want to be Matt and Nina's third. I don't want to get in the way of what they have. I think they're both so adorable. And, yes, I think they're both attractive and sweet. They clearly care a lot about each other and respect each other and show each other affection in a boundary-sensitive way. Because I live in denial, I also live in a fantasy world of my own interiority's creation in which Nina and Matt escaped their captors and managed to survive and they make it back to Ireland and I would absolutely be ready and willing to be their support person. I want to be their third, also in a roommate-like way, or maybe as a domestic partner? But I absolutely care about them and I'd do anything for them. The old "it's rotten work / not to me, not if it's you" and all that. Trauma-informed bisexual polyamory. Love wins.

Verdict: SMASH

Specs from Insidious (2010) dir. James Wan, Insidious: Chapter 2 (2013) dir. James Wan, Insidious: Chapter 3 (2015) dir. Leigh Whannell, Insidious: The Last Key (2018) dir. Adam Robitel, and Insidious: The Red Door (2023) dir. Patrick Wilson

Jesus Christ, I am so fucking crazy about Steven "Specs" Fisher. I lose all composure when I see him. His dorkyass endearing nerd aura drives me insane with lust. I have never needed anything as badly as I need to flirt with him and make him feel special. Not to be NSFW but I will also note that I am a trans Specs truther and want it to be known that I can, would, and will eat this man out. I will handjob finger this man to several orgasms. As a stone butch service top, I'm a giver only so he doesn't have to worry about reciprocating, anyway, if that's a going concern. Sorry for how crude I sound, I just want to make this man cum.

Verdict: SMASH

Donovan from The Debt Collector (2012) dir. Rich Ceraulo Ko

Goddamn. I need to spot him from across the room at a dive bar punk show, make my way over there, tell him he has beautiful hands, pretty eyes, and a cute face, offer to buy him a drink, ask him if he wants to come back to my place, and hook up with him.

Verdict: SMASH

David from Crush (2013) dir. Malik Bader

Truth be told, I've never seen Crush. He looks like a nice enough guy. I wouldn't not smash... but he's definitely not at the top of my list.

Verdict: SMASH

Clement from The Pardon (2013) dir. Tom Anton

Given the fact that Clement Moss was, in fact, a real man who actually existed and really did try and fail to defend an innocent woman from being sent to her death by electric chair in the 1940s, I must respectfully pass.

Verdict: PASS

Doug from Cooties (2014) dir. Cary Murnion and Jonathan Milott

Come with me on a little journey of imagination, will you? Imagine, with me, a desolate world where a rapidly-spreading virus has taken possession of a significant percentage of children across the country, the catastrophe quickly spreading to the rest of the world. Trust me, human encampments are popping up to defend against the zombie scourge. Think of one of the many enclaves of surface-dwellers in Fallout. Think of a camp like that where survivors have situated themselves advantageously, they function communally, and welcome clean, virus-free outsiders regardless of whether they can pitch in to help or not. I like to imagine I'd be keeping myself safe in a fort or a settlement like that, and I like to imagine that Doug and the band of teachers traveling together would be taken in by such a place, sanctuary rule style. Doug? Doug is a hard pass for me, sexually and romantically, but he seems like he could really use someone to talk at. So imagine, one last time, a group of adults prepping nightly communal dinner from non-perishable foods (we are 100% making some meatless chili with canned beans, corn, and other veggies and seasoning it well so that everyone has some comfort food before bed)... and, while I'm working the gas stove, keeping a big ol' batch of the vegetarian chili hot to serve, I let Doug take my chair and sit down and ramble and infodump away while I dish out servings to our comrades. Doesn't that sound nice? And, yes, believe me, I'll be trying to reform some of his wayward misconceptions about everything. I can't outright discard him. It may have been for comic relief but we're TBI buddies, so I empathize. He seems like a well-meaning dude with some issues that can be smoothed out, autism-to-autism communication style. So, respectfully, I pass.

Verdict: PASS

Gavin from The Mule (2014) dir. Tony Mahony and Angus Sampson

Good fucking grief. Gavin Alastair Ellis. Gavin would absolutely hate me for it but I would not be afraid to scrap, punch, bite, and claw Ray in order to lay claim over Gavin… and, listen, we can make the polyamory thing work but only as a throuple composed of two people who hate each other but who both love the person who serves as the keystone member of the relationship. That's the only way this is going to work. Ray's a sweet dude but he is not my type, not for this. Realistically, we'd probably be on very friendly terms because I do think Ray's alright… but I need Gavin in such a deeply carnal way so bad it makes me look stupid. Oh my God. This slut made me cry.

Verdict: SMASH

Larry from The Bye Bye Man (2017) dir. Stacy Title

You couldn't get me to feel anything for this man even if you forced me to at gunpoint.

Verdict: PASS

Matt from Keep Watching (2017) dir. Sean Carter

I need to fuck him sloppy... by the way, if you even care.

Verdict: SMASH

Jatt from Legend of the Guardians (2010) dir. Zack Snyder

This is literally an animated owl from a piece of children's media. DISQUALIFIED.

Verdict: HARD PASS

#i hope lakey dies

[racfoam]

Okay, I need everyone who is uncomfortable with Underage Kissing to LOOK AWAY and not click on Read More under this.

It is a scene I added as an afterthought in the graveyard of nynn, a MUCH DARKER take on the graveyard (not canon to nynn because I decided not to go with it because it would feel like going too far. In fact, this scene was added a long time after I posted the graveyard, I just play around in that nynn graveyard document sometimes) because Harry is very vulnerable during the entire graveyard and underage and this didn't seem proper for the scene for the fic. However, I decided to share it, keeping it vague. This is DARK. Don't read it if it triggers you/makes you uncomfortable, and do not read it if you are not 18+.

Whoever is interested to read it, you may click under the line. You have been WARNED. Be responsible.

Final message... Morality doesn't exist for Voldemort.

Trigger Warning: Mature Rating, Non-Consensual Kissing, Underage, Underage Kissing

“I can wait.”

Those are the words Harry repeats to herself.

Harry is four and the first words she learns to spell are the ones on her wrist. 

“I can wait.”

Harry is six and the first words she learns to write are the ones on her wrist.

“I can wait.”

Harry is ten and alone in her cupboard, holding her wrist close to her beating heart, letting them comfort her.

Harry can’t wait anymore. She needs an answer. Needs it like she needs air. Needs it like she needs her beating heart. Needs it like she needs to breathe.

“What does Avada Kedavra mean?”

And Harry wants to take it back, wants to take it all back, take it all back, anything to get her away from here, to get her free from the ropes, to remove the cloth from her mouth. 

“Harriet.”

He hasn’t come to save her. He’s come to take her away. 

Isn’t that what you wanted? Didn’t you want to be taken away from your relatives by your soulmate?

That was a long time ago. That was before she knew. Before she knew.

It’s wrong, it’s all wrong, but the crimson red eyes don’t disappear, the serpentine face doesn’t vanish, and Harry knows with certainty it is real, he is here, standing tall and powerful, in front of her.

Murderer. Liar.

“No more.” hissed Voldemort.

No more what?

Voldemort is so close now. Dangerously close. Harry swallows down a sob, flinching at the feel of his cold, icy breath against her face. Cold, skeletal fingers touch her cheeks, and Harry quakes in place as both of Voldemort's large hands cup her face, trapping her on each side, forcing her head to still, forcing her to hold his crimson gaze.

The gaze burns.

Do something. Anything. He’s too close, he’s too close, just like in the Chamber before he —

“I’m here, Harriet,” he whispers, tone bordering on comforting. “No more waiting.”

The gag vanishes. It doesn't matter that Voldemort’s face is terribly close, doesn’t matter that the breath from his mouth tickles Harry’s lips, doesn't matter that his fingers are winding in her hair.

Harry opens her mouth to scream, lungs expanding, chest straining against the ropes binding her.

Voldemort wastes no more time. He presses his mouth over Harry’s, swallowing her scream.

For a moment, Harry thinks she’s died.

Harry cannot think. Harry cannot breathe. 

All Harry feels are Voldemort’s lips on hers, warm as sunlight. Her eyes stretch, and she freezes solid, the scream dying down in utter horror, the breath freezing in her lungs.

Voldemort kisses Harry, a neverending longing burning in the kiss he gives her. The caress of his mouth is careful and soft, the kiss slow. It’s almost like he’s trying to comfort her and devour her both, fighting a war inside himself against his passionate longing to claim her and tender sweetness and carefulness not to break her. 

The kiss felt like Voldemort was making up for all the years he was supposed to spend with her.

#deleted paragraphs #nynn #nynn snippets #nynn au? #graveyard should have its own tag

[jawsofpleasure]

He took the drink- as did everyone else eagerly reaching for their glass, until they were all sipping from someone's daddy's crystal. Felix didn't sip though, a point of amusement for those in the room. At every party, every hangout, no matter cup or bottle or glass, no matter what was poured in it, he handled it the same- tilt it back, letting 95% of it flood down his throat, then nurse the bottom 5% until he was topped off... and the cycle continued. He was born low class, unlike the others. He didn't know how to drink 'nice' things. But like most of the ways this made him different, it was a source of entertainment.

So he took the drink- and drank. He saw some smirks but when was this group not always leering at one another? It was the end of another long night out anyhow, the mischief and debauchery mostly wrung out of them. Their energy had been spent causing chaos to others, making this shitty tourist trap of a town rue the day they ever built those new timeshares. It left them with little ammo for each other. All they could force each other into at this hour was sitting in a sterile living room, drinking stolen liquor and turning on one another like bored cats swatting and hissing.

And he was their dog.

So Felix took the drink- and tried to relax, forcing back the burning liquid, sinking into the plush armchair he'd taken for his own. He watched the room of a half dozen putter on their phones, gossip, begin negging one another and engaging in petty fights. He wasn't forgotten exactly, just no longer useful or fun. It was a fact he secretly felt grateful for; he was tired. He was hungry. He naturally radiated an energy that kept people wary of him but if ever he felt vulnerable, now would be the time. He only lasted this long in this crowd because they were scared of him. He'd given them reasons to be. But if even one of them sniffed his guard lowering for an instance...

Something was stirring in the pit of his stomach.

So Felix took the drink- and the glass almost shattered in his hand as he sat there and felt a lust overcome him that made his pelvis burn. It was painful and aggressively physical a sensation, like being kicked in the navel with his own steel toed boots. He couldn't hide the wince and the room was uncomfortably quick at responding to it. Six pairs of eyes were on him suddenly, wide, sparkling with something... he didn't know. Fear rose like bile in his throat but another pulse of lust left his vision blurry. He felt himself losing control of his limbs, each one going heavy and pinning him back to his seat. His skin prickled with heat and a snarl ripped through his throat, his eyes screwing shut as panic and arousal overrode his senses.

"Oh my god it's Felix."

Laughter, breathless with glee and relief, burst around him. When he opened his eyes, everyone seemed to take a long grateful sip from their drink. Confusion and fear twisted to rage. He was starting to see again with piercing clarity. Another game, another way for him to entertain.

Felix took the drink- the drink it turned out. Somebody during the night had bought something off someone and now it flooded through his veins. It wasn't curated cruelty- the spiked glass was chosen at random- but it was a cruel irony all the same. No one had remembered to tell him about the game. Simply forgotten over the course of the night, you see. And now here he sat, sweat breaking out over his skin while the buyer tried to tell the story between his bouts of cackling.

Felix felt in danger of breaking his zipper.

He had made a promise not to screw anyone here for his own sake. In fact, he had promised that not one of them would ever know for sure who he had fucked, when, or why. These evil freaks would have found some way to use it against him. And now here they sat... laughter dying down and conversation slowing... looking at him with wild eyes Squirming in their seats. The relief of not being the one drugged was receding as the excited fear of what was to come next settled in. Finally coming to silence, letting his ragged furious panting be the only noise in the room. They cast nervous glances at the bulge tight against the fabric between his legs.

"One of you is going to take care of this."

The words ripped out of his throat. Though impossibly heavy, he slowly dragged his hand to his crotch, squeezing himself. Someone whimpered.

"You should do it now... before I can move again... and then... I'll really give you brats a night to remember."

#nsft #text #long post #noncon drugging #based on another post of mine

[revclver-jesus]

Oooh, that's an interesting interpretation :o! Especially that I've personally always imagined the exact opposite! As in, physicality tends to be the easiest way to "even out" social "ineptness", for the lack of better word. Most people, when lost on how to form out a positive verbal response (be it thankfulness, sympathy, etc.) AND make it feel unmistakably genuine, tend to just default to simply touching one another. It's also the easiest to "internalize", like, in this particular example, say, recognizing that a child clinging to his forearm seems to find the act somewhat soothing, hence he could probably enhance that, by patting them on the head, or something. And Takaya, specifically, always strucked me as someone who just couldn't care less what is happening to his body, as long as he doesn't feel invaded or threatened, so if hugging somebody gets him out of an emotionally uncomfortable situation, then it's a non-existent price to pay. But also genuinely interesting polar opposite interpretation on your end and I am very glad I sent that ask. Have a nice day :3

(( Hmmm!! Interesting, interesting... I think I see how we're getting the opposite interpretation here! Which is totally valid, because Takaya is just so mysterious in the original game tbh! But unfortunately--- I desperately want to elaborate and you have activated more rambling in me I apologize ahead of time lmao.......

See, I don't think Takaya is socially inept, since apparently Atlus describes him as being "charismatic" and convincing people to his cause, like a politician. He's emotionally inept. And only about his own emotions. Very big difference. He may be weird but he makes it look on purpose if that makes sense lol. He's the cult leader archetype, extremely unusual to most but somehow mesmerizing to the lost and downtrodden. As he says " People hear what they want to hear. " He's emotionally... opportunistic, if manipulative isn't the word, not simply because he's evil but because this is how a traumatized man hides behind 20 layers of smokescreen and emotional disassociation. Takaya holds his head high and aims to be untouchable by tragedy, which basically just means he fears being vulnerable. He does not grieve, he just rationalizes away the need for emotion and calls it acceptance. So basically, his way with words is HOW he gets out of unwanted situations.

He can talk to a dying child and tell them everything's going to be ok and this was meant to happen because words are just words to him, he'll say whatever you need to hear. But that facade cannot endure real request for closeness. He MUST keep his distance. He's charismatic, convincing. But to be so vulnerable and saccharine as to open his arms to actually embrace the child? Suddenly that's much too real, suddenly they're something tangible that is dying and he is losing them-- that's risking real attachment in a world he won't be in for long. Takaya is the wrong lesson to learn from death and loss, he is apathy, and so he cannot heal someone else in that way touch does, he has to talk them into simply not needing that comfort. He has to talk you into his death cult. He can't be a warm presence in the same way the protagonist learns to be. He doesn't know warmth. He's cold as death. If he tries to hold you now, you will immediately see exactly how cold he is, how bitter it is to be held and then let go. But if he decorates despair in poetry and flowers, he can keep you at an arms length.

Takaya doesn't care about his physical body, very true, he takes awful care of it as evident by his appearance. In fact I even headcanon that he has an apathy based eating disorder, but-- that's all due to his depression and being a reckless masochist tempting death lmao. He'll take a million beatings, smoke since he was 16, skip a few too many meals, but he won't accept a hug. He won't accept the touch of another person unless its to push him away.

.... ANYWAYS thank you for enduring the essay if you read that lol-- I hope you have a good day too !! ))

#✯ ✧ ✧ o.o.c. ☾ ✞ ☽ #✯ ✧ ✧ ask. ☾ ✞ ☽ #✯ ✧ ✧ headcanons. ☾ ✞ ☽

[szallejhscorner]

hi his isn't my first time requesting but i rlly love your chishiya fanfics and was wondering if you'd be interested in making one where chishiya would say "i love you." ? tysmmm! 🥺

Hello hello ~

Haha, there have been some complaints about Chishiya never telling the reader "I love you" before!

This is for you, then. Hope you like it ~

Three Words

Drip, drip, drip. 

The rain keeps running down the window next to you, blurring your mirrored image in the glass. It’s almost dark on the other side except the bit of moonlight that manages to shine through the clouds, and you pull your knees up to your chest. Since it’s summer, the temperature is not really cold, but you still feel slightly uncomfortable with nothing but the swimwear covering your body. 

Something soft and warm is placed around your shoulders, and you turn away from the window and face the familiar blonde instead, watching you with a smirk while you wrap the blanket close around you. 

“Thank you!” you say with a smile, and Chishiya sits down next to you. This would be the time of day where he usually went up to the roof, but with the storm outside, he won’t even set a single foot out of the door.

He tucks one earpod into the ear and begins to search for a certain song that he wants to hear, replying to you with a shrug. “You’ll catch a cold otherwise.”

“Aww! You care about me that much?” You lean back until your head touches his shoulder, and some strands of his dyed hair tickle your forehead. The beat of his music reaches your ear, and Chishiya snorts. 

“I care about the fact that you’ll complain for at least two or three days and I’ll have to endure it if you actually catch a cold. So I rather make sure it’s not  going to happen in the first place.”

Of course he’d say something like that, and it makes you giggle because you know that he cares about your wellbeing as much as he doesn’t want you to annoy him when you’re sick. He’ll simply never admit anything that would cause him to appear weak. 

