#the last one was. long and fucked up and idk if i can describe it accurately

[13lov]

tethered pt. 2 | jjk

✰ pairing. — emo!jk x reader

✰ genre. — early 2000s au, best friend's older brother, childhood friends to lovers, smut, light angst.

✰ word count. — 10k+

✰ warnings. — swearing, family issues, friendship betrayal, mention of drugs/alcohol, smut [ cunnilingus, rough sex, ...idk how else to describe it ] reader and jk are both 18+, minors dni.

✰ a/n. long awaited part 2! the amount of love i received from part one was overwhelming and it means to world to meet that so many people instantly fell in love with this couple. another part is already in the works!

✰ taglist. @ahgasegotarmy116 @hellbornsworld @kissyfacekoo @littlestarstinyseven @skzthinker @cuntessaiii @nikkiordonez12 @ilikekpop-c @busanbby-jjk @xjjk187 @aloverga @kookcobain @mzeji @bxcndd @hoseokteardrop @canyon-lwt @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @jksteponme @parkinglot-nights @chromekingkong @jk97bam [ if i didn't tag u it's because tumblr didn't allow me to! ]

part one | masterlist | ao3 | buy me a coffee?

“Did you seriously think I wouldn’t find out?” Somi is glaring daggers at you upon opening the front door, arms crossed across her chest as she eyes you. Her lips are twisted into a disgusted snarl, you’ve never seen her this upset before.

You swallow the lump in your throat, “Find out about what?”

She cocks her head to the side, squinting her eyes at you. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

Fuck, you’re screwed. If there were a list of all the reasons why you shouldn’t have had sex with Jeon Jungkook, the simple fact of  him being your best friend’s brother would be number one.

With closed eyes, you let out a relieved sigh. As much as you wanted to wait to tell Somi about hooking up with Jungkook, it’d be an enormous weight off your shoulders not having to hide it any longer. It’d only been a few days since it happened, but you really hate keeping secrets from her.

“How’d you find out?” You question, chewing on your bottom lip.

“My parents told me, duh.”

Holy crap, Jungkook told his parents the two of you had sex? Why the fuck would he do that?

“They did?” You ask, completely bewildered.

“Well, yeah!” Somi finally uncrosses her arms, demeanor completely changing as her gaze softens, “Why didn’t you tell me your sister got engaged?”

Thank God you didn’t elaborate any further.

“Oh! Because they probably aren’t gonna last.” You respond, stepping into the Jeon household once Somi allows you to enter. It’s been a few days since you’ve been here, mostly due to the fact that you were completely avoiding Jungkook.

The empty condom in his trash bin had been plaguing your mind nonstop, you could barely even sleep from how embarrassed you were. Why did he fake his orgasm? What if he didn't fake an orgasm and just shot a blank? Did you do something wrong? Was he not attracted to you? Why was the condom empty? 

Seeing him in person would’ve only intensified the thoughts roaming in your head, so you avoided him at all costs up until now. You’d promised the Jeon siblings that you’d finally see Twilight with them and their friends despite not being able to function correctly around either of them. 

Somi snickers, following you into the living room. “Ooh, that’s not nice.”

“It’s true, though,” you explain, “she’s still so young, only a few years older than your brother. I mean, can you picture Jungkook getting married in a few years?”

The regret from that question fills you almost immediately.

“Sure,” Somi responds, pausing to greet the eager doberman charging at her. “As long as he finds the right person. He’d get married in a heartbeat.”

You want to ask what Somi’s definition of “the perfect person” would be for Jungkook or the type of girl she’d be willing to set him up with. It’d probably be the unnamed, mysterious redhead you recently dreamed about curb stomping (yikes!).

You don’t respond to this, taking a seat on the sofa when the sudden shout of your name has you flinching. It’s Somi’s parents, excitedly greeting you with open arms as you politely stand to properly hug them. “I feel like it’s been so long since we’ve seen you! How’s your family? We just heard the news about your sister!” Mrs. Jeon ambushes you with questions, all while cradling your face.

“About how she’s making the biggest mistake of her life?” You half-joke.

Mrs. Jeon playfully waves a hand in your direction as she steps into the kitchen, her husband only a few feet behind. “Oh, don’t say that. I’m sure the two of them will be very happy together.” She turns to her husband, grabbing his hand, “I just can’t believe Imogen is getting married. I still remember when she first started high school.” 

Mr. Jeon sighs in disbelief. “I know,” he mumbles, nodding at you. “You’re up next soon, huh?”

“Maybe she can marry Jungkook,” Mrs. Jeon comments, opening her fridge, “set him straight.”

“Gross, Mom. Don’t wish that on her.” Somi groans in disgust as she plops down next to you.

Well, that answers your previous question.

“We should probably get going, right? To make it in time for the trailers?” You ask.

“Yeah, we should.” Somi responds, tilting her head up towards the staircase, “Jungkook! Hurry up and come downstairs! We’re ready to go!”

“Gimmie a minute!” He shouts back, and a chill runs down your spine. It’s been too long since you’ve heard his voice. The last time you saw him, he was lying naked in his bed; you’re not sure how you’ll survive being around him all night knowing what your last encounter was like.

As promised, Jungkook is sliding down the staircase a minute later and nails the landing. He’s wearing a black Twilight shirt featuring the leading couple, black cargo pants, and, of course, black sneakers. He looks like his usual self until you take a closer look and notice the reddish-black eyeshadow that decorated his eyes. It wasn’t much, just enough to make his eyes pop, and it complimented him perfectly. A second later, you see the black nail polish neatly coated on his nails. You have to blink a few times to ensure this is real life and you’re not trapped in a wet dream.

He strolls into the kitchen, ignoring the stares from his parents before digging through the fridge. His mom clears her throat, crossing her arms at him.

“What?” He asks, retrieving a two-liter Mountain Dew bottle. 

“Seriously, Jungkook? The makeup? The nail polish?” She questions, clearly frustrated.

Jungkook cocks his head, unscrewing the soda bottle’s lid. “What’s wrong with it? Somi’s wearing the same thing.”

“Son, you know that’s different.” His father interjects.

Jungkook takes a swig of the soda before responding. “Why? Because she’s a girl?”

“It’s not like that, hon. It’s just…we didn’t make a big deal of it when you first started the piercings, and the tattoos, and the hair dye, but this…it’s a little much. Don’t you think?” His mother asks.

You want to step in and remind his parents that Jungkook is old enough to make his own decisions and express himself as he pleases, but it’s not your place. Instead, you cheer silently when Somi surprisingly interrupts the discussion. “Did you guys seriously force him to come back home just to criticize how he presents himself, or would you rather have a peaceful summer?”

“We aren’t trying to criticize him, Somi. We’re just looking out for our child.” Mr. Jeon responds.

“It’s a special occasion, Dad. Is it bad that I wanted to look nice for—” Jungkook abruptly cuts himself short, quickly glancing in your direction before returning his attention to his parents. “...to go see Twilight with my friends?”

What was that about?

Silence passes, and the three stare at each other until Mrs. Jeon sighs defeatedly and says, “No, there’s nothing wrong with that, sweetheart. I hope you guys enjoy the movie.”

“We will,” Jungkook responds, closing the soda bottle lid and placing it back in the fridge. He heads for the front door, beckoning you and Somi to follow behind. He’s eager to leave the house, quickly swinging the front door open and jogging towards his car.

You and Somi say goodbye to her parents with a promise to be home by eleven before following in Jungkook’s footsteps, who already has the car running. As you wait for Somi to finish locking the front door, Jungkook rolls down his window and shouts, “Hurry up! Let’s go!”

“Will you calm down?!” Somi throws back, rolling her eyes as she finally removes the house key from the lock.

You follow her towards Jungkook’s car, sliding into the backseat as you pretend not to notice Jungkook watching you through the rearview mirror. He wants you to look at him, but you refuse, busying yourself by buckling your seatbelt and convincing Somi to do the same. Once Jungkook is convinced you’re not going to do so much as glance at him, he puts the car in drive and pulls into the road.

Somi talks your ear off in the backseat about whatever comes to mind while you keep your eyes on the window. It’s hard to not notice Jungkook glancing back at you through the mirror at every red light or stop sign, but you don’t dare meet his gaze.

The movie theater’s parking lot is crowded when you arrive; it takes Jungkook a few minutes to eventually locate a spot. A smile is plastered on his face as he parks the car, eager to see some of his closest friends after being separated for months. He informs you and Somi to disregard anything foolish he friends may say, claiming they arrived early to smoke behind the movie theater, so they’re more than likely too high to function properly.

Jungkook shrugs when Somi asks why people do that, shoving his hands into his pockets as the three of you approach the theater entrance. "Some people say it makes the movie experience better."

You want to ask Jungkook if he's ever been high, but you can barely even bring yourself to look in his direction, let alone ask him a question. So you're silent as the three of you enter the movie theater, instantly spotting Jungkook's bandmates in the far corner.

Well… Jungkook's bandmates and one other guest.

The bubbly redhead greets you guys first, running up to Jungkook with open arms as if they haven't seen each other in a million years. It makes you want to vomit.

You look away as they hug, directing your attention to the concession stand employee who had already been watching you. His name tag reads 'Beomgyu,' and he resembles a younger version of Jungkook, with the same dark hair and similar lip piercings. His eyes stay on you until a customer blocks your path, and you're back to watching Jungkook reunite with his friends.

"Hey, you were the one at that party, right? With Somi?" The redhead asks, squinting her eyes at you.

"Yeah." Is all you respond with, because why in God's name is this girl talking to you right now?

"It's nice to meet you. I'm Scar," she introduces herself, extending a hand for you to shake.

Somi interjects, grabbing ahold of your wrist while glaring at Scar. "Your name is Scarlett."

She drags you along to the ticket booth, mumbling about how she doesn't like nor trust Scar. When you ask for her reasoning, she responds with, "I don't need one. I just don't like her."

At least you're on the same page about that. 

Still, you can't help but wonder why Somi has a distaste for Scar. You have your petty reasoning for disliking her, but Somi (more than likely) has better knowledge of Scar's personality, so whatever reasons she dislikes her could be legitimate. 

You're thinking of this as Jungkook orders the tickets for everyone, asking the employee to give him a minute when the friend you recognize as Yugyeom starts tapping his shoulder. "We should go see Saw instead; it just came out."

Jungkook looks genuinely confused at the suggestion. "What? No, we came here to see Twilight."

"So?!" Jaebeom chimes in, eyes red as the devil, "Come on, dude, you've already seen Twilight. Don't you wanna see something new?"

"Fuck no, we're literally in the middle of buying the tickets." Jungkook reminds everyone.

"I kinda wanna see Saw, too."

"Same."

"Yeah, me too."

"I do, too."

Jungkook whips his head around at his sister, "What? Even you?"

Somi scoffs, "Well, yeah! Twilight just seems boring in comparison."

"Come on, guys," the employee interrupts, "you're holding up the line."

Jungkook turns towards you. "Do you still wanna see Twilight?"

Truthfully, you want to go home; but seeing how excited Jungkook was for the movie made you feel something, so you nod. He lets out a relieved sigh. 

He moves out of the way to allow his friends to buy their tickets first, slipping his sister cash to pay for hers, which she initially rejects. "I don't need your money," she claims.

"Just take it, Somi. I brought it for you." 

From what you can make out, it's enough to cover her ticket and grab something from the concession stand. The pair of siblings may bicker a lot, but it's nice to know Jungkook still looks out for his younger sister whenever he can.

Somi reluctantly accepts the money and purchases her ticket; you watch as Jungkook follows suit, ordering two tickets for Twilight and stopping you from opening your purse. "Don't worry about it."

"Oh, it's fine. I have enough." You reassure him.

Jungkook laughs to himself, "Why are the two of you like this?" He questions, fishing out crumpled dollar bills from his pocket and handing them to the cashier, who sighs in annoyance, straightening and inspecting each bill before placing it in his register.

