Tumgik
#brief mention of sandy
aemondsbabe · 5 months
Text
Taunt
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obviously, i feel very normal and chill about ewan's new performance in saltburn. anyways lmao this is my version of michael gavey from the vibes i got from him in the 5 seconds he's in the trailer! i have no idea if this is accurate to how he is truly portrayed in the movie! if the movie comes out and i'm totally wrong, then i don't care bc i got to have fun writing about a cheeky lil oxford student!!
summary: you're nearly failing statistics and the student your professor asks to tutor you seems to gain a sick satisfaction from seeing you squirm; he hates you...or so think.
pairing: michael gavey x reader
warnings: mature, 18+ (minors, do not enter!!!) no use of Y/N, afab reader, profanity, smut, piv smut, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), dom/sub, brief daddy kink (literally one mention), dirty talk, dumbification, humiliation (only a bit), size kink if you squint, mild angst but happy ending, choking i guess (barely), public sex (they're alone but like it's still public lmao), brief discussions of math -- please let me know if i missed anything!
word count: 10.5k (dear lord)
a/n: baby's first fic omg! if you enjoy this one and want to see more from me, please feel free to send in requests! (GoT, HoTD, Stranger Things, Marvel, etc!)
PRAISE | Taunt Part 2
MAKING AMENDS | Bonus
likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!
🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!🌟
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“Right, so,” Professor Davies began, pulling a thick textbook off the shelf next to his desk, “Since we’ve only just returned from Easter holiday, I thought I’d go easy on you today.” 
A few quiet groans could be heard around the room, a couple students turning to look at one another with grimaces; in the few weeks you’ve been in Professor Davies’s class, he’s never once gone easy on you. With a small sigh, you shuffle through your spiral notebook until you come to a blank page. 
“D’you think you’ll go to the party this weekend?” Louise whispers, leaning over closer to you as she twirls a pen around in her fingers, “I heard this one is supposed to be fucking insane.”
“Like any of Felix’s parties aren’t insane?” You whisper back, smirking as you doodle a small flower on the corner of a page of paper, “Of course I’ll be there,” you murmur, watching as Professor Davies writes an intricate formula on the chalkboard, “I could really use a break, anyway…I’ve been so stressed recently.”
“Christ…” A boy, in the row of desks in front of you scoffs, just barely shaking his head as he copies down the formula, his handwriting sharp and choppy. You feel blood rush to your cheeks as you narrow your eyes, staring intently at his sandy hair. You didn’t really know him, this being your only class with him, but you’d seen him around campus, regularly passing by him in the halls. Oxford may be a large university, but when you’re on campus everyday, you begin recognizing familiar faces. 
He didn’t run in the same crowds as you at all, and you got the distinct impression that he looked down on you and the rest of your friends, but you knew his name – Michael and that he was incredibly smart, his hand promptly shooting into the air anytime Professor Davies asked a question. In the few weeks you’d been in the same statistics class, you had yet to see him get a question wrong, watching as he grinned, cocky, everytime he was praised for correctly solving even the most intricate of formulas. 
You, on the other hand, couldn’t be more the opposite, always shying away and praying not to hear Professor Davies call your name in his deep, baritone voice every time his eyes scanned the crowd, looking for a volunteer, or victim, more like. While Michael clearly enjoyed the class, practically glowing with an arrogant confidence as soon as he walked into the wood paneled lecture hall, you were simply here to check it off as a requirement of your major, hoping to survive the class with a C and nothing more. 
It was annoying, you wouldn’t deny that, the way that smug smirk seemed to be permanently etched onto his face, how that stupid taunting glimmer was an ever-present fixture of his blue eyes — blue eyes which, seemingly, always managed to find their way to you, one way or another. 
His attention was intimidating at first, his cold stare leaving you unsure of what exactly his intention was. Was he trying to challenge you? Trying to determine if he knew you from somewhere else? A small part of you, a naive part, hoped that his staring was meant to be affectionate; he was cute, you’d admit it! Always showing up to class in cozy knit sweaters, his wavy hair still ruffled and untidy as if he’d just gotten out of bed, gold rimmed glasses perched atop a strong nose.
You quickly tear your gaze away from the back of Michael’s head, biting your bottom lip as you begin copying down the problem on the chalkboard, pausing briefly when you see, from the corner of your eye, his head turn as he glances at you over his shoulder. You felt your cheeks flush despite yourself, that small, sanguine voice in the back of your head cheering. 
“Now, then,” Professor Davies booms, dropping the textbook down on his desk with a cacophonous thud before sweeping his eyes across the classroom, “A bit of review before we really dive in…” He continues, pacing around the front of the room as he explains the various parts and pieces of the equation on the board. 
“What do you think you’ll wear?” Louise asks, leaning over once more to whisper in your ear, you can smell her signature floral perfume on her hair, “I was thinking I’d do that new blue-ish dress I got, you know, the strappy one?”
“Might still be too cold for strappy,” you whisper back, half listening to the professor drone on as you continue doodling on your paper, pausing every few minutes to jot down a few haphazard notes, “I was just thinking I’d do a jumper, probably a skirt and tights–”
Suddenly, you hear Professor Davies call your name, your cheeks practically stinging as blood rushes to your face. Sitting up straighter, you finally find the courage to meet his stern gaze, “Since you seem all too eager to share your thoughts,” He continues slowly stalking towards you across wooden floorboards that softly creak beneath his feet, “Would you care to enlighten us with the solution to the quadratic equation on the board?” He comes to a stop, hands clasped behind his back as he patiently waits for you to answer, a small, knowing smile poised on his lips. 
“I– uhm, well,” you stutter, glancing back and forth between your barely there notes and the chalkboard, throat growing tighter as you feel everyone's eyes on you, “Don’t you need to solve for G first?”
“And how would you go about doing that?”
“Well, you would…” You trail off, desperately trying to remember the lessons you’d had before Easter holiday, absentmindedly picking at your cuticle as you pray to be anywhere but here or for a hole to open in the floor and swallow you whole, “I…I don’t recall, professor. I’m sorry.” You finally say, not being able to meet his gaze as you stare intently at your lap, desperately willing yourself not to cry, even as you feel your eyes stinging. 
“Perhaps, in the future, it would be of benefit to socialize with your friends outside of my classroom.” Professor Davies admonishes, giving a sharp glare to Louise as well, who manages an apologetic smile. “Yes, Professor.” You whisper, keeping your eyes downturned. 
Finally, you hear the floorboards softly creaking once more as Professor Davies makes his way back up to the podium at the front of the room and once again resumes his lecture. You can’t help but pause for a second when you hear a small snicker from the tall boy in front of you, sensing as he peers at you over his shoulder once again. 
“Would anyone else like to take a crack at the problem on the board?” Professor Davies asks, leaning against the old, worn podium at the front of the room. Like clockwork, Michael’s hand shoots into the air. Somehow, that makes you blush even harder.
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Eventually, Professor Davies finishes his lecture and retrieves his dark leather briefcase from under the desk, pulling a thick stack of papers out and sitting them on the podium, leaning over it with a sigh, “I have your tests graded. Most of you did very well, you should be pleased with yourselves. Some of you, however,” He says pointedly, “Could benefit greatly from a closer study of the material.”
Slowly, he walks around the room passing back tests, throwing out a comment here and there as he did so. You already know you hadn't done well on that particular test and dread getting it back and confirming your suspicions, so you keep yourself busy, choosing to meticulously pack up your things instead. 
“Mr. Gavey,” he said a few feet away from you, papers rustling as he slid the test across the wooden surface of the long bench desks, “Once more, an outstanding job! Top of the class, keep it up.” 
“Thank you, Professor,” you glance up, watching as he takes the paper with a humble nod, that same, oh-so pleased smile gracing his angular face. He must sense you looking at him and quickly shifts his gaze in your direction, eyes glimmering with self-satisfaction behind his gold-rimmed glasses as his smile quickly turns into a smirk. Finally, you tear your gaze away from his with a small, bewildered huff. Why did he seem to get so much satisfaction from besting you, of all people? It’s not like you were exactly an academic threat. 
“Ms. Bickerstaff,” Professor Davies says, finally appearing next to the table you and Louise sat at, “Not bad, a bit more effort next time and you’re sure to be on track,” he remarks, sliding her paper across the desk. Louise thanks him with a small smile as she flips through her test, eyes scanning over his marks. 
Finally, Professor Davies stands before you once again, your paper the very last in his hands. You hear him mutter your last name before he slides the paper across the desk to you, and you can’t help but deflate as you see your grade; you knew it would be bad, but that? How on Earth were you going to recover your average? What if you had to retake the whole course? What if you failed out of Oxford entirely? Your parents had sacrificed so much to help you get here, spending years and untold amounts of money on private tutors and extracurricular materials, all to help you have an impressive application! Not to mention the money just for the course fees! Unlike most of your friends, you didn’t come from piles and piles of money and status – your family was alright, sure, but you were definitely several tax brackets below them. 
As your thoughts spiraled, you felt Louise elbow you in the side at the same time you heard Professor Davies address you again. Shaking your head to clear your scattered thoughts, you clear your throat and finally turn to look up at him, “Sorry, yes, Professor?” 
“As I was saying,” Professor Davies continues, tapping the papers in front of you, “I would like to discuss your performance with you today, after class. Please meet me at the front of the room before you go.”
“Yes, sir.” you mumble dejectedly, nodding as you quickly flip the test over, embarrassed at the thought of anyone else seeing your grade. 
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“I’ll see you later, babes,” Louise says a few minutes later as everyone is clearing out of the room, “Good luck!” She whispers, giving you a reassuring pat on the shoulder before making her way to the door.
“Thanks!” you smile weakly, swallowing the lump in your throat before picking up your things and heading to the front of the room. The afternoon sun is already getting lower in the sky, beams of light shining into the room, bathing rectangular swaths of the floor in bright, golden light and highlighting motes of dust as they scatter in the air. Only a few students are left in the classroom, some of them finishing up notes while others type out quick texts. As you walk by his desk, you notice Michael scribbling down notes in his planner. 
You shuffle your feet nervously as you stand in front of the sizable oak desk that your professor sits at, watching as he adds a sticky note to the top of another stack of papers, “You wanted to see me, Professor?”
“Ah, yes!” He says, looking up at you over his glasses. He quickly caps his pen and stands, walking around the desk to stand in front of you, “I know this class has been quite the challenge,” he begins, leaning against the desk, “But, I think I’ve found a solution for you.” 
“You have?” You ask, tilting your head in confusion.
“I think you could benefit greatly from a tutor, perhaps a peer who could explain the material to you in a different way,” he continues, “And I have just the student in mind.” Instantly, you feel a pit beginning to form in your stomach, biting your bottom lip as you watch Professor Davies motion for someone behind you to come up to the desk, “Mr. Gavey, if you could join us up here, please.”
You freeze when you feel him saunter up beside you, eyeing him out of the corner of your eye. He was so much taller than you, your head barely grazing his shoulder, as he came to a stop next to you, standing casually with his backpack slung over one shoulder. 
Professor Davies once again turns his attention to you, motioning to Michael as he speaks, “Mr. Gavey here is one of my most capable students,” you can’t help but notice him stand up straighter at the comment, growing somehow even taller, “I’ve taken the liberty of asking him if he would be so kind as to assist you with some of the course work and he agreed.” You freeze a little at that, stunned that he would be so quick to help you when he seems to relish any opportunity to make you squirm. “I’ve given it some thought,” the professor continues, fixing you with a stern gaze, “And I’m willing to let you make corrections to your test and resubmit it for half credit.”
“Oh, thank you so much, prof–”
“However,” he adds, crossing his arms over his chest, “This will be the only time I do so. From now on, I suggest you see Mr. Gavey here on a regular basis; the material is only going to get more challenging as we begin this next unit.”
“Of course, professor. Thank you again.” You respond quietly, shifting uneasily as you stand between the two men. 
“Right, well, now that’s sorted,” Professor Davies says, clapping his hands together once as he turns and makes his way back over to the desk chair, sitting down with a tired sigh, “I trust the two of you can come to an agreement upon when and where to meet. I’ll see you again Monday, have a pleasant weekend.” He says, waving his hand dismissively as he goes back to organizing his papers. 
The two of you murmur your goodbyes before making your way into the hall, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up as he follows you out of the classroom. Eventually, you come across a small alcove in the hallway; finally turning to face him, you let your eyes sweep up his body, finally coming to meet his blue eyes, slightly hidden behind the glare of the hallway lights on his glasses. 
“So,” you clear your throat and shift on your feet awkwardly, “Uh, what time works for you? I really can’t do Saturdays–” you begin, only to be cut off.
“Shame,” Michael sighs dismissively, a smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth, “Saturday is the only day that works for me.” 
The tone of his voice and the mirthful glint in his eyes makes you very much doubt that, your gaze narrowing, “Okay, well Saturday’s are the only day I have off,” you huff, only growing more annoyed as the stupid smirk on his face grows with satisfaction, no doubt pleased that he’s being a nuisance, “Besides, I super can’t tomorrow, anyway. I already promised my friends I’d come with them to this party tha–”
“Oh, I know about your little party,” Michael scoffs, “Trust me, love, the whole damn class heard about that stupid fucking party with the way you lot were running your mouths earlier,” he chuckles coldly, continuing in an exaggerated high-pitched voice, one hand coming up to mime twirling a lock of hair, “Oooooh, it’s so cold, can’t wear the fuckin’ strappy dress, gotta wear me jumper and little slutty skirt, la-dee-dah.” He finishes with a final huff of laughter. 
“What is your deal with me?!” You finally snap, glaring at him, even as you feel your face redden, “You’ve been a dick all semester and I haven’t done anything to you! I’ve never even talked to you!” Glancing around the empty hallway, you cross your arms over your chest, praying no one’s in earshot to hear your hissed tirade.
“I might not know you but I know plenty about your little friends,” he sneers, shaking his head like a disappointed father; the sight makes your blood boil.
“What does that even mean?” You demand, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. What did your friends have to do with any of this? None of them ever spoke about Michael, none of them even knew him as far as you were aware. 
His face softens, if only for a moment, as he registers the genuine confusion on your face, smirk faltering as his eyes narrow. He leans in closer to you as he begins speaking again and you can’t help but get a brief smell of the cologne he wears, something warm and woodsy that makes you think of a bookshop and the smell of the forest after it rains, “Come on,” he starts, blue eyes flitting between both of yours as he looks at you intently, “Felix Catton? You and your little friend, the one from class, you go around with him, yeah?”
You nod, giving him another puzzled look, confused as to what the hell Felix has to do with any of his disdain, “Yeah,” you say slowly, drawing out the word, “But, what does he have to do with anything?”
Michael huffs once more, almost laughing to himself as he shakes his head, burying his hands in the pockets of his jeans, “See, we went to school together, him and I – some of primary, all of secondary,” he shrugs, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he traps you in his gaze once again, “And I just don’t fucking like the guy. Can’t stand him, never could’ve.” 
You’re silent for a second, and now it’s your turn to flick your eyes back and forth, searching each of his for some sort of coherent answer and yet you come up empty. “But, what does that have to do with me?” You ask slowly, making sure to carefully enunciate each word.
“Don’t trust the people around him either,” he mutters, gazing down at his shoe, “Weirdos, the whole lot. There’s something…off about the guy. Can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something dark there, all around him. Like he’s putting on one big show. All his little gremlins do too, they all act the same.”
The two of you are silent for a moment, neither knowing quite what to say next. You chance a glance up at him, nearly gasping when you find him already gazing at you – an unreadable expression on his face. Yet a light blush still blooms on your cheeks as you quickly look away once again, your heart thudding so loudly you’re wondering if he can hear it – hell, you’re wondering why you’re reacting this way at all, why you’re so shy and skittish around him. 
“M’not like that,” you very nearly whisper, finally seeming to regain your voice. Only to lose it once again when he takes a half step toward you, suddenly crowding you further into the small alcove.
He makes a small noise, damn near cooing at you, tilting his head to the side when he notices you flinch as he raises an arm, gently raising your chin with one hand, angling your head up to meet his gaze, that signature smirk once again taking hold on his face as he looks at you curiously, “You’re not like that, are you?” He asks, his voice low and raspy. 
You quickly shake your head, blinking up at him, unsure of what exactly he wants from you. You feel your cheeks stinging for the umpteenth time today with how hard you’re blushing, a strange feeling taking root in your stomach the longer you stare at him, that small voice in your head positively cheering. 
But, as quickly as whatever spell he seems to have on you takes hold, it’s broken as he suddenly lets go of your chin and steps back, casually pursing his lips and nodding to himself, coming to some unknown decision in his head, “Meet me in Bodleian, tomorrow at five. There’s hardly anyone up on the third floor on the weekends, so we'll be able to focus.” He says simply, turning on his heel to leave without even giving you a second to answer.
“But I’m bus–”
“D’you want a good grade or do you want to go get drunk with your creepy gremlin friends?” He asks, peering over his shoulder as he saunters down the hallway, raising an eyebrow at you over the shiny gold rim of his glasses, “S’your call, love.” He finishes with a shrug, disappearing as he turns a corner and leaves you standing there alone, frowning and dumbstruck. 
“Bodleian at five it is,” you mutter to yourself, sighing as you turn and walk the opposite way, desperately trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach and the fog in your brain. 
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Your shoes tap against the stone pavement as you walk up to the old library, backpack slung over one shoulder; reaching into a pocket of your backpack, you blindly grab for your phone as you pull open one of the heavy, old wooden doors and step into the atrium. Out of all of Oxford’s libraries, you had to admit that Bodleian was one of your favorites; it had such a soothing atmosphere – from the way the evening light trickled in through the old glass windows, to the intricate wooden decor, and the way the entire place smelled of the old, well-loved books that lined the countless rows of shelves. 
Stepping to the side of the entryway, you check the time, your hand shaking a bit as you unlock your phone – 4:53pm, a little early, still. Sighing, you crane your head, nervously looking for Michael. Not seeing him, you decide to bide your time examining one of the tall bookshelves near the entrance, eyes skimming over their titles as you fiddle with the strings of the hoodie you’d decided to wear. Smiling, you lean up on your tiptoes to grab a copy of The Two Towers, happy to see a familiar book. Just as your fingers graze over the embossed gold lettering on the spine of the book, a large pair of hands grab you by the shoulders.
“Boo!” Someone whispers, close enough that you feel the warmth of their breath on the side of your neck. 
You spin around with a small shriek, jerking your head to the side when a hand is suddenly clasped over your mouth.
“Shh! Hey, relax!” Finally managing to focus on the face in front of you, your breathing slows as your gaze meets a pair of round blue eyes. Michael’s face is only inches from yours, concern evident, even behind the mask of a smirk he wears. “It’s only me.” He says softly, smirk softening into a genuine smile that sends a frantic tingle down your spine, which you desperately try to ignore as you nod against his hand, gasping in a small breath as it lowers once again to rest on your shoulder. 
“Hi.” Blinking up at him, you breathe the word more so than say it as you settle back on your feet, cheeks flushing as you realize he has his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you forward ever so slightly, like he wanted to make sure your head didn’t hit the sharp edge of one of the shelves; the voice in your head purrs as the butterflies in your stomach summersalt. 
“Hi.” He answers and you feel the hand on your shoulder twitch, the ghost of a comforting squeeze or rub causing the hair on the back of your neck to stand on end as some strange, warm weight settles in the pit of your stomach. 
Suddenly, whatever spell the two of you seemed to be under broke and you quickly clambered away from one another. Michael cleared his throat, running a hand through his wheat colored hair as you tugged at the sleeves of your hoodie, trying to look anywhere but in his direction. “Should we–” He starts suddenly, nodding his head to a staircase at the other end of the room, “It’ll be quieter up there.”
“Sure!” You chirp, giving him a curt nod, “Lead the way, you seem to know the place better than I do.”
“Well,” he chuckles, keeping his voice low as he moves past you, “S’what happens when you don’t spend all your damn time at weirdo parties.” 
You roll your eyes behind him, huffing as you start following him up the staircase, one of your hands gliding across the smooth, polished wood of the bannister. 
“Sorry.” He says suddenly as you reach the third floor of the library, running a hand through his hair once again as he stands at the top of the staircase. 
“What?” You ask, coming to a stop on the last step and looking up at him, tilting your head to the side as you lean against the handrail. 
“For earlier,” he explains, gesturing for you to follow him as he starts making his way to the back corner of the large, open space, the one furthest from the stairs, “Scaring you, I mean. Didn’t mean to.”
You’re quiet for a moment, following him as the two of you walk past aisle after aisle of towering bookshelves. The area is definitely quieter than the main floor, nearly vacant aside from one or two lone students sitting at the long wooden study tables. It’s calm up here, evening light filtering in through large windows on either end of the long room, casting large shadows on the floor and vaulted ceilings.
Eventually, the two of you come to a stop at a table, the very last in its row, tucked away in a corner. “It’s alright,” you shrug, trying to keep your voice soft in the quiet space as you sit your backpack on the edge of the table, “I don’t know why I’m so jumpy today, maybe the tea from earlier.” You lie, hopefully smoothly, and quickly grab a pen and notebook as well, before sitting down.
Michael huffs to himself as he sits his things out on the table as well, like he’s laughing at a joke you can’t hear, “Maybe it’s all that tension.”
“Wh– tension?” You question, cringing at the urgency in your voice as you pray that he doesn’t pick up on it, shifting in your seat as he pulls out the chair next to you and plops down, completely relaxed as if he owns the place. 
“The stress? That you were meant to be working out at Catton’s?” He gives you an odd look, resting his head against his hand as he leans his elbow on the table, “Couldn’t help but overhear your little conversation yesterday.”
“Oh…” You breathe, a pink haze settling over your cheeks once more as you fidget with your pen, acutely aware of how easily he seems to be able to make you blush. 
The smirk on his face widens as he narrows his eyes, studying you in a way that makes your heart squeeze, your thighs clenching together as that heady weight from earlier makes itself known again in your stomach, “You can’t keep one thought in that head, can you, love?”
You blink, unsure of what to say, as two halves of your brain argue with one another. Why is he so mean? You wonder to yourself, eyes searching his, as you frown, And…God, why do I like it?
“Why don’t you like me?” You ask, finally breaking the silence with your small voice. 
He scoffs again, shaking his head as if the answer should be obvious to you, “You don’t take it seriously. You come to class and whisper and gossip with your damn friend or doodle in your little notebook, but you don’t fucking listen.” He sits back up, frowning, “I work hard every fucking day in there, for fuck’s sake, I only agreed to help you because I want to be Davies’s teaching assistant next year! Yet you and Catton and everyone like you can just pay their way in here, collecting a little diploma from Oxford just so their parents can brag about it with their stupid fucking rich friends.” He finally finishes, turning his head to stare out the window. 
“Told you, I’m not like that,” you whisper after a moment, voice wavering from the tightness in the back of your throat, “I’m here on scholarship, same as you.” 
His eyes flit back to you, his frown deepening, “How did you know ab–”
“Like I’m not going to ask around about the guy tutoring me?”
“Fair enough.” He concedes after a minute. 
Silence settles over the two of you again, like a stalemate, waiting to see who would crack first. Finally, you turn to him with a sigh, nodding to your test paper on the desk, “Can we just get this done? I don’t want to be here any more than you do.”
“Ah, of course,” he nods as he picks up your test, looking over the first incorrect problem, “Catton’s big important party. And you’re stuck here with a loser like me; must really be doing your head in, huh?” 
You want so badly to correct him, to tell him that no, actually, for once, you were kind of excited to not be at one of Felix’s parties. You wanted to tell him that you’d hoped things would be different, maybe if it was just the two of you he would drop the arrogant asshole bit, that you stupidly hoped it was just an act. 
Instead, you bite your lip, determined not to lash out and give him another reason to dislike you, “I don’t think you’re a loser, Michael,” you say, tiredly meeting his gaze, “Can we just focus on this now, please?” 
He’s quiet for a moment, frozen like you’d said something groundbreaking. Finally, he nods his head, almost imperceptibly like he’d come to a decision you weren’t privy to, “Sure,” he says gruffly, grabbing your test and reading over the first incorrect problem, “S’not like I’m the one failing.” He finishes, his voice tight and determined, like he knew it was something he’d regret saying even as the words left his mouth. 
See? You think silently, pointed words aimed at that stupid voice in your head, Told you so.
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It’s barely an hour later and you already feel cross-eyed, groaning as Michael flips your test over to the next page and you see you’re only just now halfway done correcting the ones you’d gotten wrong. You hate to admit it to yourself, but his tutoring was helping — problems that you’d hardly been able to finish the first time seem far less daunting as he explains them to you. Even he seems less daunting as the hour goes on; shockingly, he doesn’t make anymore snide comments and you can tell that he genuinely enjoys talking about the subject, patiently helping you through each problem. 
“Can we take a break?” You grumble, laying your head down on top of your textbook. 
“What?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes as he checks his watch, “It’s hardly been an hour and you’re ready to give up?” 
“‘M not giving up,” you mumble, “I just think we could use a little break…” You say hopefully, looking at him with a small smile. When he doesn’t break, holding your gaze with a frown, you sigh, “Just, like, ten minutes, please?” 
You want to groan again when you see that formidable smirk make its home on his lips again, “Say please again.” He commands, his voice low. 
“Huh?” You balk, nearly dropping your phone as you retrieve it from your pocket. 
“Say please again,” he says slowly, his smirk only growing wider as he watches your cheeks redden, “Beg.” 
“W-why?” You question, face burning as you try your damndest to look unbothered by his request. 
He shrugs dismissively, “Makes you squirm,” he answers finally, leaning back in his chair, “I like that.”
“Why?” Your voice is so small you doubt he’d even know you spoke if his eyes weren’t fixed on you. 
He hums, a satisfied noise, like you’ve finally managed to meander into a trap he’d set ages ago, “S’fucking cute,” he huffs out a laugh when he sees your eyes widen, “Makes you blush and act all dumb.” 
You know you should be offended, but you can’t find it within yourself to care, “You think I’m cute?” 
He chuckles, sighing, “That’s what you choose to focus on?” 
“Do you?” 
“Fine, yes.” 
“Please, Michael,” you say suddenly, the words feeling practically punched from your throat, “Please, please can we have a break? Please, only ten minutes?” You beg, breathing hard as you quickly scan the room, shoulders relaxing when you don’t see anyone else sitting at the study tables. 
You see the way his eyes widen behind his glasses, like he can’t believe you actually did it, before they narrow once more, overtaken by a satisfied gleam, “Ten minutes.” He says simply, leaning back in his chair yet again, letting his head flop back, relaxed, and closes his eyes. 
You don’t move for a second, letting your eyes study the side of his face, looking over his sharp jawline and the curve of his nose. After a moment, you look away, deciding to pull out your phone. 
A few minutes go by as you answer a few texts from Louise, telling her that you miss her too and how you wish you were at the party — a lie, though you can’t find it within yourself to care. You busy yourself for a while longer, watching a few people's Instagram stories, the volume on your phone muted as you watch your friends dance under colorful strobe lights, blowing smoke at the camera and clinking drinks together. 
“I meant what I said.” You say finally, laying your phone on the table and picking at one of your cuticles. 
“Hm?” Michael questions, not bothering to open his eyes. 
“I don’t think you’re a loser,” you answer, fidgeting, “I never have. I think you’re…intriguing.”
“Intriguing?” He asks, finally sitting up and looking at you with a questioning stare, “How so?” 
You swallow, tucking your hair behind your ear with a shrug, “You’re smart…you know you’re smart,” you start, voice small and shaky, “I like that.”
“You like that or you like me?” He’s looking at you like a cat playing with a helpless mouse, looking at you like he knows he’s already won a game you don’t even know the two of you are playing. 
“You.” It comes out as a breath. 
He doesn’t answer and eventually you look away from him, choosing to stare out the window at the streetlights outside, the sky dark. 
Finally, the silence becomes overbearing and you break first again, “Thank you,” you smile at him, keeping your voice low even though you know the rest of the floor is vacant, even though the noise of the floors below has drastically faded over the last hour, “For helping me, I mean. You probably have a dozen things you’d rather do on a Saturday.” 
He stays quiet for a few seconds, “I didn’t really have anything better to do,” he smirks, “No parties.” 
“None?” 
“Never,” he shakes his head, shrugging, “Don’t get invited.” 
“Oh,” you answer simply, “Well, still, either way, thank you.” You smile again, but it falters when he leans forward suddenly, crowding into your space with a sly grin, so close that you can feel his breath on your neck. 
“I know a way you could repay me, love,” he whispers lowly into your ear, your hair standing on end, “Only if you want to, of course.” He adds, his long fingers toying with a strand of your hair. 
Your eyes grow comically wide as you process what he just said, “H-how do you want me to repay you?” You whisper, your eyes finally meeting his. 
He laughs softly, letting go of the strand of your hair to rest his hand lightly against the side of your face, his thumb skimming over your cheek as he watches a rosy hue settle across it, “I can think,” he starts, thumb moving lower to skate across your bottom lip, slightly tugging the skin with it, “Of one very fucking good way to put this mouth to use, love.” 
You part your lips slightly, letting the tip of his thumb into your mouth, just barely holding it between your teeth as you lightly run your tongue over it, heart skipping a beat at the way his lips just barely part in shock as you do. The voice in your head purrs again, roaring back to life, and you nod, smiling around his finger. 
“Yeah?” He questions, smirking as he watches your lips twitch around his thumb, “”Y’wanna?”
“Yes.” You reply around his thumb, your hands coming up to hold onto his forearm, the fabric of his rust colored sweater soft under your hands. 
“Beg.” He commands again, eyes twinkling. 
You take in a breath, eyes slipping shut as your thighs clench around nothing – missing the way Michael glances down at the movement, a knowing grin forming on his face, “Please, Michael.” You practically whine. 
“Ooh,” he coos, finally moving his thumb from your mouth, only to trail his hand down your neck, lightly resting it against your throat, “I think you can do better than that, pretty. Open your eyes and damn beg.” 
You follow his orders, a small whimper skirting past your lips at the new pet name as you open your eyes, “Please, Michael, please let me repay you, let me thank you, please.” The words tumble out, your eyes wide and pleading. 
“How’re you planning on doing that, empty headed little thing?” He taunts, the hand around your throat just barely tightening but it’s enough to make you let out a small, desperate whine. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, moving close enough to you that the front of his chest is plastered to your side, his heart beating against your shoulder, “Ask for what you want, beg properly.” His breath fans across the side of your face again, the feeling of his lips brushing over the side of your jaw making you jump. 
“Please, God, Michael,” you whine, squeezing your legs together so hard you’re surprised they haven’t fused together, “P-please let me suck your cock — to thank you, thank you for helping me.” You add quickly, breath shaky as you turn your head to look at him imploringly. 
He chuckles, but he looks pleased as he leans back momentarily, craning his neck to make sure there isn’t anyone around, “Alright, alright, love,” he soothes, coming back to face you, nodding his head to the empty space in front of his hair, below the table, “Not God, but I’ll give you what you want.” He teases.
Your breath catches in your throat as you look down at the floor beneath the desk, then back up at him before nodding, “Yes, sir.” You push yourself off your chair, sliding down beneath the desk. 
“Goddammit,” you hear him groan above you, running his palms over his thighs as he parts them, making room for you, “Keep that up, love, might even give you extra credit.” 
You rest your palms against the tops of his thighs as you move between his legs, getting comfortable on your knees, the old wooden floor cool against your skin, even through your black leggings. Finally, your eyes settle on the sizable bulge, covered by his dark jeans, and you can’t help the small whine that leaves your lips. Slowly, you move your hands up to the button of his pants, quickly popping it open and dragging the zipper down, smiling when Michael sighs above you as he pulls his sweater up out of the way, exposing the pale skin of his stomach. You let your eyes roam over him, warmth settling between your legs as you spot the dusting of light hair that starts beneath his belly button and leads downwards, disappearing under his plaid boxers.
You move closer to him, crowding in between his long legs, as you hook your fingers over the tops of his boxers, before finally looking up at him, “Can I…?” You ask, nodding to where his cock is straining against the fabric. 
“Don’t be shy now, princess,” he groans, running a hand through your hair as he stares down at you, “Get on with it.”
You keep your eyes on his as you pull his boxers down, just enough to free his cock, watching the way his chest heaves as he lets out another relieved sigh. Finally, you tear your gaze away from his as you look at his cock, gasping in a breath as you do. As far as dicks go, Michaels is impressive, beautiful even – long and thick with veins running up the underside, leading up to a flushed, leaking tip. 
You take him in your hand tentatively, squeezing him lightly around the base, your confidence growing when he grunts, breathing heavier. Finally, you lightly lick the tip, eyes sliding closed at the pleasant, salty taste of his pre-cum. You take the tip of him in your mouth, humming around him when his fingers tighten in your hair, lightly pushing on the back of your head, silently urging you to take more of him. 
“Fuck, that’s it,” he roughly groans, managing to keep his voice low, “Knew that pretty fucking mouth was good for something.” He moves his hips, impatiently thrusting his cock an inch deeper into your mouth, breathily cursing under his breath. 
You start bobbing your head up and down over his length, taking more and more of him into your mouth, more of his pre-cum leaking onto your tongue as you feel his dick throb and twitch in your hand. After a moment, you take a deep breath through your nose and remove your hand, resting it on his thigh, as you take him all the way to the base, your nose nestled in the short patch of hair there as you breathe in his heady scent, your eyes glazing over as you savor the feeling of him at the back of your throat. 
“Jesus!” He grunts, louder than he meant to, keeping your head in place as he thrusts his hips up again, keeping you in place at the base of his cock, “Fuck, that’s it,” he praised lowly, your center throbbing, no doubt leaking onto the fabric of your leggings, “Look at me, wanna see your eyes while I fuck your throat.”
You whine, desperately blinking back tears as you look up at him, trying to keep your breathing even. You hold his gaze as you stick your tongue out, licking lower, down toward his balls, relishing the way his eyes roll back as you do, stomach muscles twitching as he continues thrusting his hips up into your mouth, soaking his boxers and jeans with your spit. 
“Oh, fuck, that’s it,” he groans, looking down at you, his eyelids heavy, “God, yeah, cry on my cock love. Fuck, you look so pretty crying on my cock.” He mumbles, talking to himself more so than you. 
His words send a shiver down your spine, adding to the heat in your center, and you whimper when he finally moves his hand from the back of your head, allowing you to come up for air. You do, with a gasp, thin strings of spit connecting your reddened lips with the flushed head of his cock. You keep your eyes on his as you wrap your lips around him once more, running your tongue along the thick vein on the underside before sucking at the swollen tip, relishing the way it makes him clench his jaw and gasp through his teeth as you stroke the rest of him with your hand. 
Above you, he smirks again, gently running his hand through your hair but making no move to press your head down again. He cocks his head to the side, studying you, grinning at the far-off, foggy look in your eyes, “Not a thought in that pretty head, is there?” He asks, bringing his hand down and gently patting your cheek; the ghost of a slap making your thighs clench, making your head dizzy with need. 
You nod around him, moving your head up and down along his length. You feel yourself throbbing with need, pulsing with heat; almost automatically, your hand starts to wander, a small sigh escaping you as your hand presses against your center through your leggings. You feel a warmth settle across your cheeks again as you feel your own wetness, leaking through the fabric just as you’d suspected. You whimper as you press down again, your eyes falling shut as you let your hips grind against your fingers, the wet fabric creating a delicious friction against your clit. 
Which you get to feel for all of five seconds before Michael is suddenly yanking your head from his length, causing you to yelp as he tugs your hair. “Did I say you could touch your cunt?” 