Since Chishiya has given you the biggest blanket that you own, you rearrange it so half of the fabric is placed around Chishiya’s shoulders while you wrap the other half around you. He still has his hoodie, a grey one this time since the other one is still in the laundry, but at least you enjoy the extra warmth emerging from his body, and he doesn’t complain. 

“Kuina called you my boyfriend earlier today”, you mumble with a smile when you continue to watch the rain.

Drip, drip, drip.

Chishiya hums and you don’t have to look to know he’s smirking. “Which most likely caused you to jump and squeal like a little girl.”

It still makes you happy that he doesn’t deny being in an actual relationship with you, and yes, you did want to jump and dance around back then because it felt even more official when other people noticed as well. 

“Am I so easy to read?”

You feel Chishiya’s breath in your hair when he chuckles. “Not that hard when you hand your heart to everyone on a silver platter.”

“And you still think that’s what makes me vulnerable.”

“Exactly.”

You shift slightly, and Chishiya places his arm around your shoulder when you’re done, pulling you even closer to him than you already are. You notice it with a smile, knowing that he’d immediately stand up if you mentioned it. Those soft moments he allows you to enjoy are something he would never allow to be spoken out loud, and he only does it because he knows you’ll stay silent about it.

“You know, Chishiya...” A flash illuminates the dark night for a heartbeat, but the storm is still too far away for you to hear the thunder. “I have thought about this for quite some time now. About being open-hearted making you vulnerable.”

The man close to you huffs but waits for you to continue.

“It might be true, that it’s easy for people to hurt me. But... the risk is worth it considering how many wonderful people I got to call friends because of this. And I’ve given every single one of them a piece of my heart-”

“Stop it.” Chishiya is no friend of cheesy things, and you hear the mocking tone in his voice. His hand, however, still rests on your side, a clear sign that he is not as annoyed as he pretends to be.

Another flash, long enough for you to see the dozens of branches. “Which means that even if someone tries to hurt me, they’ll never be able to destroy all of it; only the remains left in my chest. The most important parts will be kept safe in your hands. But as soon as you let someone through the walls you’ve built, they have access to everything you are, which actually makes you far more vulnerable than me.”

Chishiya sighs and you feel how he switches to another song on his iPod. “You really want me to leave, don’t you?”

You lean back your head so you can see his face and look straight into his beautiful mesmerizing eyes that stare back at you with raised brows. “Wrong. I only want you to say something cheesy just once in your life.” And with a grin, you place a kiss onto his lips before you return to your former position watching the rain.

“This is never going to happen.”

It would be weird anyway, you have to admit. Chishiya is not the person to call you sweet names or make you compliments. And still, he sits here with you, wrapped together into a blanket and watching the storm while you’re both safe and sound.

Drip, drip, drip.

“I’m just glad that I was the one you allowed to pass your walls”, you mumble more to yourself than to him. “Because I will never try to hurt you, and it’d make me sad to know someone else had access to the soft an-”

“I love you.”

“What?” You hastily turn around and the sudden movement causes the blanket to fall down, but right now you don’t care to pick it back up again. Chishiya hasn’t moved the slightest, and even a second after you’ve heard those words, you’re not sure if they were real.

Chishiya’s chuckle is the only proof that they were. “You’ve heard me.”

His eyes loose focus as he stares into the distance while you keep blinking, trying hard to understand what has just happened. Never before has Chishiya said those three words to you, and you never expected him to say them to you ever. You know about his feelings - it’s obvious considering that you share a room here with all the hugs and kisses, and yet it’s something different to hear him say it.

“Can... can you say it again?” Because you really liked the sound of it when being said with his voice. Chishiya would never tell you this as an empty phrase. He means it, and that makes your heart beat faster.

But Chishiya simply smirks and reaches down for the blanket to put it back into place, allowing you to snuggle into his embrace while the first thunder reaches your ear.

Drip, drip, drip.

He loves you. Not only does he allow your presence, but he actually reciprocates your feelings. And it only feels right that you’ve given the biggest and most important part of your heart to him, because he’ll take care of it, just like he takes care of you with blankets, cups of tea and apparently once in a while, three words that mean the world to you.

“I love you, too.”

#chishiya #chishiya shuntaro #aib chishiya #shuntaro chishiya #aib #alice in borderland #Imawa no Kuni no Alice #oneshot #chishiya x reader

[wearywinchester]

Regrets

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When a fight leaves you both having some regrets, a little space brings some clarity.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: angsts, injury, mentions of death, guilt, comfort, fluff

The tension swirling around in the car was nearly unbearable, thick and heavy as you sat pressed to the passenger side door. You’d been doing it out of spite for the older Winchester, feeding off each other’s anger, each other’s huffs and puffs. He’d noticed just how far away you were sitting and it had him tensing his jaw because he knew exactly what you were doing and it was working.

It was working and he absolutely wouldn’t admit it.

The hunt had gone all kinds of wrong, couldn’t have gone worse apart from one of you dying. Actually, you almost did and that was the problem. That was every bit Dean’s problem and the very thought of it sent his anger from a simmer to a boil in the pit of his stomach every time it crossed his mind. To be more specific, it’s the only thing he’s been thinking about this whole time. But in true Dean Winchester fashion, the fear and concern eating away at him didn’t come out so clearly.

His vulnerability was mostly expressed through anger. Yelling and shutting down, mumbling strings of curses— it was anger in its truest form just to hide how scared he really is.

It was quiet, no radio no nothing save for the occasional clear of his throat or a heavy exhale coming from either one of you. It was quiet and you couldn’t wait to get out of that car, couldn’t wait to be back at the and take up residence in your room, maybe even one of the spares just to be farther from him. You have plenty of them to choose from. You felt like you’d scream if you spent even so much as another ten minutes with him.

You’d gotten hurt that day, gotten hurt and it wasn’t unlike other times. It wasn’t ideal how the hunt should have gone, ideally you wouldn’t have been a ghost’s kebab as she stuck her hand right through you and around your heart. Ideally you wouldn’t have been thrown against a wall without care for where you landed by Casper the unfriendly ghost. You almost sealed your fate that day all for the sake of getting the job done. All for the sake of saving lives.

That was his problem.

But, his problem wasn’t expressed in the best of ways. It was expressed in shouts and running his hand through his hair, in telling you he never wants you hunting again and a tightly clenched jaw. You argued back and forth for the better part of half the trip home, that lump still sitting heavy in your throat as you suppress your tears.

You were dying to be back home, in fact, you weren’t waiting another minute.

“Let me out,” you said, tone angry as you spoke.

His brows furrowed, looking at you for a moment. “What?”

“Pull over and let me out.”

“Not a chance, it’s ten at night and it’s about to freakin’ rain, Y/n. Who knows what’s out there,” he says, his voice raising.

“I know what’s out there, Dean, we hunt it for a living. Let me out. I’d rather walk than spend another minute listening to you huff and puff.”

“No.”

He pretended that it didn’t sting as much as it did, he pretended it didn’t make him swallow thickly and hid it with a little more tension in his jaw. They were just words. Just words spoken out of anger much like all of the things the two of you had spoken in the last half hour.

You could hear the frustration in his voice, in the single word, could see the tension in his jaw and just how tightly he gripped the wheel. That crease between his brows was deeper than ever and it showed each time a car passed you by.

“Dean.”

“Do you like throwing yourself in danger, Y/n? Is that what it is?” He asked.

You rolled your eyes, breathing out a huff that’s more than dramatic as the anger you feel only gets worse, both your anger is. You’re both feeding off of your own frustrations at this point and you can bear another second of it.

“Pull the damn car over or I’ll jump out myself,” you grit out, because if you talk any louder your voice just might fail you.

In a matter of seconds he veers off to pull over as you insisted, braking with a little more force than necessary as he stared ahead at the road. You were blind to the incoming storm, and Dean definitely wasn’t, couldn’t have been. But he pulled over anyway just like you wanted him to.

“You hate me so much, fine, you’re free to go.”

You pause for a moment, gaze narrowed at him before you grabbed your bag. “Yeah, well, maybe I do.”

Without another word from either of you, you got out, missing the way he looked at you as you did and the way he bit the inside of his cheek. And you missed the look on his face when you slammed the door shut, slinging your bag over your shoulder. After a beat of silence he pulls away, tires screeching against the pavement as he sped off down the road with the rev of his engine muffling the farther he gets.

You swallow thickly as you tighten your jacket around yourself, gaze narrowed as you watch the red of the tail lights disappear. Your anger still simmered as your heart raced, but that lump in your throat became near impossible to suppress as you walked along the gravelly side of the road by yourself. But that’s just it—you were by yourself. Those tears you fought so hard to hide glossed over your eyes now, spilling over your cheeks now. All of that built up frustration was seeping it’s way out.

You didn’t have to be so stubborn now that you were all alone, didn’t have to keep that front you put up for the sake of looking strong in front of green eyes.

Gravel and fallen leaves crunched under your feet as you walked along, the noises almost uncomfortably loud in contrast to your surroundings. You felt like an easy target for whatever is out there, felt like all eyes were on you despite the very real fact that you were all by yourself. But a part of you didn’t care at this point.

That adrenaline from the hunt still coursed through you, fueled by dwindling frustration that came and went in waves. It was seeping out in the form of tears, in the form of you kicking rocks in your path and throwing caution to the wind as you walked with heavier footsteps.

You weren’t that far from the bunker, not really. You had your knife tucked in your boot, you could handle yourself. You’re not as weak as you felt in that moment, and the emotions running wild through you was enough to have you putting up a good fight should you need to.

But you needed space. Needed space to keep any more words of regret from spilling past your lips. Needed space before you felt like your heart would burst right out of your chest.

You stuffed your hands in your pockets as you sniffed, tears running hot down cold cheeks as you watched the way your breath puffed out against the cold air. You tried to ignore the drizzle of the rain, tried to ignore it as you put your hood up, only for the wind to blow it right back down once more and after a few hasty battles with Mother Nature you decided to give it up. Decided to toss away your comfort as the icy droplets fell down on you heavier and heavier as the seconds passed.

You settle for picking up your pace as you walk down the road, the one that’s never been ideally lit for as long as you can remember. You weren’t that far, not really, you could make it back.

You tried not to think about your wavering anger, and the way it wavered more and more each time you thought about your conversation in the car. You tried not to think about how comforting one of his flannels would be, or the warmth of his arms. You shook it from your mind because you had yourself convinced you had to be angry at him.

What happened that day wasn’t just some run of the mill incident on a hunt. It wasn’t scraped knees or busted lips, it was sprained ankles or bloody noses. You almost bit the bullet and hunted your last hunt that day. You still felt that pain in your chest despite the threat of that ghost being long gone and put to rest. You still felt that jarring fear, that shake in your hands, and you still felt that urge to cry over it despite your overwhelming need to feel like you’ve got to be tough even when you don’t.

It was all still there, and now you’ve gone and had a screaming match with the older Winchester. Now you’ve both gone and spewed more than enough things you regret.

You didn’t know what was worse, the regretful anger sitting heavy in your stomach, or your overwhelming desire to get out of this awful weather so you could sulk in the warmth of the bunker. To get rid of that heavy sense of feeling vulnerable walking by yourself even though you’d insisted on doing so. You insisted and you got what you wanted.

But you picked up the pace once you reached that familiar stretch of road, once you spotted home tucked in that hillside. You picked up the pace despite the fatigue you felt telling you to slow it down.

You were cold, you were wet, you were miserable.

Meanwhile, Dean was back at the bunker stewing in his own regret unbeknownst to you. He’d debated a million and one times on turning back and going to get you. He could’ve handled you arguing with him, could’ve handled you hating him. Well, you’d gone and said that you did and he doesn’t know if he really could handle it as much as he’d like to act like it. But you were angry, you were angry and so was he and nothing good ever came out of arguing.

You snagged the key from where the three of you kept it hidden and sniffled once more before you pushed the door open, shutting out the terrible weather behind you in favor of the sheltered warmth of the bunker.

The place seemed empty despite the fact that you knew it wasn’t. Sam should be back after a hunt with Eileen, and surely Dean was around here somewhere. You knew he was judging by the fresh tire tracks in the gravel but you tried not to think about it. You tried to think about going unnoticed until you could get a change of clothes. He didn’t need to see how miserable you looked, how right he was about the rain, how right he was about how scared you truly were after that day.

If he knew that, then that tough guy act you put up after all this time would crumble to pieces in an instant.

You may have been able to snag a dry change of clothes without being seen, may have been able to sneak off to the bathroom without it either. But he knew you were here, and he knew you had to have been worse for wear and it had his guilt and regret simmering in a frenzy.

He saw the wet and slightly muddy footprints in the hall, he saw your rain soaking jacket on the coat rack, heavy with the accumulated rainfall. He saw the way those footprints first went to your shared room, tracked them all the way down the hall to a room that’s farthest from his own. And in there were more wet clothes, cold and heavy as he gathered them to toss in the hamper, in there were soaked leather boots with mud caked on the edges.

You were stubborn as hell and so was he.

But that anger was beginning to wash away with the cold as you cleaned yourself up, as you tried your hardest to have the day roll off your shoulders. But that pain in your chest was only a dreadful reminder of its events. You wanted to be angry, and a part of you still was, because being angry was better than facing Dean Winchester in that moment.

You swiped that dampened wash rag over your face once more, too tired to go so far as to take a shower. Too tired to do much more than sulk and stew in a heap of emotions as you changed your clothes into dryer, warmer ones. They only comforted you so much with the feelings you’ve got weighing you down.

You didn’t know how much time had passed since you exchanged some less than desirable words with him, didn’t know where he was as you walked down the hall and slipped into the room you’d claimed that night. You didn’t notice the pile of wet clothes that’d gone missing, but you saw the extra blanket on the bed. It could’ve been Sam, could’ve been, but deep down you knew it wasn’t.

There were plenty of things you would’ve noticed had you come home a little bit earlier. But you didn’t.

He cleaned up the books he’d swept off one of the tables in the library out of his own frustration. He’d righted the chair he kicked, cleaned up the mess of anger and frustration he’d made in his room. He picked up the pieces of his regret for letting you get out of that car at the dead of night.

You got in bed, you switched off the lights and climbed under the covers as you let out a sigh, one that was just as shaky as ever as your tears decided they were quite done with you. As you lay there on your side you fail to see the shadows of the boots on the other side of your door, standing there for a moment before they’d disappeared once more.

You were tired as ever, physically fatigued and emotionally exhausted as you lay there in a bed that’s worse for wear as the springs dig into your side. The room didn’t feel quite so welcoming, didn’t feel quite so comfortable as yours did because a certain green eyed hunter wasn’t on the other side of the wall. He wasn’t on the other side of the mattress.

That anger and that hurt still coursed through you, but it wasn’t scorching and hot, it wasn’t singing your actions like they had been a while ago. You tried to push it out of your mind, trying your hardest to convince yourself that a good night’s sleep would be the best answer to all of this, that it would keep you from saying anything else you surely would regret saying as soon as they’re spoken.

But you know you’re far past doing that.

You try anyway, try to tuck yourself further under the blankets and close your eyes. You were beyond tired, the day robbing you of any energy, stripping you of a good mood for a good long while. You tried your hardest to fall asleep and put the day behind you like you know you probably should. Things were said and done and there was no changing it, so the most you could do was sleep and restart the next day. But you couldn’t.

You tossed and turned on that mattress for a good half hour, riddled with discomfort and your mind plagued with just one thing, just one person. You knew he’d be awake, that was something you were certain of even if he pretends to be asleep like he sometimes does.

Indecision weighs you down as you sit on the edge of the bed, feet pressed to the cold concrete floor. It tugs you in every direction as you walk to the door with reluctance and ultimately step into the dimmed hallway. It was quiet as ever as you walked, footsteps much quieter than the squeak of your rain soaked boots.

It took some walking before you saw the light in the kitchen streaming into the hall, heard the clatter of a few dishes. You made it to the doorway, made it all the way there before you froze. You paused and waited, waited to work up the nerve. It could have been Sam, it very well could have been him but the thud of his boots answered that for you, a sound that drew closer and had you turning and walking away.

You didn’t get very far.

“Y/n?” You froze once more and paused, waiting a moment before you turned around. His gaze was on you as you looked up at him, your brows furrowing. “It’s raining, isn’t it?”

You sigh, shifting on your feet. “No, not really.”

“You’re wet, Y/n.”

“I took a shower,” you counter, too fast for your words to be true. It’s quiet as he nods, completely unconvinced by your words and he hears the edge to your tone.

His mouth opens and closes a few times with words he doesn’t even know are on the tip of his tongue. There’s too many things he wants to say at once, namely the bang up job you did at cleaning that scrape on your cheek. Or the way you look like you’re chilled to the bone. Or maybe a spew of words of how much he regrets listening to you, how he hates himself for listening and letting you go like that.

But he finds he doesn’t have the opportunity when you find yourself doing the same, only you do find words to say.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” you say, looking at him for a moment before turning away and walking back down the hall.

You don’t see the way his hand reaches out, or the way it drops back to his side because you’re too busy rushing back to that miserable spare bedroom with another regret to add the the hefty and ever growing pile. It grows heavier when you hear that door close down the hall. It grows more and more as the seconds pass, as the minutes pass in that less than comfortable stupid spare room.

It’s laughable for you to think you’d make it a night on your own in there, not with the way you’re wiping angry tears away. It didn’t feel good to be at odds with him, not when it’s fueled by nothing more than stupidity and stubbornness at this point. There was no good reason to avoid him, no good reason to leave him standing there like you did.