You don't know why Jungkook insists on being so nice to you despite your persistence in not speaking to him. A part of you wonders if he thinks this is some kind of date now that the two of you will be separated from the group. It doesn't matter. You don't know why you're overthinking it.

Once all the tickets have been purchased, the seven of you head towards the concession stand. Somi debates pushing herself to the front of the long line, claiming that the theater should make accommodations for those whose movie is starting sooner. Or something like that, you can't really focus with the way Beomgyu is staring at you. You're used to guys always staring, but they tend to shyly look away upon making eye contact. 

Beomgyu is quite the opposite, staring you down every chance he gets. Your skin feels hot, and you're suddenly anxious under his gaze. 

When the group ahead of you has finished ordering and is heading off into their theater, you're sure to stick close to Jungkook as you approach the counter. Beomgyu eyes him over once before returning his gaze to you. "What can I get for you guys?"

Jungkook takes the liberty of ordering a large popcorn for the two of you to share and doesn't even get mad when you request a slushie instead of a fountain drink. He doesn't let you pay, swatting your hand away when you absentmindedly reach for your purse. "You seriously have to stop doing that." He mumbles, handing Beomgyu the cash.

Beomgyu quickly prepares the popcorn and Jungkook's drink but takes his time making your slushie. He's sure to fill it to the brim, and you're worried it may accidentally overflow and leave a sticky mess. "You didn't want candy or anything?" He questions, handing you your drink. 

You shrug, "Maybe Twizzlers, but—"

Before you can finish, Beomgyu is reaching under the counter and sliding you a pack of Twizzlers. "On me."

"Oh, are you sure?" You ask, hesitant to accept the free candy.

Beomgyu sends Jungkook a cocky smirk before he responds, "Yeah, enjoy the movie."

You thank Beomgyu and pretend to not notice the death glares the two boys are sending one another before walking with Jungkook to your theater. "That guy was weird." He comments.

"Yeah." You agree, but it's definitely not true. Beomgyu was friendly and clearly interested in you, unlike Jungkook, who sent you nonstop, draining mixed signals. If his definition of weird is someone straightforward, then you should start going after weirdos.

Once you're settled in your seats in the back of the theater — per Jungkook's request — he clears his throat and says, "So, I tried messaging you on Facebook. Didn't get anything back."

"Oh, sorry. I haven't been using Facebook that much." You reply, hoping your lame excuse is believable enough.

He nods, eyes bouncing between you and the movie trailers playing in the background. "Yeah, I figured." He says. When you don't respond, he continues, "I would've asked Somi for your number, but I didn't want her to get suspicious or anything."

"That's smart." You admit, nodding in agreement.

"Are you okay?" Jungkook asks suddenly, his full attention to you.

You finally make eye contact, and the expression on his face makes your heart sink. He looks genuinely concerned and confused by your sudden coldness. You hate being so mean to him, but you're too embarrassed to explain the real reason why you've been avoiding him. So you nod and say, "Just a little tired."

It's clear he doesn't believe this; the same expression is still on his face as he refocuses on the movie trailers. 

You hate how awkward it feels to be around him now. Never in a million years would you have guessed the two of you would end up like this. A week ago, you would've been overjoyed at the idea of being on a movie date with Jungkook, and now you're considering leaving early and catching a taxi home.

The two of you remain silent as the rest of the trailers play on, and Jungkook immediately sits up in his seat when the lights finally dim and the curtains are pulled back further. He's reticent throughout the movie, aside from a muffled chuckle occasionally; he even side-eyes anyone making too much noise.

You enjoy Twilight nonetheless, agreeing with Jungkook that you do, in fact, dress like Bella Swan from time to time. When he asks if you liked it as you're exiting the theater, you tell him it was very nice and that you hope there'll be another movie.

Jungkook smiles at this, tossing his empty cup in a nearby trash bin. "I'm sure there will be. Maybe they'll even cast you as Bella's stunt double since you already have the clothes."

"Shut up." You tease, and it feels nice to joke with him as usual. You may finally have the courage to tell Jungkook why you've been so distant these past few days.

Saw doesn't get out for another few minutes, so you're stuck waiting in the lobby for Somi and everyone else. Jungkook gestures towards the nearly empty slushie cup clutched in your hands, "You get free refills on that, I think."

You take his word, strolling over to the concession stand. Beomgyu spots you immediately and gestures for you to skip around the line. You shake your head, but he still beckons for you to come over. You feel bad, but the line has gotten longer since you were first here, and you really don't want to wait in a long line just for a refill. 

"What flavor?" He asks once you've slid him your cup.

You tell him anything is fine and he gets to work, combining the cherry and blue raspberry flavors. "How was the movie?"

"It was good. The vampire stuff was cool."

"Have you seen Saw yet? It just came out."

"No, I haven't."

"It's so good; if you wanna give me your number, maybe we can see it together sometime."

What is it with guys offering to take you out to a movie they've already seen? You're not complaining; it's just odd.

Beomgyu is clearly interested in you and has offered to take you out. You'd be silly to pass up on this guy just because your current relationship with your longtime crush is at a standstill. So you accept, scribbling your phone number down on a napkin with your name underneath. He promises to call you once his shift ends and that he looks forward to seeing you.

When you turn to meet up with Jungkook, he's gone. You catch him storming out of the theater, hauling ass to his car.

You run to catch up to him, calling out his name and begging him to slow down.

When he finally does stop, there's a look on his face that you've never seen before. He gets angry all the time, but this was something completely different. "So you were just using me, huh?"

What? What is he talking about?

"Using you for what?"

"To lose your virginity. You just wanted to get it over with, right?" His voice is slightly hushed now but still loud enough for you to feel embarrassed about anyone passing through the parking lot.

"Jungkook, what are you talking about?"

"You used me to lose your virginity, so when you date other guys you can tell them you've had sex before. Is that what this is?"

This accusation hurts, considering that Jungkook was the only guy you've ever been interested in romantically and sexually. You don't know where this theory originated, but you don't like it.

Jungkook continues before you respond, "I tried reaching out and talking to you, and you just blew me off! And yet, here you are, giving your number to random guys! Am I not good enough for you?!"

"It's not like that, Jungkook!" You don't mean to raise your voice at him, but you can't help it. Both of your emotions were at an all-time high.

"Then what is it like?!"

Here goes nothing.

There are already tears forming as you go to explain yourself. "I didn't reach out to you because…because I was embarrassed."

"You were embarrassed to have sex with me?"

"No!" You yell in reassurance, "No, no, no. Of course not. I was embarrassed because I know you didn't finish. I just thought maybe I did something wrong or didn't do enough."

Jungkook quirks a brow at you, "What makes you think I didn't finish?"

You really hate that he's making you explain this. "I saw the condom afterwards; it was empty."

"You went digging in my trash can to find the condom?" Now he looks more disgusted than confused; this is going so horribly.

"No! I saw it when I went to get my phone off the charger."

Jungkook takes a minute to process everything, scratching his chin in deep thought. You can't tell what he's feeling, but he does look hurt. It makes you regret avoiding him in the first place.

"So, you were prepared to never talk to me again over an empty condom?" Despite his stern demeanor, he's clearly shaking as he questions you.

You want to say no, that it wasn't a case, but you can't bring yourself to lie to him again. So you say nothing. Jungkook nods at your lack of response before turning around and walking towards his car. You remain still, frozen in place, watching as he sits on the hood of his car and smokes a cigarette.

If it weren't for Somi finishing her movie within the next few minutes, you would've walked the entire way home.

This bitch is driving you crazy.

Your older sister, Imogen, is home for a few days to start her wedding preparations. The fake bridezilla persona she's putting on bothers you the most, bursting out in tears at the most inconvenient times or having a breakdown about selecting a theme. Deep down, she doesn't care about any of this bullshit; she's like you about parties or big events.

"This is literally the biggest day of my life, and you're being so fucking difficult." Imogen snarls at you, pouring herself a cup of coffee. You're sitting a few feet away on the kitchen counter, staring out the kitchen window. Despite Imogen's occasional yelling and snarky comments, all you can think of is Jungkook.

It's been an entire week since the movie theater incident. You haven't stopped by the Jeon household not once, telling Somi you fell ill and don't want to get her sick. It's another lame excuse, but she buys it, opting to talk to you on the phone daily until you recover.

You have yet to speak to Jungkook; it's not like you've tried. The idea of messaging him on Facebook and not receiving a response makes you anxious. It's hard to believe you subjected him to the same torture not long ago. It doesn't help that Scarlett is suddenly all over his page, commenting on nearly every one of his posts, writing on his wall, or tagging him in pictures. Your recurring dream of curb-stomping her is back in full force.

You sigh at your sister, "Whatever you say, Imogen."

She waves dismissively at you, "Please, don't even talk to me right now."

You hop off the counter in annoyance and stomp off towards the staircase, mumbling, "Fucking drama queen."

"Language." Your mom warns you, flipping through one of the several bridal magazines your sister has stacked on the coffee table.

Imogen scoffs, setting her mug on the counter. "I'm the drama queen? Whenever I talk about my wedding, you throw a fucking fit!"

"Why are you pretending to care about this stupid wedding and that stupid boy you barely even know?!" You shout back from the staircase.

"If my wedding is so stupid, then don't come!"

"I don't even want to go to your stupid wedding, with your stupid fiancé and your stupid red velvet cake that no one's going to fucking eat!"

This is probably the dumbest fight you've ever had.

Imogen doesn't respond to this, advised by your mother not to and to let you stomp up the stairs in a furious rage. You make a beeline straight to your desktop, waking up the computer with a mouse shake and entering your password.

Facebook is already open once you've signed in, Jungkook's page staring right back at you. You're ashamed to admit you'd been cyberstalking him, but you had no choice. Seeing him in person would've been too much, but you still want to ensure he's doing okay.

There's a new post up when you refresh the page; you chew on your bottom lip as you anxiously wait for it to finish loading.

It's a picture of his dirty Chuck Taylor's perched upon a wooden stool. You recognize the background immediately; he's in the treehouse in his backyard. You and Somi would spend hours up there as kids, giving each other manicures and exchanging secrets; now, you can barely look her in the eye without bursting out in tears. You hate how complicated things have become.

A light tap against your door has you swiveling around in your chair. It's Imogen, leaning against your doorframe with her arms crossed. "Who's that?"

"Somi's brother." You respond, scrolling to a photo that actually shows his face.

Imogen steps further into your bedroom, squinting her eyes at the computer screen. "Oh, yeah. Hasn't changed much, has he?" When you remain silent, she asks, "Would it be wrong of me to assume he's the real reason why you're so upset?"

You sigh, letting your shoulders drop. "You'd be very correct, actually."

She nods in understanding, sitting on the edge of your bed. "So, what's going on? You like him?"

"We kind of like each other, I guess." You mumble. Honestly, you're not quite sure how Jungkook feels about you at the moment.

"And Somi doesn't approve of it?"

You snort, "Somi doesn't know. There was nothing to tell her at first, but things have changed."

"Are you guys dating?"

"No. We actually haven't talked in a week. I may have hurt his feelings."

Imogen nods towards your desktop, “Where is he now?”

You shrug, “Home, I guess.”

She stands, stretching out her limbs. She glances around your room, locates a jacket dangling lifelessly from your doorknob, and tosses it to you. “Let’s go.”

Taking an impromptu trip to the Jeon household had you sweating. What if Jungkook doesn’t even want to see you? What if Somi catches you talking and asks what’s going on?

Each concern you raise is instantly shot down by Imogen, claiming you’re creating excuses to avoid seeing him, how you’re only imagining the worst possible scenarios. You appreciate her overwhelming support but can’t help the nervousness creeping through your body as her car approaches the Jeon household.

“Remember, be apologetic but not desperate,” Imogen informs you, putting her car in park in front of the house.

“I am desperate.” You remind her.

“Well, don’t let him see it. You got this.”

You thank your sister one last time for the advice before stepping out of her car. You’re careful to avoid being seen from windows as you make your way into the backyard; not entirely sure what you’d say if Somi were to catch you.

