#its an adult stranger being an asshole

[bigfatbreak]

Birds of a Feather previous / next

#my art #birds of a feather #we finally meet the shit auntie that started this stupid competition to begin with! #marinette's confident about clapping back to her because felix's class has made it pretty clear she's an ass #and this time its not a peer that she has to psychoanalyze #its an adult stranger being an asshole #so shes like. limiters off time to kill you actually #if marinette was just a little more sleep deprived she would #also her name IS a variant of Cerberus #the joke here is that she's gatekeeping a hobby and sport #the same way the three headed hound gatekeeps hell #its also a play off of instructor Dante's name

[grippingbeskar]

cutting it close | the mandalorian

mando x fem!reader

word count: 11.4k

warnings: ADULT CONTENT MINORS DNI (oral f receiving, mxf intercourse) swearing, canon typical violence, din clubbing deserves its own warning guys.

a/n: a labour of true love. i wrote half of this so long ago, but was inspired by an incredible source to continue.we are really living up the the user name in this one bc WE ARE GRIPPING BESKAR FOR REAL. shoutout to @everybirdfellsilent​ for being the BEST person to bounce ideas off, catching all of my grammar errors (there were many) and helping me figure out how someone whispers in a helmet. you are a real one and i love you!!!!! okay enjoy goodbye. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Are you sure he’s in there?” You ask the Mandalorian, who even through his helmet looks as uncomfortable as you are. He just holds up the tracking fob and it beeps rapidly, hardly making a sound over the thumping of the bass in the club in front of you.

“Guess so.” He yells over the sound. If you can barely hear him out here, you don't even want to imagine what it's like inside. The sound vibrates through the concrete and you can hear the high pitched sound of girls singing somewhere in the back, blue and red lights flicking out underneath the door you both stand in front of.

“I’ll go. You can wait out here. Your shiny head’s gonna reflect the light too much and give me a headache.” You go to take the tracker from him but he yanks it away. Rolling your eyes, he just leans and opens the door for you, and there's no point in arguing as you walk inside, the music instantly flooding your senses.

You have been helping Mando track down a couple of syndicate members while he was out on Corellia, promising to share the credits and take you off the planet if you showed him where they might be hiding. You have no loyalties here, and if you could get a free ride while also making those assholes pay for all the people they’ve fucked over, then you’d be lying if you said you wouldn’t enjoy it.

The thump of the bass is annoying, only because you aren’t drunk. Usually you love this shit, and the packed dance floor stuffed with swaying bodies gives you a little bit of a rush as you remember all the good nights you’ve had here. Drinking till the sun comes up, meeting strangers and making them your best friends for a night, taking some lucky guy home with you only to kick him out the next morning, bored and hungover. It makes you smile to think about how your life used to be, free of responsibility, but as the Mandalorian comes up next to you, you are reminded of why you’re here.

“Where should we look?” He yells, and you pull him down by his shoulder so he can repeat it. He stiffens under your touch, but over the past couple days he’s started to get used to you putting your hands on him, you think. You think he’s probably been alone for most of his missions, so being around someone as outgoing as you; it’s probably a lot to take in

The Mandalorian has not, will not ever get used to the way you touch him. The first time you reached out for him, pulling his arm in the direction of some abandoned house, he nearly dropped to his knees at the way your fingers curled around his armor. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from your hand on him, how your skin looked against the silver beskar, how your eyes bore holes in his helmet, like you could see him through all of it. He would never admit how he went back to the ship and jacked off like he never had before, only thinking about your hand gripping him, tighter and tighter. You wave your hand in front of his face, and he has to look around to get his bearings.

“Hey! I said through here. Come.” Your hand takes his, and he lets you lead him through the crowd. Once his brain swims back into his own head, he tightens his hand on yours, coming closer behind you as you shove your way through. It gets easier as you go further, people starting to move in the presence of his giant frame.

He doesn’t notice that, he doesn’t even notice where you're leading him, all thoughts and two eyes on your hand, gripping his, and he doesn’t think he will be able to get the image out of his head.

Threading through the last of the crowd, you have to knock a few people out of the entrance to the back, a couple making out looking up and giggling as they watch you lead a giant Mandalorian into the red rooms. The soft material of the curtain sends shivers up your arm as you pass through it, and you hear Mando behind you swatting at it, and the rip of material as some of it gets caught on his armor.

“Hey darlin’. Come back for more?” You hear a familiar voice and you roll your eyes at the sound of it. Shaun was an old friend, although friend was a very loose term. You hooked up once, extremely drunk, kissing in this very room for about three seconds before his girlfriend at the time came in and smacked the shit out of him.

“More of watching you get your ass beat by a girl?” He physically winces, and being the complete push over that he is, when he sees The Mandalorian trail behind you, he swallows hard and backs up a bit. “We need to go downstairs. My friend wants to pay a visit.”

“Come on. You kn-know I can’t.” Stepping forward, you hear the click of a blaster from behind you, and The Mandalorian takes perfect aim.

“You can. You will, too. Or he will make you.” You motion your head over your shoulder, and you can see the way he’s standing without turning your head, one leg slightly bent, casually waiting to shoot.

“They’ll kill me if I do.” He whispers and looks at the floor. You kick the cheap carpet out of the way and see a tiny sliver of light, a shadow crossing over it. The fob beeps from behind you, faster than before.

“I’ll kill you if you don’t.” Mando moved closer behind you, you could only tell because his voice got louder and you could see a little glint of beskar in the corner of your eye. You just put your hand out, and the key to the tiny lock on the trap door falls into your hand, Shaun stepping back. As soon as the lock clicks he bolts.

Coward.

Not like he’ll have anything to worry about once Mando goes down. You flip up the trap door as quietly as possible, and go to take the first step when a gloved hand falls on your shoulder.

“Stay up here. Keep watch.” He goes down first, and before you lose his head down the door you whisper to him.

“Be safe, okay?”

He freezes.

He can fight twenty guys at once, unarmed, and not even think about it, but the worried look in your eyes and your hand gently running across the side of his helmet makes every muscle in his body freeze. He manages a nod and you smile, closing the door over his head, and he lets out a very long sigh, trying to contain himself. He needs to focus, and the only way he can seem to do that is if he isn’t near you, so when your face disappears from view, he slips back into the zone.

He drops and finally hits solid ground, blaster fire immediately following. He hears the door above him swing open, seeing your hair whizz past his vision as you fold yourself into the tiny gap behind the stairs, shuffling along to get a vantage point above him. While watching you one of the men throws a punch against his armor. He wouldn’t have even felt it if he wasn’t looking, and it pissed him off so much that he just picks up the guy and smashes him down into the table, breaking it in two.

Watching the Mandalorian in his element, he moves easily through the men, hardly having to look when he fires a blaster or throws a punch. You shoot a couple heading out the back, not entirely sure which one he is after, but they deserved it anyways. These guys were notorious spice runners, but it wasn’t the drugs that made them bad, it was them selling it to young kids, telling them if they sell it all they will make them rich, and then forcing them to work out the debt when they inevitably don't come through. It was a fucked up system, one that you had been trying to take down for the past couple months, but having a giant beskar bounty hunter on your team was doing things now that would have taken you years alone.

Bodies start to pile up and pretty soon you notice the Mandalorian running out of guys to kill, so you shimmy back through the ladder and drop down. By the time you reach him, he’s cracking the skull of the last guy on the wall, his body sliding down leaving green blood in a trail. The tracking fob still beeps in the quiet of the room. You reach into the Mandalorians belt and pull it out, wandering around the room trying to get a better signal.

The Mandalorian can’t move. You didn’t even think twice, just shoved your hands in his belt, so dang close to where he’s pictured ever since he saw you. You’ve ignited something in him that he thought went dormant when he took the helm, but you; your hands, your confidence - he can’t hide the reaction you cause.

You try not to make a big deal out of it, try not to smile, to acknowledge the way he froze up under you. It's not possible, you and him. Even though you have thought about it many, many times. You don't even know how it would work; would he keep his armor on? Take those gloves off, the ones that sometimes slip up his hand and you see a sliver of tanned, real skin that sends your stomach crazy, and would he put his hands on you? You drag your eyes back to the fob in your hand, and when you lift it above your head it beeps wildly.

“How did he get past us?” You shake your head, because there’s no way he did. You were behind the stairs, and no one passed through the Mandalorians' brutal assault.

“Maybe he was never down here. I don’t know what he looks like. Guy’s a ghost.” The modulator thinks out loud, and you both look up at each other in realization, and a bit of shock on your part.

“There is no way.” It makes you laugh, because it's that unbelievable. “Shaun is a pussy. No way he could pull that off. He is not the guy we’re after. No. No way.”

“Where does that door lead to?” He’s referring to the door Shaun went out of, but you just turn and start up the ladder, still in some weird state of half shock and half amazement.

“Shaun. Fucking Shaun! You know this guy burnt his own eyebrows off because he was holding a blowtorch the wrong way?” The Mandalorian says nothing, but you just can’t believe it.

Shaun - the guy who cried when you told him he probably wasn’t going to be a Jedi was helping these syndicate guys run a child spice ring. You cannot believe this shit.

You ram the door Shaun fled into, and the pumping music instantly hits your chest, a hard bass line beating through the floor. You can feel the armor looming behind you, your ears tuning into the way Mando breathes even over the volume. Both of you take in the sight in front of you, the club is somehow ten times more busy, hardly giving you room to move. You scan the wave of people, darkness covering them and hands and bodies swaying way too fast to even see a face.

“I see him.” He says, and you look up to him. His arm comes over your shoulder, armor brushing lightly over the bare skin there. His hand is easy to follow, your focus deadly on the way his chest touches your back when he breathes in. Squinting, you see the unmistakable red hair bobbing through the crowd. “Can't get a clear shot. We need to move closer.”

“Follow me.” You pull him towards the crowd, but he doesn’t move.

“We’ll go around.” You look, both to your left and right, and see no way around, bodies just as thick to the walls as they are in the middle, and Shaun is moving further into the crowd.

“It’s too slow.” You pull him again to no avail.

“I’m not going in there.” He pulls you back to him, and your hand presses against his chest. You swear you can feel his heart beating under the thick layer of armor.

The Mandalorian has never felt so out of his element. The heat signatures of all the people around him are blown out in his helmet, the loud music blaring his senses, but that isn’t what's making him nervous. It's you, your hand on his chest, eyes wide and searching. He feels your look in his bones, like you're staring right at him, the real him. He swallows, and knows you can read him like a book.

“It's gonna be fine. You’re big and scary, they’ll move.” He doesn’t do anything, just stares at your mouth as you talk. “Are you like, claustrophobic?”

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

“Not big on crowds.” You tilt your head up at him, and he knows you picked that up from him. You mirror him, the way he scans the room, the way you change your stance when you look at him, keeping one hand on your blaster whenever you're outnumbered. It makes his heart beat faster to think you notice him like that, and the blood rushes to every part of him that he needs to keep tame. Your eyes flick down quickly then back up to him.

“Hey, come on! I’ll hold your hand the whole time.” You can almost see him roll his eyes in that giant helmet.

“Not helping.” His head swivels towards Shaun who is moving fast through the crowd, his small frame allowing him to slide through easier.

“We’re gonna lose him, Mando.” You sigh. You aren’t forcing him, not pulling his arm and dragging him through the crowd, even though the guy you have been hunting for what feels like forever is escaping as you stand there.

“Fine.” The Mandalorian goes to step forward into the crowd, but hesitates. It’s something you’ve only seen him do a handful of times, and usually it means something bad - no, horrible and unexpected is about to happen, because if he hasn’t planned for something, you have no way in Hell to be ready for it- “It’s Din.”

It’s so quiet, if you weren’t so in tuned with his voice you would have missed it.

“What?” Eyes wide, you tilt your head all the way up, making an effort to stare exactly where his eyes might be.

“My name. It’s Din.” You swallow, all the words in your brain suddenly vanishing to make room for the most important one. “You’ve been around long enough. You should know it.”

Din.

Din.

Diiiiiiiin.

You go to speak, say something in reply, although you aren’t sure what words would equal the meaning of his confession. Maybe he really was claustrophobic, and you saying his name was some last ditch effort to focus elsewhere. You don’t get a chance to ask him though, it’s as if he senses you're about to speak and slips past you, entering the crowd, but not before your hand slips into his, fingers lacing in between his gloved ones.

He’s thankful for your guiding arm as all his years of training seem to vanish when you touch him for the fourth time tonight.

You weave through the bodies as best you can, trying to track Shaun’s head. The club is huge and there's people everywhere, music pounding and flashing lights only illuminating the tops of peoples bouncing heads. You can feel the gloved hand squeeze yours and you stop, the minuscule proof of reciprocation halting your movements. You can feel him step once more to come right up behind you, his helmet so close you can hear the modulator imitating his breath.

“He stopped. We’re being watched.” Your hands stay linked as you look around. The both of you were practically dead center in the crowd, and you can make out Shaun’s tiny head somewhere to your right, surrounded by significantly bigger guards. Shit. You go to move toward him, but the Mandalorian - Din - Din’s free hand grabs your hip and pulls you back, the movement catching you so surprised that you slam into him. “Guards are armed.”

“They’re gonna shoot the place up if we don't lose them.” All the guards surrounding Shaun have their hands on their blasters, and the more you look the more guards you notice.

“You know this place better. What’s our play?” He was still pressed up against you, and his hand was still on your hip. You could feel the vibration of the speaker's bass through your feet, and you tried to think of a way to lose the guards. They weren’t looking straight at you, more just in the general direction of the crowd. You were sure they knew Shaun was being chased, but with the dark lights of the club, they wouldn’t be able to make out faces. Or helmets, hopefully.

“Dance with me.”

Thank the Maker for the visor, because Din's eyes nearly popped out of his head. He was having a hard enough time concentrating on anything except the way you were so close to him, and how he was pretty sure his glove was touching a tiny part of your skin, so when you suggested moving of any kind, his first reaction was to deny, if only for his own self preservation.

“No.”

“Come on. I’m not asking you to bend me over; just, I don't know, move a little. We can get closer and lose them in the crowd. Before you know it we will be out the door with Shaun, and the guards won't even know we were there.” You were twisting slightly in his hold so you could speak in his ear, and he found himself sliding his hand further across your waist.

“Okay.” You nod up at him but don’t move for a second, waiting for him to relax. “Lead the way.”

You felt so warm. Maybe it was the nightclub, or maybe it was him. Probably him, the way you begin to sway your hips just a fraction to either side had him grinding his teeth to focus on literally anything else. You let your head come back a little to rest on his chest and your other hand was still locked with his own. He tried to think about the fifty armed guards that were going to shoot everyone in here if this plan didn’t work, but no amount of danger, no risk would pull his mind away from how your free hand came up behind his neck, and how his hand had found your opposite hip, his forearm strong and tight against your stomach.

You were more focused than you had been this entire time. Not on Shaun, or the guards, or moving towards the exit, but on grinding your hips just right so you could feel some part of Din underneath the armor. A name to the person you knew hid beneath. You pulled out your best moves, remembering every night you spent in this club before tonight. It’s like every guy was just a practice run, because none of them felt as good, as strong or as fucking big behind you as The Mandalorian. His arm was pulling you against his chest, and the way his fingers twitched every time your ass found his groin; that was all the encouragement you needed.

“You can move. I don’t mind.” You lean up to look at him before flicking your hair to the other side of your shoulder. He was stiff as a board behind you, and you presumed he didn’t do a lot of clubbing in his line of work, but if this was going to work he needed to at least pretend.

“I- I’m not sure I know how.” You smile up at him. You don’t laugh, although he thinks anyone else would, but instead your hand unwinds from his own and comes on top of the one across your stomach.

“You can do whatever you want to me.” Your eyelashes flutter up at him, and the lights flashing across your face did nothing to hide the blush spreading across your cheeks.

The music, however, covered the slight groan Din made when you said those words. His head dropped, wanting to hide his face even though you couldn’t see it.

Maker, does that work for him.

He copies you, moving in time with your hips, and every time you change direction he has to grip you tighter to make sure you don't stop. Keeping your arm over his you take a step to the right towards the target.

“This is okay?” His voice sounds deeper than usual, and it sends shivers down your spine.

“Good. It’s good.” Maker, he was going to lose his shit. All those nights he had imagined you, imagined what you might feel like against him, around him, none of that would have prepared him for the real thing. You were moving like water against him, fluid and free as you bent your knees a little, sliding down only an inch before coming back up and taking another step to the right. He sees a guard to his left, and moves before he can think, protecting you becoming a sixth sense.

He spins, switching sides with you, and as he does so his hold comes around to your back. You were now face to face, his arm still holding you just as tight against his front, and your arm was hung around his neck, pulling him down closer to your face.

“Guard moved.” He justifies, and you can’t help but smile.

“Who knew The Mandalorian had moves?” He laughs a little and you can feel him relax, the arm around your back finding a more comfortable position to rest just above your ass. “Did they teach you ballet on Mandalore, too?”

“Very funny. I told you I don’t know what I’m doing.” You roll your eyes and both of you take another step towards Shaun, dancing bodies pressing you both closer together.

“You’re doing fine.” Fine was an understatement. For someone who claims they don’t dance, he matches every one of your moves perfectly, and it even starts to feel good; better than it ever did with any of those slimy dudes you danced with before.

“Yeah?” He breathes, dropping his head next to yours to scan the crowd behind you. You lose all power for a second, only being able to focus on how he was holding you and whispering as best he could in your ear.

“Mhmm. Very fine.” He laughs against you again, and leads you another step into the crowd.