You couldn’t take another minute.

You were quiet as you slipped out of that room with the intention of never returning to it, quiet as you padded back down that dimly lit hall towards your true home, rather the one that resides in that room. You’re timid as you twist the knob and open the door, finding green eyes laying on his side of the bed, the lamp switched off.

You swallow thickly as you stand there timidly, your lip between your teeth in a nervous habit. You let the moments pass as you stand there unsure of yourself, waiting a moment more before you close the door behind you. You circle the bed and climb in quietly, under the blankets before you turn and lay on your side too, your back to him.

It’s tense at first, tense for a good long few minutes with nothing other than the sound of the two of you breathing and the sound of the blankets rustling when one of you moves. But that tense quiet is melted as you feel his arm draped over you, tugging you closer and closer until you’re pressed to his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your skin, soft but enough for you to hear.

You can hear the regret in his hushed tone, can hear the guilt weighing the two words down. At first you’re quiet, staring ahead as your lip wobbles under your emotions. You don’t say anything but after a little while you turn around, face to face with the expression that matched the words.

You look at him for a moment, gaze bouncing over every inch of his face. You swallow as you look at him, quietly mulling everything over that you wish you hadn’t said that day. But there’s one thing that keeps coming back, one thing that weighs heavy.

“I could never hate you,” you murmur, soft and embarrassed.

You see the way he nods softly, see the way the corner of his mouth quirks upwards in a half smile as he reaches up and traces the tips of his fingers across your cheek, along the curve of your ear. He nods until he rests his forehead against yours, noses bumping.

“What do you say we take a break from hunting for a little while,” he says softly, eyes falling closed as his breath puffs warmly against your lips. “Just for a little while.”

He’s sick of the close calls, doesn’t want to think about that day for a while even though he knows he won’t ever stop dwelling on it. This was too much and he desperately wants to have a break from the fear of losing you for a little while.

You take a breath and nod, you nod and you kiss him softly and it settles the nerves rumbling around within him.

“Yeah, yeah I’d like that, De,” you whisper, kissing the tip of his nose down to his lips in a lingering kiss.

That tension of regret still hangs heavy in his shoulders, still hangs heavy in your heart no matter how many times the two of you apologize. He knows you’ll never blame him for pulling over like that, you insisted after all. He knows he’ll never let himself off the hook either. But he doesn’t want to bring it up, not now that you’re safe in his arms once more.

He doesn’t want to bring up just how much he wishes you wouldn’t play tough guy after hunts like these, just how much that day bothered him. And you feel like you could tell him a million times over just how much you love him but he knows, even if you’re beating yourself up for what you said in the heat of the moment he knows it’s just that.

You were home, he was your home. Past the arguments and huffs and puffs and words spoken out of anger. None of that mattered in that moment.

You could apologize all you want another time and surely you would, but you keep yourself in that moment.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @agalliasi @campingmonkey @deandaydreaming @lanea-1 @akshi8278 @kidd3ath @taikawho @lyarr24 @happyt0exist

#dean winchester #dean winchester angst #dean winchester oneshot #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fic

[iwriteallkindsofstuff]

What could’ve been

Eren x Reader

(Interactions and reblogs are appreciated :3 Enjoy!)

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It is an increasingly rare sight to see Eren moved to the point of tears. Over time, as things just got worse and worse, he simply adjusted. We all did. The fact makes me sick, it makes me angry even, that people dying, that all of this misery that we see so often just…that it just stopped being so unbearable. I once voiced this burden to Captain Levi, when it was quite late. Not everyone was up; I think Connie might’ve been there to listen to - or was that Sasha? I can’t remember.

But I remember talking quietly, talking of the things I‘d seen and had lived through, of how much I hated all of this. How much I missed my dear, dear brother and how I’d been meaning to kill myself. All of those things spilled out of me, unfiltered and awful, like rain that turned muddy and disgusting in its puddle on the street. It was as if I’d forgotten that I was talking to anyone in the first place. But the Captain listened, never interrupting, never mocking me. It was only when my throat began to tighten and close that I suddenly remembered where we were, and what we were doing. My eyes had begun to shine and I’d quickly wiped them and apologized. I’d scolded myself for being a poor soldier, because a good soldier is able to keep himself together. I felt embarrassed and uncomfortably vulnerable.

However, when I looked back up at the Captain, he looked at me in a way that almost scared me. He looked…sad. No, maybe empathetic is a better word. Or tired, perhaps. In any case, he looked at me in this uncharacteristic manner and told me that I was not a poor soldier.

Sure, he added, I was not outstanding or particularly skilled when it came to fighting. And that I was one to cry rather quickly. However, he didn’t deem this much of an issue, as my main concern was medical care for the others. That without a good nurse, not only would the health of his soldiers be left uncared for, but their moral aswell. He looked at me in a somewhat strict manner, saying that he was relieved to have someone as myself on his squad. And that no matter what I’d gone through, in the Scouts, there would always be someone who knew exactly what I meant. That if anything, there were enough people who had gone through the same horrors and who had the same fears and nightmares as I did.

‚If anything, those scared little bastards, he pointed to the rest of the squad sleeping a few feet away from us, need you to take care of their wounds and to comfort their own nightmares. If you kill yourself, you are not only giving up and choosing the easy way, you are also leaving them behind to have another nightmare when they go to sleep. So don’t.‘

***

Briefly, this memory flashes infront of my eyes as I see Eren sit next to my bed, his eyes brimming with tears. And before I can move or even say anything, he lunges at me.

A whoosh of air leaves me in surprise, and I wince involuntarily when he hugs me, his body shaking. His tight grip on me hurts, but its then that I hear his sobs and know that this is good for him. So I let him, breathing deeply to ease some of the trobbing pain in my left side. Nice deep breaths. Eren doesn’t say anything for a few more moments, his head pressed hard against my right shoulder. He’s warm and feels frailer than I thought. Probably lost some weight. The others probably did too. Not much food around. To show that I appreciate him here, I nuzzle my head lightly against his own shoulder. He smells like the ODM-Gear and dust and sweat. A bit of his hair tickles my forehead slightly. Though it hurts, for a moment I bask in the feeling of being held. Its been so long. Eventually, I hear him mumble something incoherently into my medical gown.

„What did you say?“ I want to sound normal, but my throat is hoarse and dry, so it comes out as a rough whisper. It feels like I have a bad cough or something. Then Eren pulls away from me and I see his green eyes, reddened and shining with tears. The sight makes me uncomfortable. „…I-I, he takes a breath, steadying his words, I‘m so glad to see you.“ He has his hands on my shoulders and as he says this, his head drops. „I…I was so worried! You-you‘ve been here for almost two weeks! We thought you‘d never wake up…!“ More sobs cause his frame to shake, and I feel myself beginning to tear up, picturing how he and the others must’ve been worried about me. „Eren…I- ugh…“ My voice begins to quiver and I clear my throat a few times. Eren shakes his head. „Goddamnit, we- I was so scared! Please, for my sake - he looks up again, tears streaking his eyes like tiny little rivers; his brows furrowed deeply together - stay alive, (Y/n)!“ With that, he pulls me into another hug, this one a bit more gentle; he‘s careful as to not put too much pressure on my left side. This time I hug him back, trying hard to keep it together.

I see the mission, the Titan‘s hand racing at me out of the corner of my eye. The sound it made when it came into impact with me has burned into my brain - a dull, deafening thump that shook my vision. After that it was still loud, but it was strangely muted, like I was hearing everything through a door. The wind was much louder than before. I remember how the world was spinning in such a disturbing manner, how I couldn’t get a clear picture of anything. Like being drunk, but twenty times worse. It had made me nauseous, but I just couldn’t close my eyes. I just couldn’t. But then I crashed into the tree. And that was the last thing I remember seeing.

„You have to be careful!“ Eren hisses, moving his hand to rest on my head in an unusually gentle manner. He’s never been one for physical affection, really. But I don’t want to think about it right now. It feels too good to have someone hold me and I only bury my face deeper into his shoulder, trying to let his warmth calm me down. We’ve never hugged like this, but his body is familiar to me from seeing him fight and treating his wounds. Strong, yet frail all at once. I can clearly feel every muscle, but his spine and collarbone aswell. „You too, yeah?“ I mumble into his shirt, my face beginning to grow uncomfortably hot. Pulling away, i stroke my hand across his back a few times. I don’t know if it’s to comfort myself or Eren.

„How is everyone? Did they make it…?“ The words come out more fearful than I intended them to, but suddenly, I am afraid that Mikasa, Armin, Sasha and all of my other comrades, have been killed. Subconsciously my hand bunches up some of the fabric underneath it, the fear spreading and growing larger in my head like a fire. Eren gives me a squeeze and I suppress the groan that threatens to leave my throat. „They’re fine…Sasha and Connie were roughed up, but they lived, they all did…“ A sigh, heavy with relief, is all that I manage before the door swings open after a hectic knock. „Eren? Is (Y/n)-„ I see Armin standing in the doorway, Mikasa right behind him, both frozen at the sight of us. But that doesn’t last long when Eren and I part and I scramble to get up out of my bed. „Armin! Mikasa!“ I want to shout, but I end up coughing, bent over myself. A hand pats my back and I hear Eren sniff.

„(Y/n)! Are you okay?! My God, it’s so good to see you awake!“ Armin scrambles to my side, kneeling down infront of me so I can look him in the eye. I take a breath and start once more. „Armin!, I begin, a smile spreading on my face, Are you okay? It’s good to see you two - Mikasa, are you alright?“ I look from Armin, who’s eyes too are watering, to Mikasa, who looks a little displeased. „I’m fine, Armin answers immediately, we’re fine, really - but…you, I mean, you’re-„ he gestures and a few single tears drop down his soft face, which he quickly brushes away.

„(Y/n), we were worried! That was…intense!“ I huff, appreciating Eren’s hand on my back; it gives me a sense of stability. I’m here, he seems to say, I’m right here, don’t worry. Mikasa looks at him with a look that concerns me - I hope she doesn’t think ill of me for hugging Eren. As Armin talks, I try my best to push my worries away for the moment. There are some questions that I want to ask. And for almost the entire time, Eren is right by my side. And when Mikasa eventually seems to relax, it feels like everything is alright for now. For a while at least, nothing is wrong and I feel…actually quite happy.

***

Now that it’s night again, I find it hard to sleep and I catch myself replaying everything that happened in the hours before. I think of Connie and Sasha, Jean and Krista coming to visit me. I think of Sean and Eren fighting, but only briefly before Mikasa shut them up. I think of Connie joking about the nurse being sick and Jean smacking his head for it; Eren warned me to take it easy because laughing was painful, which only made me laugh harder. I think of Krista and I talking, with Mikasa occasionally tuning in while they made sure I drank enough. I see Krista giving me my book before she leaves, wishing me to get better soon. How everyone else does too and they leave with the promise to come by whenever they can. I remeber the feeling of Eren hugging me. Of his warm body pressing itself against mine. Of his hand resting so gently on my head.

I turn and toss in my bed, feeling my body tingling comfortably as I remember this. And then I ask myself honestly if maybe, there is something between me and Eren. I don’t have to think long about this - I do like Eren a lot, but…what if… Immediately, pictures flood my head. Pictures of the bodies. The smell of them, filling the streets, the world with the stench of hopelessness and death. My own cries in my head, when I saw what once had been my home. As if humanity was butchered in an instant. Butchered down like pigs, like cattle in their pen of stone… When I feel that I’m thinking too much, I squeeze my eyes shut and take a very deep breath. No. Not right now.

With a huff, I get out of my bed and carefully walk around a little. I roll my shoulders, very carefully, and then my head, from left to right, circle, right to left, another circle. I slowly kick my feet back to my ass, I roll my ankles a bit. I walk around some more and think of the early training sessions of when I first became a cadet. I smile tiredly and without any joy as I remember how Sasha had to run laps until she collapsed because of the Potato-incident.

I continue to do this for a while. ‚You can’t get into a relationship with a Scout’ I tell myself. ‚I know you want to love and be loved, but with a Scout, you’ll get your heart broken…‘ I stop in the middle of my mindless stepping. Markus. I don’t know for how long I just stand and think of my brother who never returned from wanting to go back and rescue my Father. ‚I’ll find you, i promise, (Y/n)! Now go, run!‘ My eyes close. You were so confident, so sure. And I wanted to believe. I still want… I don’t hear anything or see anything for a long time. When there is a soft knocking, I almost fall over. With a loud gasp, I stumble and clutch my chest. „Jesus Christ-„

„(Y/n)?“ The door opens and there, bathed in shadows, is Eren. I can’t see his face, but I can imagine his expression of surprise and slight concern. Still clutching my chest, I huff, then usher him in when I remember that there’s usually patrol at night. „Eren, I whisper-shout, closing the door and turning to him, what are you doing here?“ Now that he stands in the moonlight shining in from the dusty window, I see his face clearly. He seems tired and restless, just like me. „I couldn’t sleep and, well…, he scratches his neck, …I was honestly still worried. I- ugh, I don’t know, I had to come and see you.“ he grumbles, looking at me expecting. I can’t help but grow a little nervous when I suddenly see just how handsome he looks, coming over in the middle of the night because he was worried. I wonder if I should just ask. „What were you doing up so late?“ he turns the question around and rips me out of my thoughts. „I, uh, I couldn’t sleep either. I just - I sit on my bed, mentioning for him to sit aswell - couldn’t stop thinking.“ Eren sits beside me. „Huh, you too, hm?“ he mumbles, looking at nothing particular. „Mhm.“ I pull my legs up, hissing when I move my left side, which doesnt go unnoticed. He is quick to stand up and help me. „What are you doing moving so much anyway, he scolds lightly, you gotta lie down.“ He puts his hands on my shoulders, pushing me back softly. „Four more days at least, the Doc said.“ I huff, but don’t fight him. The tingling comes back in my stomach. His right hand is resting on my bicep, warm and large. „Eren, I begin, can I tell you something?“ It’s late.

I don’t have the energy to keep my feelings in. I don’t have the will to care. „Yeah, what’s up?“

he asks, still hovering over me slightly. His green eyes seem to glow. „Eren, I think I‘m in love with you.“ I hear myself whisper. There’s a pause. The realization seeps into his mind, I watch him understand. What a weird thing to witness, I think to myself briefly. His eyes grow wider and he opens his mouth to say something. But I cut him off. „You don’t have to say anything, or do anything…“ I mutter, unable to keep up his eye-contact and instead looking down at my hand fumbling with the white blanket. „I know this is out of the blue…but I, I just had this on my mind for so long, I had to-„ „Me too.“

His grip tightens around my arm and my eyes go back to his. He looks taken aback, but honest. He looks how I feel - overwhelmed. „Huh?“ I ask, dumbly, as I process his words. Me too.

Eren goes red. „What do you mean, ‚huh‘? I think- no, I feel the same…!“ His eyes fly across the room, he grows flustered. But I, in stark contrast to my behavior just a moment ago, can’t keep my eyes off of his face. „Uh…“ „I- ugh, lay down already, will you?“ With that, Eren tries to push me down into the mattress, but this time, I fight him. The words tumble out of me, way too hectic. „Wait, are you going?“ My hands find his forearms, afraid of him not meaning what he just said and just trying to run away from me. „I’m sorry, I…“ And then something strange happens. Just then, I see Eren, sitting on the chair next to this very bed, crying into his hands. That was the first thing I saw when I woke up earlier today. The sight was so…uncharacteristic and terrible that I could feel it physically hurting in my chest. Eren rarely ever cries like that. But earlier, when I woke up, he was.

And just like that, I start sobbing. „Wha…h-hey, I’m not going, (Y/n)! Why are you crying?! Oh shit, Sorry, he ushers, letting go of me, did that hurt?! (Y/n)-„ „No…“ Immediately, I grab him again, desperate for him to stay. „Y-you were crying…Eren…I don’t want you to get hurt…!“ Everything - the mission, my father and Markus, just everything that had happened in these past four years just seems to come crashing down on me right now. And since I don’t have the strength to withstand it, I crumble. „Eren…“ My face feels hot and sticky from the tears. I see him getting hurt, getting ripped apart and eaten. I see him die, right there in front of me.

Then I feel his arms around my back, pulling me into a sitting position and into his chest. He tucks my head under his chin. „Hey…you worry about yourself for once!“ He sounds close to tears himself. „I’m not hurt…wh-where’s this coming from? Didn’t you just say that…you’re in love with me?“ he asks in a shaky voice. I nod, my hand trying to feel out his heartbeat. „Y-yes…I am…“ I stop and try to sound a bit more stable. „I’m just so worried…what if something happens to you?“ His heart beats small underneath my fingertips and involuntarily, I see a bird. He doesn’t answer, which only makes my fear more serious. Because his silence means that I’m right to fear this - that it is bound to happen if we want to be with one another.