You scale the tree quickly, silently praying the old wooden steps are stable enough to hold your weight. 

You sigh in relief once you’ve reached the top, only to groan at the sight of Scarlett sitting across from you. She looks up from her iPod with a bright smile, quickly pulling out her earbuds as you enter the treehouse. “Hey, stranger! Watcha doing here?”

Her enthusiasm really makes you sick. “Came to see Jungkook,” you pause to glance around the tiny, wooden deathtrap, “but he’s nowhere to be found.”

“He’ll be back soon; went to use the bathroom,” Scarlett informs you, running her hands through her hair. “So, you guys really like each other, huh?”

What? She knows about that?

“Jungkook told you?” You question, trying your best to appear unbothered. You’re unsure where she’s going with this, but you have no reason to trust her.

Scarlett nods, “We tell each other everything. So when he told me you guys weren’t talking, I may have devised a plan to help you come around. You do use Facebook, right?” She smirks

Holy shit, all the posts of them together were to make you feel jealous enough to have a conversation with him; and your sworn enemy was the mastermind behind it. It was all a ploy to get under your skin, and you fell right into the trap. 

“You’re a stubborn little thing, though. Didn’t think it’d take you so long.” She comments, slipping her jacket on.

You shrug, “I didn’t think he’d want to talk to me.”

“Jungkook always wants to talk to you. I don’t mind it, though. You seem good for him.”

Aside from Somi, Scarlett is probably the last person you would’ve expected to be supportive of your relationship with Jungkook. So, to hear she’d been secretly rooting for you behind the scenes nearly gives you whiplash. You almost feel wrong about your dreams of shoving her face into the pavement.

You tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “So, nothing is going on between you guys?”

Scarlett grimaces as if you deeply offended her, “Of course not! Don’t get me wrong, he’s cute, but not my type. His sister is cute, though.”

Woah.

“Somi? Jeon Somi? You’re into her?” You ask, completely stunned.

“Hell, yes. Hey, do you think you could set us up? Jungkook would never.”

“You do know that Somi can’t stand you, right?”

Scarlett excitedly nods, “I know, it’s kind of a turn-on.”

You hold your hands out to stop her from elaborating any further. Scarlett has surprised you in more ways than one in less than five minutes. You’re sure any new information would’ve made your head explode.

“I’ll…try my best.” You promise; not quite sure how Somi would feel about the idea of Scarlett liking her.

“For what?” A voice interrupts, causing you and Scarlett to direct your attention to the treehouse’s entrance. And there he is, in all his gothic glory. 

“Girl talk, none of your business,” Scarlett responds, making room for Jungkook to crawl in. 

“Fine. You keep your secrets; I’ll keep mine.” Jungkook groans, sitting between the two of you.

“Will do. I’m outta here. Got a hot date with a box of hair dye. See you suckers later.” Scarlett waves goodbye as she exits the treehouse, reminding you of your promise before disappearing down the steps.

Jungkook clears his throat, sweeping his hair away from his eyes. "So—"

"I'm sorry," you cut him off, "I should've reached out and talked to you, but I was just too embarrassed and didn't know how to approach you about it. I really like you, and I wasn't using you to lose my virginity. I mean, you're the only person I've ever been interested in. So, again, I'm sorry."

He sighs, "I understand why you were embarrassed, but I promise it had nothing to do with you."

"Then what was it?"

Jungkook anxiously scratches the back of his head before he responds. "It's just that…sometimes…it takes me a little bit longer to, uh…to finish."

Oh.

"Is it because of your…size?" You can't help but wonder.

Jungkook snorts, "What, you think I'm big?"

"I'm out of here." You joke, faking as if you're about to leave.

"Wait, wait, wait." He stops you, "I was only kidding. I never really thought size played a factor in it, but every guy is different. But, still, that doesn't mean I didn't enjoy us having sex. I mean, you had already finished, and I didn't want to tire you out just for my sake."

Knowing he had a perfectly reasonable explanation makes you feel even worse about spending all that time avoiding him. You want to tell him you wouldn't mind him tiring you out, that the idea excites you, but you refrain.

A beat of silence passes, and you ask, "But, I'm sure if there's something that you're really into, then it wouldn't take as long for you to finish. Right?"

Jungkook nods, "I guess."

"Then, what is it? What are you into?"

He coughs, tips of his ears turning a light shade of pink. "Um…I guess I'm into…roughness?"

Ah. 

"That's not a big deal. A lot of people are probably into that."

"I mean, it's fine either way, but I mostly prefer when girls are kinda rough with me. Fuck, this is embarrassing."

"It's not!" You reassure him, placing a gentle hand on his knee, "It's nothing to be embarrassed about. I appreciate you trusting me enough to tell me."

Jungkook stares at your hand on his knee before placing his own on top. You twist yours upwards and interlock your fingers, not missing the smile that forms on his face. His bangs have swept into his eyes again, and you use your free hand to move them out of the way. "It was my first time, too, by the way."

You snort, "You don't need to say that just to make me feel better."

"I'm serious," he continues, "I mean, I've gotten pretty handsy in the past, but nothing like what we did."

You shake your head, "I don't buy it. You seemed so experienced like you knew what you were doing."

Jungkook shrugs, "I mean, I'm not completely innocent. I may occasionally watch certain videos and read certain stories from time to time."

Porn and smut. Beautiful combination.

He shakes his head, "You still don't believe me; how come?"

You sigh, memories of the night before he left for college flashing in your mind. How you ran home in tears, how he only responded to Scar's comment on Somi's Facebook post. It almost hurts to think about. "The night before you left for school, there was an opened condom wrapper on your floor. I just figured…you know."

Jungkook nods at the memory. "I wasn't gonna go to the dorms the next day. I was planning on running away, that's why I gave you that bandana. After my parents helped bring my stuff to the dorms, I was gonna put everything in my car then take off."

You're having a hard time processing this information. Why would Jungkook plan on running away? What does this story have to do with the empty condom?

He continues, clutching your hand even tighter. "I only told a few people I was leaving, and there was this one girl who came over to say goodbye. She'd been really into me for a while and was heartbroken that I was leaving. We were about to hook up, hence the condom wrapper, but I couldn't do it."

"Why?" You question.

"Didn't feel right. I wasn't into her the same way she was into me. Just couldn't do it." He explains, eyes staring deep into yours. You believe him; you know he's being truthful.

"What made you decide to stay?" You ask.

"For Somi," he answers, "I couldn't just leave her like that. And for you, too."

Though you've felt it for many years, telling Jungkook you love him is too soon. But you want to, so very badly.

"I'm glad you decided to stay." Your voice is barely a whisper now as you try to stop yourself from tearing up.

He nods, "Me too."

You sit in comfortable silence for a minute, clutching each other's hands. You wish you could stay like this forever. 

"I just realized you never told me if there's anything you're into." He points out.

You shrug, "Just you." And it's true: Jungkook is the only person you've ever been interested in. Everything he says and does is genuinely attractive to you.

He drops your hand gently, using it to tilt your head towards him, and he kisses you. 

You're quick to cradle the back of his head as his hands snake around your waist, deepening the kiss. You move to straddle his lap, slowly pushing him onto his back. He grunts in surprise, breaking away from the kiss. "You—"

"Stop talking." You demand before your lips intertwine with his once again. With one hand on his chest, you reach to grab a fistful of his hair and tug lightly, earning a satisfied moan from him. You're not used to being rough with guys, but you're sure Jungkook enjoys it with the way his erection is already pressing up against your thigh.

Reluctantly, you pull away from him and sit up, staring at him sprawled underneath you in complete awe. "Alright, I'll message you my number so we can text. See you later."

"No! No, no, no. Please don't go." He pleads, holding you in place when you go to stand, "Just stay a little longer, please."

You smile down at him, fighting the urge to stay in the treehouse. "I can't. Imogen is waiting out front. We'll see each other soon, okay?" You promise, planting a kiss on his forehead.

Jungkook nods, fingers drumming against the floor as he watches you crawl out of the treehouse. "Don't be too surprised if I seem extra excited to see you next time." He calls after you.

"Trust me, I won't."

Jungkook is the first boy to ever sneak in through your bedroom window.

He carelessly tosses his backpack in first, cringing when it lands on your carpeted floor with a loud thud. Though you’ve assured him your parents are heavy sleepers, he’s still worried you’ll get in trouble if he makes too much noise and accidentally reveals himself. “Sorry,” he apologizes, wrist gripping your forearm as you help pull him in.

“It’s fine,” you whisper back, “they’re not gonna wake up.”

“Still,” he grunts, using his upper body strength to pull him further into your room. “Don’t want you getting in trouble.”

It’s a day after the treehouse incident; as promised, you sent Jungkook your number and spent all day texting back and forth. Despite not being big on texting, you admire how Jungkook likes to keep you updated on what he’s doing and how he checks up on you to ensure you’re okay. 

“We’ll be fine, but just in case, I did make room for you in my closet in case you have to hide.” You inform him.

Jungkook stifles a laugh, “Good to know.” He settles himself on the edge of your bed, moving over once he realizes he’d sat on a pile of clothing. “Oh, were you about to shower?”

“I was,” you answer, moving the clothing over to your nightstand, “but I’ll wait until after you leave.”

He has to stop himself from making a joke about joining you in the shower. He nods, leaning down to drag his backpack towards him, “Guess what I got today.”

“What?” You question, legs folded underneath you as you sit beside him.

Jungkook slowly unzips his backpack, careful not to make too much noise before rummaging through it and clutching something in his hand. He momentarily turns his back towards you, clips something to his shirt, then turns back around.

There’s a name tag on his chest now with his name scribbled in black ink and a little star next to it. “A job?”

He nods, “At that music store, Spin City. Need to start saving up before classes start. Plus, I wanna take you out somewhere nice before summer’s over.”

You gulp, “Like, a date?”

“Yeah. I mean, unless… I don’t know. I just kinda figured…” He trails off, suddenly worried he may be scaring you off.

You grab ahold of his hand, “I know, and trust me, you’re perfect, and I want us to be together. But, the night we saw you at that party, I did ask Somi if she would be upset if I was into you. Surprisingly, she said she wouldn’t mind as long as I talked to her before making a move on you. And, well…”

“We made a move on each other without telling her,” Jungkook finishes for you.

You nod, “Exactly.”

He sighs, “So, I’m guessing that means you wanna wait before we make things official.”

“Yeah. No matter what, I still want to be with you. But it’d be best for all of us to get her on board with this first. Show her how much we truly care for each other, and make sure she’s okay with it. So she knows my relationship with you won’t affect our friendship, and vice versa.” You explain. Jungkook’s eyes never stray from yours, listening intently and nodding at everything you say.

“That’s fair,” he agrees, “It’s a good idea. Do you want me to talk to her? Or for us to talk to her together?”

You shake your head, “She’ll definitely freak out on you; it’s best if I do it alone first, then you talk to her afterward.”

Jungkook leans back against your bed, resting his head on your pillow. It’s funny how different your aesthetics are; he looks perfectly out of place, sprawled on your baby pink pillow surrounded by teddy bears. “When?”

“I dunno,” you respond, lowering yourself until your head rests comfortably on his bicep. “Doesn’t have to be right away. As long as it’s before we move into the dorms.”

“We shouldn’t wait too long, though. It’ll only make things worse.” Jungkook mumbles, pulling you closer to him.

“I know. I’ll have a talk with her soon, I promise.”

You interlock pinkies to solidify your promise and ease his nerves. You hadn’t realized how anxiety-inducing this was for Jungkook as well. The idea of Somi not approving of your relationship had him genuinely worried. 

“But, you should know that no matter what—” he starts.

You cut him off, “I know.”

The hands that once purposely dumped slime in your hair are now tugging your panties down your legs.

“Can we try something?” Jungkook asks with a mumble against your lips, your soft blue underwear now clutched in the palm of his hand.

“Like what? I actually make you come for once?” You joke, earning a laugh from Jungkook.

“Don’t worry about me.” He presses another kiss against your lips, “You trust me?”