“N-no,” you whine pathetically, eyes watering from the harsh hold he has on your hair, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t think—“ You try to explain, only for him to cut you off with another harsh tug, making you mewl. 
“That’s a pattern with you, isn’t it?” He asks, looking at you with a condescending smirk, studying you again, “You were being such a good girl earlier, what happened? Hm?” He questions, pushing his chair back enough to pull you out from under the table. 
You get to your feet, suddenly feeling shy in front of him once again despite having his cock in your mouth mere moments ago. “I…got distracted.” You answer finally. 
“I got distracted….who?” He asks, looking up at you expectantly over the rims of his glasses. 
“I got distracted, sir,” you quickly correct yourself, eyes frantically scanning the still vacant floor of the library, “I’m sorry.”
“That’s much better, love,” he drawls, placing his hands on your hips, “Now, what could’ve been so fucking distracting, huh?” He starts moving his hands, slowly, toward your center, still looking up at you, his eyes questioning. You nod your head, just barely but enough for him to understand, and any hesitancy from him quickly disappeared. “Could it be this, I wonder?” He questions sardonically, suddenly cupping your heat in his large hand, the warmth of it nearly making your knees buckle, even through the thin fabric of your leggings. He hums, the sound low in his chest, when he feels how much you’ve soaked the fabric, 
“Oh,” you whimper, grabbing at his shoulders to keep yourself balanced as his fingers continue to tease you, rubbing circles into your clit, “Oh my God, fuck.”
“Christ,” he breathes, staring up at you with dark eyes, “So fucking wet, love, holy hell. Did you get this way just from sucking my cock?”
“Yeah,” you whine, nodding your head desperately as you try to swallow all the small noises you want to make in your throat, your hips rutting against his hand, “Please, sir!”
“Oh, so now that dumb brain has no trouble remembering damn instructions, huh?” He taunts, a wicked grin on his face as his fingers rub your clit in smaller, harsher circles, making you see stars, “Need your wet little cunt played with to be able to do as you're told?”
You nod your head frantically, tears nearly spilling from your eyes at the zaps of pleasure radiating from you, your walls clenching around nothing. Just as you feel yourself about to tip over the edge, he stops, jerking his hand away from you with a knowing chuckle, “W-what?” You question, eyes blinking open, “I was so close!” You whine, nearly stamping your foot on the floor like a petulant child. 
“Told you,” Michael shrugs, pulling you to sit in his lap, your back against his chest as he wraps his arms around you. His breath tickles the side of your neck and face when he speaks again, “You’re so fun to tease, love, can’t help myself.”
You wiggle in his grasp, making him groan as your ass grinds against his hard length, desperately trying to get your hands free to touch your pussy again, nearly out of your mind with need. “P-please, sir, please touch me!” You finally gasp out, knowing he won’t give in until you do.
“Now there’s a good girl,” he says, voice pleased and cocky as he plants kisses along the side of your neck, “Since you asked so nicely…” He says, letting go of one of your arms, letting you grasp the arm still wrapped around you with your hands, as his free hand skirts down your stomach to the top of your leggings, pausing long enough for you to nod again, before he finally touches you. 
You whimper, jerking in his lap at the feel of his warm fingers directly on your heat for the first time, spreading your wet folds with a satisfied hum. His long fingers move down to your entrance, gathering some of the wetness there, “You’re so fucking wet,” he marvels, dragging his fingers up to your aching clit, “Fucking dripping on my fingers.” He murmurs in your ear, nipping at the side of your neck and sending tingles down your spine as he starts rubbing tight, wet circles against your bud. 
You tilt your head back, resting it against his shoulder as your chest heaves. A moan leaves your mouth, louder than it should be, and Michaels free hand shoots up, wrapping around your mouth. “Gotta be quiet, love,” he whispers, not slowing down the movement of his fingers in the slightest, “Wouldn’t want someone to interrupt, hm? Make me stop again?” 
You squeeze your eyes shut, whining desperately against his hand as he moves his fingers against you, the coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter. Your whole body lurches atop his, making him suck a breath in through his teeth as you move against his cock, still hard and hot as it presses against your lower back, when he moves his hand lower, plunging two fingers into your tight heat with no warning. “Fuck!” You yelp, muffled against his hand; tears leak from the corners of your eyes as he moves his fingers, scissoring them into you relentlessly as his thumb circles your clit. 
“S’fucking tight,” he mumbles lowly, voice vibrating his chest against your back, “God, you’re tight.” He grunts between clenched teeth, repeatedly crooking his fingers inside you as he fucks his fingers in and out of your heat, letting out small, barely there groans every time your pussy squelches around his fingers as he punches muffled whines and whimpers from you. He crooks his fingers up suddenly in a way that makes you see stars as you writhe on his lap, your knees shooting up off the floor as you attempt to curl up on yourself, “That the spot?” He teases, relentlessly rubbing his fingers against it as his thumb quickens against your clit. He adds a third finger without warning, curling them up against that rough patch inside you as he bites down on your shoulder, muffling his own groan as he feels you clench down on his fingers. 
“You gonna come?” He mumbles, grinning like a cheshire cat when you frantically nod your head, tears leaking onto the hand still wrapped tightly around your mouth. “Open your eyes,” he commands, not stopping his movements, “Want you to watch what I’m doing to you when you fucking cum.”
At the promise of finally getting to come, your eyes shoot open as you pick your head up off his shoulder, looking down the length of your body to where his hand disappears under your leggings. You practically come undone at the sight, watching as his hand moves against you through the dark fabric, maintaining a careful rhythm. “Michael, please!” You whine against his hand, desperately trying to keep your eyes open. 
He chuckles lowly, clearly proud of how quickly he’s been able to reduce you into a begging mess, the sound reverberating off your back. “Fucking come,” he commands, doubling his efforts, “Soak my fucking hand, love.”
The coil in your stomach finally snaps and you sob, eyes snapping shut as your whole body clenches, shaking in his lap, as fireworks burst behind your eyelids. Your entire core clamps down so tight he has to fight to keep his fingers within you, muting the sounds of his groans against your neck and shoulder as he feels your cunt pulse against his fingers. He doesn’t let up, pressing incessantly against that spot within you as you come, until he finally gets what he wants – both of you groaning together, noises muffled, as a stream of fluid seems to erupt from your center, soaking his hand and the inside of your leggings, though you can’t think enough to care at the moment. 
“Goddammit,” he grunts, finally removing his hand from your leggings, running his fingers through your folds one last time just to make you squirm. Suddenly, he’s lifting you off his lap enough to turn you around, maneuvering you to face him. You’re practically boneless in his lap as he lifts you just enough to pull your leggings down over your ass, pressing his bare cock against your still throbbing center when he sets you back down, “Gonna let me fuck you, love? Hm? Want me to make you go dumb around my cock?” 
You nod your head weakly, not bothering to lift it from his shoulder as you straddle his lap. He doesn’t make you beg this time, too desperate to feel your wet heat around him, as he swiftly lifts you up again, just enough to align his length with your entrance. 
Both of you moan as he lets you sit back down, his hard length disappearing into your warmth. He holds the back of your head, pressing your mouth against his neck to muffle your cries; you can feel his jaw clench with the effort of keeping his own muted. He fills you deliciously, thick cock pressed against every part of you, as your clit presses against the small thatch of hair above his length. 
“Fuck,” he huffs, the word hissed between his teeth as he squeezes his eyes shut, savoring the way your pussy pulses around his length, the way you desperately mouth and lick at his neck, “God, knew you’d feel good.” 
Somehow, that remark works it’s way through the fog in your brain, “Hm?” you hum against his neck, your hands coming up to tangle in his golden hair, “You thought about me?” You whimper, words whiny and breathy as he rocks you against him, spearing you on his length again and again, head kissing your cervix just enough to knock the air from your lungs every time he lowers you back down. 
He sighs, as if just now realizing what he’d said, and nods, swallowing down a moan before he speaks, “‘Course I did,” he admits, grinding you down against him, his hips pressed against yours. “Looked so damn pretty in class,” he continues, “So cute all, fuck, all flushed and embarrassed every time you got asked a question.” 
His admission makes you clench around him, heat flooding through your system as you process what he’d said. Your clit grinds against his body again, just as the head of his cock brushes against that spot in your center, and it’s like your brain has been whited out, all you can do is mewl against his neck as he rocks you up and down along his cock. 
“Fuck, I feel this sweet cunt getting tight, love,” he says, breathing heavily as he gets closer to his own release, “Y’gonna come?” 
“Yes!” You whimper, voice high-pitched and broken as you nod frantically against the skin of his neck, now wet with your spit and tears as you rock yourself against him, moving your clit against the hair at the base of his cock. 
“Hold it,” he commands softly, more breathing than speaking. He chuckles when he hears you whine, loving the way you mewl for him like a soft little kitten, and the hand still holding your head against him strokes your hair, soothing you. “Want us to come together,” he huffs, cursing under his breath as he feels you grow somehow tighter around him, “Fuck, I’m close just hold on.” The hand on your hip tightens, grinding you tightly against him, groaning as he feels your center milking his cock, your walls clenching around him desperately. 
“F-fuck, Michael,” you whine, breath hot against the column of his throat as you feel yourself tipping over, “Please! Please I can’t hold it, please!” You beg beautifully, weeping against his skin, trying so hard to keep it down to a whisper so you don’t draw attention, not this close to your release. 
“Where, fuck,” he curses, pulling your head up to look in your eyes, the blue in his nearly swallowed by blackness, “Tell me where.” He pants, his voice urgent.
“Inside me!” You breathe, cunt clenching around him as you feel him twitch inside you.
He groans, forehead resting against your shoulder for a second as he tries to maintain control, both of his hands gripping your ass hard enough to leave bruises, “Are you s–”
“Yes!” You nod, resting your forehead against his when he picks his head back up, “‘M on the pill.” You reassure him as you keep nodding. The two of you move together for a few more seconds, wildly grinding together, before the coil in your stomach is finally wound too tight, “Michael, oh, fuck!”
“Fuck,” he gasps, seeming to get somehow thicker inside you, “Come for daddy, fuck, be good and come.” He commands, his own voice low and frenzied.
Hearing him call himself that does you in, and you shatter around him, walls gripping him tightly. You open your mouth, unable to control a loud moan, which he quickly hushes by pressing his lips against yours, licking into your mouth as he thrusts up into your center harshly a few times, each rise of his hips accompanied by a grunt into your waiting mouth as you mewl at the heat of his cum filling you up, extending your own release. 
The two of you stay quiet for a moment, breathing heavily as you sweetly kiss, tiredly pressing your lips together. Finally, you pull away from him giggling shyly when you meet his eyes, blushing as you feel his length slowly softening inside you. “Getting shy on me now?” He teases, smiling at you as he gently plays with your hair. 
You smile back at him for a second before suddenly coming to your senses and remembering where you are, “Shit,” you whisper, hopping up off his lap, “I cannot believe we just did that!” You quickly scan the floor with wide eyes, shoulders visibly relaxing when you still don’t see anyone.
“Wasn’t in my plan,” Michael starts, tucking his member back into his boxers and zipping up his jeans, “But I’m certainly not complaining.” He finishes, smirking at you before standing. He leans down, helping you pull up your leggings. He doesn’t miss the way you grimace when the damp, now unpleasantly cool, fabric presses against you. “Sorry,” he apologizes, gesturing to them, “I should’ve…controlled myself better with that one.” He finishes, awkwardly scratching at his chin. 
You laugh quietly, trying to play it off although you’re dreading the half hour train ride back to your flat. That feeling doubles when you look down, eyes widening as you see the dark patch around your crotch, hardly visible on the dark fabric but enough that it makes you nervous, “Getting home is gonna be fun.” You joke, turning to begin gathering your things. 
You’ve gotten your textbook put back into your backpack when you feel a tap on your shoulder; turning your head, you look wide-eyed when you see him sheepishly smiling at you, holding his red sweater out as he stands in a band t-shirt, “Here,” he says softly, waving the sweater at you, “You need it more than I do and it’s my fucking fault anyway.”
You blush, taking the sweater from him with a small thank you, tying it around your waist as he busies himself with picking up his things, before putting the rest of yours into your backpack as well, “Oh, you didn’t have to do that!” You tell him as you finish situating his sweater around you, satisfied that the stain is covered.
He huffs out a laugh, “You sucked my cock on the floor of a library,” he jokes, eyes sparkling with mischief yet again, “S’the least I could do.” 
You laugh, playfully shoving at his shoulder as you put your backpack on. The floor is truly, blessedly, empty as the two of you leave and walk downstairs, not seeing anyone on the second floor either and only a few stragglers on the main floor at this hour on a Saturday evening. He pushes open one of the heavy wooden doors at the entrance, holding it open for you as you duck under his arm. The door thuds closed behind you as you both stand outside the library, the air cold now that the sun’s gone down. 
“I really like them, that band,” you say, nodding to his shirt, “Their last album’s really good.”
“Oh!” He says, eyebrows raising in surprise, “You know them?” He asks, smiling when you nod again, “Their new album is probably my favorite too, actually.” The two of you stand in a comfortable silence for a second later before he notices you shiver as a breeze blows through the stoney courtyard. “D’you live close to campus?”
“Half hour on the train,” you shrug, pulling your phone out to check the time, “I should probably go soon if I’m gonna catch the next one…”
“You could come to mine?” He asks, his voice hopeful, “It’s only a walk from here, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes?”
Your eyes widen, having not expected his invitation, but you nod nonetheless, “If you’re sure,” he nods, “Then, yeah! That would be great.” You smile, walking beside him as you start heading in the direction of his flat. 
“Would you maybe want to get lunch sometime?” He asks, glancing down at you.
“I would love that,” you smile, your hand brushing against his as you continue down the sidewalk, “I think I might need more tutoring, too…”
His hand catches yours, your fingers intertwining as he smirks, “Will you suck my cock every time?” He teases, grinning as you laugh, the sound echoing off the buildings and filtering into the night air. 
Told you so. The voice in the back of your mind echos as you lean your head on Michael’s shoulder.
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sungbeam · 6 days
Text
𝐢 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐢 𝐝𝐨!
nonidol!jung wooyoung x f!reader
the one where you're stuck in denial and wooyoung's determined to not be stuck in the friend zone.
7.7k words, fluff, f2l, they've kinda got a banter thing going on, he's in a frat cuz i said so, college au, swearing, kissing, mentions of alcohol and food, pining, obliviousness, jealousy/insecurity if you squint...? (sorry mark), barely proofread, overall pretty wholesome
a/n: okay... wooyo brainrot going hard lately, but anyways, hope u enjoy <3
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The horizon glittered like a sea of molten gold when you stepped onto the sandy shores of the beach. Seagulls squawked overhead, riding the setting sky like your friends currently in the surf. You smiled to yourself, inhaling the briny air and slipping the shades off your nose and up onto your head. Your sandals hung limp in your hand as grains of sand embedded themselves into the soles of your bare feet while you jogged down the hill toward the bonfire and crowd of people.
The last week of summer before the fall semester brought your friends to convince you to come to their last bonfire at the beach. It wasn't difficult to persuade you.
“Oy, Yn! Head's up!"
Your eyes shot open and your head whipped up. Sandals fell from your hand as they came up to grab the frisbee out of the sky. It was plastic and blue, with scratches engraved into its surface from thorough use.
Hoots of approval erupted from further down the bank. "Nice catch!" Yeonjun praised as he jogged to meet you in the middle. A light blue Hawaiian shirt hung loose off his lean frame, unbuttoned to display the glorious, toned muscles of his chest.
You grinned, handing him the frisbee before picking your sandals back up. The two of you walked together back towards the group. "Thanks. How're you, Jun?"
He pulled you into a brief, yet affectionate side hug. "I'm great! You?"
"Same here." You had been itching for an outing—and dreading the first day back to class—so this would be good for you. “Who's here today?”
“Ah, y'know, the usuals.” He grinned at you then, sending you a teasing wink. “Your lover boy's here for sure. He wouldn't miss this for the world.”
Your skin warmed at the playful comment and you were failing to pretend it was just because it was hot out here. You rolled your eyes. “He is not my lover boy.”
“Based on the fact you knew who I was talking about though,” he drawled with a singsong tone. He let out a loud guffaw at your less than gruntled expression. “You know, he ditched his frat's annual pool party to be here.”
“That's his prerogative—I don't know how that relates to me,” you said with your palms raised up helplessly.
As you turned around to walk in front of him, Yeonjun wrinkled his nose with a grin. “It's cute when you're in denial.”
You scoffed, backpedaling in the opposite direction to where Changbin was hollering for him to hurry up with the frisbee. “Denial, as if.”
“Whatever you say, Cher,” he snickered, then raised his hand up in goodbye to jog across the sands to the game of frisbee.
You huffed a laugh and shook your head. The sun glared in your eyes as you trudged through the sand toward the sounds of your other friends hollering at you from the barbeque and speaker system set up. You flicked your shades back over your eyes, an easy smile coming to your face. “Hi everyone! Smells delicious over here.”
Chan was stationed at the small, portable barbeque with a bottle of beer in his hand. He smiled as you neared, digging his hand into the cooler beside him to pass you a fresh bottle of hard lemonade. “You're right on time, Yn. Dinner is almost ready.”
“I do believe I have impeccable timing,” you mused, thanking him while accepting the bottle. You dropped your sandals to the sand by your feet so you could free your hands and twist the bottle cap off.
“So glad you could make it, Yn!” Lia chimed in from her spot beneath the beach tent. She and Chaeryeong were lying on their stomachs with books splayed out before them for a light beach read.
“Hey guys! Glad I could make it, too—”
“Oh my god, is that Yn Ln?”
Your head whipped around in the direction of the new voice, and you watched as Felix trudged up the sandy bank with his surfboard under his arm, his free hand brushing back his strands of damp hair.
“Felix Lee, you've been chickening out on me all summer.”
He gave a lazy smile back at you as the two of you clasped hands in greeting, his being cold and wet from the waves and yours dry and gritty with sand. “You say that like you haven't been working all summer. Anyways, there's someone who's been dying to see you even more than me.”
You could spot the impish mischief in the blond's eyes from a mile away. “I feel like everyone's been telling me the same thing, but I haven't seen Wooyoung anywhere.”
“First time she says my name, and it's not even to my face,” came a dramatic sigh from somewhere behind you.
The organ in your chest kicked into action and you turned to face the newcomer bounding toward the group from up the hill where the parking lot was. He was clad in a pair of board shorts and a tank top, his skin glowing in the golden afternoon light. “Speak of the Devil,” you jested, poking your tongue into your cheek as you smiled.
Jung Wooyoung peered at you from over the rim of his sunglasses as they slipped down the slope of his nose, then pushed them up to nestle in his locks of dark brown hair. “That nickname's a new one.”
“It's an expression, Jung,” you said, eyebrow arched.
He gave yet another melodramatic sigh. “And she's back to the last name-calling. Would it kill you to try a 'sweetheart’ or a 'darling’ one of these days?”
“I think Yn would rather go into cardiac arrest before calling you by your first name, mate,” Felix gave a warm laugh as he sidled up beside his friend, propping his arm up onto Wooyoung's shoulder.
You lifted your bottle of lemonade in salute. “Lix, you are not wrong. Where've you been anyways, Jung?”
“Did you hear that? She cares about my whereabouts,” he gasped in giddy delight, palm over his mouth as if he and Felix were co conspirators. “I'll have you know, Ln, that Hyunjin and I were scouting for ice cream carts, but he had a phone call to take so I came back here.”
You gave a pleasant hum, knocking back a sip of the spiked lemonade. “An ice cream cart? A man after my own heart.”
“Took you that long to notice?”
You weren't given much time to ponder on that statement before everyone's attention turned to Chan, who announced that it was finally time to eat. By some miraculous force of nature, Hyunjin heard Chan's call, too, and came barreling down the hill toward base camp a few moments later. The frisbee was laid to rest, the books were marked for later, and the bonfire was set ablaze.
With delicious eats and favored company, the lot of you gathered around with one another to have dinner and watch the sun slowly sink into the horizon line. It was the perfect cap to a long and warm summer.
A few hours later, when the sun had only just disappeared from view to leave the sky a lingering shade of hazy orange, you settled beside Lia, Chaeryeong, and Yeonjun on one side of the fire pit while Chan sat on his stool with a ukulele he kept in his backseat. (You were pretty sure that ukulele lived in his backseat at this rate. Once, you saw him buckle the thing with its own seatbelt. To each their own, you supposed.)
“So Wooyoung-ah,” drawled Changbin from his perch beside Hyunjin, as the two of them plucked chips out of the same bag, “did Hongjoong say if movie night was confirmed for next Friday?”
All eyes flickered over to Wooyoung expectantly, and you found yourself meeting his gaze as his own flitted from your eyes and back to Changbin. “I’m pretty sure we're still on for Friday, yeah. All of you better be there,” he said pointedly, his finger drawing over the group.
“What time is it again?” Yeonjun asked as he shoved a marshmallow into his cheek. You smiled to yourself and poked at it, making him send an adorable scowl your way.
Wooyoung pursed his lips. “Ah… it should start around nine o'clock. But make sure you guys text me first so I can let you in. Sometimes the pledges don't care to ask before collecting fees at the door.”
Nods and murmurs of agreement resounded from around the group. Each one of you had your own experience with getting hassled for entry fee at the ATZ fraternity door before Wooyoung or one of his frat brothers came to collect you. You remembered Felix once joking about having all of your names on a list or something.
“Ln, you're coming, aren't you?” Wooyoung nodded at you from across the bonfire. He leaned his elbows onto his knees, his fine features illuminated by the fires.
Your pulse skipped. “Hm? Oh, uhm, yeah I'm pretty sure.”
A smile curled onto his lips. “Good.”
From beside you, Yeonjun lightly smacked the back of his hand against your shoulder. “Hey, you should totally invite that guy from our Econ class—y’know from last quarter—?”
Your eyebrows creased. “Mark?”
“Who's Mark?” The question Wooyoung posed was innocent, but you couldn't help hyperfixate on the way he tilted his head and pressed his lips together.
And for some reason, you wanted to clear this up. “Mark from Econ,” you said. “He, Jun, and I used to sit with each other during class. I dunno if he'd wanna come with…” You somewhat kept in touch with Mark over the summer, but it wasn't like the two of you hung out solo or anything.
Yeonjun shoved another marshmallow into his mouth, but still spoke through it, “Mawk's cool doe. I fink he iked you.”
“Ooh, someone had a crush on you, Yn?” Hyunjin snickered.
You wrinkled your nose at him. “He did not have a crush on me; he was just nice.”
“You should invite him anyway!” Chaeryeong piped up as she leaned over you and Lia to steal a marshmallow from Yeonjun's bag. The owner of said bag watched the stolen marshmallow get swallowed whole with wide eyes. “More the merrier.”
“As long as Woo lets him in,” Felix muttered into his plastic cup so his words were slightly muffled. You didn't hear what he said, but you saw Wooyoung whack him and induce a Felix-standard fairy giggle.
You reached into Yeonjun's marshmallow bag, pretending he wasn't gawking at you with even wider eyes to guilt you into not taking his precious. “Okay, I will ask, but no promises.”
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“Who the fuck is Mark from Econ?”
San barely glanced up from what he was reading and he flipped the page to the tune of Wooyoung's rapid pacing of their shared room. “He's from Econ, I'm guessing.”
Wooyoung stopped in the middle of the open space between their beds, hands braced on their hips. He had just gotten home from the bonfire after having dropped off Hyunjin, Yeonjun, and Changbin at their apartment. When he'd arrived home to the ATZ fraternity on Greek Row, he had not been surprised to find nearly everyone still awake, even at one in the morning.
San, as always, had his nose buried in a bout of nightly reading. He claimed it helped him sleep better, but how could it if he sometimes stayed up until five in the morning because he was so invested?
“That's very helpful, thanks,” Wooyoung deadpanned.
His friend spared him a glance from over the book's edge. Then after one peak at his sorry state, San sighed and stuck an old receipt into the book to mark it for later. “Did they mention a last name? Mark who?”
Wooyoung waved his hand around. “Agh, I dunno. Yeonjun said in the car ride home something about a Mark Lee…”
San blinked, head tilting to the side in thought. “Mark Lee? Like the Mark Lee from NCT down the street?”
For a moment, Wooyoung only stared with furrowed brows, allowing the information presented to process through his brain. When it hit him, it was clear as day. He groaned, dragging his palms down his face as he plopped down on the edge of his bed. “We can't let him into Friday's movie night, Sannie.”
“And why not? He's a nice dude.”
“That is exactly why we can't let him in!” At the way San's face arranged itself into the epitome of confusion, Wooyoung waved his hands around in a manic craze. “If he gets cozy with Yn, my chances are ruined.”
San gave up; he picked up his book again. “Sounds like a skill issue.”
“Movie night? Dark setting? Sharing blankets? Fairy lights overhead?” Wooyoung flopped onto his back and glared at the ceiling. It was the perfect way to get closer to you if he could somehow make it not weird since you were almost always with one of your other friends. This could arguably be his big breakthrough with you; it had all of the makings of a romantic night… as long as everything went right.
He just needed to be absolutely sure that your feelings and his feelings were on the same page.
San sighed, the book flopping onto his lap. “Why can't you just—I don't know—insert yourself?” He made a motion with his arm, his dimples digging into his cheeks as he pressed his lips together in a deadpan, arm jutting straightforward. “Insert. Like… insert.”
Wooyoung craned his head up from his position. “Like—insert?”
“Insert,” San affirmed. “She sits down, and you sit down next to her before anyone else can. Easy.”
“So you want me to be a parasite?”
San scoffed and fixed Wooyoung with a pointed look. “If you're not going to tell her to her face that you like her—”
“Parasitism, it is!”
As the days grew closer to the ATZ frat's annual fall movie night, you had to admit that you might have been severely procrastinating on extending an invitation to Mark. Mark was, by all counts, a nice guy. He was a good guy, in fact. But it wasn't like the two of you were buddy-buddy with each other, as Yeonjun made it sound like to everyone else. It was the equivalent of your mom asking you to invite your neighbor to your birthday party—they were nice enough, but you weren't close enough to ensure this wouldn't be awkward.
Plus, you couldn't get this sticky feeling out of the back of your mind about Yeonjun claiming Mark liked you. There was no problem, per se, with a guy liking you. It was just that… you weren't interested in him like that. You also didn't want other people thinking that you were interested in him either, and getting the wrong idea.
You tried to convince yourself that you weren't interested in anyone at the moment, but you knew, deep in your heart of hearts, that wasn't true. You just didn't want to admit it. (A tragedy, indeed.)
When the first Friday night of the university term rolled around, you and your friends pulled up outside the ATZ frat house without Mark Lee. You'd admitted to them that it was awkward, so the subject was easily brushed away. There was nothing they could do about it now, anyway.
When they strolled up to the entryway, Yeonjun told the pledges at the front that they were with Wooyoung. As per protocol, they forced you all to wait outside until Wooyoung could get there from wherever he was within the house. You could hear the music thumping from the backyard, along with chatter and laughter, all from people waiting for the movie night to start.
You shivered as you hugged your arms around your body, a cool autumn breeze blowing past. “Damn, I should've brought a jacket,” you laughed, hopping around from foot to foot to stay warm. Or maybe you should've worn a sweater rather than a T-shirt over your pajama shorts.
Lia perked up. “Oh! I think I have o—”
Felix's eyes widened as he interjected, “No, you don't!”
Everyone passed Felix a strange look, especially you and Lia. Curiously, you watched as Felix seemingly communicated with Lia in silent, urgent facial expressions before smiling at you like his regular, ray-of-sunshine self.
You blinked. What in the world…?
Lia turned back toward you with an apologetic wince on her face. “I think I took my jacket out of the backseat before I left the house. Sorry, Yn.”
“Oh, that's okay,” you assured her. “I'll, uh, probably steal Chan's blanket or something once we get settled.”
Wooyoung appeared at the door moments later, a lollipop stick between his teeth and a cozy dark blue hoodie on his frame. Like many others here tonight, he was in a pair of pajama pants and fluffy slippers. “Hey guys! Come on in.”
Thankful for the excellent timing, you all slipped inside the front doors of the frat to get to the backyard. The movie night was usually held in the backyard space just because it could hold more people. The movie was then projected against the back of the house with an old projector that was apparently passed down from generation to generation of the frat. There was oftentimes a table to the side that was stocked with snacks and booze for all those attending.
Wooyoung led the group of you out into the backyard, specifically to a spot with a decent view, already laid out with picnic blankets and regular blankets. “Tada!” He exclaimed with jazz hands, catching the amused gaze of others nearby. “I reserved a spot for all of us!”
“Without permission!” Somebody—you recognized Yunho's teasing grin from over by the snack table—yelled.
“Seonghwa hyung said I could!” Wooyoung shot back in proper little sibling fashion. He stuck one of his hands into his pockets and took his lollipop out. “Anyways, help yourselves!”
“This is really cool of you, dude,” Changbin said as he bumped Wooyoung's fist and settled on one corner of the setup.
Chan hobbled over toward Changbin. “Yeah, man. We really appreciate it.”
You murmured your own thanks to Wooyoung as you passed by him to decide on where to sit.
His eyes flickered over your form, noting the way you used your palms to keep your arms warm. “Hey, Ln.”
“Jung,” you mused back.
“You didn't bring a jacket?” He asked incredulously. “It's gonna get colder tonight.”
Sheepishness washed over you and you scratched your head with an embarrassed smile. “I'll be fine under the blankets.”
He shook his head, dissatisfaction clear on his face, as he stuck his lollipop back into his mouth and began shouldering off his jacket.
Your eyes widened when you realized what he was doing. “Hey, wait—I’ll be fine—”
Wooyoung held out the jacket to you, eyebrows lifting in silent communication. 'Put it on.’
You pursed your lips and considered it for a moment. You knew that he was right and it was going to get colder later tonight. You could only bring the blanket up so far… Slowly, you slipped into it with his help, and your upper body was immediately grateful for the warmth.
Wooyoung spun you around to face him again, swiftly reaching for the zipper at the bottom to zip you up.
“Oh, you don't have to—” You shut up with one look from him. You could feel your skin begin to warm, not just because of the residual heat from Wooyoung's body heat on the jacket. You weren't exactly used to this, but you also weren't going to complain. This article of clothing smelled sinfully good—was that his cologne or how he always smelled?
When you were all zipped up, his lips pressed into a content smile. “I'm gonna go grab another jacket. I'll be right back,” he said, throwing a thumb back in the direction of the house.
Based on the fact he was only wearing a tank top underneath the jacket you now wore, you nodded vigorously. “Yeah, of course,” you stammered. “Thanks.”
His smile widened. “No problem, Yn. You look good in it.”
You didn't get another word in because he was darting across the backyard and disappearing inside the house before you could. You were sure you looked as flustered as you felt, and you slowly sank onto the blanket set up beside Chaeryeong and Lia.
From down the line, you could feel your friends’ eyes and wagging brows.
“Don't say anything,” you said to them, pulling your knees to your chest and pretending you weren't in heaven from how nice the jacket felt and smelled. (Oh god, were you being weird about this?)
A snort from Hyunjin.
Felix giggled. “Not a single word.”
By the time Wooyoung returned, Hongjoong was beginning to fire up the movie of choice tonight (Parasite—how fitting) and the backyard had been substantially populated.
Though there was no Mark Lee tonight to be a paradise about, Wooyoung settled on the other side of Chaeryeong who was right beside you. There was a bucket of popcorn per every three or so of you. You dipped into the bucket closest to you, which was the one in front of Chaeryeong.
At some point during the movie, Chaeryeong raised her head from where she was resting against your shoulder and searched the area around you. “Hey,” she whispered to you, “my friend from the Delta sorority is over there and I'm gonna go say hi.”
You nodded. “Sounds good.”
As she clambered to her feet, you met Wooyoung's eyes from her other side. He had tugged his own hood over his head, so only his bangs hung out of it. He nodded toward Chaeryeong in question: ‘Where’s she going?’
“Just a friend,” you answered quietly.
From your other side, you heard Lia make a small gasping sound. “Ooh, I'm gonna say hi, too!”
When both of them had cleared out, you craned your head around to see if you recognized the Delta they went to greet. You did not, and so you stayed put.
It didn't take long for you to realize that you were pretty sure Lia and Chaeryeong were over there for much more than a hello, which was completely fine—you were simply going to hog all of their blanket space—
A throat cleared on your left side, and you watched Wooyoung take the shared popcorn bucket and scoot over into where Chaeryeong was sitting next to you. “So we can reach easier,” he reasoned, shoveling a handful of buttered kernels into his mouth.
You couldn't and didn't argue with that. Though, you were unsure of how fast your heart was beating now that you and he were shoulder to shoulder, leg to leg.
But you turned your attention back to the movie because obviously there was nothing wrong with this. There was absolutely nothing about sitting this close to Wooyoung that was making you flustered—
You jolted when your hand touched his in the popcorn bucket, both of you having blindly reached in.
Your eyes met in the dark again, and you hoped he couldn't see just how affected you were by the touch. “Sorry,” you whispered, withdrawing your hand swiftly.
“No, it's okay,” he murmured back, a small lift in the corner of his lips. “Nothing to be sorry about.”
When the movie reached its inevitable conclusion, it was nearing midnight. Though the projector was turned off, there were plenty of people still lingering to chat and drink. You wiped your hands on a napkin and smeared on a dollop of hand sanitizer that Chan usually kept in his pocket. (The crazy man was always prepared.)
Lia and Chaeryeong eventually came back to the group, but you and Wooyoung scooted over so they could sit next to each other on your right. Your arm was still pressed to his arm, and you still kept his jacket on. It had done a brilliant job at keeping you warm tonight; you were dreading parting with it.
“Can we help you guys clean up or anything?” You asked him as you passed him Chan's bottle of hand sanitizer to use.
He hummed, “Uh, I think we should be okay. We'll probably just end up leaving half of it out to clean up in the morning anyway.”
You nodded, taking the hand sanitizer back from him so you could pass it down the assembly line to Chan.
“Oh, by the way,” Wooyoung piped up. “Whatever happened to that Mark guy you were gonna invite?”
You paused, cupping the back of your neck. “Ah… yeah, I didn't actually invite him,” you admitted. “I just thought it would be awkward 'cause we're not really that close.”
He bobbed his head in understanding. “I see, I see. So what Yeonjun said about him…?”
“Your first mistake was listening to Yeonjun.”
Two people down, you heard a squawk of indignation. “Hey! I heard that!”
A chuckle rang out amongst your group. Changbin and Chan's end of the blanket mass suddenly began standing up, the former of which was propping up a half-conscious Felix, citing needs to get the blond to bed. The rest of you wholeheartedly agreed and joined them, empty popcorn buckets in hand to deposit back at the snack table.
As soon as your bare legs hit the cold night air, you gazed forlornly at the blanket you'd been using before. “Jung, let me give you back your jacket,” you said, catching his attention before he wandered off.
But instead of waiting for you to take off the garment, he placed a hand over yours to stop you from unzipping it. “Keep it,” he said.
“Keep it?” You parroted back dumbly.
He broke into a smile. “Yeah, it'll keep you warm until you get home.”
For a moment, you could only stare. Was he always this pretty? Or was it just the fairy lights that were turned on overhead? You swallowed, your lips curling into a small smile back. “Oh okay—thanks. I'll get it back to you as soon as possible.”
“Whatever you say,” he chuckled and reached over to pat your head. The action made a jolt of warmth run down your spine from your head to your toes. Maybe you were just tired.