***

„Will you lay with me, please?“ I ask after a few more minutes. „Yeah…, Eren whispers tiredly, yeah I will.“ So then, we part and I scoot over to make room for him. When we lie next to eachother under the blanket, Eren reaches for me, pulling me gently closer. I lazily put my forehead to his, hands curled close to myself. Tiredly, i try to remember the last time I’d been this small, this vulnerable towards someone else. I am worn out from the crying and let myself melt into Eren’s warmth. A wave of affection and comfort floods me, and I welcome it; I imagine myself sinking deep down into a large body of water, no sound around. Eren’s arm is draped over my shoulder. „Let’s sleep, ok?“ The words are barely louder than a breath. I try to keep my eyes open, just a little longer, to look at him. His eyes are closed. Slowly, his hand goes back to my head, like it did earlier and he strokes my hair a couple of times. „Kay…“ I put my arm over his side. His body rises and falls ever so lightly. I’m warm. Shortly after, I am asleep in Eren’s arms, seeing myself sink deeper and deeper into water.

***

I think back to this memory with a sadness and a longing I‘d never thought possible. Eren has agreed to speak to me in his cell, but Hanji has insisted on staying at the end of the hall in case he tries to hurt me. Hurt me. Knowing that this is not an unlikely outcome, I want to cry. More than that, I feel this burning wish to destroy the world in which I live. Ever since Eren…changed, I’ve been asking myself more and more frequently, what if? What if it hadn’t been him? What if I didn’t love him? What if I had never been born? That last one is the question I’ve been asking myself the most. What if I just kill myself, right now? What if I simply throw myself off this very building?

Its so damn easy. So damn easy. At this point however, right here and right now, as I’m walking down the corridor to Eren’s cell like a mere shadow, I don’t have any answers. Nor do I have the strength to decide such things anymore. I haven’t been able to do…anything. I am more dead than alive. A jingle of keys brings me back to the situation at hand. ‚Oh, Markus, if only I hadn’t run.‘

„Eren, Hanji stops, realizing that she couldn’t do anything about it, …don’t hurt her.“ I look for him and see him sitting on the edge of the bed, hair long and overgrown, his eyes bloodshot and completely empty. I still can’t comprehend, can’t understand how this is the same man. I don’t want to. Hanji turns to leave and says: „I’ll be there.“ She looks sad. I appreciate her words, but I can’t say anything. And just like that, I’m alone with Eren, for the first time in months.

I haven’t been paying any attention to days passing. The cell is entirely empty except for the bed. It’s dark and cold and musty. Neither of us say anything for a while. I just stand there, a few feet away from him, because I don’t know what to do with myself. What’s even the point of this?

„Well, Eren eventually speaks, what do you want?“ His voice too is completely rid of any emotion. A shudder of nausea goes through me, rises in my throat like vomit. I breath in the slightly moist air. What do i want? „…say goodbye, i guess.“ I answer quietly, looking down at the rough stones that make up the floor. „If that’s all. Goodbye.“ „EREN!“ I whip around, suddenly furious and full of hate. How could he, this goddamn bastard. „WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?! FINE, WE’RE NO LONGER EVEN ALLIES, BUT ONCE, WE LOVED EACHOTHER!“ My throat feels raw. I can’t see clearly, tears blurring him, blurring the entire world. What was I thinking? If trying brings this outcome, I should’ve run after Markus when I had the chance. I could’ve avoided all of this. I could’ve… „I never said that I didn’t love you anymore.“ His voice is so monotone. He doesn’t give a shit.

His dark eyes look up at me from his seat, half-closed, uninterested. God, I hate him.

„Fuck you…“ I hiss. „You don’t give a shit, do you? All of it…, I gesture, not sure what exactly I even mean, was all of it just bullshit to you? Did you play me, you fucking sadist? When did you become so cruel?“ I close my eyes briefly, voice cracking as I contemplate all of our past relationship. I loved him, I truly did. Now it’s not just fury and hate, but pain that I feel. ‚Where are you?! Where did you go?!‘ I sob weakly. „What are you even fighting for at this point?“ Shaking my head, I go over to the opposite wall and lean my back to it, afraid that I might fall. I feel as though I am choking. I just want this to stop, want this madness to find a fucking end. „(Y/n).“ I don’t bother looking up. „If this works, we can have a new beginning. If I can activate The Rumbling, we can start over. From scratch, humanity can start anew, in a world free of titans, once and for all.“ The tears dripping down my face fall silently onto the stone. Hanji’s just down the corridor.

„(Y/n), as far as I’m concerned, you can join me or not. I don’t care whichever you pick.“ Now I do look at him, sitting there on the edge of the bed, hands clasped together, looking as frail as ever. „But i didn’t say that I didn’t love you anymore.“ We lock eyes. How can he say this, part of me thinks. Where does he get the right, this- „I will only ask you once: are you with me or against me?“ His stare is that of a murderer. I don’t recognize him, yet I absolutely do. This is wrong.

„You have the wrong impression, that I just forgot you. I thought of you every day. I thought of the others every day. I asked myself every day why it all had to come to this.“ For an instant, I see the Eren i know sitting infront of me. No, no, you can’t, he is wrong and you- „(Y/n), I offer you a new beginning, if you help me. We can do this together. If I succeed, we can live together, in a world without titans. Like you wished we could.“ He reaches his hand out to me.

„Are you serious…?“

My voice is barely even a whisper at this point. I can’t believe what I am hearing. But a part of me wants to take his hand. It sounds too good to be true: a world without all of this horror. Maybe, just maybe... I find myself genuinely considering his offer. „Yes.“ he answers. „…I love you, Eren.“ This is it. This is happening. „…but I can’t help you, knowing that you will bring the Apocalypse upon the world. Willingly, killing countless…“ I break off. „But I won’t stop you. You chose this. You are right; you are free. I always thought so highly of you for fighting so fiercely for it….“ I stand straight and walk over to him. As I stand infront of him, looking down into his empty, emerald eyes, I swear that I can hear the cracking in my chest. My Eren. „Goodbye.“ I expect him to back away, but he doesn’t. I kiss him, one last time, crying for the Eren whom I’d whished to spend my life with. The man I am kissing right now is not him. Not anymore. I hold his cheek for a moment, unable to look him in the eyes. There’s nothing there anyway. „I love you…and nothing can change that anymore…“ Without turning back, I go to leave the cell.

„(Y/n).“ I stop. The words are soft and quiet. Everything is so still I can only hear my own heartbeat, small and weak. „I still love you.“ Really? Then why are you against us? Then why did you leave me so easily? Isn’t this worth working out, then? Isn’t this worth reconsidering? Suddenly, Eren grabs my wrist. When he pulls, I don’t fight and once I hit the bed, I just sit down. He is right behind me, I can feel him. „Even though I‘m…different, now.“ Arms wrap around my shoulders and I am pulled into his chest. He feels so thin. His head rests against mine. A whimper escapes me, I cant help it. His closeness is so familiar. I miss him so much. „I love you.“ he whispers into my ear, squeezing me. There’s real emotion in his words. I cling to his arms, crying. He is still there.

„I hope you live a long, happy life, my love. Promise me you’ll do all you can to be happy…“ He presses a kiss to the back of my head, lingering for a moment. I take his large hand in mine and kiss his knuckles. The skin is rough at some points. My mind is screeching at me to stay, to agree with him. But this is the end, and the both of us seem to understand without any words, that we must end here. Eren holds me like this for a long time. When he finally releases me, I want to surrender.

„Go, (Y/n), he says softly, I will always be grateful for you. Goodbye.“ It takes more than I have to walk those four steps to the gate. „Goodbye, Eren…“ I choke out. Don‘t turn around. Go, he said. „I love you…“. „I love you too.“ I hear his smile. A low wail rises in my throat. But I go, just like Eren said. Blinded with tears and longing for a future I will never have, I continue to walk away, knowing that now, I am heading for the roof and that the only mistake I have ever made was to not run after him when my brother screamed at me to run away.

***

#aot season 4 #eren yeager #eren jaeger #eren fluff #eren angst #eren x fem!reader #aot angst #eren x reader angst #drabble #oneshot #aot x you #aot x y/n #eren x y/n #sad boi hours #shingeki no kyoujin x reader #aot

[extasiswings]

“I felt it shelter to speak to you.” for Buddie

This was...not supposed to be this long but all the recent promo content has been...inspiring. Anyway...on ao3 here.

The first attack happens on a Saturday afternoon.

There’s nothing special about the day, nothing strange. Christopher is at a friend’s birthday party, Buck is off somewhere with Taylor, and Eddie is grocery shopping before he’s meant to meet Ana for an early dinner.

His shoulder aches a little—that’s what he notices first—but that’s not too unusual. It happens sometimes. Even as physical therapy has helped him regain strength and mobility in his arm and shoulder, a high caliber sniper round ripping through his upper chest is no minor injury. Plus, while he’s hardly ancient, he’s not even as young as he was when he was shot the first time, and those bullets left behind their own patches of scar tissue and occasional twinges.

So. His shoulder aches. It’s fine. He ignores it and moves on. Goes through the store, checks out, put his bags in the backseat—

There’s a glare off a window in the apartment building across the street.

Eddie reaches for the handle of his door.

Suddenly, his fingers start tingling, uncomfortable pricks of icy numbness traveling up his hands like they’ve fallen asleep, but shaking them out doesn’t help. And then, without warning, pain lances through his chest, sharp and acute, and he can’t breathe properly, as if his torso has been trapped in a vise that’s slowly tightening more and more.

His vision swims. He sways on his feet, grasping at the door handle with clumsy, numb fingers to keep himself upright.

He feels like—he feels—

He feels like he’s dying. It strikes him with sudden clarity. He’s dying. Dying in a random parking lot—he always assumed he was too young to have a heart attack but the symptoms fit and he’s just—

He can’t. He can’t die. Not when he’s survived everything else. This can’t be—

“Sir?” There’s a woman with a station wagon parked in the space next to his truck and she’s looking at him with no small amount of concern. “Are you okay?”

Eddie’s mouth is so dry and his breathing so irregular that it takes him a moment to respond.

“I—I think I need to go to the hospital,” he grits out as another wave of dizziness threatens to send him to his knees.

She calls 911. Eddie spares a moment to be grateful that the paramedics who show up a few minutes later aren’t from the 118.

As it turns out, he’s not dying. And he didn’t have a heart attack.

“A panic attack?” Eddie’s voice is distant to his own ears as he stares at the ER doctor in disbelief, his stomach flipping with a new kind of dread. “Are you sure?”

“Your symptoms resolved on their own and your EKG is normal, Mr. Diaz,” she replies as she flicks through the screens of his chart on her tablet. “And nothing in your prior history or other recent tests indicates that there’s anything physically wrong with you—you were healthy before you were shot and your recovery has progressed smoothly up to this point.”

She pauses and looks back at him. “Have you...spoken to a therapist? I noticed that your treating physician made a referral for counseling when you were originally discharged, but…”

Eddie clears his throat roughly. “Yeah, no, I, uh...with the PT schedule and everything else going on, I never followed up with that. But I’ve been fine. It never seemed necessary.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Diaz,” the doctor says, “you’re in the emergency room because of an acute stress response in which your brain tricked your body into believing you were in danger to such an extent that you thought you were dying. I’m not sure you’re as fine as you think.”

There’s probably some truth to that. Eddie can admit that much. But that doesn’t mean he needs—he’s been shot before. He’s been in a warzone. He didn’t need therapy to move forward from it then and he shouldn’t now. He can—he can handle this. He can make himself get over it.

He’s already spent months leaning heavily on everyone around him. The thought of not being okay, of asking for more help when he’s finally easing back into working, when things are finally getting back to normal, when they all have their own issues to focus on—

God, it makes him want to throw up.

So...no. He’s okay. Because not being okay isn’t an option.

He’s fine. The panic attack was...a fluke.

“I appreciate the advice,” Eddie says finally. “I’ll think about it.”

He can tell the doctor doesn’t believe him when her lips thin.

“You know, more likely than not, the panic attacks will keep happening if you do nothing,” she points out. “Ignoring this won’t make it go away.”

“I understand,” Eddie replies. “If that’s all, does that mean I can get out of here?”

The doctor sighs. “Sure.”

Eddie’s phone rings while he’s in an Uber on the way back to his truck. It’s Ana.

He swears under his breath as he sees the time—he hadn’t called anyone, hadn’t wanted the hospital to call anyone either, but that means he’s now late for a date that he doesn’t really want to keep after everything and further doesn’t leave him with any good excuses for his absence except the truth which...he doesn’t really want to admit.

Before the shooting, Carla told him to make sure he was following his heart. And he’s been too exhausted and focused on his recovery to really think too hard about that. But now—

For a moment, Eddie considers it. Telling Ana the truth. Showing her some of the dark, messy, ugly pieces of himself. Being vulnerable.

The very idea makes him recoil. Not because he thinks she would run away necessarily, but because he just...can’t.

He can’t. Not with her.

And if he’s that uncomfortable with the idea of letting in someone he’s been dating for over half a year, if he can’t imagine himself ever actually being comfortable with that...then what the hell is he doing?

He calls her back when he gets to his truck.

“Hey—I’m so sorry, I had a little emergency—yeah, everything’s fine now, but I’m not sure I’m up for going out. Can I meet you at your place? ...okay, great. See you soon.”

He may know even less about ending a relationship than he does about dating in general, but he figures he at least owes it to her to end things in person.

*

Eddie goes to work on Monday feeling fine. Great, even. He sleeps well the night before, he gets Christopher off to school on time, traffic is light enough that he gets to the station early—

Everything is fine. By all accounts it should be a good day.

At least, that’s what he thinks right up until all of them get different emergency alerts sent to their phones and they find out the city’s systems have been hacked. From that point forward, everything is chaos. Damage control. Twenty-car pile-ups because stoplights are being messed with, an outbreak of animals from the zoo when the electric locks on their enclosures released—

Eddie’s fine though. He’s fine. It’s nothing he can’t handle—in fact, he’s usually great with chaos. He’s focused and sure and capable. Nothing else matters but the work, certainly not himself. When he’s busy, he has no time to think about anything else.

The gradually worsening tension in his shoulders can be ignored. The way he has to clench his hands into fists to keep them from shaking in a way he hasn’t had to do since his earliest days in Afghanistan can be brushed off. He doesn’t have time to think about anything but the jobs in front of him, which means he doesn’t have time to think about his own state.

Brush it off, pick yourself up, keep moving forward. That’s what he knows, that’s what he can do.

Except, then they end up at the hospital and—

A medevac helicopter falls off the roof. Bobby nearly joins it. Buck and Eddie barely manage to get him back.

A cold sweat breaks out on Eddie’s brow as Bobby leans heavily against the wall next to the roof access door to catch his breath. His stomach roils. He doesn’t feel fully connected to his own body, caught somehow between present and past, a rooftop in Los Angeles and a desert in Afghanistan.

He breathes in. He tamps down on the rising panic.

Bobby is fine. The helicopter pilots and their patient are fine.

He’s fine. He’s fine.

“Are you okay?”

Eddie jumps at the question, his head whipping around to find the source. Buck’s brow furrows as he holds up his hands.

“Sorry,” Buck says quietly. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Eddie swallows hard and shakes his head. “You’re fine, don’t worry about it.”

He glances toward the door. “You know, I think I’m going to head back down,” he says, hoping Buck won’t notice the fact that he hasn’t answered the original question. “I want to make sure the pilots are holding up alright.”

“I can come—” Buck starts to offer, only for Eddie to cut him off.

“Someone should stay with Bobby,” he replies. He forces a smile as Buck’s eyes search his face. “I’ll be fine.”

Buck glances at Bobby, then back to Eddie before he finally nods.

“Okay,” he says. “But here, take the radio. If anything happens—”

“I’ll let you know.”

Eddie makes it down one flight of stairs before he decides to take the elevator the rest of the way down. The numbers on the top of the doors tick down, down, down—

And then, abruptly, the elevator lurches to a halt, throwing Eddie off balance and into the wall as the lights go out, plunging him into total darkness.

His ears ring from the impact.

He’s trapped. Trapped in a metal box in the dark. A box that could easily become a coffin if the emergency stop failed and sent it careening down to crash at the bottom of the elevator shaft.

Eddie’s breathing speeds up against his will. His chest starts to hurt.

Not again, he thinks vaguely. Not here, not now, not again.

But. He can’t move. He can’t breathe. Some distant part of his mind recognizes that what he’s feeling isn’t real, that he just needs to calm down, but he can’t—

He’s going to die. He’s going to—

The radio crackles in his belt.

“Eddie? Eddie! Can you hear me?”

Eddie’s mind latches onto the sound of Buck’s voice like a lifeline in an ocean of distress. It takes him a moment to make his trembling hands work through their numbness, to remind his fingers how to work the buttons, but eventually, he lifts the radio to his mouth.

“I’m here,” he says. His voice shakes. “I’m in the elevator. It’s—I don’t know which floor. Or if I’m between floors. I don’t—”

He shudders. His eyes close, not that it really matters given how dark the space is already.

“It’s okay,” Buck replies. “It’s okay, Eddie, we’ll find you. We’ll get you out, don’t worry.”

“I don’t want to die here.” It slips out of him before he can pull it back. Buck takes a sharp breath on the other end of the line.

“That’s not going to happen,” Buck says firmly, although his own voice seems less steady than usual. “I would never let that happen. I’ve got your back, remember? Always.”

A shudder rips down Eddie’s spine and he slides against the wall to sit on the floor. The walls still feel too restricting, like they’re closing in on him more each moment that he looks away.

The radio crackles again.

“Eddie. What can I do? What do you need?” Buck asks.

I don’t know. I don’t—I can’t—

“Eddie.” The fear and desperation in Buck’s voice cuts through the fog in Eddie’s mind.