Din was putting everything he had into not losing all composure right here. The fact that he could see your heat signature through his helmet wasn’t helping. He knew what yours usually looked like, he had spent enough time staring at you to picture it, so when he dropped his eyes and could see your stomach and chest burning red ever since he pulled you against him, his hold on himself became looser and looser.

“How are we doing?” You have to constantly blink to remind yourself why you are both here. He moves his hips against you and you shiver, the feeling of him moving against you too good to hide.

“Still too far.” Your back was to the target, so he had to keep an eye on him. He didn’t want to, didn’t give a shit about the target or the money or the beeping tracking fob. All he wanted was to stay here, with you dancing on him. Your forehead drops to rest on his chest. The music starts to pick up and so does your hips, naturally swaying to the beat.

“S-slow down.” Din stutters. Actually stutters. His voice is slow and crackly when he whispers in your ear. “Can’t think.”

“Why’s that?” The energy of the club disappears, and it's just you and him, occasional blue and red flashes lighting up his helmet.

“We have to focus.” You keep dancing, not wanting this moment to end. He feels so good against you, the cool armor against your hot skin electrifying every movement.

“Worried you can’t handle it, big guy?” You smirk up at him and pull his helmet closer, linking your arms around the back of his neck.

He’s slipping. Too far gone; with your hands around his neck and your hips swaying like that, right against him, there’s no looking back now.

“I can handle it.” You swallow hard at his voice that is now full of confidence, the one he uses when he talks to a target.

“Guess we’ll find out.” His arm at the back of you tightens, and you both realize at the same time what line you are crossing. There's no doubt that either of you haven’t thought about it, it’s all he has thought about since he met you, but it was all too confusing, too much all of a sudden. He has no idea how to handle you, handle whatever it is that you made him feel, but with you in the dark atmosphere of this club and the way you were moving, he can think of nothing else.

Both moving with the music, you start to dance less and grind more, finding a better pace to feel more of him against you. Both of his hands are on you now, one drawing explorative lines up your side while the other holds you to him.

“Guards are coming through the crowd.” His tone becomes a little more serious as the danger suddenly becomes unavoidable. You sneak a quick glance, and you can see them all, pushing people out of the way clearly looking for someone in particular, the shiny head of his helmet practically a beacon. It was so dark you couldn’t make out their faces, let alone Shaun’s or even Din who stared right at you, the guards only obvious because they were the only ones not dancing.

“You need to blend in. Or hide.” You whisper, still trying to act natural and ignore the slight hardness you can feel under your movements. “They’re going to kill everyone in here if they start shooting.”

The club was packed, and syndicate members aren’t exactly known for their conflict resolution, so both of you had no doubt they would shoot their way through innocent people just to minimize risk.

The Mandalorian had two options. He either let everyone in here take the risk of getting shot in the inevitable bloodbath that was going to happen when the guards got close enough to see him, which they only would be able to do because of how reflective his armor was.

Or, he could lean into the very bad second option which had a lot less risk for everyone else, but risked everything he had built for the last 20 years.

Even in the helmet he could only see your face, the darkness blurred everyone around him except how your pretty eyes were staring up at him, letting your hair fall over your shoulders. He couldn’t help but think how soft it would feel in his fingers. He could see your mouth, and how you held your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes glancing around trying to gage how much time you have before he gets you both killed.

“We need to move. They’re going to kill them.” You say, and it’s only because you finally stopped your torturous movement that he can think clearly for a second, or maybe not so clearly considering what he was about to do.

“I have an idea.” Comes through the modulator, and you're half surprised he’s still in there considering how quiet he’s been.

“Cutting it a bit close.”

“Do you trust me?” A gloved hand comes up to your cheek and your eyes fall on him. The glint of the beskar catches the eye of a guard and you can see them coming your way to investigate, caving you in to him at all angles. You lean up on your toes, getting as close to him as possible to make sure no one can hear your answer.

“I trust you, Din.”

“Good.” The hiss of an armor seal, the sound of something hitting the floor and a flash of brown curls under blue light are the last things you remember before his lips found yours.

They were soft. Surprisingly soft. He moved slowly, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do now that he had found you. There was something so intimate about how slowly he kissed you, nothing but his lips moving against yours, only taking what you give him. You were caught so off guard you aren’t sure you moved in the first few seconds, but as soon as the realization of what was happening washed over you, you gave him everything you had.

One of your hands found his hair, slightly damp from sweat and the other pulled at his neck as if he could get any closer to you. You deepened the kiss, sliding your tongue into his mouth to show him just how okay you are with this, and he responds immediately. All of a sudden what was once a distraction kiss becomes something much more wild, more desperate and much more fitting for the feelings you both have for each other. For a second, you break apart, and its enough for you to utter the only word, the only name you will ever think of again. “Din.” You kiss the name onto his lips before he takes over again, the two of you practically becoming one.

He thinks he’s died and gone straight to hell, hearing you whisper his name. His real name. It’s unlike anything he’s experienced before. You taste sweet, like sugar, and your mouth moves on his like it’s never done anything else. He pulls you tighter, grabs at your hip while the other holds your face to his, using it to obscure himself to everyone but you. He is very aware of how wrong this is, but your teeth bite his bottom lip ever so slightly before sliding your tongue back in his mouth and he suddenly doesn’t care. He is hidden from everyone in the club by the darkness and fog, most of them too drunk or too absorbed in their own lives to notice him, which is exactly what the guards have blended you both in with as they begin to fan out around you. Just another couple kissing in the sea of dancing bodies.

He knows the guards pass as soon as he hears the clicks of blasters in holsters behind him. The threat is eliminated, passed, so why hasn’t he put his helmet back on? Why hasn’t he ripped his mouth away from you?

Every second you kiss him back makes it harder for him to think logically, and when you moan into his hard grip on your back and arch into him he doesn’t think he will ever be able to stop.

You feel the guard brush past you, but Din is kissing you so hard, so fervently that you don’t think you could deny him anything if he asked you right now, so you make no move to pull away, to slow down.

“Fuck.” His voice is just as low out of the modulator, and you feel your legs go weak at the sound of it. You made him say that, you affected him. Just like he affects you. You can feel his skin, a slight stubble around his cheeks, his hair longer than you would have thought, and it’s curly in your hands which for some reason makes him ten times hotter. You want more than anything to pull away and stare at him, take in the image of him, knowing no one will see it but you. But you don’t, and you just let him kiss you until neither of you can breathe, and then a little longer.

When he pulls away you expect him to cover up fast, and you keep your eyes closed not wanting to betray his trust in a futile moment. However, he just rests his forehead against yours, and you can feel the slightly clammy skin of his face against yours. You are both panting for air in the small space between you, and he breaks the silence first.

“They’re gone. Shaun too.” You mentally curse, but you're having trouble being upset at all at this moment, the overwhelming feeling of him is still flooded throughout your body, leaving no room for anything or anyone else.

“That was…”

“A good distraction?” His breath is warm on your face and you are so scared to move because then you won’t be able to kiss him again.

“I was going to say ‘fucking amazing’ but yeah, that too.” He laughs for just you, and you don’t think you will ever get tired of hearing that.

“Now who can’t handle it?” You laugh as he teases you, and nearly roll your eyes until you remember you can’t open them. You put your hand over your face. “What are you doing?”

“In case I see. When you put the…” your foot nudges the beskar helmet on the ground and you feel him nod against you.

“Right.” He forgot everything, forgot the creed he committed his entire life to, and that was only a fucking kiss. He leant down and picked up the helmet, shoving it back on.

It was the first time he resented having to wear it.

Your eyes open and find the black visor staring back at you. You smile up at him and start to sway your hips, placing your hands on his side and resting your face in the crook of his neck.

“Can we pretend a little longer?” You mumble into his shirt at his neck, and he stiffens slightly. You feel a hand adjust his pants before it finds the back of your head.

“I wasn’t pretending.”

“Me either.” The lights start to slow around you, blue and red no longer coming in flashes but waves, and you look up at him.

“Come with me.” He says it half as a question, half a command and his hand intertwines with yours again.

“Where?”

“Anywhere. Everywhere.” You laugh and lean back, leading him towards the exit before you turn around and start squeezing through bodies. He follows close behind, keeping watch for any remaining guards or any ideas for where Shaun might have gotten to. Soon the cool night winds it’s way over your skin and you shiver, the Mandalorian coming right up behind you and guiding you away.

“I didn’t see where he went. Do you have anything?” You look up but he’s not focused on searching, his eyes are set in one direction.

“Track him tomorrow.”

“But what abo-“

“Do you know how many nights I’ve waited to touch you?” Your eyes widen, and you have no words. He’s stopped walking in the middle of the street, but it’s late and dark so no one else is around to witness. You shake your head. “Any idea how many nights I thought about you? Dreamt of you?” Again, you shake your head.

“What did I do? In your dreams?” You breathe, the foggy night steaming a cloud over his helmet as he leans in close.

“I’m going to show you. If you let me.” He tugs on your hand, gentle enough to let you pull away, but you grab his wrist tight and make sure the hold doesn’t break.

“Show me.” He’s too focused on getting where he wants to go that he doesn’t stop immediately. “Din. Please.” He pulls you against him and starts walking a little slower.

“You said that; in my dream.”

“What? Show me?” He shakes his head.

“Please.”

“I say that all the time. I have great manners.”

“Not the way I’m thinking, cyar’ika.” Your heart flutters at the name, and the way he says it, how it vibrates through his chest and reaches into your own. You round a corner and his ship comes into view.

“Guess you’ll have to demonstrate.” The hand on your lower back drops and rests on your ass, giving it a little squeeze that makes you jump into him.

“I plan on it.” Your breath catches in your throat and suddenly you're moving at an almost inhuman pace, jogging to try and keep up with his giant steps. You can hear the passing voices of people heading home for the night, and you wonder where you would have ended up had you not lost Shaun tonight.

Realistically, if you had told your past self you would leave without the bounty tonight, she probably would have slapped you. Right now, though, as the Razor Crest comes into view, you couldn’t imagine a more perfect ending.

Or a more anticipated one. He moves like a predator - fast, swift and with purpose, having the ramp of the Crest already opening by the time you round the corner, hand still entangled tightly with his own.

You were high on adrenaline, the events of just minutes ago still fogging your brain, but your concentration had nowhere else to be but right here, as the soft lights of Corellia disappeared behind the closing ramp. You let out a shuddering breath as Din steps toward you. You can hardly see him, going off your other senses to gauge exactly where he is.

You can smell him. You feel strange, inhaling deeply in the almost pitch black of the hull, but you think it might be your favorite smell. It reminds you of safety, a little hint of vanilla mixed with cedar wood, a result of the single, half empty bottle of all-in-one soap you once glimpsed in the corner of his refresher. You don’t hear him step behind you, but the smallest hint of air brushes over your shoulder, and the scent overwhelms you.

You turn around, exceedingly eager. Your chest practically slams into him, and it’s only when you settle your hands on his ribcage you hear how fast you were breathing.

“Relax. It’s just me.” You let out a soft laugh, trying to hide your nerves.

“That’s kind of the problem.” You say and instantly feel him move back.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” You want to slam your head against the wall. Of course he would be sweet, and kind, exactly the kind of guy you always want but never find yourself going for. Willing some of that confidence from the club to miraculously appear, you blindly reach out, playing to pull him back to you, and yank the first part of armor you find.

You wouldn’t call it a squeak, exactly. You don’t think that it would be possible for Din to emit a sound like that, but something breathy and surprising cracks the silence in the ship as you pull him forward. Your hand had slipped right over the ridge of his breastplate, finding the one weak spot on his armor even in the dark. You could feel him swallow against the back of your knuckles.

“I want…” Two hands rest lightly on your body. One is on your hip, his thumb running small lines up and over the curve of it, and the other rests on your cheek. His skin - exposed, and against yours, is rough as his fingers begin to thread into your hair. The heel of his palm takes up most of your cheek, and a wave of warmth rushes through every part he touches.

“What do you want, cyar’ika?” Even though it’s pitch black, your eyes flutter shut at the beautiful jumble of words. You recognise the language, only because you’ve heard Din say a few words here and there during hunts, but mainly only the swear words. Now, the language sounds like a dream, and it doesn’t really matter what it means, only that he’s saying it to you, and it almost sounds like a compliment.

“I want you, Din.” You feel the hand in your hair tighten slightly, flex and thread further towards the back of your head. The hand on your hip leaves only for a second, and in the next moment a loud clang on the ground has you almost jumping into Din’s arms.

“Sorry.” He laughs, and your heart stops. His voice is perfectly clear. Handsome. Can a voice be handsome? You keep your eyes closed, afraid to break the spell of whatever magic must be enchanting you right now. “Come here.”

You don’t get a chance to fully appreciate the sound of him, without his helmet for the second time tonight, but when his lips gently press against yours, you get lost in him. You’ll have him talking soon enough. Emboldened by how tentative he moves against you, your hands slip out from underneath his breastplate and into his hair. Your eyes squeeze shut tighter at the feeling, and your fingers get tangled in the slightly damp mess of curls. It was longer than you imagined, and soft. So, so soft. Maybe that all-in-one soap needed a little more credit.

When you use the new hold you have on him to pull him closer, he groans into your mouth. The sound has you sighing in content, and you drag your fingertips over his scalp, massaging the sound out of him again. The hand on your hip slides up to your lower back, holding you against him, tight. Everything comes rushing back, the music that was flowing around you minutes ago, the energy of the club, the way Din was letting himself feel you without hesitation. You move against him, and his hands drop from your face to just under your ass, and in one go he has you up in his arms, your legs instinctively wrapping around his back.

He takes a single step and makes the distance from the center of the hull, pushing you up against the wall. The cold metal is hard against your back, but so is the unyielding hold of his armor on your front, and it immobilizes you in the best way. His hands, unrestrained by the gloves he usually wears, begin to massage just under your ass, fingers spreading out along the fabric covered skin. His teeth lightly graze on your bottom lip, and the movement has you gasping and chasing his mouth when he pulls back.

“So many people in that damn club.” He grumbles, blessing you with another light kiss before dragging the soft skin of his lips down to your jawline. His tongue darts out only slightly, tasting you. Some small part of your brain that is still able to process words reminds you of how reluctant he was when you all but forced him into the crowd.

“I didn’t mean t-to make you go in - fuck, Din.” He finds a spot just under your ear, biting and kissing while you attempt to form a sentence.

“Not what I mean.” His curls tickle the underside of your chin as he dips his head, kissing the front of your throat. Something about it feels like surrender, and you are more than happy to give in to it. “Wanted you all to myself.”

“You could of fucking had me months ago.” It comes out a little more aggressive than you planned, but it’s painfully true. All it would have taken was one word from him, and you would have given him whatever he wanted. It pissed you off to think of all the wasted time, especially when it might be coming to an end once you tracked down the final bounty. Your words make him stutter, his hair brushing your cheek before his forehead rests on your own.

“Really?” You can hear his smile through his words, and it makes your heartbeat a little faster just imagining it.

“Best bounty hunter in the galaxy, but can’t pick up a single hint, huh?” You slide your arms around his neck, one hand pulling him back to your mouth. He lets you lead, melting into your touch as your hand starts to massage the thick muscles at the base of his neck. He moans, and you can feel the effect of the small sound under your clothes, so you track it down again, repeating the motion. He was still wearing his full armor except the gloves and helmet, so you did your best to relax his neck and shoulders the best you could reach. He rewards the movement with those same sweet sounds, taking your full weight by holding you in his forearms.

“Maker, you- you feel so fucking good.” You start to roll your hips against him, and from this angle you can feel him, hard and big under that damn armor.

“Feels better without my clothes on.” You arch your neck to whisper in his ear, leaving soft kisses along his cheek before returning to his lips.

His restraint doesn’t last long, not that he really had much. He was planning to take this slow - for you as much as for himself. He knew you hadn’t gone out like you used to since you met him; bounty hunting tended to involve a whole lot of late nights and early mornings. Of course, he was glad you weren’t taking any men into your bed while he was around, but he knew it was something you were… experienced at. It had been a while for him, so when he knew the feelings he was having weren’t just physical, he was really shooting in the dark for a chance with you at the best of times.

Now it was here, he was going to make it good.

So good that you never thought about anyone, ever again. He was going to consume you, just as you had consumed him.

Everything changes suddenly. Like neither of you expect it. Din slides you out of his arms, and on your way down, his fingers hook under the flimsy material of your shirt. It sits just above your jeans, exposing a small line of skin that Din’s fingertips currently graze against. There’s nothing you can do to hide the goosebumps that prickle your skin. He seems to stop; waiting for you to shove him away. Waiting for some kind of sign that he is reading this wrong, that he must be.

You drop your hands to his own and, following your lead, he takes your shirt off and throws it somewhere in the darkness.

“Your turn.” You whisper, and your hands come up to his neck, pulling at the fabric that covers him. He still isn’t used to the way you touch him, and if this keeps up, he’s pretty sure he never will be.

It’s a meticulous process - taking off his armor. He can do it with his eyes closed, but it still takes a while. You don’t seem to mind, though. Piece by piece, he sheds the armor away, letting it clatter to the floor around you with little care. Your hands hover over the tops of his, learning, and soon you take initiative by following his actions, repeating the steps on his opposite side.

He doesn’t think he will ever want to take his armor off in any other way.

Your fingers are more delicate, where his own rip and tug at the connectors, your own untangle. Where he shrugs it off, shaking his arm to let the plate tumble to the floor, your hands are feather light as you slide the remaining beskar, and he closes his eyes, content to just feel as you complete the job. Soon enough, he’s standing in front of you in less clothes than he’s ever worn in front of another person.

Any other time, he’s fully clothed, armor only shifted in necessary places. He’s never wanted to be felt, never wanted someone’s hands on him, but after feeling you so close tonight, he doesn’t think he could go another second without it.