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Saturday night, you found yourself jostling around in the crowd of all the other late night snackers at the fast food chain a few blocks from the stadium. The first college football game of the season had just ended, and all of your friends who had gone agreed to get a bite to eat afterward. It seemed, however, that nearly everyone else at the game had the same idea.
The establishment was packed to the brim, at least the ordering area was. Your friends had gone outside to score one of the picnic benches for your group, while you, Changbin, and Felix were stuck here to order. (It was all because the three of you sorely lost a game of rock, paper, scissors, and now your wallet would pay, quite literally.) Servers behind the counter hollered out order numbers, and plastic trays of burgers, fries, milkshakes, and grease passed hands.
Your mouth was already watering; cheering and screaming for three hours was a good way to make yourself famished. “Do we have everyone's orders?” You asked your friends, sticking your head in the open space between their shoulders.
Changbin flashed you the group text. “If it's not here, they're starving.”
“Amen to that,” Felix grunted, shaking his bangs out of his eyes and scrolling through his social media fees. “I think Hyunjin and Yeonjun purposely ordered the triple cheeseburger and loaded fries to break our banks.”
“We need to watch that WikiHow video on winning rock, paper, scissors,” you said. The three of you sighed altogether—next time, you wouldn't rely on just luck to get you through something so high stakes.
“You guys look like we just lost the actual game,” mused a familiar voice behind you.
Wooyoung appeared at your side, elbow propped onto your shoulder, accompanied by a couple of his frat brothers, San and Jongho. Wooyoung had a university branded cap over his head with a pair of cherry red heart glasses seated up on the bill, a bit of school spirit in the form of black and red. “I see you lost rock, paper, scissors, Ln.”
You scowled. Of course he knew how you ended up here. After all, he was subjected to it whenever he hung out with your group of friends. “Do you wanna take over my share of the bill, Jung?”
“Do I get something in return?”
“I don't know, your jacket?”
He grinned. “Oh, so you weren't planning on just giving it back to me?”
“I will gladly keep it if you don't want it. She's in the dryer right now,” you shot back. At some point, your heart had kicked up in your chest again, perhaps at the proximity of Wooyoung to you. There wasn't much space in here as it was.
The line scooted up about two centimeters, and Wooyoung's eyebrows shot up in amusement. “You’re washing it after wearing it once? Or maybe you've been wearing it for the past twelve hours and you're just not telling me.”
You ignored the warmth creeping up your neck. “It's called being courteous.”
“It's called wasting water,” he teased, the elbow on your shoulder shifting to an arm slung around both of your shoulders.
“Oh please. It's being washed with the rest of my clothes!” You exclaimed in your defense as you grew more flustered.
Something giddy lit up on his face as the group of you moved up closer to the register. “So that jacket's gonna smell like you? I might not ever wash it again, Ln.”
It was an unholy amount of time later that you, your friends, and the frat trio finally made it out of the stuffy fast food restaurant with your massive order. Instead of a picnic bench, however, it seemed that both your friends and Wooyoung's were exiled to the curb by the street. The sight was rather laughable—around fifteen or so people seated on the firelane like a line of abandoned ducklings.
Everyone practically swarmed the to-go bags that you and your friends deposited in the grass. You picked up one of the cartons of fries for yourself, standing just outside the circle that had formed.
Mingi was recalling one of the plays from tonight's game with vivid acting when you heard your name being called from down the road.
Curious, your eyes tracked the sound, only to see a group of fraternity guys making their way towards you from the direction of Greek Row. Among them, it was Mark Lee that you recognized first in a red bomber jacket and backwards cap. His cheeks were flushed and eyes twinkled like a pair of diamond earrings.
“YN LN! IS THAT YOU?” He giggled, and you just knew that the poor guy was drunk off his face.
One of his friends with a bunny-looking face grappled onto his arm with a groan. “Sorry! He was double-dared to take one too many shots by this bastard,” he said when they neared and cut a glare to one of the tall boys behind him. Said tall boy whistled, pretending not to hear him.
Yunho cupped his hands around his mouth and gave a loud holler. “Aye, N-City! Jungwoo, where the hell have you been, man?"
“It’s called the engineering program, bro,” the one you assumed to be Jungwoo grumbled. He hobbled over to where Yunho was seated in the circle and knocked his fist against the latter's. “Oh my god, can I steal a fry? That line over there looks awful.”
Mingi lifted his tray of fries up for Jungwoo to pluck a few.
Mark, with the supervision of his bunny friend, scuttled over toward you. “Fries sound so good, dude. Like bro. BRO. I am so hungry.” He giggled again as you extended your fries out to him in amusement. “Thanks, Yn. Do I still owe you for coffee that one time?” He slurred, shoving the slices of potato into his mouth.
You chuckled, offering his friend some fries, but was quietly rejected. “Coffee? That was like, once, Mark. Don't worry about it.”
“I know, but like—like, I keep thinking about it, y'know,” he confessed. In the streetlight, you could see his cherry red cheekbones… almost the color of Wooyoung's glas—what. Where did that thought come from?
Absent-mindedly, your eyes flickered across the circle to where you knew Wooyoung was seated with his brothers. To your surprise, you found him already staring your way.
“—it’d be cool to get coffee again sometime, and be friends! I almost took the next econ class in the series 'cause of you.”
“Oh, really?” You asked, forcing yourself back to the people in front of you and being unable to suppress a giggle. You were touched by the sentiment, and frankly, relieved to hear that you and he were pretty much on the same page about being friends. “The next class in the series is kind of ass though, so I'm glad you aren't gonna have to suffer through it.”
“Aw, but we're all in this together!” He chirped.
His friend gave Mark a small pat on his arm. “We should get a move on before the crowds get worse.”
Mark's eyes widened and he gasped. “You're right, hyung!”
“See you, guys,” you said with a small wave. The two boys threw a similarly warm goodbye to you as they slipped past you and toward the jam-packed fast food joint you had braved just earlier.
Across the wide social circle, Wooyoung couldn't hear exactly what yours and Mark's conversation entailed because of all the chatter. Sue him for being caught staring at you, but he couldn't keep his eyes off you, as per usual. There was a familiar pang in his chest as he watched you bid Mark and Doyoung from the NCT fraternity goodbye, and he mindlessly finished off the tray of fries in front of him.
Although you technically implied to him last night that there was nothing between you and Mark, there was undoubtedly a part of him that still felt jittery at the thought.
There was a nudge against his arm. “Glare even harder, and Mark might wake up with a pair of holes in the back of his head.”
Wooyoung moved his scowl to San beside him, a snicker falling from his best friend's mouth. “I'm not glaring,” Wooyoung protested and reached for a napkin in the middle of the circle.
“Oh, right,” San drawled, “you're staring at Yn.”
“Yes, and?” He shot back. “What'd'you think they were talking about?” He could practically hear the sound of your giggles in his ears after Mark said something. Wooyoung didn't like the way that made his stomach churn—the fact that this other guy was making you laugh. Did he make you laugh like that? Did you look that radiant when you were with him? God, why did you have to be so gobsmackingly gorgeou—
San considered him for a moment as he chewed on the bite of his burger. “Why don't you ask her yourself?” He muttered with a vague gesture of his aioli-covered fingers, “I dunno, go offer to drive her home or something.”
“That's the first good idea I've heard all night.” Wooyoung hopped to his feet, a misshapen plan (of sorts) manifesting in his head. Hopefully it would work out better than the movie night one. (But by some metrics, he could consider movie night a success…)
San exhaled under his breath as his friend went to go find a trash can first. “Can't believe he actually went with that,” he said with a shake of his head. He could only hope now that his friend would finally put himself out of his misery.
Having finished your post-game snack, drowsiness was slowly seeping into your joints and the corners of your eyes. It was bound to be nearing midnight at this time, and with all of the excitement within the past two days, you were about ready to head back.
You swept your eyes over the group to gauge if any of your other friends looked about ready to go home, too, when you felt someone tap your shoulder.
“Can I give you a lift home?” Wooyoung asked as he stood there, cap and glasses hanging from his hand while the other carded through his hair.
Well. “It's like you read my mind, Jung,” you mused. “Do you and your brothers not usually carpool though?”
“Eh, Hongjoong hyung brought the minivan.”
You didn't know why that comment made you laugh—perhaps it was the image of a bunch of ATZ frat members shoved into a soccer mom minivan with Hongjoong at its helm—but a laugh most definitely tumbled from your lips. The sound and sight reflected in Wooyoung's expression, a boyish grin coming to his face and reaching his eyes. “Alright, fine. As long as by taking me home, you aren't abandoning them on the streets.”
The two of you began walking side by side to where he would lead you back toward wherever his car was parked. “Nah,” he reassured you with a shake of his head. He took his cherry heart glasses and slid them up into his hair. “A nice walk home might keep them humble, y'know?”
“And who's to say you don't need humbling, Jung?” You joked.
A smirk curled up on his mouth like a cat's tail. “What? Are you going to humble me, Ln?”
You gave a nonchalant shrug to cover up the rapid pulse hammering away in your veins. “I could finesse your keys, you never know.”
He motioned to the left where his sedan was parked along the side of the street. “I'll have you know that you already have one of my keys,” he said as he rounded his car to reach the driver's seat.
You crinkled your brows together, your hand lingering on the door to the passenger's seat as he fished his keys out to unlock the car. “What key?”
“The key to my heart,” he winked, smile widening.
You glanced away, tongue jamming into your cheek to suppress your flustered smile, but by the sounds of Wooyoung's glee from the other side of the car, you were unsuccessful. “You tell that to all the girls?” You finally said when the car chirped and you slipped into the passenger's seat.
Your car doors slammed in tandem.
“Nope, that one's just for you,” he said, tossing his hat in the back and starting the engine.
The fluttery feeling in your chest was making it difficult for you to sit still. If you were so enraptured by his scent clinging to the fabric of his jacket, then his car must have been level two. Your body melted into the car seat, and you turned your head to watch the world pass through the window with a content expression on your face.
There had been something gnawing at you for a while now. You knew Wooyoung boasted a rather flirty personality; he had always been pretty outgoing and teasing ever since you met. There were so many signs that pointed to him liking you more than just a friend, but you didn't want to jump to conclusions. (Denial? What was that?)
Was this different from when Yeonjun suggested that Mark liked you? Well, yes. This was different because you… it was different because this was Wooyoung, not Mark. It was different because you were suddenly marinating on the idea of him liking you, and not dismissing it like you had with Mark.
You were growing giddy at the idea, in fact. And maybe that made you nervous.
A thought appeared in your head. “Oh, I guess it's a good thing you're taking me home, because now I can give you back your jacket.” For a moment, you deeply considered casually “forgetting” to return the garment, but your integrity won out.
You saw him glance over at you before returning his eyes to the road. “Right, right. Good idea,” he murmured. He ran his teeth over his bottom lip then. “Hey, uhm, weird question.”
“Uh oh,” you joked.
He chuckled. “Yah, it's not an 'uh oh!’ I was just wondering what Mark came to talk to you about.”
Oh. That wasn't exactly what you had in mind when he said he had a weird question.
Your eyes flickered over to him for a second. “You seem awfully interested in me and Mark,” you drawled, uncertain of where this was going.
“I mean—I know you said last night that you guys aren't that close,” he supplemented, tongue swiping over his lip as he turned the corner onto your street, “but he seemed pretty friendly tonight.”
“Mark’s always friendly,” you pointed out. Part of it was just so you could prod a little and figure out why Wooyoung was pursuing this.
“You're not wrong.”
Your head tilted to the side. “So?”
“So?”
You let out a small laugh. “Hey, Jung, what's going on? You're usually not so antsy about these things, especially not with me.” You chewed on the inside of your cheek and your fingers drummed mindlessly against your thigh in anticipation.
Wooyoung glanced over at you again, his lips pressing together. He was entering your apartment complex street now and carefully pulled up along the curb outside. “I would argue that it's the complete opposite.”
“Huh?”
“You can't possibly think that this whole time I haven't been head over heels for you?” He blurted.
Even if the car had stopped, your heart rate most definitely hadn't.
At your loss for words, he killed the engine. “Like, you think I stare at you for fun? No, actually, I stare at you because I'm literally just so attracted to you, it's survival.”
You sucked in a breath. “Jung…”
“And you know, I try to be as obvious as I can, but maybe I'm not? And I'm—I’m trying to be as loud about my feelings as possible,” he continued on, adding in an accompaniment of sweeping hand gestures. “Without actually admitting to my feelings, as stupid as it sounds.”
“Jung. Jung, wait—”
“This wasn't supposed to turn into a ramble, but what I'm trying to say is—”
“Wooyoung.”
He screeched to a halt, eyes widened as if you'd just grown two heads.
Oh, you were so endeared by this man. In this snapshot of time, there was nothing other than utter adoration in your heart for him. “You were probably being very loud, but I'm also hard of hearing sometimes.”
“Extremely,” he agreed with his mouth pressed into a line.
“Hey!”
He broke into a grin that was soft at the corners and tender at the eyes. “Just so you know, I don't treat anyone else like you. You're probably the only person I will ever address by their last name as a term of endearment.”
You laughed, skin warming to the touch. “I'll admit—same here.” A jolt of electricity warmed down your spine at the admission.
“I can't persuade you to even try a 'honey’ or a ‘baby?’ Not even a 'sweetie pie?’”
You rolled your eyes playfully. “Maybe you'll unlock some of them as time goes on. It has to feel right.”
He leaned forward onto the center console, a small, happy sigh falling from his mouth. “Okay,” he said quietly. “I can deal with that.”
In reply, you twisted around in your seat to face him, your head leaned against the car seat. “Just so we're clear though…”
“I like you—I do.”
“Good.” Your lips curled into a smile. “I like you, too.”
In the low light of the car, the sky darkened and the only light coming from the streetlight a few cars away, you and Wooyoung shared a soft moment together. The thing that had been needling at the back of your mind was finally subsiding.
Swallowing, you reached forward to brush a strand of hair out of his eyes, and his eyes seemed to shudder. “Yeonjun once called you my lover boy.”
“I'm pretty sure all of our friends knew how I felt,” he snorted.
You made a small gesture with your shoulder, wincing. “Except for me?”
“Except for you,” he sighed jokingly. “Utter pain. But you know what?”
“What's that?”
“I think I like being your lover boy.”
You slowly nodded. “It has a nice ring to it.” You couldn't help another smile as you rolled it over and over in your mind. Your lover boy, your lover boy, your lover boy… “My lover boy.”
Wooyoung pressed his palms together like he was praying, his hands touching his lips. “Give me the strength—I can't not kiss you after hearing that come out of your mouth.”
Your heart gave an aggressive palpitation. “Well… I wouldn't be opposed.”
“Hey, lover girl,” he said, mouth split open with a pretty grin, “can I kiss you?”
How could you refuse?
He leaned forward and cradled one side of your face with one hand so he could press his lips against your own. If there was any doubt left in your mind about how you felt for him, it was all dashed away once he kissed you.
When your eyes fluttered open, you met his gaze.
“I think,” he murmured, thumb drawing over your bottom lip, “I just fell for you all over again.
God, how could you compete with that line? You ducked your head, unabashedly flustered. He only cooed at your reaction and came forward to smack a long kiss to your cheek.
When it was determined that you would finally head up to your apartment for the evening, you reluctantly clambered out of his vehicle. He rolled down his window so he could drape himself out of it like a damsel in a tower, his eyes shaped like hearts.
“Is it safe to say that I can keep your jacket?” You jested, stopping in front of his window.
He huffed a laugh. “You know, I thought you'd never ask. But you'll have to trade me for something of yours.”
“Deal, Jung.” You were certain you could think of something.
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a/n: pls remember to reblog + comment if u enjoyed <3
atz m.list
permanent taglist: @flwoie @vatterie @seomisaho @hqrana @ja4hyvn @outrologist @rikizm @luumiinaa @tinkerbell460 @meosjinn @hyunjaespresent-deobi @stayarmytinyzenmoa-l @floatingpluto @gyulfriend @jaehunnyy @shakalakaboomboo @soonyoungblr @justanotherkpopstanlol @kangfication @pxppxrminty @fluorescentloves @haechansbbg @jaerisdiction @super-btstrash-posts @jundundun @http-gyu @mvvnsseul @mars101 @synthwxve @atzhouse @kflixnet
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yellowharrington · 1 month
Text
sugar sweet -- carmy berzatto x reader
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pairing + fandom: carmen "carmy" berzatto x reader, the bear fx
word count: ~2.5k
warnings: brief mention of body image issues (not towards reader) and suicide (mikey's death), eating dessert and a lot of food talk, gn!reader (but mention of wearing heels), use of y/n briefly in texts. reader is mentioned as an accountant or adjacent professional person and smoking is mentioned (reader and carmy). please let me know if i missed anything :)
a/n: hey team !! i hope y'all enjoy this fluffy little blorbo about carmy's birthday bc i needed to write about being soft to him. this is an old wip i finally finished so pls rb and leave feedback and comments ily
summary: it's carmy's birthday and you want to make it special for him again.
-`♡´-
It’s not that Carmy doesn’t like his birthday.
No, it’s not that. 
It’s just that he’s never had a good one.
When he was 9, his mom tried to make him a birthday cake. French vanilla, with buttercream icing, multicoloured sprinkles on top. But she had somehow managed to get so frustrated that she had thrown the whisk across the kitchen, the burnt cake thrown in the sink, and taken to the backyard for her millionth cigarette of the day. She was breaking down, as usual, and Carmy was the one that had to go out and rub her back and tell her it was fine. That he was fine, that he didn’t matter, and no, she didn’t ruin his birthday. 
When he was 13, he ended up spending the afternoon consoling Natalie in her bedroom, after his mom had again, made a backhanded comment about her body. That yeah, she’d gained weight in her midsection, and yeah, the stress was showing on her hips. She was sobbing into her pillows, clutching her pink sheets and wailing, leaving Carmy with nothing to do but kiss her on the cheek and leave her alone. He assured her, again, that he was fine, that he didn’t matter, and no, she didn’t ruin his birthday. 
And when he’s 24 and scrubbing the floors of The Beef at midnight, sweat dripping down his forehead and into the collar of his shirt. Michael had just died, so yeah, it was a little raw. The fluorescent lights were beating down on his back as he dumped hot soapy water on the floor and scrubbed everything away. Scrubbed away his memories, every Christmas with his brother, every screaming match. He let it all go down the drain. He’s assured himself that he’s fine, he didn’t matter, and no, Michael’s fucking suicide would not ruin his birthday.
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.
He meets you later that year. Sitting in the park, doing a crossword at 7:00am, your BEC and hot coffee cooling off on the bench beside you. You’re obviously a professional of some kind: tight black slacks and a matching blazer, white dress shirt stretched over your torso, hair pristinely styled. Black heels, he notices, that you’ll switch out in the middle of the day because they squeeze your toes. 
When he sits beside you, you don’t pay him any mind. He’s disheveled, sandy curls pushed back on his head, a grey crewneck sweater over a white t-shirt, collar peaking through at the neck. He sets his identical breakfast next to yours, taking out a cigarette and slipping it between his lips. You look over when he flicks his lighter, a soft exhale leaving his nose. “Oh, sorry,” he takes the cigarette from his lips and wafts the smoke away. “I forgot not everyone in this city smokes.”
You smiled tightly, nodding, letting yourself relax onto the back of the bench. “I don’t mind.” He nodded back to you, letting his hand rest on his knee as he took another drag. “Anything worth reading in there today?” He gestures to the newspaper balanced on your knee. You look at him again, shrugging your shoulders, only to tap your pen against the side of your leg. “No, there never is. I just do the crosswords. You wouldn’t happen to know a 4 letter word for ‘kitchen second in command’, would you?”
He laughs a little, taking another slow drag. “Sous?” You look down at the newspaper, penning in the small boxes, sitting back to smile at him. “Thank you,” you raise your coffee cup to him. “‘m a chef, over at The Beef in River North,” he has a mouthful of his sandwich now, as he points in the general direction of the restaurant. “Oh, yeah, I think you guys catered one of our events one time. It’s like, sandwiches and stuff, right?” He nods, taking a sip of coffee. You follow after him, letting the hot coffee touch your lips. 
“Yeah,” he laughs. “I, uh, just took it over. It’s kind of a shit show right now but we’re tryna fix it.” You unwrap the sandwich and sink your teeth into the soft bagel, covering your mouth before beginning to speak. “What happened to the guy who used to own it? Did you just buy it off of him, or what?”
“He died,” he says, deadpan, letting the cigarette come between his lips again. “He was my brother and uh, yeah - he died.” You nod at your own embarrassment, at the thought of asking a random stranger about his dead brother by accident. “Oh, I didn’t-uh, God - sorry,” you stammer, letting yourself turn towards him. “It’s fine,” he waves the smoke away again. “It’s not a big deal.” You almost laugh at his demeanour, so nonchalant. You pull a cardholder out of your blazer pocket, the small clasp opening. Cream cardstock, black writing - a business card, handing it over to him, but not before scribbling your personal number on the back. “If you need anything, accounting related or otherwise, call me.” He takes it and looks for a second, raising his eyebrow at the pristine card. “I can’t afford you,” he laughs. “No charge. Thanks for the help on the crossword…” you wait expectantly for a name. “Oh, Carmen. Carmy,” he finishes. “Nice to meet you.”
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.
It had been a few months since your first meeting. Now, you chose to spend almost every Sunday with him - his one day off. He’d usually make you breakfast, sometimes an omelette with gouda cheese and chives, or fluffy pancakes with a berry compote and homemade whipped cream. For a man that cooked all day, every day, he certainly didn’t mind making any meals for you, especially when you woke up next to him in his old t-shirt and nothing underneath. 
You’d known Carmy for long enough now to have pieced together the whole story - a few nights here and there coming around The Beef after closing had granted you the pleasure of meeting Richie, who Carmy affectionately called Cousin. “He’s a little fucked up,” Richie had told you behind the slightly ajar door of the office, as you sat and waited for Carm to finish up. “With Mikey and everything. He won’t let ‘ya know, but he is. I’m happy he’s got somebody,” he looks back at the kitchen, the usual pots and pans clanging behind him. “You didn’t hear it from me, but it’s his birthday on Sunday,” Richie gets closer to you, his hand coming closer. “Back up Richie,” “Sorry. Force of habit. Do not tell him I told you. Take it to your grave. He likes red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese icing like a little bitch boy, they’re his favourite, alright?” You nod, looking to see if he was anywhere near. “Heard.”
You catch Marcus on the way out while Carmy fucks with something else in the kitchen. “Hey, Marcus,” you grab his arm, right before he’s about to put a headphone in and start on his way home. “Hey, what’s good?” “I need a red velvet cake recipe. And a cream cheese icing recipe. And a walk through of how to bake a batch of cupcakes. Please.” He nodded slightly, looking down at his phone. “I’ll text you what I’ve got. Is it a special occasion?” You look over at Carmy, who was wiping the sweat from his forehead. “Yeah, uh, it is.”
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.
Marcus had let you borrow a few cupcake pans and a package of liners, as well as his KitchenAid stand mixer for the batter. You’d gathered all of the ingredients from the recipe he’d given you, set everything up in your tiny apartment kitchen on the Saturday before Carmy’s birthday, furiously mixing wets and drys in different bowls, sifting flour and separating egg whites from yolks. The cigarette was taught between your lips, tank top strap falling off your shoulder as you slowly began to mix the batter together. 
[Carmen] 11:18pm
Hey
How are you baby?
Just finishing up here
You flicked the cigarette ash onto the fire escape as you nodded your head in rhythm with the song on the speaker, letting the batter mix in the background as you started to sift the powdered sugar into the clean bowl. You weren’t even looking at the time until you heard the familiar chime of your phone, sticky floury hands grabbing your cell phone to see the text from Carmy. 
“Shit, fuck,” you turned the mixer off, putting the remnants of your cigarette out in the sink. 
[(Y/N) personal] 11:26pm
Hey, just busy right now
Will text in a bit
Love you
When Carmy reads the text he’s a little… surprised to say the least. For you to have plans on a Saturday night was not unheard of by any means, but it wasn’t what he was expecting. Anxiety creeped up a little, because what could you be doing at 11:30pm?
[Carmen] 11:27pm
Love you too
You ok?
[(Y/N) personal] 11:27pm
Of course
Come over when you’re done
A smile tugs on the corner of his lips as he continues to wipe down the stainless steel counter in front of him, nearly spotless already. Most of the other crew has gone home, save for Marcus in his station proofing his donuts for tomorrow and Richie texting someone at the expo line. He slips his phone in the pocket under his apron, undoing the knot on the back and dropping it in the hamper by the back door. “You guys can lock up, yeah?” Carmy calls, seeing Marcus nod at him and bid him goodnight with a small wave. “Heard,” Richie calls. “‘Night, cousin.”
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.
Carmy had called a few times, your phone ringing and ringing, but the chaotic kitchen had forced you to miss the calls. It was past midnight now, and you’d spent your whole day in the kitchen, the night getting away from you way quicker than you had intended. You had a small box in your bedside table, a thin gold chain you hadn’t wrapped for him yet, and your apartment was a fucking mess. Pans and bowls strewn across every surface, flour on the floors and walls, and somehow, and you had cream cheese icing under your fingernails. It was a bit of a mess.
When the icing was done, you managed to squeeze some on the tops of the cupcakes just in time to hear the lock on your door click. You stood, silently, as you heard Carmy quietly kick off his boots. He thought you might be sleeping.
Ha, far from it.
“Babe?”
When he rounded the corner, it was a sight to see for sure. Your hands twisted around a makeshift pastry bag, which was really a ZipLoc with a hole cut in the bottom. Apron tied in a bow around your waist, only accentuating the curves of your body. Carmy drinks you in.
“What are you doing?”
You looked at him like a deer in the headlights.
“Baking.”
“Yeah. I see that.”
He stepped forward tentatively, an amused smile on his face. His hand reached to the small of your back, a kiss adorning your cheek. 
“Why are you baking?” He takes a finger to the end of the bag, sticking it in his mouth and marvelling at the taste. “Why are you killing it at baking?”
You smiled. “Don’t be mad.”
His eyebrow cocked, noticing the desserts in front of him, really, for the first time since he stepped in the door.
“Fucking Richie,” his hand found his forehead. “Fucker.”
“Happy Birthday, Carm.” You let the bag of icing flop on the stovetop, while your arms wrapped around his neck. You pressed a soft kiss to his lips, slotting them together to quiet the thoughts in his mind. You started to pepper kisses all over his face and neck, giggling between them, before he couldn’t help but burst into laughter himself. 
“He told me they were your favourite, and I asked Marcus for a recipe and I haven’t tried one yet, even!” the words tumbled out of your mouth as he pulled you impossibly closer, swaying a little with you in his arms. 
“Sorry. Richie told me not to make a dig deal, I just thought,” you shrugged, letting your hands slide down his biceps and tracing the faded tattoos there with your pointer finger. “I thought we could make it special again. If you want.”
The wild look in your eyes was enough to have him push forward again, lips crashing into lips, the amalgamation of all the tastes from his day on your tongue.
“Thank you.” He peers over your shoulder at the cupcakes, still in the tin, suddenly very interested in tasting the fruits of your labour.
“Should we try these?” His hand drops effortlessly to your waist, letting his body push past yours. He picks up a cupcake, handing one to you and ‘cheers’ing them playfully. He unwrapped the foil on the outside, sinking his teeth into the soft, sweet dessert. 
“Mmmh,” he moans, letting his eyes roll back into his head slightly. “Wow,” the red colour coats his teeth. “Yeah.”
You nod along with him, your own teeth sinking in. “Oh yeah, I kinda killed it with these.” 
“Hm, wait,” you put the cupcake down, pushing past him. You take the opportunity to put your hand on his broad back, feeling the muscles underneath.
When you return, he’s licking the rest of the icing off of his fingers. The way his lips wrap around his fingers makes your breath hitch.
“Before you say anything, it’s just small, if you hate it you can return it, blah blah blah…” you trail off, but you can’t hide the excitement across your features. 
He pulls open the clamshell box, the gold chain reflecting against the warm lights of the kitchen and dancing along the walls. His lips part slightly, forming an “o” shape, with surprise. 
“You’re…” he seems genuinely speechless. Carmy usually isn’t a man of many words, anyway, but this was noticeably different.
“Do you like it?” Your bottom lip is folded under your teeth in anticipation, eyes flickering up to meet his. 
“You’re perfect,” is all he can say, and you swear you can see his eyes get a little glassy.
“Aw, well, don’t get soft on me now,” you let your arms wrap around him once again, pulling him into a hug this time. Your head fits perfectly into his chest, smelling the distinct scent of his signature cologne, long now covered by the smells of the restaurant. Him.
His nose fits perfectly into the crook of your neck as he leans down, deepening the hug to pull you in impossibly close. His lips latch onto the soft spot beneath your ear, enraptured by your presence. 
For the first time in his life, Carmy is actually going to have a good birthday. 
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.
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sugarcoated-lame · 8 months
Text
Lost and Found | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader
Single Dad!Bradley x Reader
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Part One of my Single dad!Bradley miniseries | part two | library blog
*all my works are 18+, minors DNI
Summary: When Bradley’s four-year old daughter goes missing during a trip to the mall, he doesn’t expect to find himself so taken with the pretty stranger who helps her find her way back to him.
WC: 3.6K
Warnings: I suck at titling my stories and summaries :), a bit of angst, mentions of pregnancy and abandonment, (briefly) missing child, mentions of anxiety/panic attack, but then so much fluff, Bradley’s kid being too cute for her own good, implied age gap, I feel like dilf Bradley needs his own warning
a/n: I wrote this months ago and I’m a bit nervous to share, but the response to the teaser was so amazing (thank you <3) and dilf Bradley lives in my head rent-free, so I’m excited about this one! Also the picture on the right just screams dad Bradley to me! Thank you for reading, as always I’d love to hear your feedback, so please leave a comment/reblog <3
• • •
Bradley directs his gaze away from the rack of little girls’ clothes he’d been perusing, injecting enthusiasm into his voice as he holds up a hanger with a small, baby pink t-shirt dress hanging on it. “Hey, Bug. What do you think of this–?” 
He cuts himself off before the end of his question when he realizes that he’s talking to no one. “Where did she…?” 
He trails off, brows furrowed. Still holding up the child-sized dress that looks especially tiny next to his large frame, Bradley spins around, perplexed. She was just here.
- - - 
Bradley’s daughter, Caroline, who’d just recently turned four— and was growing up way too fast for his liking— was set to begin preschool next week. His little girl was growing right before his eyes and she needed a new wardrobe to accommodate that. So, Bradley had taken her to the mall to buy some new clothes for school. He didn’t know the first thing about little girls’ fashion, but he was sure he could manage.
He’d spent the last hour searching through clothing rack after clothing rack in the girl’s section of a department store, Caroline at his side, lips in a pout and shaking her little head ‘no’ at all of his choices, sandy brown curls bobbing along with her every movement. Bradley could tell the four-year old was getting bored, and he was becoming frustrated.
The buzzing of his phone with a text from Maverick granted him a brief reprieve from his predicament.
“One second, honey.” Bradley sighed, affectionately patting the top of his daughter’s head before looking toward his phone to answer some question Mav had about work.
He was happy for a moment’s distraction from getting ready to tear his hair out wondering if he was going to have to send his daughter to her first day of preschool wearing a trash bag because he didn’t know what the hell kind of clothes he’s supposed to buy for a picky four-year old girl.
Bradley had been a single parent for most of his daughter’s life. He and Caroline’s mother, Amber, had only been seeing each other for the better half of a year when they found out the news that they were expecting. And even then, their relationship was never really official.
The two met not long after the Uranium Mission, while Bradley was still on North Island taking some time to relax and awaiting another assignment. He’d gone to the little diner Amber was waitressing at, he thought she was cute and they’d hit it off straight away. Bradley got her number and the rest was history.
The Navy kept Bradley busy. He was always traveling for some assignment or deployments – sometimes gone for months at a time, so they only saw each other on the rare occasions he was in town. 
They’d hang out and hook up, maybe go on a date here and there, a sort of friends-with-benefits situation. There was definitely a sense of care between Bradley and Amber, but the lack of time they were able to spend together meant it never went beyond that.
When they learned that Amber was pregnant, they both knew it wouldn’t be easy. But they thought that, together, they could make it work.
A few months after Caroline was born though, Amber admitted that she couldn’t handle things.
Bradley took to being a father so easily. From the moment their baby was born and she looked up at him with those big, honey brown eyes that matched his own, he knew that he’d do absolutely anything for her. Caroline instantly became his world.
Amber, on the other hand, really struggled. She loved her baby of course, but deep down she wasn’t sure she was ready to be a mother. If she’d ever be. 
She figured it was better if she’d gone while Caroline was still young enough that she wouldn’t remember her, and knew that their daughter would be just fine in Bradley’s loving hands. And just like that, she left the both of them.
Bradley resented Amber for a while, but in time he came to understand. Not everyone was meant to be a parent. Besides that, he knew that there was no time for resentment. 
He was on his own with a four-month old baby and he needed to put all of his energy into taking care of her. So, he requested a more permanent position at Top Gun so that he could stay in one place to raise his daughter, and it’s been just the two of them ever since.  
 - - - 
Bradley couldn’t have been turned around for more than thirty seconds before he pocketed his phone and reached back out to grab the little pink dress off the rack to show his daughter. But, when he turned back, Caroline was nowhere to be seen.
Ok, don’t panic, Bradley tells himself. She can’t have gone far.  
“Caroline?” He calls out calmly, eyes darting around the surrounding area as he spins to look in every direction.
When he doesn’t receive a response, Bradley puts down the dress he was holding and begins to walk among the sea of clothing racks, still calling out his daughter’s name.
He searches the entire girl’s section of the store without success and decides to broaden his search, his heart beginning to speed up in his chest. Ok, he’s starting to panic.
Bradley picks up his pace, maneuvering from one section of the store to another, asking the other customers and few employees that mill about if they’ve seen his daughter. 
He knows he must look crazed, practically sprinting, his sneakers squeaking as he moves across the shiny floors as his repeated calls of Caroline’s name become increasingly more frantic — panting and on the verge of tears by the time he’s finished searching the entirety of the large department store to no avail.
Bradley stands frozen in the middle of the store, tears pricking his eyes, chest rising and falling rapidly on the brink of hyperventilating. He’s at a loss for what to do. His mind racing through all of the worst scenarios. What if she’s hurt? What if someone took her? 
It’s his job to protect his little girl and make sure that she’s always safe, and he failed her. He’s all that Caroline has, and he feels like a failure of a father.
- - -
You’re walking through the busy mall with a couple of bags in hand, all finished with your shopping and ready to head home when you see her. 
A little girl — tiny really, she can’t be older than five — with curls a golden shade bordering between both blonde and brown, standing by the bottom of the escalator, alone. 
Playing with her little fingers as she looks around the crowd aimlessly with unshed tears in her big, brown eyes. The scared look on her adorable little face breaks your heart, and you know you can’t leave without making sure she’s okay.
You approach her slowly, as if she were a frightened animal that might bolt at any moment, speaking softly so as not to scare her any further. “Hey, honey. Are you alright?”
The look she gives you is a shy one, eyes widening before she looks down at her light-up sneakers and shakes her head. 
You can tell the little girl is apprehensive about talking to a stranger — smart.
Kneeling down to be at her eye-level before speaking again, and setting your shopping bags down at your sides, you tell her your name and ask for hers.
“I’m Caroline.” Her voice is sweet and shy, a near-whisper as she chances a glance up at you, eyes still shining with tears when she lifts her head.
“Are you here alone, Caroline? Are you with your mommy and daddy?” You ask her gently.