“Of course.” You respond, sitting up in Jungkook’s bed as he moves backward, never breaking eye contact with you. He pushes your skirt up slightly but pats your hand away when you go to remove it altogether.

“Leave it on.” He commands, bringing himself at face level with your cunt.

You’ve never felt this shy in your life, grateful your bunched-up skirt created the tiniest barrier between having Jungkook see you all flustered. Never had you been this intimate with a guy, especially not a guy you technically weren’t even dating.

His thumb is circling your clit before you have the time to protest, to tell him he doesn’t have to do this just for your sake, but the feeling of his fingers pressed against you has you at a loss for words. 

“This okay?” He asks.

“Yeah.” You respond, tilting your head upwards to stare at the ceiling.

Before you know it, his middle and index fingers are pressed against your opening, eliciting a gasp from your lips. At your reaction, Jungkook slips his finger into your entrance, thumb still playing with your clit. He insists on being teasingly slow today, wanting to draw out every moment and observe your reaction.  

He pumps his fingers in and out of you in a slow, consistent motion, an amused smirk on his lips when he hears your breathing become ragged. Abruptly, he slips his fingers out of you, moving your thighs to rest them atop his shoulders. 

“Wait, you don’t have to—oh fuck.” You’re cut off by Jungkook pushing himself forward, placing a sudden kiss on your clit that has your hips jolting in the air. His hand grabs your waist and licks at your slit, keeping you in place as he gently returns your body to his mattress. 

His growing erection is the last of his worries, all too focused on dragging his tongue across your cunt. He flattens his tongue, pulling the wetness upward until he’s circling your clit again. In search of something to grab onto, your hands grip the bed sheets until Jungkook reaches forward, moving your hand over to grip his hair.

His eyes are closed when you look down at him, and you swear you can hear him moan as he eats you out. You try your best to keep the noise down out of fear someone will hear, but you can’t help but yell out when he’s back to fingering you, all while circling your clit with his tongue. 

Your grip on his hair tightens, pushing his face further into your pussy, and he lets out a satisfied groan. It’s embarrassing how quickly your orgasm approaches; everything with Jungkook is so intense. He knows this, eyes fluttering open to watch your expressions. Black eyeshadow is smeared across his eyelids as his eyes focus on your own, hands gripping your thighs as he tongue circles your clit.

His fingers are relentlessly pumping into your cunt now, contrasting against how teasingly slow his tongue is moving. He pulls his mouth away, lips glistening with your arousal, and asks, “You close?”

You don’t respond directly, but the grip you have on his hair gives him all the answers he needs before he’s diving back in. It doesn’t take much for you to come after that, a final kiss pressed on your clit, sending you over the edge and coating Jungkook’s fingers.

Jungkook doesn’t stop there, still continuing to lick and suck your clit until you’re begging him to stop from the overstimulation.

“Sorry.” He apologizes, planting a kiss on your inner thigh, “Was that good?”

“That was literally the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” You respond. Jungkook lets out a laugh as he crawls up next to you. “I should be upset with you, though.”

“What?” He questions, peppering your face with kisses, “Why’s that?”

“I came over to talk to your sister about us, and you distracted me.”

“How’d I do that?”

“Because! You came downstairs in your eyeshadow. Then you were all like, ‘Oh, hey. I cleaned my room; wanna check it out?’” You mimic a deep voice that sounds nothing like his. 

“I apologize for putting on eyeshadow, bringing you to my room, and eating you out. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”

“I guess.”

You both laugh at this as you move to pull your skirt down. “Hey, how’d you realize you like it when girls are rough with you?”

Jungkook shakes his head as the memory returns to him, a shy smile on his face as he glances over at you. “A couple years ago, I was picking on Somi for something. I don’t even remember why, but it got to the point where my parents were telling me to stop, and I wouldn’t. Then, you just started yelling at me out of nowhere, and I don’t know why, but it was the hottest thing ever. I was in awe. I really thought you were gonna slap me. Since then, it’s just been a turn-on of mine.”

“Wow. That’s actually kind of pathetic.” You tease.

He groans, “Please don’t say that. You’re gonna make me hard again.”

Laughter is shared between you once again before you lean your head down to rest on his chest, the sound of his steady heartbeat making you feel calm. A comfortable minute of silence passes before you have to address the unfortunate inevitable, “Somi should be here soon, right?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook mumbles, “within the next ten minutes.”

You sigh, “Next time I come over, I’ll have to tell her about us.”

The next time you stop by the Jeon household, Jungkook has you bent over in the backseat of his car.

His finger digs into your waist as his cock is plunging into you at full force, emptying all the thoughts from your brain. You still haven’t fully adjusted to his size, but you don’t care; the pain of being split open makes you come faster. It feels better.

Jungkook insisted on taking things slow, telling you that you’d need to adjust to his size, but the moment you sunk your dripping cunt onto him, he was under your spell. 

Your body lunges forward with every rough stroke Jungkook gives you, hands buried in your hair as he pulls you up against his chest. His hand moves from your hair down to your neck, tilting your head back while applying the slightest bit of pressure against your throat. Your eyes close out of instinct as tears form in the corner of your eyes before trickling down your cheeks. He kisses them away one by one before settling his lips on your neck. You make a mental note to check yourself for hickeys afterward.

You’re coming around him before you realize it, body spasming as you grip the driver’s seat headrest. Jungkook shows no signs of stopping or slowing down; in fact, he’s sped up even faster since fucking you through your orgasm. He lets go of your neck to push down on your back, left hand gripping your waist while the right intertwines your fingers with his. 

A few strokes later, he’s finally coming and jokes about showing you the used condom as confirmation.

You shake your head, gesturing for him to pass you the shorts he’d tossed in the front seat. “I can’t believe I let you trick me again.”

“What?!” He exclaims in utter shock, reaching in the front seat to grab your discarded clothing, “How exactly did I trick you?”

“I came over to talk to Somi, but then you were all like, ‘Hey, come look at my car; I just got it washed.’” You playfully roll your eyes, searching around the backseat for your underwear.

“Can I keep these?” He asks suddenly, the most nonchalant expression on his face as your panties dangle from his middle finger.

You scoff, reaching to snatch them from him, confused when he retracts his hand. “I think I will keep them until you talk to Somi. Since it was you who wanted to talk to her first.”

“Then, I guess I’ll get them back tomorrow because I’m definitely talking to her today.”

Except you don’t.

You spent the entire summer sneaking around with Jungkook and procrastinating about having that talk with Somi. It was anxiety-inducing, to say the least, and you had no idea how she’d react. You tell yourself she won’t be upset as long as you assure her your friendship won’t be affected by you dating her brother. 

You’re scheduled to move into the dorms within a few weeks, so it’s best to sort things out now before you all live under the same roof, unable to avoid one another. Jungkook doesn’t seem nervous at all. In fact, he’d given you a pep-talk the day before you showed up at their home.

“She can’t stay mad forever.” He pointed out, eyes sealed shut as you do his eyeliner.

“I know,” you mumbled, adjusting yourself on his lap, “but that girl can hold a grudge.”

“Right, but this is you we’re talking about. You mean a lot to her, to both of us, actually.”

His words play in your mind as you enter the Jeon household, following Somi into the kitchen. “Baking something?” You ask, a sweet, decadent scent hitting your nose.

“Brownies for some stupid bake sale my parents are having. Help me clean up?” She asks, pouting her lips at you.

“Sure.” You agree, under the assumption that there wouldn’t be much to even clean up. 

Boy, you were wrong. It’s like Somi used every dish in the house to make one sheet of brownies. There’s no backing out now; you already agreed to help, and it’d be best to stay on her good side for now.

She gets to work rinsing each dish before handing them to you to load the dishwasher, moving quickly to get everything done faster.

“What a beautiful friendship.” A familiar voice comments; you fight back a smile as Somi groans at her brother.

“You wouldn’t know; you don’t have any friends,” Somi responds, laughing at her words.

“Neither will you, soon,” Jungkook whispers back, groaning when you swat him in the chest. “Any brownie batter left?”

“None for you. Shouldn’t you be at work?” Somi asks, handing you another dish.

Somi takes a break from rinsing off the dishes to bicker with Jungkook for a minute. You tune out from the conversation, dipping your fingers into the leftover batter bowl and gathering the chocolate on your fingers.

“I’m leaving, I’m leaving,” Jungkook says. When Somi finally directs her attention elsewhere, Jungkook takes the opportunity to grab your wrist, bringing your fingers up to his lips before sucking the chocolate off them. 

Your eyes practically bulged out of your head, nervously glancing behind you to ensure Somi hadn’t seen anything. You swat at Jungkook’s chest for the second time, and he laughs as if you’re being overly dramatic. It’s odd how surprisingly calm he is about everything. His demeanor would have worried you if you didn’t trust him so much. 

Jungkook wipes the renaming bit of chocolate around his lips before mouthing ‘Good luck.’ You give him a nervous smile, watching as he slips past Somi and leaves out the front door. You get back to work, making small talk with Somi as you help her load the dishwasher.

It’s now or never.

“So,” you start, “we’re gonna be living together soon.”

Somi smiles, “Finally! God, I can’t wait to have some freedom. My stupid curfew is a major cock-block. Right when things are finally getting good on a date, I have to go back home. So fucking frustrating. There’s literally cobwebs in my vagina.”

You snort, loading the final dish into the washer. “Well, you won’t have that problem anymore.”

“I know. And maybe you’ll even find someone worthy even to date you.” Somi jokes, hopping on the kitchen counter.

“Uh, what if I already have found someone…worthy enough?” You question, pressing a few buttons to get the dishwasher going.

“As if.”

“Somi, I’m serious.”

She sighs, still not buying your confession. “Alright then, who is it?”

“...Your brother.”

A beat of silence passes, and then Somi doubles over in laughter, nearly slipping off the counter several times in seconds. It takes her a minute to catch her breath, clutching her collar for support as she regulates her breathing; even tears are forming in her eyes. “Holy fuck, can you imagine? You and my brother? Jesus Christ.”

“Look, there really isn’t an easy way to say this, but we really do like each other. We’ve been…together this whole summer. Well, not officially; I didn’t want to put a label on anything without talking to you about it first.” You finally confess. The weight on your shoulders doesn’t immediately drop as you expected; it’s like the load has gotten heavier.

Somi has a blank expression as she stares at you, eyes darting around the kitchen as she processes the information. “You’re serious?”

You nod.

She shakes her head, “What kind of friend are you?”

Fuck.

“Somi, please, let me—”

She cuts you off, hopping off the counter and inching towards you. “So, what? All this time, you were using me to get close to Jungkook? Out of every fucking guy on the planet?!”

“No! Of course not! Somi, I never even imagined myself in a relationship with him until this summer, I swear!” Your voice trembles as Somi approaches you. The two of you have never been in a physical fight before, but the expression on her face tells you there’s a first time for everything.

“Oh, really? You expect me to believe that, huh? So it’s just a coincidence that you guys suddenly got together right before we’re all gonna be living in the same building?”

“I know it doesn’t sound great, but—”

“I think you should go.” Somi cuts you off calmly, her sudden change in demeanor shocking you. A moment ago, she looked angry enough to hit you, but now, she seems a few seconds away from breaking down in tears. 

You nod understandably, telling Somi to take all the time she needs and to call you when she’s ready to talk. 

She doesn’t say a word as you exit her house, and you wonder if you’ve just lost the best friend you’ve ever had. 

“I’ve never seen her this angry, Jungkook. I thought she was gonna hit me or something.” You groan, ear pressed up against your phone as you rant to Jungkook.

It’d been a few hours since you left Somi’s house; Jungkook had promised to call you during his break to hear how the conversation went. You’re still shaking as the memories flood you, how your best friend in the world accused you of using her. What a fucking joke. 

“She’ll get over it, trust me. Y’know, before I called you, she spent five minutes yelling at me over the phone. Five fucking minutes, and I just took it. She’ll be fine.” He says, following up with a loud slurping noise that suggests Jungkook has chosen to have ramen for lunch.