You blindly reach out to his face, the dark still keeping his creed intact. He lets your fingertips dance along the ridge of his nose, before you grab his face and pull, locking him into a kiss.

This one is different. Where the others have been full of sweetness, this one is needy. Hungry. Clearly, the process of removing his armor had a similar effect on you, because in the next few seconds he feels you whipping his shirt off, only disconnecting from his mouth for a moment before coming back to him, hands exploring his chest.

He felt big. Of course he was fucking huge, but having him half naked, feeling that broad chest under your palms, you almost forgot how giant he really was. It sent waves of need straight to your core, and you wasted little time tugging at the seams of his pants. If these were just as complicated as his armor was, you think you might collapse before he even-

In one pull, his pants go sliding off, and you feel how fast they drop under the weight of his armor. It makes a loud ‘clang’ as it hits the floor, and even though you can only think of what the sight in front of you must look like, you have to stifle a laugh at how easy it was to take them off.

“Easy access.” Din hums as he nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck, bringing your attention back to him. He drags his teeth along the sensitive skin, and when you arch your back, you feel him. It’s impossible not to, the hard length pressing against your lower stomach, and it sends the butterflies already flying around in your stomach raving mad.

“Please, Din. I need you.” You hear him sigh at your words.

“You sound more perfect than I imagined.” You could feel how hot your face was, even your ears were burning. Before tonight, you could probably count the amount of words he had said on one hand. There was something about hearing him unfiltered, talking like that.

You let out a whimper at the words, and he starts to undo your jeans, finally taking the fucking hint.

“You like it when I talk like that? Tell you how sweet you sound saying my name?”

“Stars- yes. Please.” You shove your jeans down and step out of them, and Din leads you away from the pile of armor and clothes. You have lost all sense of direction, trusting him not to run you into anything. When he stops you, you feel yourself being pressed into an oddly shaped wall. A door? No - the rungs of the ladder leading up to the cockpit stripe against your bare back, and Din helps you sit up on one, taking the weight off your feet.

“Mesh’la, cyar’ika. Sit there and look pretty for me.” You were about to argue that he couldn’t see anything through the dark, but maybe his eyes were better adjusted. Maybe, from all his late nights spent hunting, he could see just a little bit better that you could in the dark. Maybe he truly couldn’t see you, and was just talking to indulge you, but the idea of him still being hidden, while he could see all of you made you start to fidget, almost whining at his lack of touch.

That was, until you heard him drop onto the floor, the wide stretch of his shoulders pushing your knees further apart, and his hands gently adjusting your calves to sit just above his collarbones.

Din could see. Years spent training to look for things no human would look for, scanning through shitty terrain and the helmet adjusting the light, his eyes had become just that much more in tune with the dark. So, while he couldn’t see every stunning curve of your hip, or the way your hair fell over your shoulders, he could see. He could see you, spread out in front of him, hands buried in his hair in anticipation, and it was too damn beautiful to deny.

“Mesh’la.” He repeats against the skin of your inner thigh, before sliding his hands up. He keeps kissing the trail his hands made, and slides his palms under either side of your panties, carefully placing them just outside of where he could see you were wanting him. “Is this okay?”

“I wanna feel you on me, Din. Please.” As much as his words sent you spinning, you knew you had that same effect on him. Din practically rips off your panties, and with a final mumble of incoherent Mando’a, he lets his tongue slide against your pussy, the first contact already having you moaning out his name.

“That’s it. Be as loud as you want. No one can hear you but me.” He never gives you rest, when he speaks he is methodical, making sure his hands keep that tortuous pace. Not so fast where you would tumble over the edge in seconds, although the way he lets his tongue work just around that sensitive bundle of nerves has you thinking he could make you finish in a moment's notice. He doesn’t, though; working you up in slow, gentle strokes that have you seeing more stars than you’ve ever seen in the galaxy.

One of his fingers slides inside of you, and you nearly jump off the ladder in pleasure.

“Oh- f-fuck Din faster.” You almost sob, the pace still so slow and grinding. He is seemingly lost in his own mind - soft vibrations sparking up your body as he hums in content against you. Occasionally, he will mumble a word or two, but they are lost in your own moans of pleasure.

Legs shaking, your hands start to pull a little harder against his scalp, and it surely hurts at least a little. Moving your hips against his face, you feel him smirk against your core, and the desperate movements of your body at least seem to encourage him. You feel like you’re in space - floating in no gravity as Din’s tongue flicks against your clit before he takes it into his mouth and he speeds up the movement of his hand all at once. It’s too much and not enough, and your thighs clamp down on either side of his head as your body is sent into overdrive.

His free arm snakes around the back of the ladder, holding you to him so you have nowhere to go,  nothing else to do except exactly what he said - sit there and look pretty. You can’t hold your head up anymore, your body starting to tense as every nerve is set alight. You know it’s coming, but as he pushes you to the edge, the intensity of the incoming pleasure was nothing like you had ever felt.

“D-Dinnn shit I think I’m- oh fu-ck!” Everything lights up as he moans against you, the sensation the last thing you can recall as your body floods with the intensity of your orgasm. Your hands scrunch up in his hair, and you could swear your bones turn to jelly as the feeling racks through your entire being. No one in the galaxy has ever - could ever make you feel like this, but Din does. Din is.

It feels like hours and seconds pass at the same time, Dins mouth slowing its assault as he starts to press sweet kisses to any other expanse of skin he can reach in this position. He coaxes you through as your body reacts to the light touches, humming against your skin and smiling every time you suck in a sharp breath as he edges closer back to your center, before heading in another direction. The game brings your body back together, and fairly soon your fidgeting on the rung of the ladder, desperate to feel more of him against you, but unable to hold anything but his soft hair.

It really was soft.

You start to massage soothing circles into the top of his head as an apology for your tight grip, and he finally relents, tongue tracing a final line over your heated core.

“Jatisyc.” You hear him growl, voice gravelly as he stands. You can feel how tall he is, looming over you even if you can’t see him. You can feel it.

He helps you stand, your legs still shaking slightly, and he guides you over to a corner of the ship before a door opens. You don’t think you’ve been in this section of the ship before, and if you’ve ever spent more than twenty four hours here, you have just slept in a pile of blankets on the floor. He continues to guide you into the room, and the back of your legs hit a metal pole before he stops.

“Lie down.” He kisses your forehead before gently nudging you, and a surprised gasp leaves your mouth at the soft comforter underneath you. A bed. Small, you realize as you slide further back, knees bending to push yourself to the wall it rested on. Clearly made for one, you try to minimize the space you take up as two thick legs box you in on either side. His warmth covers your entire body as he drops his weight down, closing the space and reconnecting his mouth to your own. On instinct, you wrap your legs around his back, pulling his hips down towards the bed, and you can finally feel him against you. Only the thin layer of his briefs separate you but it’s too much - hands creeping down his body and tugging on the waistband, the sound of Din shuddering a breath in your mouth making you act faster. Tugging and shifting on the tiny mattress, you both try your best to stay as close as possible while removing the last layer of clothes.

“Baby - wait, hold on.” He starts to laugh, and the sound is the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard. He bends down, kicking the clothes to the side somewhere, still laughing at the weird angle you’ve both somehow tangled yourselves in. It’s almost strange - the sound is so unlike the hardened bounty hunter you had tried your best to get used to over the past few months, but it suits him. Hearing him like this, you have no idea how you will be able to stand having him tucked away in that helmet again. You decide, then, that he is taking way too long, and you are not close enough.

“Din.” He turns back to you, finally repositioning so he is between your legs. As he drags his mouth up the length of your body, he lays kisses on the skin open to him, which is all of it. All of you, laid out in the darkness of what must be his room. It smells like him, and with the lack of sight you can imagine he was all around you. His hair brushes against your chest, and your breath hitches in anticipation of him getting closer. “Please.”

“Just like in my dreams.” He mumbles. He doesn’t kiss you just yet. He just hovers, watching with a hunters focus as he lines himself up with you. He could feel how wet you were - like you were just waiting for him. Waiting for him, like he had been waiting for you. Your fingers run soft lines up and down his chest, and his hands fist in the sheets. Even here, at the edge of the most intimate act he could think of, he still wasn’t used to how you touched him.

As he slowly pushed himself into you, you both mimic the sound of ultimate relief. It was achingly slow, the rock of Din’s hips measured with control only he could execute, and before he had driven into you fully, you were already moaning out his name.

“Fuck, Din.” Everytime you say his name, he groans, similar to what you’ve heard when he’s fighting. Like it’s just on that border of pleasure that it’s almost painful, and with your hands bracing on his biceps, you can feel the tense in his shoulders. It’s an entire body experience, calling him by his name, and if that’s what gets him to move fast, you would chant it like a prayer.

“Th-shit. This is okay?” He says in that same low voice you recognise from the club. Practically clinging to him, you shake your head yes in the darkness, hoping to the Maker he doesn’t stop. His forehead is pressing into your own, soft lips dragging against yours as he bottoms out, driving up into a part of yourself you aren’t sure you knew you had.

You cry out, and it’s clearly what he was looking for, because he drags his length all the way out to the tip, and then enters you again, setting a mind numbing pace. You can hear the weak legs of the bed shifting against the hard floor of the ship as he fucks you, hard and slow.

“Fuck, cyar’ika. Feel so fucking good around me.” He gets a little rougher, losing himself in you, speaking through the small gaps of silence when you suck in a breath, only to continue calling out his name in pure ecstasy. There was no boy - no shitty fuck from the club that felt like this. It’s like you were on another planet - in another realm, the sounds he made as he grinded himself into you sending you hurtling in all directions.

“Holy shit-” You gasp, feeling one of his large hands trail down to rub small, tight circles on your clit. Your back arches, pressing your skin to his, and he’s like a heater in the cold of the ship, only making you seek him out more. “Oh-my Din.”

“Yours.” It takes you a second, your eyes screwed shut and your entire body only existing for him, but he says the simple word, and everything freezes. You had said it first. ‘My Din’. Maybe it was on accident, losing the rest of the sentence in the way he was fucking you into the mattress, but you know it wasn’t. Even half lidded, on the edge of your high, you knew it wasn’t a mistake. He wasn’t either.

Yours.

Your Din.

“Mine.” You tug his mouth back to you, teeth latching on to his bottom lip while your fingernails scratch along his toned back. He chokes out a sound just desperate enough to make known that he likes it, so you do it again. You know it’s leaving marks, and he does too. He picks up speed, chasing his own high and his free hand grips onto your hip tight enough to leave the shape of his hold in its wake. You mark him. He marks you.

Yours.

Mine.

“Din please, don’t fucking stop.” Your eyes were closed so tight it screws up your whole face, and even though he hasn’t told you not to look, you can’t bring yourself to throw his trust out the window. Even if your eyes did open, you wouldn’t see him through the dark, and you are pretty sure your eyes would be crossed and glazed over with the zaps of electric pleasure shooting up into your chest.

“Never gonna- shit. Never gonna stop.” Your body shivers in response, and you can feel the coil tightening in your lower stomach. “Gonna keep you on this ship forever. Fuck you every day.”

Maybe it’s the idea of it. Maybe it’s the realization that he could. If he wanted to. It’s mainly the realization that you want him to that snaps that tight coil and sends you all the way over the edge. You feel his hand leave your hip and curl around your back, holding your weight in one strong forearm, he keeps fucking you through your high, using it to reach his own. With a loud growl of your name he follows you, and you feel him pull out at the last second, warmth spreading across your inner thigh.

You were lost in the dark, unsure of where your body started and his ended. Limbs were tangled together, and you feel him sit back on his knees, heaving deep breaths and staring at you. It almost burns, the knowledge of his gaze. Of the sight he must be looking at - of you strung out, covered in the evidence of what he just did. Of what he just did to you. It’s almost enough to make you cum again, just to please him.

You feel him lean over, quickly grabbing whatever fabric was closest and wiping you clean, before proceeding to flop his entire body weight down next to you, and half on top of you. With an exhausted ‘oof’ he almost starfishes on the tiny bed, pulling your naked body underneath one of his outstretched arms. The weight of him makes it a little hard to breathe, but you sigh in relief as you feel his head nuzzling into the crook of your neck, kissing your shoulder and hair tickling your ear.

“Mesh’la.” He mumbles into your skin, and you turn as best you could, pulling his face to press against your own.

“What does that mean?” Your voice is hoarse, hardly above a whisper, and he kisses you before he answers.

“Beautiful.”

“Mesh’la.” You whisper back, and his head dives back into you, hiding himself even though you can’t see him. “So, will you?”

“Will I what?”

“Keep me on this ship forever?” He almost stops breathing - everything goes quiet, and he tries not to react as your hand traces along the small, hot lines you carved into his back. He feels - selfish, with you. He’s not entitled to, he knows he can’t give you anything. Life with him was nothing like you were used to, this night was the first time he had ever stepped foot in a nightclub, unlike you, who did this every day. He couldn’t be selfish with you, but there was a desperate part of him that wanted to be the bad guy. Wanted to say ‘yes’. Wanted to make you his.

“I d-”

“Too late to take it back now. Or are you scared you can’t handle it?” He can hear the shit-eatng grin you are sporting as you tease him, just like before, and he wants to retort, wants to play with you, but he can’t. His brain is fried, and all he can think about is you never leaving.

“Mine.” He whispers, not meaning to say it out loud. You don’t respond right away. Instead, your nose brushes against his, and he feels your short breath kissing his cheek.

He was wrong before - this is the most intimate thing he can imagine.

“Mine.” You say back, and there's not a hint of reservation.

Your breathing starts to slow, and your head drops to his shoulder as exhaustion takes over. He shuffles, cradling your body against his and grabbing the blanket from underneath the bed frame to toss it over you. It wasn’t big enough to cover you both, but the heat of your body next to his combined with his recurring thoughts of what just happened is enough to keep him warm well into the night.

There is too much to do - his bounty hunter brain starts kicking at his conscious mind. The target is escaping, getting further and further every second he spends staring at your sleeping body. He should get up, go off and track it, make good on his promise of getting you off this planet and let you run head first into the life you were meant for.

He doesn’t move. His hand, rough against your soft skin, rubs soothing lines over your arm, and you sigh happily in your sleep. He should do those things, but he won’t. Because of you.

You said he was yours - and hell if he wouldn’t listen.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian fanfiction #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian smut #mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #mando x you #mando x y/n #mandalorian x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars tv

[godbirdart]

in what universe is someone going to see a DNI that applies to them and think "this person is definitely someone im going to enjoy following and get along with". do you go on twitter and see nazis saying they hate trans people and decide to follow them out of spite? of course not, and literally nobody else does that either, even on the other side. hell forget DNIs, I get less conservatives in my notifs than I used to just by having they/them pronouns in my bio because they see it and go "ew, I'm not following them". people dont typically follow people theyre clearly not going to feel welcome around, a DNI is just another way to communicate that.

1 - you don't have to Get Along with someone to follow them. people can and will hate-follow or follow to annoy you, block evade, etc out of spite. some people will interact with you just because you told them, or people like them, not to.

2 - your experiences are not universal. nazis, terfs, bigots in general, they can and will follow and harass people they don't like online. this is spoken from my own experience as someone who has seen his transfem friends be followed and harassed by alt-right nut jobs online.

3 - "forget DNIs, I get less conservatives in my notifs than I used to just by having they/them pronouns in my bio" ← you're right. this is effective because the vast majority of people regardless of political stance or belief will only ever read your bio. not many people are going to jump through hyperlinks to read your DNI. if they don't like what they read in your bio, they'll just leave [or possibly harass you, if they're particularly malicious]. ergo, making a DNI is largely just for yourself and not at all a real, useful barrier people must pass through in order to follow / engage with your posts.

no one is stopping you from making a DNI. you can write a terms-of-service length novel of a Do Not Interact list, put it on its own Carrd and make it aesthetic and pretty with flair. you're completely free to do so and tell people to read it. a few will, sure.

however. the post you're referencing is specifically addressing the glaring reality that most people, regardless if they fit your DNI criteria or not, are simply not going to go out of their way to find and read it. abusive people aren't going to see "DNI abusive assholes" and be deterred because they themselves don't consider themselves abusive. this post, particularly what OP wrote, is saying how it's much more proactive to curate your own space through utilizing the block button and tag filters when you see things and people you don't want to engage with instead of trying to impose your personal boundaries on strangers online.

addendum // i don't really care if teens are making DNIs and being aggressively annoying about em. i remember the era of setting weird arbitrary rules in my developing years while i was forming Who I Was as a person. they're figuring out who they are and what their comfort levels are. i get it. it's the grownass adults that are hyper-virulent about DNIs that i worry about - and i'm not talking about when they're trying to establish an adults-only space with a stern "minors DNI".

note: what i'm talking about below, i am Not referring to literally illegal and harmful activities / content. just want to be clear.

now, i'm not saying you have to welcome and embrace the content you don't like, but it's important to challenge yourself and toe your comfort boundaries. if you over-prune yourself trying to be the bestest morally correct person, at some point you're going to start boxing yourself into this narrowed teeny tiny worldview. you may turn into the person you claim to have loathed, imposing personal beliefs and morals on others, and brandishing your DNI like it's a certificate of righteousness; not unlike how conservatives wave around religious scripture while pruning away LGBTQ+ rights because it goes against their morality. a few examples of this are topics such as: kink at pride, and the language discrepancies between the younger and older generations of the LGBTQ+ community - particularly in regards to self-identifying with words such as Queer and Dyke and Transsexual.

i probably derailed a bit here, i'm answering this before my caffeine's fully kicked in. if i vaguely worded something or yall want more elaboration on something, don't hesitate to ask

#welcome to my incoherent mind i suppose #long post #wall of text

[bootlegramdomneess]

The Bear Season 2 thoughts

After watching The Bear season 2 and letting things marinate, I think I’d like to share my thoughts. First, as a therapist, for me this show perfectly depicts trauma and its effects in its most raw form. It was so uncomfortable and heartbreaking to watch at times, I felt like one of the themes of this season is sacrifice. What are you willing to sacrifice to A. Discover your purpose and B. is it worth sacrificing so much for success? I saw this theme numerous times throughout the season particularly with the Star convo and from Chef Luca when Marcus asked if it is all worth it and the convo Carmy had with uncle Jimmy about the story of failure

 The Xmas episode: This was hard to watch. I had to keep pausing it. Donna is so dysregulated and disturbed. But what I really want to discus and Mikey and Carmy’s dynamic. Mikey is so troubled. He is so unwell. Mikey is Carmy’s hero, but I think Carmy doesn’t see how deeply troubled his brother is. Mikey admires Carmy so much because Carmy was brave enough to get away from the family to pursue his dreams. So heartbreaking.  SO MUCH DYSFUNCTION.

