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jeontaehui · 3 years

Note

Are there any chaotic Taehui moments during hot sauce promotions?

TAEHEE BEING CHAOTIC DURING HOT SAUCE ERA — A THREAD BY USER MRKSVTT

1. someone pls save her

🌶️ NCT DREAM has the hottest striking skills I Hot Sauce Bowling

haechan has been keeping his laughter all to himself since the past minute, causing jeno to become curious as to what he was laughing about.

“no, just look at noona,” haechan whispers to the latter, their eyes subtly giving short glances to taehee as they stood on their side, “she’s so quiet.”

as if mark had read his mind, the dreamies hear the familiar laugh of their leader and turn their heads to him, “taehee, calm down! your eyes are literally shaking right now.”

the boys chuckle at the nervous grin that appears on her lips, her meek voice trying to brush them off, “no, guys, it’s fine. it’s fine!”

“she’s convincing herself,” jisung comments with a giggle, “noona, i’ll make yours!”

“okay,” she replies, the worry in her tone causing mark to let out one more laugh. “do you want me to eat yours?” he asks, standing up, and as if she had a sudden change in demeanor taehee waves him off with her hand. “i’m not a baby,” she tells him.

“jiji noona,” jisung calls, catching the attention of the elder. he raises two of his fingers, letting taehee know that she was about to choose between two options. she groans.

“option 1, i’ll pick the least spicy sauce but place a ton of drops,” the snort that comes out of haechan and renjun shows that they like his idea, “or option two, i’ll get the spiciest one and place just a few.”

“wouldn’t that be the same thing though?” she wonders, finally standing up and scanning the various bottles of hot sauce scattered on the table. jisung shakes his head (cutely, if i may add), “okay, then i’ll go with option 1.”

taehee proceeds to watch jisung get to work, obviously dreading the fact that she was the last to eat among their team.

“but even if jisung places just a tiny drop,” haechan explains to the camera, “taehee noona’s gonna cry.”

shouts of protest begin to come from the said girl, but he continues, “like her spice tolerance is really really really really really low.”

“... 5, 6, 7, 8,” jisung finishes, looking proud at what he had accomplished before handing it over to a nervous taehee. as if to tease her further, mark reaches for the box of tissues on the table and places it in front of her. “these are for your tears,” he jokes.

a few moments tick by and taehee brings the plate up to her nose, “oh the smell— it’s burning.” chenle laughs, commenting on how his noona was so cute.

they wait in anticipation as taehee grabs the soft taco and sniffs it again, and it seems that all the walls she had built up until now collapse.

“AGHHH,” taehee suddenly groans, jeno and mark bursting into laughter once more. “WHAT DO I DO?! I CAN’T EVEN HANDLE THE LESS SPICY SAMYANG RAMEN!!! MARK!!!” she exclaims, brows furrowing in panic as she held tightly onto mark’s arm with her free hand.

“we won’t judge you if you cry, noona,” renjun chuckles. “well, you’re doing a really great job at it so far,” she retaliates.

quickly taking a bite, taehee places the plate down and chews on her food silently, serious eyes looking straight at the camera. “how is it?” mark prompts, but taehee doesn’t answer.

it takes exactly ten seconds of silence until her eyes are filled to the brim with tears, and it worsens all the more as she swallows the food in her mouth, leaving a scorching hot feeling on her tongue down to her throat.

the boys erupt into laughter once more, chenle screaming out on how adorable she was being right now, and she gulps down on nothing to soothe the pain in her mouth.

before taehee can even move to get herself a glass of milk, mark is already handing one in front of her, his, “here you go,” graced with a chuckle.

she downs the contents of the glass quickly, sighing in relief as the spiciness that lingered in her mouth starts to go away.

as if her almost crying in front of the camera wasn’t enough, taehee stumbles back as her head spins, and she would’ve fallen on her bum if mark didn’t hold her up by the waist.

haechan smiles at her endearingly but it comes off as a teasing one, “wah.. are you okay? do you need to sit down?”

taehee just looks up the ceiling and stays unmoving, her eyelids fluttering shut, “the world is spinning so i have decided to not move until it stops.”

2. bless jaemin and taehee

SUB)역대급헤각장!🔥눈떠보니 좋아하는 SM아이돌이 내앞에 있다면!!?? (feat.NCT DREAM) If My fave IDOLS are watching me..?

“you close your hand first,” taehee tells jaemin after having failed two attempts of their assigned challenge, “and then like da da da...” but jaemin couldn’t hear the beats properly since the rest of dream were also practicing on the sidelines, wanting to do the challenge too.

taehee plasters an annoyed smile on her face as she rolled her eyes, but jaemin was the first to snap, “BE QUIET!”

“STAY STILL!” taehee adds (much like this) as she raises her hands up in the air, the gesture making everyone in the room laugh.

3. idk how to explain this but i cant get it out of my head

시즈니이2관왕 (210528)

“‘taehee unnie, please cover your abs so you won’t get cold’,” renjun reads with a polite tone, to which jisung laughs at.

“summer is coming though?” haechan wonders from his seat, “do you want to see mine instead?”

while the others shake their heads against his suggestion, taehee clicks her tongue and raises her brows at him challengingly. “don’t say that,” she tells him, “they’re (the fan) mine.”

“okay okay,” haechan chuckles, and the threatening glare that was on taehee’s face is quickly replaced with a bright smile after hearing his response.

“czennies, i’ll work harder so you can see them more in the future too!” she exclaims, raising her fist up in the air before exaggerating a giggle, “ahihi.”

“what the heck is ‘ahihi’?” jeno snorts, “this noona, really.”

4. i sometimes wonder what goes on in her mind

REACTION to '맛 (Hot Sauce)' with Pinkfong REDREX | NCT DREAM Reaction

"WOAHH!” the sight of the red dinosaur mascot that was walking towards them makes the members’ eyes light up in surprise. “it’s a dinosaur!” haechan shouts, his voice going a pitch higher like a child seeing these extinct creatures in the museum for the first time.

meanwhile, mark, jisung, and taehee poke at its fake teeth in interest, fingers prodding at each tooth that were too dull to be sharp. “its teeth hurt me,” mark winces as he delivers his joke.

it wasn’t long before taehee’s curiosity got the best of her as she opened the t-rex’s mouth big and wide, her sudden movements causing the rest of dream to erupt in laughter. “noona, what are you doing?” chenle asks with a fond smile.

taehee pulls away from the mascot, laughing after seeing the surprised eyes of the staff wearing it. “he got so surprised,” taehee chuckles with a grin, before proceeding to imitate what she saw to the camera — eyes as big as saucers and a gasp slipping past her lips.

5. our clumsy baby pls be careful

7 (210413)

“what kind of dog will be created?”

“how far are we taking this?”

“the marriage...”

as the rest continue to explain haechan and daegal’s supposed marriage to jaemin, taehee scoots closer to jisung, who was on the floor, to read the comments the fans were sending.

“what the,” she mutters, amusement in her tone after reading a comment someone had said about buttholes and teeth and dentists. not noticing that she was right by his ear, jisung jolts in surprise at hearing her voice and the phone, that was also taehee’s, falls from his hands and onto the floor beside him.

taehee went to pick it up quickly — too quickly, in fact, that she hit her nose on the marble table quite harshly as she bent down to reach the object.

“OH!” all heads turn to their corner when jisung shouts, taehee recoiling in pain as she held her nose. “why?” mark asks in concern, “what happened?”

while jisung explains through held laughter the situation taehee was in, the female member slowly leans into the couch and meets the eyes of a concerned renjun.

“can i see?” he asks, and taehee carefully removes her hands just an inch away from her nose bridge that she was pressing against in hopes of relieving the pain. “is it bleeding?”

after noting that her nose was fine and that only a very tiny bruise was starting to form on her bridge, renjun decides to answer, “no, but your nose is starting to look like rudolph.”

the two-tone haired boy proceeds to sing the infamous christmas song, much to the amusement of haechan and jeno, and taehee slaps his shoulder in retaliation. “stop being annoying!” she groans, causing renjun to release a hearty laugh off his chest, hand comeing down to pat on the top of taehee’s head. “it’s okay, baby,” he coos.

“do you want to get some ice for it?” mark speaks up again, worried gaze still looking over her. taehee removes her fingers from her face again and makes eye contact with him, “do you want to kiss it better instead?”

though it sounded more than a threat than an actual attempt at flirting, jeno sighs, “and she’s back.”

6. clumsy baby pt. 2 (ft. chenle)

[Un Cut] Take #1｜‘맛 (Hot Sauce)’ Jacket Behind the Scene

after seeing mark throw a chip in the air and successfully catching it in his mouth, jaemin turns to taehee who sat beside him on the carpet floor. “can you do that?” he asks, and taehee shakes her head no. “if i do it, i might choke,” yet she’s already grabbing a chip from the yellow bag the latter is currently holding, “watch.”

the food does in fact get stuck in her throat, but only for a short while until she’s coughing it out. “are you crazy?!” jaemin shouts, the amused grin he was wearing contrasting to his scolding tone. taehee could only give him a smile back as she chewed, a mischievous glint present in her eyes.

at the same time, chenle watches the two with a bemused expression, before turning to the camera and sighing. “you know those people in school who are like, good in tests and get high grades or something?” he asks, “but then they’re super dumb when it comes to things outside of school?”

chenle laughs, “that’s taehee noona.”

“she’s good at dancing, surfing, skateboarding — all the things that require balance,” he explains, “but she’s the clumsiest person i know, as in the clumsiest.”

“it’s alright,” chenle shrugs innocently, “it’s cute.”

7. u can literally hear ‘all i did was try my best this the kinda thanks i get’ #SMFreeTaehee

💚시즈니 Fㅏ워🏆💚ㅣ맛 (Hot Sauce) 음악방송 대기실 비하인드 #3

“tmi?” jeno repeats before facing jaemin, “tmi.”

“the tmi for today is,” the other starts, eyes wandering around the room until they finally settle on a certain member, “there’s an album that i’ve been listening to ever since it came out, and i’m not even the one playing it.”

a confused hum sounds out of jeno at his member’s statement, his brows furrowing together as he tries to make sense of what jaemin had just said, so when the latter tries to imitate the familiar intro of olivia rodrigo’s ‘brutal’, he finally nods in understanding and agrees with him.

“ahhh,” jeno smiles, looking at the camera, “that’s right, i’ve been hearing it too.”

“this person,” jaemin continues, “plays the music so loud. they don’t use the speakers so it’s not that concerning—“

“that concerning?”

“—to others except when you’re next to them. they play the whole album so loudly in their airpods! then you go like, ‘huh? what?’ and when you look at them, they just have this look on and you go, ‘wow, they’re really going through it’,” he finishes. while he was describing the person’s expression as they listened to their music, jaemin’s mouth forms into a slight frown and his eyes go blank, jeno doing his own version after.

the video cuts to a zoom in on taehee, eyes fixed on one of the white fluorescent lights of their waiting room and mouth pressed into a thin line as she had her airpods on. “look at her right now,” jaemin mumbles from behind camera.

“she’s contemplating her life decisions,” jeno chuckles, “‘what am i doing?’, ‘why am i here?’, ‘who am i?’”

8. miss seeing baekhyun and taehee together :(

💚시즈니 Fㅏ워🏆💚ㅣ맛 (Hot Sauce) 음악방송 대기실 비하인드 #3

haechan summons the rest of the members by playing baekhyun’s ‘bambi’, not knowing that taehee had too much of her sugar intake for the day and currently felt stoked for their stage more than ever.

“BAMBI BAM..BI ~~ !!!!” taehee sings loudly, quickly popping into frame before moonwalking to the side.

“what’s with you today?” mark asks, bemused at the current state of his best friend. “taehee— ah, you can’t do that here,” the smile on his face quickly fades as he puts on a serious expression, his tone reminding taehee of the time haechan was told to do a dance he thought was sexy until the members tried to stop him.

that didn’t hinder her though from going all out on busting the choreography to the second verse, even exaggerating them before renjun and mark had to push her out of the waiting room.

“do you bet she’s still dancing outside?” renjun asks, brushing his hands off after closing the door, and he bursts out laughing after hearing the rest of the members agree with his question.

they open the door literally 15 minutes later to reveal taehee, both hands full as she waited patiently on her phone. “where did you get that?” mark chuckles, referring to the grape flavored juice can on her left.

“the vending machine,” taehee shrugs.

“did you dance all the way there?”

“yup.”

mark’s eyes seem to look at her with endearment, “really?”

“mhmm.... i sang too.”

9. i think we all have an idea of what she’s singing here

[Un Cut] Take #2｜‘고래 (Dive Into You) + Rainbow (책갈피) +Diggity’ Track Video Behind the Scene

before filming the choreography parts of the track video for ‘diggity’, the members wait for the director’s cue to start as they all engage themselves in their own conversations — haechan asking jisung for a hug, jeno and mark talking about anything under the sun, and chenle and renjun singing the lyrics to the songs in their album.

meanwhile, jaemin studies taehee with an unreadable expression, the latter dancing idly to the current song stuck in her head at the time.

“she made some plans with my mmm tonight. she not with him tonight. she not with jim tonight,” and it almost seems like taehee had no absolute clue of the words that flew out of her mouth, like she was in some sort of trance, “she in the gym tonight.”

“workout in that nana,” she pretends to throw something in the air, and reading her mind, jaemin simultaneously ‘hits the woah’ with her as they both shout, “AYEE!”

10. dude didnt even hesitate

7DREAM return! 7+맛=Show #우정의_A컷Z컷 #우정월드컵

“alright! the next one is for taehee .... would you rather keep your friendship ring and miss a chance to meet taylor swift or lose it and get a chance to collab with taylor sw—”

“COLLAB WITH TAYLOR SWIFT!!!!”

jeno and jaemin were the only ones laughing as the rest of the dreamies looked at her in disbelief. haechan’s hand even comes up to rub the back of his neck as if his blood pressure was going up, yet the proud grin that was on taehee’s lips does not falter.

“don’t you have to think about this first?” mark tells her, pulling her raised arm by the elbow until it was placed by her side.

“she didn’t even hesitate,” renjun gasps, “noona!”

“a ring is a ring—“

“it’s a symbol of our friendship!” haechan argues, meeting eyes with her.

the host begins to laugh at the ruckus taehee’s answer had caused, and the female idol retaliated, “mark and jisung have lost their rings a couple of times but why are you only reacting like this to me?!”

“you answered right away!” the brown haired vocalist says right back before his lips turn into a little pout.

“okay, okay,” taehee nods turning back to their host, “can you please ask the question again?”

even the group of staff behind the camera burst out laughing, “again?”

mark pushes taehee’s shoulder playfully as he shook with uncontrollable laughter, her polite expression remaining on her features as she waited patiently for the emcee to repeat the question.

“taehee-ssi, would you rather keep your friendship ring and miss a chance to meet taylor swift or lose it and get a chance to collab with taylor swift?”

“mmm,” taehee pretends to ponder, her brows furrowing together as she juts out her bottom lip into a pout, “a collaboration with my favorite artist seems like a once in a lifetime experience....”

“but, haechan’s right, the ring is a symbol of our friendship, which i value so much,” taehee says into the mic, some of the dreamies’ chuckles fading in the background. “we’ve been through a lot together — we’ve been happy and sad and all sorts of things together, and seeing how close we are now, i could say that this,” she gestures to all of them, “would stand the test of time.”

“ohhh,” the boys hum, nodding impressed at her answer. “not only a lifetime but would stand the test of time,” the emcee emphasizes.

“so i will pick option b.”

“NOONA!”

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dr3amofagame · 3 years

Note

Hello, idk if you’ll see this, nor do you have to take this request. But I’ve been thinking, and thought up: Dream joined the egg, but not because it offered him world domination or a happy family or any of that; no it offered to treat him kindly, to be affectionate, to be a friend, basically offering him human decency. (With an add on of everyone believing it was for some big reason, but the actual reason gets revealed somehow) if that made any sense. (Idk if this counts as an au or not)

[ask: if dream showed up to the red banquet, that would be very sexy of the writers to make him join the eggpire instead of the pro-omlette]

hehe egg!dream has so much potential ,, this is a ficlet i’ve been working on for a while (writer’s block my detested) but i finally finished it up !! it’s a bit unpolished but oh well - they cant all be winners lmao

tw: body horror, blood, injuries, implied torture/abuse, starvation, possession, dark/disturbing imagery, dark content, pandora’s vault/prison arc

Dream gets corrupted by the Egg, because of course he does.

Sapnap trudges through the vine-filled hallway, his face bundled firmly with a holy-water soaked bandana to keep out the worst of the spores. It’s a shoddy defense, but he doesn’t plan to stay long; he’s only been sent on reconnaissance, to see what public enemy number one is planning and get out as quickly as he can. As much as the entire server wants Dream dead, trying to defeat the man the first time was enough of a feat, never mind with the power of a giant demon egg on his side - to try and fight him now would be practically impossible.

The floor squishes underneath his boots, and his lips curl in disgust; the vines are thick and moist and feel ugly and rotten to the core. He can’t imagine anyone being anything but repulsed by the things, but he guesses it makes sense for Dream to be drawn here - corruption attracts corruption, it seems. It only figures that Dream would be desperate enough for power to let himself get possessed by the living - if you could really call it living - embodiment of decay and deterioration itself. The feeling of the floor giving way underneath his footsteps has another wave of revulsion crawling up his throat, though he’s not sure if it’s directed towards the Egg or his former friend or both.

He reaches the end of the hallway, an itching, pulsing feeling of wrong filling the air in the room just beyond the haphazard archway carved into the stone. With careful hands, Sapnap draws the bandana further up his face, making sure that it is tied securely behind his head - just beyond this wall lies the belly of the beast, the heart of the rot slowly but surely spreading its influence over the entire server. Something hums in the air; whispering, otherworldly sounds pierce through his armor and settle beneath his skin; he pushes on. He knows better than to listen, to try and make sense of the words within the noise - from what he’s heard, by the time you understand what it is saying, it’s too late.

He steps inside; the room feels, for the lack of a better word, red. He’s better suited for the place than most, being a Netherborn and therefore more used to the oppressive heat and heaviness of the air, but there’s something undeniably wrong about how this place feels, something entirely Other having made its home in the room. Every inch of the place feels hostile, angry, hungry, recognizing him as someone foreign and wanting nothing more than his destruction. Unlike the Red Forests, which teemed with life - piglins and hoglins and giant fungus - this room is little more than a twisted mimicry, sucking the air dry, leaving little more than husks behind.

His hand immediately goes to his sword, drawing it with a dull, metallic scrape. The room is eerily silent save for the Egg’s hissing whispers, and he frowns; he’d expected an attack, but the room is still, quiet; a mockery of peace that only makes the uneasy feeling in his gut grow further. He trudges forward, watching against the puddles of lava and smoking magma scattered over the floor, but nothing stirs.

There’s a growing pressure against his skull with each step into the room, and his hand tightens on his communicator; they’d set up a stasis chamber, just in case things went south, his way out of this place only a few button presses away. Still, nothing moves; no Bad or Ant popping out of nowhere, weapons in hand, no Dream driving an axe between his shoulder blades as he’s done so many times before in their spars. There’s only the sound of his footsteps against the rotting growths on the floor and his own heartbeat thudding in his ears and the Egg’s warbling voice, beneath it all - beckoning, almost kind.

He swallows, throat dry, and moves forward.