It’s astonishing how calm he’s managed to stay this entire time.

You flip over on the couch, head resting on the armrest as you stare at the ceiling. “I just don’t wanna lose her. She’s a fireball, for sure, but she’s my fireball. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

“I just told you you’re not gonna be without her, okay?”

“...Okay.”

There’s a knock at your front door, most likely from the pizza delivery Jungkook had sent to your house.

“I gotta go. The food is here. Are you still stopping by after your shift?”

“Of course. You gonna be alright?”

“Yeah,” you stand, making your way to the front door. “I’ll save you some pizza.”

He chuckles at that, “You better. I’ll see you later, okay? I love you.”

He what?

“You what?” You pause, hand on the doorknob.

“I love you, and I’ll see you later.” He hangs up.

You don’t have time to process his words; the knocking at your front door happens again.

Twisting the knob, you’re met with Somi staring back at you. “Somi? What’re you—”

“I don’t care if you date Jungkook.” She claims, storming through your front door, “If you guys want to be together, then I’m not standing in the way. But I will not be your friend if you date him, so it’s either him or me.”

You follow Somi into your living room, your pulse quickening upon hearing her ultimatum. “Somi, that’s not—”

“Before you choose…as a girl, and as your friend, I have to be completely honest with you.” She sighs, fingers nervously raking through her hair as she sits on your couch. “I called Jungkook after you left, and he talked to me about you guys.”

You nod, taking a seat next to her. “Okay, and…?”

She sighs again, taking your hand in her own. “Everything he’s ever told you was a lie.”

#bts imagine #bts smut #bts scenario #jeon jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook smut #jungkook scenario #jungkook x reader #kpop imagine #kpop smut #kpop scenario #agust d #kim taehyung #13lov

[aemondsbabe]

Claimant

summary: you've been betrothed to jace and aemond simply can't have that

pairing: aemond targaryen x sister!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, reader is described as looking like alicent (coppery hair, wide eyes) but no other descriptors are used, dark!aemond, targcest, incest, knife play (aemond has a thing for knives idk), knife fucking? she fucks the handle idk, no blood/injury, slight coercion, slight degradation, a very viserys (GoT) coded aemond, slight dubcon but the reader is here for it, fingering, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 2.3k

a/n: i genuinely don't know what to say about this. i got inspiration from this last night and became a woman possessed. thank you to @officerbrowneyes for entertaining my delusions.

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!

creds to @tomblythsgf for the gif!

Your skin prickles, the hair at the nape of your neck standing on end as you feel his gaze on you yet again, making your heart hammer in your chest as you nod along to whatever Lord Tyland is saying, your lips stretched into a polite grin while he drones on and on about something or other. The sweet, heady taste of Dornish wine fills your mouth as you sip from your cup and your eyes flick up as you chance a quick glance to the other end of the great hall. 

A small gasp leaves your lips as your eyes meet his, one lilac and one veiled sapphire, both filled with barely contained rage as he sulks in a darkened corner by the doors. 

“Are you feeling well, princess?” Tyland questions and it’s only then you realize how hard you’re breathing, chest heaving as you pant.  

“Of course,” you manage a tight-lipped, courteous smile, “The excitement of the day must be getting to me, if you’ll excuse me.” Quickly, you make your way back to the main table in the center of the room, smiling gratefully as you lay your eyes on your husband-to-be.

“Prince Jacaerys,” you smile, setting your cup down on the long wooden table, “Would you do me the honor of joining me for another dance?”

His dark eyes light up as you approach and he quickly nods, “How am I meant to say no to my future bride?” He chuckles, standing and offering you a hand, which you gladly accept. 

You try your best to focus on the music, the crowd, the loud hum of the conversations that fill the hall – anything but your older brother’s gaze that still bores into you. You can practically feel his rage multiply tenfold as the brunettes wraps an arm around your waist, your throat dry as you grasp his shoulder, fingers digging into the fine silk tunic he wears. 

“Are you enjoying the feast, princess?” Jace asks as the two of you move gracefully across the floor, the steps of the dance thankfully long-since committed to memory. 

“How could I not?” You smile as he twirls you, your long auburn locks swaying against the satin of the cloak that flows down your back before they settle across your shoulders once more, “This is a most joyous day for both of our families.”

“Of course,” the prince nods thoughtfully, though you can’t help but notice his tawny eyes are clouded with a certain sadness, “What I mean to say is, are you happy to be marrying me?” 

Your lips part to answer, though you don’t manage to get a word out before a strong hand clasps your shoulder, your steps halting immediately. You don’t need to turn your head to see who it is, although the sour look on Jace’s face clears any lingering doubt you may have had in an instant. 

“Nephew,” Aemond speaks lowly over your shoulder, standing so close to you that your back is nearly pressed against his chest, “Could I borrow my sister for a dance?”

The prince steps back with an annoyed sigh, shooting you an apologetic look before nodding at your brother, “Of course, uncle,” his voice is monotone as he speaks, though his eyes brighten once more as they land on you yet again, “Until later, princess.” He whispers, dipping his head down to press a soft kiss against the back of your hand; Aemond all but growls behind you.

Your older brother sweeps in as soon as Jace’s back is turned, tightly wrapping an arm around your waist as the two of you continue the dance from where you’d left off. “You know I hate seeing you with him,” Aemond rasps, threading the fingers of one of his hands together with yours, “You belong to me, sweet sister, no one else.”

Your heart twists in your chest and you know deep within yourself that his words are true, not that it matters. “There is nothing I can do, brother,” you whisper, your eyes flitting over to where your mother and grandsire sit, “I had no choice in the matter, you know this.”

Aemond hums lowly in his throat as the two of you sway to the soft orchestral music, his hand untangling itself from yours to grasp your chin, tilting your head up to face him. His lilac eye all but burns with fire as he gazes down at you, “You should be mine, you are mine,” he seethes, words hissed through clenched teeth, “Our fool of a mother should’ve known better than to shackle you to some bast–”

“Do not speak ill of mother,” you admonish, shaking your head free of his grasp, “You know she had as little say in the matter as I did.” 

He huffs a quiet laugh out through his nose, teeth gleaming dangerously as he smiles ruefully, the hand at the small of your back tightening still. “You don’t actually want the Strong bastard,” he whispers, careful to hardly breathe the treacherous words in the crowded hall, “Do you, little one?”

Little one. You shiver at the name, one he had called you since childhood, blushing as he smiles knowingly. “Of course not–!”

“Do I need to remind you who you belong to?” He whispers hoarsely, eye flitting to your lips before he can stop himself, “Of where your true loyalty shall always lie?”

Before you can answer, he’s leading you from the hall and you willingly follow, his dutiful shadow as always, grasping tightly to his arm as he leads you through the familiar winding corridors of the keep until you come to his chambers at last. 

You gasp as he all but pushes you through the entryway before slamming the heavy wooden door closed behind you. Your wide eyes follow him as he circles you like a shark circles its prey, smirking as he looks you up and down, his intense gaze igniting a fire within your belly. 

“Tell me, sweet sister,” Aemond rasps as he comes to a stop before you, one hand grasping your jaw as his lips skirt over your neck, “Does the Strong bastard still believe you to be a maiden?” 

You whimper softly, the feel of his soft lips against your skin sending you into a tailspin as they have so many times before, “Yes, brother.” You answer simply through a gasp, shivering as his teeth graze against you. 

Aemond chuckles lowly in his throat as his hands make quick work of your gown, his deft fingers undoing various buttons and ties until the fine silks sink to a pool at your feet, leaving you bare before him. 

He takes a second to appreciate you, his eye roaming over the soft curves of you he hasn’t seen in so long — ever since your mother had gotten wind of the maids quietly bringing moon tea to your chambers. 

Without a word, he leaves you and saunters over to his bed. You watch him curiously as you stand on the soft rug spread over the floor in front of the fireplace, a cold shiver running down your spine as he pulls his dagger from his belt and traces the long, silver blade of it as he turns back to you. 

“I cannot be so bold tonight as to claim you with my cock, little one,” he whispers, grinning at the blush blooming over your cheeks, “But I will have a piece of you even still.” 

“Aemond,” you start, voice shaking even as you feel slick beginning to coat the insides of your thighs as puzzle pieces snap together in your mind; you haven’t played this game with him in a very long time, “Pl—“

Your words are cut off with a shriek when the sound of fabric ripping echoes throughout his chamber as Aemond pierces his plush mattress with the dagger, leaving the dark leather hilt protruding from the fabric. 

“Come,” he beckons you over with an outstretched hand, “Prove your devotion to me, my Strong girl.” 

Your lower lip wobbles slightly at the double meaning of his words, the fire within you burning bright as you move to him without a second thought, determined to show your brother where your loyalty still lies. 

Aemond laughs softly as he helps you onto the bed, always stunned at how easily you give into him. He holds you steady, his warm hands on your bare hips as you kneel over the knife’s hilt. “You have always been mine,” he murmurs, one hand trailing up your body until it’s cupping one of your breasts, “After tonight I’ll make sure it remains that way.” 

Before you have time to question him, he presses you lower and a whimper leaves your lips as your center brushes against the handle of his blade, the smooth leather gliding seamlessly against your slick folds as you move your hips over it. 

“Oh, Aemond,” you squeak out, eyes fluttering shut as your pearl moves against the hilt, a whine leaving you as you move your hips, trying to position it at your entrance despite yourself, “Please, brother.” You whimper, growing desperate to be filled, even with this part of him. 

Aemond shushes you softly and abandones your breast to grasp at your hip again, pressing soft kisses to your neck as takes heed of your pleas and helps you lower yourself down. His cock stirs within the leather of his trousers, already straining against the fabric as he watches your sweet cunt swallow the hilt of his precious dagger. 

“That’s it,” he coaxes, guiding your hips with one hand as the other snakes up to your throat, smirking as he feels your moan vibrate against his palm, “There’s my strong girl.” 

Your eyes flutter shut as you lower yourself down fully, sheathing the dagger within you. The smooth leather of the hilt presses against your walls deliciously, the various curves and bumps pressing into each sweet spot within you with dizzying precision. 

You cannot help the whimper that tumbles from your lips at Aemond’s words, your walls clench at the leather shaft as you begin to move, impaling yourself on the stem again and again as your brother’s lilac she watches you with awe, his own chest heaving as he notices the way your slick shines against the leather, glowing in the soft candlelight of his chambers. 

“Our sweet nephew will never have you,” he says, shaking his head as his eye once again meets yours, “I’m the only one who should see you this way, writhing and wanting.” 

You nod your head as you lean against him, fingers bunched in the fabric of the black tunic he wears. “Only you, brother,” you whisper, capturing his lips in a frantic kiss as your movements grow quicker, “I don’t want anyone else.” 

Aemond gasps against your lips as you grasp his length through his trousers, rubbing over the bulge before desperately pulling at the laces of his breeches. He helps you, taking pity on your shaking hands, and groans lowly into your mouth when your hand wraps around his length, quickly stroking him from root to tip. 

One of the decorative curves of the handle brushes perfectly over the sensitive spot within you each time you buck against the dagger and you melt against his chest as you swirl your hips, grinding yourself on it. 

Aemond is all but animalistic as he groans and growls and licks into your mouth desperately before pulling away from you with a sigh, only to press hot kisses to the column of your throat; one hand once again cups your breast, his thumb teasing over your pert nipple, as the other leaves your neck to tap over your aching pearl. 

“Gods!” You gasp loudly, stroking over his thick, pulsing cock with one hand, keeping time with your hips as you sink over and over onto the handle of his dagger, your other hand weaves into hair at the nape of his neck, eager for something to anchor yourself with. 

“I would sooner gouge my eye out than let him take you,” Aemond groans, his own hips rutting into your touch as the head of his cock leaks steadily between your bodies, “You are mine, I will not stop until it is so.” 

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you pant, the fire in your belly threatening to consume you as your brother’s fingers firmly circle your bud, “Aemond, I—“ 

“Let me have it,” he grunts, determined not to finish until he sees you breaking apart in his arms, “Give yourself to me, little one, let me have it.” He coaxes, doubling his efforts on your sensitive pearl. 