She shakes her head again, curls swaying along with the motion.  “I was with my daddy, but I lost him.”
The adorable pout on her lips might’ve made you smile, if it weren’t for the tears that follow, finally spilling from her eyes and trailing down onto her rosy cheeks.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I can help you find him!” You soothe as your thumb moves to brush her tears away. “Where did you last see him?”
Caroline sniffles and thinks for a moment before speaking, a little bit louder this time.
“We were buying me clothes for preschool in one of the big stores, and my daddy had to answer the phone so I was looking all by myself. And then I got lost and I couldn’t find him.”
You continue to wipe at Caroline’s tears as she talks in that rambling sort of way that all little kids do.
“Preschool, wow. That sounds fun!” You try to take her mind off of the scary situation for a second and she nods excitedly at that, still sniffling. “What’s your daddy’s name?”
Her tears finally begin to slow as she talks about her dad.
“His name’s Bradley, but everybody calls him Rooster! He flies planes!” Caroline explains excitedly. 
You can’t help but chuckle as you tell her that her dad has a funny nickname, and that his job sounds fun. You’re happy to see Caroline give you a small smile back.
“Do you remember what store you and your daddy were shopping in?”
She has to think for a long moment, the most adorable, pensive pout you’ve ever seen on her face as she tries to remember.
She doesn’t know the name of the store, but she is able to describe it for you, and you’re able to make a distinction from there.
Standing back to your full height, you readjust your bags on one arm and extend your free hand out towards Caroline, offering her a reassuring smile.  
“I know exactly where that is! Ready to go find him?” Caroline grins as she takes your hand with an excited nod, tears no longer visible in her big brown eyes.
The two of you walk on in search of her dad — Bradley, and Caroline talks your ear off the whole way. She is absolutely adorable, telling you more about herself and asking you questions about yourself too, and you find yourself falling more in love with her sweet disposition by the minute. 
Within five minutes, you make it to the store that Caroline had been in last, hopeful to reunite her with her father who you figure must be worried sick.
- - -
Bradley isn’t quite sure how long he’s been scouring the massive department store looking for his four-year old daughter— though it feels like forever, time seeming to move in slow motion— on the brink of a panic attack and just about ready to phone the police when he hears a familiar high-pitched shriek of, “DADDY!”
He turns around at lightning speed — and practically gives himself whiplash — to see Caroline approaching him, holding a woman’s hand. 
When she lets go and bounds right towards him, Bradley lets out a massive sigh of relief. Kneeling down to catch his little girl in his arms, he feels like he might cry all over again, overcome with a flurry of emotions now that his daughter is safe in his embrace once again.
“Caroline, baby, you scared me half to death!” Bradley can’t keep the emotion out of his voice as he lifts his daughter into his arms and stands back up to his full height, lying his head atop of hers and squeezing her tight. “You can’t just wander off like that, you could’ve gotten hurt.”
He tries his best not to sound angry — she is only four after all, and he’s just thankful that she’s okay. Caroline’s arms wrap around his neck as he holds her tight, her face burrowing into the crook of Bradley’s neck.
“Daddy, I’m fine!” She insists. “And I made a new friend!” 
It’s only then that Bradley looks up at the woman who had reunited him with his little girl, standing a few feet away and watching them with a sweet smile.
Oh. It’s only then that he realizes, you are beautiful. 
Bradley’s honestly convinced you might be an angel. Pretty, bright eyes and a glowing sweet smile that nearly takes his breath away. And, you’d been kind enough to help his daughter safely find her way back to him.
Bradley just stares for a moment, lips parted and still holding Caroline in his arms, and he hopes that you’ll chalk it up to the overwhelming nature of the situation.
“Uh– thank you so much for bringing Caroline back to me. I don’t know how I could ever repay you.” He rushes out, hand cradling the back of his baby’s hair. “I-I’m…” Fuck, why is he so nervous all of a sudden?
“…Bradley,” You finish for him. “Or, Rooster. Right?”
His brows furrow, a pensive look on his very handsome face, a look that you realize matches the one you had seen on his daughter’s face earlier. Cute.  
“How did you-” He begins to question how you know his name — and call-sign — but is promptly cut off by his four-year old practically screaming in his ear.
“I told her, Daddy!” Caroline exclaims proudly.  
For a man called ‘Rooster’, you sure were not expecting Caroline’s dad to be this good looking. But, fuck, is he hot.
Though he’s clearly got a few years on you, Bradley’s all tall and sun-kissed, tan skin. Broad shoulders and big, muscular arms on display in his fitted black t-shirt while he holds up his little girl, sandy curls a shade or two darker than hers. Whiskey-colored eyes that match his daughter’s, that you can only describe as puppy dog eyes. 
His deep, husky voice that sends tingles down your spine and beautifully shaped pink lips framed by a mustache that you’re surprised you find so attractive.
“Well, I’m glad I could be of help.” You hope that he can’t see the flush you can feel blooming on your cheeks as you speak. “And, Caroline was great company!”
You wink at the little girl who giggles against his shoulder, and when Bradley smiles at you graciously, you can’t help but smile back. God, his smile is pretty.
Up in his arms, Caroline gets distracted playing with her dad's curls. There are a few moments of silence between you, though not uncomfortable, before Bradley speaks up again.
“Well, thank you again. I–uh,” Bradley clears his throat. 
“I guess we should let you go. We’ve gotta find some clothes for this little troublemaker, otherwise she’ll have to go to school wearing a garbage bag.” Bradley jokes in a playful tone, bouncing his daughter around in his arms as she giggles, and you can’t help but laugh too at the infectious sound.
“Daddy, wait!” Caroline shouts out before you can answer him.
“What is it, little bug?” Bradley murmurs as he strokes a hand lovingly over her curls. Caroline turns in his hold, directing her next question toward you.
“Can you come with us?” Oh, her puppy dog eyes are even cuter than Bradley’s, and you imagine he probably has a hard time ever saying no to her. “Daddy has no idea what he’s doing when it comes to girl clothes.”
You can’t contain the giggle that escapes your lips as Caroline dramatically rolls her eyes and Bradley lets out an offended huff, the two of them staring at each other with matching, petulant pouts. Adorable.
“That is not true!” Bradley practically shrieks at his daughter and it only makes you laugh more.
“And, honey, she probably doesn’t want–” Bradley begins to protest before you interject.
“I’d love to.” You chime in with a coy grin and Bradley looks back at you, bewildered.
Sure, you figure he probably has a beautiful wife waiting for him at home, but what’s the harm in spending just a little more time with a handsome pilot and his adorable daughter? So far, you’re having a lot of fun.
Bradley’s brows furrow skeptically. “Are you…sure?”
You purse your lips, staring up toward the ceiling for a moment as if you really need to think about it before you grin and offer him a one-shouldered shrug. “Yeah, I’ve got nowhere to be.” 
You hope you don’t seem too eager, but the matching smiles you receive from both Bradley and Caroline tell you they don’t mind.
Bradley’s honestly a bit shocked that you— a pretty, young, complete stranger, want to stick around to hang out with him and his kid, but he isn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. 
So, once you assure him again that you’re happy to stay, he sets Caroline back on her feet and offers — more like insists — that he holds your shopping bags, and the three of you set off to peruse the oh-so daunting girl’s clothing section of the store once again.
Bradley watches in awe as Caroline grabs your hand, tugging you along as you help her pick out some articles of clothing.
The two of you chatter the whole time, bringing him into the conversations too, holding up articles of clothing and asking what he thinks, and Bradley is delighted to see how good you are with his daughter.
“This would look pretty on you!” Caroline holds out a little girl’s purple sweater dress in your direction. “Wouldn’t it, Daddy?” 
You’re biting back a grin as Bradley looks to you and then back to his daughter and chuckles.
“I don’t think it comes in her size, Bug.” Bradley’s gaze returns to you, mirth in his eyes when he continues, “But yeah, it would look very pretty.” 
You know he can see the obvious flush to your cheeks this time as his lips pull up into a smirk. 
Shaking your head, you look back down to Caroline with a grin. “I think it’d look even prettier on your dad.” That pulls a giggle out of both of them. 
Things go on like that as the three of you continue to shop, Bradley admiring how sweet and funny you are, how patient you are with his daughter.
The two of you discreetly sharing amused looks at some of the obscure things Caroline says that could only come out of a little kid’s mouth, banter coming easily between the three of you. 
After a short while, Caroline has an array of new outfits for school— and a new stuffed animal after some begging and very convincing puppy dog eyes from his four-year old while you stood by and tried not to giggle, and Bradley knows that he wants to get to know you more.
He hasn’t done much in the way of dating since becoming a single father. Aside from the simple lack of time, Bradley’s always been afraid that most women won’t want to stick around when they find out he has a kid.
That they might not get along with his daughter or worse, be upset when they realize that Caroline will always be his number one priority. 
Too scared to let his daughter get attached to someone only for them to leave, Caroline is his world and he’s been content with that. 
But now, after seeing the way you are with his little girl — and in such a short time, he can’t help but think that he already likes you being a part of it.
With the clothing shopping done, the sun is setting by the time you're all ready leave the mall. Bradley and Caroline walk you out to your car, and both are reluctant to say goodbye to you just yet. You can't say you’re too happy to part with them either. 
As he helps you put your bags in the trunk of your car, Bradley knows he needs to take his shot now — or as Hangman likes to tell him, he needs to get off his perch.
“Hey, could I possibly get your number?” Bradley asks, trying to sound as confident as his voice can possibly muster. “I’d love to see you again.”
Caroline pipes up from next to you, jumping up and down while she still holds your hand. “Me too!”
Is he asking you out? The breathless laugh you let out is one of shock, and you’re sure the look on your face matches as you glance between the adorable father-daughter duo.
You’re also sure that you’re blushing again.
For a moment, you can only stand frozen, lips parted, and when you realize you’ve yet to answer his question, you promptly close your mouth and attempt to school your features, quickly nodding your head.
“Yeah, I’d like that.” You tell him shyly, and Bradley can’t help but smirk at the color that’s begun to paint your cheeks. 
He hands over his phone and tries not to smile too hard as you type in your number, glancing up at him and biting back your own grin while you send yourself a text so that you’d have his too.
You kneel down to squeeze Caroline into a hug, the little girl happily wrapping her arms around your neck. You leave her with a promise that you’ll see them again soon, though the way you look up at her father over her shoulder lets Bradley know that that promise is directed at the both of them. 
When you stand, Bradley gazes at you with a thoughtful smile before bringing you into a hug too.
“Have a good night, sweetheart.” The deep rumble of his voice so close to your ear, as well as the heat of his touch, leave your body feeling warm all over. That warmth never fading even as you watch Bradley and Caroline cross the parking lot, hand-in-hand, to get to their car.
Yeah, you definitely wouldn’t mind seeing him again soon. 
- - -
Thank you for reading! Leave a comment/reblog if you enjoyed, feedback is always appreciated! x
Part 2 will be up next Wednesday! <3
UPDATE: you can read part two here ! ❤️
tag list: @wkndwlff @sebsxphia @chaoticassidy @dempy @ohgodnotagainn @shanimallina87 @mavrellover91 @memoriesat30 @that-bitch-bri @classyunknownlover @hisredheadedgoddess28 @foreverrandomwritings @lt-spork @princess76179 @gigisimsonmars @kidd3ath @averyhotchner @sammyrenae68 @tv-fanatic18 @one-sweet-gubler @simonscumsock
also tagging some people who reblogged/replied to the sneak peek : @fanficfandomlove @hangmanssunnies @milestomaverick @maverick-wingman @teacupsandtopgun @katiemcrae @colourfulsuitwonderland @becks-things @bradshawsbaddie @bradshawsbitch @valhallaas @roger-that-cap @woodkiller
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fyodorloveclub · 23 days
Text
TIDAL TEMPTATIONS. - chapter i
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༄ pairing: merman!fyodor x afab reader
༄ cw: sfw (for now), non-gory descriptions of and treatment of stab wounds to fyodor, very brief mentions of blood. not intended to be medically accurate, treat ur stab wounds as you wish
༄ notes: hello :) welcome to my first multi-chapter fic! this has been a work in progress for some time, and im quite nervous abt posting this first part so be nice pls <3 just as a note, fyodor is referred to exclusively as he/him until reader names him next chapter (he can't speak human language yet) enjoy!
༄ wc: 4k
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Since moving to a beachside village after spending your whole life in a landlocked town, your mother had outlined ample, strict rules regarding the sea.
Rule 1: No venturing out past sundown.
This was the rule you broke on an almost nightly basis. Your mother was quite the early riser, meaning she often was out cold before the fireflies had even begun flashing yellow and green. It was far too easy to slip out the back door with a flashlight, barefoot to keep your footsteps silent as possible. There was no feeling more serene than dawdling down the shore, mushy sand between your toes and waves lapping at your ankles as the salty breeze curled around you. It was pitch black save for the bioluminescent creatures that washed up on the shore and the pale glow emanating from your flashlight, and it was comforting. While many feared darkness, you found solace in its embrace.
Rule 2: No swimming past the sandbar.
Also a frequently broken rule. You found it to be far too restrictive, as the sandbar was only a dozen meters from the shore. No fish could be found that shallow, and it was much easier for crabs to nip at you when you were that close to the sandy floor. Being out deeper, where the gentle waves tousled and hugged you, was where you felt the most at home.
Rule 3: No fraternizing with sea beings.
That’s the name that had been put in place for entities that straddled the line of human and creature. Some believed they were even the missing link. Very little was known about sea beings, mostly due to the universal fear of them. They often had unsettling, bone-chilling appearances and never appeared to be overly friendly to humans, so a firm boundary was set. You must never approach a sea being.
All three of these rules were broken the night you met him.
Well, you assumed it was a “him”. He had a flat chest and sharp, masculine features, but he wasn’t human. His human-esque appearance terminated at his hips, where pale, nearly translucent skin tapered into onyx black scales, flowing into a sleek, obscenely long tail. His fluke, also inky black, was reminiscent of a betta fish’s frail fins, flowy with spindly edges, yet fanned strong against the current.
That was all you were able to see of him, at first. You had swam out well past the sandbar one night, flashlight in hand as you dove past the waves, your beam suddenly illuminating his form. He remained very still, head tilting as you made eye contact, as if he was observing you. And he was – he had heard the unmistakable sound of a human swimming, a somewhat ungraceful, clumsy affair, and followed it. Typically, when he sensed humans in the water, he would jet in the other direction – humans didn’t treat him kindly, and he had the scars to prove it. But there was something… different about you. A sweeter scent and a gentler aura. And he was curious - so instead of making a beeline towards his cove when he sensed your presence in the water, he swam closer.
He was immediately enamored by you. You were much softer and merciful, and he didn’t sense a single bad intention. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t uneasy. The only interactions he’d ever had with humans were traumatic, and other than appearances, he had no way of knowing you were any different. Claws bared, fangs ready, and tail already swishing, he was prepared for fight or flight – though he remained, just watching you. And you the same. It was drilled into your head, the second you spotted a sea being, swim as fast as possible towards the shore and never look back. There were a handful of reports of villagers being attacked by sea beings and barely making it out alive, and one case of a child who didn’t. Their presence was not to be taken lightly.
Yet, for some reason, both of you just… watched.
Watched and waited for the other to make a move - to attack. He thought it was surely any second until you unveiled a spear from behind your back to impale him, and you were just waiting to be torn to shreds by those claws. But nothing ever happened. You held his gaze and he held yours, studying the other.
Just as fascinated as you were by him, he was utterly fascinated by you. He had never gotten this close to a human before, not by his own volition anyway, and he had never truly seen one this plainly. It was easy to tell that you looked similar to him from the top up, but the bottom down was a completely different story. Where he was used to fish tails, scales, and fins, you wore two fleshy, stick-like protrusions that only bent in two places. No wonder humans were so terrible at swimming. He briefly wondered if there was anything between them. 
It wasn’t long before you ran out of air and had to break the surface, but when you dove back down, he was gone. You felt a slight sense of relief that he hadn’t been staking you out as prey, but also a pang of sorrow as you realized you’d likely never see him again. What you didn’t know is that he hadn’t gone far, just hid behind a formation of rocks as he watched you dejectedly swim back to the shore. It was a foreign experience – he’d never seen a human… disappointed about escaping from him.
As you snuck back into bed and drifted off that night, you found yourself gilled and fanged, finding home amongst the waves.
~~
You didn’t see him for a while after that. Despite you returning to the same spot from that fateful night every day, marked by an especially large horseshoe crab shell, he was never there. It became part of your daily routine to venture to that spot, a backpack full of books, snacks, and water, and lay out on a towel as the sun drifted through the sky.
It was never quite clear to you what you were waiting for, though. What would you even do if he reappeared? You couldn’t converse, neither of you could go to the other’s homes, what was to be gained from seeing him again? You never quite answered that question – all you knew was that you just had to see him again. At least one more time.
Things started to look bleak as days turned into weeks. Your mother wasn’t happy with you spending nearly every waking second on the beach. She could never find out why either, as she’d likely ban you from stepping foot on the sand ever again. And you even had started to think that maybe you had dreamt it – no way you just happened to run into a breathtakingly beautiful merman-type sea being who didn’t try to attack you. That just didn’t happen.
This… creature, you just couldn’t get him out of your head. He had found his way onto almost every page of your sketchbook, finding new life in graphite, pastels, and watercolors. The inky black tail swirled long and curled on itself on the page, as you occasionally took creative liberties on his appearance. 
Stories of him and your sure-to-happen future rendezvouses began popping up in your diary too - and not just him as a sea creature. You waxed poetic about what he might look like as a full-fledged human, with legs and without fangs. He’d surely be kind and gentlemanly, charming and funny with a deep voice and proper human language. He’d be well spoken and smart, and everything you’d ever dreamed of. 
If he ever showed up again. And it wasn’t looking like he would. Until he did.
On a night where you hadn’t even been on the lookout for him, were just dragging your feet through wet sand and shells when you spotted a dark form curled up on the shore. The moon was but a sliver barely cutting through dense clouds, compromising your vision, but something convinced you to jog that way anyway.
And it was him. The tide that lapped at the sand jostled his barely conscious body, threatening to pull him back out towards the darkness. You gasped as you ran and fell to your knees next to him, immediately recognizing the onyx tail with the delicate fins and opalescent skin. Except this time his back was riddled with what appeared to be stab wounds – they were likely a few hours old, no longer gushing blood, but still deep, unhealed gashes that needed to be treated.
“Are- are you okay?” you stupidly asked – as if he was conscious or human enough to answer that question.
When he didn’t respond, you shifted to sit with your legs crossed and pulled his head into your lap, brushing his salt-crusted hair out of his eyes. His large eyes fluttered open at the stimulus, a glowing violet gaze shifting to meet yours.
“Hi,” you whispered, laughing lightly. “I had wanted us to meet again, but not like this.” You had assumed he didn’t understand human language, but the way he only stared at you blankly confirmed this belief.
Anxiety and panic started to bubble up inside you as you absorbed the situation but did your best to ignore it. Swift, calm action needed to be taken if he was to be saved. You shifted your gaze to better assess his injuries and counted five different gashes where he had clearly been stabbed with some sort of weapon – it certainly wasn’t something that had happened naturally. The shape of the wounds was reminiscent of those a fishing harpoon would create, and your face fell as you pieced together what likely happened. Existing in his own territory, he probably swam too close to a fishing boat and spooked the fishermen, prompting them to overreact and attack the harmless creature.
You brought a careful finger to trace along the edges of the wounds, making him jump and hiss, thrashing in your hold as he groaned.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” you gasped, your hands immediately flying away. “I’m gonna, um…” you thought for a second. You knew you had medicine and gauze back home, but he was just going to have to go right back in the water, right? It surely was better than nothing…
You slowly started to wiggle out of his grip. “I’m gonna be right back, okay? I need to get supplies to make you better,” you explained slowly, gesturing towards his wounds. He only cocked his head and furrowed his brows. Fuck. He wasn’t going to understand a word you said.
With a grimace, you gently held his head in your hands as you scooted away, slowly laying it back down on the sand. You stood to head back to your house, but the creature suddenly began groaning and crying out, reaching a shaky arm towards you. He was clearly distressed over you abandoning him.
“Hey, hey! I’ll be right back, I swear,” you soothed, crouching down next to him, and gripping his hand. It killed you to have to leave him like this, terrified you might return to either find him dead or washed back out to sea, but you couldn’t just do nothing at all.
You wracked your brain trying to think of a way to communicate to him that you’d be back when words weren’t an option. Grabbing your backpack, you anxiously rummaged through it for some semblance of an idea, all the while he moaned and groaned in pain. Some sort of keepsake you could somehow communicate had value, almost like collateral. Something to say, this is special, proof I’ll be back. As fate would have it, you had decided to do a deep clean of your bag that morning, so you were coming up pretty dry.
The only thing you could think of was an old copy of your favorite book you always carried on you, Crime and Punishment. Mother always teased you for a depressing, old Russian novel being your comfort book, but you never let it phase you. Pulling it out of your backpack, you stared at the old, tattered cover with the faded title, and hoped to god he could make sense of it – that you were trusting him with something that meant a lot to you. There wasn’t much else you could do.
You tucked it under his arm splayed out on the sand, making sure he noticed what you were doing. Petting his hair, you looked him deep in the eyes as you enunciated one more time: I’ll be right back.
Panic coursed through your veins as you clambered to your feet and ran back to your house. The light of your flashlight was nearly useless as you trembled with fear, tripping over shells and driftwood to the point where your feet were probably going to need some treatment too.
The next hurdle in your way as you reached your house was remaining quiet enough so as not to wake your mother – there was no way to explain your way out of frantically searching for medical supplies to run back out with in the middle of the night. When you weren’t even supposed to be out in the first place.
To minimize the amount of time you even had to be away, you just threw anything you could find in the cabinets into your bag, hoping it would be sufficient enough. Though you stopped in front of the mirror as you passed it, staring at your sweaty and distressed appearance, and took a second to wonder what the hell you were doing. Going out of your way to save a potentially homicidal sea being? Those stabbings may have been damn well deserved. He could somehow be manipulating your kindness for… something. You couldn’t even think of what.
You decided it wasn’t even worth fretting about – you had to get your book back anyway.
The trip back to your anxiously awaiting patient felt a million times longer than the trip home, with every step of your bloody feet reminding you that there may be no one – nothing – to come back to. The sea was a place of peace, but cruel and unforgiving. Your prayers were answered as your flashlight once again illuminated his crumpled body, barely conscious but still clinging on to your (soaking wet and likely ruined) book.
A relieved smile illuminated your face as you fell to his side once again, partially burying the flashlight into the sand so it stood upright to act as a lamp.
“You’re – still here,” you smiled, taking a deep breath. You almost said you’re okay, but that wasn’t quite true, yet.
His clawed hand trembled as it reached out for you, the stretch of his fingers revealing the black webbing in between them. You grasped it back tightly and intertwined your fingers together, squeezing. “I’m here, okay?” He offered you the tiniest smile, but immediately dropped it, the miniscule energy it required taking a toll on his wasting body.
The first thing you did was unfurl a massive, striped beach towel you found shoved in the back of a linen closet onto the sand before hooking your elbows under his underarms and dragging him onto it. It was nearly impossible, his entire body essentially dead weight at that point, but you wanted to get him off the dirty sand – and this was the closest thing you could get to a sterile field.
Dumping the contents of your bag onto the towel next to him, you parsed through it trying to figure out some sort of plan of action. You tried to keep the panic at bay as the thought that none of this was sufficient for anything worse than a superficial cut nagged at you. It was this or nothing.
The first thing mother always told you to do for wounds: clean it. A wave of dread washed over you as you pulled out the bottle of rubbing alcohol, your eyes flitting from it to the gaping wounds in his back. The way he looked at you with terrified, leaky eyes, aware that his entire life was in your hands right then, shattered your heart. You almost wished he was unconscious.
Grabbing a washcloth, he watched as you soaked it with rubbing alcohol, his nose scrunching at the offensive smell. Touching his cheek, you tried to smile as he met your eyes. “This is gonna hurt really – really – bad,” you grimaced. He just stared at you, emotionless, until the rag touched the first wound.
As soon as the liquid came into contact with the broken skin, he let out a horrific, inhuman screech that had you dropping the washcloth to cover your ears. His claws tore ragged holes in the towel as he gripped it, panting and writhing in pain. You couldn’t help but cry too. “I’m so, so sorry,” you continually repeated, abandoning the cloth to lay down next to him. Tears streamed down his face and soaked the towel underneath him, barely even acknowledging the way you wiped them away with trembling fingers.
Despite how much you preferred to just lie with him under the glow of the moon and the melody of the waves, you knew what had to be done. Death was worse than temporary pain – there had to be part of him somewhere that understood that. You hoped it would be better now that he was expecting it.
Slowly sitting back up, you grabbed the rag once more and wrung it out to reduce it to only the minimum amount of antiseptic required, and tried to ignore the way he quivered and shook his head. I’m sorry felt like a shitty spell as you chanted it over and over again, though the screeches became easier to tune out as they rang on. You were surprised his vocal cords didn’t fry.
After what felt like an eternity for both of you, you had finally managed to clean out the wounds and remove some of the dried blood that clung to his skin. The towel was torn to shreds and the veins in his eyes were blown with how much he had been thrashing and sobbing. But the worst of it was over now.
“We’re almost done,” you soothed as you gently applied the triple-antibiotic cream you knew was only meant for minor cuts to the gaping stab wounds. Once they were packed with gauze, you sat back with a huff to survey your handiwork. Sloppy and a bit haphazard but… better than nothing. And having the wounds covered seemed to have helped him calm down a little bit. One last thing crossed your mind though – how could you potentially make the dressings waterproof?
Your eyes flitted over to a slew of seaweed on the shore that reflected the moonlight and figured you might as well try. With some gentle and minorly excruciating maneuvering, you managed to wrap a few thick strands of seaweed around his torso to maybe keep the dressings in place, and protect them from water immediately seeping in.
Falling back onto the towel that was mostly just threads at that point, you sighed. Thoughts of what the fuck am I doing? carved their way into every square inch of your skull. Why am I playing doctor for… whatever he- it is? Why do I care?
The sun began to peak up over the horizon, signaling that it was likely around 5 AM at that point. A groan left your lips as you realized you were going to have to leave soon if you wanted to make it home before Mother awoke, but then remembered you had company. Turning your head, you inspected his body. This was your first time seeing him on land in the approaching daylight.
He only watched you as you observed him. He was… mesmerizing. Flowing from the nape of his neck to both of his wrists, swirls of smoky black pigmentation decorated his skin, while both of his hands and claws were solid black. His – admittedly stunning – face was mostly human-like, save for his slightly larger, glowing violet eyes with slits for pupils. And you had found out he had fangs when he kept hissing in pain. His hair was jet black and flowed just past his shoulders, flecked with salt and sand, that obscured the dark gills on either side of his neck. With only the pitiful light of dawn, you couldn’t make out much of his inky tail, only that it was quite long, and lined with multiple flowing side fins that resembled the fluke.
The waterproof digital watch on your wrist began to beep erratically, making the poor creature jump in fear. Shit. The morning alarm your mother had punched into it.
“I have to leave, I’m so sorry.”
Seemingly starting to recognize the sounds of leave and sorry, his already sad expression wilted even more.
“I’ll be back, okay?” you nodded, enunciating each word clearly. “And you probably need to get back in the water, so you don’t dry out.”
The elongated amount of time outside of the water seemed to have made his tail shrivel slightly, the pointed scales more prominent than they were before. Or maybe that was just the sun rising. Either way, you were at least somewhat certain he needed to be rehydrated.
Standing up on your feet, you dusted off some of the sand that now clung to every inch of you and crossed your arms. The tip of your tongue poked out of your lips slightly as you tried to conjure up a plan of how to get him back in the water. Considering the fact that he wasn’t just pure dead weight anymore, it couldn’t be too bad. But the fresh stab wounds were the main barrier here.
“Alright. We’re getting you back in,” you announced, as if you had some position of authority. He just cocked his head and flared his gills.
With time running out, you decided the best bet was just to use the towel to drag his body the couple of meters back towards the water, and rely on the tide to hopefully aid in easing him back in. It was a deliberate choice to ignore his snarls and light thrashing, clearly not thrilled with the idea.
“Stop fighting me, dumbass,” you grunted. Finally, the tide rose high enough to envelop him, allowing him to indignantly flick his tail at you before swimming away.
The trip back to your house was spent fuming as you wondered why the stupid creature was being so damn ungrateful. As if you hadn’t spent hours saving his life. Whatever. Maybe you could give him a piece of your mind when you went to check up on him later that day. What you didn’t understand was that his unwillingness to allow you to leave stemmed from the fact that he couldn’t quite grasp why you were leaving him. What you were leaving him for. And it hurt. He had always been a loner, even amongst his own kind, and you were the only being to ever show him pure kindness. Why would you leave? And would you ever be back?
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lizbotw · 2 years
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do not disturb | wc: 2.7k
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Cyno hums in contemplation, the cool water flowing over his fingers. He turns the faucet off just as he hears footsteps on tiles and takes a towel to his hair, counting the four seconds he knows it takes to get to the room.
“Cyno, I really don’t- oh,” you stop in your tracks, right on time. He doesn’t have to turn around to know you’re holding a familiar folder of papers with complaints outlined in red ink. “Sorry. I didn’t…”
“You should really learn to knock first.” He thinks it’s funny because the rooms here don’t actually have doors, just sweeping arches for the great big important spaces, and then tiny arches for less important rooms (like his apparently), and then medium-sized ones for… well other things. Kaveh was the Kshahrewar graduate, not him.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. And… and…” He can just hear you bristle. You even straighten up a little judging from the faint shuffling. “And I don’t know, maybe you should put up a sign or something.”
Cyno rubs the white towel over his head slowly, finally standing up from where he’d been kneeling. “Maybe I should.” He’s seriously considering it—you always bring up good points. “Though, I thought everyone knew only my room is in this wing. You’d have to go out of your way to get here.” That and he’s just come back from an expedition. No one bothers him after those.
Thick water droplets and remnants of the desert circle around the drain. You hadn’t walked in on much. He had been rinsing off the sand grains that stuck to his arms and shoulders and were especially annoyingly weaved in his hair, but he’d also removed his armor—he didn’t typically wear much anyway so to see him with even less was probably too cruel, even by your standards.
Cyno turns just enough to watch you under his bangs and nearly bursts out laughing (or, that’s to say, he can’t help but crack a smirk). Even from his peripheral, he can tell his exposed back and arms have caught your attention. If he could get closer, he’s sure your pupils would be blown wide the same way they were when you saw Avidya Forest for the first time. Your eyes dart around—to the walls with sandy desert motifs and his spear propped up in the corner and the window that blows in a warm breeze laced with the smell of dinner preparations, and then always, always they wander back to him.
Are you trying not to stare? He wouldn’t have noticed if you had and yet, it still seems to matter to you. Archons, you were so professional sometimes it made him dizzy.
“You’re the only one who visits anyway,” he adds, line of sight dropping back to the dripping faucet. He rubs harder at his hair.
“That’s beside the point!” You latch on to the distraction. “It’s bad enough I have to walk across the entire palace to get here! Not to mention, what were you thinking with this thing? I’m so sick of reading the same report—”
Right. You would have been in his office today. All alone.
The towel bunches under his grip and he closes his eyes for a brief second. Then, it falls around his shoulders as he turns and walks over to you.
“Is that from last week’s Amurta incident?” Cyno tips the folder towards himself, feeling hot air on his cheek when you huff. His handwriting is smooth on the front. He’s leaning in closer than needed to read it but truthfully the words just swim in his vision. He knows what they say anyway. Typical researcher-thinks-the-desert-is-empty-enough-to-cover-their-totally-fucked-up-experiment situation. (“They thought it was… deserted.” He had paused for a moment to gauge your reaction as soon as he’d gotten back. This masterpiece couldn’t wait any longer to be told and he’d practically run to your room. “But actually I was there. So it wasn’t.” You kicked him out record fast.)
“Yes! This shouldn’t be taking us this long to file.” If he really concentrates, he can feel the vibrations of your words, he thinks. It bristles his skin and he leans back, releasing the document and shrugging. He eyes the wall inlaid with gold circles above your head to calm down.
“So just send it in. Nothing’s stopping you.”
“I can’t! You keep making all these corrections I have to add in.”
The straight line of his mouth wavers. “That was the joke. I’m the one stopping you.”
You deadpan. “You’re horrible.” When he doesn’t say anything back, you smack his chest with the folder, punctuating your words. “You made me write this entire thing and I stayed up all night working on it and you and your stupid, stupid”—two smacks for that one—“brain are just never satisfied”—he blinks at that and mulling it over, he catches the folder (eyes still tracing the intricate spirals and corners of the Scarlet King’s symbol the best of Eremite sculptors had carved out a millennia ago; though, he’s not that impressed by something like that at the moment), and you tug it back right away but stop hitting him.
“And you keep making me rewrite it. Speaking of, why am I even doing this in the first place?! I wasn’t even there! I’m so sick of you. Either let me come with you on missions or keep doing everything yourself like an idiot and file your own stupid paperwork after! It’s not my fault some of the details aren’t accurate. You know, you care too much about doing everything the “just” way. I swear you’re somehow worse than my old Akademiya advisor!” You suck in a breath and Cyno thinks you’re done until your renewed lung capacity proves him wrong. “Well, you know what, I’ve got some corrections to your corrections and—”
He finally lets himself look at you, bored after following the same golden line to its end five times, and immediately hears a rush of blood in his ears. He speaks quickly before he can get tongue-tied. “So, a sign,” he interrupts your tangent. The last word you were saying breaks off unsatisfyingly. You look like you want to murder him and he feels his heart burn from the center out and melt into lava in his chest. Up close, your hair is tousled by the dry heat and your eyes dot orange with the setting sun. “And what should it say? Do not disturb?” Cyno suddenly finds himself missing your fiery gaze when you tear away.
“I mean, yeah.” You’re flipping through the folder now, no doubt trying to find your least favorite part to criticize, this time right to his face. You miss the terrible, terrible trap he sets with his words and proximity. “The hell else would you put on it anyway,” you scoff.
He cuts in before you can get back to business. “You’re right.” Your eyes snap up, eyebrows scrunched in annoyance, to question why this part of the conversation is still going and he catches your wrist to stop your flipping. He can see the exact moment you notice how close he is, how he’s inched in until only the open folder you hold separates you.
Your eyes widen and your lips part just the smallest bit as though there are words on the tip of your tongue and he thinks you look otherworldly. He gives himself a moment to take you in before his voice drops to only between you two. “I think do not disturb would be perfect.” The tip of the report is digging into his chest now. The thought of how painful a papercut that would be in the desert barely crosses his mind.
The gears turn in your head, slowly, as the second meaning sinks in. He watches in rapt interest as your previous inhibitions melt away and your pupils dilate. You’re already looking much more sluggish than before, relaxed enough that he releases your wrist and lets his hand run up your bare arm. “Cyno…,” you sigh—you’re immediately embarrassed and glance away but then at his lips curved in a cruel smile and back to his eyes. Your skin is soft and burning, and he can’t tell if it’s just him imagining it or if it’s really how he makes you feel. He squeezes your bicep lightly, then lets his touch move up over your shoulder and ghost over your neck until you shiver and your gaze turns lidded.
Cyno hums and leans in, not missing the way your eyes fall shut the rest of the way and you tip forward in anticipation. He feels a hand on his chest and fingertips pressing into him, and you’re so soft and warm. He moves to cup your face and your lips bump together, and those careful fingertips against him turn into sharp nails.
He breathes you in and then molds his lips to yours.