His feet carry him to the back corner of the room, to the rotting, pulsing core of the wrongness plaguing the entire server. Even through his bandana, the air feels foreign, nearly choking him, and he strains his eyes against the glare of the lava to look up at the vines’ rancid heart, the Egg. Up close, it’s almost underwhelming, only about three times his height, hardly coming halfway up to the ceiling of the room. What it doesn’t have in size, however, it makes up in sheer presence; the hissing whispers in his head grow louder, crawling under his skin and between his bones, and he curses under his breath as he prepares to call for his way back. Dream isn’t here; the mission is a bust.

“Sapnap?”

He freezes.

It takes a moment to realize that the voice wasn’t in his head, as raspy and unsettling as it was, and his eyes traced the edges of the Egg to a dull colored shape at its side, completely overlooked in his initial sweep of the room. He watches, a dull horror rising in his chest, as the shape moves, twists around on itself in an entirely unnatural way like a marionette pulled by its strings. A pale dot rises from where it had been hidden against the bright red of the Egg; it’s a face, Dream’s face, covered in clawing vines, stark against the bone-white of his sun-starved skin, vomit racing up his throat at the sight of the vines having made their homes in jagged wounds all over his face and neck and disappearing into the torn scraps of his prison uniform, each one spilling crimson in the form of writhing vines and thorns instead of blood.

“Sapnap,” Dream says again, his mouth moving with the words but something entirely other having made its home in the air of his lungs, a shivering rasp to his voice that lifts and falls with the same desperate hunger that saturates every tainted inch of the room. His neck tips to the side, shifted over by a twisting vine tangled within his hair and wrapping a crown of blood-red thorns over his forehead, tendrils drooping over his face and framing the gaunt edges. “You came.”

“Dream-” the anger comes back, familiar, at the other’s words - the same red-hot rage that had boiled within him in that first and only prison visit (you took so long) but it dissipates as fast as it comes. Dream - if this remnant, this shade, this corrupted, mangled half that seems more corruption than human can even be called the name of one he had once considered his best friend, his brother - stumbles closer, held up by the vines that twist over his shaking legs, one having the pale, ragged edge of a bone clearly having ripped through skin - and Sapnap does throw up, this time, dragging the bandana from his face and heaving bile all over the floor.

“What happened-” he cries, flames licking up his arms in defense when his friend-turned-monster-turned-this steps closer on a wreck of a leg that should not be able to bear weight, stumbles back to a roaring in his ears-

He is mine he came broken came shattered and I gave him everything I gave him his heart’s desire I am his savior his grace he asked for warmth and he asked for comfort and he asked for nothing but for someone to take his pain and he is mine he is mine he is mine

He freezes, hand tightening over his communicator; Dream stares at him with the one dull-green eye not covered by the vines splayed over his too-pale face, mouth moving but no sound coming out. The roaring, angry sound in Sapnap’s ears grows louder, follows the shape of Dream’s lips come join your friend come with me I will give him to you you have failed him once but not again not again he is mine but you can be mine also and you will be together together together

“-pnap! Sapnap!” Puffy’s words crackle over the communicator, harsh and loud and snapping him out of his thoughts, “Pull the switch, Sam! No, he’s not responding- pull the switch-”

The world dips, and he heaves in a shattered breath, lungs finally full as he breathes in clear air for the first time in what feels like an eternity, hacking coughs pulled from his throat as he tears the bandana off in one sputtering gasp for breath.

“Sap- Sapnap,” Sam pitches his voice low, comforting, a hand rubbing up and down his back, but all Sapnap can see is the skeleton of a man held together by red thread, the life leached from his skin and leaving nothing left, he asked for nothing but for someone to take the pain and he is mine he is mine he is mine-

“Sapnap,” Puffy’s voice is tinny with concern, “What happened? You stopped responding and the time passed so we pulled the switch on the stasis chamber- are you alright? Did he attack you?”

“I-” -you have failed him once but not again not again you will be together- “I need a moment.”

He scrambles away, feet carrying him away from Church Prime, away from the Holy Land, away away away until he’s standing on the Community House roof, staring at his hands at this home, destroyed, this home, rebuilt, this home, empty and wrong and a shadow of house for a shadow of a man, a shadow of a friend found, a friend lost- and sobs.

What had he done?

#tw body horror #tw blood #tw torture #tw abuse #tw starvation #tw possession #tw dark imagery #tw disturbing imagery #tw dark content #prison arc #pandora's vault #queue <3 #long post #my writing :D #my asks !!

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catboynecromancy · 3 years

Text

Adam and Ronan get themselves in a mid-sex predicament underneath the cut (NSFW)

“That’s – fuck, yeah – right there – right there – right fucking there – dammit!”

The raspy, stilted way Ronan moans out the words between each of his thrusts is almost too much to bear. Adam is already getting dangerously close to climax, edging exponentially closer each time he pounds into Ronan’s tight hole. “Fuck,” he gasps, his grip on the other boy’s hips tightening until it’s likely to leave tiny, finger-shaped bruises. “You feel so good, Ronan. So fucking good, all for me.”

Beneath him, Ronan whimpers and squirms with delight. His back arcs off the mattress, canting his hips to meet Adam halfway with every push. “God, Adam, I’m close. Don’t stop–”

Adam is happier to hear that than he probably should be. He’s been putting in the work, sinking into Ronan at a near merciless pace for a while now and, though fucking Ronan is almost always mindblowing, the need to get off supersedes anything else at this point. Choppy, dusty brown locks cling to Adam’s temples and forehead from sweat, skin feverish, flushed red, and glistening with perspiration. “Touch yourself,” he demands in a low growl. When Ronan doesn’t immediately do this, Adam leans down to press his mouth to the shell of his ear, panting against it. “Now.”

This earns him a pitchy whine, loud and utterly wrecked. Ronan peels his hand from where he’d been grasping at the sheets for dear life, fingers wrapping around his cock and tugging in a stunted attempt at jerking off. Adam cannot see his efforts, but he can feel Ronan’s knuckles brushing against his stomach, and hear how his breathing hitches as he works himself closer, closer, closer.

“That’s a good boy,” Adam huffs into his ear. He licks a strip up the ridged flesh, hips snapping in especially hard, and Ronan keens from the attention. “You wanna come for me, baby?”

Ronan makes another strangled sound, nodding. His jerking becomes even more erratic, desperate in his attempt to get off. “Yeah, yeah, yeah – Adam?”

His fingers dig harsher into soft flesh over bony hips, holding Ronan steady as he fucks faster, rougher, with the intention of guiding them both through a, hopefully, intense orgasm. Adam finds himself at a loss for words so he moans in response, gently knocking his head against Ronan’s and staying there.

“Adam,” Ronan says, again, although this time it sounds much more like he’s invoking God. The hand not working at himself reaches up, wrapping around Adam’s sweaty shoulders, holding him close. “Oh, fuck, I –” He groans, tilting to nuzzle his face into Adam’s. “I – love – you –”

“I love you, Ronan –”

There’s a long moment where it’s just the wet sound of Adam sinking into Ronan, over and over, mixed with their moans and futile gasps for air. Ronan’s muscles begin to tense, a telling sign he’s nearly there, and it’s then he says, “We should – get married.”

“What?” Adam thinks it might be a good idea to stop, force Ronan to explain himself, ask what the hell? But he’s almost there, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get to come in Ronan’s ass after all the effort he’s put in getting to this point.

Ronan gives a particularly vulgar noise. His nails drive into the back of Adam’s shoulder, holding on. “Marry me,” He says with more force than before, like he really, truly means it.

Maybe he does.

Fuck.

Adam doesn’t have the brain capacity to figure it out. All he can think of is the aching need to get off, how he’s hot all over, and the friction as Ronan envelops every inch of his dick. There are multitudes of Adam Parrish and this is one of them – a teenage boy, addicted to his insufferably hot boyfriend, the pleasure he can derive from his often pliant body, the rush of adrenaline at climax, and the endorphins that follow. “Yes,” he responds, although it might be more about the way he’s feeling than an actual answer.

“Really?”

“Yes, yes, yes –”

“Oh, fucking God.”

“Louder,” Adam groans. “Really wanna hear you, baby boy.”

With a slow, rolling moan, Ronan gives in. He comes hard and unabashed and every bit as viciously as Adam wants. His body jerks, muscles tightening around Adam, totally uncontrolled, while he fucks Ronan through it. Hot, sticky cum paints their stomachs and Adam lets himself go, then, too. With more rough thrusts, his own orgasm washes over Adam and he allows himself to spill deep inside of Ronan in a way that makes his thoughts go mineminemine.

He moves slow, careful, relishing the now much wetter slide before coming to a complete stop. Adam presses his forehead to Ronan's, burning sweaty skin to burning sweaty skin, eyes closed and trying to catch his breath. They stay like that, silent save for their heavy pants for air, and Adam is calm, happy, head clear of all thoughts except for relief.

It would last longer, probably, if Ronan didn't start squirming awkwardly underneath him. Adam squints one eye open but all he sees is blurry pale, speckled skin and dark lashes. "What are you doing?" He asks, trying not to sound exasperated, but he's tired and all he really wants is to roll off of Ronan and take a nap.

"Nothing," Ronan grunts out, but he doesn't stop moving like he's having a difficult time staying still.

"Ronan, tell me."

"I'm just excited."

Adam blinks, curious and a little confused. "About?"

"We're engaged."

"We're…" Adam trails off and a heavy pit of apprehension behind to form in his stomach. "What?"

"Engaged," Ronan repeats. "I asked. You said yes."

"I…"

Adam stops to think, rewind his thoughts back a few minutes. Realization smacks him in the face and he shifts up, staring down at Ronan with wide, blue eyes. "That wasn't an actual proposal."

"No, it was." Ronan stares back, his expression serious. He's beautiful in his intensity, with his steady, ice-cold gaze, the slightest curl up of his lips, and skin gleaming from exertion. "I really meant it," he pauses and asks in a much smaller voice, "You didn't?"

"We can't be engaged."

"Why not?"

"We are only nineteen!"

"Your point being?" God, he's so haughty and self-righteous and sure of himself. Adam hates it and loves it.

Adam finally shifts back and tosses himself down next to Ronan on the bed, glaring up at the ceiling as he considers what his point actually is. "We're too young," he says, tapping fingers on his still lightly heaving ribcage. "And we haven't even been dating a year."

"I've been dating you in my head a lot longer than that," Ronan replies with such confidence, it's as if what he's saying isn't really fucking weird.

"That doesn't count. Also, yikes."

"Yikes?"

"One hundred percent, yikes to the max."

"You don't love me? You don't want to marry me?"

And there it is. Adam flips onto his side so he can look at Ronan, whose head is tilted towards him. "I do. Someday."

"What's the difference between now and someday if you're already planning on it?”

He opens his mouth and shut it, brows furrowing. Adam hates that Ronan has a point, hates that a part of him feels excitement at the thought of being contractually attached to him, hates how he wants to flip Ronan over, fuck him, make him ask it all over again while he's inside his ass just so he can really take it all in.

"This is ridiculous," Adam says instead. "You're being ridiculous."

"You're being ridiculous, Parrish."

"I can't stand you sometimes."

Ronan gives his typical jackal's laugh. "I love it when you talk dirty to me."

Adam pushes him. Ronan shifts onto his side so he can return it, harder than the one given. They end up in a tangle of long limbs and sweaty bodies, with Adam struggling for control, and Ronan ultimately winning. He gets Adam pinned underneath his broader, more muscular form, slots between his legs, holding his hands together helplessly above his head. No matter how much Adam struggles, he can't get free, and his arousal begins to build once more as Ronan grinds down on him.

"The worst," Adam moans, lids fluttering as he tries and fails again to free himself.

Ronan leans down, nestling his face to Adam's good ear. "You love it," he whispers in a raspy, sexy tone. "You wanna marry me so bad, you're just afraid to look stupid."

"Yeah," Adam agrees, desire clouding his thoughts. "Fuck, yeah."

"We'll lie and tell everyone we're doing it to get you on my insurance."

"Wait, you have insurance?"

"Not what you should be focusing on right now."

Adam makes a soft groan of assent. "Okay, insurance, whatever. Just – fucking – keep going."

Ronan rolls his hips lazily, laughing. "So needy."

He doesn't bother arguing because he is needy and, maybe, just stupidly obsessed with Ronan enough to go through with this horrible idea.

They'll come up with some believable excuse for the sudden engagement, allowing Adam to win in two ways. He gets to call Ronan his fiancé, and no one will think he's as much of an idiot as he is.

#pynch #trc #the raven cycle #ronan lynch #adam parrish #notsfw #this is a crack fic #my fic

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swaps55 · 3 years

Text

Mnemonic

This is an AU version of a standalone scene from Cantata that I rewrote with kissing. Because there was a lot of UST and I am weak.

Ao3

14 June 2180, Hades Gamma, Farinata System, SSV Myeongnyang

For a biotic, the armor never really comes off. What they carry under their skin is like a live wire, a current always in need of grounding.

Standing face-to-face with half a dozen L2 biotics holding the chairman of the Parliament Subcommittee for Transhuman Studies hostage on the MSV Ontario makes it a lot easier for Kaidan to see how much he takes for granted having a safe place to do it. And knowing how.

Reparations for the L2 side effects are a pipe dream. But a pipe dream Colin Daggett and his people needed to cling to, whatever the cost. And it had almost cost them everything.

Shepard doesn’t say much as they arrange for the survivors to be transferred to the Madrid’s brig and the engineering crew arrives to secure the Ontario for the trip to Arcturus. He says even less on the way through the airlock back to the ‘Yang, and the rest of the squad take their lead from him.

When they’re back on board the ship he disappears, sucking the air out of the room with him. They kit down without him.

“You’re an L2, aren’t you?” Pendergrass asks as she shoves her arms through the sleeves of her uniform, armor plating in a heap at her feet.

Beaudoin jabs her with an elbow.

“Yeah,” Kaidan murmurs, fingers tracing the amp port on the back of his neck when he removes the protection plate. He flexes his fingers, gravity well jumping into his touch. As he reaches for his chest plate to store it in his gear locker, an electric shock passes through him.

When 23:00 rolls around, Kaidan shows up in the mess as usual, figuring he’ll keep it simple tonight and just make some pasta. Shepard is there waiting, as usual, picking at a spot on the table while Kaidan pulls out a pot and finds a container of pasta. The entire time the water boils Shepard doesn’t say a word, stubbornly lost in thought.

Kaidan tells himself he’s not going to do more than olive oil and garlic – it’s been too long of a day for effort – but by the time he gets it to the table there’s parmesan cheese, parsley, and even a little red pepper in the mix.

“You going to tell me what’s up, or do I get to guess?” Kaidan asks when he sits down across from him and hands off a fork. He spent too much energy on going above and beyond with the red pepper to bother with a second bowl. They’ll just have to share.

Shepard looks up, almost in surprise. “Just thinking.”

“You’ve been thinking ever since you got Chairman Burns through the airlock. Maybe you should think out loud.”

The gravity well churns as Shepard stirs eddies in it, in tune with the twirl of his fork in the pasta bowl. “Everything that happened on that ship hinged on what Daggett did with his pistol.”

His toying intensifies, until blue energy shimmers around his knuckles. This one’s been chewing at him. A snap of electricity skips between his finger and the fork, and he drops it with an annoyed mutter. He looks up.

“You pulled the gun out of his hands,” he says.

And Shepard had put a bullet between his eyes. The fight had gone out of the rest pretty quickly.

“He wasn’t going to put it down,” Kaidan says. “We all knew it.”

“No. He wasn’t. And if you hadn’t been there, that standoff turns into a clusterfuck where everyone dies.”

A soft smile tugs at Kaidan’s lips. “Guess it’s a good thing I was there.”

Shepard picks up the fork again, staring at it with an unfocused gaze before he stabs it back in the bowl and twirls more pasta.

“I couldn’t have done what you did. I can’t refine a field like that. I was prepared to shoot everyone in that room. But you pulled the gun right out of his hands.”

Only because Shepard had given him the chance. Whether Shepard had done it with purpose or actually hesitated is a question he hasn’t been in a hurry to examine too closely.

“We work together, remember? In case you hadn’t noticed, we’ve gotten pretty good at it.”

Shepard huffs. “Yeah. We have.”

“But you’re just gonna get bent out of shape about not being able to do everything yourself, anyway.”

“Have you met me?” Shepard says with a helpless shrug.

“Yeah, I’ve had the pleasure,” Kaidan says with a chuckle. He pushes his chair back. “Come on, then.”

Shepard casts him a suspicious look. “Come where?”

“To the gym.”

“Alenko—”

“Come on.” He nods towards the elevator and starts walking, smirking a little when Shepard’s chair scrapes against the floor and his feet hit the deckplates.

“You’re just dying to give me a taste of my own medicine, aren’t you,” Shepard grouches when they board the lift.

“Oh, definitely.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Apparently not when it comes to taking people’s pistols out of their hands.”

Shepard chuckles, though he tries to choke off a smile by looking down at his feet. When they get to the gym Kaidan digs a canteen out of his locker and sets it down on one of the sparring mats.

“I’m guessing that your training didn’t include a lot of control drills,” he says.

Shepard shakes his head. “Tulak wasn’t big on control. Overwhelming tidal force tends to be the krogan approach.”

“You don’t say.”

“Sarcasm does not become you, Alenko.”

Kaidan grins and points to the canteen. “Start simple. Just lift it off the ground.”

Shepard rolls his eyes, but taps into the gravity well, corona enveloping him in a shroud of snapping blue tendrils. The hairs on Kaidan’s arms stand on end.

It’s so rare he gets to just watch Shepard work. All unrestrained power, from the loose, angry snarl of his corona to the sweeping mnemonics, make him seem larger than life. When he swipes the canteen off the floor he does it with his entire arm. The canteen leaps into the air, nearly hitting the ceiling before Shepard wrangles it. He only holds it still for half a second before sending it skidding to the other side of the gym.

“Hm,” Kaidan says.

Shepard gives him a withering look before marching off to fetch the wayward canteen. “It’s small. I don’t do well with small.”

“Not sure the size trips you up as much as you think it does,” Kaidan muses. “That mnemonic of yours applies some pretty impressive force automatically, so you’re already playing catch up if you’re trying to control the speed or direction.”

“See, I can’t tell if you’re complimenting me or giving me shit.”

“Both.”

“Har.”

Shepard resets the canteen and comes back to Kaidan to try it again, standing close but not so close their fields intersect. Kaidan watches through three variations that all end almost the same way, too much force being applied to the canteen, making it nearly impossible for Shepard to control where it goes, or where it doesn’t.

Doesn’t matter that he’s not accomplishing what it intends. The way the gravity well cants under his touch, the way his corona lights him ablaze like a flickering star, the way it caresses every nerve in Kaidan’s body like a swash of silk is mesmerizing. Kaidan swallows before trying to speak.

“Good news is, if we ever need someone to punt a suspicious canteen into space, I know who to call.”

Shepard rolls his eyes. “And if you’re not around to yank pistols out of terrorist hands?”

“Well, first, I will be around. But second, as for the pistol, yanking it towards you isn’t so different from kicking it away from you.” He cracks a grin. “In your case you just need to be prepared to duck.”

“Have I mentioned that separating the pistol from the person holding it wouldn’t end well for anyone?” Shepard says. “If you were to go hold that canteen in your palm and ask me to do what I just did, you wouldn’t like me very much.”

I doubt that.

“One problem at a time,” Kaidan says. “Let’s work on controlling the canteen by itself, then we’ll add clutter.”

“And how do you suggest we do that?”