 Claire- Her character wasn’t fully developed, but I feel like maybe it was done purposefully. We are seeing her through Carmy’s eyes and Carmy doesn’t seem to really know how he feels about her, or know her.  He says he’s in love after being forced to choose a feeling, but really he’s only just connected with her. I think perhaps he is equating that feeling of enjoying being with her with love, or maybe even having sex with her with love. He latched onto Claire because she is good at comforting him. Many people who come from dysfunction struggle with this and will latch onto people who appear to be good at this.  He’s with her because he thinks, oh, this is fun and normal. He used the term seeking “FUN” but he is searching for normality without a clue as to what normal is. Even deeper, he’s searching for a true path to becoming a healthy adult.

  Carmy: I empathize with him so much.  I do see Carmy has made some progress. His insight has improved a bit as he recognizes how much trauma he has experienced and how it has manifested in his adult life.  He is trying. He is seeking to change. He has recognized the need to be less emotionally inhibited. His judgement is a little impaired though. He sort of thrives In Chaos. That’s why the alarm going off wasn’t bothering him. That’s why he created this entire scenario by getting in a serious relationship with a stranger. He is so emotionally inhibited: The excessive inhibition of spontaneous action, feeling, or communication, usually to avoid disapproval by others, feelings of shame, or losing control of one’s impulses. inhibition of Positive impulses (e.g., joy, affection, sexual excitement, play); (c) difficulty expressing vulnerability or communicating freely about one’s feelings, needs, and so forth; or (d) excessive emphasis on rationality while disregarding emotions. I think this is his main Schema. Yah boy is messed up and needs some one-on-one therapy. I can go on and on about this. There’s so much. Carmy’s actions are pretty on point for someone coming from trauma, dysfunctional parents, and alcoholic parents. He behavior breathes asshole, but really, he has a deeply wounded, lonely, angry, abandoned and abused inner child and his adult self needs some serious healing.  

 Sydney: I love how they wrote and expanded her character this season.  I love how vulnerable they showed her to be. How hard she worked to deal with the growing anxiety. I felt her loneliness when she was eating that giant sundae alone, but I also loved seeing her in her element. Her dad is an ace. She has such a grounding, funny, hardworking energy.

 Carmy and Sydney: my babies. Their dynamic is so sweet. So genuine. So raw and real. How many times has he had a panic attack and thoughts of Sydney grounded him? Like..sir. I also feel he’s trying to protect Sydney in a way, and I see this in the star conversation. Underneath his words he is saying: I had to give up so much to get this and I don’t want that for you. It’s hell. It’s fucking terrible pressure. You don’t want this, but also not saying it because maybe he doesn’t want to shatter or shit on her dreams and ambitions. The foreshadowing of the growing anxiety she’ll likely face in the next season with the receipt machine going off in her head was telling. I think this is what Carmy is warning her about. I love when she jokingly teases him. I appreciate how he notices things about her: “you like making people happy.” I like that she calls him out and communicates her needs to him. This is a slow burn. They’re so awkward. They want to hang out. I don’t think they realize they may have feelings yet or if they ever will. They are so much a like in certain aspects but so different in how they view the world because of how they were raised.

Lastly, Richie is the MVP for me this season. I have a soft spot for him.

#sydney x carmy #carmy x sydney #syd x carmy #syd adamu #thebear

[rogueddie]

oh my god season one steve defender, hello

am i glad to find you because i’ve ben rewatching stranger things and the fanon version of steve before the upside down seems on the harsh side now. and the way the show was comparing him to jonathan who was dealt a shitty hand in life made people a bit biased.

like, he was asshole, not refuting that! but also he was a moody teenager who didn’t know better and peer pressure is a bitch even without people making assumptions about you and your big empty house. (i think a big part of steve being so gone on nancy was because she didn’t treat him like he was an asshole. unlike others who made it seem given.)

also he tried to rectify his mistakes. didn’t try to run from that. went to jonathan to apologize, even when his face was still fucked up from the beating he got and not knowing what jonathan was doing with nancy, exactly. he trusted nancy. he was jealous and lashed out in the worst way possible but he chose to trust her—like she trusted him before he went and hurt her. didn’t want to disappoint her again.

also he made the right choice at the most important time. running back to nancy after she threatened him with a gun and a literal monster jumped out? most teenagers—hell, even adults—would not do that, not even the kind and mature ones.

he wasn’t involved with the interdimensional monster shit, unlike nancy and jonathan who each had a person they lost to it and were in deep. he chose to be involved. like. people seem to think that the upside down and its subsequent trauma was what made steve a good person. he was good to begin with, he just needed a push. the upside down didn’t happen to steve, it was the other way around. that’s a big part of why i love his character: his choice to be involved. a lot of people understate that. like.

steve isn’t connected to anyone in the party. he’s there for them all nonetheless. a rich kid just inserted himself into danger to save people, how come he catches so much heat from others?

he wasn’t bad, is what i’m getting at. he acted bad. he was innately good and just had to practice that goodness outside the influence of mouthbreathers.

Oh, people are definitely too harsh on Steve. But that's entirely the Duffers fault, I'm convinced. Most people won't have watched s1 for a while so things like Robin insisting that Steve used to be an asshole will be informing their perceptions of early Steve, or Steve telling Nancy that he really needed that knock to the head like he was the worst person before that.

He was definitely problematic, majorly so. It was his friends who were the assholes but he didn't try that hard to stop them- we see him trying to scold Tommy for going too far, but it's only after he implies that Jonathan is responsible. He initiates it too, even if his comment isn't necessarily that bad.

And trying to make up for his mistakes? That was almost immediately afterwards as well. With the implication of his father cheating, obviously he's going to be paranoid about that type of thing happening to him just like his mom. It makes sense that he'd overreact and went way too far. He was upset and a kid!

Plus, on the point of him choosing to go back- isn't he the only one who really chooses to keep getting involved in the Upside Down, even though he doesn't really have any personal stakes in it?

Like, s1 he's given an out. Nancy pointed a gun at him and Jonathan isn't exactly a friend, but he goes back anyway. And in s2, he could've told Dustin no. He didn't need to babysit or agree to help him, he had no real reason to and it's heavily implied that the two aren't close at all. Then in s3, he could've turned Dustin away too. Why would Steve want to waste time on translating Russian? He had a job! S4 is the only time he has any personal stakes bc at that point he's good friends with Dustin and it's a clearly dangerous situation.

He's always had a very clear pattern of behavior that is the same now as it was in s1. Considering he's a rich kid, it would make sense that hed get stuck in a certain crowd too and of course theyd be assholes.

#ask #I'm going to brainwash everyone into also loving season 1 steve

[tabithatwo]

you people are so weird. any person with a brain would understand that shauna would be the most affected by the loss of her baby. that baby is literally a part of her in a way that jackie will never be able to. you’re just mad that shauna’s character no longer revolves around the non canon ship that you made up in your head.

I’m only gonna respond to one of these the rest will be deleted but this is a good example to use to tap into more general concerning discussion I see!

Two parts, the easy one first:

everyone who says this stuff is missing the point completely, the conversation isn’t even about shipping like…at all, actually! It’s character continuity! The point is simply that s1 21 shauna was constantly impacted by a specific thing (the loss of Jackie) and now that we’ve seen that loss on screen in 96, the showrunners have shifted s2 21 Shauna a LOT (both on screen and in interviews). I also talked about Misty’s continuity. Im concerned about the 2021 CHARACTERS CHANGING BASED ON THINGS THAT HAVE ALL ALREADY HAPPENED TO THEM IN THE PAST BY THE FIRST FRAME OF ADULT THEM THAT WE EVER SEE IN THE SHOW. Because I worry that the writers don’t themselves know enough of what happened in the 96 tl to not have continuity issues in the adult characters and/or there’s been a push somewhere to make the characters more tolerable or sympathetic. Like that is the thesis statement idk if that helps lol cause I think you’re probably willfully misunderstanding me but in case you’re not there’s another rephrasing of it.

Second thing, less easy:

telling people that “anyone with a brain would understand that the loss of a baby would impact her most” is actually a very cruel thing to do! I’m taking the time to explain this in case you’re on the younger side or something and maybe just don’t understand, but when you talk to people you do not know what they’ve experienced. So imagining that you’re telling someone who has experienced the thing you’re lecturing them on when you say things can be a helpful metric in being less of an asshole in your phrasing. Pregnancy loss and stillbirth CAN absolutely be the hardest thing some people ever experience. But applying that rhetoric to every single woman is actually a very right wing bullshit propaganda sexist crock of shit, which is the other issue I have with this storyline that’s making me weary. The entire she showed no interest in this baby but every woman wants their baby and it just takes seeing it to realize thing? Rotted. Absolutely rotted lol. Can that happen? YEAH! Does it every time or even most of the time? FUCKING NO IT DOES NOT! Does constantly portraying that in media create a general understanding that is incredibly harmful? The one you’re actually sending back at me right now? ALSO YEAH! I’m not saying I don’t think there’s a way they can go with Shauna’s grief that doesn’t play into this, but the shift in her 2021 character PAIRED with the quote about the baby being the most profound loss worries me.

Especially when the proof is a little bit in the pudding, because there are so many people like you very loudly saying that miscarriage or pregnancy loss or stillbirth is unequivocally the worst thing that can happen to a woman and that questioning that is wrong.

So back to think about who you’re talking to and how they could have any life you don’t understand: you sent this to me! A stranger on the internet! And I, someone who actually quite literally experienced pregnancy loss at 19 years old of a baby that I didn’t want with a man that I slept with because of his proximity to a specific woman, woke up to a message telling me that I’m stupid for not understanding the impact of the loss of a pregnancy. Now is that the exact same loss as Shauna’s? No of course not but damn if it isn’t a little eerie in its closeness lol. Which is probably WHY I care so much how they’re handling this rhetoric.

ANYWAY LAYING THIS SUBJECT TO REST FOR NOW LIKE COACH BENS LEG Y’ALL ARE DOING TOO MUCH LET ME TALK ABOUT MY CONCERNS FOR THE CONTINUITY AND DIRECTION OF A TV SHOW I LOVE ON MY OWN BLOG WITHOUT TELLING ME I DONT UNDERSTAND A THING IVE EXPERIENCED THANKS SO MUCH!

#cw miscarriage #shauna shipman #jackie taylor #yellowjackets #asks answered

[dalekofchaos]

How Stranger Things mishandles racism

Looking back on how the Duffers mishandle racism. It's bad.

Stranger Things on the whole is very tepid in its portrayal of racism.

In the 80s, in rural Indiana it would have been way more blatant, especially from bully characters like Troy and Billy.

Troy is racist and homophobic. His vile comments about Will and treatment of the party is vile. He makes one racist comment about Lucas and it's never brought up again. Him trying to kill Mike is more focused on and they still try to make him sympathetic in the comics.

Billy is a racist, the Duffer Bros even admit this, yet they backtrack one season later.

They wanted Billy to say the N word in the script, but Dacre did not want to say the vile word to avoid being type cast as racist characters.

Even in Runaway Max

He singles out Lucas and out of everyone Max befriended, Lucas is the only one he was violent with. He specifically said this about Lucas "There are certain type of people in this world that you stay away from"

Billy didn’t target Mike, he didn’t target Will, he didn’t target Dustin. The excuse his stans use is “he was protecting Max, he would’ve done the same thing for the others” HE DIDN’T, HE SPECIFICALLY FUCKING CHOSE LUCAS!

He singled out the one black kid in the party and told Max to “stay away from people like him” and then slammed him against a wall with the intent to kill him, until Steve stood up for Lucas(yet ya’ll ship that racist sack of shit with Steve)

Yeah, that's fucking racist and even Caleb said Billy was fucking racist.

his backstory doesn’t even give us enough of a reason for his blatant racism. They could’ve at least given some more context to why he was such an asshole to Lucas. Childhood abuse doesn’t explain his bigotry. Like yes, he could've internalized Neil's racism, but you can't keep blaming Neil for shit that Billy's done as a grown adult harassing a black kid.

They specifically based Billy on Henry Bowers from IT.

And then they backtracked a season later. Billy is possessed instead of being a willing participant of The Mind Flayer to get revenge on Max, Lucas and the party. All the racism against Lucas and abuse of Max is washed over and they act like it never happened.

And honestly, I don't think Patrick should've been apart of Jason's friend group because it would've done more to make him hateable than to make Lucas the token black guy of Jason's brigade of psychos. Especially considering how everyone else in the group but Jason looked down on Lucas. To me Jason is the type of guy who makes everyone think he's this great guy, very misogynistic and closeted racist and the type of guy who would defend Lucas to his friends by saying "he's one of the good ones"

Honestly I would've replaced Patrick with Troy. Troy returning apart of Jason's group would've worked so much better the more I think about it. To get past the whole Lucas in the group, you could have Troy put on a “oh I’m so sorry I’m not like that anymore” act but saying racist things behind his back, then have the act drop the second Lucas doesn’t fall in line. Maybe Troy was supposed to score the winning shot, but Lucas was called in instead of Troy and he held that resentment and it's been building, so the minute Jason and co drop Lucas, Troy's psycho ass is after him. Then Troy gets to have his little revenge on the party and gets to be as vile as he can since they woobified the Henry Bowers of the show a season prior.

Even less obvious, is my one of my biggest gripes of season 4: Officer Powell should have been passed over for Chief in favor of Officer Callahan. No way Powell is getting that position in rural 80s Indiana. And it would have made the season better, because then you could have Callahan bumbling the murders, with Powell stepping up showing how much better he was despite getting passed over for obvious reasons.

So yeah. Racism in Stranger Things is so downplayed, they introduce racist themes and don't do anything with them or just outright forget they exist in the first place to make vile characters seem better.

This reddit post says it all

#Stranger Things #Anti Duffer Bros #Anti Duffers #Lucas Sinclair #Anti Billy Hargrove #Anti Stranger Things #Billy Hargrove #Troy Walsh #Anti Jason Carver #Jason Carver

[therapyandfolklore]

I think the reason people hate Catcher in the ryes holden is because of stigma to mental illness. Like cmon, he is just a traumatized dude, yeah he picks fights, and judges others but its all because of mental illness, he has been failed by every adult in his life, kicked out of 4 schools, and feels alone but doesnt know how to connect with others. The whole book reads like how a bpd episode feels, one daze after another. not fully aware of whats happening. "he judges others!" that's the whole point!!! its a defense mechanism, he judges others for being phonys but he is a phony. Its the unreliable narration, and really how it feels to be mentally ill, he is a phony because he is both scared of being judged and seeling validation so he lies about his life to strangers. He's not an "asshole", it has a very clear point, hes traumatized. He even mentions he doesnt want to be alive, and hires a prostitute and seeks only conversation, but yeah read the book and just assume anyone who is struggling is some villain and selfish lol

#catcher in the rye

[lvxybby]

Music Ties (Kurt Cobain X Female Reader) ------------------------------------------------

i sat back stage while Nirvana performed. LA was doing this music fest thing and my band along with alot of others were invited. Nirvana being one of them since their big hit "Smells Like Teen Spirit" just dropped. it went everywhere and nirvana was one of the worlds biggest bands. teens and adults would die to see nirvana in concert now. they just finished off in bloom and now they began to play Teen Spirit. the crowd screamed as soon as kurt began to strum the chords. dave started to play along with kurt and krist. people were jumping on the stage and reaching for kurt. i already performed with my band so i just chose to stay back stage instead of leaving like my other mates. i sat on the floor tuning my guitar for a while until kurt came rushing back stage with tears flowing down his face. suddenly a photographer came and started to take photos of his crying face. i stepped in. "hey man cant you leave him alone he seems to be having a rough time" i said turning my attention to them. kurt sobbed in his hands while the photographer looked at me before walking away. i sat next to kurt and rubbed his back. we were complete strangers except for the fact we listened to each others music. "hey its ok..." i said as i comforted him. he sobbed more into his hands before leaning onto me and crying more. i wrapped my arms around his skinny waist. i held him tight and let him cry his feelings out. his face was buried right in my chest but i knew he wasnt perverted he was just really sad and needed comfort. "its ok let everything out its just us..." i said as my other hand grazed through his greasy blonde hair. he sniffled a bit more before sitting up and looking at me. "thanks...fuck now my stomach hurts" he said with a soft chuckle. his hands wrapped around his stomach as he let out a soft groan. "aw fuck" he groaned laying on the ground. "uh you got any meds? anything at all?" i asked him "yeah...in my bag in the dressing room..." he groaned "its called...imodium....uh orange bottle i think its in the second pocket...heres the key to the room" he said giving me a key with a red band with a tag that said "NIRVANA" in big letters. "ok ill get it for you...need any water?" i asked "sure" he replied rolling around on the floor holding his stomach. i exited the room and went to nirvanas dressing room. i saw kurts small man-purse on the floor next to a chair. i opened the second pouch and grabbed the orange bottle out. i also saw a Evian water bottle with "kurdt" written on it sloppy. i made sure i put his bag back and i left the room. i made my way backstage again. i saw krist and dave comforting kurt. "hey im back" i said as i knelt by kurt and handed him his pills and water. he eagerly took them and threw the pill bottle on the ground once he was done. "thanks" he said panting a bit "well hello missy" krist said wiggling his eyebrows. "you guys are cute together" he continued "shut up" kurt said giggling a bit. "hi" dave said waving his hand. next thing we knew the crowd was going crazy again since alice in chains went on stage. "oh fuck thats loud..." kurt said covering his ears. "i know its louder than my drums!" dave said looking at the stage. "i kinda like alice in chains but they're not a favorite" i said "yeah but layne has one hell of a voice" kurt admitted. "yeah thats right for sure...hes super loud" i said rubbing kurts hair. he leaned into my hand more. "awe you guys are just the cutest" dave said in a girly voice "so what it feels nice" kurt said closing his eyes. "so....miss Y/N...what do you plan on doing with your band?" krist asked me "i dont know...my band mates are kind of assholes...they just bitch and complain a lot...about being in a band....it makes me feel kinda...sad" i spoke as i began to play with my shoelaces. "aw man fuck em...make a newer band or join one" kurt said looking up at me. "nah...people love us together...its just really hard to deal with it" i said as i looked into kurts blue eyes.