He never wants Buck to sound like that.

“Keep talking?” Eddie replies. “I—just keep talking to me. Please?”

Don’t go, is what he really means. Stay with me.

He’s never allowed himself to say those things though. Not during the early days of the pandemic when they were sharing a bed in Buck’s loft. Not after he moved back home with Christopher and the other side of his bed felt too empty for sleep to come easily. And certainly not after he started dating Ana.

During his recovery, he never had to ask Buck for anything really. Buck was always just...there. Even though he was with Taylor, he was still there with Eddie and with Christopher whenever Eddie needed him. Like he knew somehow. Or maybe as if he needed to be there as much as Eddie needed him there.

Eddie hasn’t looked too closely at any of that. He’s not ready to. It’s too much, too complicated, too—too—

Dangerous.

“What do you want to talk about?”

Eddie swallows hard as his head rests against the wall. As he allows the sound of Buck’s voice to wrap around him like armor. Like home. Insulating him against the panic and isolation.

“Anything,” he says quietly. “Just keep talking.”

And Buck does. He talks about everything and nothing, random facts and stories from his past that Eddie hasn’t heard before, he talks and talks and talks until his voice grows hoarse in Eddie’s ear and the pressure on Eddie’s lungs eases.

Eddie exhales shakily and takes a few deep breaths as he continues to listen, as his body shifts from hyper-awareness and panic to wrung out exhaustion. When Buck finally cuts off, it’s because there’s an ugly screech of metal as the elevator doors are pried open, as light filters back in.

Eddie’s legs are unsteady as he gets to his feet. He trips on the edge of the elevator door when he exits—

Buck catches him before he can fall. Because of course he does.

“Thank you,” Eddie breathes into Buck’s shoulder as he finds his balance.

Buck shakes his head. “I promised we’d get you out, didn’t I? Besides, I—I shouldn’t have let you go alone.”

“I decided—”

“I shouldn’t have let you,” Buck repeats, low but insistent. His eyes meet Eddie’s and Eddie swallows hard.

“You weren’t okay. Were you?” Buck asks. And Eddie—

He wants to lie. Part of him does at least.

But he can’t lie to Buck.

Not to Buck.

“No,” he confesses. It’s half a whisper. “No, I wasn’t.”

Buck bites his lip and nods once.

“Okay,” he says. “We’ll figure it out.”

And somehow, Eddie believes him.

#chapel writes #prompt fill #letmetellyouaboutmyfeels #buddie #eddie diaz #buddie fic #buddie ff

[magniloquent-raven]

@cherrydreamer's lil headcanon (go read it, its cute) got me thinking bout family video shenanigans. ppl having messy feelings. and billy coming in all the damn time to see steve, but pretending that's not why he's there.

and he flirts with robin. a lot.

like. purely because he thinks her and steve are dating and he's trying to drive a wedge between them out of petty jealousy. and because it gets steve's attention. he's always trying to run interference, with this weird, awkward look on his face, and billy knows he's holding something back, but he's got no clue what it is. it's not like there's any reason steve can't just say that him and robin are together, but he never does, and the whole situation just makes billy itch because he wants to know. so he keeps sticking his nose in it.

steve, meanwhile, is dying inside because he honestly has no idea what his feelings are doing or why they're doing that and he's just hopelessly miserable about the fact that he wants billy to keep coming around (for some goddamn reason) and he feels guilty about it because billy is making robin uncomfortable.

and he talks to robin about it one day. they're working their way through pizza leftovers and watching a shitty movie and steve's at his wit's end when he blurts, "i mean, at least he's hot," because he's trying so desperately to find a silver lining that he says something he didn't really mean to say.

and she looks at him like he just suggested they invite the mind flayer to a party. "you do know how lesbians work, right?"

"hey!" he throws a crumpled napkin at her, feeling defensive and vulnerable and... he looks down at his hands. picks at his nails. "it doesn't make you feel anything when he...?"

he doesn't know what her face is doing now, he can't bring himself to look at her, but she huffs loudly. "yeah, i feel like punching him in the nose. i feel like losing my lunch all over his shoes. i don't. like. men. harrington."

"i mean, neither do i, but..."

but he's locked eyes with billy while he was putting the moves on robin, more than once, and seeing that stupid flirty look aimed at him tugged at his guts the same way looking at nancy used to. like the first time he saw her with her shirt off, shy and smiling at him in his bedroom, and he felt that desire to be close to her pulling at his whole damn body.

but he's lingered in the aisles near the counter trying to listen in on what billy's saying and it made him wonder things he knew he shouldn't be wondering. thinking about what it would like to be in robin's shoes. what he might say if billy ever said that to him.

he didn't know. at the time. all those times. he didn't recognize what it was. because he's never been afraid of that pull until it was pulling him towards billy hargrove. it feels different when it's trying to hide from itself.

"...steve." she's gentler, now. soft. hesitant. there's a question there that he's not sure he can answer yet.

"i, uh...hm." he pushes his hair away from his eyes. "well, shit."

~~tag list @spreckle @growup-thatbeautiful 💕~~

#billy hargrove #steve harrington #robin buckley #harringrove #stranger things #a raven's writing desk #after steve's done freaking out he starts interrupting billy's flirting with his own flirting #he 100% tells himself it's because robin has had enough and giving billy a taste of his own medicine #(being hit on by someone you don't want) #will solve the problem #probably #he figures it'll make billy uncomfortable enough to stop #because CLEARLY billy wouldn't want steve flirting with him #except #yknw #steve does not get the reaction he expects at ALL and he just about melts into the floor when he accidentally makes billy blush #once they start dating robin tells steve he owes her like. so much takeout as payment for having to deal with billy's annoying ass #for so long #before they got their shit together #billy and steve pool their money and buy her a thank you/apology gift

[djarinsbeskar]

EXPLORATION ARC: PART 3 - CRASH LANDINGS

A/N: I think I’ve read and re-read this part so many times that I’m not sure I’m fully happy with it anymore. However! I do hope you can all enjoy the latest instalment, with our lovely Din (finally) getting some well earned attention.

Pairing: Din Djarin/Fem!Reader

Word Count: 14.4k (I have no self control I’m sorry if it drags on)

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warnings: language, (some) dirty talk, SMUT! - oral (m receiving including deepthroating and gagging), handjobs, fingering, Din being slightly awkward before embracing his dom side

Summary: It’s mighty hard to distract yourself from your mysterious and alluring shipmate, so why bother?

AO3 | Stitches Masterlist | Main Masterlist

You could say with some confidence that most times in your life, you had smooth landings.

A small swell in your stomach as a ship glided down into atmosphere. The gentle, paced approach of land or sea, of mountains, forests and cities materializing as you descended. The gradual growth of buildings, speeders and individuals from pinpricks into distinguishable features of the landscape. A smooth landing was like sliding into a warm bath, where you only realized how good the water felt when it was lapping around your ears and soothing away the aches of a bad day; the touch down of a ship letting you bask in being on solid ground once more.

Sometimes, you admit, there were rough landings.

Your heart hammering in the back of your throat while you desperately tried to smother the creeping nervousness with every bump of turbulence or rattle of a ships’ engine. The rapidly approaching planet being anything but a welcome sight; the hollow, raw sensitivity to every noise both inside the ship and out suspending you in time before the worst passed. Rough landings to you, were like rolling down a hill as a child from a grassy knoll, the incline of which – to an adult – was nothing more than a slight slope. Chaotic in the movement as your head became dizzy from spinning, but once laying on your back and laughing breathlessly up at wispy clouds, you realized it wasn’t so very bad after all. The same could be said when a ships mechanical functions and sensors righted themselves through automation or a talented pilots guide to land… not so very bad in hindsight.

And then there were crash landings… rare but staggering in the impression they left.

Moments where you weren’t sure if you were hyperventilating or holding your breath, if up was down and if the ship you flew was evening functioning beyond alloying gravity to pull it mercilessly towards wreckage and death. Total clarity and yet, an inability to focus on any one thing as the rapid descent fogged any ability to see the ground coming hard and fast. The shrill alarms and warning lights ceaselessly reminding you of how fucked you really were. The adrenaline it inspired – having nowhere to go – could make you giddy and exhilarated despite the danger. In your life, the feeling of a crash landing couldn’t be compared to the physical; they were the sinking realization of someone falling out of love with you, of the betrayal from a loyal friend, the abandonment of a lifelong support. They were the serendipity of a chance meeting, the recognition of a hidden talent and the reciprocation of long held feelings. Crash landings were all the times you had ever been blindsided and helpless to prevent them: an embodied vulnerability.

The day you landed on Nevarro was a crash landing in more ways than one.

One being the literal – survived by the seat of your pants – landing that had you questioning Mando’s ethnicity beneath the helmet. Was he from Corellia? Or Maker-forbid, Pamarthe? Because there was simply no way, no way, that he managed to pull off that landing with one engine blown and a fleet of pirates on his tail. But he did, and you were all alive because of it. He guided the Razor Crest like it was an extension of himself, completely in control of every movement and never anything but calm as he did so.

For as long as you had known the Mandalorian, he had owned the fossil that was the Razor Crest, and now you could see why. You wanted to weep and apologise to her for every stray thought you had about how old and outdated she was. You knew a brand new gunship that people paid obscene amounts of credits for wouldn’t have survived the same strain the Razor Crest was just put under.

You had come to think of the two – Mando and the Razor Crest – as mirrors of each other; intimidating, ageless and well able to endure more than a ship – or a human body – was naturally capable of. It endeared you to both of them more than you already were.

The other proverbial crash landing you experienced that day, was the incident that preceded your less than desirable entry onto the Nevarro; the one that stripped away all pretense and ignorance that had strained your relationship with Mando in the weeks prior.

After hastily grabbing the child from his pod and staggering back up the ladder one handed as the ship shook violently to strap you both into the co-pilot chair, you didn’t have the presence of mind to notice the heavy scent still permeating the cockpit, or the slightly uncomfortable feeling of your release drying on your thighs. You couldn’t even begin to wrap your mind around the fact that Mando, that stubborn, stoic, recklessly unattainable man you had spent years patching up over and over again, had gotten you off with just his thigh and a few well placed rolls of his hips.

You were too busy trying not to panic at the prospect of dying or being captured which really, would just be your rotten luck after finally seeing the immovable control the Mandalorian exerted, waver. You were distracted from those thoughts right up to the point where the rough rasp of Mando’s voice as the pirates engaged with the Razor Crest’s commlink made your prior activities glaringly obvious. His voice, still thick and heavy with his unfulfilled released gradually morphed into a cold anger as he shut off the connection when the pirates’ demanded payment for your lives.

Of the things you came to realize about Mando since travelling with him, one of the few that surprised you was his refusal to negotiate with nearly everyone he encountered. It gave the small allowances he made when you treated him – and the many he gave the kid most days – a lot more weight. But you didn’t have time to think about that as he dodged shot after shot.

Your landing on Nevarro was a combination of whiplash, soot and precarious rocking before the Razor Crest skidded to a final, jarring stop a few meters away from the closest ship docked outside the main town entrance. Only when the ship stayed upright instead of bowling over from the momentum did you allow yourself to breathe again, grounding yourself back in the cockpit despite your stomach being left somewhere in space.

The return of your breathing and the realization that you had in fact survived, allowed the reality of what happened before to slam to the forefront of your mind.

You dry humped a Mandalorian. The Mandalorian. Him. Mando.

Like a kitten in heat… the echo of his words had heat instantly returning to your face at the memory. You remained flushed even as you attempted to distract yourself by running an unnecessary mental check on your body for injury. Apart from a small ache growing in your head from the whiplash, you were good as new. Too good if you were being honest, and the reason for that was hardly a mystery.

You ran your eyes over the child, smoothing a hand soothingly over his wrinkled head and along one of his ears to make sure he wasn’t hurt, cooing at him gently as he nuzzled back against your chest with a string of sleepy babble. He was more concerned with being woken up than the manner of your landing apparently,

“I know darling, I’m sorry I woke you,” you muttered against his head, the sheer relief that he was out of danger roiling in your stomach and made you close your eyes as his familiar scent invaded your nose while he settled back down to sleep.

As he settled, the cockpit swelled with a heavy silence, reality catching up with you both now that the distraction of pirates and possible death was gone.

The red warning lights and occasional alarm were flicked off one by one with every resounding click of a button. When you first entered the cockpit earlier that day, you struggled to keep your eyes off him and now, now your eyes focused on anything but the man who had groaned your name so sinfully. Those clicks and snaps of levers and buttons – while quiet – were the only sounds that filled the air, enhancing the silence you sat in.

Mando was tenser than before, his shoulders stiff and movements more forceful than necessary as he geared the ship down. A malicious thought surfaced momentarily that he might be regretting what happened already.

You rolled your eyes at yourself, recognizing the ridiculousness of the notion immediately; you had just spent several heart-stopping minutes being chased and shot at and only landed mere moments ago. Of course he was tense. Stars, your muscles had yet to relax from the anxiety inducing minutes before Mando finally out maneuvered them with an unfazed countenance.

But heightened emotions and the insecurities they could bring with them weren’t uncommon after an orgasm. You merely tried to keep the more ridiculous ones at bay, a benefit of maturity and age you appreciated. It allowed you to have had your fair share of purely physical relationships; one night stands and friends with benefits over the years. It wasn’t in you to get overly attached to a sexual partner after the uncertainty of the war. You were certain Mando would be no different. You appreciated sex for what it was; a release, a coping mechanism or simply just something fun to do.

Mando’s arm reached across the small distance in front of you, one final switch and silence reigned once more. He hesitated as he withdrew his hand, resting it heavily on the dash and his helmet turned marginally to look at you, your eyes instantly lifting to the visor. You cursed the damn shiny thing silently; you had never felt the lack of expressions, or small facial tells that might have given you an indication of how he was feeling more than now. The feeling of his gaze didn’t however stop the pang of arousal reawakening after being doused so suddenly before; it simmered low in your stomach now as he watched you.

Your eyes searched his visor, hopefully conveying – if nothing else – that you didn’t regret anything. A soft quirk to your lips and he released a long breath, hanging his head slightly before pushing back up to his seat. Your smile increased subconsciously; he seemed exasperated, not ashamed and that would have to be good enough for you.

It didn’t take long for the silence to turn more comfortable after that, more familiar as he stood from his seat to make his way past you, cape brushing your arm as he did so. He hesitated at the door, considering something before he left. When he evidently came to a conclusion, he turned back to look down at you, forearm resting above his head on the doorframe as he did so,

“I’ll be gone a few hours. The Guild will be by to pick up the quarries so…” he trailed off and you waited expectantly for what he was trying to tell you, “get some fresh air. We’re leaving as soon as I pick up the next batch of pucks.”

You craned your neck to keep your eyes on him and the sudden déjà vu of looking up at him wasn’t lost on either of you as a sharp exhale left the warrior. You nodded a few times to his suggestion, mulling over anything that was low or might need restocking, mind running a klick a minute before an idea sparked in your mind, making you sit up straighter in excitement,

“Mando? Is there an automated banking center here?”

Your question seemed to throw him because he didn’t answer immediately, mind more pleasantly distracted by your appearance,

“Why?” was his only response in the end.

“I want credits, that’s why,” you rolled your eyes in playful exasperation as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, which it was. Why else would you go to a bank?

“The New Republic pay a pension for anyone who served in the Rebellion. It gets fed into an account that can be accessed from most galactic banking centers,” you explained, excited by the possibility of actually having your own credits and being able to contribute rather than living off the credits Mando earned from his bounty hunting.

“Oh,” came the lackluster response, “I don’t know. I’ve never used one before,” he finished simply, dropping his arm from the doorframe and turning to make his way down into the hold without another word.

You deflated a bit in your seat before perking up. No. ‘I don’t know’ wasn’t a negative answer, just an unhelpful one. You chuckled quietly so as not to disturb the child sleeping again you, he was still no better at talking than when you first met him. Perhaps it was simply a case of not being able to teach an old Massiff new tricks. Funnily enough, you didn’t think he needed to. You were adapting well enough to his silence as it was.

You could find out for yourself. You were dying to get off the ship and it was the perfect excuse to explore a new town for the precious few hours you had planet-side, a chance to stretch your legs and get some much needed fresh air. It was also a much better alternative to sitting on the ship and replaying the last few hours in your head, working yourself up over a husky voice and a hard body.

No, that would just drive you mad.

Since he left the cockpit, some of the heat left with him and you were able to lean back and take a long, deep breath. Fuck… but he was still able to get to you without even trying, you admitted yourself as you closed your eyes. You didn’t even have the chance to touch him beyond that momentary glance against the smooth, burning length of him. You never believed in karma before, but you must have done something truly rotten to have been stopped from touching that man.

A warmth filled you at the thought of how good he felt under you; the promise of more taken away before either of you had a moment to think. You felt wrecked from the orgasm he gave you and that hadn’t even required the removal of clothing, let alone his hands or cock.

But he hadn’t finished.

Your brows furrowed at the thought, along with a small swell of guilt in your stomach. You considered yourself to be a generous lover and wouldn’t cheapen the sentiment of wanting him to feel satisfied by thinking you owed it to him. You wanted to make him feel good, knowing the bliss someone else could give you was infinitely better than one’s own hand. You wanted to preen with the knowledge that you could bring this man, this immovable force to his knees in ecstasy.

