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insomniamamma · 2 years

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Brigand: Ezra x F!reader w/Cee

A/N: This is such a well-worn trope but I love it. Kind of a mirror piece to "Fairy Tale of Puggart Bench." This takes place fairly early on in the Prickle 'verse, probably around the same time as "Rain." As with everything in this AU, it's not necessary to read the rest to understand this. I am so far incapable of multi-chapter fics so you get a bunch of loosely connected stuff in the same AU. Artichoke is the reader character's nickname.

Warnings: Canon typical violence. Sexual talk. Gross sexual talk about a minor. Alcohol consumption. Vomiting. Physical violence. Minor mentions of blood. Artichoke needs her own warning.

Well. It was good while it lasted. The guy in the cell across from yours is hopped up to the eyeballs on Kevva-knows-what. He's been telling the same story about the girl who ditched him on Kanvin Bench without points or scrip or station-crew to his name for hours now, over and over, the rise and fall of his voice in a pattern that you could almost tune out if not for the guy in the adjoining cell who keeps screaming at him to shut the fuck up. It's the randomness of the shouting that gets you. Your head almost stops hurting and then he starts up again. Shut the fuck up! No one cares about your stinky Kanvian girlie! Just shut up! Good while it lasted, you think and press your fingers to your throbbing temples. Other hurts start announcing themselves, your tongue keeps flicking out to lick your split and swollen lip without thinking about it, it hurts to breathe too heavy, your back feels both tight and sprung at the same time. Good while it lasted.

The drop on Vela was awful from the start. The grav was higher than what you were accustomed to and that was enough to throw you off. The rail-gun felt so heavy, your armor felt lead-plated, a few steps from the pod and you were struggling and then the smell hit. The fruits you were contracted to harvest smelled like, well, you didn't have a good word for what they smelled like, if barf could barf is how you described it later which sent Cee into a storm of giggles. Vela was supposed to be a day-labor type gig, get the quota and then boost. Ezra's pod was still clamped to the bench's transfer dock. It would take some cycles for the next freighter to arrive, your ride on to Jocasta, and in the mean time Ezra saw no problem with signing the three of you up for a day-drop. Supposed day drop. The smell claws its way into your sinuses and your first impulse is to drop the railer and run, as if you could outrun the stink. Rotted fruits rest in humped piles around the trunks of the false palms, shriveled and blistered and clustered with shiny-shelled bugs. There's a soft "puh" sound like an old rubber band snapping and a fruit near your toe splits and collapses in on itself. You hunker down and puke into the weeds until nothing comes. "You've had a stronger reaction than most," says Ezra, and you swear you can hear the smirk in his voice even as you swipe at your leaking eyes and hot, flushed face. "You could have warned me--" "I did." "You said the smell was 'off-putting!'" "For most it is," he says, "It's a genetic thing. Like the way celery tastes like piss to some and cilantro tastes like soap--" "I don't know what either of those things are!" "Quit being a jerk, Ez," says Cee and hands you a little jar of bluish jelly. "Put some of that under your nose. It'll help with the smell. Also, try to breathe through your mouth if you can." You plug one nostril and then the other and try to clear the chunks out, blowing strings of snot over your fingers and then rubbing them in the grass. "So how's this work again?" You ask when you feel well enough to straighten. "We're after the seeds," says Ezra, "Once they pop they're too far gone. You wanna go for the ones just starting to pucker. Like this." He scoops a quivering fruit out of the loam, gelid and glistening, an unsettling gray-pink like meat gone bad. He passes it to Cee to hold and slices in. "See that vein there? Running right through the middle? You want to scrape the blade up and under. You want to get under the membrane without nicking that vein. Otherwise it spoils the seed." Even week-handed he slides the curved knife along the surface of the seed and pulls it out, a tawny, rounded oblong the length of his palm. You hose the first few pulls, seeds and fruit collapsing into handfuls of stinking gunk and Ezra eyed you from where he and Cee work, his hands and hers together doing a dance that you can't seem to master. "Are these poisonous or do they just stink?" "You'll be fine as long as you don't chew on the seed," said Ezra. You shuck off your gloves. "That's a bad idea," says Ezra. "I can't get a good hold with these stupid gloves on," you say, "Let’s just fill these hoppers and get the fuck off world." Only that's not how it plays out. The three of you and the other crews arrive with full hoppers of seeds at the landing zone but there's some sort of mechanical problem with the dropper. Not to worry, they tell you, the gathered harvesters, we get this buttoned up and back to the bench right quick. It's not right quick. The high grav sucks at your bones, and the persistent stink snakes up your nose despite the mentholated goo beneath your nostrils. By the time the day-dropper sorts itself out and readies to boost you are hungry and foot-sore and hoping whatever you get from this pull will compensate for the day you've had.

The smell clings. You don't understand it. You've cleaned and re-cleaned your tools, pared your nails to the quick, scrubbed your hands raw and stinging. You've wiped down and stowed your gear, sealed up the clothes you were wearing in the case with your armor. You've cleaned everything twice and you can still smell the false palm fruits, almost taste it on the back of your tongue. Ezra arches an eyebrow at you from across the pod. Accommodations at Vela bench aren't much better than being stuck in the pod so you've forgone the credits for proper berths. "I can still smell that shit." "Should've kept your gloves on, Artichoke--" And that's it. You have had enough. You've got to get out of this pod right now or you are going to lose your ever-loving mind. Keep it professional you think as you tug your boots on after wiping them down for the second time, wondering if you've missed any of that horrible, fleshy gunk caught in the treads. "Where're you going?" Asks Cee. "Out." Every bench has at least one bar. You have yet to fetch up on one that doesn't. Even Falnost bench had a grotty little tavern tucked into an alcove where they served strong corn-liquor like swallowing a live coal. Getting fucked up on terrible booze seems to be as human a requirement as pressurized, breathable air. Vela Bench is no different. You don't have to wander far before you find a bar, a hand painted sign that reads "Jeb's" a string of lights that hang half-lit in the entrance, an abandoned cargo dropper welded to the dock and converted, hexagonal walls betraying it's origins, a narrow dim lit space, low pulsing music, screen up in the corner playing some Vayok drama with the sound off, subtitled in common Central. You set yourself down at the bar, and the barkeep sidles over. "Looks like you've had a rough one, friend," he says, grinning a mouthful of uneven teeth, a couple bonded with filigreed metal. "You want fancy or plain?" "Plain," you say. Fancy generally means imported, something with an actual label and some sort of quality control, fantastically expensive. Falnost and Katrin they wouldn't even bother asking. You tap your data pad to the payscan and he pours a murky pinkish liquid over a couple cubes of ice and hands it to you. The color is instantly familiar. Kevva knows you got enough of it on your boots. "Is this made from-" "The stink-fruits, yeah. Got a snout-full downworld, huh, spacer? Don't worry, the stink don't stick. This'll make you forget all about it. Go slow though, I don't wanna be cleaning your sick off my deck-plating, clear?" "Clear." The barkeep pours himself a nip and you touch glasses and drink. He throws back like its nothing and you take a cautious sip. The local hooch burns going down and blooms bright in your chest. You cough. "Good shit, huh? Just wave me on over when you need more." The barkeep moves on, leaving you to the muted Vayok drama and the low throb of music, sounds like the stuff Cee listens too, you think idly, Kevva knows you've heard plenty of it pouring out of her music player. You let it hit your ears without judgement. There wasn't much music to be had back home, mostly just the songs you and your kin sang around the hearth at night after the days work was done, hymns and half-recalled songs supposedly from Old Terra, not that any of you knew for sure, the little bits of music that played around the port on the rare occasions that you got to go, already years time-lagged from Central, but still exotic to your ears.

You down your drink and order another, letting the white-noise of the bar wash over you, a pleasant tingle in your limbs. This is good, strong stuff. You can't smell the fruit-pulp on your hands anymore. Probably nuked those braincells with that first glass. Good riddance. You'd been sharp with Ezra and Cee both. You should apologize. You like them and they seem to like you. Yeah. Finish this drink and go back to the pod. Say sorry for being sharp. For letting your emotions run hot. "Ezra's back on the Bench," Your crewmate's name out of a strangers mouth snaps you out of your reverie. "He still got that little girlie with him?" "Yeah, last I saw. The little yellow-haired thing, right? How old you think she is?" "Sixteen stand at the outside," "Nice and tight, probably." "Not anymore." You squeeze your eyes shut and open them again. It's just bench-bar shit-talk, you try to tell yourself. You wave the barkeep over and order another drink, downing the top third of it in a convulsive swallow. He gives you an uneasy grin. "She ain't so sprung that I'd say no." "You're a sick fuck, Goldie." "Oi! I wasn't the one that killed her Dad and stole her away from her family." Your eyes flick up the the bleared mirror behind the bar, and watch as the spacer who just about has to be Goldie takes a long swallow of stink-fruit hooch, his throat bobbing, a row of gold earrings sparkle along one lobe, a gold-capped tooth winks. "You get a look at that other one he's got now? She's gotta face that could split a heat shield. Probably dumb as a bag of bricks to boot." "Well, he must need some relief after he wears the little one out--" And the two of them laugh, oafish chuckling that you've heard a million times out of the mouths of your asshole brothers and you realize you are furious. You down the rest of your drink and hammer the glass on the bar, and everything goes quiet except for the low insistent music and the sound of your blood in your ears, your face is pulled up in a tight grin. You stand and you can feel the entire bar staring at you as you stand and approach their table, Goldie and his scruff pals grinning up at you. "You wanna know about Ezra's crew? Maybe talk to someone who's on it." "Wellnow," says Goldie, standing, raising his glass in mock salute, "You ain't half as ugly as what Donner here said. You gonna beg? Let us rescue you from being Ez's sloppy seconds?" He slides his hands down his front and gives what he's got a good squeeze, "All you gotta do is ask--" You're still smiling when your first smashes into his mouth, still smiling when it draws back to smash again, satisfying crunch of your knuckles meeting bone and then arms wrap around you from behind.

At least I nailed that shitmouth motherfucker, you think. At least there's that. They got you down and started kicking you. At some point station security showed up and peeled them off you and now you're here. In the brig. Listening to one asshole shout about the girl who did him wrong and another asshole shouting at him to shut up. Can I comm my boss at least? And your jailor had looked at you with thinly veiled contempt. Already made that call for you. You wait. And so you do. He's not coming and why would he? It's too bad. You like Cee. You like Ezra. You felt good with them. Like real crew and not some dumb ground-pounder with a railer and armor and little else. And now you don't have that. Your gear is stowed in Ezra and Cee's pod. Gone forever once they ship out. Stupid. All of it so stupid. You sit on the edge of your cot and stare at your bloody knuckles. They'll hold you here for a time and then you'll be stuck on this shitty bench saddled with debt and nothing to your name but the clothes on your back. If you could just talk to Ezra. But that seems increasingly unlikely. You've been here long enough that they've given you a meal, greasy slab of something that might have meat in it, a scoop of rice, a slurry pack. You've put worse things in your mouth. And the other two assholes shut up long enough to eat, so there's that. You wake to the sound of your cell door opening and sit up, a hand raised against the bright lights, your vision blurred, you feel even worse now, if that's possible, two figures loom against the ugly light. "I'd like a moment to speak with my junior-most if you don't mind." Ezra. Your eyes don't want to focus, but you'd know his drawling fringeling accent anywhere. "Sure." You don't want to look at him, so you drop your eyes to the bruised nest of your hands, blood that doesn't belong to you caked around your nails. "You look like shit, Prickle." You laugh but it comes out as a muffled sob that you bite back. "You wanna tell me why you took on that clutch of spacers? Unprovoked from what I hear." "You heard wrong. Not that it matters now." You feel the cot dip, feel him settle beside you. He doesn't speak for a beat, but you can feel his eyes on you like a weight. "I think you'd best tell me," he says at length, "And it I hope it's a worthier slight than some kip making eyes at you or spilling a drink down your back." "They were running their mouths." Ezra laughs, a low, rough and mirthless sound. "That is the Fringe," he says, "If you can't handle a gaggle of shit-talking kips without losing your cool--" "They were saying terrible things, okay?" You look him in the face for the first time since he entered this grimy little room, your eyes prick hot with tears, "About you and Cee! They were lying about you, about us, our crew--" "They say I'm fucking her?" His bluntness feels like a slap, "That I'm trafficking her? You think I haven't heard every iteration of that story since me and Cee became crew? You are fresh out of a well, so I suppose I will have to break this down for you--" "I couldn't just let them say that shit, okay?. It's not right." You swipe at your eyes with your wrist. "Just dump my stuff in one of the storage lockers before you ship out alright? I can't get anything other than day-drops without my gear. And we all know how well that went." Ezra makes a low sound that might be exasperation or laughter and then goes silent for moment, rests his hand on your forearm, no grip, no pressure, just the warm weight of his palm, and you look up at him, his mouth is turned up in a half-smile, but his eyes are sad. "I worry for you Artichoke," he says, "I don't know how things worked on Falnost but that school-yard sense of justice will get you hurt out here. You can't afford to make enemies over a bit of talk." "You can have the railer," you say, "It's in good repair. That should cover the cost of stowing the rest of my gear. I can work off the fines--" Ezra sighs. "I've payed your fines," says Ezra. "What?" "I came here to bring you home." He trails his hand down your arm and examines your scraped up knuckles, "Gotta get some gel on these. Next job's a bit finicky. C'mon then." He pulls you to your feet, you hiss in pain at the pressure on your bruised fingers, collect your personal effects, your crack-screened data pad, a handful of grimy Falnost c-pieces, worthless two benches ago, but you still have them. The dimness of the ring is welcome after the harsh lights of the brig, you fall into your usual position at Ezra's right side. "I had half a mind to let you stew a bit more," says Ezra, "Cool your heels until the freighter docked. Cee is the one who argued for your early parole." You feel yourself begin to smile despite how tired and sore and beat-up you feel. "She wants help refurbing the filters, doesn't she?" Ezra laughs and his eyes flick over to yours, no anger there, just warmth. "Indeed she does," says Ezra, "You know how she hates it."

#ezra x f!reader w/cee #ezra (prospect) x f!reader w/cee #ezra prospect x f!reader w/cee #prickle 'verse #prospect au

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diamond-coral · 3 years

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A Game

Summary: Tony suggests a game that you, the unfortunate intern, get dragged right into the center of: who can make a woman cum the fastest?

Pairings: all dark!: Steve x Reader, Bucky x Reader, Thor x Reader, Sam Wilson x Reader, Tony x Reader, implied natasha x reader

Warnings: DUB-CON/NON-CON (oral: f-receiving, fingering, tiny smidge of analplay) VOYEURISM/EXHIBITIONISM, BLACKMAILING, OVERSTIMULATION. The characters in this story are NOT good people. After reading the warnings, your media consumption is your own responsibility!

As Stark’s party mellowed down and all the guests left, you, the unfortunate intern, were called over to the small group of five Avengers seated in a section of couches.

“Y/n, come!” Thor’s voice boomed.

“Y/n, come!” Sam mimicked, deepening his voice to make fun of Thor’s.

You approached them as the men snickered at Sam’s joke.

“What can I do for you?” you ask, a fake smile plastered on your face.

Stark cleared his throat and raised a brow at you; a silent command.

“What can I do for you, sir?”

“A round of drinks please, and add this to Sir Barnes, Sir Rogers, and I’s drinks.” Thor handed you the flask of his Asgardian liquor and you accepted it, hiding the slight nervous tremble of your hands.

“Of course, sir.”

“Someone’s been learning their manners,” Steve taunted, and it took all your restraint to not snarl at him.

“Easy there, Rogers,” Stark interjected, noticing how your fingers clenched Thor’s flask tighter. “Pretty sure Barnes fucked the brat outta her couple days ago when he came back from that shitshow of mission in Bosnia. Got a lot of pent up rage there, Buck?”

“Mission just put me in a bad mood,” Bucky shrugged. “Either way, I don’t think I fucked all the brat outta her. Got anything left for me, doll?”

“I have nothing for you, you self-righteous, ignorant prick,” you spat venomously.

“There she is. I always love a challenge.” Bucky smirked at how your knuckles were turning white around the flask. “Now didn’t Thor ask you to go fetch us some drinks?”

You huffed, opting to bite your tongue rather than lashing out, and spun on your heel toward the minibar.

Three-months ago, you would never have imagined your internship interview at S.H.I.E.L.D to bring you here. Your interview had been conducted by Captain America himself, and just as things began to look promising, it was interrupted by a sharp knock from Tony Stark. Tony had brought Steve into the hall, leaving the door to the conference room open, and you could only sneak glances through the window of the room, hearing Steve whisper about how it was “a question of morality” while they both kept looking back at you.

You got the position, and the next day, Tony sat you down and gave you an offer.

The Avengers needed to be ‘taken care of’, as he put it, and you being a ‘stress-reliever’ would boost morale around the team. Most of the them never had time for the outside world (apparently saving the world was a big commitment?) and were rarely ever able to make lasting relationships. You could accept the position, be compensated monthy, and get to live in the compound, or you could decline, and walk away with your mouth sealed by the confidentiality contract you signed before the interview. Something about S.H.I.E.L.D. work being linked to a lot of top secret information, meaning you weren’t allowed to speak any details of the job to outside parties unless you wanted to get sued for every penny you were worth.

You had been on the cusp of taking the second option before Tony mentioned your sister’s job as S.H.I.E.L.D. as an agent. She was half the reason you’d interviewed for an internship. A couple words from Tony about her possibly falling into a fatal accident on a mission, and you took the position offer in a heartbeat.

You almost overfilled the glass while getting lost in your train of thought. Setting down the bottle of expensive whiskey, you placed the last glass next to the others on the silver tray, and picked it up, gracefully yet begrudgingly making your way back to the small gathering.

“Y/n, finally. We were just talking about who here can make a woman cum the fastest.”

The complete utter bluntness of Tony’s words caught you entirely off guard, and you tripped over your own feet, stumbling in your high heels to keep the tray of drinks from falling before Sam reached an arm out to catch the tray and another arm to hold your hip and steady you.

You ripped yourself from Sam’s touch without acknowledging or thanking him, to disturbed by Tony’s previous words to do so. You began passing out the glasses of dark liquid. “And you’re telling me this why?” Your voice was flat in hopes of showing Tony you were completely disinterested in any plans he might have.

“Why, we need your aid, Lady Y/n,” Thor answered a little too cheerfully for your taste.

“I won’t be partaking in your little immature competition of toxic masculinity.” You crossed your arms and continued. “It makes it seem that women are nothing but prizes. Games to be played by boys as they fight over the highscore. Toys.”

“Aren’t they?” Steve cocked his head, eyes glimmering with amusement while a smirk painted his face. The rest of the men chuckled at his reply.

“I think HR would be shocked to hear that Captain America is being a sexist dick to a woman in the workplace,” you bit back, but your threat was weak and they all knew it.

“I think HR would be to busy writing a condolence letter to your sisters family if, let’s say, on her mission with Sam tomorrow in Russia, a stray bullet hit her,” Steve replied. A quick reminder at the stakes.

Sam clicked his tongue and shook his head in mock sympathy. “Those darn Russians and their careless aim.”

He abruptly pushed himself off the couch and clapped his hands together. “I wanna go first,” he declared.

“Just remember, you can’t use your dick,” Tony added. “Some of us don’t have super soldier serum enhanced fuckwands.”

“Please never, ever say fuckwand again,” Bucky said, scrunching up his nose. “Besides, the hydra serum didn’t do anything down there.” He waggled his eyebrows while elbowing his enhanced counterpart. “Don’t think I could say the same for this punk here though.”

Steve muttered a ‘shut up’ while the group snickered.

All while they compared sizes like a bunch of teenagers, Sam manhandled you onto the coffee table in the center of the couches. You let out a grunt as you were shoved onto your front, stomach pressed into the tabletop while your pelvis was slammed into the edge.

Sam kneeled behind you and brought up two fingers to your mouth.

“Get ‘em nice and wet for me, baby.”

The men around you went quiet, entranced as you reluctantly took Sam’s fingers into your mouth, sucking on them and swirling your tongue around them.

When Sam finally pulled them out, he looked back at Tony.

“You ready?” Sam asked.

Sam hiked the flowy skirt of your dress up your legs causing you to squirm and pathetically thrash; a desperate attempt at putting an abrupt stop to this stupid game.

“You’re on the clock.”

At Tony’s words, Sam immediately stopped your desperate attempt at worming away from him by catching you by the back of your neck and slamming you back down hard on the coffee table. Much to your disdain, the rough treatment made you wet, and that was the last thing you wanted them to see.

But when Sam pulled your lacy panties down, you could tell it was the first thing he noticed.

“Fuck babygirl, I didn’t need you lubing up my fingers, you’re already drenched,” he noted.

You let out a soft moan as Sam worked two calloused fingers into your pussy. Although they’re thick and long, they were nowhere near the size of his dick and you silently thanked whatever was out there that he wasn’t splitting you in half with it at the moment. Sam released the grip on your neck, moving to settle the hand on your ass before giving it a light squeeze and a slap that elicited another moan from you. While Sam slowly began moving his fingers- twisting, curling, and pumping them- he leaned over you, caging your body under his broad chest, to speak dirty words into your ear.

“Baby, you’re so wet right now, I think you like having them watch you.” Your cheeks burned in shame while he picked up the pace. “You want them to see how well-behaved you are for me? Want them to see how you come on my hand like a good little slut?” he cooed.

Slow pumps now turned to quick thrusts from his skilled fingers and Sam groaned as you fluttered around him.

“That’s it. You’re taking me perfectly.”

Twisting his wrist so his thumb could also strum your clit, Sam was moving so fast you’d easily mistake him for a superhuman.

“Yes, Sam, please,” you cried out, eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“Uh-uh, babygirl. Wrong word,” he scolded, although his pace never slowed as his fingers brutally fucked into you.

“Daddy!” you screamed. “I’m cumming!”

You chanted those words, cunt clamping down on his merciless fingers. He gave you no reprieve, mercilessly thrusting into you, until you squirted, your release coating his hand and dripping down his forearm. Only when you were almost crying, did he finally remove his hand from your abused cunt.

“Now that-,” Sam stated, grinning while he stood. “-is how you make a girl come.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever Birdbrain.” You don’t have any strength to look at Tony as he speaks. “Give her a couple minutes before whoever’s next.”

Whatever the conversation was between them (you couldn’t hear it over the buzzing in your brain), it was much too short to your liking. The few minutes Tony gave you only felt like a few seconds before Bucky was getting up.

“Guess I’ll take a crack at it,” he announced, rolling his head from side to side.

“No one says “take a crack at it” anymore, old man.”

“Keep talking when your in last place, Sam,” Bucky quipped, however, his tone was still light.

You felt a metal hand on your hip before you were rolled over onto your back, now facing Bucky while your eyes pleaded with him.

“Please dont,” you croaked.

Bucky just scoffed, kneeling down between your legs and wrapping both arms around your thighs as he pulled you closer.

“Tony?” His hot breath fanned your pussy as he spoke and you inhaled sharply at the feeling.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Stark said.

Bucky wasted no time the moment the words left Tony’s mouth. He started by licking up from your hole to clit over and over, the lazy stripes already driving you wild. Letting go of one of your thighs to bring his flesh hand to your pussy, he pulled the hood of your clit back, pausing his licking to blow on your engorged bud.

“Such a pretty pussy, doll,” he murmured before turning his head around and speaking louder. “You guys seeing this?”

He moved his head out of the way to showcase your glistening folds. A couple groans from the men on the couches had you trying to close your legs, but Bucky’s grip was like steel (especially considering his hand was metal).

“Wasting time Buck,” Steve commented and Bucky just rolled his eyes.

“I’m pretty sure I can still beat Sam and have time left over,” he scoffed.

Bucky directed his attention back to your folds, this time, diving in right away. He still had the hood of your clit pulled back as he encased the bud with his lips causing you to writhe at the intense sensation. And yet, you were held down with practically no effort as he methodically played with you. Each time he groaned against you, you let out an embarrassingly loud moan, and by the time he started sucking on your clit, you were wrecked. Your hand found home in his brown locks of hair while he quickly moved his tongue back and forward on your sensitive nub that was trapped in the vacuum of his mouth. The coil inside you wound tighter and tighter, and suddenly, while Bucky began shaking his head from side to side, it snapped. Your clit pulsed rapidly while encased in his hot mouth, and you screamed, legs locking around his head while your hand held his head in place. He worked you while you rode out your orgasm on his face until you could barely move.

Bucky got up from his knees, grinning down at you, so weak, you couldn’t muster it in you to glare back.

“Now I think I really fucked the brat out of you,” he said. “What was that?” He cupped his ear. “Did I hear a thank you sir?”

“Thank you, sir,” you whimpered weakly.

You were so fucked out, all the next events were but a blur.

Thor had feasted between your thighs the same as Bucky but was more sloppy, although, your body seemed to love ‘sloppy’. His tongue was constantly lashing and worming around your clit, the wet muscle accompanied by lewd slurping sounds, and in record time, Thor’s suckling and licking had you tensing and building up so much that your orgasm felt like a waterfall crashing over your body.

Steve was just as methodical and precise as Bucky, also pumping his fingers slowly in and out of your pussy. He was sweetly slow, dragging out your pleasure to the point where you were begging him to come. His warm tongue dragged across your sensitive cunt, while another hand reached up to grab a breast and pinch a nipple. You felt like your body was on fire. It wasn’t until Steve had inserted a thumb into your ass that he finally allowed your body sweet sweet release.

Your head span as finally collapsing on Tony’s floor, listening to the muffled voices above you.

You didn’t even register Stark’s words as he announced Thor had won and Steve had come in last. You barely even heard Steve’s defense that he was just enjoying himself too much in the moment.

Although ten-minutes later you had a somewhat sense of clarity, after hearing their conversation, you wished you were just unconscious. Even better, dead.

“I’m tellin’ you man, I made her squirt. She definitely came the hardest with me.” Sam’s voice rang.

“Dude- she was literally grinding against my face and holding me in a headlock with her legs,” Bucky argued.

“I literally made the brat beg to cum,” Steve inserted.

“I’d say that by bringing her to release the fastest, it was most intense with me,” Thor declared, victoriously.

You were on the brink of tears as they talked about you. Until another voice cut into the room. A female voice.

“What do you boys think you’re doing?”

It was Natasha. Your head jolted up as you felt a glimmer of hope surge through you.

That glimmer of hope was quickly extinguished at her next words.

“Not inviting me to the boy’s party?” she scolded. “You think a girl might beat you by a landslide?”

Nat squatted down next to you, running a soft hand on your cheek.

“Well you’re right. I’ll beat Thor’s record and cut it in half.”

She began unbuttoning her pants.

“And I’ll do it while riding her face.”