All at once, your high washes over you and go limp against him, a high keening sound escaping from your lips as your walls pulse over the hilt of his blade, pleasure zapping you like lightning as you coat the leather with your release, your slick dripping onto the mattress below you. 

You’re so lost in the fog of your own pleasure that you hardly hear Aemond grunt against your throat, muting his own sounds of pleasure as he bites into your soft skin. His cock twitches between you, his thick seed coating both of you as it drips down your hand. 

The two of you remain still for a moment, your brother holding you protectively against him as he smoothes a hand up and down your back. His kisses you softly as he helps you pull yourself off of his dagger before he lays you on his bed, his fingers combing through your coppery hair as it splays around your head like a halo on his pillow. 

“Stay,” he commands softly, rising from you and plucking his knife from his mattress, groaning appreciatively at the way your juices still shine on the handle, still warm against his palm from where it had been so deeply pressed within you, “I will be back shortly.” 

“Where are you going?” You question, watching as he sheaths the dagger once more into the small scabbard hanging from his belt before he tucks his softening cock back into his trousers, agile fingers quickly re-tying the laces. 

“To make you mine.”

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0, @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @demirunner @eponaartemisa, @trshgyn

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen smut #aemond smut #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #aemond fanfiction #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fic #house of the dragon #hotd #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon smut #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd smut #fanfic #fanfiction #smut #my writing

[sink-me-in-your-ocean]

𝔊𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔥 ℌ𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔫𝔰 III

What would it be like to sext/send nudes to the Ghouls and Papa Copia? 

Prompt by the magnanimous @endhisbloodlineinmyesophagus

NSFW/Suggestive below the cut.

Copia:

Count on this man to ruin the mood, not by his own accord (although he does get flustered)

It’s because of him misspelling things/not knowing how to work a phone

It barely matters though when you’ve got him hot and bothered and you know he’ll be thinking of you all day

You sent him a photo of your juicy thighs, pressed together from your seated position. Your garter belt just barely peeking out from underneath your short skirt. 

𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚜𝚘 𝚍𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝙳𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝙳𝚄𝙲𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙶

Ducking, my heart?

𝙸𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚢𝚙𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙳𝚄𝙲𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙳𝚄𝙲𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙳𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜

I’m fucking crying 😂

𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚎?

(You can practically hear him cursing in Italian, getting mad at the stupid phone.)

I’ll come by later to teach you how to fix autocorrect

𝙱𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚋𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝

-

Swiss:

If you send Swiss a nude just know he’s smiling devilishly

Tries to lick his phone/bite his phone

Just feral things

Wishes he could climb inside his phone and kiss the pixels of your body

He immediately goes wherever he can and strips down to send you an equally racy reply 

You almost drop your phone at his response. There’s Swiss in all his naked glory, standing proudly in a mirror. Fuuuuck.

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚗’𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝙸’𝚖 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝

You didn’t give me any warning! Someone could have been looking over my shoulder!

If they were I’m sure they would also like what they saw

You’re incorrigible

Idk what that means  But I’ll take it as a compliment 😏

🙄 ... What are you doing right now? I need to see you

I’m getting ready for a ritual now but if we make it fast…

Say less 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♂️

-

Phantom:

His reaction to receiving a nude from you is best described in two words: 

Cartoon character

His eyes are bugging out and his heart is beating out of his chest

He practically drops his phone upon seeing the explicit photo you sent

I think I'm having a heart attack

Surprise 😽 did you like it?

When he doesn't reply, you actually get a little anxious (like, did he actually die?), but then it sounds like someone slams into your door and you about jump out of your skin.

You wrap your silk robe around yourself, barely getting it tied to answer the rabid banging at the door.

“Phantom! You’re all sweaty! Wait, did you run here?”

“Couldn’t. Stop.” He wheezes, “Had. To. See. You.” He collapses in a heap on the floor.

“Well you didn’t have to sprint here!”

He is still panting minutes later before he composes himself and grins up at you wickedly, “And you, vixen, didn’t have to send me photos of you naked, but here we are.” 

You've got a long night ahead of you.

-

Sodo/Dewdrop:

You didn’t think much of the picture you took

It was provocative, sure, but not explicit

Dewdrop thinks differently though

He’s a sucker for a tease

Boy is off his leash going feral 

Got any more? 🔥

You want more?

Fuck, yes

You send him another picture, this one showing more of your soft skin than the last.

Fuck me

When and where?

All day and I don't care

Bet

He pings your location, he’s on his way.

-

Rain:

You send him a text and a photo of yourself to accompany it

Rain’s phone is a lil slow though, so he only sees your text first

It’s not his fault

But it is his fault that he refuses to upgrade his phone...

I need your help, I fell out of my clothes 😏

Your phone screen lights up. Rain is calling.

You answer in a sensual voice, “Rain? Like what you s-?”

He interrupts you immediately, “You fell?!? Are you okay?!”

“Wait, what?”

He yells again, “Your text!!”

“Oh,” You pause, looking down at your message, “The photo I sent, did you get that?”

“Why would you send me a photo if you fell?”

An exasperated sigh escapes you, “Just wait.”

His phone pings, the picture message coming through finally. He sees a sultry photo of you, bare, in front of the mirror in your bedroom.

“Rain? Are you there?”

He spoke again after a moment, his voice about an octave lower, “I’ll be there in 10 minutes.”

-

Mountain:

He does not text

Like, barely at all if he can help it

If you want to discover his weakness though, just send him a suggestive photo

This ghoul will wax poetic about your body all night long

Unless he's tired of course

Hi you

Hi I’m so sleepy

I’ve got something that will keep you awake if you want

Oh?

You send him a suggestive photo of you in bed, the sheet pulled up just barely covering your body and showing plenty of skin.

Fucking hell

Yeah? What would you want to do if you were here?

…

The chat bubbles sit there for about ten minutes before you get antsy.

Mountain?

You send him a meme from SpongeBob: “One Eternity Later”. Still no reply.

I stg if you fell asleep…

The next morning you wake up to a text from him apologizing for falling asleep. A second message says that he isn’t going to tell you what he would do to you, that he’d rather show you instead.

-

Cirrus:

You didn’t give her any warning, you were just feeling yourself so you sent a little slightly nude photo

Cirrus doesn’t have her phone on her though, it’s in her bag

The kicker? She and Cumulus have the same phone, down to identical phone cases which were gifts from Aurora 

Better not open your phone in public while waiting for her to reply

She will always have to one-up you

Cirrus’ phone buzzes, but she ignores it.

Cumulus holds it up because she thinks it's hers and reads the lock screen, “Cir - your ‘Midnight Snack’ sent you a photo message.”

“Could you open it and see what’s up?”

“Sure.” Cumulus pauses, clearing her throat, “Get over here, you’ll want to see this.”

“What could it possibly be -” Her eyes widened into saucers. "That little -"

"Are you going to reply?"

"Yes," Cirrus says confidently, "and you're going to take a photo of me to send back."

There is one thing for certain: her "Midnight Snack" is getting a treat tonight.

-

Cumulus:

She carries her phone around of photo opportunities and to spam the group chat with memes only

You can send her a naughty pic if you want

But it’ll take hours for her reply

She will make the wait well worth your while

You send Cumulus about 20 or so texts before she finally replies to you.

She doesn't read anything, just sees the picture.

Look at you

It's about time!

You look good enough to eat

The moment is over, been over for hours Unless...

You're in luck, little temptress, because we're in different time zones So the moment is just starting for me

You play along, especially when she sends you a photo to up the stakes that has you falling to your knees.

-

Aurora/Sunshine:

Solely communicates via Snapchat, so it’s easy to get a little spicy

She doesn’t get what you’re trying to do though, at first

Once she catches on, all bets are off

What are you doing right now? 

The photo you send is slightly on the sultry side, your hair looking mussed, and your top undone a few buttons.

She sent you a picture back of her wide grin with the line: 

Just shopping! I wanted to get some ribbons for my mic stand 😁

Well what are you wearing?

Her next picture is from someone else’s POV of her body, she’s standing in a cutesy way in corduroy overalls with her arms crossed. 

Idk what this human outfit is called It combines pants and a top and I love it!

You smile at your phone, she’s so fucking adorable. You reply with a chat:

It’s called a jumpsuit, my sweet ❤️

Yes, that’s it! Cumulus says your first message was “sexting”?? 

Your face turns red and she sends another chat message in rapid succession.

I’ll be there after I check out! Don’t unbutton any more of that top! 🍽️

-

They're all truly living rent free in my brain rn

#the band ghost #the band ghost x reader #dewdrop ghoul #dewdrop x reader #sodo ghoul #sodo x reader #phantom ghoul #swiss ghoul #nameless ghouls #cirrus ghoulette #cirrus x reader #cumulus x reader #cumulus ghoulette #aurora ghoulette x reader #aurora ghoulette #sunshine ghoulette #sunshine x reader #papa copia #cardinal copia #copia x reader #the band ghost x reader smut #phantom ghoul x reader #swiss ghoul x reader #rain ghoul x reader #rain ghoul #mountain ghoul x reader #mountain ghoul

[no-droids]

Another Rough Day

gif credit @chrishemsworht

Part Twenty of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 13.7K

Warnings: Angst, violence, canon-typical blood and gore, language, hurt/comfort

A/N: i wanna thank yall for sticking around during my hermit era, in the time ive been gone i am now officially a junior at a university majoring in aerospace and it’s a fuckin nightmare and i hate everything and god help us all literally kill me and I will be posting INCREDIBLY slowly because of that (I’m talkin weeks or months in between updates yall, im sorry I can’t dedicate more time to this but I am going to finish this fic within the next handful of chapters idk maybe 5 or 6 so you shouldn’t have to wait too too long).  As a heads up there will be hard angst as we enter the final arc, there will be hurt and it’ll get dark but everything is gonna turn out alright so thanks for sticking with me and continuing to stick with me. im sorry if you dont like it or your expectations were subverted or if this isn’t what you’d hoped it would be after following and waiting around for so long but this was planned a long time ago and it took me a good year or two to recognize that I started writing this fic for me and now I’m going to end it writing for me and I hope yall can respect that

ALSO I asked my best BEST FRIEND in the entire world @cptnbvcks to collaborate with me for this after we both took a very long break from creating and she drew some GORGEOUS artwork for this chapter so it will be posted at the end, everyone please go follow her and say hello

ps brittany girl you’re a fuckin menace i had to use my own two ears and listen to ethan literally say the words “the mandalorian cums, hard” what the fuck was that im actually suing

anyways chapter below the cut lets get serious yall

---

You take two of them down before they even realize they’re being attacked.

Your aim is as swift and steady as if Din were behind your shoulder right now, calmly pointing out which stationary tree to hit next in rapid succession.  You’re positioned perfectly at the bottom of the ramp to take full advantage of the ambush, the only thing running through your mind is strategy and the constant calculating of angles and ricochets.  The other three troopers are trapped inside the open Crest and you’re right next to a large boulder that you can step behind for cover, but it proves unnecessary as the rumors were apparently true.

They’re… awful.

Not a single blaster is even fired in your direction—you think you see maybe one panicked red shot bounce around in the hull, but that’s it.  The troopers fumble for their guns and trip over each other at the unexpected attack—a few scream like children through the modulators, but you’re temporarily deaf to anything besides the screech of your weapon hitting its target and the crumpling of armored bodies.

Later on, if someone were to ask you to describe exactly what happened—who died first, who ran for cover, who cried out for help—you don’t think you’d be able to.  You don’t even really feel like a person right now.  The entire thing is cold, robotic survival instinct, pure ruthlessness rising in your soul for the first time in your life.  It feels sick.  Wrong in your bones.  Born from preemptive defense in fear of your life, but that doesn’t mean you stop.  Not until all of them stop moving.