“You need a new mnemonic. You’re fighting yourself by adding force and trying to take it away at the same time.”

“I’m sensing a metaphor.”

Kaidan smirks. “Think that says more about you than it does me.” Before Shepard can protest he raises an arm. “Watch me. You don’t have to use my mnemonic, but I want you to see something different so you can visualize it.”

Shepard folds his arms across his chest, but does what Kaidan asks. A nervous thrill runs through him at the undivided attention.

Kaidan waves a wrist, a hard-learned, hard-fought mnemonic that now feels as natural as breathing. Dark energy rushes through him, responsive and willing, as his fingers flex and settle a field over the canteen. Very little mass-shifting needed to pick up a light-weight canteen, which makes it tricky to keep from doing exactly what Shepard did – send it spinning out of control. But Kaidan has spent years perfecting his ability to do exactly this, so the canteen rises off the floor until it reaches eye level. Kaidan closes his fist and holds it still, floating almost motionless in mid-air.

“That mnemonic is so damned subtle,” Shepard says with an appreciative shake of his head. A flush builds at the back of Kaidan’s neck.

“Easier for me that way.”

Shepard grunts and unfolds his arms. “I was never good at levitation.”

“Because your mnemonics always apply force.”

“Need force to yank that pistol.”

“Sure, but if you want to control it, you need to learn how to hold it still.”

“I’m not good at still.”

“I know,” Kaidan says, lips curving into a smile. “So come here and let me show you.”

Shepard strays a step closer into Kaidan’s biotic field. The blend of auras creates a low keen through his nerves, familiar but always striking. The canteen wavers before falling to the ground.

“Sorry,” Shepard mumbles, but doesn’t back away.

“It’s fine,” Kaidan says, lifting the canteen again with another float of his palm.

Their eyes lock for a moment before Shepard clears his throat and looks down at Kaidan’s hand.

“You put everything in your wrist.”

“Yeah,” he manages. “You do it all with your arms.”

“Yeah.”

“So maybe, if you’re looking for finesse, try to create a mnemonic that’s a little, uh, smaller.”

“With my wrist.”

“Right. Um, I’ll show you. Here.” He steps in front of Shepard, angling his body to align their right arms. He takes Shepard’s right hand guides it to his wrist, tingle running down his spine when his fingers close around it. Shepard glances at him with soft eyes that stop the breath in his throat, but doesn’t object.

“Hands-on teacher?”

“Best way to learn,” Kaidan replies, gaze flicking to Shepard’s mouth before going back to the canteen. “Just follow my lead. Don’t act on the canteen. Concentrate on what my arm does. Visualize it.”

“Sure,” Shepard murmurs.

Kaidan reaches into the gravity well, his own corona unfurling, a steady candle to Shepard’s flaring torch. Goosebumps rise on Shepard’s arm, a subtle reminder that he’s human after all, one Kaidan is almost never close enough to witness.

He takes a deep breath and flexes his wrist, Shepard’s fingers loose and feather-light against his skin. A crackle of dark energy passes between them before he snares the canteen and turns his wrist palm-up to lift it off the floor, Shepard close enough his breath washes over Kaidan’s cheek. The canteen wavers but Kaidan keeps it afloat for several seconds, the mingle of auras, ripple of kinetic energy and closeness of Shepard enough to make him dizzy.

He lets it go with a clatter and puts space between them.

“Does that help?” he asks, trying not to sound breathless.

“Yeah. It does.” Shepard’s gaze stays on him, still and steady. “Might take a while to hard-wire my brain for something in the wrist.”

“Doesn’t have to be that. It could be something else. But you associate those big movements with force. Take that away, you might have more luck with leaving velocity out of the initial execution, so you can add it how you need it. Have more control over it.”

Shepard’s mouth crooks in a half-smile. “Sure I’m not a lost cause when it comes to control?”

“I’m sure.”

Shepard breaks his gaze and focuses on the canteen, brow furrowed in concentration. Twice he catches himself using his arm, then nearly wrenches his wrist trying to restrict the movement.

“It’s so ingrained,” he says with a shake of his head.

“That’s why they work,” Kaidan says with a smile. “Here.” He steps close once again, positions reversed with his hand on Shepard’s wrist this time. “Let me help.”

“Fuck, your hands are cold,” Shepard says with a laugh.

Hastily, he loosens his grip. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Shepard says with a grin. “Go on.”

Gently, Kaidan closes his fingers again. Shepard trains his eyes on the canteen, though they dart to Kaidan ever so briefly.

Shepard’s corona is so bright, so fierce, it’s a wonder he can wrangle it at all. Kaidan breathes in deep, letting his own kindle, the snick and crackle as they blend together forming a resonant hum that hovers just under his skin.

When Shepard’s arm moves, Kaidan tightens his grip, keeping the motion small. Instead of his usual languid, fluid posture, Shepard’s arm is stiff and resistant against him. The canteen spins in a circle but stays on the ground.

“Breathe, Shepard,” Kaidan says softly. “Just let it happen.”

Shepard inhales deep, like someone trying to relearn how. This time they move together, Kaidan picking up the slack when Shepard falters, until the canteen hovers briefly in the air. It’s more under Kaidan’s control than Shepard’s, but it’s a start, and that’s what matters.

They gutter out and the canteen falls, but Kaidan doesn’t let go and doesn’t step away, not yet, not quite yet, not while the remnants of kinetic energy are still sharp in the air and he has to remind himself to breathe, too.

“How do you do that?” Shepard murmurs. “You worked around me, without…taking over. How do you do that?”

Their eyes lock for just a moment. God Kaidan could get lost there if he’s not careful. “Practice. Years of it.”

Let go.

He means to. He means to. In his head he loosens his hold on Shepard’s wrist, drops his hand away and puts space between them. That’s what he tells himself to do. That’s what he intends to do.

But while he does loosen his grip, instead of fall away, Kaidan’s fingertips brush Shepard’s knuckles, the pad of his thumb running along the round muscle of his palm.

It’s an accident. Just an accident. So many of their touches are, but rather than move or pull away, rather than let it be just another one of those excusable, explainable slips, Shepard exhales, the breath fluttering out of him, then splays his fingers wider, as if making room for Kaidan’s to slot between them.

Let go, let go.

But instead he explores the open space Shepard has left for him, fingertips light, hesitant, ghosting Shepard’s skin as he finds where they fit, hovering, hoping, but never daring to rest. Never giving up the ruse.

It’s an accident. It doesn’t mean anything.

Except it does.

Shepard stays still as a stone save for the rise and fall of his chest. They’re close enough now their cheeks almost touch, though whether Kaidan moves or Shepard does to close that gap he can’t say.

The next time Kaidan’s fingers trespass through that open space, Shepard closes his around them and traps them there.

Kaidan’s breath hitches.

The gravity well sighs as Shepard calls to it, glow of dark energy limming their hands, accompanied by a soundless hum that strums every nerve in Kaidan’s body before settling in his groin. Without thinking his other hand comes to rest on Shepard’s hip, needing something, anything, to hold onto.

A soft sound stirs in Shepard’s throat. Kaidan’s hand doesn’t stay on that hip for long, because Shepard seeks those fingers out, too, lacing them together. Kaidan folds both arms until Shepard is surrounded by them. There’s no imagining any space between them now – their cheeks rest against each other, Kaidan tightening his hold until Shepard is snug against his chest.

Shepard turns his head, but after briefly meeting each other’s gaze, his eyes drift down to Kaidan’s mouth.

Kaidan can still let go. There’s still a way out. Chalk it up to adrenaline, nerves leftover from the standoff on the Ontario. They can walk it off, laugh, pretend it never happened, continue on like they always have.

But he doesn’t let go, and then the millimeters between Shepard’s lips and Kaidan’s no longer exist and the window is gone.

Shepard’s mouth is warm, soft, lips tinged with the salt of his sweat. They start out slow, cautious, neither of them daring to think about it too hard, but that’s not a problem for long, because soon there’s no room to think about anything at all.

Nothing else matters but this.

Slow and cautious becomes deep and headlong, Kaidan pushing his tongue between Shepard’s teeth, Shepard sighing into his mouth and taking him in. His fingers tighten around Kaidan’s, the glow of dark energy rippling out from their joined hands until it swallows them whole. Kaidan gasps at the sensation.

Shepard kisses him harder.

God.

Kaidan wants to spin him around, throw his arms around his neck and meet him head on, give in to everything, all of it, but he can’t bear the thought of turning loose of that hand.

They part when they run out of air, both straining to catch their breath, fingers still entwined, Shepard still firmly ensconced in Kaidan’s arms as his corona fades.

Shepard rests his cheek against Kaidan’s, ensconcing himself a little further.

“Oh,” he says softly.

“Yeah.”

Shepard’s fingers flex within his, twining and retwining, never letting go.

“You…don’t seem surprised.”

Kaidan closes his eyes, breathing him in, a star he’s somehow pulled down out of the heavens and trapped right here in his arms. “No. Felt it…for a long time now.”

“Oh.”

“…Yeah.”

Their coronas may have faded, but the mingle of their biotic fields is a constant, soothing whisper under Kaidan’s skin. A small, contented sound slips from Shepard’s throat.

“Why didn’t I see it?”

Kaidan huffs. “To be fair, I don’t think either of us are very good at this kind of thing.”

Shepard tightens his grip on Kaidan’s fingers and pulls them to his chest. The race of Shepard’s heart thrums under their joined hands. If Kaidan had any illusions about letting him go, they’re gone now.

“I think I’d like to learn,” Shepard says.

Kaidan’s stomach flips. “Me too.”

They stay still, Kaidan content to hold him, Shepard content to be held, until their lips find each other once more. Kissing Shepard is easy, effortless, like it’s something they were meant to do, a safe place for the live current running under their skin to go to ground.

Shepard, against all evidence to the contrary, is…safe.

Shepard gazes at him when they part, and butterflies cut loose in Kaidan’s stomach.

“You’re very good at that,” Shepard murmurs.

“We’re very good at a lot of things.”

“Yeah. We are.” He draws Kaidan’s hand up to press a kiss to his knuckles. “What do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” Kaidan admits. “What do you want?”

“You.”

A shiver runs down Kaidan’s spine, the euphoria of that one, single word enough to make him lightheaded. So simple. So complicated. They’ll have choices to make, all of them with compromises and consequences. But that’s something for tomorrow. Right now there is only the truth.

“I want that, too.”

Shepard releases Kaidan’s hand to turn until they’re face to face, then runs his fingers through the hairs growing over Kaidan’s right temple. All the while those glittering eyes search Kaidan’s face, as though reconciling all the things he knows with the things he’s learning for the first time.

The corners of his eyes crinkle as a smile spreads across his face, pure, open, and full of possibility. “Taste of my own medicine, huh?”

“Well…” Kaidan shrugs helplessly, and Shepard’s grin only gets deeper.

“Seems like I should have let you teach me a few things a long time ago.”

Kaidan flexes his fingers, a curl of dark energy igniting in his palm that draws out goosebumps along Shepard’s arm. “All in the wrist.”

Shepard laughs. It’s like music. “You and me.”

“I like that,” Kaidan murmurs, before kissing him again. “I like that a lot.”

#mshenko #kaidan alenko #mass effect #my fic #UST with biotics #in case anyone is wondering #the number of first kisses I have written for Sam and Kaidan #is currently sitting at 7 #and that's just the first kisses i have WRITTEN #¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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anonbeadraws · 4 years

Photo

So I caved and with @spacespectres help made an avatarsona! With a big chunky statement to go with it! (Trigger warnings for homophobia/transphobia, conversion therapy, death and parental abuse. Everyone gets just desserts though.)

‘I’m, actually not sure why I’m here. You can’t help me, my son is gone and the police arn't saying it but - I’m sorry, my ears are- It’s like- You know those alarms, the ones that are made to disperse kids at shopping centres, keep them from causing trouble- not that i think they work. you see more of them these days, scruffy and dirty, what their parents doing, i don’t- Anyway, it’s like that noise, that high buzz. it’s meant to be that, as you get older, your brain tunes it out, adults aren’t meant to hear it anymore, just keep on shopping without hoodlums hanging about outside smoking and throwing shit at the elderly. I don’t miss that, Ben’s smoking, i’ll say that. That’s awful to say, i bet you’re thinking, god how terrible, her child’s missing and she’s moaning about a few nicotine stains on the ceiling.

I know theres plenty that would call me a terrible mother anyway, i know the neighbours didn’t agree with my decision, the decision of a single mother, who struggled enough just to keep her child fed and watered and out of trouble, to then struggle to keep him from wearing my lipstick when i was out of the house-! I have no problem with the gays. I want to say that, have that clear. I just know, what he was doing, that wasn’t my Ben, that wasn’t my son and, the Helping House was what he needed. I’m his mum, i know what he needed, don’t care what his dad says. he wasn’t here, he wasn’t here to raise Ben, so he doesn’t-

The pamphlet was so nice, so professional and i checked it out online, all 5 stars, apart from the odd protester sticking his oar in, and it was- reassuring to know he’d be looked after, helped! Get what he needed. And he was fine when i left him there, with his old school backpack with all his bits in, the Helping staff there to welcome him. Reminded me a little of when he started primary school, he looked so small, all big eyes… They promised it’d be a couple of weeks, maybe a month, and then he could come home, all better.

I got to visit every weekend, which was nice! Sometimes brought him biscuits, can't beat home made, chatted a little. He still had that, that look from when i left, like he was little again, when i could tell he didn’t really want to leave me at the gates, he didn’t want to go in all alone, couldn’t we just go home instead mum? But i was strong. For him. I resisted.

I think, it was when that look started to go, that little boy look, replaced with something, i don’t really want to think about even now, that i really noticed the other patients. One in particular. He looked different from the others. Props to the Helping House, they keep, kept the kids tidy. it was actually lovely, real treat to see Ben all combed and neat, not smelling like his trash dump of a room. And not a whiff of smoke! i’d honestly not have been surprised if he’d snuck in some ciggies in but if he had, they must have confiscated em quick. No fags in the Helping House! I mean-! oh you know, what i mean!

But this one,.. they all dressed in clothes from home, apparently they worked out its better for the process, this one was a mess. Half shaved hair, no knees in the jeans and honestly, sunglasses indoors? who did He think he was!? Mick Jagger? He just slouched in the corner of the visiting room, looking out into the gardens, like he belonged there in that clean good place. They were nice gardens, well looked after, like the kids. I remember it was coming up summer, lots of lovely flowers. lots of happy bees.

Anyway, i did Not like how Ben looked over at, him, while we had our cups of tea. it was this, gooey soft look i’d never seen on him. later i remembered it. it was how his dad looked when we started courting. That cloying honey sweet love that turned sickly and choking far too quick. God, that look, on my boys face? You bet I had words with the staff before i went. I did not bring my boy here to get help and it be ruined by some hooligan with warped intentions. I made sure they understood. They didn't seem to know what i meant by the Sunglasses kid but it’s a big facility, probably get a lot of patients. Their success rate was incredible really, always seemed to be spaces open. Whatever they did, didn’t do a lot though. Cause i kept seeing him, every time i visited. And he drew a crowd. At first it was the ones who didn’t have family to come, poor dears. They’d be sat, close as they could to him. They had rules about touching in the Helping House, and rightly so, helps with, the temptation, but they’d sit there, close as they could to him, just listening, sun on their faces from the big glass window. Now that i’m thinking about it, I don’t think i remember ‘em blinking? Anyway, Could never hear what was said, what venom that creeper was pouring into their ears, whenever i tried to hear him over the other visitors, it just came over as a low buzz. Well, whatever it was, those kids were hooked. I didn't like it. And the next weekend, there more of ‘em! You’d have kids that’d be crying one week that their family hadn't come, who didn't give two shits the next, pardon my french. They’d be sat in the corner, happy sappy faces, listening to whatever nonsense that kid was murmuring to his little flock. They didn’t touch, not then, but it was a close thing, i remember being so shocked that nothing was being done about it. It was obviously a problem. that weirdo was the problem.

But my boy didn’t stray. He might’ve looked over at that hive of idiots who worked against what these good people were trying to do for them, with that… look. But he stayed and drank his tea with me like he should. He looked tired, but i knew that’s cause he was working hard, getting better. i got the reports.

But the last couple of visits, i come in and it’s just my boy in the visitors room. The rest were outside in the garden, in the flowers. All those kids, twenty or so of em, tangled in each other, touching and so close. I don’t think they were, Doing things but, it was against regulation for sure, and I stood up, to go do something, anything, even just yell at them to stop it, ask what they thought they were doing!? That’s when the Buzzing started. For a second i thought it was just a bee come in from the garden, poor little bumble trapped indoors but it was in my ears, in my head. It was nothing i’d ever felt before and I’ve had Tinitus and that’s a nasty bugger but it was more than that.

Been to the doctors since. Apparently they can’t work it out, whats causing it. All they can say was it wasn’t Tinitus.

I think it was, Sunglasses looking at me. I remember when i got up, to tell ‘em off, i remember light in the corner of my eye, like a reflection off glass. I think he turned, he knew i was going to stop em and he-

Last sunday was the last time, the last visit. Had a big tin of biscuits, gingerbread, Ben’s favourite, had some nice news about his cousin getting into uni, first in the family! Always had hopes Ben would be the second, but- Ben wasn’t waiting for me. He was outside. With Them.

Him.

There he was, holding the hand of that freak and the staff were just stood round like numpty’s doing nothing! Dumb faces and vacant as their patients were outside rolling about in the sun like it was the 60’s! And smoking! I thought, they must’ve found a stash cause i could see the smoke, swirling dark against the sky, dark against their smiling, stupid faces.

I was furious. i was, so angry.

I think thats why i did it. I was so angry that i couldn’t think of anything else to do but grab that sunglasses wearing freak who was corrupting my boy, who was holding his hand and steering him wrong and undoing all my work and love, and shake my anger out of him. I was yelling all that, yelling at him. I remember he was light, not as heavy as he should be, not for a kid his age and that he didn’t flinch. And he spoke to me, in that low drone that I thought had been just distance and space distorting his voice, but was just him, god it was just him.

I cant remember exactly what he said, something about love, real love, some hippy nonsense. No, i remember one thing. The little shit asked if i thought i was ‘my child’s real Family.” ‘Of course, i said, ‘i’m his mother’ Then he smiled, like i was wrong and i hated him. And I could see myself, in that dark reflection, in those stupid shades and i couldn’t stand it. I wish i hadn’t, done what i did. i just didn’t want to see myself in that black mirror anymore, all twisted and hateful. Turns out it was far nicer than what was behind them.

I let go, dropped it, that thing in ripped jeans and stripes and it fell into the flowers. There were so many happy bees. Thats when i heard the other kids. They had it’s voice, shared it’s voice, that drone. That buzz. i didn’t dare look at them. My ears, started up again, like before but, that sound, their sound, it made it louder and i honestly thought my head might explode and I turn to Ben, my boy, who had dropped to his knees in front of that thing, holding it’s hand and for a second, I thought he was smoking again, dark wisps coming from his downturned face and, I just, my fear turned to anger, for just a second, that he would do that here and now.

But I begged him to come away, to leave it alone, to get better, to just be my little boy again, to come home with mummy. Then he looked up, my Ben, and his face- it wasn’t smoke, it had never been smoke. it was the same as whatever had been bumbling around in the creature that still lay in the flowers but Ben smiled all the same. I, feel crazy, crazy saying it but- as the bees poured out of my little boy’s smiling mouth in that choking swarm, their buzzing droning out his words, my boys last-

My name is Sarah

i’d never seen him happier.