#sam wilson x reader #bucky barnes x reader #thor x reader #steve rogers x reader #dark!sam wilson #dark!steve rogers #dark!bucky x reader #dark!tony stark #dark!natasha x reader #dark!sam wilson x reader #dark!thor #dark!steve smut

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beardrabbles · 3 years

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invitation.

characters: GN!reader, claude, mentions of GN!byleth

warnings: none

word count: 2,814

notes: posted this on ao3 ages ago and totally forgot to post it here too :’) got into the fandom late, like alwaaaays! but i have an enormous claude / golden deer bias and wanted to write some fluff with him.

You forgot sometimes that this peaceful spot tucked between the trees wasn’t yours alone. You shared it with another from time to time, but it had been so long since the last time you both stepped foot in the clearing that it startled you to hear footfalls crunching at the grass behind you. Pushing yourself up halfway, eyes blinking blearily, you spotted the richly dressed prince with his hands planted on his hips.

“Napping without me?” Claude clicked his tongue, and you quickly replied with a roll of your eyes.

“I can’t nap here on my own?” You fell back again, letting the soft grass cushion you. A soft, content sigh escaped through your nose as the sweetest of breezes barely brushed your skin. It smelled of flowers and damp leaves, dense soil and a distant storm. There was no zing of hot iron or blood, and it was a relief.

“I thought it was our thing. . .”

You felt him sit beside you, taking up his usual position to your left. The tiniest flutter tickled the inside of your ribs, his nearness nearly making your head spin. “Before I came along, it was just your thing, remember?”

“Well, yeah, but I like it better this way.” Claude leaned back on his hands, eyes up towards the greying sky. It had taken fighting a war to bring back their usual glimmer, but it was there in full. Bright, hopeful, determined. Laying there, gazing up at the unsuspecting prince, it was almost as if you were looking at the man from five years ago — the cunning, clever and sometimes troublesome man that you had fallen head-over-heels for and had continued to painfully pine for.

“Me too.” You dared to smile, his gaze shifting to you. Adoring him hurt, but no amount of hurt would have you appreciating his presence any less.

Claude returned the smile, and the gesture sent your heart slamming against your chest. But just as quickly as it came, the smile faded. “I spoke to Byleth.”

You sat up in an instant, concern etched into your face. You were aware that he had gone to meet them, but he had failed to tell you why. You equally failed to push the subject, as it wasn’t your place to disrespect a man in his position. Curious as you might have been, you assumed it was best not to ask and only hope that he trusted you enough to confide in you later. Seemed you were right, though you acknowledged to yourself that it was a rare thing.

“How did it go?”

“They’re disappointed I won’t be here for the coronation. I can’t blame them. After everything we’ve been through together, I should be here for them. I want to hope they understands. They always have.” He exhaled sharply. “But, hey, I got to see them smile again! I think as long as they’re here, Fódlan will be in good hands. If they keeps smiling, if they keep breaking down the walls that were built up, I can go home and do my part there. I trust them.”

You shifted, feeling uncomfortable in your envy.

“So they’re not coming with you to Almyra?” You wondered. Claude shook his head.

“No, and I didn’t want to ask. Fódlan needs to be taken care of. It needs a parent that will hold its hand and lead it in the right direction. It’s gonna stumble around like an infant walking for the first time, but that’s why they’re the best person to lead. They’ll know what to say and do to help this little baby along.”

You screwed up your face and nudged him with your shoulder.

“You really like talking about babies.” You pointed out. Claude’s cheeks and the tips of his ears darkened a fraction, but he dismissed it with a hearty chuckle.

“I guess I do. I wonder why that is.” He trailed off, voice soft but nowhere near as confused as his words would have lead you to believe. You had long ago resigned yourself to never truly understanding him, so you shrugged. Trying to pick through his mind was like attempting a hedge maze without a map.

“Does that mean you’re going to be heading back soon?”

“I can’t stay for long. There’s so much I need to do if I’m going to see things through, but there’s something important I need to do here before I can go home.” There was sharpness to his eyes that you recognized and deeply adored. He was planning something, and you felt your curiosity rise again.

“What is it? Can I help?” You were always so quick to offer him aid. Usually, he gently denied it, stating time and time again that most of his schemes were for his mind alone. Things often worked out for the better that way. The fewer people that knew, the less chance they could commandeer the plan or ruin it. Yet you still asked just in case he needed you.

“Maybe. Before that, can I ask you something?”

You frowned. “Of course. You can ask me anything, you know that.”

“You’ve been saying that since we met. Is it really true?” Claude smirked and raised a single brow, only for you to shove him harmlessly.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” You eyed him for a moment, worry mounting. “Was that what you wanted to ask me?”

The prince shook his head, as if he were getting off track. “No. I wanted to know where you plan to go. What are your plans for the future?”

“Oh! Oh.” You frowned when the sudden realization that you had no plans slammed into you. “I don’t. . . know. I haven’t thought about it. I’ve been so busy supporting everyone else, doing what I can for them, that I don’t know what to do with myself. Everyone’s grown up. They’re all doing their own thing, starting their own lives. No one needs me anymore.”

“That’s not true.” Claude’s voice was firm in your ear, and his expression was set to match. You smiled meekly.

“I grew up with all of you, but it felt like my purpose was to help you all find yours. Not that I really think I’m capable of being that helpful, but I never took the time to think about myself. I was too worried about you all reaching your dreams that I didn’t have one. I don’t have one.” You amended the last part quickly because it was blatantly clear to you that you had no direction to go in.

“There has to be something you want.” Claude pushed. You laughed.

“At the risk of repeating myself, I want what you want. I want you to succeed.” You opened your mouth again, but were quick to clamp them shut when another thought arose. I want to be with you.

It was lovely to imagine, but you had lived with the fact that any future with him was left solely to your imagination. You met him as an heir, and you knew him now as a prince. The differences in your status was vast and hard to ignore. Claude had his mind set on making those differences unimportant, but you doubted that he could find room in his heart for you. He had a country to take care of and love, not to mention you two had been friends since the start of your time at the academy. Too much time had passed since then, and while your feelings had grown deeper and more troublesome, you were sure he had none to begin with. No, as students, he had been too preoccupied with tormenting you. Teasing, poking, taking up your time with nonsense and rarely giving you a moment to yourself.

Despite him being a brat at times, you loved him. And even if he didn’t reciprocate, you were grateful to have known him at all.

“So you’re not bound to Fódlan?” His voice shook you from your thoughts.

“What?”

“Do you have any obligations here in Fódlan?” His gaze was so intently set on you that it made you squirm, the feeling ten times worse since coming out of your own head.

“No, not that I can think of.” You couldn’t recall making any promises.

“Right, so you could leave.” Claude hummed thoughtfully and got to his feet. Once upright, he dusted the grass from his clothes and offered you a hand. Confused, you took it and let him pull you into standing.

“I guess I could, but where would I even go? I don’t know anyone outside of Fódlan.” You felt something subtle was being said, you couldn’t catch on. Some days, you could. You had learned him just as he had learned you, but he was always several steps ahead. You could read him, but only the pages he allowed you to see. In this case, the pages were written on, but only in bits and pieces.

Claude gave you a pointed stare and a gentle, encouraging squeeze to your hand. When you failed to understand, he raised both eyebrows and pointed to himself. No words were needed. His gestures and odd line of questioning were like a clarifying slap to the face. You reeled, giving him a wide-eyed stare while sputtering idiotically.

“Wh——”

“That took you while. I was starting to worry I’d have to spell it out for you.” Claude put on a convincing pout. “Unless this is your weird way of telling me you don’t want to come with me.”

“No!” You leaped too soon, your eagerness prompting a smirk on the prince’s face. You fell silent again, worried that saying anything more might reveal all of what you had been trying to hide for over five years. “I’m not saying that.”

“What are you saying?” He purred cunningly, hand still holding tightly to yours. You didn’t resist when he to eased you closer, your heart screaming in your chest. Cheeks red and breaths shallow, you could hardly think. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening.

I’m still napping, and this is just another stupid dream.

You swallowed hard and peered up at him. “I think I should be asking you that, Mr. Vague.”

“Ah-ah,” chided the cheeky man, “you’ll have to address me as Prince Vague now.”

You scoffed and gave him another shove. When your hand pressed to his shoulder, he trapped it there with his own. Even closer now, Claude lowered his head until your noses nearly touched. You sucked in a breath and found yourself unable to move away, attention trapped in his bright, beautiful eyes.

“You want to know what I’m asking you?” He lowered his voice, tone growing tender and warm. You nodded. “I’m asking if you’ll come home with me. I want you to meet my parents and my people, and I want them to meet you. I want them to love you as much as——”

He choked for a moment, a rare flicker of pure emotion startling him.

“As much as what?” You didn’t want to get your hopes up, but he was making it incredibly difficult not to.

Claude calmed himself with a shaky breath and tilted his chin down, lips barely ghosting the curve of your cheek. His eyes fluttered half closed, while a single lock of his dark hair tickled at your cheek. When you didn’t shy away, he spoke again in honeyed tones. “I want them to love you as much as I do.”

“You can’t mean that.” Your entire being felt numb with glee, but you couldn’t process his confession without a little doubt. He met your doubt with a chuckle, so you persisted. “Why me?”

“Why not you?” He nuzzled into your cheek, and you felt the compulsion to reach up and thread your fingers through his hair. You had done so many times before, letting the gentle touches calm him during his bad days, but there was new meaning behind it now. There was an honest love behind it as your dragged your fingers through the strands, pushing them back and away from his darling face.

“There were so many others. . .” So many people wanted his attention, his affection. You were but one in a thousand that longed for him.

“I didn’t care. I dreamed of many futures, and all of the best ones had you standing there beside me.” He muttered into you, the softest of kisses resting just under your eye.

“We argued so much.” You shuddered, warmth blooming in your cheeks.

“You kept me grounded. How can anyone expect to be a decent ruler if they’re always agreed with?” He countered. You huffed and tried to think of another argument.

“You used to tease me all the time.” You muttered.

“I’ll admit that was dumb of me, but it felt like the only way to get your attention.” His lips found the tip of your nose, and you couldn’t contain a snicker. “You looked so cute when you were embarrassed, especially when you wrinkled your nose. I couldn’t help it.”

“Why do I feel like you still can’t help it?” You tucked a lock of his hair behind his ear and let your fingers follow the path of his facial hair. He was putty in your hands, cheek pressing to your hand.

“It’s part of my charm.” Claude flashed his usual smile, then took a step back. The lack of closeness left you feeling a little colder, but the distance let you appreciate him fully. Tall, handsome, commanding. You were exceedingly proud of him, and you felt yourself falling for him all over again. But before you could think to speak, he started again. “You don’t have to answer me right away. I know this a lot to ask of you, so I want to give you the time you need. I’m leaving in two days. Meet me at the——”

You didn’t allow him to finish. Your heart was too full and on the verge of bursting, and it seemed silly to you that he didn’t know what your answer would be when he was so skilled at predicting you. Rather than let him wonder, you removed your hands from his and took his face between them. You gathered your courage, mustered with his help, and pulled him down for a soft but silencing kiss.

Claude wasn’t often rendered speechless, but he supposed he didn’t mind being put in his place if it meant your lips fitting against his as perfectly as they did. Unfortunately for him and the heat radiating throughout him, you didn’t let the kiss last long. He wanted to wrap you in his arms and crush you against his chest like he’d long to for years, but you parted from him too soon for his liking.

“Where are you going?” He took chase, but you placed your hand over his mouth. Claude stilled and arched a brow.

“I’ve had my answer for years, Claude. I’m with you in every possible way. But if I ask you a question, will you answer me honestly?” You uncovered his mouth, but his silence told you more than words would. “How long have you, uh. . .”

“Cared for you? Admired you? Wanted to kiss you the way you just kissed me?” Every question he posed in response to yours made your heart thud and your cheeks burn. “A long, long time.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I was never given the chance.” He answered so surely that you wondered if he had those words prepared. You couldn’t pester him about it — too many things had gone horribly wrong during your time at the academy, and it didn’t make sense to plant seeds in dead soil. There would have been no guarantee that it would bloom and flourish, but with the land starting a slow recovery, you hoped that what you two started here would become lusher and more far-reaching than any forest in Fódlan.

“It’s alright.” You giggled giddily and granted him another kiss, this one to the corner of his lips. “We were given our chance, and you took it.”

“Does that mean you’re going home with me?” He asked.

“I told you——”

“I want to hear you say the words.” Claude softly pleaded. Weak for his doe eyes, you melted in his arms and relented.

“I’m going home with you, Claude. I want to meet your parents, and I want to get to know your people. And for as long as I’m there, for as long as you’ll have me, I want to get to know you better.”

A soft sigh tinged with relief escaped the man as his head came to rest on your shoulder. His grasp on you tightened, and you felt his heart beat against your chest.

“Thank you.”

You smiled and embraced him. “Don’t thank me. Just take me home. . .”

#claude von riegan x reader #fire emblem reader #fire emblem three houses #fe3h

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yanderemommabean · 3 years

Note

Trying to explain to Dr Lee that you are his coworker?

Working at this asylum was pretty nice, besides the occasional ramblings of the mad man in room three who claims to have seen the real SCP foundation. Poor thing truly thinks monsters and other beings are out to get him. You typically just check on patients, give medicine, and make sure they have your company if they asked. All was good and well, until the new doctor arrived.

The arrival of Lee, a well known psychiatric doctor, made things a bit more complicated to handle. He was handsome, with hazel eyes, sandy blonde hair, and freckles dusting his nose and cheeks, but he also had a strange aura. He had a sort of disturbing power over people, but you couldn’t pinpoint why.

He had this look that would send shivers down your spine and chill you to the bone. A type of look that said he could kill you without remorse or hesitation if you became a problem.

So you decide to try your best to be on his good side, even though he acted as if you were just a mere tag along and not a serious worker. He would even ask you to leave the room to the professionals out of habit for not seeing you as your title.

He’s taken a liking to calling you “butterfly” lately, seeing as you love to check on the patients face to face, and he thinks it makes you a social butterfly. No,not you doing your job, you being social. You aren’t a fucking patient and you’re about tired of Dr. Lee treating you like one!

Today was the final straw. He had the audacity to say “awe” when you told a patient farewell, saying to you “Awe...are you going to miss your friend? Don’t worry, little butterfly, there’ll be more to come. And with you they’ll feel right at home”. He tugs you away from the door, as no patients are allowed near there - even though you fucking AREN’T- and sets you down in his cushioned chair.

“Awe? Doctor I’m tired of you acting like my skills aren’t on par with yours. I’m just as educated and qualified as you, if not more so!” you said bitterly, standing up from your seat. Lee gives a soft, amused smile, and shuts his door behind him. You hear a click, and watch as his eyes hold that malice intent thats so well known around the asylum, making your stomach do flips.

“You think I don’t know your talent?” he asked with venom, stalking towards you like a lion hunting a gazelle. His strong hands clamp around your shoulders, pushing you back down into his chair as he devilishly chuckled. “I’m well attuned to my marvelous little butterfly. I’ve studied you more than I’ve studied for my diploma” he smiles, that sweet smile that fools everyone. It makes you sick to your stomach.

You struggle to get back up, wanting to just get out of the room and away from the man, but he holds you down with alarming ease. “I can’t have you going out there, darling. Those vile, putrid people will taint you if I’m not around, and I know you can’t sense the danger with that sweet heart of yours”.

There he goes again, babying you! You scrunch your face as you begin to struggle, grunting in annoyance “You’re being erratic! That’s such an unreasonable,psycho thing to say!” you bite out, about to scream for help when his hand clamps over your mouth.

“Protecting my beloved? Yes I suppose love can make one seem crazy, but...I’m crazy only for you, dearest. Trust me, these people are only going to waste you, hurt you-” he says frantically, rummaging in his pocket with his free hand to pull out a sedation needle. With a flick of his thumb, he uncaps it, pushing more weight on you as you begin to panic.

“Darling-” he sighs, like you were being unreasonable -” I’m here to protect you. To love you. You just need some time to realize that is all! Just a little rest to take off the edge”.

A quick prick in your arm, and you begin losing strength, heartbeat slowing down to a serene pace as your words slur, and your eyes begin to flutter. Lee gently pets your hair back, kissing your forehead as he pacifies you. “Let it sink in...there you go darling, doing such a wonderful job. Just fall asleep and let me handle everything, alright? Don’t you worry about anything”.

With words sounding so sweet, so gentle, you couldn’t help but let the drug take effect. He held you gently, laying you back in his chair as your fight left your body. “It’s going to be ok Y/N. I’m a doctor, I’ll take care of you”.

(Hope this was ok! -Mommabean)

#yandere doctor #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere asylum #Yandere serial killer #Doctor lee my oc #my ocs #yandere male #mommabean #yandere OCs #asylum tw #medical malpractice tw

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no-droids · 4 years

Text

Brown Eyes

Part Nine of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10.1K dont. just dont

Warnings: Smut, AS ALWAYS. Canon typical violence, verbal references masochism/pain kink (NOT ACTUALLY EXPLORED IN THIS CHAPTER MY DUDES, JUST HINTED AT/DISCUSSED), slight degradation, exhibitionism, dom/sub dynamics, spanking, a bit of ass play (!!!), FLUUUUFFFFFF

***

“What?”

“Hm?”

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“What’s the hold up?”

“I’m just…” The helmet looks you up and down, considering. You scrunch your nose at him and rock back and forth on your feet impatiently as he sighs. “It’s going to be like teaching a foundling to read. I’m just trying to figure out where to even begin.”

“Because it’s so fucking pretty here, I’m just going to pretend you didn’t say that,” you say pointedly, looking around at the vast field of flowing grass surrounding the two of you and breathing in the warm, fresh air into your lungs. “Your vibe is clashing, Din.”

“Because I don’t really know what that means, I’m also going to pretend you didn’t say that,” he returns, and the child’s giggles float up alongside the breeze as he chases after another, slightly smaller green reptile that you also currently have no name for. He tilts the beskar thoughtfully at you, and you squint against the way the sun catches the visor directly in your eyes from this angle. “What do you want to learn first?”

“I want to shoot a gun,” you blurt without thinking.

“Okay, hand-to-hand it is,” he nods firmly, and then pats his unarmored chest with one bare hand. “Hit me.”

You blink down at the dark fabric stretched across his left pectoral, and then back up at the metallic visor staring back at you.

“Hit me,” he says again in response to your silence. “Hard as you can. Right here.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, lifting your gaze up to him once more with a twist of your mouth, already out of your comfort zone. “What if I hurt you?”

“Are you fucking kidding?” He actually sounds… pissed off. “Hit me.”

You immediately shove your hand up against his chest in response to the sharp order, and your palm makes a quiet slapping sound as it collides with what feels like solid rock concealed underneath black fabric.

Din says absolutely nothing. Almost a… forced silence. Like what he wants to say will very likely be vaguely mean and dismissive of your feelings, so he’s keeping his mouth firmly shut under the helmet. He just pats his chest again, each one purposeful and distinct, easily making twice the amount of noise hitting himself as you did hitting him.

You ball your fist up this time and whack him with it, considerably harder this time and even making a solid thud against his pectoral, though he doesn’t even move a fraction under the blow.

“I am…” he tries to choose his words carefully after another moment of purposeful silence. “…insulted.”

You grit your teeth and raise your arm up and back, swinging it out at him as hard as you physically can, but then the curve of his broad shoulder suddenly jerks back just before you can touch him and your fist is caught from the side with a gentle grip.

“Better. You wound up that time, that gives you momentum. But never come at someone like this,” he tells you, lifting your arm back up to the way it was before and then slowly hinging it down again against his chest. “This is how you were going to hit. See how your pinkie is taking the brunt of the punch when you come down at it from an angle like this?” He pushes your fist against his chest a few times to demonstrate your pinkie squishing against the solid plane of muscle. “No matter how hard you hit me, your hand is going to take that much force, too. That attempt had about half the power you want, but you might’ve broken your finger if I let you make contact like that.”

“Half the power?” You narrow your eyebrows at him. “You’ll break my whole hand.”

Din angles your wrist straight and pushes your closed fist against his chest again, this time head-on instead of at a downward angle. “Always try to use these first two knuckles to reinforce against the impact, they’re the strongest and best aligned with the bones in your wrist. You should also physically brace yourself for it. Flex your arm—create as much rigidity around your joints as you can, keep your fist clenched tight to maintain integrity of the soft tissues in your hand, and your body should protect itself against the blowback as long as you land right. Try again.”

You diligently wind your fist up again and then go to snap your arm straight forward this time, but he steps up and catches your elbow before you can even move. “Wait. Look at this—see this chicken wing?” He flaps your elbow back and forth while his other hand holds your fist in place next to your head. “This is no good, this is where you’re losing half your power. And having your arm up like this is making you open to rib and kidney shots.”

You squirm to the side when he taps the bend of his knuckle against your kidney, and the vulnerable spot is tender even though he barely uses any force. “I’m winding up,” you inform him with a huff.

“You are,” Din acknowledges. “But your movement is limited like this. See where your elbow is compared to your center of gravity?” He flaps it again, and your shoulder pulls uncomfortably when he pushes it back just a bit too far. “You’re restricting yourself, look. Your shoulder is in the way, this is as far as your body will let you go. You’re also using up too much energy trying to swing your whole arm around just to make contact; it’s sloppy technique, it slows you down, and it’ll tire you out. But, if you wind up like this—” Din lowers your elbow until it rests flat against your side, and then hinges it backwards instead of up near your head, “—see how much further away your elbow is from your body now? Instead of swinging outwards, think of a slingshot forwards. Use explosive, forward momentum that you generate from your shoulder—you’re aiming for a sharp, streamlined jab. This way you conserve energy, produce twice as much power, and your arm now covers up all this important stuff under here,” he explains, trying to tap his knuckle against your side once more but being blocked by your forearm. “Good? Now go again.”

He lets you go and steps back, and this time you instinctually plant your foot behind you to give you a solid base foundation that’ll allow you more room to twist, your physics brain lighting up as soon as he said slingshot. His helmet quickly drops to your stance and then immediately lifts back up to your face again.

You do exactly as he said—you wind back, keeping your arm tucked tight to your side, and then explode forward with a sharp spin of your shoulder and snap of your elbow, colliding your clenched fist into his chest as hard as you possibly can.

He grunts and takes two steps back.

You howl.

“FUUUUUCK!” It gets lost in the giant field of grass as you clutch your fist, torn between cradling it to your chest like a baby and shaking it out violently at your side like… something distinctly not a baby. You settle for just bending over and holding it tightly to your stomach, eyes clamped shut and screeching with such fervor that the back of your throat stings sharp with it. “WHAT THE FUCKING—FUCKFUCKFUCK—!?”

“Good!” Din encourages over your wailing. “That was good! How’d that feel? Holy shit—that felt good.”

“What’s the point of hitting you when it hurts me and makes you feel good!?” You cry out over your shoulder, somewhere between genuine hatred and agony.

“That was perfect,” he tells you immediately, almost sounding vaguely… out of breath behind you? “Don’t change a thing—that’s how you punch every single time from now on, okay? That’s how hard you hit. Fuck, that felt fucking good.”

The… something in his voice is enough to take your mind off your throbbing hand for just a second, quickly snapping upright and whirling around to face him with your eyebrows very, very narrowed. He stands there in front of you and you continue to eye him with as much silent skepticism as you can express, until the both of you speak at the same time.

“What was that?”

“Let’s go again.”

Neither of you move, and you feel like your face is scrunched up as tiny as possible at him right now with dubiousness.

“Let’s go again,” Din suddenly grunts out, hooking an arm around your elbow and tugging you to face forward once more.

“Did that turn you on?” You ask him bluntly, your battle wound completely forgotten by your side.

“I swear if you don’t—”

“You get hard when you get hurt?” You ask dumbly, all sorts of lightbulbs suddenly illuminating in dusty, cobwebbed corners of your mind. Maker, that would explain so much. “Is that why you wanted a handjob immediately after I burned a knife wound shut on your back?”

“You wanna learn how to punch today or you wanna learn how to block?” Comes through the helmet, thoroughly unamused at your antics, but you just break into a mischievous little grin in response and push just one more button of his, knowing he’s only mostly joking.

“I’ll punch you,” you purr. “Hold your arms up, show me your ribs.”

There’s a split second of silence before he quickly snaps his fist to his chest once again, oh, but it’s enough. Your shoulders do a little victory shimmy and have to bite your lip to keep from beaming at him, so unbelievably proud of yourself for being able to read him this well without seeing his face.

But—for the very same reason, you also plant your foot behind you and wind your arm back once more, knowing you were already treading on thin ice.

“Am I gonna have to start calling you chicken wing?” Din suddenly barks out, a split second into your forward launch. You almost stumble into him with all the generated momentum and catch yourself just in time, eventually stepping back and resetting with a frustrated huff. Purposefully tucking your arm tight into your side, you pull back once more.

He mmphs when you make equally hard contact in the very same spot but he doesn’t move this time, and you somehow forgot how horribly painful it is to slam your clenched fist directly against a solid object with all your strength—much less, the second time around. You attempt to deaden your response as well, but he has the luxury of the helmet to shield his face. Silencing your scream just makes yours contort unattractively in front of him while your eyes clamp shut and you clutch your wrist, trying to bite back the crippling pain.

“Other hand—use the other hand instead,” he tells you quickly. “You have two of them.”

“I used to!” You snarl through the way you can’t even flex it anymore, how your muscles aren’t working through the angry sparks of acute sensation jumping down your fingers. “Your stupid fucking pecs just broke my good one!”

“Want me to kiss it?” Din asks—quickly, almost like he can’t help himself, and the snarky tone of it through the modulator coupled with the throbbing pain makes you grit your teeth.

“I used to love your body,” you lift your head and growl up at him while you cradle your swollen claw. “Why did you take that from me?”

“Give me your hand,” he says calmly, holding his palm out for you.

“No,” you spit, the pain making you stubborn and resistant to anything you don’t immediately offer yourself, but he’s not impressed. Din easily catches your elbow and brings it up, his other hand gently lacing through your fingers even as you try in vain to pull it away. “Stop it—”

He completely ignores you and looks back over his shoulder at the kid, dwarfed by the tall grass and continuing to hop around behind what will likely be his lunch, before the helmet turns back to you. “Eyes closed.”

“This isn’t fucking funn—”

“Close your eyes,” he tells you once more. “Don’t open them.”

You take a deep breath and grind your teeth, not wanting to be treated like a baby. It irks you that he’s dedicating so much time and effort into just infantilizing you and your very real pain. Though, the pain is so real that it makes it almost impossible to express the sentiment—it comes out sounding childishly short and bratty. “It hurts.”

“I know,” is all he says, soft and lilting and quite possibly as gentle as you’ve ever heard him. “Close your eyes, sweet girl.”