You wanted to make him feel that good now, not later.

Steeling your nerves, you gracelessly wrestled yourself out of your seatbelt, hindered by the loss of one arm that supported the child. Finally free, you followed the same path the Mandalorian took down the ladder (equally as inelegant but climbing a ladder was awkward with two hands let alone one so you forgave yourself). You hurried over to the child’s over-pram and, once he was tucked in and the pram itself closed, turned to where you had glanced Mando preparing to leave.

He was adjusting something on his vambraces’ control panel, so he hadn’t acknowledged your presence yet, but when he picked up the control that opened the ramp down, you opened your mouth,

“Mando!” you called just before he lowered the ramp onto the lava flats that made up the improvised spaceport on Nevarro.

Your voice stopped him in his tracks, and he turned his head slightly to indicate you had his attention.

Your feet were moving before you knew it, rounding in front of the warrior and removing the push-button control that hung from the wall of the Razor Crest; obviously, a temporary fix that had become a permanent solution. The remote fell easily from his grip when your fingers caressed the back of the hand that held it, your gaze never leaving where you hoped his was behind the visor.

You kept your hand on his as he lowered it down to his side, enjoying the tactile sensation of the buttery leather of his gloved fingers as they netted across your own before you pulled your hand away just far enough to trace along the duraweave at his hip and across the softer, more flexible ribbed armor on his abdomen.

“I—need to check the damage to the ship,” he rasped quietly after the control clattered loudly back against the wall it was attached to, no bite in his words as you stepped into his personal space. As expected, he didn’t move, your eyes searching for any indication of discomfort in his body language and – finding none – drifted down his body appreciatively, a knowing smile dancing across your lips.

“Gotta… collect the payment for---” he trailed off when your fingers returned to where they had been before you had been interrupted in the cockpit. His words petered off on a low exhale and you hummed in approval when you felt he was still half-hard under his flight suit.

“I don’t just take, Mando,” you said quietly so as not to break the little bubble you found yourself in with the Mandalorian. You were almost gentle in your cadence, as if anything louder would spook the intimidating man. Something inside you told you that his acceptance of your touch was no insignificant thing, not to him. You couldn’t pinpoint the reason, whether it was his devotion to his Creed he mentioned or some other personal reasons. Whatever it was, you didn’t take the liberties he afforded you lightly.

You wanted to make him forget his reservations, completely.

Your fingers easily undid the fly at his crotch and fit inside to wrap around the thick girth of his rapidly hardening length. Your stomach flipped at the sheer size of him, making you swallow while Mando braced his forearm on the wall behind you, folding over you slightly from his greater height. The deep sigh he released, a shuddering sound of relief and pleasure spread electricity across you, your body instantly reacting to the guttural sound instinctively. You gave his cock an experimental squeeze as you pulled him out from his flight suit in the hopes of hearing that noise again.

But Maker, your mouth watered when you finally tore your eyes from his helmet to his exposed length.

Rich, tan skin stretched taut across the thick length of his cock as it sat heavy in your grip, a shade darker than the skin you had seen while treating him before. Pearly precum was already beading from the blunt, swollen tip and your thumb automatically swiped through it to spread over the head. You reveled in the low moan you heard in your ear as Mando’s head dropped forward to rest on your shoulder, a shaky inhale making his shoulders shudder.

“It’s okay?” you whispered, needing to be certain. The immediate nod against your shoulder settled the last of your reservations and you gave him a long stroke in return. You wondered briefly if the dryness of your hand was uncomfortable so, releasing his cock briefly, you spat on your palm before wrapping it back around the base and started stroking him steadily.

“Fuck…” his voice was barely above a whisper, his cock heavy and rigid in your fist that barely managed to close around him as you squeezed him firmly.

Stars, he felt divine. All hard ridges covered in velvet skin, a hot pulsing weight in your hand that made you chew on your lip as you imagined the size and weight of him on your tongue or the sweet sting of him stretching your cunt around him. He was bigger than you had had before, and you knew you would probably feel him for days afterwards.

He twitched under your grip, but apart from the occasional shiver and low groan in your ear, he allowed your hand to explore and learn this part of him at your own pace. Your free hand skirted down his side to gently draw his tight balls out too and when you massaged them in your palm, you received a gravelly moan in your ear. It was followed by a heady rasp in that language you still couldn’t place; the sound of it running down your spine pleasantly and making your body react viscerally, your nipples peaked and sensitive against the material of your chest band and wetness soaking your underwear again.

His shoulders sagged as the tension began to bleed from his body, his helmet turning on your shoulder to watch your hand stroking his cock rhythmically.

You were throbbing with renewed arousal from just the feel of velvety steel in your hand and from hearing those low, gravelly sounds you had been thinking about for weeks. Nothing you had fabricated in your mind came close to the reality; deep and rich, they rumbled through his whole body until you could feel their echoes in your own.

Twisting your wrist on an upward stroke, his hips snapped forward and a groan left him. His free hand unexpectedly lifted to grasp the side of your neck, his staunch control wavering. His fingers spread around easily to tangle in the hair at the base of your neck to anchor himself and you had to bite down on your lip hard to keep from moaning at the sound of him panting your name in your ear. Your eyes fluttered closed when he tightened his fingers, holding your head in pace as you increased your pace to match his hips, random twists of your wrist making him curse and groan your name desperately.

“Fuck… kitten, don’t--- fuck, don’t stop,” he panted against the side of your head, the words interspersed with quiet moans as his control continued to bend, his hips thrusting shallowly into your hand as he chased the release that he had been denied earlier. You tightened your grip and it made him practically shake with pleasure. You were only using the weeping precum leaking from his head to smooth your hand along his length but Mando didn’t seem to mind the dry friction that tethered on discomfort. He seemed to like the added sensation that made his cock throb and his mind cloud with a primal desire to fuck.

“You feel so good, Mando…” your own voice was nothing short of a moan itself, heat gathering at your core and reminding you of how empty your pussy was. But you wanted to finish him first, to bring him to the height of pleasure like he deserved before you considered your own release again. The next time you got off, you wanted to feel him completely overwhelm your body with his own, whether that was with his cock or his fingers or hell, even his thigh again. Whatever he would give you.

You massaged his sensitive head at the thought, your cunt clenching. His fingers flexed in your hair, tugging on the strands and pulling a soft gasp from your lips as he lifted his head enough for the cool beskar to press against your forehead. Your eyes flickered frantically across the visor, the strength of his fingers tangling in your hair making your lips part,

“Fuck, you want more already, don’t you?” he growled with a hitch in his labored breathing when your thumb circled the head of his cock again. You didn’t try to hide the way he was making you feel, there was no point with the desire written plainly on your face.

Drunk on the heady, heavy scent of arousal that filled the hold, you nodded desperately to his question and released his balls to run your hand along the perfectly polished beskar on his chest, the warrior shuddering as if he could actually feel you through the armor,

“I want you…” you purred against his helmet before sinking your teeth into your bottom lip when he groaned.

His hand loosened in your hair, fanning up over your cheek and across the edge of your jaw before he cupped it roughly. His thumb swiped across your bottom lip to release it from the hold your teeth had it in. He repeated the motion, slower this time to savor the pillowy softness of the flesh before pressing his thumb into your willing mouth, the fingers he had around your jaw tightening to encourage your mouth to open for him.

You accepted the supple leather eagerly, letting it rest on the flat of your tongue before you closed your lips around it, the stagger in his shallow thrusts and the sharp, distorted exhale through his modulator telling you just how affected he was.

You moaned around his thumb when he pushed it deeper into the warm cavern of your mouth, letting your tongue circle it before sucking on it hard, showing him exactly what you were imagining doing to his cock and eyes still trained on the black shine of his visor. Your mind was filled with the sounds of his raspy groans and the quick drag of your fingers of the soft skin of his cock. You matched the pace of your hand as you sucked on his thumb and when he pressed closer to you, caging you against the wall, you arched against him and keened under his movements.

“You’re fucking filthy, aren’t you?” he muttered breathlessly and slightly awed, as if he had come across something so unexpectedly amazing when he hadn’t even been looking, “you wan---”

He was cut off as his commlink came to life.

“Mando! You ever going to come out? What’s taking so long?” the crackled, disembodied voice sounded from his vambrace, your eyes widening slightly before you deviously picked up the speed with which you stroked him.

Mando hissed, his helmet falling back on his shoulders at the pleasure that set every nerve in his body alight. He pulled his thumb from your mouth but kept his grip on your jaw firm,

“Dangerous game you’re playing, kitten,” he panted, his voice strained as you felt him twitch and grow harder in your grip if it was possible, the thrill of danger you both felt at someone else’s presence turning you both on more than you anticipated.

You ignored his words and watched him from under heavy lashes with a cheeky glint in your eye, “Aren’t you going to answer that?” your question was saccharine sweet, as if you didn’t have your hand wrapped around his thick cock.

Playing Mando at his own game – challenging him – might have been a stupid move, but he had you riding his thigh that very day and now you wanted to even out the playing field. You ached a brow when he didn’t respond, your hand slowing to a stop on his cock even as his fingers dug into your jaw. With a vicious snarl in his own language, you knew you had him beat and started stroking him again as a reward.

“You’ll regret this,” he promised darkly when he released your face to press the connection link on his vambrace currently braced against the wall above your head,

“Looking after the kid, won’t be---” his head snapped down when you sank to your knees now that you were free from his hold, eyes sparking with mischief while you tried to smother the smile that turned your lips up when you looked up at him,

“Don’t you dare,” Mando hissed down at you, even as his head feel forward against his arm when your tongue flicked out to glance across the tip of his cock, a choked moan caught in his throat.

“Dare? Dare what?” Confusion was evident in the booming yet jovial voice on the other end of the link.

“N-nothing Karga. The kid…. The kid is just somewhere he shouldn’t be,” he directed the emphasis down at you as you lapped around his head teasingly, giving him a taste of the soft, wet heat of your tongue and only a taste.

“Ah! Bring him out! I’ve missed the little womprat.”

“Just give me----”

Mando cut the connection off on a loud moan as your lips suddenly engulfed the head of his cock, your own moan at the salty precum on your tongue making you salivate and lap up every drop. Maker, he was big. You circled the head with your tongue a few times and pulled your mouth off him after a few wet suckles so that you could lick a thick strip along the underside, eyes still shining with mischief despite the dark lust clouding them as he shook above you.

Fuck, he was so sensitive. A rush of arousal pooled low in your stomach and you moaned around him when you took him into your mouth again and sucked on the head while stroking the rest of his length. You would have to get used to his size before taking any more of him. But damn, if your eyes weren’t bigger than your belly and you let him sink deeper once, getting about half of him along your tongue before you felt yourself gagging.

“Stars, yes—” he groaned, the tight heat of your mouth making him want to sink his cock as deep as it could go before you pulled off him with a gasp, your saliva making his length glisten.

Neither of you had the time to dawdle; you could feel the coiling tension radiating from him as he dropped his hand to card his fingers through your hair. You could have spent hours kneeling there with his cock in your mouth, happily keeping him on the verge of pleasure, but he needed to go sooner rather than later. Reluctantly, you gave the tip one last lick before using your saliva as lubrication to stroke him quicker when you stood back up, his hand never leaving the back of your head.

“Tease--- fucking tease, always---” the staccato of his speech was dotted with more frequent rumbling moans and when he bit out a curse as your fingers massaged along the thick vein under his cock, he dropped his head back to your shoulder, the space between you reducing to only as much as your hand needed to jerk him off.

“You can get me back later, Mando,” you purred, squeezing the head lightly, “but right now I want you to cum.” Your free hand went back to palming his balls, rolling them between your fingers and you could feel them tightening in your hold. Your cunt clenched needily when the Mandalorian actually whimpered.

He had slipped back into his native language as he muttered darkly in your ear and even if you didn’t understand the words, the rasp and sinful promise in them as his tone became more and more desperate was enough to make another gush of wetness drench your pussy.

You knew it hit him the moment his spine went rigid, and he choked on a gasp, his hand tightening almost painfully in your hair reflexively. You slowed your pace with a whimper, lazily stroking him through his orgasm as several thick ropes of cum splattered against your jacket, the rest coating your hand as it dribbled down his cock.

His breathing returned in short, stagnant gasps, his arm taking most of his weight while his forehead rested heavily on your shoulder as he recovered. He hissed tiredly, pushing your hand away when the overstimulation made his spent cock twitch even as it softened. It gave you the perfect opportunity to lift your hand and delicately swipe your tongue along your finger to taste him. Slightly salty and a bit sharp, you sucked the finger into your mouth with a hum and let your eyes drift closed at the taste.

A long groan pulled your eyes open again to see Mando lifting his head lethargically from your shoulder, tilted down to watch you clean your fingers of his release,

“Don’t waste any, kitten,” he rumbled, his voice rougher than usual and you felt a swell of pride at the fatigue you heard in it. His hand wrapped back around your wrist to lead your other fingers to your mouth, as if to be part of this ritual of you eating his release. You were only too eager to lap each of them clean, eyes heavy-lidded as you sought his invisible gaze. His chest was still heaving from his release, breathing labored and he looked absolutely wrecked.

You moaned your approval at his taste, enjoying his eyes on you as you did so. You spread your fingers and turned them to rest against his chest and he hummed a “good girl” as he fingers released your wrist to trace up along your arm and across your collarbone lazily, curious in their exploration as though he had never thought to take the time to simply touch for the sake of touching. He probably hadn’t, you realized when you thought about it a little deeper.

His fingers roamed up along the column of your neck and settled there, flexing before they relaxed into a content hold that made you lean into the solid weight of his caress,

“Be here when I get back,” he rasped, fingers spreading to spear up through your hair at the base of your neck for a brief moment.

He only released you when you nodded, mesmerized by the lights that caught on his visor and the shine of his unpainted helmet.

And then his hand dropped and the overwhelming heat and presence of his body leaning over yours was gone. A single input into his vambrace and the child’s hover-pram followed him dutifully. You leaned back against the wall to gather your own breath that you seemed to have lost and pressed the forgotten control button to release the ramp for him and when it flattened on the lava fields below, he offered you a nod before wandering down to his… welcome party?

You snorted on a laugh to yourself, turning back into the bowels of the ship to shower and get changed before going out yourself.

That’s a first.

  You wasted no time stripping out of your clothes, flushing slightly at the stains on your jacket and pants from Mando’s release. You showered without washing your hair to save time and pulled on a new pair of pants along with a cream, loose linen top. For warmer climates like Nevarro, you were glad you had picked up the piece despite not wearing it often. You liked the feeling of not having layers of fabric clinging to you, the wispy soft length of the fit caressing rather than constricting and the dip in the neckline was tastefully offset by a string tied across your collarbones that gave it a breath of femininity. You stretched your arms above your head and enjoyed the occasional brush of the material on your back before you grabbed a satchel to make use of the unexpected free time you had been afforded without the child.

You greeted the mechanics setting up by the Razor Crest. Mando had obviously sorted the repairs out, whatever they entailed when he left the ship. Poor old girl was in some state after that landing but her condition wasn’t enough to wipe the content grin off your face as you walked in through the main gates with a small spring in your step. Despite the slight hiccup, today hadn’t gone quite so bad as you thought.

Nevarro was an… interesting place, you came to realize after a short while walking through the ragtag streets and down dusty roads. It boasted the same clientele as most Outer Rim planets, but the place wasn’t nearly big enough or significant enough to garner the attention of anyone more dangerous than a petty thief. The presence of the Bounty Hunters Guild also had a hand in dissuading criminals from setting up on Nevarro. It was charming, in a way. But then, you always were drawn to… unconventional things.

The marketplace – when you arrived – was, in a word, chaotic. There was no clear system of stalls or shops, hardly any signage and people seemed to make do with the most uncharacteristic objects upon which to sell their wares. You had seen no less than four sabacc tables, what looked like the carcass of an old mining trolley and you were nearly certain the Jawas were using stacked stormtrooper helmets beneath a large cloth to make a very wobbly table. You hadn’t managed to confirm that one unfortunately, instead trying to garner what information you could about what each stall and shopfront sold to know where to come back to after doing a leisurely loop of the market.

People bustled here and there, chatter flowed freely, and it felt similar to when the Empire first fell; as though a great weight had been lifted from these people, excited to enjoy the liberties freedom gave them. It was infectious, and you were charmed by it; swindling Jawas and all.

You had been delighted to learn from a helpful human man tinkering with the wiring of a pit droid outside a non-descript repair shop that there was a banking center on Nevarro – a New Republic one at that – recently installed with all the changes happening on the planet.

You threw your silent thanks to the Maker that at least now you had access to your own funds and could stop feeling guilty about living off Mando’s hard earned credits. Noticing the stiffness in the man’s legs when he stood to point you in the right direction, you stalled your journey to the bank to enquire about it.

“Only age, love. Nothin’ to be done about that,” he had waved you off with a dismissive chuckle.

You smiled in return with a brief nod before you took your leave, filing through information in your head about age-related joint stiffness as you did. You simply couldn’t help yourself; you hadn’t had a patient in months and Mando was the worst possible one whenever he was injured so you indulged yourself on your way to the bank with a pain relief plan for someone who had been kind to you. Not just because he reminded you of an elderly Mirialan who complained of similar pains what seemed like a lifetime ago.