You empty the entire fucking canister for a handful of stormtroopers, firing plasma and char marks across every square inch of the pristine hull even after the last one drops.  Your heart is beating too fast, your finger keeps pulling the trigger multiple times even after the blaster clicks uselessly, completely empty and beeping a warning that it must’ve begun emitting ages ago.  Being out of ammo scares you—you suddenly feel vulnerable, even though the very far away logical part of your mind reminds you that they have to all be dead at this point and no physical threat was ever able to graze you.

Regardless, you quickly spin behind the boulder and grab another canister from your belt, giving it a spare check for leaks while the empty one slides and drops to the rocky ground.  It’s the first time you’ve ever had to reload this weapon instead of just pointing and shooting, but the mechanics are relatively simple and your brain makes up for your lack of coherent thoughts with lightning fast perception.  What's difficult is that your hands are starting to shake now that you’re not aiming, you’re not breathing correctly because you’re not really breathing at all.  You can’t tell the difference between the adrenaline-fueled dissociative silence that muffles everything around you or if it really is just that quiet now.  No more clatter of armor, no modulated voices or terrified screams.  No blasters, no footsteps along the ramp, no birds singing.

You quickly pause to lift your elbow and check the enormous eyes blinking up at you, tiny claws still holding tight to the fabric of your tunic and completely unharmed, and then you force yourself to move.  The blaster is held out in front of you while you walk forward and your finger rests on the trigger, begging to be pulled again.  It’s suspenseful and terrifying in a different way than before—now it’s less about psyching yourself up for confrontation and more about the fact that any sudden movement could mean your very swift end.

Silence.  Silence.  You’re numb and raw at the same time, walking up the ramp as your eyes fly everywhere, not even registering the blood or gore, just searching for movement.  You don’t know if you feel like a predator or prey, you’re that much more brutal and inhuman because of how fucking terrified you are.  You count four stormtroopers in the hull laying crumpled and still on the metal floor, but the one in the far corner only has blood on his shoulder.  You quickly swing the blaster around to remedy that, but then—

“P-Please don’t kill me!”

His words remind you of something.  Reality, maybe.  A world outside yourself and the kid’s survival, the living beings behind the bloody armor your enemies wear.

It’s a miracle your finger stays hovering over the trigger, and you watch him throw the blaster at your feet with a clang and scramble to show you his empty hands.  “Please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me—I’m not loyal to the Empire, I don’t want to be here, please, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die—”

Behind the mask, your expression furrows.  Stormtroopers are loyal to the bitter end, what is he saying?  They embrace their expendiality, it’s the only thing that makes them any sort of a real threat.  Kuiil told you horror stories about them during your childhood, the cloning facilities and the propaganda they’re force fed since infancy.  It’s nearly impossible to find one who hasn’t been raised from birth to serve the Empire, no matter how crumbled and trace its remaining authority may be.

No, this is a trap, it has to be.  Your expression twists with dread after hearing him speak, readjusting your aim with the blaster and preparing yourself for the years of nightmares that’ll follow—but then he cries out, “Wait!” and then removes his helmet with trembling hands.

You pause, staring down at him in shock.

It’s him, you recognize him immediately.  It’s the same face from a hologram puck you bore into your memory, spent multiple days staring at so you’d be able to spot him under any disguise or circumstances.  Oshua Ryler.  Your quarry, the fifth puck, the one Din was out Maker knows where searching for before this entire mess happened.  A stormtrooper?  His puck said nothing about the Empire, this doesn’t make any sense.  What is he doing here?  Stormtroopers don’t have pucks, they don’t have bounties or relatives or loved ones searching for them.  They’re brainwashed, replaceable, faceless soldiers in suits of armor and they don’t even have names.

“Please don’t kill me,” he begs again, staring at you with wide eyes even as he cowers.  “I have a family, I-I just want to go home, please—”

“Shut up.”  You can’t think straight with him crying like that and you’re wasting so much time just standing here trying to process when your brain had to literally shut itself down to even do the things you’ve already done.  You have to kill him and escape, you have to—you can’t trust this complication, not with the tiny claws currently digging into your back and reminding you of your purpose, but it was so much easier when he had on a helmet.  You hate looking at his face.  It’s going to haunt your dreams now, just like the man you stabbed on Corellia.

“Please don’t kill me—please don’t kill me,” he screws his eyes up and breathes over and over instead, and your stomach wrenches with disgust.  His posture and expression are so fucking pitiful, you can barely keep your eyes on him through the overwhelming nausea and aversion that climbs up your throat.  He’s with the Empire, and they’re looking for the baby.  You know what needs to be done.  Pull the trigger, just one small movement from you and it’ll be all over.  It would be the easiest thing in the world, it would be so easy.

But then instead, you ask, “Why are you a stormtrooper?”

“I’m n-not—I hate the Empire—”

“The Empire is ashes.”  You don’t know if you’re yelling or whispering with how much blood is roaring through your ears.  “They hold no power anymore.  Why are you with them?”

“Because the one thing they have left is money!”  The quarry shrills the words at you, ghostly pale to the point of turning green.  “Th-They buy troopers now—they opened up a whole new market for the smugglers, there’s a base nearby that’s used for training and…”  He stares wide eyed at you and gulps.  “C-Conditioning.”

Your brain is already going a trillion lightyears an hour and it doesn’t have the capacity to empathize or understand anything beyond the child’s survival and the relevant details right now.  “Were they expecting the baby?”

“W-What?”  He squeaks up at you.

“Was the bounty put out on you a trap set by the Empire?”  You ask him, lifting your free arm just enough to flash him the tiny child clinging to your side.  “He said they’re coming after the baby, so tell me if this was planned from the beginning.”

“Who is ‘he’?”  The stormtrooper asks, furrowing his eyebrows and looking around.  “What are you talki—”

“Tell me if the bounty on you was a trap to take this baby!”  You roar, your blaster shaking as you aim it down at him.  Your mind is acutely focused on the tiny claws hanging onto your tunic, the continued safety of the kid and the life or death situation facing him that you were given absolutely no information about.  “Now—”

“If it was I didn’t know!”  He quickly cries out, pleading with you and clamping his eyes shut in terror under the barrel sight.  “I don’t know anything about a b-baby, or a bounty!  They just put blasters in our hands and told us to search for a ship and to bring back anyone we find alive, I swear!”

You’re silent for a moment, biting your lip under the mask and caught halfway between discerning and stalling.  You could still kill him.  You should still kill him, time is ticking down and more troopers could be heading this way any second.

Shit.  “Who put the bounty out on you?”  You ask sharply.  It might not be a completely fair question, but he can’t exactly blame you for not feeling completely fair right now.

“I—I don’t know,” he gasps, clutching his bleeding shoulder.  “Could’ve been anyone—my mother, Cyra, o-or my dad, Obediah, or Thia, or Benja, or S—”

“Thia,” you interrupt his rambling, catching the slurred word and repeating it back to him.

“Yes!”  Oshua jerks his head up, tears and hope immediately filling his eyes at the sound of her name, “Yes, Thiadura Celi Ryler, that’s my sister!”

Maker, if he’s lying, then he’s fucking brilliant at it.  You look towards the cockpit of the ship, biting your lip under the mask.  Get to Nevarro, tell Karga and he’ll… something.  Din was cut off before he finished.  Help?  Know what to do?  You’re lost, but you have a clear directive and the precious seconds are sliding by.  The controls are right up there, two steps to the ladder and less than a minute until you’re rising into the atmosphere.

But then you think back to the terror in Din’s voice.  The blistering panic that made him speak faster and with more urgency than you’ve ever heard from him.  Get to Nevarro.  Tell Karga.  Get to Nevarro.  Tell Karga.

You look back at the quarry.  “How many of you are there?”

“At the base?  Around three hundred,” he immediately spills.  “Half of us are in the hole right now getting brainwashed, they do it in shifts, but they can be mobilized in a few hours.  There were a lot of bodies outside when we were ordered to split off, maybe a third of our squadron, but the rest were still shooting at whatever was—”

“So around a hundred left,”  You finish breathlessly, almost wanting him to speak faster and cut to the chase so you can calculate quicker.  “How many were dispatched on the search?”

“Uh, there were eight groups of five sent in each major direction,” he informs you, still trembling on the ground.  “Told us not to come back until we covered the entire sector.”

Of which, four you’ve already taken care of.  In other circumstances, you’d be nauseated at the thought, but right now, it’s just another number to subtract, just more panicked math in Din’s frightening absence.  That leaves at least sixty troopers left wherever the base is, minimum, and likely a couple more hours before they’ve combed the sector.  If this wasn’t a preconceived trap purposefully set for the kid, then that means reinforcements haven’t arrived yet but likely will soon.  And if this is a base meant for training and conditioning, then that also means there’s a chance not all of them will be loyal yet.

You make the decision immediately.

“Okay,” you announce, clicking the blaster’s safety switch and holstering it, sounding lightyears more certain than you feel.  “Then you’re going to help me carry out a rescue mission, and I’ll take you back to your sister.”

“You…”  He looks uncertain, blinking at your blaster and slowly lowering his hands.  “You want to rescue the men?”

Ideally?  Sure.  Realistically?  You don’t say anything in response.  Instead, you kick his regulation firearm at your feet further away from the quarry just in case your judgment is flawed, and then turn around and grab one of the bodies behind you.

Your adrenaline is still blaring so fast that you only just barely note the severity of what you’ve just done and what you’re continuing to do.  The corpses aren’t real to you right now, they’re inanimate things that you need out of your ship before you can close the doors to it.  They are, however, heavy as fuck, but the only other adult here has a wound in his arm from the gun on your hip.  Regardless, you have experience with lifting dead weight without a big, strong, capable man to do it for you.

“Help me out here, kid,” you mutter over your shoulder, and in response, you feel his claws dig in and climb up just a little bit until he can peek out in front of you.  Thankfully, the burden is suddenly lifted and you can quickly slide the dead troopers down the ramp with ease.  It takes hardly any time at all—you just yank and haul and release and all four of them tumble the rest of the way all by themselves.

When you stand back up, Oshua hasn’t moved and he’s looking at you with a pale, queasy expression.  Glancing down, you see that your white robe is now stained with streaks and patches of rusty blood.  Instead of swallowing back bile at the sight and bolting to the shower to scrub off every last remaining trace, you breeze past it, noting nothing more than a change of color.  Dirtying your white, pristine clothing with the consequences of protecting this baby—you’d rather have blood-soaked fabric with an unharmed kid clinging to you than any other combination of those things.

“Can you make it up to the cockpit?”  You ask the quarry, kicking his rifle off the ship before closing the ramp and then gesturing up the ladder.  Your voice is calm and steady but your hands are beginning to shake again.  “I need as much information as possible about the base.”  You know that’s where Din is, judging from the wall of blaster screeches that drowned him out through the comm.  Logically, you know you could be headed right into a trap, and every instinct inside you wants to find safety, but… you just cannot imagine flying the ship away from this planet without Din onboard.  It isn’t fucking happening, you’ve made your choice.

Without waiting for a response, you climb the ladder and plop down in the pilot’s seat of the Crest.  While Oshua finds some way to clamber up the steps behind you in bulky stormtrooper armor with one good arm, you hold the kid closer on your lap and begin flight checking.  Din will be fucking furious, but the scolding you’ll be sure to get is the least of your worries right now.  Following his instructions and going back to Nevarro is just making shit infinitely more dangerous for him, turning what could be a potential rescue mission into an undeniable suicide mission.  Even if Karga somehow decides to send a few guild members along to infiltrate the base, it’ll be a war you want to avoid.

Besides.  What did you always tell him about running away from him, even when he instructs you to?

It’s just… not really your thing.

---

They’re everywhere.

They crawl like flies out of the base, and for every single body that falls, three more spill from the open doors.  Rapid fire plasma beams launch from the end of Din’s blaster, melting white armor with every twitch of his gloved finger.  Their aim is terrible, as is to be expected, but the sheer number of them more than makes up for it, as is by design.