His tone of voice is the only thing that compels you to listen. You finally do as he says and flutter your eyes shut, overly aware of the hard grimace on your face now that you can’t see anything. One of his hands releases you while keeping your numb fingers laced between his, and then a few seconds pass, before you suddenly feel soft lips pressing against your knuckle.

You hiss and tighten up on instinct, more in fear of the pain than the pain itself, but he holds your hand steady as he carefully trails gentle presses of his lips against your knuckles. After a moment, you breathe out shakily, your eyebrows lifting just slightly at the sensation—before his mouth opens and his warm tongue glides delicately across your sensitive skin.

You gasp and your fingers twitch in between his, suddenly able to move again. They knock against cool metal as his tongue slowly drags down the valleys between your knuckles—but then Din abruptly drops your hand at the sudden sound of sunshine giggles coming from afar. Your eyes pop open just as his helmet is yanked down over his jaw once more.

“Let’s…” He clears his throat through the modulator, taking a small step back. “Let’s go again.”

***

You collapse down into a pitiful little pile on the grass, trying to catch your breath. This is ridiculous. You somehow have tender bruises all over your body and yet you’re the only one who’s done any sort of hitting whatsoever.

“That’s fine, we can take a break,” Din says gruffly from above you, but you’re too tired to even comment on the sarcasm. You just groan, flopping down flat on your back while he sits in the grass next to you and silently waits for you to start breathing normally again.

“I hate this,” you pant, resting your numb hands against your forehead and squinting against the late afternoon sun. “I don’t like this. My body hurts and I barely did anything.”

“You’re good at it,” Din is quick to respond, and the blunt sincerity in his voice takes you aback, making you glance over at him in shock. “I know,” he nods once the beskar turns and he sees the look on your face, “I didn’t expect it either.”

His tendency to compliment you while simultaneously insulting you doesn’t go unnoticed, but if anything, you decide to take it as a testament to his honesty and comfort in your presence. Clearly he’d have no issue telling you if you were terrible at this.

Instead of responding, you lace your fingers behind your head and continue to just lay there, closing your eyes against the warm sunshine. It’s gorgeous here, you get why this planet is renown throughout the galaxy. Perfect weather, stunningly green rolling hills for miles, the gentle breeze dancing through the tall grass, brilliant white clouds suspended against a beautiful blue backdrop. The only thing that’s missing is—

“When can we go see the ocean?” You blurt up at the sky, unable to stop the words before they’re out of your mouth.

“What ocean?” Comes tiredly through the modulator, monotone and filtered as he shuffles into a more comfortable position.

“Any of them,” you immediately respond, shrugging your shoulders against the grass. “The closest one. I’m not picky.”

“…Naboo doesn’t have any oceans,” Din tells you blankly.

You startle slightly, jerking your head over at him. “What? But—but I saw it through the transparisteel when we dropped. This whole planet is practically covered in water.”

“It is,” he agrees with a tilt of his helmet, following you with the visor as you finally scramble to sit yourself upright. “But it’s all one big… body of water. Locals call it the Abyss, it stretches across the entire planet through a system of underground caves and tunnels. It only surfaces as rivers and lakes and swamplands, though. No ocean. Not really.”

“Oh.” It’s blank, but it’s… lacking. The sun glinting against metal gives you an excuse to subtly turn your head away from him, and you hold back your sigh of disappointment.

“What’s the matter?” He grunts after a moment, somehow succeeding in sounding mildly disinterested while still bothering to ask. He props his knee upright to rest his elbow on it, apparently able to read you better than ever as well.

“Nothing,” you say on instinct and shake your head, already knowing it’s dumb. You’re being dumb, there’ll be other planets with oceans—you just haven’t had the opportunity to go to one yet.

Din doesn’t say anything after that, but he also keeps the helmet subtly turned towards you, like he’s just… waiting. The quiet almost doesn’t sound quiet anymore, not when there’s such a loud unspoken question still lingering in it.

“It’s just,” you say after a moment, trying to smile, but it doesn’t feel real. It’s nothing more than a movement your mouth makes and it feels at odds with the mild disappointment you’re trying to hide. “I used to be a moisture farmer. Back on Arvala-7, where we first met.”

His continued silence tells you nothing. You don’t know whether he’s confused and you should elaborate, whether he understands and doesn’t need an explanation, whether he’s interested or disinterested. Nothing. So after another few more seconds of nothing, you decide to keep going.

“There's something about water that just… hits different when you spend your entire life on a planet without any,” you say quietly, picking at a few blades of grass by your knees instead of looking at him. “When I was a little girl, I used to think it was as rare in the rest of the galaxy as it was where I was born. A limited resource you had to farm from the atmosphere to drink, because it didn’t occur naturally in liquid form. It was… valuable. Delicate. Crystal clear—never saw more than a few dozen gallons of it at a time. Something to be cherished. Something you’d never want to waste even just dipping your hand into, because the dirt on your skin would contaminate it.”

You smile once more, but this time it feels a little bit better. “You know… the first shower I took on the Crest the day I left that Maker-forsaken planet was the first time I ever felt my hair get wet. We only ever had sonic showers on Arvala-7.” And stars, the memory of it makes you want to shudder. Ultrasonic waves vibrating the dirt and sweat off your body sounds a lot more thorough than it actually is. You never felt truly clean until you were soaking wet on the Crest with shampoo in your hair, giggling like a child in the fresher while you made yourself a soapy little beard.

It springboards into another memory—the moment you first reached for a towel after showering, catching a glimpse of your hands and startling at the sight of your wrinkled, pruny fingertips. You’d never heard of such a phenomena before that point. You thought you’d asked Kuiil about everything, but to be entirely fair, he might not have even realized it happened, not from the leathery texture of his xenospecies’ skin. The questions he did answer for you were plenty though, and you suddenly remember something he said to you years ago that was so jarring and unexpected that it’s stuck with you to this day.

“Kuiil told me once that water was loud,” you suddenly hear yourself say, and though your soft laugh is nostalgic and sincere, you don’t know why, but you instantly tear up as soon as the words leave your mouth. “Loud. How could—could water be loud? What… what noise would it make?”

You sniff and continue to pick at the grass, a bit more vigorously this time, purposefully keeping your eyes down and blinking quickly. “He said… he said streams and brooks… b-bubble. They bubble. And rain… rain is like static—like white noise, but… natural. Not generated by a machine. He said the ocean is the loudest, though. It roars. It’s powerful.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat and glancing up, you try to distract yourself from the memory of your close friend by looking out at the wavy grass, trying to see if you can spot the kid being dwarfed by it. You can’t, not from this low angle, but you can still hear him playing happily in the distance.

“I’ve seen all the others now, thanks to you,” you confess quietly. “Rain, rivers, lakes—but I always wanted to see an ocean. A big, scary one, where the sound would just be… deafening. Water, tons of it, crashing up against rocks and filling the air with mist. Used to dream about them. Wanted to see something I used to think was rare fill my entire field of view. Wanted to see something I always thought was precious turn into something formidable.”

Din continues staring silently at you through your peripheral while you keep picking at the grass absently.

“I just—I don’t know.” You finally look over at him and sigh, smiling softly and shrugging your shoulders. “I just always dreamed of a place where I could go, a place where I could open my eyes and all I’d be able to see—all I could hear—was water.”

You stop talking after that, having run out of things to say and realizing you probably shared a little too much without ever being prompted. The sunlight is gentle and easy, however, and it encourages you to close your eyes and just breathe, letting silent, eternal gratitude to the man next to you fill you. You’d never know any sun that isn’t harsh, you’d never know the greenness of the tall grass in this sprawling field had he not found you, given you a chance to tag along the galaxy with him and his carnivorous little sidekick.

The sun begins making you sleepy the more you sit here in the middle of paradise, eyes closed and tasting the gorgeous air in your lungs. But eventually, Din stands up and steps in front of you, opening both of his bare palms towards the setting sky and bouncing them up and down a few times. “Up. Come on. I’ll teach you how to throw an uppercut before nightfall.”

You groan but lift your hands in his direction all the same, trying not to wince while you make grabby fingers at him, your knuckles slightly bruised and red. He sighs and wraps his hands purposefully around your elbows, urging you up as he takes a few steps backwards.

It’s awkward. You’re still feeling lazy and droopy-eyed, and the cool shadow he casts makes you even more sleepy. You think he’s going to help more than you have to pull yourself up, and he clearly thinks he’s there to be your platform instead of your forklift. What results is just you being dragged uselessly by your arms in front of him, until your torso and legs are stretched in an uncomfortable J-shape on the ground and your forehead bumps into his lower tummy.

He stops and holds you there, before grunting out, “Use your feet.”

“Just let me fall,” you tell him, your lips brushing against the dark fabric while your shoulders and spine pull tight at this angle. “Just leave me here like this.”

The sigh he makes above you feels like he puts his whole entire being into it. Din leaves you propped up against him for a second while he grumbles and readjusts his hold further up near your shoulders, before he maneuvers you until you’re gently settling down on your knees in the grass.

You think (hope) he’s going to release you and let you take a nap, but then you gasp when he shifts and the toe of his boot suddenly wedges itself between your closed thighs. He lifts up on your arms just slightly, enough to take the weight off your knees so he can swipe his foot out and kick one of them open, before plopping you back down again and letting you go.

Up until that point, you’d been good. You were content with being boneless for him and seeing how he’d deal, but then he gracefully crouches down in front of you and wraps one powerful arm around your back, hugging you tight to his chest. Din’s open thighs frame your kneeling figure and you can feel his cock pressed against your tummy from this angle, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

For some reason, he decides to take this next part slow. Maybe it’s because he can probably feel the way your heart is starting to kick up against his unarmored chest right now, but he drags it out. Broad shoulder dropping and his helmet finding a home in the crook of your neck, Din braces you to his chest with one arm while the other slithers down the curve of your ass and then under—his forearm pressing firmly between your cheeks and then his open palm flattening tight along the length of your pussy from behind.

You moan softly next to the helmet while he works the thick muscles in his thighs to gradually lift you both from the ground. Maker, the tips of his fingers are curved hard against your slit through your pants while he rises, pulling you up until gravity causes your thighs to slowly meet around his hand and your legs to dangle.

The feat of strength turns you on just as much as his choice of positioning does. Fuck, you know you’re not the lightest person in the galaxy, but Din carefully sets you down on your feet without even so much as a grunt of effort, his hand staying tucked tight between your legs for longer than necessary. Biting your lip and pressing your face into his shoulder does nothing to stop the quiet whimper you make when he decides to grind his strong fingers up into you just a bit.

“Din,” you whisper, wanting to melt into him, but then he’s instantly ripping his hand away and taking a step back.

You nearly fall over at the sudden lack of support after relying solely on him for it for so long, but you don’t even have enough time to open your mouth in upset. There’s just a split second before a green blur bursts through the tall grass with a squeal and trips over the baggy potato sack around his body.

It’s like it happens in slow motion. You both watch as he flies forward, skidding more than once on the ground and then landing face-down on your shoe, the little thump on your foot feeling so adorably anticlimactic after all the buildup.

Nobody moves for a second, except for the way your eyes flicker up at the visor currently tilted towards the ground. You can tell Din is just holding his breath, just waiting to see if—

A hiccup. You see broad shoulders tighten under the dark fabric, and then a sudden piercing wail is released against your shoe.

“Shit,” Din curses, already scooping the little thing up and bouncing him slightly to pacify him. You bite your lip against the way his ears flop from the movement and he screams even louder. “Hey hey hey, stop. Stop it. Stop crying.”

“Uh oh! Where’d your little friend go?” You ask while Din immediately turns the kid around to face you, your voice pitched soft and high in your register as you step closer. “Did you eat him already?”

He just shudders out a cry, probably an affirmative, his mouth dropping and his little teeth peeking through while he sobs and his giant eyes well with tears.

“Shit,” Din curses again, this time in defeat, but you won’t give up that easy.

“Hey—hey goose, wanna see me beat your daddy up?” You ask, lightly booping the little bump of his nose. “Huh? Wanna see me fight?” You pull your top lip up into a ridiculous little snarl and flex your arms threateningly, and the sobs suddenly stutter to a stop within a few breaths. “Op, yep. See—he knows I’ll kick your ass, Din, he just got scared.”

“Please,” the modulator pfftts quietly, but the kid just blinks at you while you keep growling.

“I’ll hurt him real bad,” you promise him, putting your fists up in front of you and bouncing your weight back and forth like a prized boxing champ. “I’ll, uh…” your list of trash talk repertoire is admittedly rather short, and both of them wait in silence for you to figure it out, the bigger one a lot less entertained than his miniature counterpart. “I’ll punch him just. So hard. So hard that… it’ll bruise. Yeah—I’ll make him bleed underneath his skin.”

“No, this is good, keep going,” Din encourages after a moment of awkward silence. “Maybe you’ll be able to find your way there at some point.”

You ignore him, bobbing and ducking and then popping him one good in the shoulder with an accompanying vocal sound effect—except you quickly jerk your hand away and shake your wrist out, staring up at the helmet like he deeply offended you and mouthing, “Ow.”

A smile. The smallest ghost of one, but you see it on the kid’s teeny green mouth when you flick your eyes down to him.

So, Din spends the rest of the lingering daylight teaching you the proper uppercut technique while he cradles an adorable little bug-eyed baby in one arm. You keep making faces at him while throwing your fist up against his dad’s extended, downturned palm, until he finally starts giggling again.

***

Whelp, turns out you’re a fucking idiot. Or maybe just a selfish bitch, either way. Not a good look.

You thought, from the way the lovely afternoon went, that you were getting better at reading Din. Knowing when to joke around, when to keep pushing, and when to stop talking, all from just his body posture and tone of voice alone. But you’re also an idiot, as you’ve already established.

As you three headed back to the Crest through the dusky twilight evening, you remember telling Din that if there weren’t any oceans on Naboo, then you’ll at least be able to sleep in a bed on this planet. A real one, one with a—oh stars, an actual mattress. The word alone sent shivers down your spine, and the baby cooed while blinking his eyes slowly, well on his way to being tuckered out from the long day outside.

You don’t remember Din directly responding, but then again, that isn’t really all that rare in the grand scheme. Granted, he was arguably more talkative today than ever before, and he did get a little bit quieter after that, but still, you couldn’t have known. Only an incredibly hyper-observant person would’ve noticed in the moment—you’re lucky you can even recall this much in hindsight.

Though, this next part should’ve been more of a direct giveaway. Once you were in the Crest, he put his armor back on.

You still didn’t think. It’s such a normal thing, the beskar fitting tight to magnetic plates around his shoulders, thighs, and chest. It’s normal, he wears it all the time. Having him walking around in broad daylight sans armor and gloves today was odd, that was the outlier.

He flew the vessel to the nearest town, a quaint little village on the edge of a gorgeously full forest. The ride was as gentle as possible—you were feeling soft and decided to hold the baby as he drifted off instead of placing him in the quiet darkness of his cradle. The ears tend to make things a bit awkward, but after months of practice with it, you’re now a pro at rocking the little guy to sleep in your arms.

Din’s continued silence didn’t bother you—or really even register, considering you were trying to be quiet as well. He slung your go-bag around his shoulder and pressed a few buttons on his vambrace to set the kid’s sphere protocols to follow behind him, before pressing a gloved palm to your lower back and leading you down the ramp, the sleepy baby tucked tight into your arms.

There were people in the village mingling while you three walked down the cobblestone path to the nearest inn, giving your ragtag group double-takes as you passed. The innkeeper, however, was blind. Not only did you not receive the same terrified courtesy the barkeep on Canto Bight had afforded you before, but he was clearly used to spotting and swindling newcomers, sightless or not.

“Only room left’s a suite,” he drawled, the cloudy whites of his pupils hovering just between your left shoulder and Mando’s right pauldron. “Five hundred credits a night.”

The color drained from your face, your heart doing a giant flip in your chest and completely fucking up the landing. You turned to Mando to reassure him that absolutely nothing about this was necessary, but he was already dropping the ridiculous amount of credits on the desk without a single word.

That should’ve been the nail in the coffin, to be honest. His immediate willingness to hand over that many credits without the slightest protest, grumble, or sigh was the kicker—that’s how you should’ve known something wasn’t right. He didn’t even allow you to split the cost when you offered to reimburse him on the way to the room.

But again. You’re an idiot, so.

At least the suite is gorgeous. Slightly old-fashioned and moonlit enough to skip even flicking the lights on, illuminated by large open windows with views of the village streets and sprawling mountains and forest beyond. Everything inside is either cream or white, so clean and soft, and being able to feel the breeze billowing through the gauzy curtains is just. After months of traveling in that enclosed ship, it’s restorative. Almost nothing in here is made of metal.

So it’s not until right now—almost immediately after you settled the kid down into the incredibly large guest bed and walked into the master bedroom to find Mando sitting perfectly still on the edge of the mattress—now something feels off. He looks so out of place as you quietly snap the door shut behind you. The enormous floor to ceiling window decorating the far side of the room bathes him in pale light, highlights the blaster marks and bits of dirt clinging to the beskar as he sits on the bed.

“You’re going to get the sheets all dirty,” you, an idiot, tell him, your voice barely above a murmur. “Take off your—”

“I can’t,” he rushes, though he jumps up from the mattress all the same. You snap your mouth shut and freeze. “It’s safe here but it’s… it’s still not a good idea, not if I want to sleep. Not with people around, and all these… windows.”

The words send you reeling. You had no idea, you thought… “Oh. I’m sorry, that—”

You immediately go silent, feeling absolutely fucking awful. You didn’t think. All you could think about was that bed underneath you, and you maybe… blindfolded in some way? And then of course, him, in it—completely naked, helmet off, and laying next to you.

“You’re okay,” Mando tells you with a shrug, not sounding like… anything. He looks like he’s about to say something else—his chestplate lifts with an inhale as he turns to you, but then seems to stop right as he’s about to speak.

“Shit—please sit on the bed, I don’t care if you’re dirty,” you quickly say, just as he blurts out, “You can still take your clothes off though.”

You blink at him for a second, not sure you heard him right. “…What did y—”

“You can, uh.” His voice is soft. “I can… lay down. On top of the sheets. In my armor, just like this, and then you can take your clothes off and just. Rub up on me a little bit. If you want.”

A shudder quite suddenly rockets down your spine at the tone of his voice, the quiet, slightly hesitant murmur through the modulator. The gulp you take is audible through the room, the only other sound being the closest trees rustling in the breeze outside. The spread curtains dance with it, but they’re too sheer and light to make a noise. “O-Okay.”

“Yeah?” He asks lowly, and you quickly nod.

“Yeah,” you whisper, your body beginning to tingle, “sit—sit back down.”

He goes to move but then abruptly stops, and you hold your breath while you watch the visor jerk just a fraction to pin you in place. Something instantly feels… different about him, a silent shift taking place within just a singular moment. Like he all of a sudden realized that he didn’t actually like that very much.

Instead of acquiescing, Mando slowly steps in front of you, straightening up to his full height and absolutely dwarfing you with it, and your palms start to sweat. Maker, when he speaks, it sends shivers down your body and the last thing you hear in his voice is hesitation.

“Take off your clothes,” he tells you, a dangerous edge to his soft tone. The quiet dominance in it feels like the floor beneath you rumbles from it.

On instinct, your eyes flick over his shoulder to the open window and the village outside. It’s barely been a few hours since sundown—townspeople are strolling down winding streets in the distance, ghostly moonlight mixes with the warm glow from large oil lamps lining the pubs and street corners.

You look back at him barely a split second later as he stands there in front of you, waiting.

You startle and immediately move to grab at the hem of your shirt, and your fingers unintentionally tremble as they start to pull it up.

“Stop.”

His voice breaks through the silence, the modulated order halting your movements immediately. You blink up at him, letting your shirt drop back down again, and Mando takes a second to look back at you, studying you from under the beskar.

“Go stand by the window,” he suddenly says, lazily tilting the helmet to gesture at it.

Your blood pounds in your ears during the still moments following, the thrill of it making you nearly go deaf for a second. After you recover from the visceral heatwave that rockets through you, you slowly walk over to the window and then turn your back on the ballooning curtains to look at him. The beskar is still pinned to you over his shoulder, though the rest of his body hasn’t moved.

“Turn around,” he tells you, and you shakily do as he says, rotating to face the open window. You’re close enough to make out people’s expressions from here—friends mingling as they stroll down the sidewalk, their mouths moving but their voices and laughter muted at this distance. An outdoor restaurant serving local cuisine to patrons and out-of-towners, a violinist and cellist performing a silent duet on the street corner.

There’s shuffling behind you. The creak of the bedframe as he lowers himself on it and moves around, before eventually coming to a rest in what you assume is a comfortable position.

“You can keep going,” eventually comes his filtered voice from the bed.

Your eyelashes dip and flutter as more hot sparks of arousal kindle deep in your floor muscles. Lifting your shirt up over your head has never felt like such high stakes before, but even as the fabric falls to the ground, your gaze continuously searches for anyone outside who may catch a glimpse. Though, you’re not sure if it’s in dread or some kind of sick excitement.

The breeze hardens your nipples while you work at your pants, and the hair on your arms stands up when you remember who’s behind you, silently watching you get turned on by this. Along with your underwear, your pants are pushed down your thighs, but instead of moving back from the pool around your ankles, you take a purposeful step forward towards the open window.

“Fuck—you dirty little thing,” you hear him breathe out, and a shiver rolls through you. “Tell me how many people you can see right now, count them.”

You try your best, but give up halfway through and provide a rough estimate. “F-Fifteen.”

“Scanner says seventeen from here,” Mando challenges lowly. “Seventeen pairs of eyes that can look up any second and see your naked body. Stripped bare, shaking, vulnerable. Your gorgeous fucking tits.”

As hard as your teeth dig into your bottom lip at the rasp through the modulator, your nails dig into your palms even harder. Still, you don’t move, and the open drapes flick and brush against your thighs as you hold there, the gentle wind doing absolutely nothing to cool your flushed skin down.

And oh, he waits. He’s good about that, especially when he can probably read your infrared signature through the helmet right now. You’re surprised you haven’t outright blinded him by how white-hot your body feels. But after what feels like a small eternity, he eventually murmurs, “Come over here.”

Once you turn around and see the way he’s just laying back on the bed, relaxing and enchanted with the show, it’s a miracle you don’t trip on anything with how quickly you hurry towards him. You’re already standing next to the edge of the mattress by the time you even register his body is subtly tilted so that his boots are hanging purposefully off the side of it.

Regardless of the hard dominance he’s exhibiting, the symbolic gesture somehow feels like it flips a switch inside you and lights up pure, aching adoration for him. But against every instinct screaming at you to just scramble on top of him and show him how much you appreciate his thoughtfulness, you wait. You wait for him to tell you what to do.

His glove lifts, comes up to gently touch the side of your face and cradle your jaw, and you have to clamp your hands together to stop yourself from reaching for him.

“Are you wet?” Mando murmurs, sounding like his lips barely even brush against each other when they move under the beskar. You don’t trust yourself to say anything without it turning into a desperate plea, so you just close your eyes and jerk your head in a nod, feeling your cheek graze against the leather on his palm with the movement. It’s hard to swallow when your mouth feels so dry, and he lets you just suffer there and tremble for him a little while longer, letting out a quiet hum through the modulator as his thumb carefully rides the line of your cheekbone.

Maker, where does all this fucking patience come from? Under normal circumstances, Mando is probably one of the most impatient people you’ve ever met, and yet. It’s like he stores it all up. Hoards it and refuses to dip into it most of the time—perfectly content to have a quick temper in most interactions, if only so that he can keep it handy for moments like this. If only so he can have a seemingly endless supply of patience to sustain him while your average-sized stockpile is gradually and inevitably being depleted.

“You want to get up here with me?” He asks quietly, and stars, that’s still not a directive, no matter how much it could casually imply one. The ridiculous thing is—he never even told you this was expected of you. Not once did he tell you to follow his words like they're gospel, not once did he say there was something wrong with speaking directly to him without prompting, or acting without explicit instruction. He never even implied anything like that at all, but you still hold your body completely rigid as you jerk a nod against his palm once more.

Stars, it just isn’t fair. He doesn’t look any different from how he looks every single day—there’s no patch of golden skin to tease you, beskar is covering him head to toe, but you’re hotter for him than you think you’ve ever been. He’s stretched out long on the bed, a portion of him darkened by your silhouette but the rest bathed in gorgeous moonlight, breathing slow as he takes you in. You stare silently at the visor, and for some reason, you—you’re quite suddenly struck with how gorgeous he could secretly be under there and you’ll just… you’ll never know. You know his hair is thick and dark, you know the softness of his mouth, the sunkissed color of his skin, the prominent nose and straight teeth on the rare but blissful occasions he’d let you kiss him. His eyes, though. They could be any color. Your credits have been on brown for a while, but the thought of you not knowing for sure… the thought of you actually having to ask him something like that is just—it makes you ache to touch him even more. To give him something tangible at least, when you know the only way to ever have a true visual connection with him is with a dark visor between you.

You try to let the sentiment transfer through your needy expression, hoping he can read it from there. His cock is hard—you can see it in your peripheral, pressing up against the dark fabric of his pants, but it’s like you’re the only one who notices. He’s still admiring your face, or fuck, maybe he’s looking at your body—you can never tell for sure, but regardless, you stare purposefully at wherever you think his eyes ought to be, silently pleading with him and starting to get desperate.

Finally—fucking finally, the helmet rocks to the side just slightly, just the smallest tilt of his head towards his body, but the nonverbal invitation is enough. Air you didn’t realize was even in your lungs suddenly whooshes out of you as you all but launch forwards onto the mattress to try and climb on top of him.

—Except, then his hand quickly drops from your face to press firm against your thighs, blocking the way your far leg tries to lift to swing over him in a straddle. Disappointment crashes through you with an audible whimper and you start to panic a little bit as you shakily plant both knees back on the bed, wondering what you possibly did wrong. Was it because he didn’t specifically say it was okay? Was he just testing your obedience?

The beskar vambrace feels cool against your burning skin, and you try not to let the trembling of your body manifest itself in your breathing as Mando lazily drags his glove along your thighs. Neither one of you says anything as he eventually trails his hand back and around, leather fingers coming to a rest between your legs while his thumb rides high, just under the curve of your ass.

And then he slowly starts pulling, before he gradually leads the leg closest to him up and over his body instead, until you’re settling into a straddle on top of his hips. Backwards.

Everything in you shudders violently as both gloves gently trail up the length of your naked back, letting you brace your hands on the beskar strapped to his thighs and settle on top of him.

“Look at that,” he hums, letting his hands fall back down to the meat of your ass, grabbing handfuls of it and squeezing hard enough to make you bite back a gasp. “Fucking pretty. Pretty girl. Stars, I fucking love looking at you, know that?”