The kiss is slow and it feels like you’re taking all of his oxygen, condemning him to the underworld for losing himself to his desires. Even when his grip on your jaw tightens the smallest amount and he presses his tongue into your mouth, Cyno is careful, barely holding onto himself. He doesn’t know if you’re as affected as he is but the tortuous pace is both heaven and hell to him.
It’s you who tips the chaste balance and throws your arms around his neck, never pulling away but always tugging him in. He lets go of your jaw and both of his hands find your waist on instinct, and he wants to be disappointed in himself when he stumbles you back until you’re pressed up against the open doorway but you taste so good there’s no way he stands a chance.
The sensation is overwhelming and his cloudy mind zeros in on the way his bare chest presses to the smooth, silky front of your shirt and how smooth and silky your lips feel and how perfect and soft and warm they are, and how ungodly pretty they always look when he stares. He feels carnal compared to your composure.
So unprofessional we keep doing this, he thinks faintly, buried behind thoughts of worship. Then, he feels a heat burst in his heart and quickly amends it. No. So terrible I keep doing this. So wrong.
And something about pulling you deep into the haze behind his righteous persona is even worse (even better) than anything else he could come up with. The truth has him kissing you harder and you mewl at his hunger—you who’s a way better person than he is, who always sticks to the book, who always gives him what he wants.
Judgment day couldn’t come soon enough.
His hair’s still dripping wet he realizes as the cold drops fizz into nothing between you, swallowed up. Your fingers are digging into the same muscles of his back you’d been staring at earlier and Cyno feels the scrape of the papers that had been pressed between the heat of your bodies before—the whole reason you’d even come.
He bites at your bottom lip, giving you the faintest moment to catch your breath. “Be careful not to drop them,” he mumbles, heated teases brushing against your jaw and just under your ear when he licks a stripe up them. You whine and tug him back up to you, probably so sick and tired of fucking hearing him talk all the time (this is precisely why he does it).
Your hands are in his hair now and he groans as your fingers card through the mess of wet curls and pull them and twist and shove his lips further into yours almost in the hopes you’ll become one.
Cyno has the inkling a sign wouldn’t do much if you’re both going to be so shameless in the open about it.
He’s glad his room is so removed from the rest of the building. It’s still a risk that raises delicious goosebumps on his skin but practically no one would bother coming out here of their own free will or see what was his during a quick walk down a hallway.
Cyno lets himself drown in your lips—you’re more forceful this time, more desperate, and he can see your threads coming unraveled—until you decide you actually need a proper break to breathe and pull back, shoving his face away in amusement when he goes chasing after you.
You’re both panting hard and he finally registers the screaming of his lungs for air. He has no idea how he looks but your image is another hit to his already foggy brain—it’s a sight for the ages, a sage that he sears into his mind and wants to imprint into history books everywhere.
You’re smiling so wide, he can’t look away from the pretty color of your bruised lips if he tried.
A few droplets from him drip down your cheek and he thumbs them away carefully, placing a light peck on the corner of your mouth.
“Your hair’s a mess,” you comment breathlessly, breaking him from his stupor. It’s then that he feels your touch carefully rearranging his bangs. It’s a sharp contrast to your heavy tugs moments ago and makes his heart flip and ache and everything in between in a way that’s both different and the same.
Cyno huffs a laugh. “Let me finish getting ready first next time then.” He goes back in to kiss you but you shake your head, covering your mouth and burying your head in his chest. He hears the giggles that escape between your fingers and feels the faint shake of your body with the weight of them.
“That bad, huh?” He blows a strand out of his face. When it falls back right in front of his eyes, he runs a hand through his hair and shoves it all back, no doubt ruining it further.
You look up when he cages you in, a forearm above your head and the other still wrapped around your waist. You’re beaming when he leans your foreheads together.
“I love you,” you say, lost in his eyes.
Cyno’s fingers squeeze into a fist above your head where you can’t see them. No matter how many times you say it, he’s filled with emotions that have no names every time. “I love you too.” He has to stop himself from saying more.
“But I don’t know if I love you enough to—” He doesn’t let you make the choice because he swallows up your next words. He feels mildly bad that he keeps cutting off your sentences today but when you smile into the kiss he knows you don’t mind—plus, he gets the feeling you planned this one at least. Anyway, his hair can’t bother you if you can’t see it.
You’re the one who pulls back again the next time and the heated air within the confines of Cyno’s arms is palpable. Tipping your head back to the wall, you stare at him with a blissful expression, content, and eyes half-closed. In the silence, only both of your heavy breaths could be heard.
“Mmm,” you sigh, letting your eyes flutter shut as you gather your wits about you, looking so perfect and happy. Cyno’s shameless staring doesn’t stop even when you open them. “I’m still going to need you to look over those reports on your desk.”
He kisses you again, nerves on fire, and when he pulls away you’re both panting again. “I don’t think we need to go to my office to talk about them.” Fuck, he kisses you searingly one last time, unable to control himself, before he untangles from you. You’re slightly dazed and reach out for him again in your confusion, but instead, he lightly intertwines your fingers. “You’re already here. It wouldn’t be right to make you walk back.”
Cyno then pulls you behind him, out of the open archway, and into his darkening bedroom. That sign would probably come in handy right about now.
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psychedelic-ink · 7 months
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𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 𝐆𝐎 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋.
DAY THREE OF HAUNTED HOEDOWN
prompt: priest au + “worship me. until i tell you to stop.”
pairing: priest!ezra x f!reader
genre: explicit smut, minors dni, dark content
summary: after a breakup, you find solaca at the local church. there, you meet father ezra.
word count: 3.4k
warnings: dubcon, manipulation, brief mention of reader going through a breakup, reader having a brief anxiety attack, reader having confidence issues, loneliness, messy blowjob, degradation, leg humping, dirty talk, facial, power imbalance, dumbification if you squint, use of whore, religious themes, this is written for horny purposes only, priest kink, a lot of 'yes father's and 'forgive me father's
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Comfort is what leads you to your local church.  
You wouldn’t exactly say you’re a believer, but coming to the church and sticking wishing candles into the sandy surface was one of your finest memories from your childhood. You enjoy the chocolaty smell of the wooden benches, the stained large panes of the windows that cast vibrant rainbows upon the polished floor when the sun hits them just right. 
When you sit on the bench, surrounded by a calm dimness and silent prayers, you feel contented, like the world outside doesn’t exist. 
You feel lonely out there in the modern world, especially after your breakup, which was the turning point that led you to the adorned wooden doors of the church in the first place. It wasn’t a messy breakup, still, it left you in shambles. He’d moved on so quickly. Just picking up his clothes and throwing them into the bag before he left. It broke your heart if you’re being honest. He was never overly affectionate or necessarily cared about the things you cared about, but it was better than being utterly alone. 
Just a little bit of comfort. That’s all you want. Just a sense of belonging. 
Here at the church, the sense of commune affects you, even if you’re not exactly a part of it. 
Sitting at the edge of the bench, you look up. The church is empty today due to the heavy downpour, there’s only one more person other than you. They’re busy in prayer so you don’t stare at them for long, not wanting to be rude. 
Your eyes move away from the person, they linger on the confessionals. You always found the idea appealing in some twisted way. As if asking for forgiveness from some random man will solve all your problems. You never went it, always feeling too paranoid that someone might hear how stupid you sound. 
The person finishes their prayer, and as they walk down the middle, you notice it was a youngish man, his hair stuck to his forehead. His steps echo, a second later the sound of his departure rings dull against the cold walls. 
You rise slowly, eyes once again fixed on the booths. They’re barely noticeable thanks to how dimly lit the church is, and with no sun there’s little light to guide you. 
You’re not even sure a Father will assist you when you open the door to the small space. It creaks loudly and your skin crawls. You’re hesitant, yet you still climb inside and take a seat. It’s small, dark, and smells overwhelmingly of wood. It’s oddly comforting. 
You’re unsure what to do with yourself until you hear the door opening and closing from the other side of the booth. 
“Welcome. I am Father Ezra, and I am here to listen, guide, and offer you the grace of God's forgiveness. As sunlit moments blend with shadows, so too do our lives weave intricate tales of both frailty and strength. With open ears and an open heart, I beckon you to unburden your spirit. When you're ready, please share your thoughts, knowing that your words are heard in the spirit of compassion and understanding.” 
Your eyes widen at the sound of his voice. He doesn’t rush his speech, taking time as if every sentence is a story of its own. It’s so smooth, enticing, beckoning you to pour all the darkness that lingers around your heart. You’re surprised to find yourself wanting to hear more of that honey-dipped voice. 
Father Ezra, you’ve heard his name before and from afar, even laid eyes on him. You can barely remember what he looks like now though. You certainly never heard him during sermons, you would’ve definitely remembered his voice if you had. 
You’re pulled away from your thoughts when you hear a creak and a soft flutter of a robe. 
“Sorry,” you say, quick and silent. “This is my first time doing this and I didn’t really have a prepared thing in mind.” 
His soft chuckle echoes—god, why does he sound so good? 
“Sweet, lost, little bird, you do not need to rush it. You can start by introducing yourself. Tell me your name.” 
A shudder that starts from your toes claws all the way up to your spine. All he did was ask your name, yet, it feels like he’s asking for something drastic like your life. You swallow around the know in your throat, lowering your gaze even though there’s no one that can see you. 
You give him your name and something you can’t discern shifts in the air. 
“What a lovely name,” he hums. “Now tell me, what troubles you on this rainy day.” 
“Nothing specific,” a sigh parts your lips, and again, a creak comes through the other side. Your skin prickles. You can feel as if his eyes can see through the thin wall that separates you both. “I’m feeling a bit lonely. I—I went through a break up a couple of weeks ago and. . . I guess I can’t help but feel it’s my fault somehow.” 
You wait for him to say something, but when he doesn’t, you continue. 
“This might sound dumb—” 
“There is no such thing,” you can almost hear the smile in his voice. “There’s no shame in asking for guidance and forgiveness.” 
“There were these things. . . that he said about me. Things like I was too needy, too dependent, and too much overall. And I feel like it’s true because no one ever seems to stay with me,” you let out a bitter chuckle as tears begin to well in your eyes. “I don’t know why I’m like this, maybe—maybe God is punishing me for a sin I don’t know and i-if that’s the case, Father, I seek forgiveness.” 
A breath. A low, violent exhale of breath. Your eyes flit to the grille, a pair of plush lips now visible through the tightly made slats. 
“You ask for forgiveness, atonement, yet do you actually believe?” he coos, voice low. 
“I don’t,” you answer a bit too quickly and blood boils under your nails. “I–I mean I don’t know.” 
“How do you expect me to help when you doubt the lord’s existence, little one?” Despite the provocative question, you see the faint curve of his smile through the darkness. “Are you desperate?” 
“I didn’t mean to offend,” you say quietly. The rain pour had begun again, drowning out the rest of the sound. “I’ve been coming here ever since the breakup. I enjoy watching people pray and smile, looking comforted. I just thought that if I did this, that comfort would extend to me as well. I’m sorry.” 
“The comfort is fleeting when you don’t believe it to be true,” he murmurs, ignoring your apology. “If you seek guidance, I can help you understand better and maybe then you’ll receive the comfort and the forgiveness that you crave oh so deeply.”
There’s a mocking lilt to his tone that you decide to ignore. It feels only right when you had outwardly said that you didn’t believe in the man’s religion. 
With an open heart, you accept his offer of guidance. 
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You visit his office almost every night. 
You found yourself enjoying the church even more after hours. Ezra became a friend, which didn’t surprise you because that man had an essence about him that would charm the pants off of any devil that he might encounter. You guys did bible studies together and talked about other religions as well, and what it means to understand the words inscribed and given to the people. It was interesting to listen to. He would even give you assignments sometimes, telling you to read a specific paper or book. It felt like being at school again. He’d given you something you thought you had lost forever; A sense of purpose. 
It didn’t hurt that he was a sight to look at. His dark brown eyes always held a certain mischief to them, lighting up in amusement whenever you said anything peculiar. 
You knew it was cliche to have a crush on a priest, yet here you were, wagging an imaginary tail whenever he praised you for doing a good job. 
But tonight is not one of those days you feel all giddy and excited to see him. You enter the wide halls of the church and take a sharp turn towards his office, all you sense is impending doom, your insides riddled with anxiety. You’re shaking, barely able to feel your legs as you walk. 
When you enter, his eyes look up from the papers that lay in front of him, his gaze momentarily dropping to where your dress ends, then back up. His brows furrowing instantly at your heavy breathing, “Little bird, what’s wrong?” 
“Everything!” you exclaim, heaving a breath. “Everything is wrong—I’m wrong—I—fuck—” 
Ezra clears his throat in warning, “Language,” he says with a click of his tongue. 
“Sorry, Father.” you look down in shame, your hands balled into tight fists as you fight the urge to pace around his office. “I just—” 
He cuts you off, “Why don’t you take a seat and tell me what happened?” he smiles kindly. “And maybe you can stop shaking while you’re at it.” 
You nod as you take a seat. Your heart continuously rams against your ribcage and you can barely breathe, your throat convulsing in agony. Ezra gestures to you to look at him. When you do, he takes a deep inhale, making a demonstration in showing how his chest expands and contracts, his hand following the movement as if on waves. 
You breathe with him, the oxygen that fills your lungs calming you. 
“Good,” he hums. “Now tell me what happened.” 
“I saw him today. My—My ex,” you shook your head, reliving the moment. “He’s already seeing someone, which is fine if he was just honest about it. It’s some girl from work, the same girl I asked him about when he moved out,” a hiccup parts your sentence and you continue, your eyes dropping away from Ezra’s. “I said ‘is it her, do you like someone else’ and he said no. He pretended not to recognize me, even though his girlfriend did. I could see it in her eyes but he just walked past me, like I never existed.” 
A sole tear trickles down your cheek and you wipe it away with your sleeve, sniffling. When you feel another, you repeat the motion, finding solace in the softness of the fabric. “I’m an idiot,” you say, still not looking at him. “What am I even doing here? I should try to face reality not escape it in some—some church.” 
You hadn’t meant to sound so harsh. The church had helped you when you needed it most, it had given you Ezra, most of all. But you couldn’t help the words, you’re angry. Furious. You feel invisible out there, but here, here people recognize you, and ask where you’ve been when you came back the other day. It’s good to know that if you disappear some people would wonder about you. 
Ezra’s voice rings in your ear, and without even understanding the words he’s saying, you’re looking up. 
“Let’s try something,” he says probably again. “Come here.” 
You’re slightly confused but obliged. He pushes his chair slightly back, making some room between him and the desk. Your eyes drop to the end of his robes, two shiny shoes peaking from underneath. 
“Get on your knees.” 
You snort, “Excuse me?” 
“It’s going to calm you,” he says. “Do you trust me?” 
Your lips part with a faint gasp, you don’t blink as your eyes search his. There’s a tranquility in his expression that makes your heart throb. “Of course, Father,” you get on your knees. 
“Good girl,” he pats his thigh. “Now lay your head.” 
You do so without question this time, appreciating the firmness of muscle under your head. A moment passes, awkwardness starting to settle in, then you feel his fingers touching the back of your neck and gradually they move up to your scalp. Humming a gentle melody, he starts to stroke your hair, massaging your head as he went along. A deep sigh comes from the depths of your lungs, your nerves humming, your rigid muscles finally relax. 
“You’ve been doing so well these past couple of weeks,” he says, a hint of amusement lingering in his voice. “You’ve been learning, little bird, but you still have much to learn. The church is part of the real world, you haven’t been doing nothing.” 
Listening to him so intently, he sends shivers down your spine, the thickness of arousal pooling between your legs. He drags blunt nails down your scalp and comes down to your nape to squeeze from both sides. You’re embarrassed of the moan that rattles your throat but he doesn’t seem to mind it. You lean closer, pressing your cheek further against his leg. 
“Isn’t this nice?” he asks without needing the answer. “You, my obedient girl, listening and eager to please. You’ll always feel like this when you’re with me. No anxiety, no need to compete and try to accomplish something when all you want to do is. . . relax. . .” 
His voice had dropped to a whisper, every word a gentle caress to your skin. Eyes fluttering close, you only focus on the ups and downs of his voice, your body reacting to every stop and turn. The fabric of your underwear dampens, your folds becoming slicker the more you inch towards him. You ache for your fingers—or better yet his cock—but he isn’t allowed to touch you is he? 
You try to remember the lessons in celibacy but can’t seem to remember any of them. 
Your tighs instinctively press together, the brief friction doing little in dousing the wildfires between your legs. You wiggle a bit closer, his voice nothing but a siren song now. 
Ezra notices the constant movement, his fingers slip under your chin, and drags your eyes up to face him. Your breath hitches. The faint moonlight that trickles through the windows behind him cast his face in complete shadow, his features hardening with darkness. He slips his foot between your legs, the floor creaking under the sole of his shoe, “Now, why can’t you stay still when I’m trying so hard to soothe you, little bird?” 
He lifts the point of his shoe, the leather pressing directly against your throbbing clit. A surprised whimper rips from your throat, your body shaking as he drags the leather tip down. Your insides clench with want, with a primal need that you can’t seem to understand. 
You’re haunted by his words and the darkness that lurks in his eyes. Despite yourself, you press yourself up against his leg like some animal. You can’t seem to stop staring at him. And by the way he pushes his shoe further into you, borderline on almost being painful, you don’t think he minds either. 
Your eyes flutter as he parts his robe, your gaze immediately drops to the outline of his cock that’s visible. Your mouth waters. 
“Worship me,” he unbuttons himself with expertise but leaves it at that. “Until I tell you to stop.”
His leg still between your legs, you pull out his cock. The tip is an angry shade of red, precum dotting at the tip, without much thought you lean over and dip your tongue, tasting him for the first time. The taste of him coats the inside of your mouth and you swallow greedily, the blood rush to your ears muffling his voice. 
“Such a sweet whore,” he hums. “You like sucking cock, don’t you?” 
Dragging your lips down the length of him, you answer with him between your lips, “Yes, Father.” 
“I really do enjoy it when you call me that,” his thumb touches your cheek as you finally take him between your lips, you allow out your cheeks and flatten your tongue against the underside of his cock. “All you needed was a little encouragement and now you’re the perfect hole for me. There’s nothing wrong with you, all you need is someone to take care of you.” 
You hum in approval around him, taking him deeper while grinding against his leg, your dress rides up your thighs, your underwear nearly sheer in color.   
“I can feel how wet you are. So needy,” he lays back in his chair and spreads his legs. “I want to feel every inch of your mouth. I said worship, if this is how you think that works you’re mistaken, dove.” 
Your stomach churns at that. You want to make him happy—you truly do. You part from him, strings of saliva following the frame of your lips as you bend down closer to the floor, feeling the full shape of his shoe. You look up to him, the heft of his cock laying directly in the middle of your face, the scent of sex and him clinging to your nose. Opening your mouth, you lick between his balls, taking one into your mouth, you swirl your tongue around it. His eyes roll in pleasure, a thick drop of precome dripping to your forehead. 
“That’s it,” he raps and guides you back up, lining the bulbous head of his cock against your lips. He pushes forward, cock filling your mouth then inching down your throat. Tears trickle down your cheeks, your throat convulsing as you try to accommodate to the width of him. You swallow and swallow, until your nose is buried into the dark curls that crown his length. You can barely breathe. “I knew you could take it all, little one. I know that mouth could do more than talk.” 
The heavy palm of his hand moves down your throat, he feels the shape of himself through the skin. His cock twitches when it feels his hand, straining your mouth further. 
He pulls out and you gasp for air, his grin is wide as he looks down at you. “I want to make a mess of that face,” with the rough pitch of his words, you roll your hips, your clit catches against his shoe and a loud moan spills from your damp lips. He clicks his tongue with annoyance. “Ask for forgiveness,” he growls, hand moving up and down his cock with hard strokes. 
“For what, Father?” your voice is barely above a whisper. And you’re not sure why you asked when you’re going to surrender to his wants regardless of what they are. 
“For being a whore,” he spits. “For talking about a past flame and for taking pleasure without permission.” 
He watches with heavy eyes as you straighten yourself, his cock aimed directly at your face. You watch him with parted lips. His nail gently traces the vein that curls around the length of him, slick sounds filling the normally silent office. He swipes a thumb over his head and thrusts into his fist. 
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” you begin. “It has been two weeks since my last confession. I have behaved like a whore, talked about another man in the presence of the clergy, and taken pleasure without permission. I come before you seeking God's forgiveness and guidance.” 
“Will you repeat your sins?” 
“No, Father. Not unless I have permission to do so.” 
His hand quickens, his grip tightening, “Do it then,” he snarls with a devilish smile. “Ask me permission to be a whore.” 
Instead of a verbal permission, you part your mouth wide and stick your tongue out. His eyes widen with shock momentarily before understanding. He seems pleased and in return, you feel genuine jot for finally doing something right. 
He grips your chin, pulling you away from his leg and directly between his thighs. It doesn’t take him long to go over the age—one, two more strokes and you feel the first string of white come spurting over your face. It drips down your forehead from your face. The sounds Ezra make are unhinged, his hips lifting from the seat as he moans openly into the air, defiling you and marking you as his. His seed feels heavy over your face and with your tongue, you catch a bit of it, moaning as you swallow. 
Ezra hunches over you and you feel his tongue on your cheek, taking himself into his mouth, he presses his tongue into your mouth, forcing more of himself inside of you. 
When he parts away, you’re dazed, all pretense of the life outside of this church gone. 
“My sweet bird, so dirty now,” he purrs, this time he collects more of himself over his fingers and stuffs it into your mouth. Your eyes rolling you swallow over and over. “What do you say?” he asks melodically. 
“Thank you, Father.” 
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absurdthirst · 1 year
Text
One Night on Tatooine {Mando x F!Reader}
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 8.4k
Warnings: Mentions of safe words, vaginal sex, cream pie, oral sex (male receiving), helmet riding, praise kink, removing helmets, mentions of marriage/children
Comments: When Mando comes back to Mos Eisley to have Peli work on his mech droid, he finds her gone and you watching her bay. When he agrees to let you do the work, he finds he wants you for more than just a mechanic. 
Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers​
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Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.
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You look up when you see the ship land in the bay. Peli had left you in charge for the next few days while she went to fetch new parts. A rare trip outside of the spaceport for Peli, still not leaving Tatooine but she had ventured outside of Mos Eisley. The ship is slick, one you recognize from Peli’s stories and when the infamous Mandalorian appears, you are taken back. 
Peli has told you stories during your brief employment in her spaceport of the brave Mandalorian and his foundling, Grogu, and you must admit you’d been intrigued and eager to meet the beskar clad legend. When his boots hit the sand, he’s just as intimidating as you imagined and he doesn’t hesitate to approach you. “Where’s Peli?” He asks, the child in his arms coos at you. 
“Peli isn’t here. She went to purchase new parts. I am her new mechanic. How can I help?” You offer, knowing that this Mandalorian will insist on Peli but you will try to accommodate him.
Din huffs out a grumble under his breath. He had expected Peli to be here, the one that is most familiar with the starfighter - considering she helped him put the damn thing together. Grogu squirms, reaching out towards you and coos again. “She doesn’t want to hold you.” He murmurs, setting the child on the sandy floor to go explore while he straightens back up to look at you. Sighing, he contemplates going somewhere else because he knows he will be distracted by you and he was planning on leaving the kid here while he found a quick job to pick up. Now he was going to be sitting at the hanger. “What do you know about droids?” He asks, pointing at the mech droid he had broken down and added to the ship.
You stand up straighter, knowing that he is assessing your capabilities and you can understand that. “What don’t I know about droids?'' is the question. Peli hired me because of my expertise. Where did you pick that guy up from? Looks like he’s been through the worst of it.” You can already tell the droid needs an overall from body to drive. “You want me to fix ‘em up?” You ask, looking down at the child who is now by your feet, tapping on your boot. “Hey sweetheart. Aren’t you just the cutest little thing in the galaxy?” You coo, bending down to caress the child’s ear.
Din watches as Grogu gives you a sharp toothed grin, reaching for the shiny zipper on your boots. “Grogu.” He reaches into his belt and pulls out the silver ball from the Razor Crest. “Play with this and don’t mess with her zippers.” His helmet tips back up towards you. “He likes to get in the way.” He warns, knowing the child will do what he wants despite his warnings.
“He’s cute enough to get away with it.” You chuckle when the kid plays with the silver ball in his hand, almost cooing in victory. “So…you want me to fix that droid or are you gonna wait on Peli to come back?” You can tell her doesn’t trust you and you won’t push him.
He sighs and looks around again, planting his hands on his hips. He wishes Peli was here but he can’t wait for too long. “If Peli trusts you….” He trails off, looking back at you and is struck by how pretty you are. It’s been a long time since the pull of attraction curled in his belly and he’s slightly shocked. He’s not had time or opportunity to do anything about it since having the child with him. “I’ll go get the kid something to eat and then come back.”
“Very well. Whatever you want, Mando, I’m here for you.” You tell him, sensing the frustration that seems to vibrate from his very being and if you can lessen it by fixing the droid, then you will feel like you’ve helped him. “See you soon, little man.” You coo at Grogu, already enamored by him.
You shouldn’t have said that to him. His cock twitches in interest at the x-rated images that immediately flood his mind. Making him grateful that he has to bend down and pick up the little one. Instead of answering you, he turns and starts walking towards the hanger doors, trying to banish the peak of flesh he had gotten from your mechanic’s suit not being zipped up the entire way. “Let’s get you something to eat.” He tells Grogu, needing to get his mind off of what he would rather be doing. 
You watch the Mandalorian go, his shoulders broad and gait strong, and you can’t deny the thrill of attraction that rushes through you. You wonder what he’s like under all that beskar. His voice is modulated but sexy and you know you’ll be thinking of him in your bunk later.
Once the kid has eaten, Din brings him back to the hanger. Unwilling to be on the streets in Mos Eisley for too long considering he continuously has problems on Tatooine. He should get a transport to see Boba, but he honestly wants to see how you are doing with the droid. It had given him fits and that was why he had come to Peli. Ignoring the thought that he really wants to see you work. 
When Mando returns, you have already started working on the droid, stripping the unit down to the bare essentials so you can clean everything, work on the programming and get him working. “How’s it coming along?” He asks and you look up from where you are kneeling down on the floor. 
“It’s coming. Just needs some TLC.” You are level with his crotch and you swallow, briefly wondering if the Mandalorian only takes off the codpiece to fuck or if he likes to blindfold a partner, you wonder if he’s ever gotten a blowjob. You shake your head, trying to ignore your train of thought despite unconsciously leaning closer to his crotch.
Din grunts, feeling his cock starts to harden when he imagines you with his cock down your pretty little throat. You would look good wrapped around him. Thankfully his helmet covers the riot of thoughts and expressions. “Good.” He rasps out, thinking about something else that needs some TLC. The child recaptures his attention and squirms to be let down. “Be good.” He warns the mischievous creature, knowing that he will get into trouble in a heartbeat.
You swallow harshly at the rasp you can hear through the modulation. The child waddles over to you, cooing and you reach out to pat his head. “You want a droid friend?” You ask, knowing the child must want friends that don’t involve his adoptive father. “I will make sure this one protects you and is there for you.” You tell the child who grins and waddles off towards the bunk area. He’s clearly been here before. 
“I’ll get him to bed. It’s been a long day.” Mando declares, making his way towards the child and he scoops him up to carry him to the bunks Peli has set up for guests. You wonder if the Mandalorian will rest in there or if he will remain in your company while you continue working on the droid. 
“There’s some food in the cantina area if you want to eat in privacy.” You offer, “I just cooked up some gornt.”
“Thank you.” Din appreciates that you understand without being rude that he would need privacy to eat. He might after he makes use of the sonic shower. It’s been awhile since he’s been able to use one and he needs to take a piss. Setting the kid down on the bunk, he softens as Grogu immediately snuggles into the blankets and closes his eyes. “Night kid.” He murmurs softly, smiling at his answering coo before he steps out of the bunk room and enters the small ‘fresher to clean up.
You decide to finish working on the droid in the morning. The parts have been cleaned and you need to reprogram the mech but you don’t have it in you to do that right now. With a sigh, you stand up and make your way into the compound, surprised to find the Mandalorian coming out of the fresher in just his flight suit, beskar no doubt secured somewhere. “Oh that’s good timing. I was about to have a shower.”
Din inhales sharply, the top of your suit has been stripped down, revealing a thin and worn tank top underneath. Large amounts of skin on display. And you’re sweating. He swallows, turned on by the sight of the dewy hue of your skin and if he were a man who could take off his helmet, he would run his tongue along the drop and see if it tasted as good as it looked. His cock immediately starts to stiffen and instead of letting you by, his hand comes up to block your path. “Are you done?” He demands, half afraid you are.
You raise your eyebrows at the arm that blocks your path, your stomach twisting with both nerves and anticipation. You’ve been feeling this tension between you and the Mandalorian since he arrived. “I’m not finished yet. I just cleaned it up. I gotta, uh, reprogram tomorrow.” You confirm, chest heaving slightly as your heart thumps.
He watches you closely, noticing the way your breathing picks up, his HUD showing that your pulse has increased and your body temperature is rising. You don’t seem worried, you seem like you are waiting for something, anticipating it. “So we have to stay tonight.” He speaks slowly, his voice dipping down slightly into a deeper pitch. 
You shiver at the way his modulated voice lowers. “Is that so?” You hum, crossing your arms, making your cleavage more pronounced. You’re on the precipice of something and you wonder if he will make a move or if he will leave you hanging.
His helmet tips down, pointed at your chest and his own breathing picks up slightly. Heart rate spiking, not unlike when he’s nearly caught a bounty. Slowly, he drags his gaze back up to your face, watching you for a moment to see if you would squirm or drop your arms. You don’t. His blood rushes south and starts to fill his cock. “Say no now.” He growls out, giving you a warning. “Or tell me your safe word.”
His words send a rush straight through you and you gasp in response. “My safe word is rebel.” You inform him, suddenly dripping wet with need for him. The anticipation makes you exhale as you wait for his next move.
Din’s hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist and turning both of you so that he is pushing you into the ‘fresher. It would give you some privacy so you aren’t exposed if anyone comes into the hanger. His groan filtering out from under the helmet as he pushes you over the sink and presses up against your ass.
You gasp in shock before you moan when you feel his body pressed against you. Loving how you can feel him without the beskar creating a barrier between you. His cock is hard against your ass and you grind back onto him. “Mando. Please. Just - just fuck me.” You beg, looking into the mirror to watch his helmet.
He chuckles even as his hands start to move over your skin, wishing that he has his gloves off, but he won’t take off more than he has to. His armor is already off, otherwise he would be wearing that while he fucked you. It takes too long to remove and often he’ll lose interest in fucking if he went through the motions of removing it all. Instead of answering you, he rips your tank top in two, freeing your breasts and cupping them in his hands and squeezing harshly while he ruts against your ass.
The roughness of his touch has you ready for him to slide inside of you and you are panting when he pinches your nipples. “Oh fuck, yes baby. Please. I need - I need you inside of me Mando.” You beg, grinding back against him.
“Shameless.” He huffs, twisting your nipples again to make you gasp out before he drags his hands down your stomach to where the rest of your mechanic’s suit is bunched up. Loving the access to your skin and how soft and warm it feels under the sensory pads of his gloves. “You just want me to shove my cock inside you and fuck you?” He asks, pressing his helmet up against your ear. “Without fingering you?” 
“Depends on how impressive you are, Mando.” You tease, grinding back against him. “I’m so wet right now you could probably slide inside of me without foreplay.” You whimper when his gloved fingers dive past the waistband of your suit. “Please Mando.” You beg, needing something, anything.
He growls, yanking your pants down and kicking your feet apart. Your ass is pushed back against his crotch so that he has to lean back to unzip and pull his throbbing cock out. He would have given you his fingers, made you cum before he fucked you - but the way you beg so sweetly had him impatiently. His hand slides around your sternum and he yanks you back against his chest, making sure he can see your face in the mirror. “You asked for this.” He warns with a snarl before he lines up and drives his cock deep into your pussy.
You cry out, loud enough to wake the child in the bunker next door so Mando slaps his hand over your mouth, his cock practically in your guts as he buries himself deep inside of your cunt. There’s a sting since you haven’t had sex in a while but you love it, knowing you’ll feel him tomorrow. You whimper against his hand, reaching up to grip his forearm as you press against his chest.
“Good girl.” He practically purrs it, loving how tight you are around him. His hips flex forward and he grinds deep into you before he pulls nearly all the way out and drives forward again. Starting a punishing pace that has his hand vibrating with your moan.
You are squealing, grateful it’s muffled against his glove, and you close your eyes. “Open your fucking eyes. Want you to watch me fuck you.” He orders with a growl, making you open your eyes and you struggle when he’s hitting down deep inside of you, stretching you out.
He fucking loves it. You are taking every punishing roll of his hips and squeezing his cock like a vice when he’s balls deep. He groans in your ear, watching your eyes for any signs of discomfort because of his hand over your mouth. Your cunt is perfect, exactly what he needs right now. The arm not holding you against him slides down so he can rub your clit.
You moan loudly against his hand, hips bucking as you grind down onto his cock while he rubs your clit just right. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you clamp down on his cock, soaking him with your cum as you fall over the edge, thighs shaking.
He groans, hips slowing down because he feels himself starting to get close and he doesn’t want to cum too soon. He needs to ride this out and work out more of his frustration on your cunt. He pushes deep and just grinds into you until your legs stop shaking and he pulls out and turns you around to hoist you up on the sink and drags a leg of your pants off you so he can step between your thighs.
You reach for him, grabbing onto his shoulders, and you moan at how bulky he feels, strong and muscular beneath the flight suit and you wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer as you look into the visor. “Come on Mando, fuck me harder.”
He chuckles at your brazenness. Shaking his head slightly as he takes himself in hand and slides back into you. “Be careful what you wish for, Mesh’la.” He warned, sliding deep and pressing his helmet against your forehead.
You pull him closer, gripping his shoulders, and you moan when he pushes into you, hitting a new angle. “Fuck Mando. Feels so good.” You pant, your forehead bumping against his and your breath fans over the beskar, fogging it as you cling to him.
“Good.” He grunts, reaching up and holding onto your shoulders. “Tight little cunt.” He praises, looking down to watch his cock work into you. “Needs to be fucked often.”
You whine your agreement. “Yes. Yes. Been too long. Fuck, you feel so good.” You let go of him to tilt backwards, changing the angle and he hits something perfect inside of you. “Oh fuck yes. Yes Mando. That’s so good. So good. Wanted - wanted you as soon as I saw you. Wondered what your cock would be like.” You admit breathlessly, chest heaving as he works you towards another orgasm.
He huffs out a goan, knowing that he had wanted you from the moment he had seen you too. “Thought about bending you over the engine panel.” He manages through puffed out breaths as he rocks into you frantically. He wants to feel you cum again. Soaking the fabric of his flight suit before he’s done with you.
You fucking love hearing this Mandalorian talk. In the half day you’ve known him, you can tell he isn’t one for talking but right now, telling you how he wanted to fuck you from the start, it has you soaking his cock with another bout of arousal. Making a slapping noise echo in the ‘fresher. “Maker. Oh Maker.” You pant and he reaches up to grip your neck, 
“Mando. My name is Mando.” He growls. 
“M-Mando.” You choke when he tightens his grip and it sends you over the edge. Knowing he could easily kill you makes you cum, thighs shaking around his cock.