Apparently I fainted. Never fainted in my life, i’ll tell you, too tough for that sort of thing, but i must’ve. Police think it’s what saved me. I like to think otherwise. Officially, what happened was that the patients turned on the staff, killed em and left. Simple, explainable. Some sicko’s like to use what happened as an argument against conversion therapy, old hippy dykes that don’t have enough to picket over, idiots. They didn’t see the bodies, they didn’t see what those ‘helpless victims’ did- They dragged them outside after they killed em, into the sun, into the flowers. I remember waking up once, amongst all the dead. Happy bees, dipping their beaks into the blood of the doctors. Plenty of sugar in blood, I read.

Ben was all i had left, my only family. I don’t have no one left. You don’t get many visitor when the papers insist you made your kid a killer. Don’t even get phone calls from Dave anymore, but i call that blessing. He was barely Ben’s dad anyway. I’ve gotten used to the quiet. i go to work, i come home, watch a bit of telly. the buzz from the old tv only scares me a little. I know i did my best for him. i believe that, after everything. I wouldn’t be here though, if, there wasn’t, something else.

I had a visitor the yesterday. Wasn’t expecting it, thought it was a missionary, Jehovah’s or something. Was ready to tell them to piss off, i tell you. It was a girl. Said she was my daughter. she looked like my Ben, same smile, same funny little knees he used to scrape up, ones i used to kiss better. It wasn’t Ben. My Ben had eyes. My daughters words buzzed, like there was something in her throat. Perhaps the same things that crawled where her eyes would be, round and yellow and bumbling, i thought, and my head starting hurting again. She only stayed at the door, didn’t come in. She said she just wanted to say hello.

She said she’ll visit again.

That she’ll bring her family.

i don’t think she means me anymore.’ The magnus archives belongs to Rusty Quill, the above belongs to me!

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harrypotterximagines · 3 years

Text

ANON: hey angel, I was wondering if you could write a smut for Neville involving him and a fem!reader losing their virginities together, and he’s super nervous and shy and reassuring, and totally overwhelmed by everything he feels cuz he’s honoured she loves him enough to let him touch her and omg just supersuper sweet Neville PLEASE 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

_________________________________________________________

The air was heavy as soon as you opened your eyes. A certain feeling inside of you was churning, a thousand small butterflies fluttering around your heart. You felt like glass, ready to shatter; and the best part was, you were ready to break.

The way how Neville slept alongside you, wool blanket dragged to the tip of his nose, securing himself with warm overwhelmed you. His peaceful body laid limp, unaware you were watching his doze. It’s true when one says that words cant describe the immense amount of love you feel for him. Your body felt baptized whenever you caught a glimpse of your soulmate. It was a connection you assumed you were never going to reach.

Taking your eyes off Neville, you swung your legs alongside the bed, hoisting yourself up and getting ready for the day. Each step you took, each corner you passed, your mind couldn’t leave him. It seemed that whatever was in the air wasn’t just speculation but rather a bug. The bite of love’s grace stung you extra hard this morning, warmth and serenity filling your veins like liquid gold.

Squeezing the bathroom counter and letting the coldness of the marble cool your body, your wide smile reflected back at you. Moments like these, when you have a chance to step back and reflect on all your privileges, dating Neville was more than a personal achievement. You realized that it wasn’t the art of bragging to your friends you had someone that treated you like a Middlemist Red flower but instead it was privilege of getting to call Neville yours.

If luck was genuine and true, despite its sharp fangs filled with venom to strike at those who are disadvantaged, you sneaked past that poisonous peril. Taking a shaky breath and biting back tears of joy, you followed up on your daily morning routine. Although distractions like brewing coffee and choosing which mugs you’d both be drinking out of this morning, Neville couldn’t leave your mind.

The passion that radiated off from you almost made Neville seem phantom-like as he appeared into the kitchen, the sun glowing off his soft skin. His eyes brightened at your beauty, floating closer to you. You were utterly entranced by his power, only breaking out of your gaze by his command. His strong hand placed on the small of your back, tugging you close and kissing you sweetly.

He whispered good morning in your ear, his voice raspy and deep. The lovesickness whirled back into your heart once more and you realized it just wasn’t his love you craved, but the entirety of his whole. You swallowed hard, your train of thought heading off to a destination of overwhelming overthinking. Admittedly, you’ve both never done anything beyond the level of intensely making out. However, you felt ready to fully share your soul with his.

You turned your head to Neville as he yawned into his arm, staring at the coffee pot as it slowly and painfully processed the beans. You took one step closer to him, watching carefully, seeing if he would react to your odd behavior. Then another step. And another. Suddenly his arms were around your waist, your mouth going directly onto his.

At this moment, when the sun dyed his hair a shade lighter, made his eyes brighter, and his aura bewitching, your glass body shattered. You fell limp in his arms, his strength picking pinning you against the kitchen counter to support and hold you close. Your greedy mouth stole kisses at every breath you regrettably took, not wanting to waste a single moment.

Neville looked down at you, an eyebrow raised out of amusement but confusion. His face was hard to read, his smile a mask for his true feelings. You didn’t know what was the best way to flat out say you wanted him in more ways then one, but somehow the words managed to escape your lips:

“I’m ready, Neville,” You breathlessly said.

Understanding completely with your simple request, Neville hoisted you off the counter and brought you back to your place of rest. Heart and mind, you’re connected as one. Now it’s time to complete this unity and share the pleasures the body had to give.

Neville slowly placed you back down onto the mattress, his body barely hovering above yours. His hands were stiff and uncertain, afraid of making one wrong move and destroying a moment that’s going to remain a permanent burn in his mid. The last thing he’d want to do is go up in flames and not walk through them.

His cheeks began to rise a light pink as cold fingers poked his sides. His crimson white sleeping shirt rose above his head, kisses peppering his stomach as you began to undress him first. His shyness overwhelmed you, finding it sweet that he cared enough to react in such a way.

Once his shirt was tossed to the ground, his eyes widened as he realized he had to return the favor. Slowly, his fingers began to line up with the hem of your shirt. You felt his fingernails lightly drag across the skin of your stomach as the soft cloth exposed more of your body. He stopped right before the under of your breast, hesitating. His eyes looked down at yours, waiting for the signal of approval before he could advance any further.

When he received the sign of approval, his lips began to kiss the skin that was shown. His delicate mouth grazed upon your flesh, worshipping your body. He kissed in between your breasts as the shirt tugged above and over your head, his hands falling to his pajama pants. With more eagerness to comply, he found himself naked before you.

He let out an airy laugh, his nervousness encapsulating his being. However, he embraced it because he knew by the look on your face that read fearful content matched his own. He was overwhelmed by the amount of emotion he was undergoing and wanted your first time to be as sweet as one would hope.

He didn’t want to rush into things or scare you off, so when he tugged the blanket above his hips to hide the view of his private self, he was shocked when you pushed it back down.

You shook your head, smiling wide. “I want to see you, Neville,” You whispered, reassuring him on his insecurities and doubts.

“And I can’t wait to see you,” He whispered back, although you found that he took his time taking off your bottom half.

You giggled as he took in a deep breath while interlocking his fingers with your panties, unlocking the invisible chastity belt you once wore. Neville looked down at you as he found his hands gripping onto yours. He lightly squeezed your hands as his lips kissed your neck, whispering into your ear about how much he loves you.

He reminded you that every part of him belonged to you. He told you that it wasn’t just fate that brought you both close but the destiny of promising past lives and future reincarnations that set in stone your souls connection.

With one final promising declaration of love and loyalty, his thickness buried deep inside you. Overwhelmed, you were the one to draw in a sharp breath this time, leaving him chuckling instead. His fingers interlocked with yours as he immediately told you that you were doing great even though he had no prior experience.

His nose nuzzled with yours as he slowly began to gyrate his hips, getting you comfortable and settled. He whispered low that if you wanted to stop, he immediately would pull out but you refused. You knew the moment was right and you didn’t want to have it any other way.

Neville encouraged you and put the spotlight of positive reinforcement and support directly onto you. He kissed you every time he pushed in, calling you a beauty beyond belief.

He stiffened when you moaned his name for the first time, overwhelmed once more. He slightly whined at how much he craved you, utterly in love with the way you knew how to tempt him. He found himself calling your name too, a feeble whisper in your ear. A mixture of raspiness and lust filled your senses.

His hands never left yours as his progression enhanced and he took full control, a gentle yet dominant movement he favored for your first time. You found yourself becoming increasingly comfortable and soon enough, the two of you released yourselves to each other.

Neville was panting by the time he came, his heart rapidly beating inside his chest. Your heartbeat followed a similar pattern, yet another connection the two of you fatefully shared. He laid on top of your for a silent minute, absorbing and soaking in the moment. He left out laugh which you proceeded to follow, the air banished from the heaviness you felt earlier that day, replacing itself with light and love.

Neville nestled himself close to your side, kissing your cheek, shutting his eyes. You stared up at the ceiling, regret never coming at all. You smiled to yourself, happy you found a partner for life.

#neville longbottom #neville #longbottom #neville longbottom smut #neville longbottom imagine #neville longbottom headcanon #harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter smut #harry potter headcanon

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thesolotomyhan · 3 years

Text

being pregnant with miguel angel felix gallardo’s kid but leaving him would include

a/n: the way i went full 180 and wrote this because i LIVE for angst and im here to share my pain with you all,, also! this came out as a preggo hc but it follows up with the angst- um i hope you all enjoy my mess

Taglist: @ fandomnerd16 @visintaes @sheeshgivemeabreak @artemiseamoon @ all-tings-diego

let me know if you want to be tagged!

tODO POR TU CULPA ANON IM CRYING BEFORE I EVEN BEGIN-

i just need to say this to mend my broken heart but,, can you imagine miguel angel being so fucking elated the day you tell him you’re pregnant-

like im imagining you surprising him with this neatly wrapped box you give him once he comes home,,

your nervous form standing there when he gives you that stupid laugh when he picks up the box like, “whats this, amor?”

just- his smile getting bigger as he starts to unwrap the box,, pulling out this onesie you put in there-

and there’s this shine in his eyes as he holds it up,, looking at you with so much adoration,,

“estas- embarazada, tesoro?” I SOB because i know nothing feels better than to hear from you,, his dama, is pregnant with his kid, :((

and just him walking up to you,, kissing your forehead as his hands caress your stomach, lightly laughing into your hair- i :(

ok but i can feel it in me that since day one,, he would have you never leave the house no matter what because he doesnt want you out and about without him there cuidandote,,

he just gets low key worried because he doesn’t want you to get hurt while he’s working, and not be there for you right away,, so i know he would have someone with you at all times

like personal maids to do anything you ever need because he doesnt want you touching one plate or moving one foot-

he just w o r r i e s about you putting strength in anything that could harm the baby even if youve only been pregnant for a month-

se preocupa el cabron

and also him doubling security just for the sake of something ever happening,, i just- he doesn’t want absolutamente NADA que te pase ok :(

i cant- hes always telling you that you can call him whenever you need to if you want from the littlest problem to the biggest-

“por cualquier cosa, no importa la hora, you call me first, mi amor, tu eres lo mas importante para mi” -

hes just trying his hardest to be as supportive as he can for you,, im tearing up

also someone PLEASE tell me im not the only one that imagines him sitting down on a couch and having you either sitting on his lap or curled into him-

him caressing your hair and kissing the top of your head,, his hand intertwined with yours thats sitting on your stomach-

like its such a soft fucking moment that he cherishes and just looks forward to the day when he imagines holding your baby in his arms- i :((

and i can see him being the type to bring you all and every snack/food he sees on the street on his way home for you to have,,

just the way he’ll come home to you,, fresh pan dulce in his hand or ice cream as he walks up to you,, smile on his face when he leans down to kiss you-

“te traje algo para ti y el niño, amor” and his hand rubbing your stomach -i cannot handle this right now,,

god, he would also be the one to always have you sleeping on his chest,, wanting to be as close to you and his bebe when he falls asleep,,

but also him staring at the ceiling,, thinking of names he likes for your baby,, and just him blurting them out randomly when he really likes one,

i cant-and the little smile on his face when he hears you softly giggle into his chest,, sleepily telling him if you like that name or not- im crying i wow-

ok now listen,, -i want you to imagine with me somewhere at the point of your pregnancy where you find out the gender of your baby ok-

i can imagine you wouldnt have told miguel about you going to the doctors maybe because you wanted to surprise him or maybe it just crossed your mind and you forgot to tell him-

but whatever the reason,, you wouldve wanted to give him the news at his office at hotel americas because youre too excited to wait until later to tell him,,

and i just imagine you carrying this first ever picture in your hand of your baby, this smile on your face as you head up,, i

but right when you round the corner down to his office, you bump into this lady, still trying to button her shirt up, adjusting her outfit and not even acknowledging you as she walks all giggly away from you-

and from this point,, you already know something isnt right even tho you want to so badly brush it off, you cant,

not when you look down the hall where miguels office door was left open-

god, just the nagging tension pulling on your shoulder every time you take a step closer to his door,,

and the moment you push the door open,, its like a weight was dropped on your heart because there miguel stands, right behind his desk, adjusting the collar of his shirt, his hair all messed up and sticking out everywhere-

just- the whole world feeling like it stopped when he looks up at you, standing there in the doorway,, looking at him with so much resentment in your eyes because you fucking know what happen ed when everything clicked for you- i

“mija, que haces aqui? you should be at home, resting-” and like just the way hes trying to play it off like you didnt just catch him angers you even more, your tense form looking at him and teeth gritting-

“who was that vieja, miguel?”

and just woW him giving you that fucking scoff he does as he smiles at you, moving to start walking up to you,,

“que vieja, mijita?”

i- and the way you give him this dry laugh,, not even noticing your hand starting to crumble the picture in your hand- “no soy pendeja miguel, diME quien era esa mujer” your voice starting to slowly crack,, your eyes filling with angry tears as you back away from him-

i fucking CRY at the thought of desperate miguel trying to hold your arms and calm you down,, and just holding your body against his when you start to struggle out of his hold,, his voice rising to get you to calm down when you start to hit his chest like- como pudiste? after everything we’ve been through, me enganas, como nada-?”

i just- his hands trying to stop you from pushing him away and get ahold of you- “BASTA mija, ella no es nada para mi, let me fix this, tu eres la mejor cosa para mi” i- and him looking at you todo perdido when you push him away angrily,, wanting to get as much space away from him

and theres this tense ass moment where you can barely even look at him through your eyes,, taking a shaky breath like- “cuantas mas hay,,,, dime la verdad-”

but- ,just him looking down, silent becasue he cant bring himself to lie to you again,, not with they way he can feel his heart in his throat if he even tries to- “dejame arreglar esto, profavor mi amor, i never wanted to hurt you”

i cant- just the way he can see your heart break further when he looks at you,, hurting the one person he promised to never destroy,,

and his own feeling like it fucking shatters as he watches you toss your ring at him,, your words further crushing him - “nunca pense que llegaria el dia en que te dijera that i dont love you anymore after what you did”-

and just, your muffled cries struggling to leave your mouth as you turn around,, not even noticing when the crumpled picture of your baby falls to the floor-

your legs moving without even thinking towards his door,, not once glancing back at him when he tries to call out your name as you slam the door behind you- i

THIS IS YOUR FAULT ANON

#narcos mexico imagine #narcos mexico imagines #miguel angel felix gallardo x reader #miguel angel felix gallardo #narcos mexico #narcos: mexico

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winterscaptain · 4 years

Text

through and through.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: this is our ajf minimal loss fic! as (usually) usual, its more fun if you read the rest of the series, but this one stands on its own just fine. lemme know what you think!!

words: 5.8k warnings: canon-typical violence, death, and injury, language, aaron Flexing on These Hoes™

summary: the septarian sect ranch situation is hard enough with the memories of waco. the knowledge you’re in danger, along with reid and prentiss, has aaron on edge.

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

“Everyone just stay calm!”

Nancy turns, assuring you with a naive and placating smile, “I’m state police. I’m an officer of the state.”

Stupid. Stupid!

“Well, there’s nothing we can do right now.” Emily, ever the voice of reason, assures from behind you.

“We just have to calm down.” Your useless attempt at de-escalation is overrun by gunfire.

“I can talk to him.” Lunde turns to go, and you reach for the back of her shirt, trying to pull her back.

You manage to get past the goons in the front, while they stop Emily. There’s only one chance. “No, Nancy! Wait.”

As you run after her out of the tunnel to the main level, you give her more and more space. The noise and smoke is a little overwhelming and you almost lose her in your confusion and distraction. Cyrus shouts to cease fire, but it’s in vain. The gunfire echoes around you, and you can’t help but think of Aaron.

What if I don’t come home?

She rushes to the front of the building, by the window, and addresses Benjamin. “Mr. Cyrus, let me talk to them.”

You catch up to here in the chapel, reaching for her arm to pull her back to safety when something stops you. You can’t feel it at first, but when you watch Lunde drop to the ground, you know.

Fuck.

Hitting the deck right away, you put pressure on the gunshot wound that’s torn through your left shoulder. You breathe deeply, fighting the panic you know will only hurt you more. The shock still numbs the pain and when you look, it seems through and through. The back of your blazer is ripped through, and there’s a hole in the wall behind you.

That’s a comfort.

The last thing you needed was a .223 round bouncing around in your chest. You’re grateful enough it didn’t tear your arm off entirely.

You crawl around the corner and press yourself against the wall. With a groan, you remove your blazer and tie it around your shoulder as best you can. You chance a glance at Nancy, but she's already gone - unseeing eyes turned toward the ceiling, her hand limp on the carpet, blood blossoming across the chest of her teal blouse.

Damn it.

Cyrus’s men shout around you, and it feels more and more like an active warzone with every passing second

“Man down, man down! We can’t stay here!”

“Hold your fire!”

You breathe as deeply as you can, tucking your arm to your belly and closing your eyes. The gunfire slowly ceases, the movement around you becoming only a little less frantic.

Aaron will know. He’ll find us. We’ll be okay.

Your shoulder twinges. The adrenaline is starting to wear off, and you only hope you go into shock soon for the sake of your pain tolerance.

Aaron, please. Please hurry.

+++

“Morgan.” JJ bursts through the glass doors and unmutes the television in the corner.

“What’s up?”

She increases the volume, and they hear, “... a routine question and answers meeting by Colorado Child Services has turned into a violent and deadly standoff between Colorado authorities and a fringe religious group known as the Septarian Sect.”

Morgan stands, ready to leap into action. “JJ...That’s not the ranch were -”

“They’re still inside.”

Derek’s voice rockets across the office as he calls for Hotch, who immediately ends his call and leaves his office, leaning heavily on the banister. Derek tells him you’re still in there, with Reid and Prentiss.

“...at least three child services members are still trapped inside the compound.”

No.

Aaron swallows heavily,

Keep your head, Hotcher. It’ll be okay.

Phones start ringing all at once. Everyone looks to Aaron, and he’s already back in his office, grabbing his things. He flies back out, blazer slung over his shoulder and go bag in-hand. “Wheels up. Now.”

+++

You watch as they haul Lunde’s body out of the way. Someone helps you to your feet. You’re feeling pretty dizzy.

“Can I have some water? Please?” You know for certain you’re in shock now, and keeping your blood pressure and volume high enough is the only way you’ll make it out alright.

“We’ll get you what you need after we take you back to your people.”