The praise makes you mewl quietly and spread your knees even further, dropping your hips down until the underside of his cock presses up tight into your aching pussy. You arch your back and walk your hands forward just a bit, just until you’re holding onto his knees and you have the right angle to start slowly rocking your body back and forth.

“Maker,” you whisper, your head tipping back while you drag your pussy against his pulsing erection, and his hands keep massaging your ass while the words start falling out of you now that you released the floodgate. “Maker, I love your body. So big, and—and strong. Fucking hard, thick cock. Fuck, I love your cock. I love how fucking hard you get—”

“Bend over,” Mando breathes out behind you, his hands suddenly releasing fistfuls of your ass to grab around your hips and bring you to a stop. “Fuck, keep talking like that, but show me your—just let me… let me look at it.”

Your heart slams against your sternum, your clit pulsing against the hard ridge of his cock, knowing exactly what he’s talking about. Slowly, you bend your upper body over until your tummy lays flat along the cool beskar shielding his thighs and your tits are pressed against his kneecaps. Your arms are long enough to rest your hands on his ankles like this, and your thighs are spread wide to keep your cunt pushed up against his cock. But stars, you know he has a perfect view right now. The slick lips of your pussy smearing against his dark pants, both holes on full display for him in the moonlight.

“Keep—Keep talking,” Mando reminds you after a moment, sounding painfully turned on while his cock jumps against your clit. “Keep going. Use it, get yourself off. Let me watch.”

“Fuck, I love your cock,” you hear yourself repeat, breathless and needy as your hips start grinding down against him once more, the words coming from you without giving them any thought whatsoever. He grunts and pushes it up for you, letting you get at it easier. “I think about it all the time. Think about the first time I felt it, how you were already rock fucking hard for me when I touched you. You came so quick, right in my hand, in your pants—it was so fucking hot.”

“I’d had—” he grits out in his defense, “—shit, I’d had a… a rough day, and your hands were. Fuck, s-soft, and—”

“Maybe,” you concede, biting your lip and closing your eyes against the swirling pleasure spreading hot through your body, the heat that burns you alive hearing the familiar warble through the modulator when he’s starting to lose himself in pleasure. “Or maybe it was because you were half-conscious with a brand new scar on your back.”

His filtered groan rolls down your spine and his cock pulses hard against your cunt through the fabric of his pants, making you spasm in delight. Fuck, your head drops down completely, just dragging yourself back and forth on top of him as you chase your orgasm like this. Shameless—your ass flexing in front of him with every roll of your hips, your lower muscles fluttering with every drag against his cock.

“Fuck—fuck, let me touch your asshole,” Mando whispers suddenly, lifting himself up on one elbow and dragging the other hand up the curve of your cheek. “Just—just a little bit, I won’t pu—”

“Oh stars above, fucking please,” you gasp against one of his legs, nearly jerking back against his hand as your pussy fucking leaks through his pants with it. “I’ll let you do anything you want, you can—can put your thumb inside it—”

His other hand leaves you for a split second, and you think he’s taking his glove off, except then it swings down to crack hard against your ass, making you gasp and instantly go still for him on his lap.

The smooth leather covering the pad of his thumb carefully glides down your crevice, and you hold your breath until it finally brushes over the tight ring of muscle flexing for him.

“That all you’ll let me put in here?” Mando asks quietly, and you let out a complete mess of a whimper, trying your best not to move under the bold touches.

You get another firm smack on the ass for being rendered mute for too long. “Tell me,” he growls, rubbing his thumb against the vulnerable entrance while his cock throbs against your cunt.

“I’ll—I’ll let you do anything you want,” you moan once more, and stars, you can’t help it. Your hips start to grind down against him even harder than before, and Mando curses as he slowly rides your movements with his hand.

“Dirty,” he grits out. “Dirty girl. You ever take it back here before?” And stars, the way his cock drags against your pussy starts to make you lightheaded, how casually he’s talking about this while starting to circle his thumb around it and press firm against it. Not hard enough to push inside, but enough to feel the natural resistance give just a bit.

“No,” you breathe, starting to pant while you work against him. “Boys have tried. But I’d let you.”

“Fuck,” he hisses, suddenly rocking his hips up against yours. You nearly choke and your legs start to lock up, making your movements stunted. “Fuck. I bet you’d let me do it right fucking now, wouldn’t you? Right here in front of this f-fucking window, where everyone can see? Let me flip you over and stretch you out, and then fuck your tight little—virgi—”

“Maker, get your cock out,” you gasp, heat burning at your center and beginning to spread outwards. It tingles hot through your lower abdomen and you start to get frantic, knowing you don’t have much time before your orgasm hits. “Please, just let me ride it, let me cum on it—”

“No,” Mando immediately grunts, and you make a small sound of distress that quickly turns into a high-pitched mewl against his leg when the very tip of his thumb just barely breaches the haloed entrance.

“But—but I’m so wet,” you whisper, “oh stars, can’t you see it? I’m dripping. You could just slide it right in right now, I’d take it so fucking easy—”

He rips his hand away just long enough to smack your ass once again, hard enough to ring through the room and make you gasp. “Quit. You’ll take whatever the fuck you’re given and you’ll endure,” he snaps. “Not here, not tonight.”

You bite back desperate protests. He’d fuck you in a dark alleyway on Canto Bight but not here? As if you haven’t already done so multiple times this evening, you immediately lament your stupid mouth and the thoughtless mattress comment. You wish you could take it all back—you don’t care how nice this bed is, you want to sleep in anything he’ll fuck you in. Nonetheless, your orgasm gallops forward and leaves your body struggling to keep up behind it—but Maker, you want so badly to feel him inside you when it finally hits. You want to sink down on him and feel him break you open just as you start to cum.

“Oh fuck, please give me it,” you whine, sounding on the edge of delirium, the words pressed high and unintentional as your hands clutch at his legs. “Oh Maker, please, please fuck me—fuck me in a real bed, please, just—fuck me right now and I swear I’ll sleep on fucking rocks for you every single night for the rest of m—”

A snarl rips through the modulator and he shoves your hips forward just enough, just enough to rip his waistband down—

You gasp in blinding relief and flip your head over your shoulder to watch, but then subtle movement catches in your peripheral. You glance up just in time to see the doorknob slowly turning.

Thank your lucky stars you react on instinct alone, squealing and jumping off him before quickly shuffling under the covers.

“What the fu—” comes an enraged, filtered growl, metal clanking with how quickly he flips over to reach for you, but then he cuts off and the helmet whips to the door as it unlatches and slowly creaks open.

The blankets are pulled tight under your chin as you shuffle down as far as possible, and though you can’t see the intruder from this angle, Mando is instantly reaching back to rip the pillow out from under the helmet and press it tight over his crotch, huffing out a sigh.

Soon, you’re able to spot one pointy little ear pop up, followed by the rest of the little gremlin scaling the treacherously tall comforter, pulling himself over the edge of the mattress with a determined three-finger hold and then doing a completely unnecessary little barrel roll once he’s on the level springtop. The fact that it’s so fucking adorable just serves to irk you even more, and both of you silently watch the kid push himself up on two feet and then waddle slowly in between you two.

He finds a pillow he likes—one that happens to be placed directly in between you and his dad, before he settles himself down on it like a small bed on top of a much larger one. The little stinker then flutters his abnormally giant eyes closed and seems to instantly fall back asleep.

There’s a few minutes where you just blink across from Mando, flicking your gaze between the chrome visor and the baby’s peaceful face. Is this… is he serious right now?

“Were we being too loud?” You eventually whisper, barely above a breath. “Or is he just being purposefully annoying?”

He doesn’t answer you. And, well, you suppose he has a point. Regardless of why, it appears he's here now.

You let out a slow breath and just try and relax, try and think beyond the flare of annoyance at the interruption, how close you were to feeling him fuck you into this mattress. He’d still have the armor and helmet on, of course, but it would be just domestic enough to ruin you.

But then again—you suppose this, if anything, is even more domestic. Doing your best to calm your racing thoughts so you can eventually fall asleep directly across from him with his mildly aggravating, heartstealing little adopted kid snoring quietly between you.

Quite a while passes before you feel your eyelids growing heavy. You spend almost the entire time studying every single inch of Mando while he faces you on the mattress. The sharp angles and smooth curves of his helmet, concave in places but convex in others. How fitting, you think. To cover a man with a helmet just like him—sharp, smooth, contrasting, and deflective enough about what lies underneath to be reflective.

Then you find yourself thinking about what he’s hiding under it. Once more. You try to picture him, but it’s… it’s difficult. You’re not used to translating things you’ve only touched into visual representations, it’s just not a skill you’ve ever needed to have handy. And what about all the things you can’t, or haven’t been able to feel? Freckles, or birthmarks? Dimples? Are his lashes long or short? Do they stick out in a fringe when he clamps his eyes shut? Does his nose scrunch up when he laughs? Do his ears stick out? Does he have wrinkles on his forehead, or around his eyes?

Maker, what color are they?

You continue to stare at the metal faceplate, blinking droopily at it but forcing yourself to stay awake just a bit longer. Enjoy the feeling of the soft mattress underneath you while you still can, relaxing into the cool sheets and delaying your inevitable descent into dreams. Savoring his extended presence here with you for as long as possible.

“Do you have brown eyes?” You hear yourself murmur to him through the quiet darkness, lips barely touching and the words slurred from exhaustion. You want to know. You want to be able to color in the last paint-by-number of his face before you begin your work on the finer details.

Again, he doesn’t answer, and you figure he’s probably asleep.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #smut #reader insert #star wars #fanfic #no-droids

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shorkbrian · 3 years

Text

Never Ever

(Warnings - dub-con, non-con if you squint. NSFW, body insecurity)

“Stop fucking saying that!” Kiri paused, looking up from the magazine he was reading (men’s health, the one with big buff dudes on the cover, typical) to watch you storm out of the living room.

“Babe?”

You ignored him, stomping into the bedroom (you refused to call it “your” bedroom, or “our” bedroom, no matter how Kiri wishes you would).

Flopping down onto the big bed, you fluffed the covers out, quickly wiggling under them and pulling them up over your head.

It was one of those moments when you didn’t feel like talking. You didn’t want to talk, you didn’t want to hear, to see or feel or do anything. You didn’t want to fucking exist.

You just wanted to sink into the bed and disappear, not only from the world, but from everyone’s minds.

Steady footfalls padded down the hall, into the bedroom. The bed shifted, and you heard Kirishima sigh.

“All I said was that you’re pretty. And you are. You’re beautiful. Gorgeous and breathtaking, and incredible, and stunning, and divine, and-”

“Shut up.”

Your growl made Kirishima chuckle, and it made your chest seize up. It’s so stupid, you’re so stupid. It wasn’t that big of a deal.

“I don’t lie to you.”

That makes it worse. Huffing, you threw the covers off your head, met with the sight of Kirishima sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at you. He was so big, so muscled and broad, and he had such a nice body. He’d never understand.

“I know you’re not lying. You wouldn’t lie. But that’s the problem, you big oaf-” Kirishima grinned, and you wanted to punch him in the face. This wasn’t funny. “-You think everyone looks great, and you’d never put someone down for the way they look, even if they looked like a grotesque swamp monster.”

Trying not to cry was at the top of your priorities.

“I don’t wanna talk about it anymore. Leave me alone.” If you said much more, crying would be inevitable. You shifted onto your side, facing away from the big redhead. With any luck, he’d get the message that you didn’t want him to be near you right now, and he would leave.

No such luck.

Kirishima grunted, and you felt the weight on the bed shift. He lifted up the covers, sliding in beside you, making no move to touch you.

After a second of gathering his thoughts, Kiri spoke. “Well, I guess that’s kinda true. I think everyone has inherent worth, and their physical features don’t really contribute to it. Like, yeah, some people are really pretty, like Bakugou, but their looks don’t make them better than everyone else.”

A hand gently crept onto your waist, and you slapped it away quickly, scooting further away from the large man.

“But when I say you’re lovely, and attractive, and hot, and a whole-ass meal I mean it. And it’s not just about your body either, although like, you’re totally irresistible in that department.”

He tried again, a large hand clamping down on your waist. This time, when you angrily slapped at his hand, it stayed put.

“It’s just... You. You’re indescribable. I love you cause of the way you are.”

A warm, hulking body pressed against you, and you squirmed, but there was nowhere to go.

“I love you when you wake up in the morning, and you got like, those little eye booger things? Yeah. I love you when I come home and see your face, and when I get to hold you, and give you kisses-” A quick smooch was planted at the nape of your neck. “-and I love everything about you; all the good, all the bad. It’s no question.”

“Please don’t touch me.” You whispered. Such a wimp, you were crying now, throat tight, face hot. You felt so disgusting, and gross, and his words weren’t true, or if he believed them, then he was misguided.

“Babe-”

“Please.”

“I’m not gonna do that.” His hold on you tightened, and he shuffled even closer, dwarfing your body with his own. “Tell me what’s going on, yeah? Let’s work this out.”

You stayed silent. It was too embarrassing, too trivial. He’d laugh at you, and you were a weak, pathetic little baby for even being bothered by this. Why couldn’t you just accept you were gross and ugly? Why did you have to cry a bout it?

“I’m not gonna leave until we talk, babe.” There was finality in his tone, and you could tell, he wasn’t going to budge.

Still, you couldn’t find the words. The feelings were just too much.

The two of you were still for a second, then Kirishima was shifting, turning onto his back, pulling you onto his chest and turning you so that your head rested on his chest. You’d struggle, but it’d be useless. Still, you wished he wouldn’t hold you.

You could hear his heartbeat like this.

It was slow, steady, relaxing. You could probably fall asleep like this.

“I know you don’t feel good about how you look. That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”

When you didn’t answer, he sighed, before continuing.

“I’m paying attention. I see how you try not to look in the mirror, or how you always try to sit so your legs don’t “look big” or whatever. How you always do that thing with your head and you hate looking down cause you'll get a lil double chin.”

An ugly sob tore from your throat. Oh god, he had noticed all of that? You felt horrible. Awful. You were so dumb and embarrassing.

“But I love when you’re just you. Your body is good as it is. I know you don’t think so, but I know for a fact that your brain is lying to you. Yeah, maybe you don’t look like those people on tv, or in magazines, or wherever... but you don’t need to, y’know?”

A kiss was placed on the top of your head, and Kirishima’s hand was stroking along your back, soothingly rubbing.

“You deserve love no matter how you look.”

“But I don’t-” you sobbed into his chest, hands fisting in the soft material of his shirt. “-not looking like-like this. I hate myself so much, and I’m so ugly, and stupid, and I know it’s like, super dumb to get upset like this-”

“It’s not.” Kirishima chimed in.

“-but I can’t ever just... be good enough. I look horrible, and my personality sucks, and everything about me is wrong and bad. I am so disgusting, and worthless, and-”

“You aren’t.” Kiri growled, cutting you off. The man sat up, taking you with him. He pulled you directly in front of him, so he could grab you by the shoulders and look into your eyes. “I don’t care what you say otherwise. I’ll say it and I’ll keep saying it until your ears bleed and my tongue falls off, you’re worth the fucking world to me.”

He surged forward, mashing his lips against yours.

You clawed at the arms holding you in place. You didn’t want him to kiss you, your lips were chapped and you were all gross from crying. But Kirishima wouldn’t let up, nipping at your bottom lip, hungrily kissing you.

When he finally did relent, you pulled away, a fresh wave of tears rolling down your face.

“Please don’t. I’m repulsive and obnoxious, and-and annoying-” you hiccuped.

Kirishima grabbed your face, rubbing at your tears with his thumbs.

“No you aren’t. You’re sexy as hell, and you’re so smart, and you’re kind, and I could go on and on and on.” He leaned in, planted a kiss on the tip of your nose, following you even though you shied backwards from his touch. “But right now, I don’t think you’re gonna listen to what I say. Guess I just gotta show you, don’t I?”

Your eyes widened, and you tried to wiggle free of his grasp. “No-”

“Shh, c’mere.”

He clambered off the bed, pulling you to the edge as he did so. Once the man was standing, he started undressing, letting go of you in the process.

“Kiri, you shouldn’t do this.” You whined, scrubbing at your eyes with your hands “I don’t want to, I never do - I’m gross and you’re so fit and in-shape, please don’t make me do this.”

The redhead clambered back on the bed, now devoid of clothes.

You were right - he looked like he could be a fitness model, all smooth muscles and gleaming skin. No matter how much you worked out, or watched your diet, you still couldn’t achieve the type of body you wanted, and it was so frustrating. Why was it so easy for him, yet unattainable for you? You’d do almost anything to get the body you desired.

“Hey, listen to me.” Kirishima shuffled closer, grabbing your face with both hands, forcing you to look at him with puffy eyes. “You aren’t gross. You aren’t ugly, or fat, or any of those things that you tell yourself.”

“But I am!” Your voice was high, distressed, and you felt like a whiny little kid. When would you ever stop embarrassing yourself?

Kirishima shook his head, leaning in to give you a quick peck on the lips, before his hands moved to your clothes.

“No, don’t-”

He fixed you with a solemn glare, one of his hands catching your own when you tried to push at him, wrenching them into his chest, right over his heart.

“Feel that?” it was beating like a drum, heavy and quick. “I don’t care what I have to do to make you realize how worthy you are.”

The man pulled off your shirt, letting it tangle around your wrists where he was holding them. You had neglected a bra today, expecting to just do a few chores around the house today, so your breasts were bared to Kirishima’s hungry gaze.

With a shattered cry, you twisted to the side, trying to wiggle away from the big man, but he easily pulled you back into place.

“Look at you, you’re delicious.” His eyes were bright, a grin spreading across his face as he breathed down at you, gazing at your naked upper half.

“Kirishima, please stop. I don’t want to do this! Stop it!” You cried, feeling more tears spring to your eyes.

“Nope, not gonna happen.”

Your shorts were quickly pulled off your legs, along with your underwear, leaving you bare and vulnerable. You sobbed. You could only imagine what you looked like, held under Kirishima, unattractive and flabby underneath the muscular man.

Without a word, he dipped down to mouth at your collarbone, before planting hot kisses along your skin as he traveled further to your breasts. He finally let go of your wrists, which immediately came to push at his shoulders, but the large man wouldn’t budge.

“You’re so gorgeous, and hot. Look at how nice your tits are, all warm and soft.” To prove his point, he grabbed at the mounds, massaging them gently with his large palms as he kissed in-between them.

You writhed. “Hey, don’t-don’t! Stop doing th-at.” your skin was probably dry and riddled with odd textures - acne in some area, hair in others. How could Kirishima find that attractive?

He kept kissing all over your chest as you squirmed helplessly, still gently groping at your breasts with gentleness. His hands plucked at your nipples, softly squeezing your flesh, sucking hickies that made your breath hitch and your body jolt.

“God, you’re so perfect. Just right for me, just what I always need.”

His hands abandoned your tits, smoothing down your sides. “You feel amazing, just getting to touch you is so nice. You’re soft-” a kiss to your cheek “-and your skin gets all flushed-” a kiss to your collarbone “-and you look like a goddess.”

Hands skimmed over your stomach, and you burst into a fresh bout of tears, pushing more insistently at Kirishima’s shoulders. The man was feeling all over you, all of your lumpy bits, all of the places you hated and tried to hide and not think about.

He pulled away from you, gazing down at you with softness in his eyes, hands coming to grip your thighs and pull you closer to where he was sitting on his knees.

“Y’know babe, if I was more patient I’d eat you out right now, always taste so fucking good. But-” moving to stroke at your folds with two fingers, Kirishima grinned at you wolfishly, baring his sharp teeth. “-You’ve got me all kinds of worked up, I can’t wait that long.”

You could feel his length pressing against the inside of your thigh, would be able to see it if you looked down. But then your chin would fold, and Kirishima would be able to see all the fat there, how the skin bunched and how you looked awful. No matter what he said, you knew the truth - you were disgusting.

A finger roughly worked it’s way inside of you, and you gasped at the sudden stretch, not nearly wet enough for it to be comfortable.

“Shit-” Kirishima murmured, before slowly taking out his digit. He leaned down spat directly onto your hole, smirked as he watched it clench at the sudden warmth of the liquid.

Then he was pushing his finger inside again, it’s way smoothed by his saliva.

“Kiri... Please stoppp. I feel bad, ‘m not feeling good, it’s-”

“Shhhh, I’ll make you feel good in a second. Just gotta get my girl ready for me.”

You weren’t talking about the physical discomfort (though with the way he was rubbing over your walls, quick and determined, was making you shake), you were talking about your mental state.

You felt like trash; useless, foul-smelling, rotten garbage. How could Kirishima even want you? Why did he even want you? There was no way he found you attractive, he was just trying to make you feel better, trying to be kind and supportive, because that’s just the kind of person he was.

Another finger entered you, joining the first in quickly stretching you. A third was added after a while, then a fourth, Kirishima kissing at the flesh of your torso throughout the entire process.

He was already breathing heavily, panting in between each kiss. You could feel his hips occasionally stutter towards you, as if the man couldn’t stop himself from moving, from rutting his cock against the inside of your thigh as he prepared you to take him.

“Mm, alright, ready baby?”

The fat head of his cock was lined up against your entrance as soon as his fingers pulled free, slick with your juices. Kirishima quickly stroked his hand over his cock, groaning lowly, before grabbing under the head, holding it steadily against your pussy.

“Gonna make you feel so good, want you to feel how much I love you.”

It didn’t matter how much you shook your head, or uttered blubbered “No!”’s, Kirishima was determined.

He slowly sheathed himself into your tight heat, almost whimpering as your velvety walls enveloped his cock. The man has his eyes closed, biting his lips as he pressed further and further, before his hips jumped forward unconsciously, seating himself balls-deep into your cunt.

“Fuckkkk, baby, you feel so good, how are you even real?”

You could only gasp, filled to the brim with cock, unable to think past the thickness buried deep and pressing into all the right spots.

Kirishima pulled out a few inches, but quickly sank forward again, sighing in pleasure as your pussy gripped his bare cock, making it wet and slick and creamy with all your juices.

He brought his hand over your pelvis, pressing down on your mons with his palm, thumb hanging down to rub delicately at your clit, making you arch.

“Ohhh shit, what a good girl, feeling good?”

His question went unanswered as you moaned involuntarily, the sensations that the man was creating becoming too much and entirely not enough at the same time.

“Love you so much, you’re so beautiful. My girl has the hottest body, the prettiest voice, let it out for me yeah?”

You shook your head, quickly clamping your hands over your mouth, whimpering as he pulled out, before fluidly thrusting back in. He hit so deep, past where your own fingers could reach, right in all the spots that felt the best.

“Awh, baby I wanna hear you.” He whined, still rubbing at your clit.

Your stomach was tight, pleasure lancing through your gut and up into your chest. You muffled your sounds with your hands, closing your eyes so you wouldn’t have to look at Kirishima, see his look of adoration as he ravished your body.

The man seemed fine with that, focusing on moving his body against yours, pulling you into his lap on each thrust. The way your hips were angled high made it easy for the man to fall into a comfortable rhythm, bottoming out before pulling back, the head of his dick scraping deliciously against your walls.

“You make me so happy, I don’t ever wanna be away from you. You’re the best thing in my life, I’m so glad I get to have you.” Kirishima groaned out, sweaty body pressing against yours as he leaned forward to embrace you in a hug.

The man was always so touchy, wanting to hold hands, playing with your hair whenever he could, pulling your shirt aside to kiss at your shoulders whenever you let him.

He turned his head to kiss your cheek, before quickly becoming unsatisfied, pushing himself up so he could pull your hands away from your mouth.

“Wanna kiss my pretty girl.”

And he did, almost melting against your body as his lips met yours. You let him do what he wished, fervently making out with you.

Again, his hand found it’s way to your slit, fingers rubbing against your puffy lips. When they made contact with your clit, you jolted, hot pleasure climbing higher and higher.

“Kiri, Kiri, gonna-gonna cum, gonna cum.”

“Oh fuck, me too, you’re so fucking tight, your sloppy little pussy keeps pulling me in, fuck.”

You whined, pulling your head back from Kirishima to breathe, only for the man to start kissing at your neck, hot and wet.

The pleasure in your stomach crested, throbbing through your core as you came, clutching at Kirishima. The man moaned against your neck, hips working into you in little circles as he chased after his own pleasure. Your vision blacked out momentarily as he kept fucking into you, prolonging your pleasurable high.

You were still riding the last waves of your orgasm when the man pulled out, grunting as he stripped his cock over your stomach, grunting. “I love you, fuck, I love you so much.”

He came on your stomach, moaning brokenly as his hand worked over his cock, eventually slowing down, before stopping completely. The man had his eyes closed, barely cracking one open so he could flop down beside you without hitting you.

The sounds of the two of you breathing filled the space, panting together.

Kirishima turned on his side, facing you as he smiled. “That felt amazing. I’m so lucky that you’re mine.”

You ignored him the best you could, the feelings of insecurity creeping back in.

A hand suddenly appeared on your stomach, running through the mess of Kirishima’s cooling cum, rubbing it into your skin.

“Kirishima, ew.” You groaned, head flopping back onto the mattress. You were too tired to push him away, too worn out to dispute his praises and adulation.

You suppose that had been his plan from the beginning.

“Sorry, it’s just - you look so sexy like this, my cum all over you. It’s like I’m marking my territory.” You frowned at the mans’s goofy grin, but just closed your eyes instead of saying anything.

“Hey-” Kiri shuffled closer, his clean hand coming to cup your chin and pull your face to his. Red eyes stared into your own, wide and truthful. “I love you. That’s never going to change.”

Your gaze flickered to the side, and Kirishima took ash opportunity to press your foreheads together, nose nudging against your cheek.

“Never ever.”

#kirishima #bnha kirishima #kirishima x reader #Kirishima Eijirou #bnha eijiro kirishima #kirishima imagine #kirishima headcanon #kirishima x you #kiri #kirishima smut #body insecurities #insecure reader #poor reader

836 notes · View notes

wildingrose · 3 years

Text

hassle

dark alley help part 8

part 7: refusal | part 9: care

word count: 2k

》 public sex

- ✿ -

You twirled on the spot while keeping your gaze fixed on the store's wall mirror, fixing the blazer and feeling the material of the pants on you. "How does this look, Tae?"

When you didn't hear anything, you frowned and turned your head to where he stood leaning against a clothes rack. He was glaring at the fabric wrapped around your legs.

"Tae?"

"I don't like them," he muttered while scowling at your pants.

Your frown deepened. "Why? Do I look bad in them?" You thought they were perfect, hugging your waist comfortably and your legs still looked sexy despite it being hidden.

And that was the exact problem he had.

Taeyong loved seeing your beautiful legs when you wore short skirts and dresses and so he didn't like it one bit that they were being caged away. "They're not convenient."