#kurt cobain #kurt cobain x reader #krist novoselic #dave grohl #nirvana #part 2 soon

[thatsokayy]

“I’d Probably Still Adore You With Your Hands Around My Neck” - Sou Hiyori | Shin Tsukimi x Fem Reader

You've got something Sou wants, so you offer a trade. The stress of all that's happened really starts to pile on two horny young adults who have a lot of heated tension.

Tagged:

he's addressed as sou bc this is before his name reveal and you're in the game blah blah, takes place chapter 2 part 1, enemies to enemies with benefits, Barebacking, Creampie, Doggy Style, Wall Sex, Riding, Cowgirl Position, Vaginal Sex, Breeding, long intro with equally long sex scenes, Begging, he's vocal, Whining, Reader-Insert, he calls you "miss", Female Reader, Vaginal Fingering, Hickeys, Bruising

6,620 words

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37517044

full fic under cut

The ruined corridor was extremely eerie. You hated being in there alone, especially with Kanna's trial room at the end of the hallway, disturbingly similar to your own. It felt as if you were presented with the puzzle ages ago, and when because of you that stranger you were paired up with…

You trudged one with heavy steps. You had a mission and you were determined to go through with it.

You heard the confrontation between Keiji, Sara, and Sou a little while ago. You were in the dark about a few things, but some eavesdropping let you in on the gist of what was going on… Kai's laptop found on the first floor was discovered again. Keiji, Q-taro, and Sara lost it and Sou got it back somehow, and he had the charger for it. Keiji and Sara seemed to be having some conflict with each other, which could be a real issue for everybody since they were the backbone of most operations.

Everyone else tended to float to their side. Sou was a bit of an instigator, with the suspicion upon him that he influenced Joe’s card in the last Main Game and generally being an asshole to everyone who even tried to converse with him.

You felt terrible for Sara. You couldn’t even get close to imagining what it felt like to lose your best friend to something that was uncontrollable. Just having to see a complete stranger die brutally was sickening itself, but your best friend? She was so young too.

Regarding who was on whose side, you were more in the middle of the bunch. Sure, you agreed with Sara and her group’s ideals; everyone ought to work together to get out of this hell hole. But your distrust of the others, especially that shady Keiji guy, made it hard to stick around with them. You were definitely not on Sou’s side, that was for certain. Just thinking about how he’d been manipulating poor Kanna to do his bidding made your teeth grind. He was shrewd, rude, and had even convinced you that he was a good guy when all of you first met. His change in face hurt you more than you’d like to admit; you’d taken a real liking to him and considered him a close companion… at least, as close as you could get to someone after knowing them for only a short time.

The introduction of the Me-Tokens enticed you, especially with the opportunity of uncovering Sou’s secrets. You had formulated a plan to get some of his Tokens, which required you to give him a taste of his own medicine. Your excellent snooping skills provided you with a boon that he would without a doubt try to get from you. He knew more about this terrible game than he was letting on. Maybe his Sou-Tokens could give you some insight?

All this is what led up to you wandering through the ruined corridor, seeking out Sou.

The creepiest room, but also the most likely one to find him in, was the room with its entrance covered in rubble. No light came from within it, but there was an odd buzzing as if something electrical was powered on. As you carefully edged around the corner, you began to hear the clicking of typing on a keyboard.

It had to be Sou, no doubt about it. It was too dark to see anything clearly, but the outline of a person hunched over a laptop was sitting in there. You had to be quiet and cautious. If he caught wind of you sneaking up to him, he’d run out and your plan would be foiled.

It would require some physical strength to hold him down so he couldn’t escape. You weren’t worried about that part because Sou was surely not capable of fighting back against you. You were mostly concerned that he would yell out and scream, but that wasn’t likely because he wouldn’t want the others to come in, considering a certain group of people may join in with you by holding him immobile as they stole the laptop, leaving your own end of the scheme unresolved.

You crept slowly, making sure you wouldn’t accidentally trip over any rubble, which got easier as your eyes adjusted to the darkness. You suspected Sou would be more alert considering everyone hated his guts and letting his guard down could mean life or death, but he didn’t turn around as you approached slowly, your calves aching as you tiptoed agonizingly slow.

Once you were close enough, you observed what he was doing. He was on the lock screen of the laptop, trying to guess the new password. He sat with his head resting on his chin, deep in thought.

This was your chance, and it might be the only one you get.

With swift movements, you tightly snagged his wrist and pushed his shoulder against the back of the chair, making him unable to turn and see who his attacker was.

“Fuck!” Sou’s tone was one of complete shock, but he was smart enough to hush himself down. He was cunning and good at smoothly talking his way out of things, but that wouldn’t work now if someone walked in considering most of the other participants would rather see him dead.

“Listen, don’t yell. I wanna talk to you,” you mumbled. His shoulders seemed to untense a moment after recognizing your voice, or he was so weak that he couldn’t put up a fight anymore after only a few seconds of struggling.

“Talk to me? Sure,” he replied. “If you’re trying to get the laptop back, don’t even bother.”

You eased your grip on his shoulder and he sucked in a breath through his teeth as he rolled it. “I’m not interested in the laptop. Like I said, just a talk is all I’m looking for,” you said.

Sou laughed, but it was a bitter one and you anticipated a snarky comment to follow it. “Yeah, just a talk. Right.” He turned his head up to look at you, eyes narrowed in a scowl. You caught a glimpse of his collar tucked under his scarf.

“If you want a talk with me, let go of me. You’re gonna leave bruises,” he said as he yanked his arm and you complied. He shut the laptop, standing up and shaking his now-freed hand in the process.

He leaned in closer to you as he talked as if to intimidate you. It didn’t work very well, considering you were surrounded by taller-than-average men ever since you got to this game who were much more unnerving with appearances alone. Sou was unpredictable and cunning, which was menacing in its own way. At least he had that going for him.

“Are you here to be Miss Sara’s little spy? Interrogate me on what I know? I told you all already that I’m just as much in the dark as the rest of you,” he sneered.

You wanted to slap him silly, tell him to back up a little. That would get you nowhere though. Instead of responding, you pulled out the smartphone from Kanna’s trial room from your pocket. Sou’s aggravating smirk quickly changed to a frown and he lunged for the phone. You were quicker than him, however, and kept it out of his reach.

“I knew you wanted this,” you said. Earlier, you witnessed Sara and Kanna heading to the sickening trial room at the end of the hallway and Sou arriving with Alice. That was suspicious in its own right, but after seeing Sou and Sara each eye the room as they passed, you went in on your own to try and figure out what was in there.

From the exclamation Sara gave when she went in with Kanna in tow, you expected to see her sister’s mangled body or traces of it. Luckily, the room had been cleaned up. However, you spotted the smartphone under the bed with a disturbingly horrible message meant for Kanna’s eyes: a goodbye message from her sister telling Kanna to go to hell for ditching her.

You figured this is what Sou wanted and snatched it up before anyone else could enter the room. This is how you ended up with it, and you were evidently right about your assumption. Sou stared at you in distaste, accepting that he couldn’t steal it out of your hand and avoid any bartering.

“You’re real sneaky. Someone like you has a real chance of winning this game, huh?” He paired this comment with a slight smile, the same one he gave you when he first introduced himself as the timid job hopper.

Whether you had the skills to win or lose wasn’t your top concern, although it would come up eventually, wouldn’t it? It was unavoidable. You felt a pit in your stomach when you realized this is how he so easily got people to trust him; snide comments that hit you right in your weak spot.

“I want to make a trade. Your Tokens for the phone. How about that?” You said.

Sou’s eyebrow cocked. “You just had to get yourself into something that didn’t involve you, Miss (y/n).” He readjusted the laptop under his arm. “Alright, I’ll trade you some. Don’t expect me to fork over all—”

Voices from the hallway grew louder as they got closer to the room the two of you were in. You recognized Q-taro’s booming voice and Keiji’s smooth mumbles.

“Look, I know y’all probably don’t wanna talk t’me right now, but I just wanna say I’m sorry,” Q-taro said.

You couldn’t hear Keiji’s response, but it seemed to aggravate Q-Taro since his tone got considerably louder.

The air left your lungs as Sou swiftly pulled you against him, hiding behind the wall so that the men wouldn’t spot you two if they decided to check the room. His hand covered your mouth as his other wrapped around your waist, holding you close.

His palm was sweaty against your lips which made you grimace in disgust, but the pressure of his chest rising and falling against your back and his quick breaths tickling your ears made your heart pound. You hated Sou, you really did, but being this close to anybody would naturally get a reaction out of anyone. You could smell the scent of the communal bath's shampoo, he was incredibly warm, and your body held against his with no discomfort or awkward angles.

He didn't move an inch as he listened to ensure Keiji and Q-taro weren't in the corridor anymore. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you flush against him.

Sou emptied all the held air in his lungs with a large sigh and moved his hand away from your mouth once he judged that the coast was clear. "We'll talk in your room. If anyone asks, say we're trading our Tokens. Do not mention the laptop or the phone. If you do anything to mess with our deal…" He paused to give you time to assume what he meant.

You pulled away from him and gave yourself a few feet of distance. Goosebumps remained on your arms and you tried to calm your heart from exploding out of your chest. You realized how cold the room was now that he wasn't holding you tight against him. "What're you gonna do?" You mocked.

“Don’t play around with me,” he replied. “We’ve got another Main Game coming up.”

The fact that he could say such heartless things without hesitation made your stomach twist. Sou was more determined to get out of here than anyone and was prepared to drag everyone down with him if he couldn’t win. You thanked whatever cruel higher power that was watching you that he was the only one who seemed to have such evil intentions out of all the people here.

The walk back to your room was silent. You trailed behind Sou, making sure he didn’t try to do anything suspicious. Now and then he’d turn around to scoff at you or see if you were planning something, but otherwise, he kept quiet. The two of you didn’t encounter anyone on the way to your room. You opened the door for him and nodded his head as thanks.

You locked the door and sat on the bed while Sou took a seat on one of the chairs. He removed Kai’s laptop from the inside of his jacket and took out his wallet, jingling with Tokens. You held the phone tight in your hand.

“Tell me why you wanted my Tokens,” he said. “Otherwise I refuse to give them to you.”

Wasn’t it obvious? What else are they for? “Take a wild guess, Sou.”

“I have to make sure you’re not in cahoots with that damn policeman and his little friend,” he said. He tugged on his scarf to adjust it.

“When’s the last time you saw me talking with them, hm?” You stood up in front of him. “I’m not trying to trade them to anyone else. Give me fifty for the prize exchange.”

Sou cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, you wanna know what my profile says about me? I’m just as curious as you.”

Good, you thought. He seems to be open for a trade. “I’ll show you what’s on it if you trade the Tokens for the smartphone. Otherwise, I’m keeping the phone.”

You had no idea what his intentions were for the phone. Did he want Kanna to see the message her sister left for her? Another way to break her and command her to do his bidding? He seemed to want it pretty badly; he was eyeing it in your hand through the entire conversation.

“I can’t let you see what's on my profile,” he mumbled. The sudden change in his tone made you wary of him.

“Why not? Maybe you’re tied to this game in some way. We already know our kidnappers are capable of creepy realistic dolls and accurate AI. Who’s to say they can’t give you some kind of amnesia so you forget what you knew about them?” You said.

“Aren’t you at all suspicious as to why Kai had Sara’s family name as the password? The emails? If you want to know something about the Game, get her Tokens. I won’t have anything about it in mine.” Sou stood up now to match your position. He leaned close, head tilted to the side. The laptop was placed on the chair, so even if you did try to lunge for it, he could easily reach it before you.

He was being logical about that. But Sara’s profile wouldn’t have anything about her family, other than where they lived maybe. It’d only have information about herself. Unless she was a crazy good liar and as willing as Sou to let people die, especially her very own friend Joe, you didn’t expect her to secretly know anything about the game either.

“You’re being pretty stupid,” Sou said bluntly. “Give me the damn phone. I’ll make sure to not throw you under the bus later on. Unless… you’re willing to put Gin’s life on the line too? Maybe poor Sara's?"

At first, you paused to make sure you heard him right. The realization that he meant what he said forced a shocked laugh out of you. “Don’t bring them into this! They're just kids!”

“Oh, I shouldn’t bring them into this, huh? You’re saying this to me and not the sick fucks who put us and innocent kids into this Game?!” He brought his hand up to your chin, gripping it hard to make sure you wouldn’t turn away from his gaze. He stared into your eyes, the corners of his mouth upturned in a malicious smile.

You could feel your heart drop into your stomach. You could easily pull away from his grasp, but you were struck with such strong unease that your body wasn’t responding to your brain’s signals to move! Push him away!

Bringing your hand up, you gripped his wrist and clenched your jaw. “Don’t try to scare me with your silly little threats,” you replied.

Your response caused him to cock an eyebrow. He let out a huff. “‘Silly’, Miss (y/n)? You think I’m talking out of my ass?” He slowly turned your face to the side, then to the other as if he was observing you and getting a good look at your features for the first time.

“Sure, you got away with it in the first Main Game, but are you strong enough to do it again this time? Or are you gonna pussy out of it?” You managed to give him a smartass smirk to really push in your point.

The next few events happened so fast and so unexpectedly that you couldn’t process what was going on until it was well underway. After his features flashed with abhorrence, just for a split second, Sou moved his hand from your chin to the back of your head, fingers intertwining in the roots of your hair as he pulled back. Not hard enough to cause severe pain, but enough where you cried out with a yelp and thought, what a fucking dick! Playing dirty! Is he seriously going to get physical just because I called him a pussy?!

His face leaned into the crook of your neck and you felt the unexpected pain of his teeth biting down on the sensitive skin, then suckling on the same spot.

Your pained cries forcefully turned to staggered whimpers, because although you had no idea what the hell he was trying to accomplish with this, you were begrudgingly enjoying it. His other arm wrapped around the small of your back to steady you, more like keep you from pulling away, as he burrowed his face into your neck and shoulders, nipping and sucking till you were sure you’d have a big ugly patch of red and purple trailing down the right side of your neck.

You knew you’d eventually collapse if he continued his attack on your skin. Your legs felt like jelly and your gut was twisting with giddy butterflies. Sou suddenly pulled away and shoved you to the side against the wall. Your palms met the wall with a smack, and you felt the ebbing pain similar to that when you fall on your ass and use your hands to catch yourself. He gave you no time to turn around and retort because he was upon you again, his fingers interlocking with yours above your head as he held you pressed against the wall.

You realized that you had dropped the smartphone by this point, but that was the least of your concerns right now. His knee nudged and pushed against your clothed cunt from behind, giving it just enough friction to cause your breathing to come out in quick, heavy huffs.

When you craned your neck around to try and look him in the eyes, he moved in, smashing his lips against yours fervently and rather rough. His hands pushed down on yours, making your wrists ache and skin sting.

Sou pulled back for a breather and looked at you with a dumbstruck look on his face. His eyes trailed the bruises on your neck, then he met your gaze.

You took this opportunity to finally voice the thoughts in your head, although you didn’t actively try to pull away your hands. You very well could, if you wanted to. Curiosity of what was to come and his intentions got the best of you. “What the fuck are you doing? Are you trying to get me to admit something?! Y—”

“Oh my god, just shut up, Miss (y/n). You’re so noisy. Too damn noisy,” he said with a chuckle under his breath. The feeling of his breath hitting the nape of your neck sent a dizzying shiver of arousal to your cunt. He leaned in again, and you could tell this time he tried to not be so rude and pushy with his kiss, waiting until you initiated the movement and prodded your tongue against his lower lip before he continued. His hand trailed down to get under your shirt, making his way to your tits, thumbing your pebbled nipples and squeezing the flesh tight. His hand was cold and provided an interesting sensation that you guiltily enjoyed, clearly, with how you couldn’t help but grind against his thigh pushing up between your legs.