There’s always been a little part of you that believes in the nugget of humanity in people. Today, it might just save your life.

Emily rushes to you as you step down into the basement. Reid hovers, nervous and watchful. Emily’s voice is steady. “We need water and medical attention.”

“First aid kit is in the corner.” Cyrus points and Reid jets off to grab it while Cyrus continues giving direction. Someone hands her three bottles of water, and she sets them by your side.

Emily’s hand flutters over your forehead, as if checking you for fever. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Through and through. Just gotta stop the bleeding.” You know you’re slurring your words a little bit, but it’s not as bad as it could be.

“I prayed this day would never come, but it has.” Cyrus shoulders a rifle. “God will see us through.”

Fuck.

Cyrus’s eyes linger on you and Emily a little longer than is comfortable, but that’s the least of your worries. Spencer returns with the kit, pulling out packing gauze and wrapping.

Emily helps you with your blazer and shirt, leaving your shoulder exposed to the mountain air. Spencer packs your wound while Emily starts wrapping the gauze around your ribs and shoulder. “You’re gonna be okay.”

You put a hand on her arm. “I know. Thanks.”

+++

Hotch comes to a screaming stop in the SUV, his suit jacket long gone in the Colorado heat. He immediately makes assignments. “Dave, I’m making you lead negotiator.”

“Me?” Dave asks.

“Why go to the students when I have the teacher?” Aaron’s eyes are probing and hold all the respect in the world for his dear friend.

“Because the teacher is emotionally involved!” Dave cants his head toward the compound, and Aaron’s eyes follow, as if searching for you. Dave’s eyes stay steady on Aaron - watching him look for you. “And so is the Agent in Charge.”

With a defeated sigh, Aaron cops to it. “I know I am. This is a unique situation.” At Dave’s squint, he continues. “We have three agents who could affect the outcome on the inside.” His voice is low and riddled with tension. The concern radiates off of him in waves, and he can only hope it passes as concern for the whole team.

In truth, it’s almost all for you. He can’t explain it, but he knows something isn’t right.

“I can’t be objective. I know them too well.” Dave does everything he can to pull Aaron from direct control, but he knows it's a lost cause. More than one part of him knows why.

Aaron’s jaw tightens, and he’s more intense than before when he replies, “This outcome depends as much on our ability to predict the moves of our team as Cyrus. That’s why you’re the best man for the job.”

“Assuming they’re still in a position to make moves.”

The thought is near-unbearable. He softens, taking another approach.

“I know how bad this is. That’s why I want you doing the talking.”

“Alright.”

Aaron claps Dave on the shoulder, and it’s a silent thanks. Before they can move, there’s more commotion around the back of the FBI staging area.

Goddamn it. What now?

“...I’m sorry sir, I’m under direct orders from the FBI.”

Dave and Aaron share a glance, and Aaron leads the way to the argument.

“I’m the Attorney General of this state.”

He can’t help it. A smirk crosses Aaron’s face.

Lawyers. Alright. I can do lawyers.

There’s also a part of him relieved that he can offload some of this stress into some kind of altercation. An opportunity to flex his Juris Doctorate never hurts.

“I demand to know why I wasn’t told that the FBI was sending undercover agents into the Septarian Ranch -”

Alright. That’s it.

Aaron turns, an insulting kind of disbelief on his face. Steadily and without haste, he approaches. “The only thing that you’re in the position to demand is a lawyer.” A spike of anger strikes his chest.

He knew about this raid. He knew and he failed to tell us.

And now his people are in trouble.

You are in trouble.

“Who the hell are you?” The overblown AG turns on Aaron.

Big mistake.

“I’m Aaron Hotchner. Unit Chief. I’m the guy who’s gonna tell the Attorney General of the United States whether to charge you with obstructing a federal investigation or negligent homicide.”

And it’s not an empty threat, dipshit.

“You can’t talk to me like that.” Was that a smug smile on his face?

Aaron steps up to him, nearly nose to nose. The adrenaline and anger and fear floods through him and leaks through his words. “Get off my crime scene.”

Hard brown eyes stare down weak blue ones. Aaron wins.

+++

“Then leave us alone.” Cyrus’s voice belies no tension as he paces. Your eyes follow him, much more alert now that much of the bleeding has stopped and you have some water in you. Emily strapped ice to your shoulder about twenty minutes ago. You might end up with a little nerve damage, but it's better than bleeding to death.

“I’m afraid we can’t do that, Benjamin.” Dave takes a breath, delivering the information steadily. “One of the police bled out on the way to the hospital. So let’s just stop this before things get worse.”

Aaron’s brows, already low, get even lower. Derek, hovering behind Rossi, takes note. The tension in his unit chief is different and he doesn’t know what it is.

“Please,” Dave continues, “just put down your guns and come out.”

A buzzing takes over Aaron’s senses for a moment, and he shakes his head to rid himself of it. He reaches down for a bottle of water, downing half of it before he puts it back down.

“Now, the four child service workers…” That catches Aaron’s attention, and he snaps to. “One of them is dead. It wasn’t us.”

You bite your lip, watching Benjamin pace near the door. That phrasing will do nothing but panic your team, and you know it. Tipping your head against the wall behind you, you throw out anything you can.

I’m alright, Aaron. We’re okay.

Aaron’s head drops and he wets his lips. He closes his eyes, doing his best to keep himself from running straight for the compound.

No. Please. I’ll get what I get for wishing it’s someone else, but please let it be someone else. Anyone else.

What if it was Prentiss?

What if it was Reid?

Guilt floods him and he pushes the thoughts aside.

Dave keeps his voice clear and even. The depth of Aaron’s gratitude and respect is ineffable. There’s nobody better for the job. “I need a name to inform the family.”

“Her name was Nancy Lunde.”

Aaron nearly collapses in relief, pushing away the guilt as it rises in his sternum.

“One service worker was shot in the same altercation, but we have provided medical care and the wound is non-lethal.”

Say my name. Say my name, please.

He doesn’t, and you grind your teeth together.

Dave nods, glancing at Aaron. “Okay. Now, please, Benjamin, send out your wounded, including the injured service worker. I promise they’ll be taken care of.”

“With enough supplies, we can tend to our own.”

“Okay, I’ll need a few hours to put them together. I’ll bring them up myself at first light.”

You can’t hear what Dave says on the other end of the line, but Cyrus’s lack of reaction can only be a good thing.

“You should get some sleep.” Emily, sitting next to you, checks over your wound again. Spencer’s on your other side with his eyes closed, but you know he’s not sleeping either.

Closing your eyes, you reply, “I can’t.” Nevertheless, you reach for her hand. She slips her fingers into your palm. “Mm. Your hands are warm.”

“Well, yeah. I didn’t get shot today.” She’d usually jostle you with a jab like that, but she knows better - obviously.

+++

When first light comes, you open your eyes. You’re not sure, but it was likely you got at least a couple of hours of sleep. There’s a lot you don’t remember from the night before, but you know they shuffled you up to the chapel at some point.

Probably a good thing.

The ice has melted and your arm is all wet. You check your dressings and find them working well enough. They’ll still have to be changed, but you can’t deny the effectiveness of Emily’s instruction and handiwork.

A car door closes outside. Emily stirs, immediately reaching for a nearby bottle of water. She hands it to you after she takes a couple of sips. Shuffling around Spencer, you take it with your good arm and drink as much as you can.

Wait. Didn’t Spencer say you could do a transfusion with coconut water?

Do I even need a transfusion?

Yes.

Oh. Thanks.

A knock on the door startles you out of your half-delirious thoughts. You’re grateful for the distraction. The feeling increases tenfold when Dave walks into the chapel.

Aaron’s nearby. It’ll be okay. He probably put Dave on this himself.

“The children, and our guests.” Cyrus gestures to you, proving to Dave that everyone is in fact, relatively, alright.

You turn your head (ouch) and meet Dave’s eyes. Looking back down, you’re satisfied he knows you’re alive.

“I was hoping you’d let me take the children,” Dave says.

Benjamin shakes his head. “Nah. They’re our protection.”

We are, too, dumbass.

The two men chat for a moment. Your heart feels like it grows three sizes as you listen to Dave do what he does best.

It’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.

You have to believe it.

After Dave leaves, they make you stand off to the side while they pour wine for everyone present. Emily starts whispering, and you know she’s profiling the adults. It’s probably smart, but all your energy is focused on remaining upright and ignoring the throbbing ache in your shoulder.

+++

Dave jogs back up to the staging area and assures them you’re all okay. He relays your condition to Aaron, “...but it looks alright. Well-dressed and not bleeding through.”

Aaron nods. So that’s what the feeling was. You’re alright, but it’s still wrong. He shoves down something else that scares him a little.

That’s a problem for another time.

Is it a problem, though?

Yes.

“He’s too calm. It’s - It’s like he was waiting for this to happen and now that it has, he feels vindicated.”

Aaron rounds the table and comes to rest at Dave’s side. They’re in full strategy mode. The opportunity to stretch their abilities is welcome, but they both wish it was under better circumstances with lower stakes.

His hands flutter uselessly at his sides. Restless energy still rockets around his limbs and he hates it. He hates feeling so deeply out of control.

“I have a signal!”

Derek, Dave, and Aaron flock to their headphones, tuning in just in time to hear Cyrus inform the congregation they have all ingested the poison together.

+++

Emily’s eyes shoot around the room, and you know what she’s thinking.

The profile didn’t indicate mass suicide…

This doesn’t fit

He continues to deliver his sermon and you tune out, focused on the faces of Cyrus’s followers. Right now, they’re more revealing than he’ll ever be.

+++

“This doesn’t fit.”

Dave voices Aaron’s thoughts exactly. It quickly devolves into discussion of a breach, and Aaron brings a hand to his forehead. He’s ready to go.

“If we go into there, people are going to die.”

Aaron’s hand flies out to the side. “People are already dying.”

Rossi’s eyebrows raise, and Aaron tries to keep his hackles down.

+++

“What do we do?” Emily whispers.

Spencer shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“We have to do something,” you hiss. “These people just took poison.”

“Cyrus just told them he did and I think he’s bluffing.”

Emily’s brow crumples. “Why do you think that?”

Spencer’s following observations make sense - the notes, the watching armed bystanders. It’s strategically sound for Cyrus to weed out the weak in his congregation.

After a moment, Cyrus admits it was a test of faith. “...Watch each other for signs of weakness. You are your brother’s keeper.”

+++

Frustrated, Aaron runs his hands through his hair. “Tell ‘em to stand down.”

The tension is getting to him, as is the lack of sleep. Dave made him lay down overnight, but he never once closed his eyes. He was worried about Prentiss. He was worried about Reid.

He was worried about you.

I almost got all of them killed.

Step it up, Hotchner. You chose Dave for a reason.

Listen to him.

+++

“...well into its second day, the standoff at the Septarian Sept ranch has now been taken over by the FBI. There was much speculation in regard to hostages…”

Aaron hovers behind JJ, completely tuned in to the news. This could be disastrous.

“...But anonymous sources inside the state attorney general’s office have told us there is an undercover FBI agent currently being held inside the Septarian Sect ranch.”

This is disastrous.

Everyone reacts, but Aaron walks away. He can’t face this right now. There’s too much to do, too much to think about.

Don’t do anything stupid.

He only hopes you can hear him, somehow.

Please don’t be a hero.

+++

Cyrus enters, all bluster and confidence.

Shit. Something happened.

“Which one of you is it?”

You all just stare at him. He pulls a gun from his waistband and you jump a little. The movement twinges your shoulder, and you let out a small wince.

“Which one of you is the FBI agent?”

Spencer is the first to speak. “Why do you think one of us is an FBI agent?”

Yikes, Spence. Question for a question.

Wait. Maybe it will work.

Something in you tells you to keep your mouth shut, and you do. The last thing you want is to screw up whatever Spencer’s cooking up. His brain moves a lot faster than yours.

Don’t do anything stupid.

“God will forgive me for what I must do.”

You can feel your eyes widen as Cyrus raises the gun to Spencer’s head. You’re completely frozen, as if something’s physically holding you in place.

Don’t be a hero.

You’ve been shot, idiot. Your shock response is all over the place.

No, it’s different.

Yeah. Sure.

You roll your eyes at yourself, but quickly cover it by crinkling your face up in what you hope looks like confusion.

“I - I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Cyrus looks at you and you shake your head, doing your best to look like a deer in headlights. “One of you does,” he says. “Who is it?”

Before you can open your mouth, Emily jumps in without hesitation. “Me. It’s me.”

Spencer looks at her like she’s grown a second head. Cyrus lowers the gun and you take a breath. You don’t have much time to recover, though, as Cyrus snatches Emily by the hair and drags her out of the room.

Your breath catches and you leap to your feet with Spencer. The dizziness doesn’t phase you, but your concern for Emily certainly does.

Don’t cry.

Don’t be a hero.

There’s a gun to your head and you do your best to relax. You raise your good arm into the air, as if you could be a threat with a half-inch hole through your shoulder.

Shit.

+++

Between your gunshot wound and now listening to Emily getting the shit beat out of her, this is a bad day for Aaron.

Someone else hauls you by your bad arm into another room, and you can’t help but yelp. They need to listen to Emily now, so you do your best to stifle the urge to cry out. You’ll answer all the questions as quietly as possible.

They need to hear Emily.

Aaron, please have ears in there.

+++

Aaron very nearly throws the headphones off. He’d know your voice anywhere, even raised in pain. The overlapping cacophony of anguish breaks his chest wide open.

“We gotta go in.” He stands and removes his headphones, unable to listen any longer.

Rossi shakes his head, still tuned in. “We’d be risking the lives of everyone in there.”

+++

You can hear Emily through the wall, and you bite your tongue until it bleeds. The man (who still has a hold on your arm), throws you into a chair. You let out a small wail, but cover your mouth with your good hand before speaking. “Please, I -”

“Did you know?”

“No. No.” They need to hear Emily.

“Tribulation breeds resilience,” the man says, dropping close to you. His thumb digs into your wound. It’s too much and you internally apologize to Aaron as you let out a sob. “God rewards the resilient. He rewards those who cleanse themselves of evil.”

“Please -”

He shakes you and man does it hurt. The pain shoots from your shoulder to your fingertips and zings all the way down your back. You’re hot and cold at the same time and don’t have the energy to fight it anymore. You break down, and sound falls from your mouth as the man continues to preach at you, all the while tweaking and twisting and squeezing your shoulder.

+++

“He’s got them both.” Aaron stands, his palms pressed flat to the table. Hearing you in that kind of pain ignites something white-hot in his chest. He hurts for Emily, too, but at least she’s still able to talk.

“I can take it.” Emily’s voice rings clear through the headphones, and they all freeze.

“Wait - Wait. Listen to what she’s saying.” Dave gestures to Aaron, who reluctantly tunes back in.

“I can take it.”

Derek scoffs. “She’s antagonizing him.”

“She’s not talking to him.” Rossi remains firm.

Aaron’s hands get lost in his hair, restless and frustrated and useless. He takes a breath and ignores the sting behind his eyes. “She’s talking to us. She’s telling us not to come in.”

He knows Emily. She’s just as smart as she is strong and wouldn’t antagonize Benjamin on her own.

There’s a particularly vicious commotion and Emily falls to the ground with a sharp groan and a cough.

That’s it for Derek. He throws his headphones off and starts to pace. Aaron’s the only one who leaves the headphones on. Even then, his eyes mist up and his jaw is so tight he’s almost afraid his teeth will shatter.

+++

You slump back against the chair. “I’m sorry she lied to you. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” The words choke out of you with a gasp. Your shoulder screams and the pain is truly breathtaking.

Emily will forgive you for throwing her under the bus - you know you’d forgive her if the situation was reversed.

Cyrus throws the door open. “The agent’s going upstairs. The other two are clean.” He looks at you with a certain degree of contempt and you keep your eyes on the floor.

Don’t do anything stupid.

Don't be a hero.

Why those two phrases keep echoing around in your head, you have no idea. Nevertheless, they’re both good reminders.

You’re returned to Spencer and slide into a chair. You tip your head back against the wall and listen to Cyrus question him.

Why didn’t Spencer get beat up?

Not that you wanted Spencer to get beat up, of course, but it all seemed a little inequitable. You’d already been shot - isn’t that enough excitement for one day?

“On the next call, you should test them.”

Oh, how I love you, Spencer Reid.

He continues. “Test the negotiator. Make him prove he isn’t a liar.”

This would only work if they had ears in the building. If Spencer has faith, so do you. Tears prick at your eyes and you think of Aaron.

Please tell me he didn’t hear me. Please tell me they only had ears on Emily.

You’re still the baby of the team, the newest, the youngest. You know that’s why Aaron watches out for you so carefully. He’s just protecting you.

At least, that’s what you choose to believe. The other option is ridiculous, absurd, and nothing but wishful thinking.

Don’t be a child.

Spencer has Cyrus right where he wants him. You suppress a smile and hope it passes as a grimace.

“What about you?” Cyrus turns on you and you’re proud when you don’t flinch. “What do you think?”

You shrug with your one good shoulder. “It’s a good idea, and the offer to exchange a child for information is a show of good faith. I’m sure they’ll appreciate that.”

+++

Dave and Aaron share a glance.

“They’ve got him.”

A swell of pride crashes through Aaron’s chest. It’s just because you’re his youngest agent - the most time, the most potential. He has to keep you safe, he reasons. It’s the right thing to do.

That’s not the only reason.

He shakes his head, but the thought has its claws dug in deep.

+++

As Cyrus reads the list of names, Emily appears at your side again.

She looks awful - half her face painted with red and purple bruises, with more blossoming under her collar. You almost laugh aloud when she asks, “Are you okay?”

“Emily, you’re asking me if I’m okay?”

She huffs. “I didn’t get shot. Just a little beat up. We’re good. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

Spencer’s mouth presses into a thin line. You both know she’s lying. “I’m so sorry.” Moments later, he relays the information for both your ears and your team outside.

Cyrus looks at you, and you almost think he’s going to let you go, but his gaze slides past you. Spencer approaches him and they speak in hushed tones.

When they’re through, Cyrus gestures to Emily and a pair of goons. “Take her back.”

Emily looks only the slightest bit alarm as she’s taken back upstairs by the arm. If Spencer’s in, and Emily’s out, where does that leave you?

You elect yourself Reid’s shadow, silent and always right off his shoulder. Cyrus doesn’t seem to mind too much and if he does, he doesn’t show it.

+++

“Drugging the food isn’t an option because of the children. We’ll have to go in.” The whiteboard marker twirls between Aaron’s fingers as he thinks.

Indeed. Rossi, from his place in the corner, says, “The best time to hit them is when they’re least mentally prepared.”

“3am. Biorhythms are at their low point, then.”

“We need a diversion,” Derek notes. “Something that plays into his expectations.”

Humvees, then, are clearly on the docket. As are bright lights and all the flash and glamour of federal law enforcement.

Hotch and Morgan begin to volley, both men processing and paying close attention.

“The plan depends on our people separating the diehards from the followers -”

Derek interrupts, finishing Aaron’s thought. “And delaying Cyrus’s diehards from reacting to our assault.”

“No, that’s not my main concern. They know what they need to do.”

“So what is your concern?”

“Letting them know when we’re coming. The whole thing hinges on them being ready for us at 3am.” A thought comes to him then, and he reaches for a sharpie and a lid. Maybe your weird understanding of each other will come in handy, or Spencer will be looking for those signs he alluded to with Cyrus.

Either way, it’s the only option.

+++

Downstairs with Spencer, something catches your eye.