It took you a while before you understood what he meant. Looking around, no one was near you and in a hushed tone said, "Seriously? You don't like them because it's not convenient for you to fuck me? These are for work and I'm not having you fuck me while I'm at work."

He finally lifted his gaze to meet yours. With a naughty smirk, he whispered, "Wanna bet?"

You rolled your eyes. "Whatever, I'm getting this."

His eyes blew up. "No!"

"Give me a proper reason why I shouldn't."

His jaw clenched before another one hit him. "It'll take too long to dress."

You huffed. "More like too long to un-dress."

"It'll be a hassle."

"Tae?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

He sulked and looked away. In a really quiet voice, he muttered, "Lighter colour would look better."

Impressive. "You finally give a proper reason. Good boy," you cheered.

His eyes darkened instantly and before he could lay a touch on you, you held a finger up to stop him. "Nuh-uh, don't you dare even try anything here."

He rolled his eyes and caught sight of formal dresses across the store. "Can't you at least get some dresses?"

"The only ones considered professional are those body tight style that go past the knees. Not a fan of that."

"At least they'll show your legs."

You gave him a pointed look. "I'm not trying to woo anyone with my legs. Plus, I feel like I'm radiating serious boss vibes in pants. At least as a newbie, I'll avoid dresses until I've gained some respect through my work."

He hummed. "What is this business anyway?"

"My dad started his own business in real estate. Remember that small building you came to pick me up and met my brother? That's where he has his small team. His name is doing well and wanted my brother who has no interest in it to carry it on. And that's where I stepped in and saved everyone. My dad's happy, my brother's happy, and I'm happy. I get the business and I still have you. It's a win-win situation."

Taeyong's face turned grim when there was still one member in your family who wasn't happy. "But your mom..." he trailed off quietly.

You sighed and held his face gently, making eye contact. "Yeah, she might not be happy right now, but she'll eventually come around it. Let's be a little optimistic, hm?"

He smiled a little and nodded slightly.

"Good! Now let's change the topic. Do you have a suit? Like a formal, business type suit or something?"

Taeyong shook his head, frowning. "Why?"

You hummed and looked around for the men's section. "You're gonna need one for an event. Go check some out while I change, okay?" You flashed him a smile and headed for the fitting rooms. Just when you were about to close your door, Taeyong pushed it and slipped in. You staggered back a bit from the unexpected force. Puzzled, you asked, "What are you doing here?"

He didn't answer and shut the door before crouching down in front of you and unbuttoned your pants, yanking them down along with your panties in one swift move.

You gasped. "I thought I gave you a task, not an invitation to follow me here for a fuck," you spoke quietly through gritted teeth, hoping no one would hear you on the other side of the door.

"Put your feet up."

"I'm not."

He looked up at you. "See how annoying it is when you wear pants?"

You inhaled deeply and strictly told him, "Get this in your head. I am not letting you fuck me when I'm at work."

You both had a staring competition, his eyes holding utmost determination for what he wanted to accomplish in the small room as his hand gently remained wrapped around your ankle. Unlike him, your eyes shook the longer his eyes burned into yours and so your body reacted, feeling a slight throb in your exposed core.

Silently admitting defeat, you raised your foot and a huge smirk got plastered onto his face. He ripped your shoes and pants off and stood up, shrugging out only enough for his dick before pushing you against the wall and hooking your legs around his hips. His cock lined up to your entrance and held it there, waiting for your permission with a devilish smirk.

Quietly groaning, you whispered, "Don't you dare fucking tease me. Just do it!"

"Gladly."

He slowly pushed into you, both of your sighs mixing as he rested his forehead against yours. You bit into your bottom lip from having to be beautifully stretched out for the first time in nearly 48 hours.

"You feel so damn good, doll," he whispered, following suit and kept his voice low. "It's been a while."

"It's only been two days, Tae. I was busy." Busy learning the work and introducing yourself to the team.

He grunted. "That's too long." Pulling out a bit, he pushed in again, setting a slow and steady pace as he rolled his hips into you. "Not fair," he mumbled against your skin when his lips littered kisses along your jawline.

You shivered as your tight walls hugged him and tried to contain your whine when he wasn't quite rutting into you like the way you loved. If he did, it was going to be a challenge to stop yourself from drawing attention of concerned employees. Instead, you turned your head and sighed softly at the mirror displaying live porn between you and your man. Taeyong followed your gaze and curled his lips up. "Like what you see, doll?"

Your hands balled his shirt, nodding to his question. "Very."

"Good." He pecked your lips and pulled out to the tip, his hands pushing your ass up and giving it a gentle squeeze to get his doll ready for the mission.

And the timing couldn't have been worse when you heard a knock on the door.

"Ma'am, is everything going well in there?" an employee spoke, tone polite, friendly, and unsuspecting.

You gave Taeyong a strict look, silently warning him to not even think of doing anything. "Yeah, everything is- ah!"

Your fingers dug hard into his shoulders, your head flew back and hit the wall when he decided to have some fun by thrusting hard into you.

"Ma'am, are you okay?" Her voice sounded panicky. "Do you require assistance?"

"No!" you squeaked out. You kept your eyes shut and tried to calm your spiked heart down. There were no locks for the rooms and if she turned the handle, then you were screwed. "I'm... changing."

"Alright, ma'am. Let me know if you'd like anything."

Opening your eyes, you glared at Taeyong. He bit his lower lip, being fully entertained by your reaction. "Ye-" Not even one full syllable in, Taeyong repeated his fun, pulling out and jamming into your slick hole swiftly. Your toes curled and you clamped one hand to your mouth to stop yourself from screaming while the other fisted tightly in his hair, not caring if it hurt him. He merely grunted in response.

Thankfully, you heard her heels click away from the door. Your hands went limp to your sides and narrowed your eyes on Taeyong who chuckled quietly. "That was not funny," you scowled after collected your breath.

"It was. You should have seen yourself."

"What if she walked in?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Free show."

You smacked his shoulder hard and he laughed it off. "Let's hurry this up. I'm tired."

Taeyong arched a brow. "My doll is tired? How is that possible? We're barely getting started."

You scoffed. "Oh really? After that fun you decided to play out and me making sure I didn't give away what we were doing in here, you don't think it's possible?"

He flushed his body against yours as he pressed you further into the wall, leaving no gap between his chest and your breasts. You silently wished that the two of you were bare chested for you to feel his hard chest against your soft one, though that could wait till you were somewhere out of public place. His fingers came up to lightly trail along your jaw as he hummed against your cheek, the tip of his nose sending tingles throughout your body. "We're gonna have to work on upping your stamina, doll."

Without warning, he dug his fingers into your hips and kept you still as he pounded in and out of your heat, not giving you time to prepare yourself in keeping quiet. Your eyes pricked with tears as you felt the delicious pleasure near and did your best to muffle your moans and cries against your hand.

"You sound so fucking beautiful, doll. You should let it out, let them hear how nice you're feeling," he grunted out and shifted your ass to hit you in a slightly different angle and that was when it hit you.

Your cry hit a higher note, though gratefully not enough to hear an employee call for you again. Your muscles clenched around him as he fucked you out during your high, him bursting inside you not too long after.

After catching your breaths, he set you on your feet and you reached for the wall to hold yourself up as Taeyong fixed his pants back up to his hips.

His eyes landed on the supposed pants for purchase. Casting a nasty look at it, he asked, "Isn't it a hassle? Now you have to put your pants on. You didn't have to worry about that with your dress."

This guy and his hatred for pants was very interesting.

Huffing, you took off the blazer and Taeyong whistled with a pleased look. "Are we going for round two?"

You faked a smile and flung the blazer at his head, covering his sight. His shoulders shook as he laughed while you retrieved your panties from the discarded pants and put your own skirt and shoes back on. You draped the pants over your arm and went to rip the blazer off his head. Taeyong trailed behind you as you made your way to the door.

Opening it, you were stunned by a woman in uniform waiting on the other side with wide eyes. "Uh- I hope everything is okay," she stammered.

Shit. You screamed a series of curses in your head, wondering how long the employee stood there while you were being fucked.

Taeyong calmly walked past your shocked self and stood in front of the woman. He shoved his hands in his pockets and tilted his head. "I wonder what assistance you would have given for our love-making session," he said with a joking glint in his eyes.

All the colour drained from her face as she stood still like a statue. Her expression was masked in sheer horror, and you yelled at him. "Taeyong!" His laughter boomed as he sauntered away. You gave her a sheepish smile. "I'm so sorry," you gently apologized and hurriedly scattered away from her horrified figure. You discarded the clothes on a nearby rack and yanked Taeyong by his arm, dragging him out the store and promising yourself to never step foot in there again.

tag list: @cosmiclatte28 @mel-yjh @johnnysuhisnotmyproblem @kttyongie @chantellsievert

#nct smut #nct 127 smut #taeyong smut #lee taeyong #taeyong scenarios #taeyong imagines #taeyong x reader #nct scenarios #nct imagines

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noctuaas · 4 years

Text

THE DEVIL COMES IN MANY FORMS

synopsis; you and me and the devil makes three.

pairing; ukai keishin x reader

content; nsfw/smut, age gap, bad power dynamics, fem!reader, semi-public sex, slight religious reference, unprotected sex

word count; 2.4k

a/n; big thanks to @hazydazyboy for letting me write about his sexy concept in this fic !!

Ukai Keishin considered himself to be a good man. Sure, he drank and smoked, and when he was younger he got into his fair share of fights, but he was honest, and fair, and good. Everyone would agree. Everyone except you; you seemed to beg to differ.

“Those are bad for you, ya know?”

You always flirted with Ukai: stealing glances for just a little too long; spouting off innuendos when he was just a little too close by; blatantly hiking your skirt up a bit higher whenever you helped with practice. It was all harmless in your mind; Ukai was young and handsome, and it was entertaining to see if he would ever react. He never did. Not until today; not until you stole the cigarette straight out of his mouth, took a drag, and then snuffed it out in the tray.

“Yeah, well. You seem pretty bad for me right now too, missy.”

He said it under his breath; you weren’t even sure you were meant to hear it. But you did. You did, and he realized this.

Maybe the words were a silent committal; a subconscious ‘fuck it’ that signalled you had finally broken him. He was going to play your game.

Ukai approached, and the intrusion on your space made your grip on the edge of the counter loosen as you sat up straight. Your legs wanted to squeeze together, but instead they were inched apart until Ukai’s waist fit right between your knees. You watched intently where his hips pressed into the countertop—it was the only thing that separated you two—before letting your gaze level out.

He was dangerously close. You breathed the same air, inhaling what he just let out, almost like you stole it from his lungs. When you were this close, you saw more than you ever had. The bridge of his nose had a tiny mark, and crooked to the right almost unnoticeably, like it had been broken when he was younger; there was a spot on his left eyebrow that looked like he had once shaved a slit there, and the hair never grew back perfectly; his caramel eyes were a lot darker than you remembered, though maybe the blown pupils were a result of circumstance.

Your heart pounded, in more than one place. How shameful of you, but you couldn’t help that you might have had a fantasy or two that started like this.

“Well, pick your poison,” you finally muttered. If you were given any more time, you probably would have gone red and hidden your face; a comment that bold was a little out of line for you. But Ukai did not give you time.

Your hands had to grab onto the front of his shirt when he kissed you, for fear that with how far he was leaning into you, you might topple backwards. He wouldn’t have actually let that happen with the hand he slipped behind you.

It was the same hand that drug you flush to the edge of the counter. The little bit of space between your bodies was eliminated quickly, and your breath caught ever so slightly.

“Now,” Ukai mumbled against your lips, pulling back and waiting until you were looking him in the eye before continuing. “You’re gonna tell me as soon as you want me to stop. Alright, pretty girl?”

He was genuine. You could see it in his eyes. He wanted you, but he would not do a thing you didn’t want him to do. You would not stop him though; you wanted him, too.

It was one more kiss on your lips before he was lapping up your jaw and growling in your ear. You reflected on how his tongue tasted so strongly of his cigarette smoke, yet you didn’t find it offensive; it mixed almost sweetly with a hint of chapstick left on his lips.

Your mind didn’t linger though, because he was tugging your earlobe between his teeth and slipping his hands around your waist under the thin fabric of your shirt. His fingertips were marred by callouses, a fact you never realized to the fullest in years past. As his hot, open-mouthed kisses travelled down, his hands rose to meet them, your shirt lifting until it was coming off over your head.

Ukai’s mouth trailed the hill of your breasts, following the edge of your bralette. The lower he dipped, the hotter your skin seemed to burn. His fingers slid slowly under the hem of your bra, giving you time to protest, but instead you arched into his touch.

He didn’t bother taking the bralette all the way off of you; he only shoved it up far enough to free your tits so he could latch onto a nipple. It caught you off guard and made you let out a muffled squeak.

“Louder,” Ukai commanded; he barely pulled away, not even bothering to look up at you. Something about the way he said it stirred your stomach and made you clench your thighs around his waist. Your reaction made Ukai grin cockily, gently holding your nipple between his teeth.

When he turned to give your other tit some attention, his hands fell to the waistband of your shorts. He fumbled a little to tug them off, too preoccupied with his mouth to even bother detaching himself long enough to look at what he was doing. Once they were discarded to the floor, you felt everything so much easier. The bulge of his cock through his jeans was so much more obvious, and shit, he was already really hard.

It also became obvious just how wet you were already getting just from this little bit of foreplay; you wouldn’t usually be so turned on at this point, but there was something so hot about the fact that you were hooking up with your friends volleyball coach in his store. What was it they said; it’s better when it feels wrong?

Ukai hooked a finger around your underwear, sliding his knuckle along your pussy.

“So wet already,” he muttered, finally straightening up to look you in the eye. “You think about this a lot?”

The question made you want to shrink away in embarrassment. Yes, you replied in your head, but you didn’t have to say anything for Ukai to know the answer. Your burning cheeks told him everything he needed to know.

“You’re more of a little slut than I thought.”

The comment made your toes curl and fingers fist into the fabric of his shirt on his shoulders. You took the opportunity to tug at it, asking ever so nicely with your eyes, and pulled his hands away from you long enough to discard it before getting back to business.

He didn’t bother removing your underwear the same way he didn’t bother taking your bra off; they were simply shoved to the side to expose your needy cunt. And needy it certainly was. It graciously accepted his middle finger, and Ukai swore the feeling alone made his cock twitch in his pants. And then he added another, and you squirmed and whimpered, and he immediately knew we wanted to have you cumming around his fingers.

You were thankful he was the only one who worked the store. Even in the back, a spare employee could have heard his fingers pumping in and out of you; it only took a few minutes for you to be wet enough that your pussy squelched with every movement.

You weren’t sure how he got you so close in such a short time. His pace was nothing brutal; in fact, it was borderline leisurely, but he curled his fingers in just the right way that had your knees already lifting and walls tightening. Ukai certainly knew what he was doing.

Ukai dropped to his knees. Not that you noticed with your eyes screwed shut like they were. You didn’t notice until his left hand was keeping your underwear out of the way as he lapped at your clit. His tongue moved in rhythm with his fingers, pushing you to the cliff that was your orgasm, until you were teetering over the edge.

“Fuck, Coach Ukai!” you gasped out when you finally crossed the threshold. Your arms almost gave out, and the only thing that kept your thighs from clamping around Ukai’s head was his left arm that braced against your leg. Instead, your hips bucked against his tongue, forcing him to ride you out on your high (not that he wouldn’t have done it on his own).

One hand had instinctively shot into Ukai’s hair when you came, causing his signature headband to fall away as you gripped onto him for dear life. You let him go as he rose to his feet again and his blonde locks fell into his face.

He looked unlike anything you had seen before; eyes dark and vast like a trench under the ocean, and they told of a hunger from deep within; hair ruffled and messy, reminiscent of a wild animal riled up after a fight; and chin dripping liquid sex, his tongue flitting out to make him appear like a parched man downing water after being lost in the desert.

“Just Ukai,” he said before parting your lips with his slick-coated hand. You opened your mouth, relishing in your own taste on his fingers. “Got it?”

You hummed your understanding. It was an honest mistake that you had called him ‘Coach’; you were just so used to it.

“Good girl.”

You hadn’t expected to get off from this little adventure, let alone before Ukai did. You could practically see his cock throbbing through his jeans, and found your hands fumbling with his belt without a second thought; you wanted his cock, now.

Holy shit. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but it wasn’t that; there on the underside of his cock, right below the reddened head, was a barbell piercing. Curiously, you wrapped your hand around his dick and ran your thumb over it. The metal was surprisingly shiny, and despite being shoved in his pants all day, still slightly cool to the touch.

“Ever seen one?” Ukai smirked when he asked the question.

You shook your head ‘no’.

“I think you’ll like how it feels.”

Your gaze flitted back down to his cock momentarily. There was excitement in your eyes.

“Alright, pretty girl, stand up. Over the counter,” Ukai instructed you. He turned to grab a condom from a shelf near the counter—having an array of products in stock was a perk to running a store—but before he could even crack open the box, the sound of you clearing your throat had him turning back. You had your chest laid on the counter, peering over at him with your lip between your teeth as you shook your head ever so slightly.

His cock twitched at the prospect of going in on you raw. He knew it wasn’t a great idea, but then you told him you were on birth control, and he gave in to temptation.

Upon his return, Ukai kneaded one of your ass cheeks in his hand, holding your underwear to the side again so that he slid into you with ease.

“Fuck,” he groaned. If he hadn’t been so absorbed with how warm and tight you were around his cock, he would have heard the way you whimpered and gasped below him.

His thrusts started out slow, trying to make sure you had time to adjust, but in practically no time he snapped his hips into you rapidly; how could he not when you felt so much better than he ever could have imagined? Despite all the sex he’s had, no one else had ever felt as much like heaven as you did.

If your hips were the altar, your precious cunt was the tabernacle. You sang like the choir every time he moved, and he would be content to listen for the rest of his life.

“Ah, Ukai, deeper please,” you moaned and whined and cried your hymns. The higher your voice got, the closer he felt to those holy gates; ironic, really, because when he snaked an arm around you to grip your throat and pulled you back against his own chest, he had never been closer to hell.

“You have no fucking clue how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he growled into your ear. It was true, no matter how ashamed it made him. The first time you ever stirred something disgusting in Ukai, you weren’t even quite 17 years old yet; it wasn’t the first time you had helped with practice because Kiyoki couldn’t make it, but that day, when you bent over in that hiked up school skirt to grab a ball, he caught an eyeful of ass cheek (and maybe a peek of underwear between your thighs).

Ukai almost didn’t catch himself in time; you started clenching your walls around his dick, and he was done for.

“Shit,” he hissed, pulling himself out of you as fast as possible. It was all he could do to cover his head with his hand and shove himself between your thighs. His grip pulsed around your throat as he came, three hot ropes of cum seeping between his fingers.

Once he caught his breath, he placed a kiss on the side of your head and let you lay back down. You seemed to need a little more time to even out your breathing. He couldn’t help but note how pretty you were after being made a mess of.

Ukai Keishin was decidedly not a good man. The rest of the world might disagree, but they didn't know what he was doing right now. They didn’t know that every time the high school girl that crashed practice every now and then dropped by, he paid a little too close attention to you; they didn't know that one time you appeared to him in a dream, and try as he might to forget, it was the one that stuck in his mind most clearly; they didn't know that he was pulling his pants back on as you laid folded over his store counter with your underwear tugged to the side. You might be graduated now, and a legal adult, but this was still wrong. If he was a better man, he would have continued to ignore your flirty comments and pretty grin.

But Ukai Keishin was not a good man.

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danddymaro · 4 years

Text

Existing | Yoshikage Kira x Reader

He’s starting to realize that perhaps there's much more to her than her hands. | Warning: Smut/ NSFW |

Word Count : 5044

Thoughts are italics in quotations = ‘Example’

Flashbacks are in italics = Example

Existing

She'd learned quickly how to play his game, all in order to stay alive.

Somehow, she managed to keep herself cool enough to do well, even while stuck alone with his dark presence, furthermore, despite being struck nearly stupid at his entire being.

‘ Stay silent.’ She thought to herself, always remembering the one rule, which meant :

Not a word.

Not a murmur.

Not even a muffled huff.

‘Just be quiet,’ She added, knowing it was what had saved her. It's what he loved best.

‘Just...exist.’ she told herself while remaining calm, despite the heavy drumming of her heart each and every time he came near.

- It was yet again another night, one that had for the most part gone as expected.

He came home, neatly putting away all of his things, silently coming to greet 'her' with a soft kiss to her knuckles that meant he was happy to be back.

He spoke of how relieved he was to be home, of how sorry he felt for leaving her without his company for so many hours, going on and on about how he wished he’d spent not a second apart from her.

'There's just one thing off,' She thought to herself, picking up on a hint of a burnt, Smokey scent which initially stung and made her stomach churn, a strange sweetness lingering afterward and far past the smell she quickly recognized.

'He's been smoking,' She realized, having caught onto the smell the previous two nights as well, but brushing it off, not finding it possible for the man when he'd been so diligent in keeping his schedule, and much more, taking such care of himself.

At first, she'd assumed that perhaps he'd gotten too close to a coworker on break, that, or walked into the smoke along the way home, but a third night debunked both theories.

She wondered over the new growing habit as he spoke, not worrying much about not paying attention to him because throughout it all, he never looked (f/n) in the eye, his words and overall attention staying right on her hands.

She was already well aware that all that had mattered to him were both hands, each taken care of with diligence because she'd quickly found out that anything less would anger him.

Smiling sweetly, he continued to run kisses over the flesh, the open-mouthed presses beginning to sound sloppy as he started to lose his composure, his breaths becoming more labored,

"Ah… (f/n)" he sighed, causing her to shiver, her focus driven back to him as mindlessly, her thighs pressed together as she heard the breathless utter, his thickened voice causing her to harshly swallow down her spit.

"Tonight, I need your caress," he told her, all while one of his hands led hers down to his hardened manhood, her other limb assigned right beneath his lips, dutifully showered by huffy kisses.

At that, she shut her mouth tight, hoping to calm her racing heart as his erection was pressed against the palm of her other hand, his excitement strained by his pants that had yet to come down.

Already knowing the rehearsed act, she fell to her knees, sitting before him while he hesitantly let her fingers slip from his hold so they could both work on his belt, soon after tasked with undoing his lavender slacks until all that was left was his undergarment, pulled down by the woman as well.

The hand that had been showered by praise then went up, raised up to him as he leered down to her more to meet her halfway, taking it in his hold so he could lay a tender kiss to it in the same gentlemanly fashion a chivalrous man would.

“My, what a flirty girl,” He chuckled, “ I noticed how prettily dressed you are today,” He said while gazing down at her painted nails, the popping, hot pink accenting the nails being what he focused on.

She sat in her satin nightgown, legs tucked under her as she was knelt before him, complimented for not the lovely delicate piece with mid thigh length, but for her simply colored fingernails.

To him making love was her using her hands.

It was just her stroking his cock as he ignored everything else that was beyond her wrist. And she couldn't wait for him to leave. She couldn't help but wait in anticipation for him to once again leave throughout the hours of the day , all so she could be free.

Free to do as she pleased.

Free to think of him.

Free to utter his name, pretending that for just a moment, she truly did exist in his world.

Because she'd learned how to play his game , and along the road she'd come to enjoy it as well, wanting so much more from him.

Unbeknown to her, his glaring eyes opened up to see her, intently focused on her entirely, and not just her stroking hands. He gazed at her with interest, more particularly focused on her face and it’s flustered, yet pleasured expression as she knelt before him, her thumb teasingly swiping over the tip of his length’s slickened head.

Mindlessly, her lips twitched before she ran her tongue over the bottom one’s flesh, her mind evaded by the idea of his beautifully shaped cock dipping down her throat as his hands would both part her (h/c) colored hair to tightly bind the stands within his hold, using her mouth with selfishness until he filled her stomach with the hot streams of white.

‘Or better yet,’ She thought to herself, then fantasizing of the long, curved length repeatedly rutting into her unused wetness.

‘How I wish you’d use me… How I wish we’d consummate this marriage.

Though unreal...

Though all a sick creation of yours…

I wish that somehow, I could truly take part in Yoshikage.’

She tried to keep her focus on the task at hand, but she found it nearly impossible to part ways with the lingering thought, especially as she held him within her two hands, the intoxicating scent of his manhood filling her nose, causing little bumps to rise over her flesh.

All the while, blue orbs eyed the red-faced shame she presented as she drew her own gaze far away, off to the corner of the room instead to avoid his sight, while she desperately tried to pull herself together, knowing she would slip if she kept thinking that way.

He immediately noticed their darkened dimness just before they shut tight, right at the moment he jerked his hips up to her warm, soft palms as a clear indicator he had reached his limit.

- And then she bit her lip, her own hips wiggling up, just barely moving to figuratively meet his final fierce thrust.

‘What in the world...What is she doing?’ He asked himself, panting as he finished, his release being less than satisfactory.

The usual, sweet high of the act was left as only an afterthought as he continued to focus more on her instead, annoyance bubbling within him as she yet again found a way to invade his thoughts.

Occasionally, during his quiet, monotonous days at work, he found his thoughts drifting off to the (h/c) haired woman waiting in his home.

He wondered about just what she did all day, as well as if she’d eaten.

If she was well...

If she was happy...or at the very least well adjusted into her new life.

He reasoned with himself that perhaps the only reason why he wondered about her was to make certain she wouldn't be too willing to escape, all so he could keep ‘her’ as fresh and warm as possible.

‘Damn woman...’ He seethed. ‘Coming into my life, and changing everything...’

She was about to stand, when he spoke, directly addressing her,

“ Open your mouth,” he told her, clearly surprising her, it being obvious by the manner in which her eyes opened widely, because he’d never asked her to do such a thing.

It was out of his routine …

She gaped, looking up at him with the same innocence and surprise, irking him,

‘ You know what you’re doing... why act surprised?’ He told himself,

“I said...open your mouth,” he muttered lowly, his sticky index finger's pad brushing over her bottom lip before dipping in, instantly greeting her mouth with a savory taste she quickly found to her liking.

A small groan emitted from her as his finger brushed over her tongue, his taste filling her taste buds with bliss, and for that moment, managing to make her forget the rule that kept her alive, instead driven to a high by the strange, yet erotic act.

She would have pondered more over his actions had it not been for the way his sweetness danced over her wet muscle, fogging her mind.

Watching, he let his middle finger slip within the warmth of her mouth, doing just the same as the first, moving in lax little motions that let her warm muscle move with freedom.

He’d then realized she was greedy, her tongue curling over his slim fingers with eagerness, the pointed tip digging between them to get a small taste of his previous release without having been told to do so.

‘I see then,’ He thought to himself, the lower part of his free palm pressed to her shoulder to push her down, forcing her to let go of his tended hand with a wet , ‘pop.’