The banking center was thankfully, a straight-forward experience. A gatekeeper droid scanned your chain code and then all you had to do was select the service you required. Withdrawing the sum of your accumulated pension that had been deposited but untouched for the last few months left you with a satisfying weight to your satchel as you left and was hardly dented as you went about your errands.

After a few wrong turns and your insistence that no, you didn’t need whatever piece of junk the Jawas were trying to peddle, you managed to replenish the food supplies you felt had either been running low or knew the other two enjoyed along with a few much-needed additions to the medical kit you were building and maintaining. You even went so far as to purchase a few tools you had been without since leaving Mynock, medical and otherwise that would no doubt come in handy eventually. The medical supply store was quite well stocked on Nevarro and given the number of bounty hunters you had seen prowling; it really came as no surprise.

A few tubes of heating liniment added to your satchel along with the other bags you carried, and you returned to the repair shop to hand them to the elderly man there. Your hastily demonstrated number of gentle exercises had him chuckling at you good naturedly and an hour later, you were still chatting over tea and some sort of oat biscuits.

 “You’re not from around here, are you?” he asked conspiratorially when you had first sat down gingerly to accept the mug he slid over to you. The question had made you laugh,

“What makes you say that?”

He hummed in contemplation around a bite of his biscuit before pointing what remained of the biscuit at you, “Folk ‘round here are too caught up in their own lives, they don’t be worryin’ about others.”

“It could also be because I’m a medic, no?” you aired your thoughts aloud after a sip of the fragrant tea, a mix of what tasted like ginger and something floral.

“Ah, but you’da charged me if you were workin’ here,” he tapped his nose, a fond wink thrown in for good measure, “go on so, where are you comin’ from then?”

You weren’t able to stop the bubble of laughter that rose, “Pamarthe, for my sins,” you admitted.

“Ah!” he clapped a hand on his knee jovially, “A Pamarthan! Great pilots. Great drinkers!” he chortled, and you snorted into your cup on a laugh, nailed it. You chuckled as you took two biscuits off the table with a small explanation that they were for a child you were looking after. That led you to fielding questions about if the child was yours, but you were able to skirt away from that topic with a well-placed question,

“So, have you ever been to Pamarthe?”

“Me? No, no not with the Empire. Very hard to travel back in those days, very hard. Now, well. I’m not the lad I once was, love. Can’t be off planet hoppin’ anymore at my age. But a few of your people have been known to pass through here, like you.” he explained while you nodded along politely.

“Mores the pity, I can imagine you’d like it. It’s… very different to Nevarro,” you admitted with a glance around the bustling crowds kicking up ash and soot from the extrusive ground underneath. The temperate climate of Pamarthe brought grass and mud, not rock and ash.

“Is it true that all the islands are connected with rope bridges? And not something more modern?”

Your eyes widened pleasantly, the same rush of warmth anyone experienced when faced with the welcome surprise that someone knew about their homeland while not being native themselves,

“You do know your stuff!” a wistful smile broke out on your face at the thought, “and you’re right. It’s just always been that way,” you shrugged, “I’ve never really thought about why some of the old ways were kept; technology is used to prevent erosion of the islands themselves after all.”

“Remarkable, isn’t it? The things we miss that are right under our noses. Simply because that’s the way they’ve always been.” he hummed sagely, and you couldn’t help but agree.

And on your conversation went. It was refreshing, to have a conversation again. You had gotten so used to one-sided chattering on your part to the child and the simple answers from the Mandalorian that didn’t invite any more speaking than necessary.

This was nice, it was a change from the norm. But a part of you started to long for the quiet hum of the ship the longer you stayed away. Perhaps it was down to being unaccustomed to the prolonged sensory overload between the bustling crowds and loud bartering that had you eager to get back, and not just the thought of seeing a roguish warrior who seemed to embody the safety silence could provide. At least, that was what you tried to convince yourself of anyway.

So, bidding your new acquaintance a good evening along with a stern instruction to do his exercises that held no real bite, you left, your pace a little quicker than could be described as casually strolling, “be here when I get back” echoing in your mind and setting flurries of anticipation off in your stomach.

Life still seemed to go on even as the suns in the sky began to age and the shadows they cast on the low buildings and narrow streets shifted. There was still plenty of activity and you casually ruminated on where all these people went when the day was done as you reached the Razor Crest. The Guild had finished unloading the quarries in the time you had been away, and the engine seemed relatively repaired if your untrained eye was anything to go by. Lowering the ramp, you lugged the progressively heavier bags back up into the hold and unpacked them merrily; the outing and the fresh air had done wonders for you a world of good.

With the last of your supplies tucked away under the galley counter, you found yourself with nothing to do. Dismissing the thought of making something to eat after just eating biscuits, you found yourself climbing the ladder to the cockpit instead.

Chewing your lip contemplatively once there, you gingerly sat in the pilot’s chair before you could talk yourself out of it and took in the sweeping view of lava flats as far as the eye could see from this higher vantage point.

Honestly, you chided yourself internally, it’s a chair.

But in the same way you would never sit in your mother’s favorite seat at the table, where the view of the vast ocean framed by towering cliff edges of far off islands was best – even when empty – you still hesitated before you relaxed into the large seat.

Maker, was it always this big? It seemed much narrower when he sat in it… but with space on either side between you and the armrests, you were once again reminded of the size of his presence, unconsciously and perhaps foolishly dwarfed only by your familiarity with seeing him so frequently. You remembered how big he was on your examination table when he had been poisoned. The table had groaned under him and while you had seen taller, you had seen broader, his was the aura that told you he could put every inch of height, every pound of weight to better use than anyone larger or stronger than himself. Heck, even a Houk warlord hadn’t stood a chance against him.  

Your fingers ran along the sturdy leather of the armrests, the dry fabric catching the pads in their exploration and reminding you vaguely of a tookas tongue, an abrasive yet gratifying sensation on your softer skin. Your muscles sagged as you relaxed further, the trepidation of being somewhere you shouldn’t be beginning to melt away and causing your head to rest back.

You enjoyed the tactility more with your eyes closed, the deprivation of sight transforming your awareness of the leather beneath your fingers; the shallow veins of aging cracks along the material, the dips where more pressure was repeatedly placed when the Mandalorian sat here and the small fraying of the stitching at the seams. It became a map under your fingers, with rivers and valleys and mountains and you lost yourself in the idle relaxation it brought to you.

So immersed in your tactile exploration, your ears didn’t pick up on the ramp lowering, nor the presence that paused in the doorway of the cockpit, startled at first before he relaxed against the side of the doorframe, admiring the sight before him where he could leisurely take you in while you were caught unawares.

“Planning on stealing my ship?” his voice came out rougher than either of you anticipated and your eyes immediately snapped open to look over your shoulder from where you sat, lips parted in a surprised ‘o’ and looking very much like you had been caught.

You took him in from your position and, after running your hand along the armrest to find the correct button, swung the chair around to face him. You were quite comfortable where you were and didn’t fancy getting up despite your prior hesitation. One leg crossed delicately across the other, you rested your chin on a propped-up hand with a grin,

“If I wanted to steal your ship, I’d have gotten it months ago,” you teased, the familiar ground you had somewhat lost with him over the last week making a welcome return, “you’d have never even known.” you finished confidently with a wink.

Mando said nothing for a moment, assessing your words and mannerisms, “You think you could steal a bounty hunters ship from right under his nose and not get caught?” he hummed, his disbelief evident in his dismissive tone, “Please.”

“No?” you tapped your fingers along your cheek where they rested, “You seemed pretty out of it after I had your cock in my mouth,” you threw at him casually, tone light as if you were merely discussing what you wanted for dinner, smirking at the surprised choke it pulled from him, “probably be pretty easy for me then, wouldn’t you say?”

His body stiffened as he collected himself at the abruptness of your words, fingers flexing on his arms where he had them crossed across his chest and head shifting to look away from you before his visor refocused itself on where you sat,

“I don’t think you were much better, kitten,” his husky voice was deeper than it had been, thicker.

Your stomach fluttered at that stupid fucking nickname, the rolling rasp of it on his tongue only enhanced by the natural lilt of his accent. Your flare of temper gave him the time to push off the wall and saunter over in that arrogant way you hated as much as loved and pressed a hand to the back of the seat by your head,

“I think sucking my cock got you wetter than riding my thigh, didn’t it?” he rumbled, as though his question was merely a token gesture, used to amplify the truth in the statement that came before it, “I don’t think you’d be able to do anything, let alone steal my ship.”

It was your turn to be flustered now, dammit. You had the high ground for all of two minutes before he effortlessly flipped the control. Your body thrummed with how close his was but not one part of him even brushed against you; not the coarse fabric on his arm where it was braced on the seat, not the solid beskar on his legs against yours, nor his helmet against your forehead as he leaned over you. Touch was not a language Mando knew well beyond violence, but he was well aware of how to use his body to intimidate… to dominate… to captivate.

Your eyes stayed on his visor, focusing your attention on breathing normally and to not let the effect he had on your body show. You could feel the heat of his gaze running down your face, over the exposed skin at your collarbones and down the light material of your shirt. The appreciative grunt slipping through his modulator had your thighs clenching together instinctively as the craving you had been distracting yourself from all day reignited with a soft gasp when gloved fingers traced over the bend of your knee that sat crossed over your leg.

“Take these off,” he muttered, patting your thigh once as his fingers traced up from your knee, running them along the outer seam of your pants before pulling his hand away as though it had never touched you and rested it on his belt expectantly as he looked down at you, “I want to see how wet sucking my cock makes you.”

His crass words, so unlike his usual stoic statements were characteristically blunt but filled with a vulgarity that simultaneously shocked you and turned you on. For such sinful words to fall from the mouth of a man who kept his thoughts and emotions in a chokehold, there was a thrilling sense of depravity that exceeded the fact that you had gotten each other off already today.

You leaned back languidly against the pilot’s chair, watching him leisurely as he stood over you and made no attempt to hide the way your eyes trailed down his body. You rode his thigh and sucked his cock already; was there really any point in trying to hide your attraction to him anymore? Life was too fucking short.

“Are you asking me to go down on you again, Mando?” you purred, loving the virility in his tone; there was nothing you loved more than an insatiable lover, it boded well for him being able to keep up with you.

“I’m telling you that if you don’t remove them now, you won’t be allowed to.”

There was a barely restrained thread of anger surfacing in his voice, possibly the residual effects of making him answer the commlink from his contact in the Guild while you had your hands and mouth on his cock, but instead of the spark of fear your instinct would usually alert you with, a trickle of desire kissed your senses instead.

“An interesting punishment,” you hummed, fingers toying with the waistband of your pants, “given that you’d be missing out as well.” Even as you said it, you were uncrossing your legs. He pushed back a pace or two from where he loomed over you to give you room or to get a better view, you didn’t know. Lifting your hips from the seat, you shimmied the form fitting material over your ass and down your legs, kicking the material off one foot before the other, panties staying on.

His helmet snapped up from the smooth skin of your legs to your face and, in a move that had a sense of déjà vu settling over you both, you reclined back comfortably against the chair again, your eyes dancing with the same challenge he had thrown to you on Klatooine.

The pants can come off, but the underwear stays on.

For now, you told yourself, but he didn’t need to know that right away.

The warning growl he emitted was the sweetest response you could have wished for. Revenge after all, was better served ice cold.

Your move. Your eyes dared him with a glimmer of amusement and a quirk of your brow even as a knot of anticipation began to curl in your stomach.

He surprised you by sitting in the co-pilots chair you usually occupied after a tense few seconds, leaning back into the leather, relaxed.

You frowned, breaking the nonchalant façade you tried to deceive him with as your mind scrabbled to figure out what he was planning. You hadn’t anticipated him sitting away from you and simply watching you. You were about to question him when your lips parted as the hand resting on his thigh lifted to palm himself through his flight suit slowly.

Your teeth dented your bottom lip, shifting yourself in the seat while your eyes immediately focused on the way his hand flexed and curled around the prominent bulge and your fingers itched at the memory of his cock filling your hand.

His game, obviously, was to drive you bantha-shit insane, because the moment he unzipped his fly to pull himself from the tight confines of the flight suit, already hard and leaking, you wanted him.

You’ll regret this…

The growl reverberated in your mind from hours before. He was using the very thing you had used against him, on you. Your eyes glazed over as they followed the steady path of the Mandalorians fist as he stroked himself, small grunts the only sounds he seemed willing to let you hear.

You swallowed, heat rose to your cheeks and your skin becoming uncomfortably hot. It made you increasingly aware of your own arousal as you remembered the weight of his cock in your hand, the pulsing length of him on your tongue… your tongue peaked out to taste your bottom lip, all traces of his earlier release unfortunately gone.

Your eyes darkened when a quiet groan was picked up by the modulator, his head dipping with a ragged breath as his thumb swiped over the swollen head. You had to stifle a moan of your own when you recognized that the movement of his hand was mimicking yours, twisting momentarily on the upward stroke and squeezing as it came back down to the base.

Your idle fingers itched to touch yourself and one hand began subconsciously moving between your thighs as they spread enough give you space. But the Mandalorians sharp eyes – even clouded with lust – didn’t miss a thing as his head rolled around to look at you,

“Hands by your sides, kitten.”

His voice was dangerously low, thick with lust as he slowed his strokes to a lazier pace, prolonging his desire and by default, prolonging your inability to touch yourself. You could practically hear the smirk in his voice as he spoke, and it made you huff indignantly, but you fisted your hands on the leather beside your bare hips nonetheless. The ease with which he gave commands, the casual control he exuded, it sent tremors of need through you, a baser side of you eager to obey even if it conflicted with your stubborn nature.

“Good girl,” he rasped with an unmistakable tease lilting his voice when you settled, “keep behaving and I’ll let you taste it.”

You hated to admit it, but the promise of having him in your mouth again was almost worth the silent torture you were being made endure now, cunt throbbing in neglect and skin humming with sensitivity. You had always been able to succeed with a mind over matter approach, with the constant knowledge that the reward was worth the work it took to achieve it but Maker, was he making it difficult.

The minutes he sat away from you felt like hours despite your resolve and the temptation to touch yourself only grew as the air grew thick with tension. Your eyes drank their fill of the warrior getting himself off mere feet away from where you sat half-naked. The sound of his hand stroking himself and those breathy exhales were going to drive you mad.

Your panties felt uncomfortable against your sensitive skin and you cursed your stubbornness in keeping them on, shifting in your seat and making yourself whine quietly when they brushed against your clit, drawing Mando’s helmet down to look at you once more,

“Take them off,” he repeated breathlessly, and you wanted to weep in thanks, eagerly lifting your hips to push the offending piece of clothing down your legs. You didn’t have time for shyness or modesty when the cool air on your bare cunt was soothing for all of five seconds before the throbbing heat made you ache with a renewed need to touch your clit, to somehow relieve the pressure. The approving groan that rumbled from the Mandalorian was a stroke to your ego as you spread your legs for him, revealing your damp folds to him and tempting him to break the rules of his own game.

“Maker, I can see how wet you are from here,” he moaned and picked up the pace of his stroking momentarily, caught up in the vision you presented him with, half naked in his pilot’s chair; you were a veritable galactic pin up girl.

You made a small noise of impatience, your darkened eyes pleading with him as your body burned under his unseen gaze.

“Tell me what you want,” he grunted, squeezing the base of his cock to slow himself down from simply getting himself off as quickly as possible as he would normally.

“Your cock,” you answered shamelessly before tagging a quiet “please?” to the end which seemed to break him just like you hoped it would.

He stood not a moment later and made the few steps to stand beside you and you wasted no time in greedily wrapping your fingers around the thick base of his cock. You turned your head so your lips could instantly wrap around the head of his cock again, beyond teasing him and addicted from the brief taste you had of it earlier in the day and making you moan around him in both pleasure and relief.

The vibrations made Mando hiss as they ran through him before his head tipped back on a moan when you relaxed your jaw to take a bit more of his length into your waiting mouth, tongue massaging as much of the underside as it could reach. You began a steady rhythm moving up and down his cock, your muscles relaxing to let him move easier along your tongue.

Your hand stroked what you couldn’t take into your mouth, using your saliva to glide your hand down to his base with a firm squeeze. You knew it would take a little time to get familiar with taking him in fully, so you enjoyed each drag of his length over your tongue and lips, along with the occasional teasing scrape of your teeth that had his breath hitching.

He gripped the headrest behind you when you pulled off him to latch your lips wetly along the length, licking and kissing your way to the base nestled among dark, trimmed hair, your hand massaging the head as you did so. The sight made you hum and lick a long strip back up the underside to suckle on the head once more. You had deduced he was probably dark haired given the beautiful tan of his skin, but having it confirmed made your stomach clench giddily.

Your eyes lifted back to Mando’s helmet when he cupped your jaw, pressing his thumb slightly against your cheek for you to open your mouth so his cock could settle back on your tongue. You moaned, taking his none too subtle hint and started sucking him off again in earnest, your saliva and his precum leaving his cock messy and wet and the sounds it made as you sank your head down on it were profane and loud in the otherwise silent cockpit.

You keened when you felt a gloved hand trace down your front, ghosting under the swell of your breast before giving it a tentative squeeze that had you whimpering around him and relaxing your throat to ease more of him into your mouth. He grunted and kneaded the soft flesh of your breasts above the thin linen shirt at the perfect heat of your mouth, learning you as you were him.