Wait a minute.

You’d know that blocky, left-hand slanted lettering anywhere. Aaron.

Spencer sees it, too, and you share a glance. You offer him a little smile, and he nods, understanding you completely. This might just work.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Cyrus startles you a little, and you step closer to Spencer. Your wound dressing has yet to be changed today, and the heat radiating off your shoulder has made you a little jumpy.

Just my luck to survive all of this and die of an entirely treatable infection like a sickly Victorian child.

“You don’t have to be a part of this. You can go.” He addresses the both of you, and bite your tongue again. You have to trust Spencer’s plan, and you know he has one.

As you suspected, Spencer says, “I would prefer to stay. Somebody needs to tell your story.”

“I’m glad it will be you.” Cyrus turns his gaze to you, and you nod.

“I’ll stay.”

He softens a little, and calls someone over. In what feels like seconds, you’re sitting down while gentle hands clean and re-dress your wound. It hurts like all hell, but you’d rather do this than throw the whole damn arm out.

As you sit, Cyrus’s plan becomes clear. Explosives seem to pass from hand to hand without hesitation.

Where’s Emily?

+++

Aaron has no idea how long he’s been staring at the compound. He’s wound tighter than a spring, his body all straight lines of stress as Rossi approaches him.

Finally, Aaron says, “I know I can’t go in there.” There’s too much at stake, too much on the line, too many emotions. He knows, somewhere in the back of his mind in a place he won’t acknowledge, that he would prioritize you.

So, he can’t go in there.

Dave nods. “I’m going.”

“If something happens to Prentiss or Reid or…” he trails off, unable to speak the thought aloud. “I - I don’t know.”

Dave looks over at him, understanding all the things he can and can’t say. “You’re not alone.”

+++

You can feel a shift in the air as 3am creeps nearer and nearer. Outside, inside, it’s all alive with activity and anxiety. You hug your arm to your chest, nursing a bottle of water. With fresh dressings, you feel a little cleaner, a little safer, but you know it’s an illusion.

“Something’s wrong.” The goon’s observation brings Cyrus to the front window, and even over his shoulder you can see the humvees advancing on the compound.

Nice work, team.

“They lied to us,” he whispers something to his shadow. While Cyrus grabs his firearm, the shadow opens the door. The gunfire startles you, and you look to Spencer.

Tell me it’s gonna be okay.

His eyes are steady on yours and he nods almost imperceptibly. We’re going to be fine.

Some of the lights go out and your eyes dance around the room.

Aaron, this better be part of your plan.

“It came from inside the building.”

“Check the fuses.”

The rapid discussions fly around you, but you keep your eyes on Spencer as much as you can. He’s spitting verses at the men around Cyrus, stalling. Luckily, Spencer could talk about nothing and everything forever.

You knew that would come in handy one day, even if it drives you up the wall outside of life-or-death hostage situations.

“...I did not come to bring peace, but a sword.” Cyrus smacks Spencer with the butt of his rifle, and Spencer doubles over. You can’t help him - not with one arm and certainly not without a weapon of your own.

“You cannot convert my brothers.” Cyrus hits him again, and Spencer drops to the floor, and you crouch beside him, the very picture of fear. Oddly, you’re less afraid right now than you were before. “No one had to follow. God could have stopped me.”

There’s a breach, and you cover Spencer with your body as bullets fly past you from all sides. Cyrus goes down, and so does the detonator.

“He just did.”

You almost snort as you rise, but you rapidly remember time is of the essence.

“You alright, kid?” You’re not sure if Derek’s talking to you or Spencer, but you nod anyway.

Spencer, too, responds in kind. “Fine. Where’s Emily?”

“We got her out of here.”

The breath you’ve been holding since she disappeared again leaves you, but a heavy throb of your shoulder replaces it.

The girl you’re here for in the first place, Jessica, rounds the corner and you have a sinking feeling you know exactly what she’s going to do. Nevertheless, Derek calls out to her. “Sweetheart, come with me. We need to get you out of here. Come on. Let’s go, right now.”

You snag Spencer’s sweater in your hand and follow him to the door. You watch as Jessica takes in Cyrus’s body, clocks the detonator, and then reaches for it. Spencer leaves your grasp.

You’re hot on his heels and it’s only then you have another fleeting thought of not making it back home.

“Run!”

Derek’s behind you. You only hope it’s enough time.

The explosion rocks you to your core and for a moment you’re not sure whether you’re alive or dead. When the ringing in your ears cools off, Derek has his arm around you. The smoke covers everything. Your eyes burn, coughs rattling through your chest and wracking your shoulder.

You hear your last name, as well as Derek’s and Spencer’s. It’s Emily.

She’s scared.

Derek helps you straighten, and guides you down the steps. “We’re alright!”

You still can’t talk for your coughing, but you hear Emily’s relieved, “Oh, God.”

She meets you in the middle while Aaron waits at the bottom of the stairs. He’s watching you. Emily touches the side of your face and you lean into it. You’re a little on the outside as she gathers Spencer into her arms.

There’s something going on by Aaron, but you can’t quite hear it yet. Whatever it is, it’s over before Aaron’s hand is extended toward you. When your fingers meet his palm, he brings you close, careful of your shoulder. His hand meets the back of your head, and you press your face into his neck, blocking out as much as you can.

You don’t exchange words. There’s no need.

He tucks you under his arm and you pass Jessica’s mother, watching the burning compound with bewildered eyes.

+++

You sleep on the plane, your head resting against the window. Just as you suspected, you developed a small infection on the last day in the compound, but it’s nothing two weeks’ worth of antibiotics can’t fix.

Hotch sits beside you, pretending to read something or another. His eyes keep tracking the same line over and over again. The moments where he thought he’d lost all three of you to the explosion plays back in his mind again and again and again.

You can hear him thinking and you crack an eyelid. “Hotch.”

He immediately turns his head, ready to get whatever you need. Frankly, you look miserable. “Yeah?”

“We’re fine.”

An eyebrow raises.

“Fine. I’m shot and Emily’s beat to hell, but we’re alive.” You reach for his sleeve, running your fingers over the fabric. “I think you saved my ass, by the way.”

You pull your hand back. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Something in me kept telling me ‘Don’t do anything stupid!’ ‘Don’t be a hero!’ and I’m certain it can be attributed to your undue influence on me.”

The corners of his lips turn up just the tiniest amount. “Maybe so.” He slips his blazer off and drapes it over you. “Sleep. You need it.” He sees you about to interrupt him and cuts you off. “If I see you in the office at all before next week…” The empty threat speaks for itself.

“Trust me. After my near-death experience, the last thing I want to be looking at is you.”

Liar.

“The feeling is mutual. You look terrible.” He smiles for real this time and you return it. A whisper passes through his head, and he pretends he doesn’t notice.

Liar.

+++

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mandalorewhore · 3 years

Text

Hunter (formerly Hunter and Prey)

Cis-Female Reader Insert/ Din Djarin

Gif by @themandaloriandaily

Thank u to @cptnbvcks, @whenimaunicorn, and of course @no-droids for the inspiration and your superior writing skills, whenever i was stuck on a portion i would reread all of u guy’s works and feel inspired again

Rating: Explicit Content Warnings: Exhibitionism, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Breath Play, Deep Throating, Masturbation, Pining, Depictions Of Violence, Canon-Typical Violence Words: 11k AO3 LINK

Summary: AU where Din Djarin stays with the mercenary group owned by Ranzar Malk. Takes place a few years before Din is contracted for Grogu's bounty. You're a merc trying to make a name for yourself in the group when circumstances end up having you run away with Din. You become his hunting partner in order to support yourself but you cant help falling in love with him, even as trained killers chase you across the galaxy.

FULL FIC:

As a mercenary, you wouldn’t consider yourself an overly sensitive person.

Maker knows you wouldn’t have lasted a week in the job if you couldn’t handle your emotions. Although you don’t consider yourself entirely void of empathy, having a sense of detachment is useful when your waking hours are spent committing crimes throughout the galaxy.

So why the fuck are you so jealous right now?

The obscene moans and harsh slapping that echoes throughout the hangar shouldn’t inspire a larger reaction than disgust as you dutifully continue to repair the blaster marks on one of the rogue-class starfighters. Luckily, it seems that most of your immediate associates have ran off into the deeper areas of the bay to toll your last mission.

Excluding three members, you guess.

Thank the fucking Maker Migs isn’t here You think bitterly, willing the sparks to fly higher and machine rumble louder as you carefully manipulate your buffing laser on the metal surface. His snarky attitude certainly wouldn’t lessen your misery as you try to drown out the sounds of sex. Raunchy words hiss, bouncing off the metal walls, before finding your feet and slithering up your limbs with a foulness that chokes you. Controlling the hot spinning laser seems to stoke your inner seething more than it distracts you.

“Mando! Stars, keep-fuck- keep doing that,” you hear Xi’an echoing. Fucking Xi’an. She knows what she’s doing to you. The cruel Twi’lek is far too observant to not know that she is practically comm-station broadcasting her sexual exploits to the entire crew, and with that sheer volume, might as well the entire galaxy. You truly wouldn’t care about her sex life if it wasn’t blatantly obvious that Xi’an was doing this to mock you. You know this is meant for your ears only, a repeat of every other time you’ve found yourself stuck with this chore.

Even if she wasn’t directly rubbing the fact that she was fucking the Mandalorian in your face, you don’t doubt that she would find a way to taunt your nonexistent sex life just for the fun of it. Another salacious moan echoes in the bay causing you to cringe and slightly jerk the repair tool in frustration.

Fuck, why did it have to be Mando? Aren’t there enough people on this kriffing space station to warm her bed? And how is he being so quiet right now? After a second you remember that’s a stupid question, considering he is probably the quietest person you’ve ever met.

His reservation serves to intimidate your targets, all the while unintentionally stoking that warmth in your belly when you are near him. His all-encompassing presence when he enters a room strikes fear in the hearts of the opposition, meanwhile, you are secretly pressing your thighs together in desire, enjoying the spectacle?.

You’ve found yourself reveling in the few jobs where Ran’s strategy has you in a decoy-role, weaponizing your feminine charm to lull your target into a false sense of power. The muscle composing of Burg and Mando make quick work of those men once they're thoroughly wrapped up in your wiles. Despite being placed together for jobs on several occasions you’ve never actually had a real conversation with him.

You’re too scared to talk to him, a near-silent man covered head to toe in Beskar, but you make money killing people and robbing gangs every week. It would be funnier if that purple freak wasn’t so vile. You don’t even know how to casually approach him.. Nice job killing those guys while I manipulated them into trying to fuck me! I’m pretty good with a gun, too. Maker, it’s so ridiculous that you don’t even bother with trying to figure it out. Other fantasies are easier to picture, such as the thought of him strolling across the room to slot himself in-between your spread legs, directing that intensity into your willing, aching body.

This infuriating crush is why you suppose that your envy wouldn’t be as biting if you caught some sort of noise from the man during these displays of exhibitionism. It would give you something to repeat in your mind while you stow away in the late hours of the night seeking your own release. You guess the inability to hear him is proof of how far Xi’an is pushing her volume. It’s all just to piss you off.

“Uhg, how miserable..” You mutter to yourself, allowing a little moment of self-indulgent angst. Typically, you wouldn’t allow yourself to wallow like a petulant teen seeing as you’re a literal fucking criminal.

I’m supposed to be a hardass, dammit you think, spirits low as repairs wrap up far too swiftly. You swear you’ll buff right through every layer in the ship if you keep procrastinating on finishing your job and wandering into the tucked away fresher for a shower. Wandering past….them.

Wherever they are choosing to fuck can’t be that far considering the slap of skin on skin is already fucking loud enough. The sounds seem to be emanating from a vent not too high up the wall, you deduce it connects to one of the bunk rooms not too far from the landing pad you’re working next to. It really is fucking loud with all these metal surfaces to echo off of. Making your way to your small bunk might cause you to go deaf and if the last thing you ever hear is Xi’an wailing as she rubs in the fact that you aren’t fucking Mando, well, you might just take this spinning laser to your head. Unfortunately, at this point, the exterior of the gunship couldn’t possibly get more pristine.

Sighing in defeat, you push up from your crouching position on the metal floor and start to assemble your tools for clean-up while the sounds of Twi’lek pleasure predictably pick up in volume.

“Fuck, fuck-Ah I’m close, I-I’m going to-“ A literal howl pierces the air as your gut twists with discomfort. Fuck, this is so awkward... and like, weird? Does he consent to this? Does he like that we can hear it? Maker.. Pushing that thought out of your mind you start to jog to your goal of the darkened hall that leads to the station fresher, still so wrapped up in jealousy that you almost miss the rough modulated growl accompanying the scream.

O-oh.

Oh shit. Was that Mando….Moaning?

The swirling jealousy is suddenly overtaken by a- stars- painful heat, so debilitating that you stumble and almost double over with an intensity that shoots through your groin. Okay well, now you feel like an actual pervert. This display of eroticism was engineered by Xi’an to make you uncomfortable, not so painfully turned on that it’s dizzying. You vaguely register a growing slickness between your legs as you hurry along the cold hallway, desperate to drench yourself in icy water and pretend to forget the sound of Mando moaning.

Shit, Maker, was he cumming? Was that what he sounds like when-- no stopstopnope. Don’t think about that. Your inner monologue is running amuck as you desperately try to block it out. This feels kinda gross, as if you’re a greasy peeping tom spying on Mando’s private endeavors even though this whole situation was shoved in your face to make you ache in countless, longing ways.

That deep growl repeats in your mind as you hum nonsensically under your breath, tapping your skull as if you can knock the sound out of your consciousness despite being well aware that you will go to your fucking grave with every detail. The top of your inner thighs is so embarrassingly slick that you have to resist waddling along the corridor to the showers. Just as you are about to round the first corner, one of the side bunker doors slides halfway opens with a whoosh. The smirking Twi’lek saunters out like the loth-cat who got the cream.

I suppose she did get the cream... Your split-second of sour mirth is further spoiled as Xi’an slides the rest of the door open revealing the gleam of silver beskar and red steel as the ever still Mandalorian adjusting his…thigh armor. You spy a large vent at the junction between wall and ceiling, confirming your earlier suspicions that she chose this location on purpose. Quickly glancing between Mando and Xi’an, your face uncontrollably floods with fire when her giggles pierce the air. You register his helmet tilting toward you right as Xi’an’s tongue slowly extends to liiiick her fingers, any curiosity at his gesture burning away in revulsion.

What does she get out of making everyone uncomfortable? You think to yourself, wanting to squirm away from the obscenity but resolving to hold your ground.

“Xi’an,” You greet the two shortly, hands linked behind your back. “Mando.” He nods.

“Sorry,” Xi’an offers in a voice devoid of guilt. “Were we being too loud? I would never want to distract you from your… projects.” Her taunting smile curls so widely that it is almost disturbing. “What would the team do without our junior mechanic!”

Her cackle rings through the suddenly freezing hall as you spin on your heel and try to not look like you’re fleeing. Red is tinting the edges of your vision from her insult while tears threaten to flood your eyes out of embarrassment.

You need to get to that shower quickly.

----------------

As the tepid shower rains down on your flushed body, you childishly wonder if you should run away. Or rather, if you could run away considering you technically don’t own any of the ships currently residing in the hangar bay. Although you technically have free reign to pilot most of the spaceships available, that freedom entirely applies to transportation between merc assignments . The thought of running away from your current acquaintances on a stolen ship is not appealing. In fact, the only crew member owning a personal vessel happens to be Mando, his Razer Crest gunship was often subject to your mechanic skills.

Mando, who always offered a genuine “Thank you.” after you’d spend hours touching up the vessel’s damage procured from the rare missions he lent its flight to. Mando, the person who you are presently trying to not think about while naked and still trembling with emotion.

Your sillier fantasies would sometimes involve stealing away in his gunship, hand pressed over his chest and leg thrown across his lower body like a romance novel while he skillfully pilots the ship away. Kriff, you felt like a soft girl whenever you run this scenario through your mind, so cliché and campy that you cringe at yourself. Thus, this particular dive into your consciousness was reserved for special moments such as lying in bed after a strenuous job, or after long days spent working through that junkyard of hangar bay trying to strong-arm your way into earning worth in the company. Private moments where you are finally comfortable letting your guard down to drift aimlessly throughout maladaptive daydreams.

Not so soft fantasies exist in your mind as well. Once again that modulated groan springs to the forefront of your mind causing your clit to throb softly. The conflicting feelings of embarrassment, rage, and painful arousal serves to create an energizing cocktail that goes straight to your pussy.

‘Fuck it,” You whisper breathily to yourself, “Nows as good a time as ever..” your fingers are trailing down your stomach as you say the words out loud. You adjust the water to be slightly warmer and sigh as the comfortable heat compliments your tickling fingers. If only you could replace your hands with the significantly larger leather-clad ones of a certain bounty hunter. The thought spikes your arousal as you lightly brush against your mound, choosing to tease yourself as images flash through your mind. The armor-clad Mandalorian gripping the back of your neck to you press facedown on the floor of his ship and take his cock. Or your legs spread wide across his hips, crushing your pussy on his groin while he’s seated in the pilot seat of his ship.

Your fingers dip slightly into your slick hole then drag up to your clit causing you to bite your free palm and hold back a moan. Eyelids heavy, you give in to the fantasies and begin to earnestly rub at your clit.

“Mmf Maker, f-fuck..”, you whine into your hand at the thought of him breaking your pussy open. You just know he fucks hard -- it’s a given that the crazy Twi’lek would be one for rougher sexual affairs. Someone who spends nearly every moment of life feeling nothing but the weight of fabric and beskar on their skin must be so fucking touch starved. You bet the opportunities he’s had to feel a tight cunt wrapped around his length would completely overwhelm his restraint. Muffled moans begin to fill the fresher as your fingers speed up between your legs, head hanging forward into the metal wall and water dripping off your brows.

Your eyes flutter shut as you pull your hand from your lips to tug at your hardened nipple, other hand still between your legs, imagining a dark visor being trained on your soaking wet, writhing body. The image sends a shooting pleasure up your spine as you spin around and press your back to the wall. Imagining his dark form watching you from the other side of the gathering steam, you open your thighs and spread your labia apart, sighing at the wet sound it makes. “Like what you see, hunter..?” you whisper into the empty room wishing he would find you in this shower.

Removing your fingers from your nipple you reach down to your crotch and greedily fill yourself with two fingers, pumping in and out as your other hand works at your swollen clit. The volume of your now unmuffled pleasure is likely overheard by anyone on this section of the station, but you can't find it in yourself to give a shit. If Xi’an can screech out her orgasms at any given opportunity to fuck with you then let them hear.

Let him hear.

Your imagination runs rampant at the notion that he could hunt down your gasps and take care of you himself, causing you to gasp louder. S-shit people can hear you, you just won't say his name out loud, it's fine, it's f-fine- The thought of him discovering you here is so hot that it's blinding, and suddenly your orgasm is rushing up to crush you entirely.

Your lower half is locked tight then suddenly your knees buckle and you’re cumming hard. Your choked gasps cutting through the steamy shower like blaster fire as you peak higher, uncontrollably calling out for the Mandalorian while white-hot pleasure wrings you dry. Let him hear you crying for him as you gush around your fingers, convulsing in bliss.

In the shuddering aftershocks, you don’t hear the uncharacteristically loud padding of leather boots retreating away from the fresher door.