He quickly fell to his knees, crawling to her until he was situated between her shaking legs, the man leering down to the little woman with the same curious eyes of a malicious, little feline as he crawled.

He was now interested, a sudden type of interest that made him feel daring.

Without a single second to waste his right hand tightly clamped over her mouth, pressed with full force while the other traveled down, soon meeting her warm overflowing wetness after he pulled apart her thin panties, the flimsy material not made to be so viscously handled.

Without shame the underside of his hand cupped over it to take in the radiating heat, feeling it for himself.

Instantly, she sucked in a harsh breath, her hands moving to take hold of his arm, desperately trying to pull it back by the forearm before it went any further and did anything else.

But it was all without success.

As a response the blonde emitted a low growl, somehow immobilizing her completely, the touch of what felt like phantom hands spreading her arms out to each side, allowing him to continue without a qualm.

Unable to hold himself back, he used the same hand which still retained her warmth to stroke himself, his hardened manhood yet again, excited.

The slickness of his previous release was still there, coaxing his hand with the mess, a tingling, little shockwave running along the line of his spine as he eyed her honeypot that was left for his eyes to gaze upon.

‘What is this feeling...this strange magnetic force?’ He wondered as he led his hand back to her slickened warmth.

Her body quivered as both his index and ring finger fell down to spread her lips, a protesting squeal muffled by his palm as his middle finger experimentally probed her small entrance, easily sliding within.

"Filthy," He grumbled, letting his index take part in the invasion, the two of his cum coated fingers slipping into her heat, slowly eased in until his knuckles were pressed against her warm flesh, "You’re a filthy mess," He told her with icy mockery, his blue eyes staring down onto her startled face, intently focused on her wide (e/c) colored eyes and their glimmering shine, the man swimming in the arousal they invaded him with.

'Slut, ' he mused.

"Is this what happens to you every time?... Every time you are meant to please me instead?" He asked her, receiving a frightened headshake as she denied the accusation, lying to him.

"Liar," He murmured, slowly opening his inserted fingers into a wide V, lowly sighing at the sweet resistance of her velvety walls as he stretched her.

"I could see it in your eyes," He told her, " I could tell by the pathetic, desperate manner you tried to hide it from me," He added while dipping his head down to her chest, nipping at the flesh above her collarbone, earning him a covered up squeal.

" And this here… This is proof you're a desperate, filthy whore," He maundered, adding a third finger, causing her body to writhe, a choked sob hushed by his still pressed hand.

She didn't fight back at the action, instead, she reacted upon it with a show of pleasure, her hands clawing at the floor, her knees both trying to come together to squeeze his hand closer, forcibly stopped as his body was there between them.

Her brain speared into overdrive, all of her reasoning flying out the window as finally, she was being touched by the man she desperately craved.

" I'm hard again," He told her with venom laced in his words, knowing she was to blame.

She was to blame for many things, one other being his lack of sleep.

He’d lost the ability to sleep comfortably unless she was pressed against him, pulled right into his embrace while she had already been lulled and slumbering.

Being the first to wake he’d pull away, his day starting off with exasperation the more and more it occurred.

And if that wasn't bad enough, he'd started smoking, sneaking them during his breaks at work because he just couldn’t calm himself, feeling erratic at the strange invading thought of her he had during those hours.

He would be restless and antsy all the while.

Was she still home?

Had she run off?

Did he have to chain her down?...Was it necessary to do so?

Did she think of him?

Did she eat?

Was she well entertained?

Did she need anything?

What is her favorite color?

He asked himself the stupidest questions, and such mindless pondering made him grow crossed.

"So now, you have to take care of it," He told her, " But of course you won't mind," he went on, feeling her desperately pulse around him, “Will you?” He asked without expecting any worded answer from her, especially not with his hand in the way.

But of course, there was one thing he did beg to know, one thing he itched to have answered because it’d so happen to be something he thought of throughout the day,

“You touch yourself, don’t you?” He asked, wanting to know if she’d been so lewd to please herself while he was left aching in his own desk, unable to grab his cock and relieve his want.

" When I'm gone… I can only assume you use your hands to touch this drenched hole," He accused her, his pace fast and unforgiving as she squirmed, messily groaning beneath his silencing press.

‘Tell me yes ; Admit it to me,’ He shuttered, teased by the fantasy of her rising her hips up to her own drenched fingers, moving just as helpless as she was now,

His hand shushing her then moved, gliding down to cup her chin as his thumb pressed itself against one side of the hollow of her cheek , digging into the soft flesh while on the other side, his index and middle did the same, leaving his last fingers to curl down her jaw with the same fierce grip,

" Answer me," he sneered, needing her to speak." You drive your fingers into your wet cunt when I'm away, don't you?" He interrogated her, already knowing the answer by the way she looked away, hiding her (e/c) colored orbs from him while simultaneously his fingers were given a soft, pleading squeeze.

'Just tell me already,' he inwardly whined, beginning to break.

“Are you mute?” He jeered, being less than kind with the thrusts, “Or simply stubborn? Or is it that you’re rude? Huh?” He went on, the command in his voice furthering her into bliss,

" Ah…. Ki..Kira!" she cried out, “ I…I do!" She finally admitted, crying out the truth to him, "It's true!," She proclaimed, moving her hips to the brisk, repeated movements of his fingers.

Little tears bubbled in her eyes as she was humiliated, left panting and needy while he continued to torture her,

And it was strange, but to hear her say his name, and in such a shameless cry, it made his stomach clench, his already hard cock springing, desiring nothing more than to be drenched by the same sopping heat his fingers were graced by.

He groaned, fingerfucking her until she cried out joyously, almost at the peak of her euphoric release.

His assaulting hand then fell out from her yearning pussy, instead traveling up to her flustered face, his soaked fingers smearing the juices of her excitement all over her lips until she opened her mouth wide, waiting to clean the wet mess without any say needed from his end.

Again, she complied, and he well understood the meaning behind each of her actions, finding himself to be pleased, slowly coming to terms with the little bud of want he'd felt that had begun to flourish, believing that perhaps it wasn't such a bad thing.

“You've been good…” he told her, truly meaning it, looking down into her (e/c) colored eyes with a present smile.

Past the annoyance he felt, he felt pride for her, and much more of himself for being the lucky man to snag her.

‘How perfect…

How sweet…’

She’d been so sweet to him, even before bringing her to his home. And perhaps that’s what’d made him so willing to drag her along with him, that overly sweet and kind nature that was so contrasting to all the other rotten women he’d come across.

'Oh darling… forgive my callous behavior with you,' he thought while reflecting back on his actions. 'Had I just accepted this love...Perhaps then you would have been spared of such lonesomeness.'

Tenderly, his hand then caressed her cheek, relishing in the softness, drawn in the by the loveliness of her face,

‘I would have saved myself all the trouble,’ He mused, understanding that it wasn’t entirely her fault that his life had been so altered. ‘If only I hadn’t been such a stubborn brute...If only I’d accepted you just as you did me,’

"(f/n)... sweet kitten," He sang, " Say my name again," he pleaded, his voice carrying a soft, little purr that made his chest vibrate along with the rumbles.

'I've been such an awful husband….but please...please allow me to show you I also crave you…I'll use all of you, just as you've wanted...'

His back straightened, his right hand tugging at his tie until it became undone,

‘ I’ll give myself to you... ‘ He thought while throwing the accessory aside, by then having the only article of clothing he wore be his button up shirt.

‘My love... be greedy with me... take in everything.’ he added while he unbuttered the top, soon left bare before the woman.

‘Is this body to your likening?

Is my form pleasing?

Are you ready to take me?

Oh (f/n),’

He ran his fingers through his wavy, golden locks, pushing them back from his face as they’d begun to obscure her sight from him.

It was then that he reached down for his leaking cock, aiming it towards her dripping wetness with a low heave, teasing her by gliding the head down her warmth, starting from her sweet, little button and ending down to her awaiting cavern,

“If I fuck you earnestly… would you say it again?” He asked her, “Would you so kindly utter my name again,” He asked with a little whine, pushing his stiff dick's head through her little entrance.

"Ah…(f/n) ….my sweet… My perfect, little wife…" he mewled.

It was all so perfect, the quiet peaceful life he wanted seeming to be finally achieved, and the notion furthered him into ecstasy,

' Yes...Yes…Yes…it's all so perfect,' he thought while finally settling into her, having been kind enough to let her adjust, moving only after she began to grind her hips up against his.

- And she saw stars.

After being left wanting and desperate for so long, then edged and needy, the sensation of his generous length finally stretching her had her throw her head back on to the ground,

"Yoshikage…" she breathed, ever so softly, sugar powdered over the name as she uttered it.

His slow, rhythmic pace hitched, a strong jerk forward earning a high whine from her that was horridly crewed.

He loved the quietness, and thus lived happier during those moments, but in that instant, he realized just how amazing she sounded as she cried out so obnoxiously.

'I need more of it,' he claimed while repeating the same action, earning him an equal response of elation, this time more filled with pleasure than surprise.

'My perfect love… ' he thought while repeatedly jerking his hips forward, met halfway by her less powerful thrusts which fell into synch with his, 'My only love,' he added as he slid his hand down, tickling her skin as he softly ran it over her belly and falling down further.

His traveling hand soon stopped, knowing when he'd landed at the perfect spot needed,

‘It’s here,’ he thought to himself, fingers pressed over her little, engorged clit. 'It's here that I'll break you, all in the namesake of love,'

“Say my name again… cry out to the world, “ he said with a wide grin, "Be unhinged…cry out loud, enough for the world to hear my name," he encouraged her, something he'd never thought was possible before,

“You’re… Yoshikage… Kira,” she responded, huffing out little mewls,

"No...No," he said while closing his eyes tightly, " louder...filthier…. Use your salacious tone as though your life depends on it!" He said while his two hands grabbed her thighs, his overgrown nails forming crescents over the soft flesh.

He pulled her even closer, as much as possible before he hooked her legs on each arm, his pace fast and desperate as sweat dripped down from his forehead, his entire body coated with the stickiness.

“ Yoshikage Kira !” She said with desperation, not haveing thought possible to reach such a pleasure until he put aggression into each dive, the wonderful curve of his cock repeatedly reaching her special spot, no longer teasing it with gentleness but full-on attacking it with each move he made.

“The one who's fucking your wet… soaking mess….” He muttered, responding back to her.

' Damn…' He huffed, hunched over her as he moved,

'I...can't...No...

I don't want to stop, ' he panted, not wanting to let their high end, but knowing it was almost over.

"Milk me dry," he told her. "Make no mess… not a single wasted drop," he added, his eyes rolling back as she met him in the final thrust.

‘My darling wife... you’re meant to take in all of my cum...’

Reacting upon pure instinct, his lips came down to hers, pressed together tightly as the last bits of his release shot within her,

" I'll use you from now on...Every bit of you," He warned her, looking deeply into her (e/c) colored eyes as she opened them to him. " So there's no need to use your pretty, little hands," He said while growing a sweet smile, his pink stained cheeks glowing.

Additional little happy end:

Her hands both moved, lightly shaking, the tremendous motion being something that could easily be overlooked. Slowly, they went up to his defined cheeks, stroking them lovingly, her fingers being busy by trailing the contours of his face during the intimate act.

It was something she'd do afterward

- it being the only caress she could provide him that wasn’t a carnal act of pleasure meant to please him.

Lately, she'd been looking forward to the only moment she could truly adore him, touching him as though they truly were lovers.

'Maybe I'm crazy,' She thought to herself, looking up at him, her (e/c) colored eyes staring at the man with unfeigned care. 'For me to want to reach up...Descend my lips on his,' She continued, her eyes fluttering close as she took in a soundless breath, resisting the urge.

'They look so soft … And I just wish they'd fall onto mine,' she longed, the earlier mash having proven to her that they were indeed soft, and much more holding a decadent taste.

But she didn't want to test her luck, not daring to claim one from him.

It was then that his lips fell onto the underside of her hand, causing her heart to bounce with elatedness despite how practiced it was by then.

It was yet another ritual they had, something she should have gotten used to already, but somehow, even during then, found her stomach invaded by a swarm of excited butterflies.

It took all of her will to hold in her pleased sounds, the aftermath of their lovemaking still present.

hidden by the silken, little nightgown her heat dripped with their mix of fluids, the overflowing mixture of their release both leaving her presently shaken.

And to add on to that, he was giving her such sweet kisses.

It just wasn't fair at all.

Because while her lust had been sedated, her heart was still left wanting, desiring him wholeheartedly.

Her eyes then opened up to see him, looking up at his face with the same adoring eyes she always did, whether he cared to know they existed or not.

During then, he smiled, the genuine expression being both boyish and sweet as well as innocent and pure.

His body then fell over hers, causing her to wheeze at the sudden fallen weight before he chuckled. He skimmed down, his head placed onto her chest as he inhaled a deep breath,

“Today…” he started, muttering the single word with a followed up sigh of disappointment, “ Today was a stressful day.” He revealed to her, yet again giving her palm another small, sweet press.

And as usual, she stayed silent, listening to his story, but it seemed as though there wasn't much to tell because he too fell into silence, living through the quiet along with her.

She wanted to tell him to continue, but knowing the rule of their arrangement, she instead swallowed down harshly, keeping the words to herself,

"Love?" He said airily, while lazily his eyes trailed up to her face, his typically piercing icicles warmed to liquid pools as he eyed her with expectancy,

‘Does he… does he want me to speak?’ She wondered, nervous, her stomach knotted as she was left in utter confusion.

Everything was all so sudden to her. Firstly there was the sudden sex, something she'd thought wasn't a possibility. And now, he seemed as though he wanted her to speak, converse with him as though she truly was there for him, every bit of her and not just her caressing hands,

“H-how?” She answered back, softly, and full of uncertainty.

And at the soft blow of air which was her response, he melted furthermore, somehow calmed even greater,

“ Ah,” He sounded, the little, airy sigh sounding pleased, “ Well...We have a new employee, and for whatever reason, I'm the one in charge of training the bumbling fool.” He explained, his brows knitted.

“ And he's nothing more than a complete moron, constantly pestering me for help, having yet to understand the work he'd sworn he’d done before on his resume." He added with frustration.

"He follows me everywhere... "

"That sounds awful," she said with understanding, listening to him with open ears.

"It was," He agreed, " And my back started to ache all the while," he continued on, pouting.

"Would you like me to massage you then?" She asked him, feeling more confident," Or I could just run you a warm bath with nice bubbles and-"

"Could I have both?" He asked her, pleading. "Ah… and...well... could you join me?" he added, sounding bashful at the request." Lather my body...massage my stiff muscles," he begged, rising up more to where his face was before hers,

"It would please me." He said with a small smile, hoping to convince her.

" But… I made dinner and by now...After we've spent all this time, um...together," She trailed off, her face flushed.

"You've yet to eat, and by now it's cold, " She explained, being apologetic.

"No worries," He said to her, " I could compromise with a reheated meal," He told her, "So long as you run me a bath and join me afterward," he said, getting up, pulling her along with him.

Her hands both landed on his naked chest, her (e/c) colored eyes blinking up at him with little hostage stars caught in the orbs,

"Are you certain..?" She asked him, her face married with joy, something he couldn’t overlook.

"A dutiful wife such as yourself," He started, "there's no doubt you've yet again made an exquisite meal for me," He told her.

"I wouldn't waste such a labor of love," He told her, drawing back, "I'm sure that it will taste just fine in an hour or two, besides," He said while his smile stretched out, deviousness glinting in his eyes, " I have another hunger only you can feed," He said while chuckling, his thumb pressed to the point of her chin as he held it, lifting it up to have her lips meet his.

Expecting a kiss she puckered her lips, eyes fluttered close as she was easily strummed by him, getting nothing in return but a playful snicker, his lips landing on the point of her nose instead.

"Yoshikage, please,” She said breathlessly, “let me do it all,” She insisted, her hands both clasped over his, “Please just relax, I’ll...I’ll do it all,” She went on, making him smile, shaking his head.

“Adorable,” he mused aloud, reaching down to hold her waist as he kissed her, his tongue teasing hers,

“My love...” he breathed, fully enamored by her.

Next Part (optional) : Going Out

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dw-writes · 4 years

Text

Kinktober 2020 - Shower/Bath - Éomer x Fem!Reader

WHY did this give me so much trouble??? because I couldn’t remember Eomer’s personality, that’s fucking why. I hope i did him justice? And I hope that you guys appreciate this!! This is a little longer than some of the other kinktobers but thats okay eue*

PLEASE remember to block the tags KINKTOBER 2020, SMUT, and LEMON if you do NOT wish to see these kinds of posts on your dash!! Thank you!

The halls of Meduseld were cool for the winter months, bringing in a chill that you had yet to shake since the longer nights had set in. Even with your heavy robes, the cold night sunk into your bones. You slipped from your quiet room, wrapping your robe around you tight, and headed down the hall, towards the bath that sat near the back of the Great Hall. Your candle hardly cast a shadow, and the closer you got to your destination, the lighter the halls became. You slowed before the door, finding it cracked open, and a small cloud of steam rolling from around its wood. You shifted in front of the door to peer through the crack to find a very familiar man sinking into the water with a groan.

You shifted back as warmth flooded your cheeks. You had been close to Éomer for as long as you could remember – learned to ride horseback with him, learned to fight with swords and with spears with him, comforted him when his father was slain in battle and his mother died of grief, joined the Éored with him despite your mother’s many complaints – and during all of that time you had developed deep feelings for him, feelings that you as a lay woman and one of his riders had to put aside. And that was all when he was merely the third Marshal.

Now, he was king of Rohan.

You stepped back as you pulled your robe closer to you. You should return to your rooms, you thought. You had plenty of furs that had been gifted to you by Éowyn when you had been given the title of Lady of the Éored after the war. They would do you just as well as a warm bath on a cold night. As you shifted your weight, the board creaked beneath you. You froze.

“Who is there?” called Éomer. You licked your fingers and pinched your candle out, stepping back more to avoid being seen. You shouldn’t have lingered so long. The water shifted. “You had best show yourself, lest I come for you.”

You swore to yourself and stepped to the door, easing it open with one hand while setting your extinguished candle just inside the door. “I would hate for you to leave the comfort of a warm bath, my king,” you called, casting your eyes down at the floor. You could see him in your periphery, standing in the wooden bath, steam rolling off his damp skin. One knee sat on the edge of the bath, while his arm was extended towards his things, folded neatly on a nearby table. Gúthwinë sat atop them.

Éomer swore something violent and quick in Rohirric as he sank back into the water, sending it splashing over the sides and across the stone floor of the room. First, he whispered your name, soft, like a swear or a prayer that only he could hear; then, he cleared his throat and met your gaze. You finally looked up. It was hard to tell, but his face appeared flush in the candlelight. “My lady,” he greeted with a polite nod of his head.

You rolled your eyes as you stepped further into the room, closing the door behind you. The warmth was wonderful, the soft smell of bath oils cloying in the humid air. You curled your toes and eased open your thick robe. You didn’t miss Éomer’s eyes flick down your nightgown. “I’ve known you far too long for you to call me a lady, Éomer,” you joked.

He relaxed against the far wall of the bath, scoffing lightly as he reclined in the water. One knee broke the surface. He lifted his hand to his face and scratched lightly at his jaw. “It’s only proper,” he commented, “Given how hard you worked for your title.”

“A title is just a word, and this is hardly a proper situation,” you said.

He grinned. His other arm lifted from the water to rest on the edge of the bath, his fingers dragging over the surface. “I take it that you came here to warm up,” he said, dropping his hand from his face.

“I did.” You removed your robe and folded it once over your arm, crossing the room to lift Gúthwinë from Éomer’s clothes and set your robe beneath it. “Though, I was expecting to be alone.”

“Oh, are you saying that you would rather be without my company?” he teased. You reached into the water and flicked a spray at him. He laughed softly. “You are welcome to join me,” he said in a voice so low that it stirred between your legs and hardened your nipples beneath your dress. He noticed them, too. His eyes lingered before wandering back to your face.

You cleared your throat and tucked your loose hair back. “Now that is not proper, my king.”

He didn’t hesitate with his response, “If you insist on calling me your king, then I insist that you join me.” He arched a single eyebrow and cocked his head. “Or should I order you to, Lady of the Éored?”

“I’ve never known you to abuse your power,” you commented. You reached up to the collar of your dress, intent on removing the thin garment, but paused. His eyes watched you intently, trailed over the curves that your gown hung off. “Yes?” you asked.

“You’re taking far too long,” he said. “Perhaps I should help you.”

You let the gown fall to the floor and stepped towards the bath, perching carefully on the wide edge before turning and letting your feet sink into the water. “Perhaps you are overstepping your bounds, Éomer.” You swallowed the small moan that bubbled up your throat as you sank into the bath. It warmed you all the way from your toes to the ends of your hair.

Éomer’s hand wrapped around your ankle and tugged you to him, earning a surprised gasp as his hands grasped your thighs and pulled you into his lap. His cock was hard when you settled against him and his mouth was set in a smug grin. “Oh, I overstep my bounds?” he whispered. “Pray tell, what bounds are those? I am king of Rohan.”

“The bounds of propriety?” you offered as his hands cupped your ass. You braced against his shoulders as he rocked your hips against him, his cock sliding over your clit so lightly that you moaned. You threaded you fingers through his damp hair to cradle the back of his head, leaning your forehead against his as he repeated the motion again, and again, and again. “Though, what is propriety compared to our history?” you whispered.

“Nothing,” he groaned, so close to your mouth that you could feel his words. “I want you,” he whispered. A wet hand brushed over the curve of your cheek. His thumb hesitantly traced the curve of your bottom lip. Your tongue flicked out to meet it, pressed flat against the pad of thumb in a motion that made him tremble. “Not as Éomer King, or Marshall of the Mark,” he continued. His arm wrapped around your waist and he lifted you onto the ledge of the bath, tilting his head up watch you.

You slid your unoccupied hand between your bodies and lined his cock up with your entrance. His eyes flickered and he took in a slow, shuddering breath at the feeling of your soaked pussy. His nose brushed past yours, his thumb dropping from your mouth to hold your head still, lest you dared to pull away. Then, he froze, hovered there, watching you. He swallowed as he dared to slide a hand over the back of your thigh and lift your leg around his hips, whimpering your name like it was the only thing he knew.

You smiled, and whispered, “Then take me, Éomer.” You tilted your head and grazed your lips over his. “Make me yours.”

He entered you slowly, stretching you as he buried himself deep, watching as your eyes fluttered closed and feeling your moan against his mouth. His lips ghosted over yours while his own eyes slid shut and you pulled him into you, capturing his mouth with your own. His thrusts were slow and steady, always hitting deep, always skimming the most sensitive spots against your walls that you could not stimulate enough on your own. You whined as he tilted your hips up, gasping his name and gripping his arms as he pulled your legs higher around his waist. You locked your ankles behind his back, urging him faster with a moaned command.

Éomer’s lips skimmed your neck and his hips snapped against yours, sloshing water up around his hips with the new frantic pace. You felt his knuckle graze over your chest and throat, then dip between you, and his damp thumb rolled your clit in tight circles.

You threw your head back with a gasp, bucking your hips up to meet his, feeling the hot coil tightening somewhere in your gut. You covered your mouth to muffle your wails. Éomer grabbed your wrist and pinned it to the wall behind your head, breathless grunts puffing against your ear as he said, “Let me hear you.”

“Éomer!” you panted with reckless abandon, your voice pitching higher and louder until his thumb stuttered over your clit. Your walls clamped around him tighter than they ever had around your fingers and you dug the nails of your free hand into his shoulder as the coil broke and stars burst behind your eyes. Your King, your Marshall, your Éomer wasn’t far behind, swearing and gripping your hip as his hot cum poured into you. His head dropped to your shoulder and his arms wrapped tight around your back, holding you close as your walls squeezed and milked his cock for everything he had. Sweat trickled down your temple, something he noticed when he trailed sloppy kisses over your jaw.

“Are you warm enough now, my lady?” he teased.

You laughed breathlessly. “Far too warm, now,” you murmured. You reached up and pushed his hair back behind his ears as he met your gaze. “I love you, Éomer King,” you whispered into the tiny space between your mouth and his.

“And I love you, Lady of the Éored,” he replied, “Something I should have said ages ago.” His nose brushed yours as he smiled. He leaned into you for a slow and gentle kiss and moved back into the lukewarm water with you in his lap.

#lotr #lord of the rings #eomer #eomer x reader #kinktober 2020 #smut #lemon

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dcbutinamrev · 3 years

Note

LAMS LAMS HISTORICAL LAMS ONESHOT!

Of course, anon! There wasn't any specifics for this one which is no worries, so I decided to go with the duel between Laurens and Charles Lee cause why not?

***

Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton gasps sharply when he hears the front door to the aide-de-camp office on the mid-morning of December 24, 1778. Valley Forge still covered in a blanket of snow, flakes still fluttering from the overcast, gray-clouded sky, a soft breeze blows through the office, making the room colder than before which causes Hamilton to shiver and his teeth chatter slightly. Hamilton stands up abruptly from his wooden chair, the legs of the chair squeaking against the hard wood floor as it scoots back. Hamilton's silver, moonlight violet eyes widens at the sight of a seething Laurens in front of him. The fellow aides, Richard Kidder Meade, Tench Tilghman, Robert Harrison, John Fitzgerald and even the Marquis de Lafayette all stand as well at the sudden dramatic entrance.

Hamilton stares at Laurens for a breath, blinking once, twice before rushing over towards him, gripping both of Laurens's trembling hands in his, wondering just what had gotten Laurens so upset. He has seen Laurens angered before but not seething as though Hamilton could feel his blood boiling, like a kettle whistling.

Hamilton places a hand on Laurens's muscular bicep, drawing Laurens's attention away from the front door. He stares at Hamilton confusedly, blinking as he starts to become calm instantly, feeling all his burdens wash away as he gazes at his Hamilton before him, Laurens's sky-blue vibrant eyes ticking down to their clasped hands and then to Hamilton's soft, thin pink lips before back to his stunning eyes.

"Laurens? Are you...are you alright?" Hamilton finally manages to gasp, though he knows the answer. He just can't help but ask.

Laurens coughs as he starts to become calm once more, sniffling due to allergies from the cold before fully stepping into the parlor, yanking his hands away from Hamilton's and growling low and deep from the back of his throat. Like thunder rumbling.

"My God, Laurens!" Meade gasps, rounding the corner of the table behind Harrison and the Marquis to try to help Hamilton calm him. "Where the hell have you been?! What the hell happened?!"

Laurens continues to growl like a dog, baring his teeth as he glares at the closed front door, curling and uncurling his fists at his sides, itching to punch something--to release his anger and frustration--his eye twitching as he heaves, pacing back and forth, shaking his head.

"What--" McHenry gasps, startled as he just enters the room from the kitchen with a cup of tea in his hands.