The smartphone was nowhere to be seen, neither of you paying any mind to it now considering the situation presenting itself. You’d gotten into this intending to get something useful out of it; gaining his Tokens, any information Sou had been withholding from the rest of the group, or even an answer on why he wasn’t collaborating with the others. But all that escaped your mind as he fondled your breasts, fingers tracing over your sensitive nipples, his lips pushing against yours as if you’d back away if he held off even a bit. He pressed against your ass, the growing pressure of his cock insistent and pushy as the two of you got more intimate.

You bit his lip, demanding him to go deeper, farther with the kiss, but he pulled away, leaving you hot and bothered. Either he was teasing you or didn’t know what he was doing, but it was getting really annoying having to stop when it was just getting good.

Sou moved his hand down to unbuckle his belt, tossing it to the side without care as to the noise it made when it hit the floor. He unzipped his pants and lowered them, and you suddenly felt shame at what the two of you were doing.

Just a bit ago you swore you wanted to punch his stupid face in. Now, you could feel your cunt anticipating his entrance, fucking you hard against the wall, hearing his annoying voice whine your name with an affectionate “Miss” before it. Even the mere thought of what he could do to you in such a compromising position caused your legs to clasp together as your pussy clenched with delirious lust. Sou was leaning his head against your shoulder, watching your eyes slowly shut as your imagination ran amok.

“What are you waiting for?” You heatedly asked. “Is this your sick idea of a joke?”

“Yeah, ‘cuz I’d be pinning you against the wall and groping your chest as a joke. You’re real dumb, Miss (y/n).” Sou reached to grab your hips and pushed his growing hard-on against your ass, burying his face into the crook of your neck with a jagged sigh as you cooperated and pushed back against him.

His fingers slowly moved to the front of your pants, where he unbuttoned them and began to pull them down along with your panties. He let them fall to your ankles, but before his hands returned to your hips he dragged a knuckle against your throbbing clit, forcing a strained whine from your throat.

The whole situation wasn't very romantic, rather a step-by-step process as he grew more adventurous and pushed his boundaries. Sou reached to grab the meat of your ass, nails digging into the crease of your thighs. You couldn't do much except stare at the bare wall in embarrassment, sure that if you were facing him you wouldn't be able to look him in the eyes.

“What happened to you giving me daggers, hm?” A slight jiggle as he clutched your cheek in his hand, but you held your tongue. “You weren’t afraid to talk back. What happened?”

He smacked your ass without warning, making you suck in a quick breath through clenched teeth. He laughed at the reaction and gripped it once more before he slid his hand to your soaking cunt, two fingers pressing tentatively at the entrance.

You eased your feet apart, although you didn’t do it consciously, to give him more room as he pushed in, the slick from the prolonged tension making it an easy task. His fingers were slender and he prodded your walls, gauging your reactions with each push. When he got a quiet moan out of you, he began to finger-fuck you vigorously and you gripped the wall for support to no avail.

“You take it so good, (y/n). So wet for me. Was it from the arguing? My pervy touches? Do you like being cornered like this?” He paused to breathe, the action of fingering your tight pussy taking a lot out of him.

“You’re so annoying. I could say the same about you. I can feel how hard you are when you're grinding against my ass,” you whispered as the tips of his fingers careened against the bundle of nerves, sending a fresh wave of lustful intoxication to your head. He favored the spot after that and moved his other hand to press down on your clit and rub small circles over the bud.

Your inner thigh muscles began to strain as you approached an orgasm. You reached for his wrist to try and steady yourself, feeling distressed at how much you enjoyed Sou’s fingers spreading open your cunt.

“You're gonna make m- me… cum,” you said, your voice warbled with the pressing build-up of your orgasm, coated with a thin layer of shame at how easy he brought you to it.

With no control over your body anymore, your thighs snapped shut as you came, slick coating his fingers as he fucked you as best as he could while your walls clenched around his digits. You squeezed his wrist tight in an attempt to cull his motions on your sensitive clit, the feeling borderline painful as you rode down your climax and he pulled out his fingers.

You panted heavily, wiping at your mouth to make sure you hadn't drooled during your delirious state of mind while you only focused on the feeling of Sou's fingers curling up into you. He left you winded as your pussy slowly clenched around nothing, waiting and begging for more.

Behind you, Sou was pulling down his underwear, stroking himself with your cum still on his fingers. He didn’t give you a chance to rest before he prodded your pussy with his tip, leaning in to bite the lobe of your ear.

“Bend over for me more, ‘kay?” He mumbled, slowly rubbing his cock as he pulled back on your hip, trying to make you push against it and meet him halfway.

Rather than a response, you brought your hand back and began to pump his cock quickly, making him stutter out an exclamation. He dug his nails into your hip, trying to keep his cool and hold down any urges to whine.

“Ah, fuck,” he whispered, having the ability to pull away from your grasp but choosing not to. “Qu- quit it, or else I’ll tell them how you begged me for this, begged me to fuck you.”

You figured it would only be fair to get him off without the help of your cunt surrounding his achingly hard cock, but a flash of thought about him pushing into you made you decide otherwise. As much as you hated to admit it, the only thing you were craving right now was him thrusting into you, his snide comments mumbled into your ear as you took it like a good girl, just as he wanted. He sure was good at manipulating your own feelings; he made you hate him one moment and desperate for him to fuck into you the next.

You were sure he wouldn't tell the others about your little get together, but you wordlessly complied, moving to place your hands up on the wall, jutting out your bottom slightly to give him a better vantage to fuck you, and it took it as an invitation to get right to it. Lubing up his cock with your juices, he dragged in along your folds, making you let out an exasperated huff.

You were getting impatient, the teasing almost unbearable. If he kept this up, soon enough the others would start to look for you two and you’d have to part ways for the time being. Who knew when you’d get a chance to be alone again? And would he be willing to do it again?

The fact that you even thought that bothered you, although you weren’t surprised anymore. By this point you realized you liked him, really liked him, at least in a sexual way.

Which was a real shame, considering how much of an asshole he was.

You were about to turn around and complain to him, sarcastically tell him to keep taking his sweet time, but he pushed into you without notice and you felt the air you didn’t realize you were holding leave your lungs.

Sou mimicked your exhale, taking a moment to bask in the feeling before he slowly bottomed out, watching himself disappear into you. He held his hands on your waist, holding you in place. After a moment, he raised his head to look at you, a smug smile on his face.

“You feel awfully good, Miss (y/n). I wouldn’t complain if we happened to be alone again and you were up for it,” Sou said.

It’s as if he read your mind. “Oh yeah?” You mused. But that was all you would say to encourage him.

He slowly moved your hips against his as he worked up to the pace he wanted, sliding in and out of you with ease. The position he had you in made it so his cock slid against your front wall as it pushed in, making your clit jolt slightly as your spongey G-spot was gently massaged with each thrust.

Sou adjusted once more; he wrapped his right arm around your pelvis as if he was hugging you from behind, and the other snaked up to grip at your tits. He gave your nipple a small pinch and you whimpered at the touch.

That seemed to trigger something for him because he picked up his pace, his newfound arm position allowing him to pull you against his own thrusts, your ass meeting his thighs as the skin slapped with hollow claps. He rested his head into the crook of your neck once more and you could feel his hot breath fan against the skin on your nape, a million nerves lighting up at the sensation.

He rutted into you without care as to how you felt. The searing ache of being fucked hard with reckless abandon was dulled by the surge of hormones you were feeling, your pussy being stretched out for the first time in a while. You were sure you’d be aching by the time you went to sleep. Lewd squelches came from you as he pumped into you, and your deep breaths turned into strained moans as his cock continued to brush past your frontal wall.

Moving his hand from your tits, he brought it down to your clit once more and rubbed his fingers against your sore bud, begging for some kind of attention. Your muscles were aching and weak from the constant strain of being near orgasm for so long, your head dizzy from the haze of arousal.

You could hear hints of whines under Sou's breath as he exhaled against your neck. The realization that his uncontrolled utterings were your doing made your cunt squeeze around his cock, which caused him to moan, his lips brushing against your neck.

“Damn it,” he said. “You’ve already got me close.” He paused to take a breath. “Y- you feel so good. So good, (y/n).”

He continued to rut into you, but his pace began to get sloppy as he neared his own climax. The irregular, rough thrusts into your G-spot paired with his slim fingers attacking your swollen clit, along with his soft mutterings of your name against your neck brought you over the edge and you came once more, coating his dick with your creamy release.

The tightening of your pussy dragged him to his climax, and he tightened his grip on your pelvis with a heavy moan as he fucked into you once, twice, three times, pushing his hot load deep into you.

He remained in you for a bit, panting against your skin, although now he moved to rest his forehead against your shoulder blade. He didn’t have the strength in him to make a clever comment. He pulled out after his breathing returned to normal and began gathering his clothes.

You stood against the wall for a moment before moving towards him, grabbing his arm and pulling him to the bed.

“What do you want now?” He questioned, but he followed you and let you move his body.

“Lay down on the bed,” you replied.

Sou raised an eyebrow at you, moving to lay down and adjusting the pillows behind his back. You moved in, positioning your knees next to his hips. He suddenly had a bashful look on his face, although he kept up his cocky tone.

“You’re taking the reins now? You sure you can handle it?” He teased.

In place of a response, you lowered yourself down onto his dick, grinding your wet core against his shaft. He gaped as you slowly dragged in between your folds, moving his hands to your hips to give himself a better vantage to push up against you.

Sou struggled to keep his composure, biting his lip as his fingertips pushed into the flesh of your hips.

“You don’t like the teasing very much, do you?” You braced your hand on the headboard behind him. A particularly deep grind had both you and him releasing a gasp.

He shut his eyes and tilted his head back. “Please, Miss (y/n). Don’t make me wait any longer.”

That did it for you. Lifting yourself up, you reached between your thighs to align his hard-on with your entrance before slowly lowering yourself down.

The sound he uttered as he entered you was heaven to your ears. It made your cunt flutter with anticipation, and you hurriedly settled your weight on top of him.

You were hyper-aware of how he felt in you, from the slight curve and pressure in your lower gut. He kept his eyes shut, his fingers pinching the skin of your hips. You wanted to tease him and make him wait just as he did to you, but a primal urge to let his dick slide into you was overwhelming. Using your hands on the headboard and his chest to balance yourself, you began to move on top of him. The bouncing was already making your thighs sore from exertion, but you ignored it. You paused now and then to grind down on him, your clit rubbing against his pelvis, slick with a mixture of your natural lube and his load from before slowly leaking out of you.

Sou groaned with each thrust, and you could feel him pulling down on your waist to help aid your pace. After you arched back once more to grind down on him, he let out a deep moan and adjusted his legs behind you. He pulled you down for a kiss, tilting his head to the side to deepen it. With you leaning down to meet his mouth, he thrust up into you. His arms hugged your waist as he rut into you, his tongue pushing against yours. Your hand moved to grip the roots of his soft hair, plastered to his forehead from the sweat. In any other situation, it would’ve been pretty gross. But now, it intensified your lust, and you probably looked just as disheveled as him.

The slap of skin on skin echoed in the room, and your moans accompanied it as he increased his pace, nails digging into your sides. His cock pushed and dragged against your walls, stretching you painfully. You didn’t care about much else except reaching an orgasm, having his hot seed coat the inside of your cunt, already layered with his load from before.

He pulled away from the kiss and you rested your forehead on his. “Fuck, (y/n), don’t stop,” he whined. “I’m close, I’m really close. Don’t stop, please let me cum in you again.” His voice was strained, interrupting himself as he panted and huffed. “You feel so good.”

Sou’s vocal praises were enough to bring you to your climax, letting out a whine as your vision went white with heavy arousal. You couldn’t move anymore, your thigh muscles twitching and aching as your cunt squeezed around him, attempting to milk out all he had in him.

“Just like that,” he muttered. “Oh, Miss (y/n).” With a few more unpatterned thrusts, he yanked you down so you were flush against his hips as he came in you, his cum spreading in your pussy.

You felt it drip from you, the sheer amount of it too much as he pulled out of you. You laid on top of him, your head in the crook of his neck. Your chests met as you heaved and panted, the heat of his body almost overwhelming combined with your own. His scarf had been tossed away somewhere in the moment, although you weren’t sure when. It was all a blur, heavy desire blinding you and focusing your thoughts on one thing only.

He rubbed your back slowly as the two of you calmed down. After a bit, he gently slapped your back to tell you that he wanted up, and you rolled over to let him get up.

You lay atop the covers, watching him get dressed. You felt gross and sticky, but you were way too tired to care about that at the moment. He shot you looks as he dressed, but not the same ones he had given you before: rude ones meant to piss you off. He watched you stare at him.

"Don't think this was some kind of favor," Sou said. His voice reminded you of when the two of you first met; calm and timid, a little bit shy at the prospect of talking to a girl. "I think we both needed some kind of release like that. I'd rather you go to me for it than… Keiji, or Alice, or Q-taro." The last part was hushed as if he didn't want you to hear it.

If you two hadn’t been in a killing game, you’d be offering to let him stay the night. Tell him you’d call him soon for another meetup. Promising to make him breakfast in the morning. In another life, you really wished that was true and that you two were having a normal hookup, not a horny fuck prompted by the heat of the argument. The stress piling on and on from this sick game had a strange effect on people, and evidently, sex is what you and Sou demanded to help ease it.

But once he got everything together, he went to the door and let himself out.

Before he completely left, though, he turned to you one last time. “Listen, Miss (y/n). Don’t try snooping for information about me. You won’t find anything worthwhile,” he said. “And try asking Safalin for something to help with…” He gestured to his neck, and you suddenly remembered the barrage of bites he laid on your neck in the beginning, no doubt large bruises by now.

He shut the door behind him, and you realized that in his hand was the very same smartphone that you were going to use for your end of the bargain.

#shin tsukimi #shin tsukimi x reader #sou hiyori #sou hiyori x reader #your turn to die #yttd #your turn to die fic #yttd fic #x reader #fanfic

[couldntbedamned]

Goodbye Grey Sky, Hello Blue - 30

Summary: In an alternate universe where trains and zeppelins are still common forms of travel and the internet and cell phones exist, nineteen year old Peter Parker has few options left after he’s swindled out of his inheritance. Unable to pay for college, let alone keep the house left to him by his deceased aunt, he’s running out of time before he’s out on the streets. Desperate, Peter signs his life over to the Bureau of Civic Spousal Selections to take his chances as the selected husband of a complete stranger. After all, he only has to make it through a year and then he can choose to annul.

Dr. Stephen Strange has little interest in marriage, preferring to focus on his career. When his career is threatened by what a nosy board of directors considers a “lack of personal fulfillment and settling down,” he opts to select a spouse through the BCSS and chooses Peter Parker. The young man’s profile he’d briefly skimmed suggests intelligence and compatibility. It’s not ideal, but if after a year it’s not working out, he can always annul the marriage and send Peter on his way.

It’s a marriage neither truly wants, with sharp learning curves for both. It’s either going to be forever or it’s going to go down in flames.

Warnings/AO3 Tags: 18+ MINORS DNI, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1950s/Modern Fusion, Doctor Stephen Strange, Jewish Peter Parker, Peter Parker is an Adult, Marriage of Convenience, Marriage Contracts, Government Sanctioned Marriages, Domestic Discipline, Dubiously Consensual Spanking, Spanking, Aftercare, Mildly Dubious Consent, Dubious Morals, Dubious Ethics, Asshole Stephen Strange, Smartass Peter Parker, Passive Aggressive Canned Soup, Two Morons Trying to Try Their Best, Borrowing Characters

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Chapter 30

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They didn't go to Grand Orleans due to forecasts of bad weather, but they did drive the three hours to Upper Manhattan for an extended weekend.

Thursday afternoon found them checking into a fancy hotel. Stephen suggested they rest for a few hours in their room before going down to the Grand Salon for dinner. It didn't surprise Peter in the slightest that "resting" really meant sex and he enjoyed the novelty of being thoroughly debauched in a hotel room with a king bed and a stunning view of the city.

The Grand Salon was a marvel of crystal-like curtains and glowing chandeliers that complemented the rich wallpaper, lush velvet and silk seating. He'd never been in such an elegant, refined place. Everyone was dressed in fine clothes and for once, Peter felt like he belonged thanks to his tailored suit and the reading he'd done on etiquette and fine dining.

"Do you want to see the prices on the menu or would you like me to order for you?" Stephen asked once they were seated and he was handed the day's menu. "I think I have a fairly good idea of what you'll enjoy."

"Please," Peter said, relieved. There was no way their dinner would be anything other than outrageously expensive and he'd rather not have to worry about the cost.

Stephen ordered them both a Cardini salad, baked salmon with squash, spinach, and scallions in a rich beurre blanc, and glazed roasted carrots. He even ordered panna cotta for dessert. Everything was delicious and it was the most exquisite meal Peter had ever had.

"Well?" Stephen prompted as Peter finished his last bite of the vanilla custard topped with a blueberry compote and side of lavender ice cream.

"Rich people might be on to something, food-wise," he admitted. "Thank you."

"It's my pleasure."

Stephen replaced Peter's battered luggage with a new set during a trip to Gimbels the next morning.

"I already have luggage!" Peter protested.

"Yes, and it's falling apart," Stephen said, unimpressed. "You might keep in mind that the set you arrived with is, by your own admission, older than you. It was well used and has served its purpose."

Peter couldn't argue with that. Stephen's gift was a nice set and would no doubt last him for a decade or two.

Gimbels was only the tip of the ice burg. Stephen guided him into L.S. Ayres and he spent a few hours being measured and and given a selection of clothing better suited to warmer temperatures to try on. There was little point in protesting; he needed clothes for spring and summer and he'd put on a few inches of muscle in addition to a few pounds since the previous August - one of the benefits of having steady, nutritious meals for months on end.