Hissing, he grits his teeth under his helmet. His hand tightens on your neck slightly as your cunt flutters around him. The tight grip you have on him makes his eyes roll back. When he feels your cunt start to loosen up, he wraps his hands around your hips and hoists you up into his arms. He manhandles bounties around so you aren’t a problem. Turning around and slamming your back against the wall.
“Oh fuck!” You shriek, surprised and so turned on despite your orgasm still wrecking you. You swear you’re about to pass out from the pleasure when he starts to pound into you. “Oh fuckkkk.” You sob, head hitting the wall as he ruins you.
He doesn’t stop. Slamming you up against the wall again and again as he drills deep. Pinning you up with his body while he tries to make sure that you can’t walk by the time he’s done with you.
You can only cling to him, unable to believe how he’s making you feel. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so much pleasure in your life. The way he is pushing deep and his fabric clad thighs hit the back of yours…you would scream but nothing escapes when you open your mouth, too lost to the pleasure. It doesn’t take long for him to make you cum again. This time he hits something so tragic inside of you, it’s like a firework going off and you let out a silent scream while you gush, soaking his suit.
His head tucks against your shoulder, slamming his fist against the wall while he works you through your releases and speeds towards his own. Rolling his hips frantically. “Fuck, fuck Mesh’la.” He hisses, panting through his modulator. Gasping when he feels the tingling in his spine before he drives deep one last time, burying his cock in your walls while he lets out a growl of your name.
You sigh when you feel him painting your walls with his cum, thanking the Maker for your implant as he works himself through his high and you are almost unconscious from the pleasure you just experienced. Unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. It was intoxicating. “Fuck.” You pant, eyes closed as you relax.
“Fuck.” He agrees, panting quietly. He keeps you pinned against the wall for another moment before he lets you down. Your legs buckle and he chuckles quietly. “I did it right.”
You lean against him for support, gripping his flight suit and you just about manage to find your balance. “Maker Mando. You make all the girls collapse?” You chuckle breathlessly, shifting back to lean against the wall so you can let go of him. “I’m sorry about your flight suit.”
“Wanted you to soak it.” He hums, watching a small drip of his cum fall out of you and hit the ‘fresher flood. “You could have had another orgasm if you hadn’t been so impatient.” He muses with a grin under his helmet.
You huff, shaking your head. “Impatient? I just - I wanted you to enjoy yourself too.” You stroke his covered chest and you step back from him. You shift from one foot to the other, reaching for the paper to clean his cum from between your thighs as your jumpsuit tangles around your ankle.
He chuckles and watches as you clean up, tucking his cock away. “I was always going to enjoy myself.” He promises. “Sorry about ripping your shirt.”
"It's okay. I have more. It was...it was hot." You admit, pulling your overalls up to cover yourself. You aren't sure what to say now that the deed has been done, what has been building all afternoon between you. You want him again but you know he will be leaving once you have fixed the droid.
He hums and turns back towards you. “Go take your shower.” He urges you, knowing he will need to take another one later but for now, he will wait until you are cleaned up.
You nod, walking over to Mando and you lean up to press a kiss to the beskar helmet over where you think his cheek is. "Thank you Mando." You smile, stepping back from him to turn on the sonic shower, stripping out of the jumpsuit with no care to him still being in the 'fresher. He's seen it all anyway.
Even though he’s just fucked you, his cock twitches and he decides that he won’t wait. Instead he steps into the shower fully clothed, knowing the sonic shower will clean his flight suit as well. “You are beautiful,” he murmurs. “So much skin on display.”
“Maker!” You gasp, not expecting him to step into the shower with you. “Mando. What are you-” You moan when he pushes you against the shower wall, his fingers finding your clit and you whine, “Mando. Shit. It’s -” You can’t believe he’s still wanting you. Most men would’ve gone by now and passed out from their orgasm.
He hums, watching your eyes close at his touch. It’s been a long time since he had someone just give themselves to him like you have. He rubs your clit while he reaches over with his free hand and presses the button to start the sonic shower watching you while the dirt and sweat vibrates off of you, his fingers still between your legs. “You gonna let me crawl into your bunk tonight?” He rasps. “Fuck you through the night?”
You moan, nodding as the shower adds to your vibrations, his body crowding yours and it’s intoxicating, making you tilt your head back against the wall to look up at his helmet. “If you want. You can do whatever you want to me. Any - anyone that can make me cum like you do can fuck me whenever he wants.”
Din groans in approval, chest puffing out in pride that he’s gotten permission from  you to have you again. That you enjoyed his rougher treatment. He feels more relaxed than he has in months. HIs fingers work your clit like he was piloting a ship, steady and firm. The wetness of your cunt seeping into the leather and he will remember how wet you had gotten his flight suit. “Cum for me again and I’ll take you to your bunk.” He promises, imagining stretching out on top of you and filling you again. 
You whimper at his words, knowing you’ll ache in the morning but it will be worth it to have him inside of you again. The expert way his fingers are working your clit have you whining until you go silent, mouth falling open while you clamp down around nothing, cumming for him like he wanted.
He shuts off the shower, your clean body limp and leaning against his when he pulls you away from the shower wall. Guiding you out of the ‘fresher and leading you, naked, to the bunk he had assumed was yours. It’s not Peli’s and there are small personal items and tools scattered around. “How many times do you normally cum with a partner?” He asks as you sit down on the bed. 
“I, uh, I’m lucky if I cum once.” You admit, “most of my partners didn’t care about my pleasure. Before I arrived here, I was working in a cantina, fixing droids in my spare time just to make ends meet and Peli found me and gave me a place to live. As for my partners…they were passing through, just wanting to find their pleasure and not care about mine.”
Din scoffs under his helmet, rolling his eyes at the people you had slept with. “Pleasure is supposed to be mutual.” He hadn’t always felt that way, when he was young and brash he probably didn’t please as many partners as he thought. But because he couldn’t take off much or use his mouth, he had tried to make sure that he gave pleasure through other means. You lean back on the bed and he shuffles slightly, reaching for the zipper of his flight suit. 
You watch as the Mandalorian starts to unzip his flight suit, letting you see inch after inch of skin, some parts marred with blemishes and scars, others painted with tattoos. "Maker." You moan, unable to stop yourself from surging forward to press your lips to his skin as he continues working the zipper down.
Din moans loudly, closing his eyes as your lips touch his skin and makes him quiver at the sensation. “It- it’s been a long time since I’ve- since I’ve taken off my suit.” He confesses breathlessly. “The helmet stays on though.” He can’t break his creed again. Not for something like sex.
You hum in understanding, kissing every inch of skin he exposes to you and you want him to know how beautiful he is. “I don’t mind.” You promise, helping him take the suit off of his shoulders and you shift to straddle him once he’s naked, your lips kissing along his shoulders while your hands caress his back. When your skin touches his, he shivers beneath you.
He gasps, hands gripping your hips and he turns so that he can stretch out on your bunk. Letting you stay on top of him in a very rare move. The only people who have ridden him have been fellow Mandalorians, sure they would not try to remove his helmet. Trusting you with this intimacy.
You stretch out over him, covering as much of his body with your own, and you lean closer to kiss along his beskar helmet, down to his neck and you shift to kneel between his legs. "Fuck." You moan at the sight of his cock, reaching out to grip it and you moan when a drop of pre-cum leaks, making you lean closer to flick it with your tongue. The salty tang makes you hum in delight before you wrap your lips around the head, taking him into your mouth while your eyes meet the visor.
Making a choked noise, his hand reaches for you. “Y-you d-don’t have t-to do that.” He pants out, even while your mouth works over his cock. He can’t give you the same so he doesn’t want you to feel as if you have to suck his cock. Even if it feels amazing. 
You pull off of his cock for a moment. "One thing you should know about me Mando is I never do anything I don't want to do." You smirk and take him back into your mouth, deeper than before, and you caress his thighs, wanting to feel every inch of flesh he has gifted you the opportunity to see.
Din groans, a filthy sound that peeks out from under the edge of the helmet. Watching you eagerly suck his cock like it’s your favorite activity, he shivers when your hands brush over his skin, igniting nerves that were normally suppressed by clothing that covers him. 
You slide your tongue over the side of his cock, gripping the base and twisting your wrist while your eyes burn into the beskar helmet, wishing you could see his expression. You feel him twitch in your grip so you move quickly. Straddling him and sinking down onto his cock in one swift move, wanting him to cum inside of you. "Fuck." You moan, feeling him so much deeper in this angle.
“Dank ferrik!” Din yelps, hips bucking up and he can’t stop himself even if he wanted to. Feeling his cock harden even more and his balls pull tight against his body. Your mouth and cunt pulling his orgasm out of him before he could even realize it. His hands hold you in a bruising grip and his mind goes completely blank while hot ropes of cum fill you to the brim again. 
You smile, loving the way he easily falls apart beneath you. You rock your hips, feeling his cum push out of you and it makes you moan as you work him through his orgasm. “That’s it Mando. Just feel.” You order, caressing his arms.
“Shiiiiiiit.” His head tips back and exposes the bottom of his chin as he rides out his high. Relaxing into your bed to gasp while he tries to catch his breath. You didn’t cum. He realizes this as soon as he can think about anything else other than how much pleasure you had just given him. “Fuck.” He groans, reaching up to cup your cheek. “You didn’t cum.” 
You shrug, “it’s okay.” You promise and he shakes his head. 
“No. Come here.” He uses his strength to lift you off of his cock, moving you up his body until you are hovering above his helmet. “Ride it. Want to see your pussy while you make yourself cum on my helmet.” His words make your cunt clench and you shift to press your cum soaked folds against the beskar.
It doesn’t matter that his cum is smearing over the beskar and his visor. It’s what he filled you with and he can still see those pretty lips as they drag over his helmet. Making him groan as his softening cock lays against his pubic hair. His hands squeeze your ass and help you grind against him. “I can smell you.” He moans, “you smell so delicious.” One hand moves from your ass to swipe through your folds and he gathers some of your combined fluids to shove into his mouth under his helmet. 
You almost cum from seeing him taste your combined fluids, the fact that he does that nearly makes you cum. When you feel his wet fingers dig into your ass, you move faster. The ridges of the beskar hitting your clit just right and you moan in response. “Oh fuck Din. I’m gonna - I’m gonna cum.” You whine, hips bucking wildly.
“Do it.” He rasps out, wanting to see you fall apart, to watch your cunt spasm right in front of his face. Your head tilts back, a loud cry wrenched from your lips and he groans, soft cock twitching as it tries to get hard again, but he needs more time.
You shake above him, thighs pressed against the now warm beskar and your hands slap against the wall behind your bunk as you try to balance yourself. “Fuck Mando.” You pant, grateful you aren’t smothering his face since you aren’t sure if you can move yet.
He hums, reaching up and caressing your spine gently while you are catching your breath. “So beautiful.” He praises, loving how you had just let yourself go with him. “You look so good like this on my helmet, that cunt is so pretty. Did you enjoy that?” 
You giggle, breathless and still reeling from the orgasm. You shift to lay down beside him, resting your cheek on his shoulder. “That was - I’m lost for words.” You admit with a smile, “no one has ever made me cum like that and that much.”
He loves the feeling of your body stretched out along his. His arm curls around your shoulder and he hums. “Good.” He murmurs softly, fingers stroking your skin while he can. “You will sleep well.” He huffs happily. 
“Oh definitely.” You murmur, already sleepy and you know you should get up and help him clean up, clean yourself up. “You need to clean and polish your helmet.” You smirk against his shoulder, “I made a mess of it.”
“I will do that later.” He murmurs, feeling your body start to get heavier as you relax against him. You will be asleep soon and he doesn’t want to move away from you right now. The kid is still asleep and he wants to be selfish for another minute. “Sleep, mesh’la. You deserve it.” 
You can’t deny him or sleep even if you tried. He’s warm and just the right amount of muscle to make you feel secure as you doze off in your bunk. You feel safe for the first time in forever and you have the Mandalorian to thank for the best sleep of your life.
****
When you wake up, Din is back in his armor. He hadn’t wanted to leave your bed but he needed to. He had to clean up before the kid woke up and reality intruded. He had slept with you in his arms for a couple of hours, which was all he really slept at a time anyway. He had gently eased away from you and watched you for a moment before gathering his clothes to go back to the ‘fresher and cleaning up again. His gloves are on and cupping your cheek with a cup of broth for you in his hands when your eyes. “Hey, it’s time to wake up.” He murmurs softly. 
You blink, wincing against the light until you see the Mandalorian above you, dressed in his full glorious beskar, and you notice the cup of broth in his hand and the other caressing your cheek. You turn to kiss his covered palm, smiling up at him. “Oh. Thank you.” Your voice is croaky from sleep and you move, shifting to sit up so you can take the cup.
You look beautifully sleepy and Din steps back. “I’ll leave you to get dressed.” He offers, shuffling slightly - awkwardly - in the face of the morning after. He wants to make sure that he didn’t hurt you and that you don’t regret it. “Are you- you okay this morning?” 
You nod, “a little sore but I feel good.” You grin before you sip the broth, sighing in content at the warmth. “It was amazing. Thank you for last night.” You tell him as he hovers in the doorway. You need to shower but you are on cloud nine with the aches in your body from last night.
“Good.” His helmet dips quickly in a nod and from the other bunkroom, he hears the baby coo. Grogu is awake. “Well, I better get him before he gets into trouble.” He huffs, knowing that if he’s not careful, the kid will be into trouble in a heartbeat. 
You watch him go, smiling into the broth and you hear him greeting the kid, making your smile transition to a grin. You desperately needed last night, you are aching but in a good way. You loved how rough he was yet so gentle after, such a contrast from the strong Mandalorian. You finish the broth and stand up on aching legs, deciding to get into the sonic shower again before you continue working on the droid.
“No.” Din shakes his head as he looks at Grogu, denying the kid but he’s not giving in. The tiny little three fingered hand presses against the now cleaned cheek of the helmet. He’s not going to remove it right now. “You need to eat.” The kid coos at him, making him huff slightly. “We are leaving in the next couple of hours and we aren’t stopping for a snack.” 
You find Mando trying to feed the child and you giggle at his frustration when the child tosses the food on the food and laughs at the frustrated Mandalorian. “Maybe he wants something sweet. I got something for you, little man.” You promise, walking over to your secret sweet stash in a drawer in the parts area. You bring the cake bar back over to the kid, opening the wrapper. “Here you go.” You offer it to him and he grins at you.
“Great.” Din grunts and puts his hand on his hips. “Kid’ll be bouncing around for hours in the cockpit.” He doesn’t mind, as long as he eats something. Din himself has already eaten before he ever woke you up. He snorts when Grogu looks up and coos at him before he tears into the cake. 
You chuckle, watching the kid demolish the cake. “Sorry. He’s just so cute, it’s hard not to want to spoil him.” You reach out to caress the child’s ear. “I still need to reprogram the mech so he has a few hours to get it out of his system. You need supplies? I can watch the kid while you go out.” You offer, knowing he probably wants some space after last night.
“No.” There’s nowhere that supplies would fit on the starfighter. He didn’t even have room for a weapons locker. It upset him, but he carried the darksaber and his other weapons on his body so it didn’t affect his ability to protect himself and the kid. “Do you need a hand?” He asks, waiting to stay around you. 
“Yeah actually, you can. Thank you. Would you mind grabbing the tools on the side over there?” You ask, working on the motherboard. You want to program the droid to protect the child and Mando while also having some sass since Mando seems to like your own sass. Maybe it will remind him of you when he’s far across the galaxy. “Thank you.” Your fingers brush his gloved ones as he hands you the tools and you look into the visor before you continue working.
He grunts in acknowledgement, shifting his feet slightly in the sand and picking up a ratchet spanner so he can check a few of the seals on ship. He opens a panel on the side of the ship and tries to be casual. “So, uh, are you planning on staying on with Peli?” He asks, biting his lip under the helmet where you can’t see. 
“It depends. I’m guessing that I will outstay my welcome when she finds a droid that can work on other droids.” You chuckle, knowing Peli puts her droids above anyone else. “For now, it’s nice to have a place to call home. I’ve been jumping from place to place and I have been grateful to not need to pack up my things and move on so fast.”
Din nods, understanding that, although for him it’s a way of life. He hums and wonders where home originally was for you. “Wish I still had my Razor Crest.” He murmurs. “It was a little easier when I had a ‘fresher” He chuckles. “And a vac tube.”
“I can only imagine how hard it is to move about all the time. Especially with this one.” You point at the child who is chasing one of the smaller droids around. You chuckle and turn back to the programming, knowing the Mandalorian probably wants to make a quick exit now that he has been fed and fucked. “I like the star fighter. Makes you even more intimidating…it’s sexy.”
Din chuckles and can’t even help the slightly cocky stance as he faces you. “You think I’m sexy?” He asks. “With or without the armor?” He’s curious to know if it was just an armor kink or if you had liked it when he stripped down. Especially because he never does that.
You turn to look at him, leaning against the counter. “Both, but you without the armor? I could barely breathe. You are - you are sculpted by the Maker and you take my breath away. You are beautiful Mando. Both with and without the armor.”
“You’re the first person I’ve taken off everything with in a long time.” He confesses quietly. “It was very memorable.” He sighs and closes the panel. “Think you’ll be here when I come back?”
You smile, happy he wants you to be here when he returns. “I’m sure I’ll be here when you return…unless Peli has had enough of me.” You snort, crossing your arms. “Why? You wanna have some more dirty sex when you return.” You wink, grateful the child is occupied with a rock that the droid kicked up.
Din snorts. “If I still had the Crest, I’d be offering you a spot on my crew.” There was no crew, but he would make something work to have you there with him. Fixing the ship and sleeping in his bunk.
“Yeah? You’d want me making a mess on your ship?” You tease, knowing he’s being serious but you know if you let yourself give in to that fantasy, you’ll both get hurt. “I doubt I could squeeze in with the mech.” You chuckle, a little nervous about how intense this has become. You’d go with him, you know you would and that’s terrifying.
“You’re good with the kid.” He’s noticed that too, not just how good you fuck. Right now it’s not feasible, not with his mission. “But I doubt you would want to go to Mandalore.” Hell, he doesn’t want to go, but he needs to.
You are surprised at his mission, “you are going to Mandalore? But I thought - I thought it was destroyed?” You frown, remembering the stories you were told as a little girl.
“It was.” He walks over to the tool rack and puts the ratchet spanner back. “I have to see what is left and find the living waters.” He doesn’t know why he is telling you this, but he does.
You watch him inspect the tools and you continue working on the droid. When you are finally done reprogramming, you rebuild the mech and within moments, it beeps while it comes back to life. The child tilts his head in response, cooing in excitement and you turn to look at the Mandalorian, wishing you could see his face. You are finished with the task he assigned which means he is free to leave.
Din looks around the bay for a moment before he walks over to you. He takes credits out of his belt and hands them to you. “For the repairs.” He murmurs. When you take them, he steps closer. “Close your eyes.” He orders, deciding that he’s going to give into his desires.
You are anxious but obey, closing your eyes and you are surprised when you feel his lips press against yours. His gloved hands cup your cheeks and the kiss is a little clumsy but your heart pounds in your chest. You squeeze your eyes together when he pulls back, a soft smile on your lips and you reach up to touch them, unable to believe he just kissed you.
“Tell Peli that she should keep you around.” Din walks over to Grogu and picks the baby up while the hoist puts the mech droid back in the Star fighter. He turns back towards you and wishes that there was something else wrong with the ship so he could stay longer. “I’ll be back.” It’s almost a promise but he knows you might not be here when he does come back. 
You open your eyes, knowing he can promise but he can’t guarantee. You already accepted that this would be a one time thing but it doesn’t stop your heart from aching. “I’ll be seeing you Mando.” You declare, hoping that you can say it and it will come true. Once Grogu is in his seat, you walk over to the Mandalorian. “Be safe.” You request, caressing his chest plate. 
He nods, “I’ll try.” 
You step back, biting your lip as he gets into the star fighter. This is likely the last time you’ll see him, certain Peli will kick you out before he returns. You wave when he lifts up, watching until the ship is but a spec in the sky.
****
It’s been six long months since he’s seen the dry, dusty planet but Din shifts slightly in his seat as he makes his way to Peli’s hanger. He wants to see if you are still there. The kid coos in his lap and Din hums. “Yeah, we’ll get you some food.” He promises, concentrating on the landing and trying not to look for you in the shade of the hanger. Once the engines are shut down, he opens the canopy and sets Grogu on the transparisteel before he climbs out.
Peli comes out, followed by her hoard of droids and she grins when she sees the ship. “Mando!” She greets him when the hood is opened and immediately takes the child, cooing at him and telling him she is going to get him something to eat. Mando can’t help but look around the hangar, looking for you, and he hears a clanging and you stumble through the doorway. 
“That stupid droid just squirted me with oil.” You curse as you wipe your face until you pause, seeing the Mandalorian standing there. “You’re back.” You gasp softly.
“I said I would be.” He walks towards you, the feeling in his chest telling him that what he had decided on the way here was right. He hadn’t made a bad choice. He reaches out when he’s close. Swiping away a spot you had missed before he drops his arm again. “Mesh’la.” He murmurs before he takes a deep breath and reaches up to remove his helmet.
Peli’s eyes widen and you inhale sharply, almost reaching out to stop him, but when his face is revealed, your heart pounds. “Mando-” You choke and he shakes his head. 
“Din. Call me Din.” He orders and you grin, reaching up to cup his cheeks. 
“Din.” You whisper, in awe of how handsome he is. His beautiful brown eyes staring at you like you’re the only thing in the galaxy.
“Well I missed something.” Peli huffs, but Din ignores her, leaning into your touch. 
“I have a lot to tell you, Mesh’la.” He hums. “But I need to make sure that what happened, what I thought you felt for me, wasn’t a fluke.” He bites his lip and turns to kiss your palm. “Would you leave with me?”
You glance over at Peli, feeling guilty for leaving her in the lurch. "Don't look at me, sweetheart. You got a handsome man asking you to leave with him? I know my answer." She grins and you bite your lip, turning back to Din. "Yes!" You squeal, surging forward to wrap your arms around his neck. "Yes, I would."
He chuckles. “There are some things you should know.” He warns you, pulling you close but looking into your eyes. They look so different without his helmet. “We- I am the leader of Mandalore.” He admits quietly. “I need- children. I need to lead my people from the shadows.”
You raise your eyebrows as you lean back to look at him, "you need - wow. That is - are you - do you-?" You stammer, unsure of how to ask the question. Does he want you to be the mother of his children or does he want a Mandalorian. "Do you - do you have someone in mind?" You ask quietly and Peli rolls her eyes.
“Mesh’la, I want you to come back with me.” He explains, reaching up to cup your cheek. “To marry and have children with me while I rebuild Mandalore.”
You are surprised but your heart pounds in your chest and you surge forward to press your lips to his. "Yes. Yes. I, Maker, this is crazy but I want that. I want to be yours, to have your children." You murmur against his lips.
“Well it’s about time you settled down. Mando!” Peli crows. “But hey, uh, would you consider leaving the kid with me?” She asks as she looks down at Grogu.
Din shakes his head. “The kid comes with me.” He tells the older woman as he smirks and leans in to kiss you again. “I’m also stealing your mechanic. She’s going to the the Manda’lor’s riddur.”
You grin, shocked but so happy to be his. You are excited for the future and you will be by the Mandalorian's side. His riddur. You look down to see the child who waddled over, offering you a goofy grin and you bend down to pick him up, holding him between you and Din. Your new family. "The Manda'lor's riddur. I like that." You smile up at Din. 
"Just remember to name one of your kids Peli." Your boss claps, a wide smile on her face. 
"Middle name." Din compromises and Peli pouts, making you giggle. Din never imagined a droid would help him find his riddur but now he finds he loves the mech that rides in his ship who beeps happily at the new couple.
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siempre-bucky · 2 years
Text
Take Me to Bed
Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Fem!Reader
Summary: you swore off sleeping with Navy men, not wanting to be the subject of their locker room talk. Harvard opens his mouth about you and Jake's ready to take him to an early grave.
warnings: brief mentions of smut
wc: 1.4k
a/n: soft defensive boyfriend Jake? Yess. Sorry to Harvard my baby boi
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The sounds of the waves were like music tonight, or you thought they were. All you could hear was the muffled jukebox from inside and the low groans Jake emitted as his lips attacked the side of your neck. His strong hands firmly held you in place by your hips, his knee slotted in between your legs. “Jake,” you whined as he dragged his teeth over a sensitive spot. 
He slowly pulled away and looked at you with lust in his dark green eyes. You loved this look, you’d never tell him or it’d go straight to his head. “Let me take you home tonight, darlin’,” he flirted, his voice low and accent thick. His tanned face was inches from yours, the mint on his lips faintly entering your airways. Still didn’t hold a candle to his cologne that was simply intoxicating. 
“Jake,” you sighed as if you were scolding him like a child. He frowned, his dimples no longer in sight. “No.” 
The aviator bit down on his lower lip, rejection over these past few months had been becoming easier but it still stung. “I could show you a good time,” he chuckled, bringing one of his hands up to cup your cheek. 
Your lovesick expression faded, looking up at the sky solemnly before pushing him away. He retreated and put his hands on his hips in annoyance. “Jake we do this every time, you know I’m going to tell you no.” You lurched off the wall and started to make your way back inside the Hard Deck, thinking that you’d once again successfully managed to keep Jake out of your pants. 
“You know I don’t want to just sleep with you, Y/N,” he huffed. You stopped walking as you sensed the irritation in his tone. “That’s not my intention—” 
“I know,” you interrupt, turning back around to look at him standing in the golden light of the lamp. “I know what your intentions are, and uncharacteristically I actually believe you,” you pouted, looking down at the sandy floor that divided you. 
This all happened months ago when you and Jake were assigned to the uranium mission. He was still the same cocky pilot from your first squadron, but somehow he became more of that southern gentleman he always claimed he was over the years. Sweet dates that ended with kisses on cheeks and late-night drives along the coast with his fingers intertwined with yours that rested in your lap. He respected your space, never pushing or questioning why you didn’t want to have sex with him—until now. 
“Why won’t you let me have sex with you? Make love, fuck, or whatever you want to call it?” Jake swallowed hard, clenching his jaw so he wouldn’t lash out. 
You took in a deep breath, the salt air helping calm you as you walked up to him, crossing your arms over your chest as a means of protection. “I don’t sleep with guys in the Navy,” you confessed. 
“You- you what? Why?” He raised his eyebrows in confusion, cocking his head. 
“The walls are extremely thin in those locker rooms, Jake. I hear all you guys talk about the girl you had in bed the previous night and the disgusting things you say about them. How they felt around your cock, what you rated their performance, judging them when you finally got their clothes off,” you spat. Jake knew you weren’t directly talking to him, in his distant past he joined in the locker room talk, but he grew up a little unlike some of the guys walking around Top Gun. 
He bobbed his head as he listened, allowing you to finish. Your face had softened, your lower lip quivering as you desperately tried to remain stone-faced, “I won’t be the subject of that—I won’t- I won’t do it no matter how much I like you.” 
You liked him, but you didn’t trust him, he noted. That was fair, you knew him more than most people; his reputation preceded him, it still hung over him. “Hey, hey, hey,” he cooed, putting his hand on your shoulder and gently squeezing it. “I wouldn’t do that to you, whatever happens behind closed doors stays there,” he tried to reassure you. You looked away again, you wouldn’t succumb to the glimmering green eyes of Jake Seresin. 
“I wanna believe you,” you said weakly, pulling out of his grasp. 
He stood by your side, taking your hand, “Let me drive you home, kiss you on the front porch, and I’ll go to my home where I’ll fall asleep dreaming of you,” he offered charmingly, his cocky smirk returning to his handsome face. You could ignore the eyes, but you couldn’t ignore the charm. 
“Take me home, Bagman.” 
— 
Jake tiredly sat on the wooden bench of the locker room after the day's training session, his clean t-shirt sticking to his still damp skin. He sat there with a towel over his hair, trying to get rid of the beads of water that clung to the blond ends. Fritz and Harvard were loudly talking about their time at the bar last night behind him. “Did you take that chick home?” Fritz egged on, wagging his eyebrows. 
“Her ass was a solid nine out of ten, of course the fuck I did,” Harvard snickered from his locker. “Should’a seen the way she rode me.” 
Jake stood up abruptly, silently walking over to his locker trying to avoid their conversation. 
“Hangman,” Fritz hummed with a smirk. Jake looked at him through the reflection of the small mirror that hung on the door of his green locker, and he knew Fritz could see the annoyed look he wore.  “What’s the deal with you and Circe?” He stilled at the mention of your call sign, his eyebrows beginning to furrow. 
Don’t entertain him, he thought angrily to himself. He decided on shrugging as he put his dog tags around his neck. 
“You fuck her yet?” Yale chimed in from the showers. 
The tall man scowled, “Doesn’t matter,” he answered shortly. 
Harvard smirked and sauntered over, his frame becoming closer in the mirror. “That’s a shame man, she looks like she puts out. You gotta tell us what her tits loo-” 
Jake slammed the locker shut and whipped around, the room falling to a quick silence, eyes locked on the two men. The blood roared in his ears, a burning red flush rose to his cheeks.  Harvard remained ‘chill’ as Hangman angrily got in his face. He understood why you didn’t want to sleep with him, he didn’t want your name mixed in with a bunch of assholes  “You say one more fucking thing about her and I will put you in a grave,” he threatened lowly, the rasp in his voice sent a chill through Harvard’s spine. 
“She’s just a girl man, we all talk about them. If she’s a prude you can just tell us,” he chuckled. Jake’s fist rose and sudden shouts of the men rang out. Rooster, bless him, walked out of the shower just in time to catch Jake’s wrist with the hand that wasn’t holding up his towel. 
“I’ll break your fucking nose!” Jake shouted among the other voices. 
“Alright! Alright! Calm the fuck down!” Rooster shouted, pushing back Harvard by his puffed-out chest. 
“Jesus. Relax,” Harvard laughed, rolling his eyes at Jake.
The two men were locked in a bitter stare-down as they were separated. Jake grabbed his stuff hastily and looked at Harvard one more time, “If I hear her call sign, her name, or anything about her out of you, son, I will rip your lips off,” he warned before opening the door and exiting. 
He stormed out of the room, barreling down the hallway with his sights on the doors. “Jake!” your sweet voice called, echoing through the empty hall. He turned and his stiff muscles relaxed, his lips turning up into a smile as you hurried over. You had that power over him, no matter how angry he was, you managed to make him smile. 
“You’re still here, sweetheart? Thought you were already done for the day,” he smiled, eyeing you up and down in your flight suit. You stood there for a moment, looking up at him with an unreadable look on your face, your fingers fidgeting at your side. 
You shook your head and lunged forward, gripping the sides of his face and pulling him down for a searing kiss that rivaled any kiss you two have had before. “Y/N-” he breathed as you pulled away.  
“I heard you and Harvard,” you broke out into a wide grin, “you defended me, Hangman.” you giggled as you punched him in the arm. He winced and grabbed his bicep to protect it from your fist. 
“The walls are thin,” he whispered, remembering what you had said the night before. You nodded and allowed him to wrap his arms around your waist, his duffle bag falling to the floor with a soft thud. 
“I can’t believe you did that,” you marveled, trying to suppress happy giggles from escaping. 
“No one talks about my girl that way, I’ll put them all in an early grave before they disrespect you,” he told you firmly, his eyes staring into yours in hopes that you would believe him, trust in him. 
You ran your hands up his arms and stopped at the base of his neck, your thumbs swiping along the light-colored stubble that was growing in. “Take me to bed, Jake,” you said to him, your eyes falling to his lips. You had the rule of no Navy men for far too long… and Jake? He was the perfect person to break it with. A man that defended your honor instead of fluffing his own ego in front of his friends. You liked this Jake, maybe you loved him. 
His eyes grew wide, his expression brightening as you spoke, “Really? Are you sure? Y/N, we don't have to, you don’t have to,” he wheezed. 
“I mean it, Seresin,” you grinned, “don’t make me regret it.” 
He kissed you swiftly before taking your hand and guiding you back towards the locker room, “Hurry and get your things, you can shower at my place,” he commanded playfully, kissing your hand before letting you go. He blushed, looking at you softly as you looked at him happily one last time before retreating behind the doors.
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thatsdemko · 9 months
Text
the lakes - l.stroll
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masterlist
requested: y - “his lake house in Canada. You’re there cooped up for the summer break and had all your friends there for a few days but the remainder of the time is for just the two of you. it’s swimming and fucking for like a week straight lol.”
pairings: Lance stroll x fem!reader
warnings: not intended for minors + mentions of oral(f receiving)
a/n: enjoy!!
the silence is deafening. nothing but the sound of the ocean waves, birds chirping, are what you can hear for miles.
the last of your friends have left the stroll family summer cottage. it’s been weeks since you’ve heard this silence, and it’s oddly unfamiliar to your ears.
you’re seated in a rocking chair on the wrap around porch. towel covering your bottom half as you watch Lance emerge from the pool.
he lifts himself up over the edge of the pool. back muscles flexing to lift his weight up and over. you watch the water splash onto the pavement around him as he trots his way over to where you sit.
“here.” you stand up from the chair and wrap the towel around his broad shoulders. a smile creeps onto his face as he takes your seat, his hands extend outward for you to sit in his lap.
“you’re wet, Lance.” you chuckle but accept defeat and let him pull you into his lap. you feel the damp water against his trunks bleed into your jean shorts knowing you’ll just have to change for dinner.
“for you? yeah I am.”
you scoff, pushing your hand into his chest. a little heat spreads across your cheeks, but a fire is burning in between your thighs. you can’t recall the last time he riled you up like this. it must’ve been before the summer break began at the stroll summer cottage.
he pulls you closer into his lap. his wet chapped lips press against your cheek, “it’s been weeks.” he says it like he’s been counting. and knowing him he probably has.
you can feel heat spread across your cheeks as his lips move down to your collarbone, “I’ve missed you.” he whispers against your skin. you can feel the throb in your pussy. it’d be a lie to say you don’t miss him too. you miss his skin against yours, his hot breath in tickling your ear. it’s all warming you up.
“we’ve got the whole place.” you say matter of fact. your fingers trail down his wet chest, “I’ve been wanting to scream your name for awhile.”
he exhales a short laugh. you can feel him shifting uncomfortably underneath you, “yeah? I’ve missed hearing you.”
he grabs a hold of your chin with his index finger and thumb. he turns you to face him, eyes and lips inches apart, “I’ve missed your sweet sounds.”
the red hue is inching its way to make your face as red as a tomato. you shove your head into the crook of his neck letting out a giggle.
“don’t be shy now.” he says. you feel his fingers slip under your shirt. they just ghost your skin making your back arch into his wet chest, lips colliding with his on purpose. his fingers unhook your bikini top, while his other hand readjusts you in his lap so your legs now straddle him.
“we can’t do this out here.” you pull away from the kiss. index finger held to those wet pink plump lips, you feel his jaw relax. his mouth opens and his tongue swirls across your finger, lips sucking off your sweet and sandy taste.
“we can do whatever we want. it’s our house, we make the rules.”
laying poolside, your back is up towards the sun. eyes glued to the pool where Lance swims laps. you’re right against the edge, laying on your warm towel sipping one of lances beers.
the past twenty-four hours had been nothing but pure sex. from the dinning room table all the way to the tile floor in the shower. there was no signs of stopping, the fire between you both was not to be messed with.
“you like what you see?” he swims to the other end of the pool where you’re laying. head bobbing up and down out of the water, droplets of chlorine drip down his face.
“always.” you lean closer to the edge to meet him. swollen lips connecting for a brief second before he tries to pull away, but your hands are intertwined in the hair at the nape of his neck, “where do you think you’re going?” you whisper.