Laurens feels as though he's about to roar and spins around in a sharp circle only then to punch the brick wall. Laurens groans and hisses sharply as he cradles his now injured hand, cursing silently to himself as he stares at the scrapes of fresh dark crimson blood oozing from his knuckles.

"Mon ami!" the Marquis cries at the same time Hamilton yelps, "Laurens!"

Hamilton rushes towards him again, cupping Laurens's now wounded hand in his own and with his free hand, yanking his neck cloth off and wrapping it around Laurens's palm and knuckles.

"John," Hamitlon whispers, so only Laurens could here. This catches Laurens's attention as he turns to Hamilton instantly coming back to the present. "What happened?"

"General Lee happened," Laurens grumbles, narrowing his eyes at the front door as he scrunches up his nose in a tight scowl.

"General Lee?" the Marquis asks, resting a hand on Laurens's shoulder, comfortingly. "What about him?"

Before Laurens could say a word, Hamilton drags Laurens to the sette in the living room, forcing him to sit and Hamilton flops down himself beside him, his thumb rubbing descreetly over the tendons of Laurens's hand. The Marquis sits himself on Laurens's right and the other aides watches with concern and confusion from the office.

"Lee...General Lee, I mean...he uh...he had insulted General Washington," Laurens explains.

Hamilton gasps, eyes widen. "Insulted? Our General?"

"Yes, Hamilton, are you deaf?!" Laurens snaps. "Do I need to repeat it?"

Hamilton sets his jaw, clamping his mouth shut as he sits taller somehow, squaring his shoulders and raising an eyebrow challengingly at Laurens, his chest puffing out as he cocks his head to one shoulder. Making him look like the Little Lion he is.

Laurens clamps his mouth shut, gritting teeth as he sets his jaw, tipping his down as if being scolded by a parent.

"I understand your anger, John," Hamilton whispers, his finegrs itching to tuck back the loose whisp of honey blonde hair that's dangling in front of Laurens's ear behind his ear in comfort. "But there is no need to use such tone at me."

Laurens puffs out a sigh, leaning back so his head rests against the sette, staring up at the ceiling as he closes his eyes.

"My apologies, Alexnader," Laurens sighs. "It's just...what he said about he said about General Washington--"

"Which was what?" Tilghman wonders.

"He...he called the General..." Laurens grimaces and swallows as he speaks. "A 'dirty earwig' for turning against him."

"Does His Excellency know about this?" Harrison growls.

Laurens shakes his head. "No. Not yet, at least, and I'd rather much prefer it be a secret between us at the moment."

A pause.

"And not to mention for disobidence and being a coward at Monmouth and retreating when he had the oppurtunity to attack the British."

Hamilton grimaces and tightens his hold around Laurens's larger hand, remembering the chaos of that day in June, with the blistering heat making the wool of their coats and clothes stick to their skin and their fingers slick with sweat and the fall Hamilton had taken after his horse fell beneath from a gunshot wound.

Hamilton stands up suddenly, dragging Laurens up with him. Laurens’s tense shoulders slumps as he’s reluctantly forced to being dragged up the wooden stairs to their shared bedroom, Hamilton exclaming to the others over his shoulder that he’s going to escort Laurens to his quarters for the night to allow himself some time to rest. Hamilton pushes Laurens into the room gently and closes the door behind him, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding until he hears a soft, audible, satisfying click.

Hamilton stares at the silver knob, his hand hovering over it gently. He tenses, breathing in sharply through his nose as he could feel Laurens’s presence directly behind him. Hamilton swallows the lump in his throat, licking his dry, chapped lips. Dry from the lack of kisses Laurens has yet to give him due to seperation most of the day.

“Finally,” Laurens sighs when Hamilton finally turns around to face. Hamilton smiles sheepishly as he crosses his thin arms over himself and takes three steps towards Laurens. Laurens puffs out a breath as he grips one of Hamilton’s elbows, tucking a loose dark red curl behind his ear. “I have missed you.”

Hamilton giggles, leaning up by his toes to reach Laurens’s soft, heart-shaped pink lips. Laurens sighs happily as he kisses back, just a simple quick little peck.

“Happy Christmas Eve, my dear boy,” Laurens whispers breathily against Hamilton’s lips, his teeth grazing over them, wanting an invitaiton.

Hamilton smiles, the corners of his lips tugging upwards as the tip of his nose nudges agaisnt Laurens, opening his mouth for Laurens.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Hamilton giggles as Laurens pulls back from the kiss, pulling back a little to get a view of Hamilton’s beautiful face with an angled jawline and feminine, freckled cheeks and hair red as fire pulled back into a rather unkept braid and of course, the dark purple of Hamilton’s eyes--almost silver now due to the sun glinting in the afternoon sunlight. Hamilton leans up to steal a kiss, surprising Laurens entirely. “Happy Christmas Eve my dear Laurens.”

Laurens chuckles, gripping his hold on Hamilton’s slim waist tighter, causing Hamilton’s breath to hitch as he rests both hands flat on Laurens’s chest, his head right underneath Laurens’s chin.

“What has really gotten you this upset?” Hamilton whispers, tipping his head up to meet Laurens’s eyes. “I’ve never seen you this angry before.”

Laurens hums as he shifts a little closer so his chest is near Hamilton’s, resting his cheek on Hamilton’s brow.

“I told you, Alexander,” Laurens says. “Lee happened. HIs inuslts not only of His Excellency but me.” A breathy pause. Laurens grits his teeth. “And you.”

Hamilton grimaces. He wants to ask Laurens what the insults had said, but thinks better of himself and keeps his mouth shut and just simply listens.

“Alexander, my love,” Laurens says, pulling back from the embrace to grasp hold of Hamilton’s small hands in his slightly larger one. Hamilton tips his head up. “I have something to ask of you and you’re not going to like it.”

Hamilton stands somehow taller, his shoulders squared and eyebrows raised high challengingly, a sign for Laurens to continue.

“I um...I...I um...I uh...” Laurens stutters, scratching the back of his neck.

Hamilton frowns, furrowing his brows together as he knows Laurens is not the person to stutter.

He’s probably going to kill me, Laurens thinks to himself as he glances back to Hamilton’s divine eyes and sharp features. Okay, Laurens, plan of action of here...

“I uh...” Laurens says instead. “I um...”

“John? Are you alright?” Hamilton asks.

“I uh...” Laurens clears his throat, standing an inch taller. “I’d uh...I’d like you to be my second.”

Hamilton stills, his eyes widening as he turns slowly to Laurens, raising only one eyebrow this time, his face paling as his heart thumps with fear and anxiety. He swallows.

“Second?”

“Yes.”

“For what?”

Laurens presses his lips together, swallows nervously, shifting around on his feet. He chews the inside of his cheek, wondering the best way to say the words would be without causing any drama.

Laurens sighs defeatedly, hanging his head low as if he were merely a boy beging caught and scolded by his parent.

“I...I challenged...I challenged...I challenged General Charles Lee to a duel...” A pause. “And I’d like you, my Alexander, to be my second.”

Hamilton freezes completely, still as a tree trunk. His arms stiff at his sides, his stance taller than before, shoulders squared and eyes slowly widening. His face paling as he swallows, grittinng his teeth as he lets out a shaky breath. The very thought of his Laurens standing six paces in front of General Lee with his arm extended outstretched with his pistol in hand and a gunshot being heard terrifies him.

“A...A...A duel...?” Hamilton chokes, slowly turning to Laurens as though he may be crazy. He just might be. “A duel?”

“Yes,” Laurens says. “And I’d like you, Alexander, to be my second.”

Hamilton laughs dryly, shaking his head as he closes his eyes. “No. No. No. No.”

“Hamilton--”

“No. Absolutely not,” Hamilton huffs, crossing his arms over his chest stubbornly. He can see Laurens firing his pistol at Lee, but missing completely as Hamilton can see a bullet ripping Laurens’s side, causing Laurens to cry out in agony, flinging backwards before collapsing completely.

“Hamilton, please--”

“No, John,” Hamilton snaps, narrowing his eyes. “I can’t...I won’t...”

Laurens grabs Hamilton by the forearm roughly and pulls him close, smashing his lips onto his. Hamilton grunts with surprise but melts into the kiss nonetheless, huffing a sigh through his nose as he feels his tense arms go slack at his sides. Being totally helpless.

“I’ll be safe. I promise you,” Laurens assures. Though, Hamilton doesn’t find that reassuring whatsoever.

Hamilton shakes his head. “You can’t know that!” His voice cracks as his chest squeezes with pure fear. “You can’t! I just...We’ve only...”

Laurens puts a finger up to Hamilton’s lips, shushing him. “Shh. Hush now. You trust me. Don’t you?”

Hamilton tips his head up to lock Laurens’s eyes with his. “What if you get shot--”

“Ah,ah,” Laurens says. “Answer my question. Do you trust me?”

Hamilton swallows as he hesitates for a moment. In all honesty, he does trust him. Of course he does! But still...

“I do,” Hamilton whispers breathlessly.

Laurens smiles as he leans down to kiss Hamilton’s lips again.

“Then know, in your heart, I’ll be alright.”

Hamitlon bites his lip and nods. Laurens pulls back from their embrace and tucks a loose curl behind Hamilton’s ear.

“What should you have me do now?” Laurens says.

Hamilton grins, one corner of his lip turning up softly. He takes two steps closer so his chest is flushed once again with Laurens’s and tugs on Laurens’s lapels.

“Kiss me,” Hamilton gasps agiainst Laurens’s lips. “Kiss me and make love to me as though it may be our last.”

Laurens chuckles darkly and grins as he kisses Hamilton once more, wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling Hamilton close as Hamilton loops his arms around Laurens’s neck, smiling into the kiss, deepening it.