And, he had to admit, Stephen's taste was impeccable. Peter looked so far removed from the gangly, underfed boy hailing from Midtown... but he also looked like himself.

"Thanks for all the clothes," Peter said while they ate lunch at the L.S. Ayres tea room. It was a nice place, clearly designed to keep shoppers from leaving the department store for lunch. He enjoyed watching the small group of men and women walking around modeling the latest fashions.

"You're welcome," Stephen said. "You can't exactly be running around Malibu in long-sleeves."

That evening, Stephen surprised him with attending a show in Upper Manhattan's famed theatre district. Peter had never seen such a spectacle but he thoroughly enjoyed the music, dancing, and clever humor of The Music Man.

"I've seen community plays before," Peter told Stephen that night after they returned to their hotel room. "But nothing like that! I think I liked it more than the movies I've seen!"

Saturday morning they decided to spend the day out. He enjoyed exploring a city he'd only been to as a young child and even when they passed near Columbia University, Peter's mood didn't drop. That wasn't his life anymore and the one he had now was turning out to be a good one.

They didn't go to another show on Saturday evening, but Stephen took him to see a movie where they ate hot buttered popcorn and washed it down with fountain sodas.

"You said you've seen movies before?" He asked as the taxi drove them back to their hotel.

Peter nodded. "There was a dollar theater at the very edge of Midtown - the farthest the street trolley would travel. Every movie they showed was a few years old and I only managed to see a few, but I liked them." He considered for a moment. "I prefer radio shows, though. I like having pictures of what everything looks like in my mind and not shown."

"I feel the same way," Stephen agreed.

On Sunday they lazed in bed and barely made the cut-off to order in-room breakfast. They took their time packing and checking out before Stephen drove them back home.

"Have you done this often?" Peter asked as they drove. "Just take off for a long weekend?"

"Maybe once or twice every other year," Stephen said. "I have the amount of vacation time I have banked for a reason. The few times I've been asked to assist in a surgery like the one last autumn I would stay and enjoy a day or two if the city was interesting."

"But you didn't last time. You came home as soon as you could."

Stephen briefly looked over at him. "I had a reason to want to be home."

Work was more or less peaceful now that everyone on the hospital's board had met Peter and observed the two of them together. They'd hosted another dinner for an important pair of donors to the hospital and Peter had them charmed before the appetizers (his famous walnut date bites with coconut whip and sweet potato stacks) were even touched. It almost seemed too good to be true.

It was.

One Wednesday morning a week before his trip with Peter to California, Reed Richards came to his office and asked to speak with him.

"How may I help you?" Stephen asked.

Reed sat. "I very much enjoyed meeting your husband."

He said nothing.

"He's a fine young man and so gifted. I don't want to sound as though I'm bragging but there aren't many people I can talk about oncology, feature scoring, and bio-markers with. Peter kept up without a pause."

"He's a smart young man," Stephen agreed.

"And I can't help but wonder if his potential is being squandered. He was chosen to write for Van Dyne," Reed continued. "If his theories proved true, he could have revolutionized wound care. Stephen, he needs to be in college, not playing house husband."

"What are you really getting at?" Stephen asked. He had an idea, of course, and he could feel his temper rising.

"Your year with the BCSS is up in August. Stephen, I really think the right thing for you to do would be to annul the marriage. Peter had such a bright future ahead of him and keeping him chained to you isn't fair to him. Like I've said, a young man like him should be in college and making his mark on the world."

"Get out."

"Stephen-"

"No. All this song and dance about how you and the others just want me to be happy and now that you've seen I am, you want it destroyed. I'm so sorry I didn't follow your groupthink and ignore a fellow doctor's egregious malpractice, but just because I actually have a code of ethics I follow doesn't mean you get to make my life miserable to assuage your own guilt. Get out."

Reluctantly, Reed left with a parting "At least consider it."

Stephen managed to keep from throwing something, but only just.

The rest of his day passed in a haze and worst of all was the sinking feeling in his stomach.

Richards, damn the man, was probably right.

Peter could tell something was wrong when Stephen came home.

Stephen didn't acknowledge his greeting but went upstairs to change. When he came down it was as if he were going through the motions of a pleasant meal and evening in. It stung a little, considering the effort Peter had put into making the beef Wellington. It was a new attempt, and he'd hoped for even a small amount of praise.

"Did something happen at work?" Peter asked after Stephen bit into a lemon bar.

"Just a colleague speaking out of turn," Stephen said finally. "I'm sorry I'm such poor company at the moment."

"Was it anyone I know?"

"Yes, but what that person said hardly merits repeating," Stephen said. "Don't trouble yourself with it."

"If you say so," Peter said.

"I do say so," Stephen said sharply. He closed his eyes and sighed. "I'm sorry. Just... don't worry about it."

"Stephen... if I've done something wrong, you can tell me."

"Not everything is about you, Peter," Stephen said.

Peter could only stare as Stephen got up and went upstairs. He listened carefully and heard the door to Stephen's office close.

What on earth was going on?

Stephen hadn't been this much of an asshole in months.

Talking with Tony and Sharon helped, at least.

He finalized plans to visit along with Peter and after Tony had to leave for an important SI meeting, Sharon assured Stephen that he'd be able to meet with two of her former colleagues who had a stake in the Quentin Beck case.

"It's kind of funny, though, isn't?" she wondered aloud while they were nailing down details.

"What is?"

"That Peter grew up so poor but somehow had an inheritance to be swindled out of."

He'd wondered about that himself, but there never seemed to be a reason to confront Peter over it. As far as Peter was aware, Stephen knew nothing about Quentin Beck or what had driven him to sign his life over to the BCSS. He'd hoped that Peter would trust him enough to talk to him about it, but apparently Peter didn't think it was necessary.

"A question for the ages," Stephen said.

"Johnson sent me some details and it looks like Beck deposited a hundred and fifty thousand around the time he vanished from Midtown, New Amsterdam."

All things considered, it wasn't exactly a glowing inheritance. Enough to let Peter keep his house and attend college for four years, but after that? Hardly anything to write home about.

Stephen made more than that in a quarter.

It was no wonder Peter thought Stephen's habits were wasteful and still preferred to save money when buying food and household items.

"Is something else going on?" Sharon asked. "You sound different."

He sighed. One of the problems with having friends was that even if those friends weren't former spies and trained interrogators, eventually they'd know someone well enough to know when something was off.

"It's something better discussed in person," he hedged.

"You'd better plan on discussing it when you two get here, then," she warned. "Bottling things up isn't going to help anyone."

"Says the woman who kept secrets for a living," he shot back.

Sharon laughed. "Oh, that wasn't even the half of it! Listen, Tony's spawn is playing football with my internal organs so I'm going to go lie down. I'll talk to you later, alright?"

"Take care of yourself," he urged.

Peter was withdrawn that night and everything about his body language - and the fact that he was wearing pajamas - said "back off."

Hating that he'd hurt Peter, Stephen did back off and dressed for bed himself.

"I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier this evening," Stephen said after he'd joined Peter in bed. "You didn't deserve to be spoken to that way."

"No, I didn't," Peter said finally, still not looking at him. "I'm your spouse, not your verbal whipping boy."

"I'm sorry I made you feel that way."

"I don't ask about your day or what's bothering you to be nosy. I ask because you shouldn't have to deal with it alone."

"That's something I'm still coming to terms with," Stephen said. "I've been alone for a very long time."

"You're not, now. I know I'm not much-"

Stephen pulled him close and kissed him. "You're everything. I'm sorry I haven't made you feel that way. I'm... I'm glad that I have you."

Peter returned the kiss, pushing Stephen onto his back. "You have me." He kissed him again, started unbuttoning Stephen's pajama shirt, and then began to kiss down. And down.

"Peter, you don't-"

Peter looked up, amused. "I know." He continued his attentions downward and Stephen lifted his hips so Peter could pull clothing off.

Few things could make his mind go blissfully blank. Peter's mouth around his cock was one of them.

After he'd cleaned them up and before he fell asleep, Stephen vaguely wondered if Peter had any notion of the amount of power he could wield over him.

Peter took a deep breath before knocking on the door.

The woman who answered smiled delightedly when she saw him. "Peter! How wonderful to see you!"

"I'm sorry to bother you on your day off, Sue," he said.

"Oh, not at all! I was just using the quiet to do some cleaning. Franklin and Valeria will just mess it up again when they return from day care, but needs must. What brings you by?"

"I was hoping you could pass on a message to Dr. Richards for me."

Sue nodded, still smiling. "Of course! What would you like for me to tell him?"

"I'd like for for him to keep his opinions on my marriage to himself. He might not approve of how I'm living my life but it's my life. Stephen is my selecting spouse and I don't like seeing him upset."

Her smile faltered just a bit and she closed her eyes, mouthing something that sounded like "that man". She didn't look surprised at all. "Of course, I'll tell him."

"I would really appreciate it," Peter said. "I'm sorry to have to even ask, but like I said, I don't like seeing Stephen upset."

She nodded. "I'm so sorry you've had to deal with this. Reed so often has very good intentions but his execution and inability to let things go can cause problems."

They exchanged a few minutes of small talk and then Peter returned home.

Hopefully, that would be the last of it.

_______

#couldntbedamned fic #spiderstrange #spideystrange #stephen strange x peter parker #peter parker x stephen strange #1950s modern fusion au #1950s au #read the fucking tags and warnings #no seriously read them #peter parker #stephen strange

[whumpflash]

cw: forced drinking/intoxication, adult language, held at gunpoint, violence, unintentional misgendering (Evyr is female)

masterlist ///// next

×××

The sun burned hot over cracked earth, and Judd scowled down at his shadow. He'd been up at the asscrack of dawn when the news broke that a supply craft had gone down over the wastes, but even after hours of combing, he had nothing to show for his work but a few protein bars and some scrap metal. Crash was already picked clean when he got there.

Lousy tip. He should've just left in the middle of the night, taken his chances in the dark like all the other scavengers apparently had. 

Judd briefly considered going back over the remains, checking for anything he might've missed, but dismissed the idea. It was too hot to put out any more effort. Better to get back and try to get a good price on the metal.

As he turned to make his way back to camp, a shape in the distance caught his eye.

A crate, he saw as he drew closer. Some scrawny kid was bent over it, trying to pry it open with a knife. Judd came up from behind just as the kid managed to get the top off, keeping quiet as he got a look at its contents.

It was a full crate of wine, of all things. Luxuries intended for the rich assholes who lived in the floating cities. Shit like that would fetch a huge price if he could find someone who could afford it.

"Whatcha got there?" he said, and the kid jumped a foot in the air, scrambling to his feet and standing protectively in front of the crate. Like he actually stood a chance at fighting Judd off if he decided to claim the goods.

"Nothing," the kid said quickly. "It's– it's mine. I found it fair and square."

"That so?" Judd looked past the boy, at the crate. Sixteen bottles. A fucking fortune, and it was in the hands of a twerp who'd gotten lucky. "Looks heavy. Maybe I should do you a favor. Take some off your hands."

The kid had the balls to put a hand on his knife—a tiny thing that looked homemade—and glare up at Judd.

"Finders keepers," he said, and the man laughed.

"You must be new to this," he said, enjoying the way the boy paled as he drew his own weapon, a knife with a blade the size of his forearm. "Finders keepers only works when you're strong enough to keep the big kids away."

He didn't realize they weren't alone until he felt the muzzle of a gun on the back of his head.

"Haven't heard that particular rule before," a low voice came from behind him. "Fancy yourself a big kid, do you?"

Judd heard the click of a hammer being cocked. He dropped his knife.

"That's what I thought. Get on your knees."

Seeing no better option, Judd obeyed. The kid looked irritatingly satisfied with this development. Couldn't he see that this was worse? He was only going to claim half of the bottles. This new fucker would probably take everything.

"Thanks Skye," the boy said.

Or not.

The gunman—Skye—moved around, putting himself between Judd and the boy. And the crate. He wasn't much bigger than Judd. Definitely a bit older, with a weathered, scruffy look about his face and a grim set to his mouth.

"I know your type," he said. "Loud-mouthed asshole who thinks he can bully anyone smaller than him." He raised an eyebrow. "How's it feel to be on the other side?"

Judd kept his mouth shut, staring the stranger down. Skye, who didn't seem to be after an actual answer, continued.

"Folk like you are the reason living down here is such a hell. Preying on the weak like you're the poster child of 'every man for himself', 'stead of building up the community."

Skye was right about the wastes being a living hell, but how the fuck was that Judd's fault? He was just trying to survive, like everyone else. Unlike the kid, he didn't have a fucking knight in shining armor to watch out for him.

"You gonna shoot me?" he said, glaring up at Skye.

"Not unless you make me," the other man replied. "Scavs need to stick together. Funny as it may sound, I'm not your enemy here."

Sure you're not.

"But you still need to be taught some manners," he continued, glancing around as if searching for an idea. "How about… Ah." His gaze landed on the crate behind him. "Y'like wine, bully?"

The fuck was he supposed to say? It wasn't like he was trying to drink something that could keep him fed for weeks.

"You were so eager to snatch it away from Evyr here. Must mean you're a connoisseur, no? Tell you what. You can have a bottle. Evyr?" The kid darted back to grab one from the crate, handing it to Skye. Judd watched warily. Whatever was about to happen, he knew he wasn't gonna be let off with a fucking party favor.

Skye uncorked the bottle with his teeth, a feat that wouldn't be possible were it not for the crack in its neck, running up to a chipped rim.

"Here." The man extended the bottle to Judd. "Drink."

"What?"

"Did I stutter? Drink." He shook the pistol, as if Judd were capable of forgetting it was there. 

He grasped the bottle with one hand, taking a slow sip. He'd had booze before, but never wine. It was tarter than he'd expected, like someone had mixed rotten fruit with vinegar, and it burned his throat like the cheap alcohol that got sold at market sometimes. Judd lowered the bottle, trying to hide the way that one sip made him cough. 

"Did I tell you to stop?" Skye said, pressing the gun to Judd's head when he made no move to continue.

"Fuck you," he muttered, but he drank.

And drank.

And drank.

He tried to ignore the burning in his throat, the dizziness that was already beginning to reach his head, tried to focus on the cool barrel of the gun. 

The bottle was half gone, and still Skye didn't give any sign he should stop. Was he supposed to drink the whole thing? It was at least a liter, if not more, and even a half-drunk bottle was worth its weight in gold.

But the pistol in the other man's hand insisted Judd finish it.

So he did, letting the bottle drop once it was empty. The world spun around him, worsening the nausea that now built in his stomach. When Skye at last holstered the gun, Judd dropped forward, catching himself on his hands. Then, with a surge of brazen stupidity, he lunged for the older man. 

Skye sidestepped his graceless attack easily, dealing him a swift kick to the face that rocked his head to the side and sent him sprawling.

He didn't try to get up.

It didn't cross his mind to struggle as his hands were moved behind his back and tightly bound.

"Gotta leave him on his side," Skye was telling the kid. "Should keep him from choking." He clapped a hand on Judd's shoulder in a manner that was almost friendly.

"You rest up now, bully. The walk home's gonna be real shitty."

#something new #i wanna write more but i dont have an actual plot #maybe they'll go on a quest to the city to steal some E #whumper turned whumpee #to a lesser degree but judd is still a dick so #whump #whump writing #apocalypse #tw guns #tw violence #tw alcohol #tw forced intox #held at gunpoint #tw language #judd harlow

[oc-aita]

AITA for using illusion magic to artificially age myself?

My husband (middle aged, M, half-orc) and I (young adult, NB masc, half-elf) met when we were both barely legal adults for our respective races. It's a hard fact to come to terms with, but he's aging much faster than me. I'm actually older than him by about twenty years, but while he's been maturing steadily, I look about the same age as I did when we met. Unfortunately, strangers don't seem to think about that and we've been getting comments the past decade or so, framing him as - more or less - a groomer. We usually tell them off or just ignore them but these past few months, I could tell it was really starting to get to him.

I proposed, since I'm good with illusion magic (I use it for my work), that I could artificially give myself a few grey streaks, some wrinkles, and just a generally more mature look. He was reluctant until we gave it a try for a few days and we didn't get a single comment or even a second glance from anyone. I assured him if he ever wanted me to stop, I would, but he's confided in me since that he's glad he gets to see what I might look like with these signs of age, as he'll be "long gone" (his words!! Not mine!) by the time I really get them.

We just stayed with his elder brother (adult, M, not mixed) for the first time since we started this, and he was not impressed. He said I was being dishonest with myself and everyone around me, that I was living inauthentically. He thinks people who would make comments about us are "too idiotic to consider important" and we shouldn't even give them a moment of thought. It was just getting too much for my husband and this solution was, I thought, our best option.

If it helps, the two of them have a... complicated relationship. It's never been good, in fact it's often been very toxic and painful, but they both have this begrudging loyalty to each other since they're half-brothers with a tragic family situation that left them alone together. Its more complicated than that, but I don't want to write a novel about it.

Husband is still fine with my illusion and told me not to listen to his "asshole brother", but now I'm worried that I'm letting both of us live in a fantasy, which obviously isn't healthy. So, AITA?

#original character #am i the asshole #aita #grooming ment

[saiorse-irvyne]

Looking for Beta-readers!

Hello, you beautiful people <3

I'm looking for beta readers for an a/b/o AU I just finished writing the other day! All I need is people who are willing to read and give me their honest thoughts and opinions about it, as well as answer a few questions for me after they’re done.

The story is edited to the best of my abilities and my best friend can to help me with any grammar or spelling mistakes I've missed if i find no one whos interested in that. so no worries about any work in that regard, if youre just here for reading, thats already enough!