You dug your nails into the backs of his thigh to stop yourself from gagging when his tip pushed against the back of your throat, the sudden sensation making him jerk his hips forward with a gasp of your name and a hard squeeze to your breast while tears formed in your eyes. The slight burn was delicious, and the sounds he made as you took as much of his cock into your mouth as possible were even more so.

“Fuck yes…” he groaned, your mouth molten around his cock while he rocked against you shallowly, his gaze roaming your entire body and when it fell on the thin ring of ink surrounding your left thigh, his cock twitched in your mouth and caused you to pull back enough to swirl your tongue around the sensitive head before sinking back down on him to take in as much as you could.

The sound of him choking on a moan encouraged you to hollow your cheeks and swallow around him, your eyes glittering up at him with a mix of tears and teasing when he jerked his hips forward again, pushing his length that bit deeper.

“Such a… fucking filthy thing---” he moaned, releasing your breast to tangle his hand in your hair to slow your movements as you withdrew your head eagerly and sank back down on it, “but so… so fucking thorough in your examinations.”

You pulled off him, a breathless laugh leaving your mouth even as trails of saliva kept you connected to his cock and messed up your mouth and chin. You pumped him with your hand while you rested the head against your cheek,

“What did you call it again? Coercive medical attention?” your voice was hoarse, but it dripped with a lovely mix of amusement and desire.

“So long as it ends with my cock in this perfect fucking mouth, I’ll accept medical attention of any kind,” he bit out, the slight tremble in his voice when you gave him a long hard stroke was endearing in a way you hadn’t anticipated the warrior being.

“I’ll believe that when Mustafar freezes over,” you chuckled, giving his cock a squeeze for good measure before taking him back into your mouth.

“Maybe we’ll go there then---” he cursed when you let him hit the back of your throat again, “be—be the only way to shut you---” he never did get to finish that sentence, his head falling back on his shoulders with a sound that got caught in his throat when you took the remaining few inches into your mouth valiantly and swallowed hard around him, breathing deeply through your nose.

Feeling yourself start to gag, you pulled off his cock halfway, gasping around him before starting to lazily bob your head in order to get your breath back and do it again. His hand tightened in your hair but allowed you to move at your own pace. Your attention was pulled back up to him when he leaned over you slightly, a slap to your inner thigh making you moan and spread them for him eagerly.

“Fuck…” he groaned, and you felt the soft leather of a finger swipe through your folds, making you whimper. He growled something you couldn’t quite pick up with your blood pounding in your ears from that single jolt of pleasure he gave you but when you felt him again, it wasn’t the cool leather of his gloves, but the warm skin of his fingers instead.

The realization made you jump on contact with a mewl as he spread your wetness along your dripping cunt. You knew what he would find there without him having to say a word. Slick, swollen and burning with need as you keened, your sounds were muffled by his cock filling your mouth. You struggled to keep the lazy pace of bobbing up and down on his length when you forgot how to breathe from the slight calloused tips of two of his fingers spreading your slick lips and pulling a vicious growl from the Mandalorian.

“All this from sucking my cock?” his voice was labored, control razor thin as he struggled not to merely grip your head and fuck your mouth to chase the release dangling before him. It seemed every part of you was hot and wet and soft as his fingers spread through your folds and his cock buried in your mouth. Your bright, wide eyes, glassy with lust looking up at him made that struggle even harder as his hips rolled involuntarily, your cheeks hollowing and wet tongue massaging under the prominent vein pulsing on the underside of his cock.

You were addicted to the way he sounded, the ever-present discipline he exuded daily was being pulled taut as more primal urges overtook him. It was an intoxicating reminder of his humanity, of the man under the armor and the mere thought of his possible expressions beyond an impassive helmet as curses and moans and filth fell from his lips, had a wave of wetness slowly pulsing from your neglected pussy.

“Oh fuck--- fuck what, what was that--” he rasped, his fingers diving into the arousal that dripped down your open thighs and over your cheeks to the seat underneath you, making a mess. The sudden gush seemed to short circuit something in Mando, his mind struggling to focus on anything but the soaked cunt under his fingers.

When the pads of his fingers brushed over your aching clit, you cried around him, squeezing the base of his cock, and making him hiss your name; a surprised hitch that had him nearly doubled over you in pleasure. The next brush of his fingers was not as surprising, but no less intense before he began a stead rhythm of circling your clit, dipping his fingers down into your sopping folds before dragging that wetness back to soothe over the sensitive bundle of nerves.

You tried to mumble something, your head foggy with the need to cum from being filled with something other than your own fingers, but his cock garbled your words, the two of you slipping into that tangled, desperate side of lust. You couldn’t bring yourself to take him out though, lamenting the loss even for a moment as you greedily tried to take more of him again, the choked gasp above the only reward you needed when your nose brushed the coarse hair at his base. It had to be a sin, to feel this good from giving someone else pleasure. Maker, you could get off just by sucking this man’s cock for hours and be satisfied.

Mando however, didn’t seem to share that sentiment and when he suddenly pushed a finger into your tight cunt, your eyes rolled closed as you both moaned in unison. Your walls fluttered and clenched around the thick, foreign digit and you felt your orgasm cresting at your sensitivity before it abated somewhat when his finger settled knuckle deep inside you.

“Stars, so tight for me, kitten--- tight and wet and fuck,” he spat as you clenched around him again at how wrecked he sounded, giving his cock a particularly hard pull into your mouth while you whimpered around him, “can just imagine, shit, imagine how tight you’ll be around my cock.” His words were almost slurring in their delirium and you knew that if you tried to speak, you wouldn’t sound much better. Especially not when he added a second finger into your pussy and started pumping them achingly slow and more controlled than he sounded.

“So big, you- your fingers--- more,” you whined after pulling his cock from your mouth to suck in a breath, the task suddenly becoming manual as you struggled to remember what came first, inhale or exhale? “I want more, always more,” you were babbling against his cock now, begging words interspersed with wet licks and kisses to the length as if you could convince him with affection to give you what you wanted.

“That’s it kitten, fuck, t-tell me what you want—” Mando was panting now, the quick jerks of your wrist along his cock, slippery from your drool and saliva making his own breathing an unbearable task as his fingers pumped inside you harder, the wet sounds filling the cockpit both mortifying and evocative, “such a greedy, hungry, smart-mouth medic I—shit.”

He almost sounded angry, the tempestuous rumble rolling from his voice like thunder, but paired with one hand roughly thrusting a third finger into you and the other carding his fingers reverently through your messy locks, you knew he was as unhinged as you were with the intensity of the pleasure you were somehow able to give each other. As if the tension that had been steadily growing from that first fateful night on Klatooine was suddenly boiling over, spilling, and hissing as it stoked the flames beneath; a closed circuit that could no longer be stopped or broken.

When his thumb began working tight, practiced circles around your clit as his fingers fucked you into the chair, you knew you wouldn’t last long. The looming pressure that had been building the moment he asked if you planned on stealing the Razor Crest was coming at you faster than a TIE fighter,

“Gonna cum, Mando--- Mando, feel so good, please---” you whimpered, grinding your hips down on his hand desperately as your orgasm drew near.

He slowed his fingers despite your protestations, and he gentled your frustration with a well-placed curl of his fingers inside you, “Shh, shh—fuck, not yet---” he started and you whined as you sucked the head of his cock back into your mouth ardently, as if somehow, that would change his mind, a mixture of saliva and precum drooling down the sides of your mouth as you messily lapped at him, “fuck… kitten--- wait.”

He pulled himself from your mouth and his fingers from your cunt, chuckling breathlessly at your frown as you glared up at him, “wait…” he purred, the sound running down your spine and across your overheated skin while he hooked one hand under your knee to drape your leg over the armrest, giving him a better view and greater access to your soaked pussy.

You shivered as he gathered some of your arousal to coat his fingers before your jaw slackened when he spread your juices along his cock – the shudder down his spine evidence of just how effected he was – until it glistened with a combination of your saliva and arousal. The visceral image of your arousal coating his cock had any last shred of control or shame disappearing, impatience taking its place.

 It was filthy, and your mouth watered at the sight of him. You dragged your eyes up to his visor slowly, eyes dark and cheeks flushed, lips parted and chin messy from your ministrations. The resounding growl he released had your cunt quivering, missing his fingers and it pulled an impatient whine from your lips as your nails raked down his covered hip.

“Mando…” you began, eyes dropping back to his cock with a silent plea.

He led his cock back into your waiting mouth, running the head along your plump bottom lip and smearing the mess already at your mouth and chin before pressing it back against your waiting tongue. His fingers immediately returned to push into you and began fucking you in earnest. The tangy taste of your own arousal mixing with his made you moan around him and your eyes flutter shut, your hips grinding down on his hand immediately once he found a rough, fast pace to bring you over the edge. You greedily engulfed the length of him, your hand stroking along the base as you hummed when you felt him get impossibly harder on your tongue.

His fingers curled against that small patch inside of you and made your hips jerk up to his rough chuckle, “there we go, good girl---” he panted, his thumb once again returning to your clit which had you practically sobbing around him with the need for release. You had orgasmed only earlier today and yet, it felt like you had been edged for weeks, months even. You were so desperate to come apart that when it did hit you, you were blindsided.

“Fuck, fuck! That’s it, kitten---” Mando pumped his fingers through your quivering walls, slower as they clamped down around him, trying to keep him inside while your cries bounced off the steel surrounding you in the cockpit and soaking his hand in your release. It kept going, for several long seconds and you were certain your brain wasn’t getting enough oxygen with how you were unable to take in a full breath and all you had to ground you, was your hand working over the solid thick length in front of you.

“So good, it’s so good---” you heard yourself babble, moaning his name like a prayer as you latched your lips to his length to drag open-mouth kisses to the shaft, hips still rocking against his hand as the last convulses ran through you, “want your cum, Mando- “

He didn’t respond, his fingers running sloppily over your clit once more as you whined with the overstimulation and tried to pull away despite being trapped against the seat,

“Another. Give me another,” he groaned, his fingers leaving no room for negotiation as they began a renewed onslaught on your sensitive nerves, already raw and frayed from coming so hard already. You shook your head even as you lapped at his head, eyes teary and unfocused as you looked up at him, “I can’t, it’s too much—”

“’More’ you said…” he released your hair to grip under your chin, pulling your head up to be pressed against his helmet, “I’m gonna… shit, I’m gonna give you as much as you need.”

His voice was strained, and you could hear it wavering the closer he got to his own release. But even in your foggy mind, you could feel the steel determination rolling off him. He wasn’t going to cum until you did. The thought alone made you whimper and despite your earlier declaration, a fresh wave of arousal pooled around his fingers as he pressed them back into you.

“Do it…” you heard yourself whisper, lowering your head enough to nuzzle the head of his cock against your cheek while he still held your jaw and you hoped you were meeting his eyes behind the helmet, “give me everything, e-everything I’ve been missing.”

His answering growl and the press of his thumb into your mouth for you to bite down on was all you could remember clearly before he built up a brutal pace once more. Your head fell back against the seat once he released you at the overwhelming friction on your swollen cunt, but Mando wasted no time in guiding your head back to his cock and with a whimper, you took him back into your mouth easily, his tip brushing the back of your throat now without hesitation as you swallowed.

His fingers stuttered while he groaned before regaining their rhythm and curling up against that spot inside you, a flick of his thumb against your clit sending flames scorching over your skin again as your release approached embarrassingly quick,

“Better than I ever imagined… this mouth—” he moaned, “you’re so wet and fuck… I bet you taste—” he was cut off on a long moan as you let him sink down your throat, breathing heavily through your nose before pulling back and repeating the action, your hands reaching into his flight suit to fondle his heavy balls once more.

You were equally determined to make him cum, a small taste earlier hadn’t been enough to satiate your craving and with a second orgasm about to overtake you, you were ravenous with the need to have him cum down your throat before you were struck dumb with the pleasure his hands would give you.

His breathless chuckle, such a foreign sound to come from him, made you want to smile had you not been preoccupied, “trying to beat me, kitten?” he asked, slowing the thrusts of his fingers so they were longer and harder, the change in pace heating you up beyond boiling point and you gave his balls a gentle squeeze in retaliation.

He was breathing hard, trying to limit his hips from thrusting into your warm mouth but even you could tell the shallow thrusts highlighted how close he was. But given his stubbornness, he doubled down on his efforts and with a final hard press on your clit and a perfect curl to his fingers your release crashed over you, less intense than the first but more surprising as it washed over you and kept you quivering and shaking under him, trying to ride it out with a silent cry. He pulled you through it once again with lazy strokes of his fingers, but they were messy, sloppy as he finally allowed his head to drop back on his shoulders, the tight leash he had on his control finally snapping,

“Yes, fuck— you want my cum, kitten?” he snarled when you nodded around his cock, eagerly pumping him and the change in his breathing told you he was nearly there.

He braced the hand that had been inside you to the back of the chair while the other tangled in your hair to keep you in place, his hips movements uneven and erratic before he stilled, your mouth opening for his cock to rest on your tongue while you pumped him.

He growled your name when his cock pulsed, a rope of cum hitting your cheek before you closed your lips around the head for him to continue coming in your mouth, the thick fluid coating your tongue and making you moan at the taste of him before you swallowed it down. You sank your lips slowly down the length of him, coating him with any residual cum in your mouth while you languidly basked in both your orgasms with a fond lick to his tip.

His shoulders lifted and fell in great rolls as he struggled to catch his breath, the heat in his invisible gaze not lost on you as you held his cock up to lick it clean languidly, reveling in every twitch you could feel in his muscles as a result.

“Maker…” he whispered into the cockpit, now filled only with your combined breathing. He hadn’t stopped stroking your hair as you cleaned his cock up, and the gentle act belied the gruff exterior he presented. It wasn’t lost on you, even if it might have been unconsciously done on his part in his post-orgasmic haze. Your leg dropped from the armrest to fold closed, and you hummed at the pleasant ache you felt once they were together despite the stickiness of your release drying on your thighs.

Once your tongue had become too much for him, he pulled back from you slightly, just enough to push himself back into his flight suit and with a fleetingly soft caress to the side of your head, he dropped back down in the co-pilot seat where he had first begun. You swiped the warm cum from your face and licked your thumb clean while you both basked in the afterglow.

His helmet tipped back against the headrest but kept it turned towards you, his chest rising and falling in large swells. You probably should have grabbed your underwear to cover up, but you were still basking in the euphoria of two breath-taking orgasms that the most you could do was stretch an arm over your head with a soft moan to release any remaining tension in your muscles, your eyes blinking tiredly at Mando all the while.

“Keep that up, and I’ll fuck you right now,” he rasped; his voice lower from how much he had used it in the last while. He didn’t speak often, but you were tickled to find out how vocal he could be when aroused.

You hummed at the thought, relaxing your arms back by your sides as an amused laugh left you, “A tempting offer, but I think my bones have been liquified.” Your words inspired another unencumbered laugh from you, still high from your orgasm and his posture adjusted slightly as if proud of putting you in this state, “I wouldn’t be much use.”

“Until next time then,”

He sat up, the smooth words making you smile tiredly at the familiar phrase. He ran his bare hand behind his neck, a lethargic groan leaving him as he tried to wake himself up from a stupor and your eyes followed the movement. The flash of tan skin made you chew your lip on a smile, knowing exactly where those fingers had been not a few minutes earlier.

You finally pushed yourself to sit up properly, toeing your underwear closer to you so you could bend and shimmy them up your legs, feeling his eyes follow the movement silently. You decided against your pants, the length of your shirt covering your modesty somewhat and you released a long, satisfied breath before turning your gaze to inky darkness that had engulfed Nevarro while you were occupied.

“Did you finish up with your Guild contact?” you posed, and he nodded once,

“Five more pucks,” he explained simply, standing from the co-pilots seat, and you wrinkled your nose, you guys would be travelling for a while, so it seemed.

“Is the kid still asleep?” you hummed tiredly, “I have biscuits for him.”

“Still knocked out from earlier. We had come back to leave when---” he trailed off to your laughter, standing up once you felt your legs wouldn’t give out from under you and turned the pilot seat back to face the viewport,

“Are you saying I made us late, Mando?” you threw over your shoulder, startled when you found him standing directly behind you, his hand falling heavily to your hips and his chest against your back while he hummed in agreement,

“Exactly. You’re as troublesome as the kid,” he murmured against your temple with a squeeze to your thinly covered flesh while you rolled your eyes at him, no heat in the action as you were more pleasantly preoccupied with the comfortable weight of his hands and the warmth that flowed from them into your body.

“Please. Go on then, get us up in the air since we’re so far behind schedule.” You pressed back against him cheekily before his head leaned back to look down at you as he pondered something for a few moments,

“You do it,” he replied simply.

You blinked, he had never asked you to fly before, excluding the time he came back injured on Scipio, and even then, he hadn’t asked. You had taken it upon yourself to do. You couldn’t help but feel that this was a tentative move on his part, a small gesture of confidence he had in you that you didn’t want to refuse.

“I’ll… check on the kid,” he continued with one last caress to your side before he released you and disappeared out of the cockpit, leaving you floundering.

Orgasms put Mando in a much better mood, you determined with a chuckle, taking a seat again and beginning the routine procedures to take you up and off the planet, running your hands back over the dry leather of the armrests fondly.

Crash landing or not, today had been a pretty good day.

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