------------------------------------------

You’re good at your job. You wouldn’t be doing it if you truly couldn’t handle the ordeal of being a mercenary. The whole point of the job is to take care of the dirty work, so those far disconnected wouldn’t have to dwell on their choices too hard. You’re used to not asking questions, motivated by credits and reputation alone. But in moments like these, a job going this awry… well, you just feel like pure shit. This hit was way too easy and far too filthy even for your career mostly consisting of professional filth. It was so glaringly obvious that even if your associate’s numbers were sliced in half, you would still sweep the ground with your winnings.

And what meager earnings they are.

The crew’s assignment this round was to hit a casino shipment just outside the outer rim planet of Cantonica. Due to the Razer Crest’s ability to fly under the radar of both Imperial and New republic records, Ran rudely allotted that Mando should allow his ship’s use for crew transport. You’re surprised he agreed at all, but perhaps the prospect of gain motivated him. His motivations are rarely clear to you. You’re guessing the price of a wealthy city’s supply sounded frankly too tempting for everyone involved; Ran was practically salivating over the drawing board for this particular errand. One would imagine a hull stacked to the top with credits and the finest luxuries for Canto Blight’s flashy tourists. It is Catonica’s main attraction after all.

But once the team’s resident crime droid, Zero, breached the cargo ship's record, the whole team is informed that the cargo-freighter ship only contains “organics”.

Slaves.

In the end, Migs remarked that there may still be something of worth to obtain from this job, and thus the plan morphed into an robbery on the surface once the cargo landed at its isolated dock. You reluctantly agreed to continue while Mando shortly nodded, both of you last to assent on this change in direction.

----------------

Some hours later you’re crouching in a derelict warehouse while the lessening blaster fire showers spark like fireworks across your corneas. The fighting between your crew and the dockyard guards has almost died down at this point and you take the moment to catch your breath behind a large stack of cargo boxes.

“Holy stars,” you gasp out, head falling between your knees as a wave of guilt consumes you momentarily. This job fucking blows. It’s so much easier robbing Imps and gangs because they are inherently bad fucking people. Robbing a group of slaves is the lowest point you think you have ever hit in your life. This is so wrong, this is so so wrong, they don’t even have ownership of their own lives and here your crew of fucking mercenaries swoops in with a vengeance over being cheated out of something that we didn’t own in the first place.

The last straw was when you witnessed a young bedraggled woman fearfully tossing the Twi’lek sibling, Qin, a small wooden necklace, the last possession from her life before slavery. You ended up turning tail and running deeper into the dock while Qin needlessly hissed at her just to enjoy her terror. You’re sure he’ll just toss the thing after the job is over.

“I never would’ve agreed to this…” You breathe out shakily to the empty air, hollowness swallowing your ability to compartmentalize your humanity from the nature of this work. You are still fighting the impulse to give in to that deep pit of sorrow when a large shadow makes you start and grip your blaster before relaxing in recognition at the chrome gleam.

“Oh, hey, Mando,” Smiling tightly in his presence as he approaches silently, his helmet tilted down at your crouched form. His gaze makes you straighten up quickly, realizing that you probably shouldn’t look so stricken in front of your crime associate. Gotta look tough, can’t let people think you’re too soft for this work. Man, didn’t he help start the company? That thought motivates you further to stand up and face him head-on.

“Not what we expected huh? Certainly no Canto luxury here..” you quietly murmur to his cheek groove.

If you looked directly where his eyes might be he would likely catch the sparkle of moisture threatening to pool at your bottom lashes.

“No,” he breathes shortly through the modulator. “Not this.” Something in his voice inspires the bravery to glance at his T-shaped visor. Compared to his usual tone of speech he almost sounds …stricken right now. Distraught by this display of debauchery your crewmates have shown the slaves and few people manning the dock. It's not noticeable unless you’ve been around him enough to read him on some level but deep down you know he feels the same way. You try to recall him taking part in the violent takeover and realize he was barely present for the ordeal. Aside from the initial violence that broke out during landing he hardly did anything and was noticeably absent once the slaves were targeted. In the back of your mind, you pray that he won't be reprimanded for the lack of effort. The thought is ridiculous but you’re scared anyway.

Stars, this is all too much, your head is swirling with grief and stress as your heart rate picks up and suddenly you are so desperate for humanity, for empathy that you lose your filter and-

“Couldn’t stomach it either?” You blurt out to him, desperately hoping he understands and will not judge your deep sorrow for the enslaved people affected by this brutal takedown. Your mind catches up in panic half a second later when Mando doesn’t immediately respond. Did you just seek sensitivity from the Mandalorian? Fuck. Wait. That sounded like an insult too. Fuck um-

“Ah, um I-I mean. I just mean I don’t remember you firing on anyone helpless and I um- I didn’t either, I didn’t fire my blaster at all to be honest I-Fuck- I hid. They’re just slaves not Imps, Mando. The guards were taken out in seconds and-” You hiccup and stutter as tears gather at the edges of your eyes and begin to fall. You feel so overwhelmed with anxiety and guilt that all of a sudden you forgot about his open show of emotion.

Pull it together, don't do this in front of the Mandalorian. He is the very picture of a stoic, hardened mercenary and now you’re kriffing crying in front of him? It briefly registers that this is the first time you’ve ever spoken one on one with him, the both of you were almost always alone or with members of Ran’s party during time off. You internally curse your existence for thinking you could tearfully word vomit in front of a fucking bounty hunter and get comforted by him. Your knowledge of Mandalorians is limited, despite knowing one, yet you think the point of his whole creed about giving up your identity and giving yourself to war. Why the fuck did you cry in front of a damn Manodlorian? You’re just starting to unfreeze from your panic-stricken muscles to dab at your cheeks when a gloved hand swiftly brushes just below your eye to catch a tear.

‘This wouldn’t have happened if that Droid could do his job,” You glance up at him in shock at his biting tone juxtaposed with the gentle gesture, but he’s already turning away, voice rotating with his visor. “The worst is over now that the shooting stopped. Let’s round up the others.”

He pauses with his back turned and you take that moment to compose yourself. You’ve only shed a few tears so your eyes can’t be that red.

“O-okay.. .” You reply, trying to inject your usual backbone into the tone of your response before moving to follow him around the piled boxes and regroup. Staring into your warped reflection in the back of his helmet you try to find the words to thank him but they get lost in the ghosts of today.

Your mind is still swirling but the clouds of despair have mostly cleared away. You know you don’t have time to dwell on your short interaction yet your mind is fully absorbed in his every move, both present and past. Coming from anyone else his reaction would seem shitty and dismissive but coming from Mando... well, you're honestly shocked. Those two sentences were fairly long for someone usually so silent. And what about his reaction to the way this job has gone? Him brushing away your tears?

You are gazing down at your feet deep in thought when you suddenly bonk into the back of Mandos broad back, wacking your forehead on the base of his helmet.

“Oww.” You groan lightly, rubbing your forehead and stepping to the right of his body, “Why’d you stop so sudde-'' It is then when you notice the muffled whimpering coming from the clearing in front of the both of you. A crimson pool of blood laps at the Mandalorian’s boots, its kiss staining the leather a deep black.

Now you are truly sickened, bile rising in your throat as a ragged gasp leaves your mouth.

“Why…? How can you..”

“Xi’an!”

Your choked whisper leaves your lips at the same moment the Mandalorian fucking barks the Twi’leks name.

A crumpled form adjacent to her body is the source of the whimpering and bloodshed, their contorted limbs looking less than human as muscles strain against metal binders. Xi’an’s triangular blades are dripping in her grip as she spins on her toes like a dancer and flounces childishly in the direction of your frozen form. Tearing your gaze away from the shell of a human you meet her eyes with open hostility. She stops several yards away from you.

‘Aha! So good to see you two. Isn’t this job sooo disappointing?” She calls out to the two of you casually. When no one responds her body deflates as she twists her knee inward and clutches one arm peevishly. Performative. “What? No hello? I could’ve died today!” She cackles at the notion.

Mando is a statue at your side. You can feel the rage radiate in waves off his body like a heater and you wonder what's going to happen if Xi’an pushes this further. Your heightened stress from moments before is vibrating throughout your nervous system, compelling you to step forward and speak up.

“Xi’an… this-this is completely unnecessary. The only thing required to complete our hit was taking out guards! What the fuc- and they were clearly incapacitated by you before you decided to take your blade to their skin!” Okay, that came out a little shakier than intended, but it feels like a disservice to hide your revulsion for her actions with the victim lying right there. “You could’ve just hit em’ in the skull with a blaster shot if you needed them out of your way!”

“Guards? Oh, I already took them out. This-” Xi’an punctuates the word a kick into the person’s stomach causing them to groan weakly, “Well, this is just an Organic as Zero would put it.” Organic? Fucking- You jump slightly and glance to your left when the Mandorlorian makes a shocked exclamation at her words. Maker, you’re so sickened you forgot he was with you.

“You mean a Slave? From the shipment?” He hisses the question through his teeth. You can’t see his face but you can hear the tension in his jaw, his body still a ridged form at your side. Xi’an pokes her tongue out and runs it lightly over the pointed edge of her teeth while she considers her response. She seems to be measuring her response to Mando with a little more care than she bothered with while speaking to you. You’re guessing that she cares far more about his perception of her than your personal attitude regarding the Twi’lek. Wouldn’t want to piss off her fuck buddy.

“Answer me!” He snaps when her response takes a millisecond too long. Your purple associate sighs, exasperated now.

“Yes a slave,” she hisses, drawing out the word in contempt, “Really I’m doing him a favor. From the looks of him, he was picked up on Tatooine. I doubt he even had a family to mourn him back on that shitty dustball of a planet-” Her eyes suddenly bulge as she clamps her mouth shut, gaze fixed on the armored man betraying a twinkle of... fear?

Slowly, you turn to him. The pit in your stomach is somehow weighing heavier than ever when you take in his body language. If you thought he was emanating white-hot rage before Xi’an’s response then you don’t even have words for how he holds himself now. You take a half step back in trepidation as the air around you seems to warp around the Mandalorian’s gravitational pull.

“A foundling?” His tone is unexpectedly quiet for someone who is manipulating the very atmosphere of this desert planet. Time seems to freeze. Shadows are ebbing at the edge of your vision and your head feels like it is going to pop in the pressure. You want to do something, anything, to relieve the pressing wall closing in on the three of you, to somehow end this interaction so that you can crawl in on yourself and bury the ghosts in the back of your mind. Fuck, your mouth is so dry, heart palpitating with a painful squeeze. Shit, fuck, what do you do? What did he mean by that question and why is Xi’an freaking out? You’re still fixated on the gleam of his helmet, rushing to find appropriate words when-

A flash of red explodes in your peripheral-vision, sparks seeming to fly 20 feet in the air. The words die in your throat in shock.

Did he? Did he shoot her? You barely saw him move yet as your mind races to catch up on this turn of events, you realize his blaster is drawn low on his hip, while the rest of him hasn't shifted an inch. The pressure cooker disappears in a sweeping wave of silence.

You swallow and turn awkwardly back to Xi’an. Oh.

He shot the slave.

Xi’an is just as stiff as you, her arms slightly raised as if she instinctively tried to ward off the blaster fire before realizing its trajectory. You are still processing his actions when a gloved hand wraps around your wrist and pulls you swiftly as he runs from the scene, tossing a flash bomb behind the both of you.

Without question, you run with him.

----------------

“Hey!” Within minutes your chest is burning from keeping up with Mando’s relentless pace. You’re fit from your job but he's twice as big as you and probably more than twice as fast. You get the feeling that he's moving slower than usual so you aren’t left behind. Struggling to control your breathing, you attempt to make sense of the jumbled thoughts by wheezing out, “M-Mando what are we doing?”

“Running.”

“Okay, fucking obviously!”

“To the Crest.” He clarifies just as shortly. Okay. Okay, once you reach his ship maybe you’ll get more answers. Right now, both of your priorities align with getting the fuck away from Xi’an before her vision returns and she comes after the both of you. But you can’t yet push some of the recent events to the side.

“You shot him.” You mean to phrase it like a question but it comes out more accusatory than intended with how breathless you are. “The slave you shot-“

“I ended his suffering.”

Oh. That makes sense, even if it makes your chest contract in duress you recognize his killing the slave came from a place of empathy. What exactly did he say right before drawing his blaster, something about… foundlings? You don’t know the term exactly but contextually you can guess it means orphan or alone. Fuck, this is so bad. Just what are you going to tell everyone? He may not have directed his shot at the Twi’lek but he temporarily blinded her. That still counts as an attack on a member of the team. Your chest is burning unbearably now so you slap at Mando’s vambrance to signal your need for a break. He drags you gasping around a corner into the shadowy edge of the warehouse.

“Listen, hey, look at me.” His large hand reaches out to gently grip the side of your face, warm against your skin and smelling sharply of blaster residue. Looking into his visor you realize your cheeks are damp again as hysterical hiccups threaten to make themselves known. “We are going to run. You don’t have to come with me of course but I unintentionally put you in the position of being complicit by attacking Xi’an. That-that wasn’t the plan… but I was leaving the company anyway”

His chest suddenly deflates as he rids it of air.

You realize you were holding your breath at the same time as him as you gasp out, before rubbing at your cheeks and asking dumbly, “Y-you were… leaving the company? Is Ran pissed?”

Stupid question. Of course, he’d be pissed at losing the one Mandalorian in the group. Mandos' presence gave him cred.

“Ran doesn’t know.”

“Ran doesn’t… what? When was this happening then?”

Mando’s visor turns away from your gaze and looks off into the middle distance. His gloved hand on your face is still gripping gently to lock you in place. “Today. That’s the only reason why I agreed to let him use the Crest for this job.”

He shakes his helmet slightly and turns back to your face, the metal covering his face becoming your main focal point while the room spins. You can't see his features, and never would, yet you feel as if you are looking directly into his eyes. Your body has impeccable timing when you feel your cheeks heat blushing.

However, your senses return in an instant when a familiar piercing howl echoes off the walls. The glove drops and he is gripping your shoulders,

“Can you run again?”

Adrenaline springs your limbs into action as you spin around, catching his wrist and pulling, roles reversed as you lead him in the direction of his ship.

Dust is billowing from below whenever your feet meet the ground. The steps sound like thunder in your ears as paranoia begins to worm its way into the forefront of your senses, every corner, every shadow, every blindspot could be hiding one of your former partners. Xi’an is an excellent assassin; time and time again her main skill has proven to be stealth, targets dropping dead expectedly. The Crest isn’t very far thankfully. It sits right on the back of the targeted freighter since Zero requires physical contact to hack the other ship systems for paths. Oooohh shit you forgot about the droid-

“Mando, Zero’s in there.” You puff out shortly in between breaths.

“Fuck that droid. I’ll take care of him, just back me up.” You both slide around a corner as he responds, bringing the two ships into your field of view. You are facing the rear end of the larger vessel, thankfully leaving the coast clear as far as you can tell. Mando’s helmet scans the area then nods, indicating the go-ahead with his fingers before running ahead of you. You follow him, casting fervent glances behind you for any signs of life. You reach the ship a millisecond after he does, his vambrance held high to lower the rear ramp. As the ramp begins to lower he grips your shoulders and spins you around dizzily.

“Stay right outside here. The second I enter the crest I’m dropping the Droid. I’ll call you once it’s safe.” You gulp quickly and nod in assent right before he leaps into the opening of the ship.

Seconds pass.

Your nerves are plucking way more than they normally would.. You never particularly liked Zero, but the sudden turn of taking out your ex-allies is making you high strung and nervous. Zero’s voice cuts through the silence, making you jump.

“Mandolarian, you are back early. Were the prospects plentiful despite being Organics?”

“No.” You twitch when a shot echoes in the hull followed by the clash of metal on metal.

The Mandalorian sharply calls your name springing you into action. You enter the ship immediately spying Zero’s body under the cockpit ladder, blaster wound still smoking with red-hot metal ringing the edges. Your eyes linger a little on the droid’s body, slightly leery at the death of someone who was your backup only hours ago, then you sigh and duck to get a handle on under his shoulders, dragging him to toss out the open entryway.

Grunting with effort you direct your voice at the cockpit, “Tossing the droid! Take off when read- Shit.”

One of the droid's hip joints gets stuck on a portion of the hull wall, preventing you from moving his corpse. Something wizzes above you at the exact moment you duck down to adjust the body, right where the back of your head was a second ago. One of Xi’an’s triangle blades ricochets off the wall and slides across the floor, stopping right under your nose. Oh f-

“Fuck! Fly, fly, she's here Mando!” You lurch to the floor as the thrusters kick in, twisting your head to try and get eyes on the clearing. Through the rapidly closing ramp, you see a flash of purple skin, but before you have time to react the Crest door snaps shut. Heart thudding at what feels like a million beats per second, you try to get your bearings on the floor. Twisting sideways you suddenly find yourself face to face with Zero’s corpse, revulsion whipping through you like lightning as you scramble backward on your hands and feet.

You can’t do this right now.

The last thing you want is to seem weak and needy in front of the man who just selflessly saved your life, for reasons still unknown, but you can’t do this right now. A creature of habit, you fold your neck between your legs, the same reaction you had to the violence on Cantonica. A minute, you just need a minute, a minute and then this horrible drone will go away, and you can deal with this, you’re a fucking mercenary… the blackness swarming at the edges of your sight overtakes you all at once and you slide limply to the floor.

------------------------------------------

You aren’t sure how much time has passed once you rouse. At your request, Mando tosses Zero's body before kicking into hyperdrive right about 120,000 feet in the air. You stare at its flight path until the speck disappears in the taupe shithole that is Cantonica. Feeling shaky as your adrenaline finally dips, you decide that the Crest could do with a once over before the long journey.

After performing a quick analysis on the Crests systems it’s determined that the two of you are lucky this hunk of metal can fly. Hyperdrive operating at 67% capacity, weak communication signal if it even works half the time, plus more damage than you can currently process. If there weren’t five million different stressors weighing on you, your mechanic brain would probably explode at the current state of Mando’s ship. He probably should’ve taken it to you, or anyone else handy with tools if he wanted it to be in proper form for departure, but it makes sense that he didn’t want to draw too much attention. Hopefully, his pilot skills will compensate for the Crest’s sorry state.

To be fair, the whole blow-up-your-coworker-and-run-for-your-life aspect didn’t seem to be in Mando’s original plan.

“So… where are we going?” You’re on the floor in the cockpit, back facing the passenger chair while the Mandalorian is seated pilot. After crawling under the console for a while you couldn’t bother to lift your aching muscles on the chair, resigning to scoot on your butt over to the closest object that could support you. As a result, you end up craning your neck to look up at him, his back straight in the chair.

“My original plan was to head to Nevarro to take on a few quarries. I’m still with the guild and Karga doesn’t give a shit whether I’m running with Ran or going in alone.” You bite your lip anxiously. Oh yeah, you kinda forgot your presence threw wrench in his plan. He notices and tilts the helmet sideways at you, “You’re not in the way. I’m not concerned about you joining me, someone of your skillset is helpful to have around. I’ll introduce you to Karga so you can get on your feet.”

The compliment lifts your spirits enough to make you playful, poking at his boot with your toe, “Gee, glad I’m useful enough to keep around. All I have is my blaster and the clothes on my back, so if you drop me, I’d be pretty fucked.”