“Your wish is my command.”

~~~

At half past three, Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton and John Laurens make their way towards the woods just outside Philidelphia. The snow crunches underneath their boots with each step they take, Hamilton clutching onto Laurens’s hand at thier sides for as long as he is able, stopping occaisonally to steal a kiss or two. Laurens sighs when they reach the clearing, swallowing nervously as he bites his lower lip, eyeing Lee chatting to his own second: Evan Edwards.

Laurens stops just outside the clearing, glancing over his shoulder as he grips both of Hamilton’s hands in his, bringing them up to his lips to press a kiss to each of his knuckles before lowering them at their sides. Hamilton grasps hold of one of Laurens’s hands in his as he reaches to cup Laurens’s cheek with the other, standing on his toes to steal a quick, chaste kiss before releasing him. Laurens sighs and pulls a miniature portrait of him and places it in Hamilton’s palm. He smiles softly as he meets Hamilton’s glittery eyes. Hamilton blinks, swallowing.

“Here,” Laurens sighs. “Just in case.”

Hamilton nods. “O-Okay...Okay...Thank you....Jack...you...you better...you better get going.”

Laurens nods in agreement as he pushes Hamilton out into the clearing with his hand resting on the small of his back. Once Laurens comes into view, he instantly drops his hand and stands stiff and soldierly, narrowing his eyes at Lee. Laurens whispers quietly in Hamilton’s ear, “I love you, my dear boy.”

Hamilton whimpers. swallowing thickly as he lets out a shaky breath. “I love you too, my dear Jack.”

Edwards walks up to Laurens with the box, well it looks more like a wooden chest, the lid popped open to reveal a pistol inside. Only one remains inside meaning the second one must have been taken by none other than General Charles Lee. Laurens ticks his eyes towards Hamilton, who watches him anxiously, letting out nervous and shaky breaths with pure fear in his eyes,

Laurens ticks his eyes back to the chest, staring down at the pistol. He presses his lips together, glancing at Hamilton one last time before snatching the pistol from the chest. Edwards snaps it shut and nervously fidgets on his heels as he stands between Laurens and Lee, watching the two readying thier pistols.

Once the two have loaded their pistols. the two jerk their heads up sharply at the same time as Hamilton and Edwards discuss the course of action a few feet away. General Lee smiles cunningly.

“Lieutenant Colonel,” General Lee hisses.

Laurens scowls. “General Lee.”

Silence.

“I do hope your precious General has heed my warning,” General Lee says.

Laurens doesn’t answer as General Lee merely chuckles, clicking his teeth as he shakes his head. Laurens stiffens as he turns to Hamilton and Edwards.

“What do you see in him?” General Lee says, turning back to Laurens. He turns back to the two again. “Hamilton?”

Laurens stiffens at the mention of his Alexander’s name and tightens his hold on his pistol. Laurens doesn’t say anything, He just grits his teeth behind his closed lips and sets his jaw, growling.

“A mysterious boy, don’t you think?” General Lee hums.

More silence.

A bit louder now, General Lee clears his throat. “I call a proposal!”

Hamilton and Edwards stop chatting and quickly whip thier heads over their shoulders with surprise, glancing at each other before back at General Lee and Laurens.

“I propose we advance upon each other,” General Lee says. “And fire at what time and distance he feels proper.”

Hamilton and Edwards glances at each other, both seeming extremly nervous and worried and anxious, turn towards Laurens now. Laurens thinks about this suggestion for a moment, before expressing his own preferences and agreeing accordingly.

Hamilton swallows as he and Edwards step two paces back as General Lee and Laurens stand back to back with their pistols raised, cocked, loaded and ready. Laurens closes his eyes before opening them again, staring at the barrel of his pistol.

Edwards commands, “The duel will now commence.”

Hamilton breathes in sharply, closing his eyes as he silently prays for Laurens’s safety. With their backs facing each other, Laurens and General Lee march six paces away from each other before both spinning around on their heels sharply and aiming their pistols directly at each other.

Hamilton screams, “No!” at the same time the shot is fired with a sudden bang. Hamilton sucks in a breath and holds it as he hears General Lee cry out, “I’ve been shot!”

Hamilton bites back a choke sob of releif as his puffs out a breath, visibily relaxing when he sees Laurens still standing, bringing his pistol to his lips and blows out the smoke from the barrel, grinning with triumph.

General Lee grunts as he’s being hoisted by Edwards, one arm around Edwards’s shoulders while Edwards’s arm remains tight around General Lee’s waist.

“The wound is inconsiderable,” General Lee barks, trying to shoo Edwards off. “I wish to fire a second time.”

“No!” Both Hamilton and Edwards both bark, thier voices made clear that it is done.

Hamilton rushes forward, tears with relief already springing to his eyes. He yanks the pistol away from Laurens’s hand and slams it back in place before forcefully dragging Laurens back towards the woods.

Laurens opens his mouth to protest but is cut off short when he feel something agaisnt his cheek. A sharp noise could be heard like a crack when a branch is being snapped in half. Laurens’s head swivers to the side. He stares at the white blanket of snow before them, blinking with surprise and shock before cradling his cheek and gaping at Hamilton.

“Never do that again!” Hamilton bellows, a hand on his hip as he jabs a finger at Laurens, pure anger in his eyes.

Laurens couldn’t help but chuckle as he puts both hands up, trying to calm Hamilton as he paces back and forth.

“Hamilton--”

“No! I don’t want to hear it! You’re never going to challenge anyone to a duel ever again!” Hamilton cries. “Ever!” A pause. “Under no circumstances!”

“Alex--”

“No! You’re coming with me, sir!” Hamilton hisses, grabbing Laurens’s elbow and dragging him back towards headquarters. “Nearly gave me a goddamned heart-attack. What the hell were you thinking?! Wanting another round of fire?! One shot should be good enough and make full of your satisfactory considering where General Lee had been hit! My God, Laurens! You’re going to be the death of me! You and your brash recklessness! I fucking swear.”

Laurens just chuckles, rolling his eyes as he shakes his head as he lets Hamilton drag him back to headquarters.

Sometimes, Laurens wonders just how he managed to end up with a man like Hamilton.

#lams #historical lams #lee laurens duel #alexander hamilton #john laurens #charles lee #evan edwards #hamilton #oneshot #requested #anon #read more #amrev #this took me so freaking long to make #hope its worth it!#fluff #slight angst

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dwellordream · 3 years

Text

dish duty

freeform for @wayhavensummer as I really wanted to write a water fight

T Rating (for passionate kissing and general tomfoolery) Felix x Detective Esme Kingston, 2000 words

“I wish you were a breakfast in bed kind of person,” Felix complains, though not very passionately, as he finishes what seems like his fourth stack of chocolate chip pancakes.

Esme considers herself a very controlled individual. She dresses neatly and conservatively, her home and office are impeccably organized, and she’s a vegetarian who eats, generally, a very healthy and balanced diet.

However. On the weekends, and especially with Felix’s recent influence, that goes somewhat out the window. Not all the way, but close enough to the edge. No, these are not organic whole wheat dark chocolate chip pancakes. They are the unhealthy kind chock full of additives and preservatives that children adore. But as Tina once said, everything we eat is bioengineered, right?

Felix doesn’t need to eat; well, he doesn’t need to eat a normal human’s diet, unhealthy or healthy, it doesn’t matter. But he likes to, and he has a keen sweet tooth. He claims his taste buds aren’t dulled compared to the rest of Unit Bravo because he was born as he is now, and so he has no memory or experience of eating food as a human to compare it with.

Nothing is lacking for him, because he never had it to begin with. And unlike Mason, ‘loud’ flavors or various textures don’t irk him, so Felix is pretty much willing to try anything, no matter how sweet, spicy, or sour. And especially if it involves chocolate.

“Breakfast in bed on a day like this is a terrible idea,” Esme points out as she gets up to clear her small kitchen table.

It’s not as hot out as it was yesterday, but it’s already very warm for ten o’clock in the morning- they slept in embarrassingly late- and she can tell that by midday it will be unbearable, which is why they have plans to go to an art exhibit in the city.

Esme enjoys long drives and would rather wait out today in air conditioning than suffer through it in her sweltering flat. And Felix is always willing to go to just about anything; it’s all new to him, so why not?

Worst case scenario, he doesn’t like it, and even when Felix isn’t enjoying something, Esme still enjoys him, because rather than sulk or brood he simply strikes up a running commentary on what he thinks they should be doing instead.

Yes, sometimes it’s irritating, but often she has to fight to hide the smiles he strives to coax out of her. She once took him to a lecture at a university and halfway through had to stop looking at him because he found a way to make her grin with just his eyes- the rest of his face was totally stoic.

He worked her up so much she had to excuse herself to get a drink of water, just so she didn’t burst out laughing in the middle of the professor’s droning slide-show. Felix, of course, followed her out into the hall and cornered her in an alcove, where they were sharply reprimanded by a passing janitor a few minutes later, who mistook them for two wild students who couldn’t wait to get back to their dormitory.

A year ago, the thought of this encounter, and of a morning like today, eating syrupy pancakes and lounging around in her pyjamas this late in the day, would have horrified and appalled Esme. But it is very hard to feel guilty or ashamed of anything that happens between her and Felix. Initially that frightened her, that being with him was so… easy. Nothing was ever supposed to be easy, or it wasn’t worth the effort. That had always been her motto.

But now…

“What are you doing?” she sighs, as she watches Felix stack far too many dishes on the palm of one hand, like a particularly adventurous waiter.

“Scoot,” he waves his free hand at her, showing off that he doesn’t even need both to hold them. “You’re in front of the sink.”

Esme shakes her head and steps aside as Felix deposits the rest of their dirty dishes inside the sudsy sink, which she’d just finished filling up with water.

This flat came with a small dishwater but it works terribly and Esme lived alone for so long and used so few dishes that it made more sense to just hand wash them immediately after eating. Felix thinks this is terribly boring but she refuses to have an insect infestation by leaving dirty dishes out for that long.

“I can wash them,” he says now, to her surprise. “You have to go get ready.”

“So do you,” she points out dryly. Yes, she feels oddly exposed in just a camisole and boy shorts, but he’s just in his boxers. She’s doing a very good job of not gawking at him like a schoolgirl.

Felix is not built the way Ava is, with powerful muscles and the stature of a workhorse or, as Mason would put it, a brick shithouse- but nor tall and willowy like Nat or lean and sinewed like Mason. Rather, he is toned and compact- she doesn’t know how else to describe it.

He’s a few inches taller than her, not much wider, and certainly isn’t bulging with muscles or in possession of washboard abs. But the sight of the smooth dark skin of his toned stomach and chest and the way he moves, almost like an acrobat, like he were ready to pitch forward into action at any moment, propelling himself with his arms or legs- gives her a strange combination of desire and envy. He would be an incredible gymnast and he is a beautiful dancer, moving gracefully to any rhythm without having ever heard it before.

In contrast, she feels thin and pallid and wretched- she’s petite and lacks much in the way of fat or muscle- she’s not athletic in the least, her belly forms a small pouch when she slouches, her skinny arms strain and tremble when she lugs heavy boxes of case files in and out of her office, she runs awkwardly and can’t dance to save her life, despite several years of ballet and a ballroom class in uni.

She’d like to be pragmatic and explain it’s just about feeling useful and capable of defending herself, but the truth is she’s vain and self conscious all at once. In her head, she is sleek and hard and beautiful, carved from crystal and not pasty flesh. Compared to Felix, she often feels like a melting snowman.

Felix is busy recounting her entire getting ready routine; Esme rolls her eyes and huffs but waits patiently until he’s done.

“Anyways, I just have to shower,” he shrugs.

“You’re my guest,” says Esme, “I’m not going to leave you to clean up while I powder my nose-,”

“I’m your guest?” he lays a hand on his chest in mock offense, and then his grin turns impish. “Your guest? That stings, Ez. Do all your guests come over late at night-,”

“Felix,” she warns, though her lips are twitching-

“And you sashay over the door and pull it open like, Hello, stranger-,”

“I didn’t say that!”

“No, it was cute!”

“It wasn’t supposed to be cute, you said you wanted me to surprise you, so-,”

“So I was very surprised,” he insists, and then catches her off guard by grabbing her by the hips and pulling her close.

Esme wriggles ineffectively- she’s not really trying to get away, which he knows- and then groans when he crushes her against his chest. He’s not a big man but he gives very big hugs, and she’d be lying if she said the weight and pressure wasn’t reassure, like a heavy quilt bundled around her. But… it’s hot. And he runs hot, too.

She says as much, into his chest, and then, to her alarm, hears him laugh, reach over, scoop up some soapy water with his hand, and drizzle it down her head.

Esme shrieks and rips away from him- Felix’s gold eyes are huge in his face, she can tell he’s torn between delight at his own daring and worry that he pushed her too far and she’s truly infuriated- but instead she touches at her damp hair in shock, then snatches up a wet rag from the counter and flings it at him. It hits him directly in the face; he yelps and bats it away, and she darts back, snickering.

“Oh, so you want a bath instead?” He raises his eyebrows at her.

“No, no, no,” Esme is saying, but the laughter leaking out between her protests says otherwise. “You started it-,”

“Yeah, so I’ll finish it. Come here, Ezza, let me wash you off- you have suds in your hair-,” he feints a lunge at her and she shrieks again, like a giddy teenager, then clamps her hand over her mouth, worrying the neighbors might hear.

Felix has no such concerns, and makes another grab for her- he secures her wrist and she slips on the tiled floor- he takes advantage of this to scoop her up, and flings her over his shoulder, which is barely broad enough for her thrashing torso to fit.

“Oh my God, what are you doing- Felix!” she shouts when he pins her there with one arm, grabs a cup with the other, and dumps water down her back. It’s barely cold but she yelps all the same- he sets her back down, triumphant that now her camisole is drenched and clinging to her, and she darts around him and hits him with a sponge, spraying more soap suds all over his bare chest.

“Wow,” he says. “Wow. That’s weak- that’s a really weak move, Detective, where is your tactical brilliance- okay, pretend I’m a Trapper, what do you do-,” he grabs at her arms to pin them but she successfully ducks out of his reach and hurls the sponge at him as he gives chase out of the kitchen.

“Don’t get water on the floors! I just mopped!”

“You’re the one who took it here!”

She leaps into the bathroom, breathless and trembling with adrenaline and laughter, and tries to slam the door shut in his face, but she never stood a chance of outrunning him- even if they were both human, she wouldn’t have. Still, she notes how careful he is, in the moment, not to crowd her in the confined space, worried about knocking her into the hard porcelain sink or toilet, and he waits until she steps back into the shower, cornered.

His hand hovers near the spout.

“Don’t you dare,” Esme warns.

He turns it on, and cold water cascades down full force onto her, soaking her to the skin. But before she can even flail or sputter, he’s stepped in beside her, wrapping himself around her, the contrast of his warm skin and the cold water making her cling to him all the more.

He kisses her lips, and she tastes soap for an instant, making her grimace, but then he’s moved onto her neck, lips tugging and pulling at the skin there, and she digs her fingers into his shoulder blades as she kisses his jaw in return, dragging her teeth across the corner of his lips.

When he heaves her up so he is half holding her, one hand under her thigh, the other leg stationary, she surges against him until his back is against the tiled wall and they are both directly under the flow of water. Then she gropes at the dial and shuts it off; it extinguishes to a trickle, causing beads to flow down their upturned faces.

She’s panting- he’s not as breathless, but jittery and shivering all over, and not from the cold water.

“Felix,” Esme whispers, and pecks him on the lips again as he reluctantly releases her.

“Yeah?” His pupils are languidly dilating, like a golden bloom.

“You did say you would do the dishes…”

He heaves with silent laughter, and then mouths something at the ceiling. “You’re killing me.”

“I know,” she smiles. “But you started it.”

Out of kindness, she takes a very quick cold shower, so she can help him dry off, too.

#felix hauville #esme kingston #wayhaven summer #the wayhaven chronicles #one shot

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a-smr-things · 3 years

Text

Underwater (Peter Parker x Reader)

T/w: Suicidal thoughts, trauma

Read at your own discretion.

This is my first time and I am still developing my fanfic style...so please do forgive any stupid errors on my part.

********************************

If there was one person you hated in Midtown, it was him. Perfect hair, perfect grades and your academic rival, Peter Parker.

But like, seriously, even Flash didn't annoy you as much as Peter did.

And he just had to interrupt you while you were explaining your interpretation of the poem.

What the hell did he know about literature anyway? Science nerd.

It didn't help that both of you were the chairs of the student council.

"MJ," you yelled out as you ran after her.

"Y/n," MJ acknowledged you as she turned to face you, the wind blowing her hair all out of place.

"Do you have any idea where Peter is?" The exasperation was evident in your voice.

This would be the third meeting he had missed in a row. You didn't understand how the hell he had managed to disappear off to nowhere just before the meeting.

Either the guy knew apparition or he was in serious need of a smack to the head.

"Well, guess I will be alone this time as well," you mumbled to yourself as you walked towards the meeting room.

***

"Ow," Peter groaned as he walked away from the scene of crime.

Falling face first onto a garbage bin wasn't part of his bucket list but sometimes you get stuff you never asked for.

He swung over to the rooftop where he had left his backpack. His phone was buzzing off when he got to it.

16 missed calls from Y/n

"Why is she calling me?" He mumbled as he grabbed his backpack to go back home.

"Oh shit," he said when he realized, quickly changing lanes and swinging towards the school.

***

After school student council meetings are nothing to be excited about. It was pretty evident that Peter didn't like them. You weren't especially crazy about the meetings either.

After all, why would anyone want to sit in a room with some bored ass kids who just wanna go home?

As much as you hated Peter, having him in the meeting did take off some of the burden from you and you would rather he be present. But, no! The guy was apparently continuing his "Let me ditch on the meeting" ritual again.

"Y/n, did you bring the agenda for the segment about lack of sports equipment?" The representative of the football team asked you as you sat at the desk.

"Ah shit, of course Peter had to be in charge of it. Wait, let me go get it from his shelf." You said hurriedly, walking out of the door.

"Thank God Miss Martins asked us to put the files in her staffroom shelf, else I'd be doomed," you thought as you took the shortcut by the swimming pool to reach the staff room.

"Fuck." The tiles beside the swimming pool were slippery and you weren't being careful when it happened.

It was all so sudden.

Water rushed into your mouth and ears as you sank deeper into the pool.

Panic set in and you knew you had to save yourself but a cold yet somewhat warm and tingly numbness settled in your limbs.

Your heart ached and you felt as if someone was squeezing it. The sudden weightlessness mesmerised you.

Your joints felt like lead and your body felt like paper. Your face and chest hurt as you ran out of oxygen...but somehow, it felt good.

You couldn't feel anything but a sense of relief.

You didn't understand where this feeling of satiation was coming from, but it made you feel at ease.

You knew how to swim, but you didn't feel like saving yourself. As your body became oxygen deprived, your struggle increased as you flayed your arms aimlessly in the water.

But somehow you managed to stop yourself from trying to swim to the surface.

An addicting void filled your head as you slowly fell into unconsciousness.

***

Peter ran through the hallway trying to get to the meeting ASAP, cuz no matter how much he hated working with you, he was responsible.

Sure, he did forget about the previous two meetings but being a superhero was hard.

He ran towards the swimming pool corridor to take the shortcut to the meeting room.

He didn't expect his spidey senses to tingle when he passed the deep end of the pool.

He peered into the pool and saw a girl half-floating haphazardly near the floor of the pool.

Without leaving any time for hesitation, he jumped into the pool swimming in to grab the drowning girl.

It was only when he pulled her out of the pool that he saw her face.

"Y/n? Holy shit, Y/n? " He croaked out, rushing to check your breathing.

You weren't breathing.

Peter panicked and checked your pulse only to not feel one. After a moment of confusion and fear, he came back to his senses as he remembered the emergency drill they'd had the previous month.

"Five breaths, then a round of thirty chest compressions, then two breaths and repeat." Peter recited as he laid you on your back He had 911 on call as he started CPR.

He heard a sickening crack but had no other option but to continue. He alternated between thirty compressions and two oral resuscitations like he was taught.

"Wake up, Y/n. Please don't die," he cried as fear, panic and desperation filled his mind.

Her body was cold and her skin was shrivelled up from the water. She didn't look like the prim and proper Y/n he knew.

She looked dead.

Peter was overcome with incomparable relief when she opened her eyes wheezing for air. She wheezed for a while and stared at Peter, looking confused and disoriented.

"Y/n, are you okay? The ambulance is coming, don't worry. You will be fine," he said as he pushed you into the recovery position.

Your consciousness didn't last long. You were in pain and exhaustion.

Peter was on call with his homeroom teacher as you drifted in an out of consciousness.

The ambulance arrived just as Miss Martins reached Peter. She was horrified to see her model student lie unconscious on the wet tiles of the pool, her skin pale and her lips trembling from the cold.

***

You woke up in the hospital with an IV drip and an oxygen mask over your face.

You tried to get up, but the nurse was quick to stop you from doing so.

Soon, people were rushing into your room.

"Mom," you whispered under the mask.

"Baby," she was crying when she sat beside you.

"Wha-," your mom cut you off when you tried to speak.

"Don't strain yourself, you have pneumonia. Take it easy." Your head hurt and your legs ached.

Your throat felt like parchment paper with jelly on it.

"Phlegm and jelly? What a good comparison, Y/n," you thought to yourself.

Slowly, the gravity of the situation weighed in.

You felt like there was a stone in your chest when you remembered how you had let yourself drown.

You didn't try to swim up and save yourself. You had purposefully let yourself drown.

You didn't even know why.

Tears sprung to your eyes as you realised that you had almost killed yourself.

You remembered exactly how you felt underwater. You'd never had these thoughts before.

Why did you do that all of a sudden? Were you suicidal? How could you be? There was nothing wrong with you, you were perfectly fine...Why would you want to die?

The heart-rate monitor went off as you went into a full blown panic attack.

The nurse rushed in, calling for the on-call doctor as she checked your vitals.

Your eyes widened, tears flowing down your face. You wanted to scream but your throat felt like it was clogged shut.

Your hand clamped onto the doctors hand in panic as you fell onto your pillow in exhaustion.

***

"Run, run, run..." You chanted to yourself as you ran through the forest.

You had no idea how you reached there, but somehow you knew that you had to keep running.

You panted as you reached the edge of the forest only to see a huge expanse of rock and a gigantic rock wall in front of you.

You walked over the rocks, your legs shaking from exhaustion. The sun was shining onto you, some of the rays falling onto your eyes giving you a headache.

You fell onto your knees trying to catch your breath.

Suddenly the stone beneath you started rumbling and a loud sound filled the silent atmosphere.

You stood up, afraid and confused. And then it came.

Water rushed from top of the huge rock wall, falling right onto the stone you wear standing.

Your skin hurt, the force of the water bruising it up instantly. Suddenly, you weren't standing on the rock anymore.

The strong current of water swept you off your feet and pushed you along its course.

You tried your best to stay afloat but the current was too strong.

Water rushed around your ears and entered your nose as you struggled to breath.

The water threw your limp body around.

Crack

You woke up screaming, sweat covering your scrubs.

"Y/n, sweetheart, you okay?" Your mother barged in hearing your screams, followed by Peter and MJ.

Seeing Peter, you composed yourself and leant back against the pillow.

"It's nothing. Just a bad dream," You muttered under your breath.

"Honey, I'll wait outside. I have a phone call to make. Meanwhile, you just chat with Peter and Michelle, okay?" Your mom said as she left.

You took a sip out of your water bottle as MJ and Peter made themselves comfortable in the bystander seats.

Your throat still felt clogged up with phlegm, but at least you did not have a fever anymore.

"So, how are you feeling?" Peter spoke awkwardly, avoiding eye contact.

"You scared us, Y/n. One minute you are going out to take a file and the next minute you are being wheeled into an ambo. " MJ said, trying to make her voice monotonous and nonchalant but failing miserably.

"Peter found you." She said, directing her gaze at Peter who was doing his best at avoiding your eye contact.

"I know," you replied, not bothering to look at Peter anymore.

"How did you fall?" Peter asked, still not making eye contact.

"I slipped. " You replied but your gaze was directed towards MJ.

"Thank God you're safe. You are taking swimming classes after this, when you recover, period." MJ says, concern leaking through her usually stone-cold behaviour.

"Anyways, Ned says he will be here soon, I'll go get him," Peter said looking up from his phone. As he stood up to leave, MJ beat him to it and said,

"You stay here with Y/n, I'll go get Ned."

What her intentions behind this were, you didn't know.

You just stared at your arms covered in the hospital bedsheets. A cough racked through your body as you hunched over.

You were surprised when Peter sat beside you and rubbed your back as your body was racked by the violent coughs.

"Here, drink it," Peter said handing you the water bottle. You leant back against your pillow, feeling weak and tired.

"So, how did you find me?" You whispered, straining your throat.

"I was taking a shortcut to the meeting room," He said, finally looking at you as he spoke.

"The whole school is talking," he states out of the blue.

"It's kind of a given with what happened. I don't care," you rasped out.

"Peter-," you began to speak but he cut you off.

"If you are going to say thank you, don't. It's not a big deal. Just don't run beside the pool in those shoes again."

" Well, I wasn't going to say thank you and yeah, of course I need you to tell me not to run beside the pool when all this shit has already happened." You retorted, annoyed at how Peter interrupted you.

"Wow, typical Y/n behaviour," Peter scoffed.

"Well, if this is how you are gonna behave towards me then you might as well have let me die," you weren't gonna give up either.

"Is that what you wanted to do? Die? Did you want to kill yourself?"

Damn, he really hit the nail on the head with that one. But you weren't gonna admit to it. After all, it was an accident in the first place.

"Yeah, sure. You run around searching for a file your partner was supposed to bring but then he is an asshole who ditched three meetings in a row and then when you slip and drown, which you wouldn't have had he came in the first place and then he has the audacity to act all therapist hero-" Your rant was cut off as you went into another coughing fit.

"Fuck, shit, shit, it hurts." You said, clutching your side, your eyes watering from the pain.

"I'll go call a nurse," Peter stood up, panic evident in his eyes.

Saving random people in the streets and saving someone you know, whether you like them or not, are two completely different things.

***

Water in your ears.

Water in your mouth.

Water all around you.

Crack. ******************************

A/n: Part 2 scheduled for next week.

#hope I don't regret posting this #spiderman #peter parker #peter parker x reader #adding random tags cuz idek what #this fic is boring ik ik #shit I'm having second thoughts #here goes nothing #angst #peter parker angst

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beewolfwrites · 3 years

Text

And When I am Formulated, Sprawling on a Pin - Chapter Nine: Hunting Season

Sorry for the later than usual update! I personally didn’t like writing this chapter for a variety of reasons (having to use street view on google maps to explore an entire park was one of them). But I hope you enjoy it :)

As usual, the AO3 link is here. And for those who are new here, this is a Chishiya x OC/reader fic :)

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The car ride to the game wasn’t ideal. As a group of six people, there wasn’t quite enough room for everyone in the five-seater car. And the result? I was squished in the middle seat at the back, with Chishiya on one side and a couple making out on the other. A woman was sitting on her boyfriend’s lap, their hands roaming freely in the cramped space.

Chishiya paid no attention to them as he rested his head against the window. Personally, I didn’t know where to look. If I kept my head forward, the sight of the road zooming ahead left me feeling queasy. I couldn’t exactly turn to my left and stare openly at the couple. And I definitely couldn’t stare at Chishiya. It was already weird enough that we were crushed up against each other. I could feel his warmth seeping into my skin, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Somehow, they reminded me that he was real. Cold but human. I found myself wanting to slide even closer.

When did I start feeling comforted by his presence?

It was a thought that scared me, and I must’ve stiffened in my seat because Chishiya suddenly turned to me. I could see him trying to figure out what was wrong, and so I smiled at him innocently. He was either unconvinced, or he no longer cared, because he returned his gaze to the window.

Needless to say, it was a long, long car ride.

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

When the car finally stopped, we were outside the Shinjuku Gyoen National Park, near the Sendagaya gate. Pasted to the windows of the gate office was a white sign.

GAME.

‘Come on,’ Chishiya said as he stepped out of the car.

I joined him, sticking closely by his side as our group passed through the gate. And with the bleep of the lasers, our fate was sealed.

The park seemed to be hesitating somewhere between half-asleep and on the verge of life. Aside from the trudge of our footsteps and the rustle of branches, the place was silent. The path ahead shone grey under the moonlight, and on either side of the path pockets of darkness lurked between trees. I wasn’t sure which was worse, the darkness beneath the foliage, or the exposure of the open flat land just off the path.

We followed the signs that dotted the way, leading us across the bridge over the Nakano-Ike. The water breathed with pond life and the trill of crickets. If not for the game, I would have liked to linger and enjoy the views. As we passed beneath a low-hanging tree, I reached up with one hand and brushed my fingers against the leaves.

The movement caught Chishiya’s eye, and he peered over his shoulder.

‘What?’

As I spoke, a few members of our group jumped, only to mutter and continue walking.

Chishiya, on the other hand, looked at me like I was a misbehaving child. ‘You have a leaf in your hair.’

I combed my fingers through, trying to find it. ‘Where is it?’ When he didn’t reply, I brushed at my hair even further.

‘Idiot,’ Chishiya said.

So he was just joking. What is he, five?

We followed the path along the edge of the Nakano-Ike until we reached the Central Rest House. The entire outdoor seating area was illuminated, and I was surprised to see nine other people, some sitting on picnic chairs, others leaning against the walls. One man was inspecting the empty food stall. On one of the picnic tables was a pile of phones, and we passed them around, taking one each.

‘FACE REGISTRATION IN PROCESS.

PLEASE WAIT FOR THE GAME TO COMMENCE’

The others in our group drifted apart from me and Chishiya. The couple remained together, holding hands as they comforted each other, but remaining two members separated. It just proved that despite the Beach giving you the advantage of a group, it didn’t mean you were truly a team.

And Chishiya, does he plan on completing this game by himself?

He was certainly the type to wander off on his own. But inside, I wished that wasn’t the case this time; I didn’t want to play this game alone. Even now, he was leaning against a wooden pillar, his back to me.

‘REGISTRATION CLOSED. THE GAME WILL NOW COMMENCE.’

Sighing, I listened in closely. If I was playing this alone, I couldn’t rely on him to talk me through the rules I might have missed.

‘GAME – HUNTING SEASON

DIFFICULTY – TWO OF SPADES

TIME LIMIT – ONE HOUR.’

Two of Spades. That wasn’t so bad. And an hour was a pretty generous time limit.

‘RULES –

ESCAPE THE PARK WITHOUT BEING CAUGHT BY THE HUNTERS.

IF YOU ARE CAUGHT, IT IS GAME OVER.

GAME START.’

All at once, the lights shut off and the place went silent. Everyone was glancing around, uncertain, and for a moment it was almost as if the game hadn’t begun. That was, until the man next to the food stall silently dropped to the ground, a bullet hole between his eyes.

For half a second, I stared at the body, mouth open. Then something snapped and the whole group of us scarpered out in every direction.

Run, run run!

I sprinted into the trees at the back of the rest house, stumbling around in the silence. There were branches and bushes all around, but nothing with nearly enough cover. And everywhere I looked, the darkness started to shift, morphing into faces—

A hand clamped over my mouth.

I struggled, breathing hard over my nose. My fingers tried to rip their hand away, but the person wrapped their other arm across my waist, pulling me closer until I felt his breath tickle my hair.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’

Chishiya.

Instantly, I relaxed. How many times now had he surprised me by coming to my aid?

Still holding me tightly, he whispered again. ‘You need to stop running around so loudly. You’re going to give us away.’

Beneath his hand, I nodded in understanding. The moment stretched before he finally released me, his hands returning to his pockets while I took a minute to steady my breathing. My half-healed bullet wound was stinging from where he had grabbed me too tightly, and I wanted to snap at him for it, but it wasn’t the right time or place. The game took priority. There was no way of knowing who the hunters were or what they looked like, so we had to be as vigilant as possible.

‘We should find somewhere else before we come up with a plan,’ I whispered. ‘This area’s the first place they’ll look.’

He nodded, then gestured for me to follow him. We stuck to the trees between the paths, keeping low and creeping slowly to avoid leaving tracks, until eventually we came to a tea house. The traditional Japanese gardens at the front were far too open and uncovered, but the thick foliage behind the tea house offered the perfect amount of cover.

‘Over here,’ I mouthed to Chishiya, and snuck into the bushes.

It was disconcertingly dark. And all I could hear was the rustle of birds and Chishiya’s slight movements.

‘How come you came after me?’ I asked.

‘Don’t you want to make an escape plan?’

‘I do,’ I told him, ‘but I also didn’t know you wanted to work together. You didn’t tell me anything.’

He released a small huff of annoyance. ‘I shouldn’t have had to tell you that. We made a deal.’

A deal to take me to find supplies afterwards. I can’t believe he’s still honouring that.

‘I know, I’m sorry,’ I whispered. ‘It’s just that you really caught me by surprise before.’ Squinting, I tried to figure out which direction we should head in. There was small sign just next to the path, but in the darkness, it was impossible to make out what it said. Turning back to Chishiya, I asked, ‘do you know your way around the park?’

‘I’ve been here once or twice.’

‘Okay… that makes things easier. I was going to ask which entry gate is smallest, but I think it’s better to assume none of them are safe. The hunters will probably be waiting there.’

Chishiya thought for a moment. ‘If this is one of the teahouses, it means we’re not too far from the edge of the park.’

‘Which way do we go then?’

‘West.’

That’s…not helpful. Not even a bit.

‘Chishiya, I have no idea where we are right now,’ I said, frustrated, ‘let alone which direction is West.’

‘Ch, you’re hopeless.’ He pulled out his phone and checked the time. We still had 40 minutes left. He slid it back into his pocket and sighed. ‘Let’s go. But be quiet and stay out of sight.’

We slipped around the back of the treehouse, sticking to the lines of trees between and on either side of the paths. It was strange that we had yet to come across one of the hunters, but I didn’t doubt for a moment that they were prowling the park somewhere. The man back at the Central Rest House had been shot so precisely – a perfect aim, even from far away – and none of us had seen it coming. And judging by the lack of sound from the shot, the hunters were carrying silencers too.

Although I could see his silhouette in front of me, I was a little worried that I would end up losing Chishiya in the darkness. Even though he only looked out for himself, I felt safer around him, like he would always come up with a solution to any game, no matter how difficult.

Every time we came to a crossroads where the paths intersected, it became a challenge to stay covered, especially as the trees grew sparser, leaving us completely exposed.

We passed by a second teahouse, this one surrounded by wide open paths – a death trap. Chishiya raised two fingers, a gesture to follow his lead. A second later, he sprinted across the open intersection, disappearing into the foliage on the other side.

You’ve got to be kidding.

Listening carefully for footsteps, or any sign that we weren’t alone, I took a breath, then ran.

But nothing happened.

I found Chishiya, reaching him without so much as a scratch. It was like there weren’t enough hunters in the park to justify this being a game.

‘How come we haven’t seen one of the hunters yet?’ I whispered.

He shook his head. ‘I’m not sure. There’s probably a good reason.’

Following the path further, it quickly became apparent that we were stuck. On one side of us was a bridge over a large pond, and on the other was an open walkway that stretched on farther than I could see.

Chishiya analysed the situation for a moment. ‘Can you swim?’

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘But we can’t swim across that whole pond, we’ll be seen for miles.’

He smirked. ‘Not the whole pond.’

And that was how I found myself treading water, neck-deep, as we crept along the bank. The water was freezing, and the cold hit my lungs in a dull ache that left me almost breathless.

And what’s worse, the phones didn’t have waterproof cases, so we had to hold them in the air with one hand while paddling with the other. It was agony, suspending my bandaged arm above the pond water for such a long time, and all I could think about was how if there was a hunter on the other side, we’d be such easy prey. The pond seemed to stretch on forever, but once we passed beneath a large footbridge, the end was finally in sight.

Ahead of me, Chishiya used the shadows of the bridge to pull himself out of the water and onto a rocky bank. He bent low, extending a hand to help me out of the water. A voice in the back of my head told me not to take his hand, that I could do it myself. But I was too tired to care. I saw his eyes scan over me once, his gaze lingering on the now drenched hoodie.

‘Let’s get through this and I’ll replace it, I swear,’ I told him.

‘I’m not sure you can’ he said, unimpressed. ‘I want that one back’

I folded my arms, huddled against the cold of my wet clothes. ‘You just have to be that difficult, don’t you?’ Then my eye caught the apex of trees ahead of us. ‘Where are we?’

‘We’re coming up to the Mother and Child forest,’ he said. ‘We’re not far from the edge of the park.’

Shivering in my shorts, I held up my phone. We had just 25 minutes left.

‘Are we going into the Mother and Child forest?’

He shook his head. ‘It’s not much of a forest. It’s too exposed.’

Without speaking, Chishiya led the way forward. Here, the paths were wide and open, but sheltered by a canopy of tall trees that protruded from steep banks. There was a long path to our left, with wire fencing on either side of the banks, presumably to keep park goers from doing what we were doing now.

We moved away from the paths and deeper into the trees. Here, it was much, much darker, and I could barely see where I was stepping—

Chishiya’s hand grabbed my hood, jerking me back until I was leaning against his chest. Heart racing, I flinched when his voice came in a close whisper.

‘Look down.’

Lowering my eyes to the ground, I had to squint before I could see it. The blackened metal gleamed faintly in the moonlight, spikes protruding out of the ground like a grotesque crown.

‘A bear trap,’ I breathed. ‘That’s why we haven’t seen any hunters. They’re staying around the edges of the par—’

His hand clamped over my mouth. I squirmed, only for his other arm to wrap around my upper body as he tugged me behind a tree and pulled me to the ground. The position was uncomfortable, with me sitting between his legs, my face pressed into the junction between his neck and his collarbone.

What the hell is he doing?

And then I hear the footsteps.

It was a steady crunch… an occasional snap… careful and methodical, and slowly moving closer.

I stilled in Chishiya’s arms, focusing solely on the sound of the footsteps and the feeling of Chishiya’s calm breaths as they gently skimmed the exposed skin of my neck. If it weren’t for the fear of the situation, I would’ve found our position strangely intimate. With my head against his collarbone, I could feel the steady beat of his heart… except it wasn’t steady. It was beating ever so slightly fast.

Is he… nervous? Chishiya gets nervous?

The thought was instantly pushed from my mind as we finally caught sight of it.

The hunter.

They were dressed head to toe in camo, their heavy black boots glistening even in the dark. Covering their entire face and neck was a black wolf mask, the two eye holes gaping open, but revealing nothing of the person inside. And in their hands, they were holding a large gun with a silencer attached.

The hunter turned, peering in all directions.

I felt Chishiya’s hands tense around me, gripping harder. I wanted to tell him that he was crushing my still-injured arm, that I wasn’t going to make a noise, that he didn’t need to warn me like this. But of course, I couldn’t. I gritted my teeth through the pain.

The hunter looked in our direction.

I held my breath.

Don’t move. Don’t blink.

Then he turned away, and I relaxed, as did Chishiya’s bruising hold. There was a crunch of leaves as the hunter crouched down to inspect the untriggered bear trap… and then nothing.

Just like that, he was gone.

For a full minute, neither of us moved. Until slowly, almost uncertainly, Chishiya’s hands fell away. I took my cue and shifted, giving him room to stand before doing the same. This time, he didn’t help me up, choosing instead to saunter through the trees.

I had no choice but to follow, but I decided that if we got out of this place, I’d have to thank him for saving my skin twice in a row… right after slapping him for that bone-crushing warning he did. The half-healed wound in my arm was probably bleeding again now.

Taking out time to avoid making noise, we snuck down the treeline that followed the path. I was worried we were running out of time, and I wanted to check my phone, but the light of the screen would be too risky. If I were to estimate, we probably had about twelve or so minutes left.

On the way, Chishiya and I scanned the ground for more surprises. So far, we avoided several leg-hold traps and at one point, I grabbed Chishiya and pulled him back, stopping him from walking straight into a snare. He didn’t seem too bothered by the near-miss as he shrugged out of my hands.

Eventually, we came to a final intersection. The path we’d been following joined a longer one that stretched all across the park. On the other side of the intersection, up the bank and beyond foliage, I could see the tall metal of a fence.

There it is! My eyes dropped to the large open space where the paths met. There’s no way we can cross this.

Chishiya placidly looked around, as if trying to find some other way of getting across. But there wasn’t one. For the first time since our run-in with the hunter, he looked at me. Raising three fingers, he mouthed ‘on three’.

We’re not going to… he doesn’t mean…

He lowered a finger.

I shook my head. There had to be another way. There had to be.

But there’s no time…

He lowered a second finger.

I took one step back, preparing myself. I didn’t know if this was a trap, or if Chishiya was going to use me as a decoy. But my gut instinct told me to trust him.

He lowered his third finger… and we ran.

Together we shot down the bank, leaping over the metal wiring at the bottom. I felt the bullets shoot across my skin, missing me by centimetres. They were surrounding us from every direction. We’d been cornered.

But I ran. I ran. And I stared at that tall dark fence in the distance as I leapt over the wire and jumped onto the bank. The bullets kept coming, one whipping through my loose hair. The tall fence was closer now, growing bigger with every step, but I couldn’t stop.

‘Climb,’ I heard Chishiya huff.

Jumping at the fence, I tugged my feet up and clambered my way to the top. Now, the bullets were clanging against the metal, the force shaking the structure. I caught sight of a wolf mask hidden between two trees, and instinctively threw myself over the edge, my stomach grazing the metal spikes that lined the top.

My body hit the ground with a thud, but the bullets continued to ricochet.

I’m out of the park. I escaped, right?

There was a flash of white and a pained grunt, before Chishiya landed on top of me, his weight knocking the air from my lungs. I felt him gasp from the impact, right as the bullets stopped. All was silent.

‘GAME CLEAR – CONGRATULATIONS!’

He didn’t move at first, then as if remembering where he was, he pulled away from me and sat up on the grass.

I lay there, cold, wet and exhausted. We did it.

Not bad for a girl who’s terrible at Spades.

Rolling over, I turned to… Chishiya?

He had unzipped his hoodie, revealing both his toned chest and a bleeding wound in his side. His fingers lightly touched the area as he inspected it. Catching sight of my expression, he zipped his hoodie back up, eyes cold.

‘Are you okay?’

He got to his feet and pulled his hood over his head. ‘It’s nothing.’

Standing up, I tried to reach out to see, but he took a step back. He was wearing the same, distant expression he always had.

‘Did they get you?’ I asked. The white of his hoodie had become spotted with red over his injury. ‘We should go back to the Beach. I wonder where the others are.’

‘I haven’t been shot,’ he said, dismissive. ‘It was the fence.’

My eyes darted to the metal spikes, the pinpoints shining under the dull light. Even though he was playing it off, it could still get infected. And it must’ve hurt, despite how cavalier his reaction was. The thought disturbed me. Even though I knew Chishiya was only human, he seemed untouchable somehow.

‘We should still head back,’ I insisted. ‘An could take a look at it—’

Then he uttered my name. It was the first time he’d ever spoken it before, and the way it rolled off his tongue sent goosepimples along my skin. And in a tone that left no room for argument, he said, ‘we made a deal.’

The words crushed me one by one. He was willing to put up with an injury for the sake of a stupid deal I made with him. I just didn’t understand why. But it made me wonder whether there was more to Chishiya than he let on, whether he did have a sliver of a heart buried somewhere.

Giving me one last glance, he muttered, ‘let’s go.’ Then he turned and began walking away from the park.

I stared at the back of his hood, and the small red patch on his hoodie. And it was then that I finally understood something. Whatever I felt for this man, it was no longer hatred.

#alice in borderland #chishiya #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya x oc #chishiya x reader #aib #chishiya alice in borderland

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