What I need is people that can tell me if the story does what I intended it to do.

If it is well paced, if the character progression makes sense, if the romance is believable, if the emotional beats hit right, all that stuff.

(And I have one story beat that I'm not sure work in general, aswell as general uncertainty about the humor i tried infusing this with from time to time)   

About the story: 

You’re looking at 69k words (nice), so it's kind of a slow burn, but not really. Once things get moving, they move fast. It’s a ‘strangers to friends to lovers’- romance situation, with the added caveat of alpha/alpha.

We have Dean and Castiel as the mc’s with both their POV's (and Sam on the side), but apart from that, every additional character is original. 

I really focused on the aspect of how to navigate the struggles of adult love life, with themes like self love, overcoming your fears, dealing with internalized homophobia, emotional maturity, and learning to deal with, and love again after, major heartbreak. 

Although this is Omegaverse, I wanted to approach it from a mature and real angle, hence why the whole alpha/alpha-homophobia setting. It’s really just the a/b/o-equivalent of our current day homophobia, in that regard. 

I made a point about not deriving conflict and tension from anything but real world issues and the problems that come from interhuman connection, because being a person with trauma and issues living alongside other humans with their own, individual struggles is hard. 

So, no misunderstandings in this one. In this house, we talk about our feelings and learn to face our fears when we discover them!

Although the vocal point is all of that, this story IS explicit and has two detailed sex scenes that tie into the development of the plot and are important for character growth. So if that isn’t your cup of tea, this story isn’t for you. 

Additionally, as this is alpha/alpha, the smut has minor sub/dom characteristics. It's very tame and mostly psychological, but I loved exploring the whole dominance/submission angle such a pairing would logically bring about. (On that note, its top Dean/bottom Castiel, just fyi) 

We got a healthy pinch of angst in the beginning and will end with fluff and a happy ending. And a metric fuck-ton of hurt/comfort, so if youre into that, there you go. (Seriously though, i made my lonely ass fucking depressed with this shit. Imagine having someone love you unequivocally for who you are, what a concept) 

I’ll wordvomit some more things here in no particluar order so you can get more of an idea of what you’re working with, as well as the very start of the story as a lil’ sumthin' to get you hooked.

If you are interested in helping me out, send me a DM with your email address and I'll give you access to the google doc! 

All the love!

Sarcastic Castiel, Booksmart Castiel, Angsty Castiel, Dean is an asshole at the start, He will do better, Character growth, Dean is a typical man, Dean is everything i want in a man by the end, Factually not very sound descriptions of working as a mechanic, All the smut tags, Seriously all of them, Sam is significantly younger than Dean, Emotional deepcuts, leaning onto friends, Hurt/Comfort, Writing this was a bit like therapy for me, Unspecified big city, Bitter Exes, Falling out of love, Unhealthy relationships with love, Toxic relationships, Explanations of A/B/O biology, The doctor does doctor things, I can’t think of more things right now, it's late, okay?

Heres the snippet:

Dean threw back the whiskey and sharply sucked in air as the liquid amber burned its way down his throat. The shiver running up his spine while the heat swirled downwards and pooled in his stomach was just what he needed. The confirmation that he could escape from himself, if just for a few hours. 

Usually, he didn’t run from his problems. He had always been the kind of man who pushed ahead, despite any and all obstacles obstructing his way. 

No matter what it was, nothing couldn’t be solved by simply running it over. Even if the resulting chaos kind of hurt.

But that was just how life was- in all its horrific and beautiful glory. It wasn't merciful with the blows it dealt, but it wasn't cruel with it either. A mostly neutral state of affairs, to be dealt with however one could or pleased. 

Which was healthy aggression in Dean's case.

At the end of the day, he'd rather do things that way than sulk in a corner, getting lost in the would haves, could haves, and should haves. Overthinking was the enemy of progress, and he hated nothing more than feeling stuck. 

He lifted his hand and signalled the barkeeper for a refill, not even bothering to call for the man. The music in this joint was cranked up way too high to verbally communicate with anyone who wasn’t literally right in front of you anyway. 

Although rather small, the establishment was positively drowning in people. It had startled him a bit, as this was a bar at the edge of town, and it wasn’t even the weekend or any holiday that would prompt this kind of crowd, but it was exactly what he had been searching for. 

Strangely, the building it was housed inside looked expensive as hell. Sleek and modern, like it had been built by some rich landlord to be rented out for ludicrous prizes. Which was why Dean had expected a relaxed lounge bar or something of the like. Not this madness. 

Well, under different circumstances, this probably was said lounge bar.

Right now though, every single table and booth was occupied, with lots more people standing around with drinks in their hands, making idle chatter that could only consist of short utterances at best. 

A dancefloor had established itself in the middle of the room where a shapeless amalgamation of bodies, clothes and hair moved along to the pumping music. 

From the few words he had been able to decipher as he had asked the barkeep about the occasion, it was some kind of motto-party. Something about 80s and 90s music-night that happened once a month. 

Most likely for the less city inclined folks to get their freak on, without having to go downtown and into an actual club. 

Dean didn’t really care, all he needed right now was to be around people. Be in the presence of other humans, be just one more face in the crowd. The feeling of overwhelming loneliness that had taken hold of him on his drive home had just been too much for him to spend the evening by himself. 

The houses and people had shot by, made to look flat and strangely lifeless in the mellow twilight of countless street lamps lining the road, when it had sunk its claws into him out of nowhere. 

So all encompassing, so vicious. As if it had waited for him to be worn out enough, skulked for the moment of weakness where he would not be able to restrain it anymore. 

Given how he had been living in the past year (and the years before that, if he was honest with himself), it wasn’t a complete surprise why he felt this way. But its intensity was still strange. 

It had quickly grown to be so unbearable that he had pulled over at the first opportunity and had fled into the night, searching for anything to distract himself with. Anything to not feel it anymore. 

Technically, he should really go home and sleep. There was an awful lot of work waiting for him tomorrow, and he would need to get to it as early as possible if he didn’t want to fall behind. But even knowing that, he couldn’t be bothered to care for the problems of his future-self right now. 

Another glass of whiskey appeared in front of him, and Dean picked it up with a thankful nod towards the barkeeper. It met the same fate as the first one immediately. Before the man could turn away to tend to the other people at the bar, Dean shoved the empty glass across the counter and motioned for another refill. 

The feeling of loneliness and anxiousness still circled his mind from the shadows he had forcefully banished it to. Prowling. Waiting for him to let down his guard just enough to pounce and sink its teeth into his neck again. He needed more to shut it out for good. 

“Someone’s motivated tonight,” the man laughed and poured more whiskey into the glass in a trained motion. 

“You know how it is, life’s a bitch and she’s not yet pretty enough for my taste,” Dean said with a crooked grin. He finally started feeling the buzz of the alcohol, and he was delighted by the sensation. It promised freedom. 

Dean chuckled along as the barkeeper laughed at his crude comment and took another sip of his whiskey. This time he savoured the taste while he turned and let his gaze wander over the crowd. Maybe he would find himself a pretty omega to distract himself with. It hadn’t felt like that kind of night at first, but the idea actually didn’t sound all too bad right now. 

What better way to get rid of pent up stress than to pound it away into a willing victim? It was what he did best, actually. Not that that was be anything to be proud of, really. 

Thankfully, that kind of relief wasn't exactly hard to get for him. If there was one thing Dean could count on, it was his looks to make anything of the like to happen, whenever he so pleased.

He didn’t think of himself as vain. But he knew that, objectively, he looked good. Apart from the plentiful statements from others that had echoed the notion over the years, the effect that a friendly smile combined with a flirtatious comment alone had on omega’s was proof enough. 

It wasn’t like he had an ego about it. A little one maybe. But he wasn’t about to complain about the fact that the genetic lottery had blessed him with good looks. And he wasn’t above taking advantage of the luck of the draw to satisfy his desires either.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath to get a general idea of what he had to work with. As much as he appreciated what his own looks did for him, he couldn’t give less of a fuck about those of others. It was a nice bonus at best, but what really counted was their scent. 

Anyone could be beautiful, but only few omega’s managed to entice his alpha on a deeper level. And if he was going to do this, he wouldn’t just take anyone with a pretty face. 

He would seek out someone who made his instincts rattle. Someone who triggered his primal urges to run away with him. 

Someone who would bring salvation from the melancholic maelstrom that still faintly threatened to pull him down into its depths. 

The flourish of odours and fragrances that hit his palette was a lot to take in. With so many people stuffed into this cramped space, the room was positively overflowing with airborne aromas. 

The sweet, flowery scents of omegas, the harsh, earthy scents of other alphas and the mellow, flat ones of betas. All of it, fused into the general smell of sweat, perfume and spent air. 

Dean let the concoction rest on the back of his tongue, searching. In this first breath, there wasn’t anything that piqued his interest.

Scent compatibility was technically not required for a hook-up, because there was nothing really wrong with any omega’s scent. None had ever been as boring as those of betas, or as passively acrid as those of most other alphas. 

But in Dean’s personal experience, only the owners of scents who truly stirred his alpha were the ones that he didn’t feel kind of empty with after the deed was done. 

If someone only met the basic requirement of being an omega, it would just be flesh on flesh, meaningless and depressing when the post nut clarity set in. And few things were less enjoyable than being knotted to someone for an hour, who painfully reminded him of the escapism he had just partaken in by merely existing. 

Dean kept searching, growing more disheartened with each breath. Of all of these people, no one smelled enticing at all. Was there truly not one omega here who suited his taste? 

He was about to give up and just accept that it wasn’t supposed to happen for him tonight, when something entirely different hit his palate. 

Something unique. And intoxicating. 

It had concealed itself behind the translucent curtain of scents, almost like it had been hiding from him. 

It was like one of those ludicrously expensive perfumes that didn't smell like much in passing, but revealed a deep and layered complexity once you really focused in on it.

A few more drags, and he was sure. It seemed like he was about to get lucky after all. 

Dean emptied his whiskey and pushed himself off the barstool, ready to track down whoever smelled this delectable, and make them his for the night.

#supernatural #dean winchester #castiel #sam winchester #destiel #story #my fic #beta reader #beta request #a/b/o #omegaverse #alpha/alpha #book tumblr #authors #writing #pls help

[lpwrites]

On Hope

Today's meta, brought to you by a tumblr post:

In case of tl;dr or tumblr not opening links, it boils down to: Hope is a skill you work, not something inherent. I'd like to add (as some people in the tags have, that so is optimism and faith). I personally would tag on kindness as well.

All these traits are seen as soft and naive, but to actually use them and nurture them properly, it takes time and an active involvement. You're not just hopeful, especially in these times. You have to work at it, and it's hard. You're not just kind because you are, you have to actively work to be kind, moreso when the world says you shouldn't.

How does this tie to Teen Wolf?

Obviously, it comes down to Scott.

Many, many multiple complaints about Scott being a boring character or a perfect character or an undeveloped character come from the fact that people (incorrectly) believe that Scott has no flaws. Scott's perfect, they say! He's so boring and Neurotypical! (which is another can of worms to open another day)

Perfection is not possible, much less for a teenage character. We have seen Scott fuck up, multiple times, for several different reasons, most coming down to the fact he's an inexperienced teenage boy thrust into a situation he never wanted to be in the first place. He's afraid, he's experiencing things no one could have braced him for, and further affected by the fact that no one explained anything after the fact either.

Despite being actively tormented by several adults (and some teenagers, lookin' at you, Matt and Jackson), Scott doesn't stop being, at his core, kind. He's hopeful! He has HOPE that Jackson can be cured from the Kanima situation in s2, he has HOPE that they can save Stiles from the Nogitsune in s3B.

Out of everyone in Teen Wolf, given the release date and the sentiment surrounding the world when it first came out, I would have not been surprised if Scott had gone from a bright hopeful kid to a cynical, bitter ~adult~, because that was expected. Cynicism was The Thing, the corruption of the innocence of youth or whatever would have fit well, I'm sure, in this niche MTV was trying to carve out.

That's what made Scott so extraordinary, I think. Despite the punches, despite ever reason he had to be bitter and mean and cruel because the world WAS bitter and mean and cruel to him, Scott continued being good. He had hope for people, and gave countless opportunities that would not have been afforded to him by others, because Scott was able to look at things as they were, and hope for something better.

Did he make mistakes along the way? Sure, as a kid then young adult navigating a whole new world that actively wanted him dead, he made mistakes. But even thinking about his choices now, how painfully difficult must it have been for Scott to look at all these people who hurt him, who hurt his friends and his family and his community, and still look for good? To offer kindness to strangers and enemies alike, to ease their pain and give people who were in the same position he was the opportunity to say 'I can't. This isn't for me.'

How many times did Scott have to fight the pain and injustice and anger that would be more than deserved, and swallowed it down because pain and anger and violence are easy! It's an easy reaction and an easy excuse, and likely people (in show) wouldn't have really blamed him because no one ever blamed Stiles for being angry and lashing out because that's what people /do/.

But Scott didn't. He swallowed all of that (a monumental effort on its own) and he returned kindness. He returned hope and optimism and faith that I know he didn't really feel, but what he really felt doesn't affect his actions because his actions speak much louder.

For a teenager with suicidal ideation, who has been constantly beat down by a life he never chose? Scott has tremendous self control, and an enormous capacity for kindness in his heart. It would have been so easy to make him an asshole, we've seen assholes countless of times in media. But strength of character in the face of all that, to say no to the cycle of violence? That is something that is not innate. Scott had to absolutely fight for that every day, and that alone is so endlessly fascinating.

Scott may be boring if all you look at is the surface, but all it says is that you've felt the struggle of being kind in a world that wants you to be cruel.

#teen wolf #scott mccall #pro scott mccall #scott mccall defense squad #kindness is hard #hope is hard #im projecting again but i was the cynical kid #the world sucks and then you die and what's the point kind of cynicism and that shit is damaging as fuck yo #it took a lot of effort to move away from that #including therapy and meds and help from the people around me and a lot of soul searching and its a struggle every damn day #but i will hold onto that and i will be kind and i will have hope even if it feels like it burns because its worth it #the world is filled with so many assholes already i refuse to be part of the problem #that's why scott matters so much to me #dark scott would have been more interesting to the same assholes who love to watch that hope die out because they love to drag people down #but its so much harder to see that and put good out in the world than it is to shit on everything like everyone else #even if its just a drop in a bucket #it means something to someone #teen wolf meta

[olivereliocorcordium1983]

I can't believe im even doing this but here we go🙄 i am perfectly aware of Timmy being in this pic with Taylor Russell. I do not deny this at all i am fully aware that Timmy has and will be put with other costars ect. HOWEVER,

When I came into this fandom it was because of call me by your name, it was because of ELIO and OLIVER, ARMIE and TIMMY came afterwards because of the beautiful relationship they have together. Whether it is as friends or more than that I really don't care as long as both of them are happy that is all I care about.

So when I do this👇I am doing it because One: I WANT TO and because I personally ship them together and are perfectly capable of separating the characters from the actors.

Two: my IG is for my stories, so there are people who want to see these two together in whatever senario be it: DD/LB, husbands, fuck buddies, what have you even if it isn't my thing personally, I do it for them because I was a musician and in college they say, you give the audience what they want. And that is what I am doing.

So if the charmies want to see them paired up a billion times with their different characters from their different movies im going to do it. And do so proudly!

I am here for THEM not you overly butt hurt haters who want to spit you negativity everywhere and want to be little tiddy babies because oh my god we pair Timmy up with fucking Armie Hammer whose a "cannibal, rapist, blah blah, blah, 🙄 sit down and shut the fuck up. And go somewhere else with that bullshit please.

There are much more important shit going on in the world than a bunch of overly enthusiastic fanboys and fangirls talking everyday about actors they don't know personally. So if you don't like the shit that I post then go somewhere else, im an adult who writes whatever the fuck I want and who is escaping my own rl through my stories because im going through a very hard time.

And trying to figure out how in the world i am going to live without someone whose life meant more to me than your stupid petty comments!

Grow the fuck up! Stop coming into the damn Charmies space and trying to get a rise out of them, its not going to work! They don't care for you stop trying to get their attention like kimber from nip tuck who wont let go. Move on! They get it they see you, now go away!

my give a fuck button about your little issues with Charmie doesn't exist for me. I dont give a damn about how pissed you are about lillothee not being a thing anymore, I dont care for your words about "Timmy is with Taylor in that picture, not with that cannibal abusing asshole" I truly don't give any fucks because the part of me that did, officially died along with my grandma.

So seriously if you don't like what i do, say, post and all that other tiny non important crap then fucking block me. You don't want to see Timmy and Armie together fine. Block me.

If you hate me as a person then fucking block me. Because I have more important things to worry about now like how im going to get my job up and running, taking care of my grandpa, dealing with my own emotions and my own life so that when everyone else dies I can survive. Writing my own will ect.

You know, the things that actually matter than sitting behind a computer all day and literally putting all your damn energy into that hate bubble you got going on and trying to get validation from people who dont give two shits about you. Because you hate your own life so much you don't know how to be productive enough to want to change it and be happy for yourself.

That is what i care about right now, not a bunch of strangers who can't let other people just live their goddamn life and mind their own fucking business and find their own happiness.

Not a bunch of strangers who dont have the fucking balls or big enough balls to take themselves off of anon and show their faces to the people who they intentionally go into their dms, their asks, just to put their two cents into an opinion that no one truly gives a fuck about.

No people with actual differences of opinion who are respectful about it. Im not talking to you.

But you fuckers who cant be an adult and have adult conversations with these charmies, go away go play in your sad little sandbox leave the adults alone.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk, mic drop, ✌️the 🖕 out!❤️🧿