You giggle quietly but you know it’s the truth. All of your possessions are back on the space station, but you didn’t own too many personal artifacts, aside from some clothes and weapons. The only thing of use would’ve been your credits. You worry again at the realization, dipping your head before continuing to speak,

“Shit Mando, I don’t have any money on me. It was all back in my bunk, I don’t know how I’ll help pay for things around here unless Karga decides I can take on a quarry right away. Even then I’ll have to bring it back before I ever have a lick to my name.”

“You can make it back. I’ll split the profit from jobs that you assist me on. Cut depends on how useful you are and once you prove yourself, Karga will give you the decent pucks.” He swivels the chair and faces you, knees slightly spread as he leans forward in the chair, “Deal?”

You swallow and nod your head, mind blanking at how your head is level with the bend in his hips. You don’t think he's trying to come across as suggestive but the effect, intentional or not, invites a flutter of desire in your tummy. The Mandalorian leans back on his leather backing and sighs, the sound gentle despite the modulator warping his natural tone,

“You aren’t in my way. I swear it. If I had more time before leaving I would’ve asked you to join me anyway, you're good with your hands and always had more… compassion? Than anyone else in the company. I admire that quality.” That makes you straighten back up to meet his visor. He sounds nearly shy.

“O-oh…” You never even thought he noticed you aside from when you touched up the Razor Crest. The compliment sends warmth throughout your body, as languid as sex pollen in the near feverish effect. You don’t know how to respond at all, you’re feeling disjointed, like you may reveal too much if you don't change the subject soon. You wish you could be snappier but you’re exhausted. Maybe try for a joke?

“I g-guess you value girls good with their hands, huh. H-haha?”

Silence. Hm.

That was the absolute worst thing you could’ve come up with.

It didn’t meet even a single one of your simple ass goals, which entail the following:

Thank him.

Change the subject.

Not reveal how much his words make you want him to rail you.

Wow, what the fuck- kill me. He hasn’t moved an inch, much less reacted to your shitty joke. The positioning of your bodies that you found so hot ten seconds prior is now a place you’d try anything to escape from. It’s almost comical how his height advantage serves to emphasize the disappointment in the small room. He hasn’t responded so you’re guessing he won’t bother to try. Heavy silence suffocates you to the point of desperation, you need to fill it with something right now or you swear you’ll die.

“I-I jus-t mean like- Well you had certain- ah- habits, you’d adhere to in your free time. Li-like um, I mean you didn’t hide much. Kinda obvious if you- listen, uh, I didn’t mean t-to say that I-I was joking around-”

“Get to the point.”

“I-” Your tummy fills with heat at his command. “Umm..” You wipe your hands on your thighs and glance down from his voice. The hours of on and off adrenaline must be majorly messing with your head. It’s kinda weird that you want him this badly after everything that went down today. Wasn’t your most recent concern something about avoiding death at the hands of a bitch you hate most in the galaxy? To be honest you can’t recall.

The proximity of his groin is suddenly at the forefront of your mind. Again.

He slowly tilts his helmet to look at you, arms bending to settle in a relaxed position on the armrests. You are extremely aware of how you’re blatantly staring at him but your mind is slow to come up with a valid response, blankness written in the reflection on his visor. His position on the chair is mountainous, looming over your body in a way that boxes you in between the passenger seat and the Crest console. You feel like a prey animal... In a sexy way? Maybe?

Although, when he leans back into his seat, helmet still trained on your face, you are unsure if you’re actually pissing him off or not.

“Say what you mean.”

Okay, the sexy is mixing a little with anxiety.

“Ah- Um well, I just mean like. It’s not like you hid it from me- everyone else too. In the company. Ran’s company? ‘Cause, I- We… always overheard you and Xi’a- Her…” Fuck, your mouth is so dry that last part came out like a squeak. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling again um, I kinda thought you were doing it on purpose. With Xi’an. Making me hear when you’d...fuck her.” Cheeks blazing, you duck your head back down, which doesn’t help at all since you’re just face to face with his crotch once more.

“You say ‘always’...” Mando’s inflection is lost somewhere between statement and question, his tone confusing enough that you end up lifting your head from its bowed position below him.

“Y-yes?”

“As in this was a common position you found yourself in? Did you overhear me multiple times?” Now he poses not one but two questions for you, neither of which you feel brave enough to answer steadily. You can’t deflect further at this point so you answer him with a sigh.

“No, I only heard you once. Xi’an always wanted me to hear her though. It was gross.” Mortified, you gather your legs under your body to stand up from the floor. You think the hyperdrive issue is fixed well enough to hold until Nevarro. When your hand reaches for the edge of the armrest to pull yourself up it is abruptly enveloped in warm leather. Half crouched, your arm jerks back a little in surprise at his touch.

“I wasn’t asking about myself specifically. And I wouldn’t force you to participate in her games, had I known.”

Maker strike my ass down. Can humans die from embarrassment? You wish it were possible if it got you out of this conversation. He’s correct, he didn’t specify whether you had heard his moaning. If you weren’t nursing these stupid feelings for Mando you never would’ve given away the fact that you memorized every tantalizing second of what you overheard. Not only is this embarrassing, but you don’t want him to think you’re a sicko who wanted to eavesdrop in the first place. The clarification about his awareness of Xi'an's timing is comforting but not enough to erase what you already admitted to him. You somehow feel sweaty and bone-dry at the same time, a flush spreading over your face.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I heard you too.”

You both speak at the same second, and a beat passes before either of you process what the other said. He- what? What is he talking about? Are we having two totally different conversations right now? When did you ever fuck someone on that space station anyway… unless he means… in the fresher…

This time he is the one who breaks the silence, “You’re sorry for… overhearing me?”

“Y-yes, I really, really, don’t want you to think I’m a creep or anything. Anything I heard was involuntary, I swear. Xi’an w-wanted to make me… Um…” You trail off shyly, sitting down again. His hand is still over yours.

“Get to the point.” His voice is filled with heat now, so low and compelling that you’d tell him anything just to keep it that way. You whisper your response, lifting your eyes to his dark visor wishing you could meet his gaze.

“She wanted to make me jealous. Over you.”

“Mm… You wanted me instead?”

“Maker, yes.”

The climate between you and the Mandalorian made a 180. Nerves dissolving like honey in tea, all at once being taken over by a hum of sexual tension while his fingers caress a warm pattern over your knuckles. Exhilaration builds within you, though in the back of your mind you are calculating the possible motives behind his advance.

You know sometimes, after a particularly rough day, people are compelled to relieve their pent-up stress through intimacy. There’s a reason why the market of sex work thrives under wartime, terror existing constantly in a fighter’s life must be paired with the softer, inner-most comforts of knowing another living being, or they’d go mad with sorrow. Brothels made a lot of money during the last stages of the Empire’s rule from both Imps, Rebels, and neutral parties alike.

It’s not out of the ordinary for you to seek each other out right now, yet can’t help but dream that this might mean more.

The Mandalorian’s hand currently encasing yours flips your wrist to trace the lines of your palm. Sighing you tilt your head to the side, a curtain of hair cascading across your features. His free hand reaches out to brush the strands away before he gently grips your jaw, hand large enough to press his thumb on the front of your chin while his fingers wrap lightly under your ear.

“I heard you too, pretty girl. You called out for me in the fresher… just what were you doing in there? Describe it- please.” He speaks with such allure that you break under his voice, pressing your cheek to his palm.

“I-I thought of you watching me while I touched my pussy. I was so wet thinking about how I want you to feel me after being under all your armor, Stars, even the wind can’t touch you Mando. I thought about how you must crave the feeling of something so soft… can I show you how soft I am?” Your free hand raises to rest gently on his knee, fingertips hesitating at the edge of his thigh piece. He is still fully suited for battle, explosives strapped to one boot and rifle across his shoulders.

You wish so badly to help him unwind, you would never disrespect him by trying to remove his armor, but you want to help him move past the experience that was Cantonica. Mando continues to stare at you for several tense seconds before melting into your touch.

“H-helmet stays on.” He breathes out shakily, a slight tremor running through his legs as your fingers lightly explore the fabric under the edge of the piece of metal. “But the rest… the rest can come off.”

He’s already moving to undo the magnetic connectors holding his cuirass in place so you scramble to follow his movements. The rust-colored armor on his body has complex enough attachments that you don’t really know where to begin. Your hands clamber around, mostly following his deft movements. Slowly a man of flesh and blood is revealed, and as his impenetrable exterior melts away you find the true shape of him.

The armor serves to add a few inches of bulk on his features, enhanced proportions making out a dramatic silhouette designed to be spotted from miles away. Without it his body is still so powerful, built hard as stone and broad, hard angles melding enticingly with a hidden softness. Not hidden- you realize -it compliments him completely. The pieces fall away and you’re left with the unexplored bareness of him. He is human and warm, evidence of this betrayed in rare moments where his hands travel lightly up your arms while you work at his pauldrons, brushing through your hair here and there before finally returning to your jaw to hover in front of your lips.

“Off.” He instructs shortly, brushing the seam of his thumb over your bottom lip. Your mouth falls open to explore him with your tongue, tasting salt, blaster residue, and a hint of the heat he holds in his body. Satisfied, you bite down gently on the glove ridge, watching as he pulls off the leather encasing his hand and drinking in the sight of golden skin as it is revealed to you inch by inch. All you’ve seen of him is one bare hand and somehow it is the sexiest thing you’ve ever laid your eyes on. Flames lick your body, spreading from your white-hot core, energy gathering with such impassioned motions that at any second now it will burst from your skin, a reaction so immense that you could birth another galaxy.

You want to taste his skin too.

“Fuck baby-” You take his middle finger down to the knuckle, emboldened by his slurred reaction, noises startling to babble out of the bounty hunter as his stoicism falls apart under your tongue. Humming around the digit, you start to bob your head gently, eyes locked on his impassive visor while filthy, filtered noises drift through the beskar. It’s like there is no barrier at all between you, the air thrumming with a longing so great that you feel one with the man crumbling before you. If you're not careful you will fall with him.

“Mando, Plea-se,” You stutter around him, voice shaking more than intended. “I want to f-feel more of you, let me touch you, please-” You squawk, mouth empty when he suddenly rips off the other glove, tossing it behind him before reaching down his torso to pull the hem of his trousers south. You gulp in trepidation, unable to tear your eyes away as enticing dark hair displays itself, leading to the base of his cock. He pauses, but you’re so caught up in discovering him that you don’t notice the tonal shift.

“Before I show you this-” dark words enunciated by palming his cock through the fabric, “I need to know where to put it.”

What kind of question is that? You’re honestly bewildered, mind blank before you realize that the options are overwhelming. In his own way, he is asking you to verbalize consent, which is very much appreciated. You want him in your pussy, to work his way deep in your body and in turn, discover just how human you are... yet… You feel oddly unprepared. It’s not that you don't think you can take him, in fact you can't recall ever being this wet in your life. It’s just… after today… you want to help him unwind but you’re still not fully there. You still want to please him, but you’re not ready to let him know you that way, not until you come back to yourself.

So in that case…

“I want you in my mouth, hunter.”

Mando growls then grabs your wrist, guiding it over the edge of fabric and onto his throbbing length. He shudders while you process the feeling of him. He is thick, the width of his cock so wide that your middle finger and thumb are straining to meet each other. You release him from his pants then try to pull at the hem to wiggle them down his thighs. He obliges and lifts his hips so that you can reveal more delicious olive skin, but he makes no move to assist you with his hands. You get the feeling that he is drinking in your efforts to touch him, the sensation of your jerky movements giving away how much you want him.

You kiss and nibble at every possible moment, one hand drifting lightly over the length of him, twirling at the base dusted with short, dark hairs, cupping his balls then moving back up, your mouth traveling to meet your fingers. Hissing, his hand flashes up to meet the back of your head, fingers tangling in strands to tug tightly on your scalp. With a light moan, you tongue along the side of him, teasing hot air more than actually licking him.

“Look at me- fuck - pretty thing, s-so fucking willing for me, I want to see you take my cock as far as you can, s-show me how much you can handle-” He pulls harder at your hair, dragging you roughly enough to control your neck, back up from where you were sucking at his hip to the head of his dick. “Are you going to show me yourself before or after I gag you on it?”

Fuck, you never realized how tantalizing submitting to another person could be, not until that came out of his mouth, rough enough to clip through the modulator. You elect to show him what you can handle. Leaning forward to meet the swollen tip, you part your plush lips and kiss at the drop of precum gathered there, before relaxing your jaw to take him halfway. He groans and nearly doubles over at the sudden sensation, holding you there for a second before you draw back up to spread your saliva more thoroughly. Lips rewet, you sink back down on him, gliding smoothly as you pull his cock deep within your mouth, drinking in his breathy groans.

“Maker, yes … that’s it, fuck-” You attempt to sink even further down on the Mandalorian’s impressive length, but stop short a few inches from his base, blunt head pressing in your throat. “-so good, s-so good for me baby, you look perfect like this.”

He’s so far back inside you that you can’t access your vocal cords to produce any noise at all, otherwise you’d be whining at his praise. Your hands are free to assist you at any time, you could circumvent his daunting length if you wanted help. But you want to impress him. Besides, your palms are warm on his torso, traveling under his shirt to feel the ropes of muscle there. You don’t want to remove them.

You surface to the tip, taking a deep breath in preparation before ducking to take him as deep as you can manage. He watches you, entranced at the sight of a face so lovingly strained to please him. Your gag reflex spasms but you will it away, determined to fully engulf his cock at least once even if you find you’re unable to handle more. The noises rising from your throat are brutal and raw as you choke around him, his helmet blurring when tears fill your eyes. You bob a little then almost give up when the urge to retreat floods your senses but then he starts talking again- so filthy that you can’t stop yet.

“You’re trying so fucking hard, fuck, I love seeing you wrapped around my cock, Maker, you feel so fucking good, I can’t imagine how your little pussy must feel, you’re so warm, so, fu-fuck, tight…” The stream of filth serves as your motivation to bob for as long as possible on his length, throat stretched obscenely around him. You realize hazily that there are tears streaming from your eyes, but the urge to pull off is lost in dizziness as the oxygen in your lungs depletes. You keep going and going, your high at its peak as you recognize that your body is starting to fade in black. You should pull off and breathe, one quick breath is all you need, but the way he’s filling you is more addicting than the purest Spice. He notices when you start to slump into his lap and pulls you up gasping for air.

Nearly fainting never felt so good.

“Shit, are you alright?” You nod and rest your cheek on his thigh, face turned on its side to meet his visor as he spins little circles in your vision. A soothing hand brushes against your cheekbone, tracing a gentle pattern on its height. “You were doing so good for me baby. No need to hurt yourself.” Mando’s voice is still breathless, offering you tenderness through a cloud of stimuli.

“I’m okay- I’m… I just need to catch m-my breath.” You’re still heaving unevenly but you want him so bad, you want him to finish for you, your wants translating into weak pawing at his dick trying to give him more sensation. He catches your wrist with an airy laugh and guides your uncoordinated movements to better stroke him. The sound fills you with light.

“Pretty thing, I know you want me. Try to not die on my dick before I’ve had the chance to feel your cunt.” His hand leaves yours on his length and reaches over your ass to cup the apex of your thighs through your pants. You jerk up and almost crack the crown of your head open on the chin of his beskar but his other palm is pressed between your shoulder blades, keeping you bent over in his lap. A garbled noise tears from you when his index and ring finger spread on either side of your outer lips, allowing his middle finger space to travel up and down your seam, so wet that you can feel the slickness gathering through two layers of fabric onto the tip of his finger.

“Ah, Fuck! Mando, I-I- wait please, please, wait-” He draws his hand up away from your wet center, reaching your asscheek before you yelp and snatch his forearm to stop him from retreating farther. “I s-still wanna, I wanna make you come. You first, before-before me.”

“Baby, you’re… fuck okay. Can I still touch you?” Mando caresses your hip at the fold where it meets your thigh.

“Later, let me d-do this, please.” He allows you to lift his arm from your spine and rest it on the crown of your head as you move forward and try to meet his cock again. Pulling his thighs to the edge of the chair, you settle back on your knees and stroking him one-handed while he hums low in his throat. You wrap your lips around the swollen head, sucking and swirling your tongue before taking him deeper, this time using a palm to stroke the last few inches instead of opening your throat. Starting up a rhythm of bopping and stroking his velvety length that pulls incredible noises out of the Mandalorian, each one going straight to your swollen clit.

Coming up for air you start to jerk him off faster with your slick hand, meeting the T of his visor with your heated gaze, hoping that you are finding his eyes. He must enjoy the sight of you jerking him off because his moans start to tighten, hips thrusting into your palm.

“K-keep fucking doing that, good girl, fuck I-I’m close, where-where do you want it, baby?” You respond by settling low near his thighs, putting his cock above you with your tongue sticking out, wetting the tip while your wrist moves faster. Somehow he’s harder than ever and-

Mando curses through his teeth as his cock convulses, warm spurts of cum painting your tongue, cheeks, and nose bridge, rivers of him flowing down your chin and dribbling on the swell of your chest. He grips the back of your head tight enough to hurt, then rips one hand down to stroke himself, smearing the mess across your features.

The fingers on your scalp loosen then graciously begin rubbing at the base of your neck to soothe the soreness on your head. One of your eyelids is sealed shut due to a rope of his cum crossing from nose to eyebrow, the other eye unfocused, hazy with pleasure as you listen to him come down from his peak. A low noise rises from your throat as he massages your scalp, feeling tingly all over as blood flows back to the area.

“T-Thank you… that was great, I-“ he breaks off when you start to gather his cum off your skin, licking it off your fingers while studying his visor through your lashes. “Hey, let me…”

He surprises you by wiping at your face with his cape, still hanging off the arm of the pilot chair from when you detached it. You giggle, “Is there a way to wash that on here? I can’t even tell if that hole in the wall includes a shower.”

“There’s enough to work with.”

You laugh louder at that, “That’s encouraging. I hope there’s ‘enough to work with’ so that I don’t meet Karga covered in cum.” Pausing to consider your current position, you add, “Actually, that might help my case.”

Face wiped mostly clean, you're able to open both eyes now, taking in his posture. A jolt shoots through you when you realize he’s holding himself differently for some reason, he looks almost predatory but maybe that’s just the effect of Beskar’s harsh angles... Nope, he’s leaning forward now, caging you in again.

“You want to look sexy for Karga?” Gulping, you try to figure out the best response but he continues before your slow-ass mind can catch up, “You’re right, that might help you get better pucks. But I don’t know if I want my hunting partner to be introduced that way. I still need to return the favor…”

He lifts your body with ease, pulling you sideways onto his lap. Mando’s warm hand slides along the bend in your knee, slow and sensual on your body. He caresses you aimlessly, relaxed in the afterglow of cumming so hard. You’re still tightly wound, energy balled in your body as his movements serve to wind you up even more. But he’s not moving any faster so you relax into his broad chest, enjoying the feeling of his bare skin.

Time blurs with your senses. His touch pulls you to a place right out of your daydreams, where everything is draped in velveteen and silk. You’ve honestly forgotten his original goal in the first place, and as his arm begins to drag on its path, it seems like he has too. The stroking on your arm has lowered your arousal to a simmer, leaving you content to stay laying across his lap, the glow of hyperspace streaking over your bodies. All at once, you realize he’s no longer moving over your body, his chest rising and falling deeply against your shoulder.

He’s asleep. Surprise registers sleepily somewhere in your exhausted mind, the realization behind layers of warm fuzz. Didn’t even think he slept.

There’s a full day of travel until you reach Nevarro. Snuggling closer into the warm crook of his neck to resolve to live in this dream for as long as possible. Who knows what tomorrow will bring.

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