“no where.” he says pulling himself out of the water and onto your towel, “I’m going wherever you go.” he moves across your body and you turn with him, resting your burnt back against the damp towel.
“take me there.” you spread your legs wide for him, all he had to do is untie the bikini bottoms that are loosely held against your hips.
he undoes the loose knots and tosses the bottoms aside. he’s careful to not let chlorine drip into your folds as his tongue starts to lap your folds.
he’s careful and delicate with each swipe and flick. he nudges his tongue with your tight cunt. your fingers try to grip his wet hair, but they slip right through. you’re stuck clenching the edge of the pool and a part of your towel.
every inch of you itches and squirms. he’s never one to full send, his careful placements of his tongue drive you until you’re dizzy and begging.
“Lance, please.” you beg, pathetic whines leave your lips that you’re sure the neighbors could hear. he chuckles, the vibrant against you earns another whimper.
“come for me.” he breathlessly whispers. he’s so engulfed in every inch of you. every dripping of you tastes so sweet, he has a hard time cleaning you up all by himself.
he lifts himself up and back into the pool in one swift motion. it’s almost like he wasn’t just eating you out two seconds ago. he extends a hand to help you, and you gladly take it allowing your body to cool off from the warmth that spread all through you.
you’re turned away from him when suddenly you see his swim trunks join your bikini bottoms at the side of the pool. you swivel your head in his direction as he swims up behind you, “only fair I join you.”
the sand in your cheeks is irritating your skin. you’re trying your best to make a half attempt at being sexy on the beach with your thong bikini bottoms, but it’s no use. Lance is still high on last nights skinny dipping adventure that rung you dry.
it’d been a whole week of pure sex. any place that you could do it, you were. which even meant now, on the private beach at the lake.
he’s laying face up. cooling his body off from the cold waters of Lake Ontario. you’re beside him, hand cupping the cold glass beer bottle staring him down. he looks so peaceful under the sun. a smile on his face, he’s got to spend every minute with you doing all the things he couldn’t stop thinking about with the company of your friends.
you’re feeling devilish, and in desperate need to get your bikini bottoms off. you set the cold bottle into the sand and climb your way over to his towel.
you remove your bikini top and toss it along side your towel. you throw one of you legs over lances lap straddling him.
he surprisingly doesn’t wake, but you can feel his cock hardening underneath you. you smirk to yourself carefully rolling your hips forward, crotch rubbing against his wet trunks. that outta wake him up, you think to yourself.
you do it again. pushing down with more emphasis this time, you watch his eyes jolt open. it’s a sight to see, a happy one in fact. your large breasts in his face, and you riding his dick. he can’t be mad at how you’ve woken him up.
“again.” he says, this time grabbing your hips guiding you the way he wants it. you follow his lead, rolling them forward and then backwards. you do this for a couple of minutes at a slow pace before picking up. breasts beginning to bounce.
he cups one of them with his hand and gives it a squeeze. he watches your head tilt back. you can feel the itch of the thong riding up your vagina. your pussy is pulsating.
your fingers itch to grab his cock and shove it in you. your manicured nail runs down his abs stopping just above the strings of his trunks.
“do it,” he says, you can hear the whimper in his voice. he’s trying to sound demanding, but ultimately fails under your touch. his heart is thudding against his chest watching you fish around for him.
you finally grab his wet hard cock and shove it in. you ride him nice and slow, hips still moving in the forward and backward motion he likes.
you let out a throaty moan. you feel like every part of you has been stretched and pull for weeks straight. you thought your body would be so tired of this, but it’s the exact opposite. you crave lance in more than just any way. you clench around him, fingernails digging into his bare red chest. you can feel your legs are giving out but you keep riding.
his fingers are creating bruises against your skin. he’s about to come. you know damn well how to make him feel so good, it makes him hard even more. when his eyes flicker up, he sees the sweat built up against your forehead, the beads drip down your nose, your chest is visibly rising and falling.
“come in me, please.” it comes out so faint. Lance isn’t sure he heard you quite right until you repeat it one more time with meaning, “cum. inside me.”
he doesn’t hold back, he finally exhales a relieved sigh and helps you off his body. he grabs a couple of ice cubes from the cooler and places them all over your sweaty body.
your eyelids flutter open, you barely have the strength to look up at him. a whole week of sex didn’t sound bad at the start, but you both couldn’t wait to rest.
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rebelliousstories · 4 months
Text
Childhood
25 Days of Ficmas
Relationship: Poly! Lost Boys x Reader
Fandom: Lost Boys
Request: No
Warnings: Fluff, Mentions of Vampirism, Brief Angst
Word Count: 2,404
Masterlist: Here
Summary: It’s Christmas time in the cave, and the Lost Boys mate is making sure that nothing ruins it for Laddie. Nothing and no one.
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Christmas in California. There is truly nothing like it. White snowy landscapes were traded in favor of warm white sandy beaches. Evergreens switched out for palm trees, and shorts and a shirt were considered instead of a winter coat. The boardwalk was as lively as ever. People looking to do their shopping and celebrate the festivities. And the infamous band of Lost Boys were there on the prowl. The boys rode up with their passengers, and scanned their eyes around. Far more locals were around this time of year, but that still did not mean that there were not plenty of tourists to feed from. It just meant they had to be a bit more careful. Star unwrapped her arms from around David and dismounted his bike, while Laddie was assisted off of Dwayne’s.
“Stay together this time. I don’t need Laddie coming to find us because you ditched him.” David called out before the duo left. Star turned back and shot him a dirty look, but said nothing as she turned her attention back to Laddie, and walked them around the boardwalk. Marko rubbed his hand across the arms that were wrapped around his waist from behind, feeling the jacket of his lover. She squeezed her arms around his once, twice, and then began to get off the bike with some assistance from the cherub faced vampire.
Paul came over quickly and stole the young lady away from Marko. Dwayne laughed at the pair as they briefly stumbled before moving to go down the boardwalk. She teased the lion haired man about messing up her makeup when he went in for a kiss, but it did not stop him from repeating the motion several times until he felt satisfied that he had gotten all the attention he deserved.
“Paul, you saw me a few minutes ago before we left.” She giggled out, as said vampire was placing many kisses to her neck and chest.
“Yeah, but Marko got to have you for the whole ride over. I missed my babe!” He exclaimed loudly, showing not a care in the world for anything around them.
“Paul, give her back!” And thus, a tug-of-war game was started between the terror twins of the pack. They kept taking the female from the other and fighting to keep her with them. This lasted for several minutes until she was suddenly taken away from the two. Her arms were secured around the naked chest of her dark haired lover. Dwayne embraced the girl and swatted away the hands of Paul and Marko as they tried to reach out. But before long, she was once again passed around. This time, into David’s waiting arms.
“Boys, behave.” He drawled at the two vampires who were still fighting nearby. They paid him no mind, yet continued to hit and grab at each other.
“Boys!” David barked, causing the two to stop in their tracks. Paul had Marko’s ponytail in his hand while Marko was wrapping him in a headlock.
“Stop fighting like children and get on with our night.” He stated slowly and calmly. The blondes released each other with a quick apology from one another. The group walked along the boardwalk once again. As they walked, the female kept switching whose arms she was in as to not have anymore instances like before. She kept watching families taking their children shopping for Christmas decorations, and kids lighting up when they saw toys they wanted Santa to bring them. It made her think about Laddie, the little brother of the pack. Her feet came to a halt as she watched little kids on the merry go round eagerly talking about Christmas Day. Dwayne came to stand behind her and rested his hands on her wait, his chin on her shoulder, and his eyes on the children.
“What’s eating your mind, princess?” He wondered quietly as he pressed a kiss to her neck from where his head was.
“Has Laddie ever had a proper Christmas?” She inquired of her lover, who was arguably the closet to the boy.
“I don’t think so. At least not with us. We’ve never really thought about it.” Dwayne murmured into his lover’s neck. She turned in his arms and wrapped her own around his neck.
“Why don’t we do that for his this year, huh? Presents, a tree, making him go to bed early so Santa can visit? He’d love it.” She gushed as the children in front of the couple continued to excitedly talk to each other.
“I’m all for it. I’m sure the others will be on board. Except we do have to deal with David.” Dwayne trailed off thinking about the bleach blonde vampire. They did not know how he would react to having a Christmas celebration but it was for Laddie; hopefully he would get on board.
Neither one brought up the subject the rest of the night. They did not bring it up when they returned to the boys, nor when Star and Laddie had eventually rejoined them. Laddie kept animatedly explaining how he actually was with Star the whole time, and they even took some spare change and rode a couple rides on the boardwalk. There was not much talking availability during the race down the beach, with everyone whooping and hollering as wind, sand, and sea water whipped around. When they made it down into the cave, Laddie had expressed an interest in going to bed early. The two women in there made sure he ate a little bit before tucking him in to bed together. When they returned, David beckoned their lover over and grabbed her hand before dragging her into his lap.
“Kitten,” he drawled out lazily, “Dwayne tells me you have something to ask of us?” His baby blue eyes pierced hers, and forced her to maintain eye contact with him. She could not look away from him even if she wanted to.
“Yes. Um, Laddie hasn’t had a proper Christmas, yeah? Not with us, or probably his original family. I just figured we could give him a good Christmas this time around. Plus it’s our first Christmas together. What do you say?” She looked out hopeful amongst the group of vampires and the one half. Dwayne looked pleased, Paul was calm kind of excited, Marko was chewing his thumb, Star was happy, and David was deep in thought. It was several minutes before anyone spoke.
“Well, is that all?” David piped up with. Her attention was brought back to the man whose lap she was stationed in. He held a small smirk on his face as he took one hand from his lover’s side and moved it to her face.
“If the kitten wants a Christmas for Laddie and us, who are we to deny her?” His words were so soft that her eyes shut without a second thought, and her face leaned deeper into the gloved hand against her face.
“Is that really the best idea?” Marko questioned from behind his hand that he was still chewing on. A pen drop could be heard throughout the cave. Turning around to face her cherub faced lover, she spoke up.
“And why would it not be a good idea to do this?” Her tone turned deadly as she stared him down. Marko sputtered and tried to come up with some sort of an answer but was unable to. She left her comfy vampire chair and made her way over to the fountain where he had found a spot to sit. Marko was still stuttering out a reply when she made it to him.
“Let me make one thing clear,” she placed her face right in front of his, “this is Laddie’s first real Christmas. This is my first Christmas with you guys. I want to see Laddie’s eyes light up when he gets presents and see that Santa has visited him. If anyone ruins that joy for that little boy o help me!” She hissed at her lover. Marko looked thoroughly scared for the first time in several decades. David began to chuckle which drew the pair’s attention to him. His hands clapped themselves together before throwing them open in a wide gesture.
“She’s in charge here, Marko. I wouldn’t question her. Kitten has claws it would seem.” He laughed, and lit a cigarette as he watched Marko nod and concede to their lover.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I just haven’t celebrated in so long. I’m afraid I’ve forgotten how.” Marko dropped his eyes down to the floor as his thumb found its way into his teeth yet again. His lover’s delicate hand caressed his cheek, before dropping down to his chin and bringing it up to her eyes.
“It’s like riding a bike, Marko. You never truly forget.” He smiled as he took in her words. That one smile let her know; this was going to be the best Christmas ever.
~
“Will you tell me another story?” Laddie begged as he laid in his little nest in the cave.
“I’ve already told you three, little one. How many more can I tell you?” She questioned, dropping ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas down beside Laddie’s bed.
“Please! Just one more!” He pleaded, making his eyes wide.
“Oh no. Did Paul teach you puppy eyes?” She raised an eyebrow teasingly at the boy.
“Sure did!” The distant shout of said vampire made both of them chuckle. She reached down and picked up another Christmas book to read to Laddie.
“How about ‘How the Grinch Stole Christmas?’” She asked, showing him the front. He nodded eagerly but quickly tried to hide a yawn that threatened to past his lips.
“Or, you can go to bed now, and Santa will visit you to give you presents?” Her request made Laddie yawn again, and snuggle himself further into the covers. She leaned over and placed a kiss on his head.
“They’ll come say goodnight. Don’t worry.” She left and quickly went into the main part of the cave where everyone was busy moving presents in under the tree. Dwayne and Star saw her leave the little nest, and quickly abandoned their presents in favor of going to say goodnight to the boy. Instead, she took over placing the last few presents from herself and the pack all around the tree.
The cave was decorated with tinsel and garland, and little stockings hung around the fountain. A big Christmas tree with pretty silver and gold decorations littered the area nearest the wall. Now, with the addition of the presents, everything looked like a proper family Christmas. Each of her boys came over to give her a kiss goodnight before returning to their perch. Dwayne was the last to come to her, and he lingered just a little bit longer than normal, but said nothing. Her boys retreated further into the cave to escape the rising sun, and she could not wait to see Laddie’s face in a couple hours.
~
Just before sunset, she was awoken. Not by anything in particular, but just the general excitement of the day ahead. She waited by the entrance of the cave for the day to end, and was pleasantly surprised when Marko was the first one to greet her as night fell.
“Good evening, Bella.” He whispered into her hair as he pulled her close in his embrace.
“Merry Christmas, Marko.” A look of realization came across his face.
“Merry Christmas. I had almost completely forgotten.” He admitted, before letting her go in favor of going into the main lobby to sit in front of the tree. Paul greeted her next, complete with his usual sloppy kisses when he did not see her or have her in his arms when they were apart for more than a minute.
“Merry Christmas babe!” Paul exclaimed loudly, and moved to go bother Marko in the lobby.
“Merry Christmas, princess.” Dwayne embraced her and pressed a soft kiss to her hair.
“Merry Christmas, Dwayne.” She leaned back and appeared her place in his arms. Just as her eyes slipped close, a hand came up to her face. Her bleach blonde vampire had finally awoken.
“Merry Christmas, David.” She wrapped one arm around her other lover while remaining in Dwayne’s arms. David slipped closer to the two in front of him.
“Laddie. Laddie, wake up little one. It’s Christmas.” The young halfling rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he sat up.
“What? what’s going on?” He was still confused this early in the evening. Everything to him was still groggy.
“Merry Christmas, Laddie.” That seemed to wake up the boy quickly because the next thing the woman knew, was his arms wrapped around her neck.
“Merry Christmas! Did Santa come?” Laddie wondered excitedly.
“Why don’t you go out there and see?” She teased, and watched the boy excitedly sprint out of the nest, to the lobby. He let out a small yell as he saw what was before him.
“Dwayne!” He ran over and hugged the man, much like he had done to his lover before.
The rest of the day was spent with presents being passed around and opened. Laddie kept getting more and more excited with every present he opened. At some point, she ended up on the couch with all four of her lovers around her as they watched Laddie play with his toys near their tree.
“I wish every Christmas could be like this.” She said wistfully, eyes somewhat glazed over as she watched Laddie. David turned to Marko who left her feet briefly and returned with his hands behind his back.
“Maybe it can.” David smiled at her as he took the object behind Marko’s back, who returned to her feet as he was previously. A bejeweled bottle sat in his grasp, and intrigued her as he took his own swig. The ornate bottle was passed around the group of vampires before it finally got back to her. She stared for a long while at it, before turning to David who never strayed his gaze from her own.
“Drink, love. Be one of us.” He whispered. The request so soft, yet so filled with hope. She knew that every Christmas would be a chance for them to revisit their childhood’s as it was also a way for Laddie to stay with his. Every Christmas from now on, was going to be that much richer.
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hotgirlmav · 1 year
Text
Cyrano — Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader
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Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Female!Reader (18+)
Description: PART 2 OF PARTING GIFT! One night stands were never truly your thing. After passing your college midterms and celebrating at a bar, though, a one night stand ended up being just what you wanted. You picked the hottest naval aviator in the whole building and soon learned that he wanted you just as badly as you wanted him. He was set to deploy the next day, and you just wanted a cheap fix. What better way to ruin the convenience of a one night stand than him getting you pregnant?
Warnings: Explicit language, sexual undertones, abundance of angst, depictions of anxiety, vomit, alcohol, pregnancy, mentions of abortion, brief arguing, mentions of death, bits of fluff, Maverick and Iceman mention because I am WEAK.
Word Count: 4,684.
A/N: IGNORE THE FACT THAT I SAID I WOULD POST THIS LAST NIGHT, I TOOK A NAP THAT TURNED INTO ME SLEEPING FOR FIVE HOURS 😭 I also just wanted to take a quick second to thank you all for the response I received on the first part. The amount of comments, reblogs, and messages I got was just absolutely insane. You all genuinely make writing worth it. You have my heart.
Requests are still open!
From the very moment his words went through the phone and to your ear, you were in a state of panic.
Though it had only been a few days since he told you that he was coming, the thought of Rooster’s arrival left a deep wound right in the center of your chest. Fear had been your closest companion ever since you found out about your pregnancy, and over the past number of days, the dreaded nuisance of the emotion refused to part from you. You woke up with it at your bedside, you traveled with it throughout the day, and despite your attempts being to no prevail, you tried to make your peace with it at night.
While currently standing in front of the mirror in your bedroom, every emotion you had felt since you found out about your pregnancy was amplified.
Fear. Guilt. Sympathy for the baby inside of you. Slight excitement. You knew the situation wasn’t exactly ideal, but you refused to not be at least a little excited over what would end up being your child. You refused to let your baby suffer for what you believed to be your recklessness.
Only thirty minutes prior to your silent session in front of your own reflection, Rooster had informed you that he was quite ready to come get you for dinner. You had no idea as to whether he was very far from your house, very close to it, or even if he remembered where it was. In all fairness, he had only been there once.
Almost like he waited for you to doubt him, the sound of a knock outside the door pierced your ears in a way that might as well have been an explosion. You visibly flinched at the faint sound of his knuckles briefly hitting your front door and cleared your throat, trying to suppress the nausea you felt induced both by your baby and by the father. How fitting.
“Just one second!” You found yourself calling out to him, frantically looking around your bedroom. You rushed out to the living room and began to toss everything around in a way that would make it seem just a bit neater, pure panic coursing through your veins.
It took about a minute more until you raced to the door and sharply inhaled through your mouth, practically holding your breath once you opened the door.
Your heart completely stopped at the sight of him. Tanned, sun-kissed skin practically illuminating under the light provided by the sunset, hair so sandy yet golden. His mustache was very neatly trimmed in a way that told you he must have spent quite a few minutes on it, and for that, you fought the urge to grin.
His hazel eyes scanned you as his full lips curled into a cheeky smile, just before he furrowed his eyebrows. His large hand gripped the doorframe as he met your eyes with his own for a moment, then broke the intense eye contact just a second later, leaning his head inside of the doorway. Due to the fact that he was quite a bit taller than you, it was easy for him to do so.
His eyes scanned the now tidy living room, answering his internal question as to just what took you so long to open the door. The man was still essentially towering over you as he turned his head back to your face, gazing right down at you with furrowed eyebrows.
“You didn’t tidy up this well when I railed you.” He remarked in a way that made you let out a small gasp, earning a genuine chuckle from him when you swatted at his chest. Strangely enough, all of your panic evaporated into thin air once he spoke.
“Since you don’t appreciate my efforts, I shouldn’t have cleaned up at all. I should have made even more of a mess.” You teased him in a light tone, your lips already curling into a grin. With how good he looked, you refused to even try to fight it.
Rooster inhaled sharply, turning his head away from you as his face twisted in playful disappointment.
“Damn, and to think that I made a reservation for us.” He jokingly scoffed, shaking his head. He couldn’t even fight the smile on his face.
Your grin was playfully mischievous. You raised one eyebrow before you sharply inhaled as if to mimic the way he did before, pursing your lips slightly.
“Take one of your other girls. This ship,” you began in a light, yet firm tone as you used your index finger to point back and forth between the pair of you. “Has sailed.”
Rooster let out a chuckle that made your knees want to buckle, further proving to you just how easy it must have been for him to get you into bed that night. What he said next, though, that took the cake.
“I don’t want the other girls. I came here for you.” He told you so matter-of-factly, his tone reeking of casualness as he lifted his hand and momentarily stroked your cheek with his thumb.
From the way you couldn’t even fight the immediate beam that appeared on your face, Rooster let out a soft chuckle that came from deep within his chest. Your eyes rolled as your grin and your shyly flattered expression betrayed you, staring up at him through your eyelashes. You opened your mouth to jokingly insult him, but as your eyes landed on his face, you immediately found yourself stuck. At that moment, everything hit you like a ton of bricks.
The man in front of you was the father of your child.
You had only been considering his part in your pregnancy in a vague, common way, but everything was coming together in the most overwhelming way possible. Even if Rooster decided to have no part in your pregnancy and in the child’s life, your baby was permanently going to be partially made up of the man before you.
Noticing the way you fell silent, Rooster took the opportunity to take your smaller hand in his own, standing up straight. His grin remained intact on his beautiful face, blissfully unaware as to why you just fell silent.
“I will go fully fucking insane if they offer our table to someone else.” He casually chuckled under his breath as he motioned for you to come out, earning a small giggle from you as you did just that. Seeing as you had already been holding your purse, all you needed to do was lock the door.
After doing so, he led you to the quite beautiful Bronco, causing your lips to curl into a grin. You knew it was an older model, but it was taken care of as if it was brand new.
The car ride there went by smoothly. A few jokes were exchanged, your hand was being held, and the heightened part of your libido that came with pregnancy was really kicking your ass. You couldn’t look at the man for more than two seconds without shifting in your seat, causing you to look out of the window almost the entire time.
By the time you two had arrived, your table was perfectly ready for the pair of you. You silently thanked your lucky stars, as you just didn’t need him being even slightly cranky when you informed him of the parting gift he left you just two months prior.
You two sat down with ease and ordered soon after, but that wasn’t without any minor complications.
“Oh, no wine for me, please.” You quickly added once you heard Rooster order a bottle, earning a confused expression from the man. Even with the way your heart was skipping a beat, you still couldn’t bring yourself to make eye contact with him. His furrowed eyebrows and his broad shoulders under his open Hawaiian shirt just made you excited, and that was not an issue you wanted to deal with.
“Cramps.” You quickly excused yourself to aid his confusion, earning a look of understanding and a nod. Silently, you thanked yourself for the fact that Rooster was just another brainless man. You had to both love him and hate him for it.
Once you ordered your drink of choice and the server left, you tilted your head and sat back in your seat. You watched him sip the complimentary water that was given to you both, causing you to press your legs together under the table. You knew that if you didn’t break the silence, you’d just pounce on him.
“Are you going to tell me your name, or am I going to keep having to call you Rooster?” You questioned in a light tone, your lips curling into a soft smile as he chuckled at your question.
“It’s Bradley. Bradley Bradshaw, Rooster is my callsign.” He informed you in a low tone, raising his eyebrows slightly as you began to rub his leg with your own under the table.
“Wait.” You immediately stopped, furrowing your eyebrows. “Bradley Bradshaw…? Brad Brad?”
Seeing that you were fighting the urge to laugh, the man couldn’t even resist a chuckle of his own and shot you a warning glare. “Don’t even start.”
You let a soft giggle escape your lips as you gazed over at him mindlessly, tilting your head. It was almost as if you completely forgot what you had to tell him.
“You don’t even know my name.” You told him with a playful huff, immediately reaching for the complimentary bread that was just begging to be eaten.
“Sure I do.” He responded, reaching for a piece of the bread at the exact same time.
“Yeah?” You challenged him with an amused expression. “What is it?”
Like clockwork, there was a cheeky little grin on his face as he popped a piece of the bread into his mouth. His eyebrows furrowed as a way to fake concern for you. “Why, you don’t know your own name?”
You couldn’t help but let out a genuine laugh at his response, shaking your head as his chuckle matched your own. “Asshole.”
After a few moments, your food arrived, and your thoughts began to remind you of just what was going on.
You were pregnant. Waiting any longer to tell the man wouldn’t have made any sense. He was sitting right in front of you, and God only knew when the next time that would happen would be.
Your eyes glossed over the man as he shoveled bites of food into his mouth, your head tilting to the side as your eyes furrowed slightly. Not even noticing the fact that your eyes were glued to his face, he spoke in between bites.
“I haven’t eaten since I landed. Don’t mind me eating this like I'm scared of it walking away.” He casually remarked, his lips curling into a grin as he wiped them with his napkin once he heard the sound of your light giggle.
It was no wonder why you even brought him home to begin with. He was charming, he was witty, he was funny, he was insanely attractive; Rooster truly was a million dollar man with the smile to match. Though it would just pain you to admit it, in the deepest recesses of your heart, you were glad that he was the partner you were given in such a tricky situation.
“No, no, don’t worry.” You attempted to reassure him, silently hoping that his remark wasn’t made out of any discomfort. “I’m just admiring you.”
Had the lighting in there not been so dim, you would have realized just how shyly Rooster grinned at your words. His body was slightly tense from the light form of flattery that you bestowed on him, proving to him that he truly did like you. Something about you just seemed so— different. So special.
Dinner went by smoothly. An incessant amount of flirting took place at that table, fueling your devious little crush on him. Had you not been haunted by the fact that you were carrying his baby and he was still yet to know, you wouldn’t have even considered not taking him home with you.
You two were just absolutely smitten with each other.
The ride home, though, was absolutely painful. Your chest felt very tight from the fact that you still hadn’t told him, and the warmth from his hand on your thigh could only hold you over for so long. Before you knew it, you were home. The opportunity was slipping through your fingertips.
The car came to a halt in front of your house, both relief and guilt washing over your body as it did so. Though you truly did come to love the feeling of being with Rooster, you missed a warmth from your home that even the sun could not provide. Had you not felt guilty about the fact that you still hadn’t told Rooster about the fact that you were about to be the mother of his child, being right outside of it would have drowned you in pure euphoria.
You wanted to scream. You wanted to throw the words over at him like a game of catch, but for the most aggravating reason in the world, you couldn’t. Your hand was finding its way to the door handle, despite the fact that you were silently screaming at yourself to spit it out.
Almost like he could hear you, you felt a large, warm hand gently grip yours before he pulled you over. Luckily, you had just taken your seatbelt off, so there would have been nothing to restrain you when you leaned over per his physical request.
Before you knew it, the warmest and most perfect pair of lips were pressed to yours, causing your heart to just melt inside of your chest. You lifted one of your hands and slowly pushed your fingers into his sandy blonde hair as his lips danced with yours, your eyes threatening to fill with tears. You just couldn’t fathom that being the last time you kissed him. That very well could have been the last good moment you two shared as people who liked one another, and not just as co-parents.
“What’s the matter, pretty girl?” He quietly asked with a playful grin once he detached his lips from yours, the volume of his voice mirroring the way it sounded the morning you last saw him. His long fingers were now gently massaging the very back of your scalp, your eyebrows furrowing at just how good it felt. He let out a small chuckle at your expression and pressed yet another peck to the very corner of your lips, small strands of hair from his mustache slightly tickling your skin. “Thought I’d just let you leave without giving me a kiss?”
Just like that, you felt a bolt of electricity shoot throughout your body. People all around the world walked across hot coals, went skydiving, and rode rollercoasters to replicate the adrenaline that just consumed you. For you, all it took was a small kiss from Rooster.
“Bradley, I’m pregnant.”
Silence. Pure silence.
The second the words hit the air, some might as well have dropped a bomb in the middle of the street. You wasted no time in retracting back to the passenger seat, studying the look of shock and confusion on his face.
“I know it’s confusing, I know you’re shocked. Trust me, I wasn’t exactly relieved and jumping for joy when I found out. I guess we were just too drunk to use protection, but—”
“It’s mine?” He cut you off in complete and utter surprise, his face looking awfully pale. Suddenly, your body was filled to the brim with rage.
“Who the fuck else’s would it be?” You couldn’t help but scoff, your eyebrows furrowing. You couldn’t stand the look of shock on his face. Being shocked about the baby, you understood, but being shocked that it was his? That is how he thought of you?
Rooster clearly did not enjoy your tone. He shot you a small glare as your sudden aggression filled the air, taking his keys out of the ignition. “Don’t do that. Don’t give me attitude; I have every damn right to be surprised.”
As much as you wanted to argue back, you knew that he was right. He truly did have every excuse to be surprised. Seeing as you essentially collapsed upon finding out, he was taking the news much better than you did.
“Why don’t you come inside?” You asked him in a very soft tone, earning another glance from him that made you want to implode. “I can make tea and we can talk about it.”
The silence that filled the air was deafening. At that moment, you just wanted to be completely sucked into the ground. You didn’t know if he was just going to shun you and send you on your merry way, but whatever it was, you wished he would just speak.
Very suddenly, he took his own seatbelt off and opened the door, getting out of the car. Before you could even think to open your own, he did it for you.
Even in his state of shock, he was a gentleman.
You pressed your lips together as if you were scared of what would come out if you didn’t. Your heart was pounding out of your chest as you offered him a small form of gratitude for helping you out of the car, quickly retrieving the key to your house from your purse. The sound of crickets filled the night, and the scent in the air signified that it would rain soon. You usually loved smelling it when the rain was on its way, but at that moment, you felt smothered by it.
After unlocking your door with your key, you stepped inside and immediately rid yourself of your shoes, not being able to suppress the small grunt of relief when your feet were free. You were only two months along in your pregnancy, but the small heels you wore to pair with your black dress made you want to chop your feet clean off.
You tossed your keys into the bowl you had tastefully placed on an end table next to the door, rubbing your own shoulder as you heard the sound of Rooster closing and locking the door. He took his time in removing his boots, figuring you taking your shoes off was just a house rule. Had you had just a moment to recognize what he did, you would have sobbed about how sweet he was and begun to unzip his jeans.
“Which kind of tea would you like?” You asked in a soft tone as you made your way to your kitchen, feeling the presence of the aviator behind you.
“Whatever you have is fine.” He told you in a way that was not exactly cold, but certainly not warm. Regardless of that, you opened one of the cabinets and took a small box outside of it, setting it on the countertop. Once you turned to fill the kettle with water, you furrowed your eyebrows at the fact that it was missing from the stove eye it usually rested on.
Your head turned once the sound of running water hit your ears, and your lips parted at the sight.
While you were getting the box full of teabags, Rooster took it upon himself to prepare the kettle.
You didn’t have to ask, you didn't request that of him. Hell, you didn’t even expect it from him. To be quite technical, you served no greater significance to him than a woman whom he had a one-night-stand with.
Well— aside from the fact that you were about to be the mother of his children, but still.
In your house, doing his part in an action that you offered to perform, he assisted you in making tea. He wanted to. He wasn’t asked to, nor was he forced. He just— wanted to.
You knew the action was minuscule, and you knew that taking it as seriously as you were was foolish. You knew that the way tears began to fill your eyes was a bit extreme, but you were hormonal, goddamn it. In your pregnant mind, this was quite literally the nicest thing anyone had ever done for you in your entire life.
The symbolism of it all was what made you ache like no other. After spending what felt like ages in complete and utter fear of how Rooster would react to your pregnancy, the small action of preparing the kettle washed it all away like a wave crashing onto the shore. You were almost certain that the man would run out on you, or that he would simply refuse to take responsibility for his part in the situation. You knew it was wrong to assume that about a man you hardly knew, but you couldn’t refrain from fearing the worst.
The second you saw him with that kettle, though, everything changed.
He showed up for you. He was there for you, and you didn’t even have to ask him to be. Deep down, you wanted to laugh at yourself for making something as simple as filling a kettle with water and putting it on the stove into such a profound sentiment. Despite wanting to do so, you could not bring yourself to it. Just from the way he was there for you in the moment, you knew he would be there for you in the long haul.
Both of you.
“My dad died when I was still pretty young.” He broke the silence as he placed the kettle back onto the stove eye, turning it onto a high setting after doing so. He didn’t dare to look you in the eye. He refused to let you see the pain in his, and he was petrified of seeing whatever was in yours.
Your face fell at his abrupt confession, your heart now twisting in guilt as you blurted out the first thing you thought. “How old were you?”
“Two.” He responded almost immediately, his hands resting on the edges of the countertop as he leaned his head down slightly. From the way he was standing, his back looked incredibly broad, as did his shoulders. You knew the timing was awful, but the fact that you could see the slight curvature of his back muscles through his not-so-thin sweater made your mouth water. You were glad he wasn’t able to see the way you were devouring him with your eyes.
Immediately feeling guilty for the way you were lusting over a grieving man, you deeply inhaled and decided to carry the discussion a bit further. You knew that him bringing up such a topic was to slightly cover the topic of how little he knew about fatherhood, so you decided to push. “Did you have a father figure?”
“I guess, yeah.” He responded in a low tone, clearing his throat as he stood up straight. Practically feeling Carole scold him for his impoliteness, he finally turned his body to face you and leaned back against the counter very slightly. “My Uncle Tom was around as much as he could be. It was mainly my Uncle P—”
He fell silent rather abruptly, causing you to furrow your eyebrows. Before you could question it, he finished the sentence that formerly hung in the air. “Maverick. My dad’s old friend, he was flying when my dad died.”
Your eyebrows raised at his last statement. His words seemed to hold quite a bit of weight, and you would be lying if you said you weren’t curious as to why that was. You knew that pushing the topic even further would result in something neither of you would like. “And your mother?”
“Died two years ago.” He responded to you in a cool, casual tone. The fact that you brought her up after she had just crossed his mind was too ironic for him to laugh at it.
Immediately, the corners of your lips curved downward into a frown. Despite his collected posterior, you knew that the man in front of you was nothing short of haunted. With two deceased parents and an estranged uncle that formerly served as a father figure, Bradley harbored emotional trauma that would make even the strongest people wince. No one deserved that. Least of all, him.
At least he had an Uncle Tom, though, right? He seemed nice. Everyone loves Uncle Tom.
You took a deep breath as you found yourself shuffling over to the taller pilot, his gaze now tiredly placed on yours. Both of you saw what the other was trying to hide. His pain, your fear; once they were formally acquainted with one another, they disappeared. Your arms snaked around his torso before you simply laid your head on his chest, your eyelids slowly falling shut.
The warmth from his body almost completely consumed you. Rooster wrapped both of his rather strong arms around you without so much as one word. The two of you stood in each other’s arms silently, both silently scared and comforted by the fact that only you two could understand what the other was going through. It was your first embrace not as just soon-to-be parents, but as two people who cared about one another. The baby that was growing in your belly essentially acted as a Cyrano, forcing and tricking you two to realize that you were meant to be more for one another than you formerly realized.
“I don’t know how I’ll do it.” You took it upon yourself to breathe the silence with a whisper, your eyes still closed as you listened to the melancholic sound of his heartbeat mixed with the faint sound of the kettle.
“We’ll just have to figure it out, I guess.” Rooster muttered lowly to you in a way that made your heart melt, crack, drop, and burst all at the same time.
You furrowed your eyebrows in pure awe of his words. You had never felt so held by someone in your life, both physically and metaphorically. You lifted your head from his chest and looked up at the man, your desperately relieved eyes meeting his. “We will?”
“I don’t know if you know this, but I don’t think we have a choice.” Rooster teased you in a way that made you let out such a warm giggle, the grin forming on his face turning such a scary moment into something of pure beauty.
“Thank you so much, Bradley.” You abruptly whispered to him, your eyes still wondrously peering into his as you did so. “Thank you for being this nice about all of this, I— I was so scared of how you’d react. I’ve been doing nothing but panicking since I found out.”
Your voice began to tremble midway through your sentence as the sheer horror and exhaustion that you had undergone since finding out began to flash throughout your mind. You couldn’t fight the tear that fell out of your eye as you spoke, and Rooster immediately took note of it.
Before he could do anything, however, the sound of the kettle whistling to indicate that it was ready startled both of you. The pair of you looked over at the same time before you let out a soft laugh at how it tore the moment to shreds, watching Rooster simply turn the stove off. He returned to his prior position and instantly wrapped his arms around you just as he did before, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head once you laid it on his chest again.
The words he whispered to you would be engrained in your memory for the rest of your life. Any time the trials and tribulations of motherhood threatened your peace and your sanity, his words came back to you like a moth to a flame, calming you down completely.
“You don’t need to panic, pretty girl. I’m here.”
Yes.
Yes, he was.
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harwinsgirl · 1 year
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Healing - Aemond Targaryen x Reader
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After Aemond is injured during a jousting tournament, you have been selected to tend to his wounds. The prince is not prepared to awaken to a feisty, unknown woman in his chambers who claims she’s there to care for him.
(Listen, Ser Harwin still owns my heart but this devilish war criminal has been plaguing my thoughts. I must banish him with a fic. Since some of you have asked to be tagged in Harwin fics I’m not gonna tag anyone here since it’s Aemond but please feel free to let me know if that’s something you’re interested in for the future! Some slight angst and fluff, tw for some brief trauma mentioned by the reader)
Prince Aemond had just beaten his twelfth jousting opponent in his father’s nameday tourney and he hadn’t even broken a sweat.
Despite his prowess, he did not have the same reputation for celebrating that his uncle was known for. It was common knowledge that the Prince felt that these events were beneath him and were a waste of his time. However, every now and again he would be persuaded to participate. The silver haired prince would defeat his challengers with speed and efficiency, earning raucous roars from the crowd each time a young knight or lord fell flat on his back.
The men that were pitted against him were of little consequence to him. All from lesser houses, just serving as entertainment to King Viserys amongst the other events and festivities. Aemond would resent being subjected to playing such a role as well, but would never say anything to confirm his feelings. Truthfully, his scowl said enough.
Over the loud cheering from the crowd, the prince could not hear his opponent stirring from his place on the dirt track. Aemond had approached the booth where his family was sitting. His father was grinning and clapping while his mother had a joyful smile of her own. Only when he acted the part of the good son did he receive such affection from his parents. Bowing politely, Aemond willed away the feeling of acid in his stomach and plastered on a smile as well.
And then he felt a sting.
The young lord has stumbled forward and drew his sword up the prince’s back, cutting at the tunic that peeked from under his armor. The sword continued its path and left a noticeable scratch on Aemond’s cheek.
The arena was stunned into silence. The king’s voice boomed and filled the air, demanding the boy drop his sword and back away from the prince. Aemond turned swiftly on his heel and clicked his tongue in disapproval, watching as the heir to House Jhorr lost his nerve, his posture folding as he cowered in fear. Whatever anger that had driven the poor soul to attack him had subsided.
“Pick up your sword boy.” Aemond demanded.
“Please, your grace! Forgive my actions.” Lowering his voice, the sandy haired boy trusted the prince with more knowledge. “My betrothed sits amongst the spectators today. I was embarrassed that I lost. I treated you like a brother and not my lord prince. I am dreadfully sorry.”
Aemond couldn’t help but glance over at the area where the boy’s eyes were hovering. A beautiful blonde lady was clutching her chest, panic marring her graceful features.
Too many people thought the prince was a monster already, with his jagged scar peeking from under his eyepatch. Too many men whispered about him in the corridors, too many ladies cast their eyes down when he walked by, too many children gasped and hid their faces in their mothers dresses.
He was not about to prove their suspicions right.
A handful of the kingsguard interrupted his conversation, scooping the boy up by his arms and holding him in place.
“Please.” The boy whimpered.
Aemond closed his eyes and shook his head, mainly at himself. It would be completely justified if he slashed the young lad’s throat in front of his father’s guests. It would be more than appropriate to have him dragged to the dungeons for further interrogation, never to see the light of day again. But he would see that woman’s face in his dreams every night, her bright eyes spilling with tears.
“All is forgiven.” Aemond said firmly. “Release him.”
The prince’s act of grace elicited gasps and murmurs from the crowd. But Aemond was having a hard time focusing, his vision growing grey and hazy with each passing moment. He saw the boy’s lips move quickly, his expression relieved and his arms animated with movement, but he could not respond.
Prince Aemond had collapsed.
~
Your quiet shop at the edge of King’s Landing had been invaded early in the afternoon by several members of the kingsguard, who were requesting your presence and expertise for an unnamed patient within the Red Keep. You packed several ointments and herbs with you amongst other tools that could be helpful in treating an injury or illness, for they had not told you what was afflicting this person you had been tasked with treating. You were hastily helped into a carriage that took off down the cobblestone roads as soon as the door behind you had shut.
You were a healer that operated a small business in Kings Landing. Unable to study at the Citadel and earn the title of maester due to being born a woman, you did what you could, turning an abandoned home into a place where people could seek treatment if they were unwell. Things had been relatively stable in the capital and you were very cautious with who you let through your doors. You had fled twice from other settlements when talk of witchcraft began brewing (heaven forbid a woman be knowledgeable in subjects like science and medicine). But armed guards firmly escorting you out of the premises and taking you to the royal palace was a sure sign that your activities were not as discreet as you’d hoped they had been.
Just as quickly as you’d been thrust into the carriage, silver gloves reached for you and pulled you out swiftly, placing you on the ground. You were jostled forward and forced to keep up with the fast pace of the guards who were leading you up the steps into the Keep. Without even looking at you, one of them began detailing your assignment as you marched onwards, your glass bottles rattling as they clinked together in your wicker basket.
“You are treating Prince Aemond. He suffered from several injuries that he sustained during today’s tourney. You are responsible for his care during this time.” The guard finally turned to look at you, stopping you in your tracks. “If his condition worsens, you will be at fault. Any mistreatment will be seen as treason.”
“Why are the maesters not attending to the prince?” You asked, a hint of annoyance in your voice. You couldn’t help but find it very ironic that you had been sought out to administer aid to the prince, and yet somehow weren’t fully trusted to do so.
“There is an illness that is plaguing our maesters. We cannot risk exposing the prince. And that is all you need to know on that subject.” He said gruffly.
Several flights of stairs later, you were just outside of Prince Aemond’s bedroom chamber. The guards posted outside of his doors nodded at you as they had been expecting your arrival. The door creaked open and you slipped inside.
The room was ginormous. Soft, velvet furniture adorned a sitting area that was set up around a grand fireplace. The walls were filled with overflowing bookshelves. Aemond had two desks that were scattered with papers, writing implements, and scientific tools. That area was an organized chaos, where the layout of such materials made sense only to him. The corners of your mouth twitched upwards into a smile. Your own room looked very similar in that regard.
The windows were huge, but the drapes were shut in nearly all of them, depriving the room of good lighting. You were too busy looking around and taking note of things that you almost failed to hear a pained groan come from the large bed in the middle of the room. Wisps of pale hair were peeking out from under satin sheets.
“M…m-ma…maester…M-maester Ry…Ry…” Aemond mumbled dryly.
“Do you need some water, your grace?” You asked, making your way over to his side table.
The body underneath the covers stilled. He did not recognize your voice. And your voice was that of a woman’s. The prince sat up sharply, wincing in pain immediately after he had done so.
“Who the hell are you?” He demanded, squinting at you. You paused and gave a slight curtesy before flashing a smile at him.
“I’m not here to kill you if that’s your worry,” you joked, “in fact, I’ve been contracted to do the opposite.”
“You’re a woman.” He stated plainly.
You looked at him wide-eyed, fake shock washing over your face. You slipped a finger under your gown and peeked down at your own chest.
“Good heavens, so I am.” You said in response.
Aemond had to bite his lip to suppress a smile. Who the hell were you?
“You can’t possibly be a maester.” He said, trying to keep his voice as flat as possible.
“I never claimed to be, your grace. But as luck would have it, all of your maesters are currently indisposed, fighting off some illness. So here I am, a world renowned healer in your very own chambers.” You took your eyes off him for a moment to start rummaging through your toolkit, but stopped as soon as you heard him clear his throat.
“I can’t have you tending to me, my lady.” Prince Aemond said.
“I managed to make out some details of your ordeal on my way here.” You said, ignoring his statement entirely. “Your subjects are whispering about it, your grace. Apparently you fainted after you were struck with a sword by one of your opponents?”
“I did not faint,” Aemond said bitterly, “I merely grew tired.”
“An interesting place to choose to catch up on your sleep, your grace.” You quipped.
Aemond rolled his eyes. “Despite what you may have heard, it was not as terrible as it sounds. I will rest here until one of my maesters is available and I’m sure my recovery will be quick. I’m sorry that my family troubled you. I’ll make sure you’re compensated.”
You couldn’t help but notice how hoarse his voice sounded. The idiot never took you up on your offer for water. You strode over to him and poured two glasses of water from the pitcher on his night table. You handed him one glass and downed the other, reassuring him that you had not managed to poison it in the short time you had been in his chambers.
“Let me get this straight,” you said, staring hard at the wiry prince that was still mostly covered by his bedsheets, “you’d rather die than be treated by a woman?”
“Who said anything about dying?” Aemond asked, raising his eyebrow at you.
“Any type of laceration is dangerous. You never know what sickness is waiting to take root in your blood. By dismissing me, you’re courting death.” You set the glass down on the table and sighed, shaking your head at him. “That’s too bad then. You were so young. I’ll be sure to send my condolences to the King and Queen. What color roses would you like at your funeral, your grace?”
Aemond looked at you incredulously. It was as if you had no fear. Here you were, freely discussing his death without any regard for the consequences. You could have your tongue cut out for speaking such unkind things about him. And yet, he had a feeling you would simply resort to hand gestures instead if that were the case.
“Fine,” he said, shaking his head at you. “You have ten minutes.”
“Thank you so much, your grace.” You said with an abundance of sarcasm.
With deft fingers, you went to work cleaning the scratch on his cheek and the gash that was still seeping from his back. You murmured soft words to him and rubbed his skin every time he winced or made a sound of displeasure. Despite immediately vexing you upon your arrival, you couldn’t help but feel sorry for the state the prince was in. He was undoubtably in pain. You also failed to disclose to him that what most of the gossip that you had heard on your way to his chambers was about his uncharacteristic generosity in sparing the young boy’s life. Any other man would’ve cut him down and made an example out of him.
“That lord shouldn’t have acted with such recklessness, your grace.” You said softly as you bent over the bed, hovering over him as you dabbed at his cheek. “You’re lucky the wounds are not that serious.”
“Not that serious?” Aemond said, taking the rag from your hand as he peered into your eyes. “A moment ago you said I was at death’s door.”
You swallowed nervously. It was easy to act aloof and jest with him when you were farther apart. From this angle you couldn’t help but take in his chiseled features, the scent of evergreen that seemed to blanket his skin, and the way his chest rose and fell with each gentle breath.
“Dear, sweet healer?” Aemond pressed. He definitely noticed your eyes wandering.
“I…suppose that’s just because you have access to such wonderful care.” You said, trying your hardest to lighten the mood again and cut the growing tension.
It wasn’t working.
It’s as if Aemond was studying you now. Watching your every movement and enjoying the way you stumbled or stuttered when you caught a glimpse of his piercing gaze. You almost wondered if it would have better if he had been successful in getting rid of you.
You had nearly finished your treatment. The wounds were cleaned and properly dressed. You were in the process of giving him a once-over, checking to see if there were any marks or bruises when you noticed a red line peeking from underneath his eye patch.
“Your grace, if you would be so kind to remove your eye patch, I believe when you fell you must’ve received another injury.” You said gently.
Aemond’s mouth formed a tight line. All the playfulness that had been your doing and the thick energy that had been growing between you two seemed to vanish in an instant.
“I will not.” He said angrily.
“Your grace, I insist. It may require my attention.” You pleaded, moving to place a hand on his cheek. Aemond’s hand moved swiftly to catch your wrist before you had the chance.
“I said I will not.” He repeated, his tone still quite harsh.
You furrowed your brows in annoyance. “I am your healer. I need access to all of you. If I don’t perform proper treatment, I could be punished.”
“I am refusing this treatment.” He said lowly as he dropped your hand.
“Why?” You questioned, your hands on your hips as you stared down at him. He was no longer looking at you. You waited for a response, but Aemond continued to avoid eye contact with you.
After a moment, he cleared his throat and then looked at you again. “You may go now.”
“I will not!” You fumed, pointing your finger at him. “I need to take care of you!”
“Can you take care of this?” He bellowed, ripping the eyepatch from his face.
A dark blue sapphire rested in his eye socket. He glared at you, his chest heaving from his fury. For a moment neither of you spoke, your expression unreadable as you stared at him, the gemstone twinkling ever so slightly when sunlight hit it from a crack in the drapes.
Aemond didn’t know what to expect. You merely stood there, taking him in. Most women would’ve gasped or even screamed. Disgust would’ve been evident on their faces. And yet, you hardly had a reaction. He didn’t know if that was a comfort or not. He was about to command you to speak, but you finally addressed his outburst.
“You think the world doesn’t know about your scar?” You said quietly, your eyes never leaving his. “Prince Aemond One-Eye. You must despise that name. And yet, you hardly know how beloved you are. How people talk of your skill as a swordsman. How men lament that they will never look as handsome as you do, and will never be as well versed in histories or sciences. There are still women that would be lined up to take you as a husband if given the chance. I’ve heard children beg to be you as they play in the streets, for Prince Aemond rides the largest dragon in the world.”
Your fingers moved to the strings of your dress. Your eyes grew heavy from the tears threatening to spill from them. Slowly, you pulled at the fasteners of your garment until your dress fell from your body, revealing a large scar that ran from your hip all the way up between your breasts.
“There is no love for a peasant woman that looks like this. Every man who catches a glimpse of this ugly red mark beneath my gown turns their head in disgust. Every jagged corner of my skin reminds me of how unloved I am. Remember that, my prince, the next time you decide to wallow in self-pity.” Your voice wavering slightly, you tilted your chin up again and glared back at him. “I am very sorry you lost your eye, but you will always be a prince. You will always be loved. Others are not so fortunate.”
Aemond rose from the bed and made his way over to you. You had bent down to recover your gown but Aemond’s hands found yours. He interlocked your fingers with his, squeezing them gently in a silent plea to get you to look at him again.
“When you first came into my chambers, I wanted you to leave immediately. I did not want the burden of looking at me and tending to me to fall onto a woman. Especially one such as beautiful as you,” he murmured, tracing small circles on your palm with his thumb. “And when you asked to see under my eyepatch, I resisted. I have never met a woman who can stand the sight of it. I hide it for good reason. The ladies that you speak of who would marry me surely only would in their desire to reach a higher status. The men who admire me still would not trade their lives to live a day as me. There is a difference in being beloved and being loved as who you are. Scars have such a terrible way of alienating you from the world.”
He dropped one of your hands to place a hand gingerly on your hip, tracing the beginning of your scar lightly. “May I ask who did this to you, my lady?”
You nodded your head, blinking away stray tears. “A suitor of mine who I had rejected countless times cornered me in the gardens of his father’s estate. I told him I’d never marry a wretch like him. He told me he’d allow me to go, but that he’d bestow upon me a parting gift,” you sniffled. “So that he’d always be with me. And that no man would ever take me as his wife. I’d always be his.”
Prince Aemond was a man prone to anger. He had a low threshold for certain types of people, such as arrogant lords, fussy ladies, and the terrible excuse for a brother that Aegon was. But he especially hated abusers of women. Whoever this man was, Aemond closed his eyes and imagined horrible things happening to him. A faceless, nameless man who deserved to be roasted alive by Vhagar, flayed by menacing criminals from fleabottom, cut down limb from limb by the prince himself. He deserved a thousand deaths for ever hurting you.
“One more question, if I may,” the prince asked softly, trying to rid his head of such images. “Why did you choose this profession? Does it not cause you anguish when you think back to this event?”
“No one was there to tend my wounds. I remember the loneliness of that feeling. I never wanted anyone else to feel that way.” You admitted, looking down at the pink lines that ran across your belly. “I never wanted anyone to feel lesser for something they did not ask for, something out of their control. I’ve lived with this a long time, and I’ve loved myself fully. But sometimes it still knocks me down like a wave. It’s hard each time but I’d never choose to do anything else with my life.”
“Lay down, my lady.” Aemond commanded softly before you could speak any more.
“What?”
“If you do not wish for my affections, you may tell me so. But if you’d allow me, I’d like the chance to take care of you. You’ve already taken such good care of me.” Aemond whispered, nuzzling his face against yours. He was drawn to you, mesmerized by you. The smart, fiery woman with a heart that still needed mending. He felt the pangs of jealously stab at him when he imagined anyone else but him stepping up to that task.
“It was my job.” You said sincerely, smiling at the prince. You leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Aemond’s eyes fluttered closed at the contact.
“You should be fully healed within a day or two. I’ve left some ointment with instructions for your servants on your study desk. I shouldn’t take up more of your precious time, your grace. Thank you for being so kind to me.”
Again, you reached for your discarded gown but Aemond reacted too quickly, scooping you in his arms and gently resting you on his bed.
“You shouldn’t be lifting anything!” You said, slightly frustrated.
“And you should allow me to compensate you in my own way.” Aemond responded, joining you on the bed.
Before you could protest, Aemond reached for the covers and pulled them up to cover the two of you. He snaked one arm underneath you and rested the other on your abdomen, gently tracing the outline of your scar.
“I will not force you into anything you wouldn’t want. And even if you had the same desires as me, I know my healer would advise me against any strenuous activity today,” Aemond said with a grin. “Allow me just to hold you, my lady.”
You gave him a perplexed look as the prince settled next to you. “I do not understand what is happening.”
“What is happening is that I am enjoying the company of a very smart woman. Who is gifted in the fields of science and medicine. Who has hair that smells of lilies and eyes that shine like the sun’s reflection on the emerald seas. A woman that entered my chambers and immediately disarmed me with her wit and personality. Who tended to my wounds with genuine care and love. A woman who is not afraid of my trauma and felt comfortable enough to share hers with me. I want you to stay. You are a fascinating creature who seems to be hellbent on capturing what is left of my heart.”
Your heart leapt at the prince’s words. Carefully, you moved to rest your head on his chest. The two of you laid still for a moment, simply resting together and enjoying the quietness of it. Absentmindedly, Aemond began playing with your hair as his eyes struggled to remain open.
“Didn’t I annoy you when I first entered?” You asked, leaning into his touch.
Aemond opened his eyes and gazed down at you. “Was that your attempt at distancing yourself from me?”
“Not at all. You were being an idiot and I responded naturally to your behavior.” You said matter of factly.
Aemond moved to hover over you, his arms planted on either side of your shoulders. “How is it that you have a penchant for saying things that if spoken by any other would have me seething with rage?”
“You’ll learn to love it.” You said cheekily.
“I’m afraid I already have,” Aemond said, placing a kiss on your forehead.
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alloftheimagines · 2 years
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billy hargrove | dream
masterlist | ko-fi
requests open
words: 1.9k
warnings: brief mentions of domestic abuse, bruises, and sex (not on page!), but mostly fluff and a touch of angst
prompt: Billy is sleeping on Y/n. Reader is soft running he hand's through his hair while reading a book. He still a little groggy when he wakes up a little bit and sees Y/n's face and he says you're so gorgeous. I'm going to keep you and call you my wife
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You don’t notice Billy has fallen asleep until a soft snore breaks you away from the paragraph you’re reading. You keep your thumb pressed to the book’s spine as you lift it up to see his face beneath, squished on your lap. Your other hand is knotted delicately in his sandy curls and his thick eyelashes are heavy on his high cheekbones.
You almost can’t believe it. He’s never been this peaceful, always a guard up even with you, especially after the night he had. It ended with him sneaking through your window after an argument with his dad.
He doesn’t usually sleep after those. Usually stares at the same spot on the wallpaper while you curl up next to him, waiting. For what, you don’t know. You know he won’t talk about it. He likes being here because you don’t pressure him to, though he knows he can if he wants. But now it’s eleven a.m., and the plate of breakfast you shared is empty beside your legs, and you’re reading on your bed because Billy isn't in the mood to go anywhere, do anything, and he’s asleep. 
He looks so fucking peaceful it breaks your heart. Ever so gently, you pull your hand out of his hair and trace along his cheekbone, his ear, his jaw. It flutters, but he doesn’t. He remains asleep, nestling his face into your soft thigh, and you swear to god you’re about to cry because it’s the best feeling in the world. Like he’s chosen you. Like he trusts you to keep him safe while he drifts off for a few hours to somewhere better, warmer, than his usual life. 
Carefully, you grab the old throw from the bottom of your bed and drape it across his bare shoulders, soaking him in just a moment longer before you go back to your book. His mouth is curled upwards for a change, serenity parting his pink lips as his breaths leave him in and out, in and out. Even that steady rhythm settles something restless inside you like a lullaby. He’s always angry or messing around or fucking you senseless, breaths always hot and fiery like a dragon’s, but not now. Now they’re gentle as a mild spring breeze, blowing across the cotton of your pyjama bottoms. 
A smile graces your lips, unstoppable and unbridled. He’s peaceful, happy, and that makes you feel the same. 
You settle back, spine resting against your headboard as you try to remember where you were in your book. Billy mumbles occasionally or adjusts his position, and you’re so desperate to keep him there that you brush your nails along his scalp the way you always beg him to do for you — he’ll usually draw a few figure eights and then get bored. 
But not you. You could stay like this forever, even when your legs begin to ache and you’re desperate to stretch. You fight it all to make sure he stays like this. 
Eventually you get back to your book, the midday light pouring through your curtains and the birds singing outside. Everything feels easier in this little pocket of peace. Your heart feels lighter. You’ve never been like this with another human, never coexisted beyond the need for conversation or activity. 
As you turn the page, Billy shifts again, sniffing. You feel his eyes open a moment later and peer over your book at him. “Afternoon, sunshine,” you tease.
A breathy chuckle falls from him, and his hand finds yours beside your hip. He keeps his chin on your lap as he looks up at you. 
“Watcha looking at?” you ask lightly, playing with his fingers and lowering your book.
“You.” His voice is still thick and throaty with sleep, the cheek that had been squished on your thigh rosy. “You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous.”
Heat rushes to your cheeks. You slip your bookmark between the pages of your book and set it down, no longer able to live with it separating the two of you, blocking your vision of him. You want all of him, want to just be here, and that’s a first, too — to prefer reality over fiction. 
“Shut up.” You nudge him playfully.
He smirks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Only then does he seem to acknowledge the blanket around him, and he props himself up on his elbows before shimmying closer to you. You spread your legs so he can come closer, so he can wrap himself in you, a laugh falling from you when he loops his arms around your waist and tugs you into him. “Billy.”
“That was the best nap I’ve ever had,” he admits, brushing a strand of hair from his eyes. It causes the blanket to pool around his elbows. 
“You probably needed the sleep. It was another long night,” you murmur, ruffling his curls again. “I hope you feel safe here, Billy. I hope you know you’re okay here. You’re home here.”
“I wouldn’t come here if I didn’t.” He takes your hand; peppers a kiss on each knuckle. “You know what’s weird?” 
He flips around so he’s lying on his back again, this time between your thighs while you hunch over him, breathless and rapt with every little movement he makes. “What?”
“I love doin’ nothing with you,” he mumbles, blue eyes fixing on your lampshade hanging from the ceiling. 
You rub his shoulders, down to his chest. Sometimes you catch him tensing when you touch him without warning, but not today. Not now. Something’s changed. “Me too,” you admit. 
“Know what else is weird?”
You hum in question.
“Had a dream you were my wife just now.” His lips twitch with a hint of a smile, irises gleaming wistfully. “Best damn dream I ever had.”
You falter above him, breath hitching in your throat. He’s never talked like that before, and you don’t expect him to. You’re young, only just figuring this thing out, only just learning how to love and he’s Billy damn Hargrove, former king of messin’ around with whoever he can get his hands on.
But you’re certain — dead fucking certain — he wouldn’t say shit like that if there wasn’t some part of him that meant it. And you hope to god he does, because you can imagine it too. Sunday mornings spread out on the bed like this, or road trips on a Saturday, him tapping the steering wheel of the Camaro while you sing along and rest your hand out of the window to feel the breeze. To catch it, bottle it, because you’d do anything to keep every moment with him forever. 
“What else happened in this dream?” you ask carefully.
He laces his fingers through yours and places your hands on his chest, where his heart pounds beneath. “Nothin’ exciting. We were just dancing in the kitchen, making breakfast, a little like this morning. Only you had this wedding ring on and I kept kissing it. Kept kissing you. And the kitchen, the house, it was ours. White picket fence and everythin’. And I said I wish I could marry you again over and over, because once wasn’t enough. And then you did your usual pretty little blush and looked at me with those fucking eyes you know I can’t look away from, and I just…” He trails off and shakes his head.
“You soppy jerk.” You slap him lightly, teasing, because you’re not sure how else to manage this colossal amount of love. Your heart is full to bursting and tears are pricking your eyes.
“There it is,” he whispers, looking at you upside down and tapping your cheek. “Pretty little blush.” He groans. “And those fuckin’ eyes.”
You roll them, half-tempted to cover your face before you melt into a pathetic puddle of goo. It’s rare he says things like this out loud, even if you know he feels them. But you never imagined they’d sound like this coming from his mouth, hoarse and honest and sincere and enough to turn you inside out. There’s no coming back from this, you know. No way to stop loving him now. You’re in too deep, and there won’t be a life, a time, where you don’t feel this way. It’ll follow you forever, through fire and thunder, because it’s real. It’s so fucking real you can feel it in your bones like an itch, an ache. 
You’re in love with him. 
“Could be real,” you comment bravely. “That dream of yours. Doesn’t have to stay a dream.”
He smiles, sighs. “One day, baby.” He kisses your left hand, your ring finger, where the wedding band must have been in your dream, and his lips alone feel like a branding of gold. A promise.
“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” you beg,  because it’s devastating you. Even when you know he’d never say things like this without meaning them, you can’t imagine a life past him sneaking into your room every night, broken and bruised. You can’t imagine him keeping his guards down like this for another hour, let alone the rest of your lives. You can’t even really imagine him getting down on one knee or saying he loves you just because he can.
But you probably wouldn’t have imagined him sleeping in your lap or talking about marriage this morning, either. And now look at you both.
“I’m not.” A shadow crosses his features, and you regret your words immediately. He sits up and twirls around so you're face to face, finally on the same eye level. And then he cups your jaw, eyes boring into yours. “I’m gonna be good enough to be your husband one of these days, baby. I swear to god. We’ll get out of here, find somewhere new. Somewhere where it’s not always so heavy. And you and me…we’re gonna be as happy as I dreamt. Forever.”
Your eyes flutter closed, a tear trickling down your cheek. “You’re already good enough, Billy. You’re all I want. Exactly as you are.”
His fingers filter through your hair as he pulls you closer to kiss you properly, deeply, until heat stirs in your belly and you’re so dizzy you’re seeing stars. 
And because you’re feeling safe, right, courageous, you whisper, “I love you.”
“Love you, too.” The words could break you, especially the way he says them. Like it’s true. Like there is nothing in the world that’s truer. Like you’re it for him.
And he’s it for you. 
You smile, resting your forehead against his chin and breathing him in. “Must have been some nap.”
“Was,” he admits, and then picks up your book and hands it to you. “Will you read to me for a little bit?” He lies back down, hugging your leg again. “Just wanna hear your voice.”
Your entire body is fluttering, but somehow, you find the steadiness to read aloud. He dozes in and out of consciousness, but whenever you stop, he begs you to keep going, like he can’t bear a world where you’re not talking. 
And you feel needed. Important. Special. Because the rest of the world gets Billy’s walls and barbs and armour, and you…you get so much more.
You get soft Sundays in bed, and you get to catch his tears when they fall. You get a life with him.
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Text
Carpe Noctem 13
Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, gaslighting, manipulation, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (short!reader)
Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.
Part of The Club AU
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You finally manage to get yourself across the room. You're not going to make it to work. You know that. You know your body can't handle it. But you're getting to the bottom of this.
You lean heavy on the wall and angle open the door. You nearly stumble through and nearly take down the console table against the wall. Holy fuck, it can't actually be possible that he did this to you. Just with sex?
You steady your legs and sigh. You don't even know which way to go. This oversized house is a maze to you.
You are not okay. You need to sit down. You slide onto your ass and collapse against the edge of the door. Well, this is how far you got and you're not getting any further.
"Miss?" A voice frightens you as a door clicks. Oh fuck, does he have a wife? WTF?! "Are you alright?"
"Um, hi," you turn to her, "I um, I'm…" you introduce yourself, "um, Lloyd…"
"He's asleep, I believe. He mentioned he had company," she smiles, "can I help you up?"
"Uh, yeah, thanks," you reach up and she grabs your hand, "I pulled a muscle, I think."
"Of course, miss," she takes you back to your room and helps you sit on the side of the bed, "can I get you coffee? Or something to eat?"
"No, I'm okay," you avoid her gaze as you search the wall instead, guilt gnawing at your insides.
"I'm Chrissy, the maid, I come twice a week for Mr. Hansen," she supplies, "and you're his guests so if you need anything, I'm here till noon."
"Wonderful, thanks," you shrink out of embarrassment, "that's great. Um, I don't need anything," you shimmy across the bed and groan, "think I just need to lay down."
"Of course, miss," she backs out and gently closes the door. You appreciate her discretion even if it reminds you of your shame.
You fall back and sigh. You can't just lay here and do nothing but you physically can't do much else. You wriggle and drag yourself up the mattress and reach for your phone again. You have to get to the bottom of this.
You hit the last call and let it dial. Sandy answers the phone with her typical flat answer. You hesitate and she says hello again, huffing into the speaker. You clear your throat and tell her who it is. She cuts you off.
"Johnny left a message. Part-timer's already coming in to cover," she chirps, "see ya tomorrow."
"Oh, okay--"
She hangs up. You drop your phone. She can be a bit curt, she mostly does the check-ins, she doesn't really cover lunch or play time.
Johnny? You know that's not possible. Lloyd. He must've called. You have all the evidence you need. But why? He's not really the courteous type.
You don't have the energy to wonder. You just want to sleep. Maybe when you wake up, this will all just turn out to be a weird, freaky dream.
👄
You wake up to a thunk. You roll over and rub your eyes as you stare at the silhouette by the door. You take in your surroundings slowly; this isn't your apartment. It's all just the same as it was.
Lloyd keeps a hand on the handle of the basket as he stands proudly in the doorway. He has a hand on his hip, shameless in nothing more than a pair of briefs.
"Huh?" Is all you can muster.
"Special delivery, you forgot your funzies," he winks, "pity we didn't get to test em out last night."
He slips his hand off the handle and grabs a large jelly dildo in a particularly bright shade of pink, "but I think..." he lows it in front of his crotch, "I did the job just fine."
He thrusts his hips as he compares himself to the toy. You grumble and sit up, arms shaky and body stiff and tangled. You grip one side of your head and grimace.
"What... what time is it?"
"I'd say it's time for round two," he chortles, "but you look in rough shape... so I'll give you ten minutes to get your shit together. Go rinse your face, splash some water on the cooch-"
"Please, just... give me a minute to think."
"Babe, I said ten."
Your lips part. Babe. The word reminds you of Johnny, for just an instant. You traded a solid relationship for this. To be just as good as a piece of silicon in that basket.
No. There wasn't a relationship. He hit you. You couldn't go back. The tenderness in your cheek confirms that.
"You called my work?"
"Someone had to be responsible. Fuck you for making me be the one," he scoffs as he tosses the toy back in the basket.
"I'm sorry..." your voice trails off. You don't know why you're apologising.
You shove yourself to the edge of the bed and brace yourself. You can't let yourself stumble in front of him. You take a breath and swing yourself up. For a second, you stand up steady and straight, but your first steps sees you tumbling to your knees.
He snickers and comes close as you hold yourself up on trembling arms. You refuse to look up at him, embarrassed. You try to stand but can barely make your legs move.
"Still got it," he taunts as he looms over, "you know what, better idea, we'll take a nice hot bath to soothe your achy muscles, sweet cheeks," he bends and pushes you onto your ass before scooping you up, "let daddy do all the work… you'll get your turn."
You don't fight him. You couldn't couldn't if you tried. You're too drained; mentally, emotionally, physically. Besides, the hot water sounds like a fair trade as your flesh screams for it.
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yanderes-galore · 1 month
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Yandere Toothless or a male night fury with a (female maybe please ) sand wraith Darling (Romantic hc/concept) pretty please with a cherry on top
 (fun fact sand wraiths we’re post to be a fury like the night/light furious but had to change it , to the wraith fam however that didn’t stop people saying that the sand wraiths are related to the furious clan XD ) 💗
Originally was going to be a general Night Fury but making it Toothless seems better :) Again I struggle writing yandere dragon x dragon, lol.
Yandere! Toothless with Sand Wraith! Darling
Pairing: Romantic
Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Obsession, Dragon x Dragon, Dragon courting, Possessive behavior, Some stalking, Mentions of "mate", Mentions of "dragon breeding" but nothing actually happens, Violence, Dubious/Forced relationship.
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The idea of more Night Fury hybrids intrigues me.
Sand Wraiths, according to the wiki, were originally meant to be part of the Fury species.
So technically... they are a Sand Fury.
As I result I do think these two species could be compatible.
In this concept, instead of Toothless meeting a Female Light Fury for a mate, he meets a Female Sand Wraith.
Sand Wraiths are quite elusive, only being found in sandy areas and often hide under the sand to hunt.
Finding you was by accident, Hiccup had taken Toothless out for another dragon expedition with the rest of the Dragon Riders.
Expecting food you had leapt out of the sand, attacking the riders.
After a brief fight you are eventually subdued and the riders are able to get a good look at you.
Toothless even has an interest in you, nudging you with his head as you watch him cautiously.
Hiccup and the riders soon learn you're not only a Sand Wraith... but a female of your species.
They were going to leave you alone but were surprised when you followed them back to Dragon's Edge.
You feel with the humans you are promised food.
As a result you act as look out, the riders giving you a sand pit to hide and rest in when not on duty.
Plus you're even fed by them... isn't that nice?
Well, it is... until you notice the domesticated Night Fury they have showing more and more interest into you.
Your species are close enough to breed... so you understand his courting dances...
But you aren't sure if you want to accept?
You watch Toothless curiously in your sand pit when he approaches.
For the most part he knows to stay out of your sand, often wandering up to your hiding body and throwing fish into the sand for you to eat.
The Night Fury is very curious and interested in you.
Hiccup's surprised when he starts to see mating behavior from Toothless.
The Night Fury is insistent in dancing, feeding, and protecting you.
Meanwhile you stare at him from your pit softly.
Hiccup finds it hard to control Toothless when all the dragon wants to do is follow you.
You wander and fly around Dragon's Edge by yourself, only for Toothless to swoop in to accompany you.
Toothless would be very clingy towards his "mate".
You may not have completely accepted him as your mate, but he's persistent.
He expresses typical possessive behavior towards you... snarling at other dragons to take claim to you.
Hiccup tries to make Toothless more focused on tasks... but all the dragon wants to do is watch and follow you.
There's something wrong the moment Toothless begins to show uncharacteristically violent behavior.
Hiccup feels the only way to fix this is to encourage... breeding between you and the Night Fury.
This could be the best way to calm his distracted Night Fury friend... but the question is...
Are you up to it?
Hiccup may try to invoke breeding behavior between you two.
After all... that's why Toothless is acting weird, right?
So yes, Hiccup enables Toothless.
Surely a quick session will fix things...
Hopefully one clutch of your eggs with soothe his draconic friend.
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