Din’s heart pounds with exertion, his breath comes in ragged huffs through the modulator as his helmet identifies and isolates which body is closest to him, which body he needs to bring down next.  His blaster is so hot it nearly burns his hand, even through the thick gloves he wears.  When he runs out of ammo, he holsters the pistol and swings his rifle from around his shoulder, spinning to catch a handful of troopers behind him in the obliterating blast.

He’s not thinking much.  He can’t think, even though your safety and that of his son is currently dangling by a thread.  If he focuses on that, he’ll be dead before he can even picture your faces.  He just reacts, he maims and kills without a single thought in his mind.  Blood splatters, screams and sirens blare as he becomes surrounded by more and more troopers.  Din can hear the sound of plasma colliding and ricocheting off his armor; every single one of them is a potential injury he could currently have but might not even be able to feel right now.

His helmet starts beeping rapidly and he turns just enough to see, highlighted in bright red on the screen, two enormous artillery turrets slowly rising up out of the roof of the imperial base.  He feels a fierce flash of anger burn in his chest, it’s like a lightning strike to his veins.

Din needs to go.

And yet… if he was another man.  If he wasn’t a father, or a husband, if he had no family and no attachments like the creed declared he should, he would go.  With just a twitch of his fingers, he could be launching into the sky and retreating as far away from this battlefield as he could reasonably get.  He’s never been the type to run from a threat, but this isn’t just a threat.  Dozens of troopers are gaining on him, they’re trampling their own dead to get within range.  Plasma pings off his shoulder, another one hits his back as they flank from behind.  He can feel the heat through the sizzling beskar, he can see them surrounding him on all sides, and the propulsion trigger for his jetpack is right there under his wrist.

Din holds his ground and continues firing, he plants his feet firmly to the dirt with only one thought in his mind.

Run, sweet girl.  Run.

---

You type in commands to scan for Din’s signal, quickly locating it through the Crest’s computer onboard.  Not far from here, three minutes or less.  The ship rumbles to life beneath you, slowly lifting off the rocky ground and rotating in place as it hovers.  It’s not on autopilot but you feel like you are, you can barely feel your hands as they move the yoke forward and the Crest takes off in the direction of Din’s blinking frequency.

“Tell me about defenses,” you instruct Oshua, restlessly bouncing your leg while the baby coos.

“Two plasma turrets on top of the base,” the quarry quickly answers.  “There’s usually guards stationed around the perimeter, but everyone who’s capable will be outside right now.”

Your mouth twists downwards under the mask.  Blasters don’t scare you much from this high up, but Din’s armor doesn’t cover every inch of his body, he’s not completely invincible.  Doubt churns in your stomach, but you have to stay focused on one task at a time so you don’t get overwhelmed.  The turrets, then.  “Are they automatic?”

“Manual,” he corrects with a shake of his head.

“Radar?”

“Old.  Only engages above fifty meters.”

You eye your altitude and dip the Crest considerably, beginning to weave through the rocky canyons and dodging crumbling cliffs while you travel.  “What about ships?”

“None,” Oshua says, “except for a passenger shuttle used for transport.  TIEs are flown in the Vesta sector, this base is remote and used for basic training only.”

“Anything else?”  You ask, stomach twisting with the knowledge that barely four questions is all you’ve got.  You’re planning to drop into an imperial base to save the man you love and you can’t think of a single other question?  

The quarry shrugs, and your heart slams, does somersaults in your chest at the mere notion that you could fucking die here.  Today, in two minutes or less, you could die here.  The child in your lap looking over the ship’s front panel with a quiet determination in his eyes could die here.  Din could already be dead—that signal broadcasts his location to this computer regardless of whether he’s still breathing or not.  He could already be gone and you’d be flying the baby right into a trap without knowing any differently.

Whelp, you think while taking a deep breath, some strangely calm existential acceptance beginning to flood your soul.  If he isn’t dead, he will be soon if you don’t make it to him on time.

You immediately lift your wrist and speak into the communicator.  “Mando?”  You have no idea if he can hear you, but you need to try anyway.  Your voice is still firm, there’s a strength to it you don’t feel in your chest, but it certainly sounds convincing.  “I’m coming to get you.  Less than a minute to your location, do everything you can to get outside.  If you can’t, I’ll just… uh.  Try to figure something else out.”

That’s it.  That’s it, improvise until you don’t have to.  Even if you’re lacking confidence, you can at least scrounge up some conviction.  Your arms gain feeling again while you veer the Crest through the stony terrain, the familiar reverberations under your feet begin to fill your body with a powerful sense of purpose.  Your breaths begin to come steady, every falling rock you see through the transparisteel feels like it drops in slow motion, allowing you to evade them easily.  It would normally be stupidly dangerous to fly this low with so many unexpected obstacles and hazards narrowly missing the ship, but considering what you’re flying into, a few boulders seems comical.

“Where’s your helmet?”  Oshua asks out of nowhere, and for a second, you don’t think you heard him correctly.

But then it strikes you all at once what he’s attempting to imply, and the sheer lunacy of the thought is enough to make you laugh while you clutch the controls.  “I’m not a Mandalorian.”

“You wear the armor of one,” he points out… rather fairly, you have to admit.  “You cover your face like one.  You have a blaster that fires Philithiorium, a rare and expensive gas native to Mandalore’s stratosphere, and you’re a bounty hunter—”

“I’m not a Mandalorian.”  Your words are short and cutting, you have a daunting task to focus on and don’t feel like having small talk right now.  “I’m not a bounty hunter, either.”

But then again, Karga made you a member of the Guild, didn’t he?  He handed you Oshua’s puck and said this one is for you to find, and you are technically part of a Mandalorian clan.  All of this seems like it happened without your knowledge.  You may be marrying a Mandalorian, you may wear his armor and mother his child and shoot a blaster with his signet branded into it, but war isn’t in your blood.  This robe was a costume when you first made it, this armor was a relic that was restored as a hobby.  In a sense, it still feels that way.  The mask covering your face lended itself to a temporary surge of bravery earlier, but beyond that, the only thing that’s keeping you moving forward now is your family.  The man you love that may or may not be alive right now, the baby holding tight to your leg while the ship sways and weaves through the stony landscape.

Your eyes quickly flick down to the child in your lap, both of his three fingered hands clutching onto the stained fabric of your knee without moving a single inch.  He’d know, you tell yourself.  If his father is gone, he’d already know somehow.  Din is still alive, and he’s counting on you.

---

There’s too many for Din to handle.

They swarmed him, overpowered his endless artillery with massive numbers and there’s nothing he can do anymore.  The backs of his knees are kicked from behind and he slams down to the ground with a clatter, his sizzling hot blasters are ripped from him, and Din folds his hands calmly behind his back even as one of the stormtroopers barks out, “Binders,” to another one, who disappears quickly in response.  In the meantime, a few of them apparently decide to just attempt holding his arms in place, and their measly combined grip is almost enough to make him roll his eyes under the helmet.  These imperial soldiers are even more pitiful than they usually are, but his silent resolve to stall to ensure your escape is enough to keep him stationary and compliant for the time being.

Eventually, a few voices call out from beyond the crowd and there’s some movement from the back.  Dozens of troopers with their blasters all pointed at him begin to shuffle to make way, careful to keep their barrels aimed at him while a path slowly forms.  The crowd of white parts and a stormtrooper with a singular red pauldron on his right shoulder saunters confidently towards Din as he kneels on the ground.

An officer, he assumes.  Conveniently missing from the firefight, the scanner inside his helmet would’ve caught the change in color and Din would’ve made sure to kill him first.

“Well now, what do we have here?”  Comes his thin metallic voice through the tinny filter.  The officer studies him curiously for a few moments, before slowly looking down by his feet, reaching out one cheap, plastic covered foot to gently nudge the body of a dead trooper on the ground with a sigh.  “What a shame.”

Coward, he thinks, his lip curling with disgust under the helmet.

“This is an imperial training base,” he turns his attention back to Din to inform him when he doesn’t immediately respond, rather stupidly he might add.  “How were you able to find us?”

Silence.  The grip on hands held behind his back is even looser now.  He just tilts his chin up slightly in defiance, the scanner inside his helmet locating each weapon strapped to the man’s body and highlighting it red.  Small text boxes blink into existence under each one with a manufacturer and classification—a BlasTech E-11 rifle, a Merr-Sonn thermal detonator, a Kolvo vibroblade—and Din is severely unimpressed with the quality.  The detonator is the only weapon that even catches his eye, and that’s only because the chamber inside that houses the explosive baradium has a release mechanism that’s completely dead.  Useless, then.  Good to know.

After a long moment of quiet tension where Din refuses to speak and the officer continues to confidently scrutinize him, in some strange sort of silent battle of egos that only one seems to have a genuine interest in, another stormtrooper makes his way to the front, shoving past his fellow soldiers to address the superior in charge.

“Commander, we’ve sent out an alert for an intruder,” he tells him, slightly out of breath from running through the crowd in the lightweight armor.  Din wants to roll his eyes, but what he says next makes him snap to immediate attention.  “The fleet informed us that Moff Gideon is currently on route.”

Gideon.  The last time someone spoke that name, it was a quarry on Coruscant and you just barely managed to stop Din from suffocating the bastard for even saying it aloud before freezing him in carbonite.  It would’ve meant half the return on a hunt that lasted nearly a month but he saw red and his hand was crushing his windpipe before he realized what happened.  But he’s dead, Din thinks with a clenched jaw and fists tightening behind his back, he watched that TIE fighter explode and slam into the ground, crushing the man inside it.  The wreck was unsurvivable, he can’t be alive.

“For what?  This Mandalorian?”  The trooper in charge scoffs in response, and Din remains completely mute.

“Yes, sir,” the other one confirms.  “Orders were to capture him, alive.”

“Hm.”  The officer turns his attention back to him, less analyzing and more musing while he tilts his head.  “I see,” he eventually says, and he sounds like he’s grinning, before strolling slightly closer as Din stays completely still on his knees.  “He must want the beskar.  I’m sure it’s worth more than this entire battalion combined.”

All of a sudden, a gloved hand carelessly catches the rim of his helmet and tugs, and Din’s movement is explosive.  He launches off the ground, arms easily slipping from the pathetic grip they were being held in and his fist colliding with the side of the officer’s flimsy white helmet, the plastic making a deafening crack against his face.

Multiple hands immediately rush forward to grab him and yank him back down again while the commanding trooper stumbles backwards in shock, and Din amicably drops to his knees and folds his hands behind his back once more like nothing happened at all.

“Binders!”  A trooper behind him roars loudly once more, and a few men surrounding him begin trotting away this time.

The officer in red stands a few feet away from him now, grabbing his helmet and twisting it back to its proper position on his head where it was skewed.  There’s a shattered hole near his jaw where the material splintered and busted like the cheap piece of banthashit it is, and while he might normally feel pleased with himself for being able to see his skin peeking through, it just fills him with more righteous fury.  It’s such a punchable jaw.

After a few awkward moments of silence, the other one clears his throat and continues.  “He… has inquired about the location and status of a child that should be accompanying him.”

Din inhales deeply through his nose and grinds his teeth.  He wants to snap their necks one by one for even just mentioning his son, but there are just too many, more than even his whistling birds can neutralize.  Still, he gave you as much of a head start as physically possible.  You should be rising into the atmosphere right now, making the jump into hyperspace towards safety.  Karga will know what to do—he’ll protect his family, separate you and the boy so the threat is evenly dispersed instead of collected all in one place, and arm dozens of trained hunters to keep watch over you both individually.  It’s the best Din can do, and it’s the only thing keeping his knees planted on the ground and his body completely motionless while they continue speaking.

“We are combing the sector for a ship with as many men as we can afford to lose,” the trooper in red says, but his voice filter is shattered and now sounds like a puny little droid with a broken voice box, “but our numbers are unimpressive.  Assistance may be required.”

It’s too late, Din thinks, mouth twitching under the beskar with a satisfied smirk.  They’re wasting their time, looking for a ghost.  You’re both long gone by now.  They’ve got no idea you even exist—

“He also spoke of a girl.”

And then he feels his heart stop in his chest.  Every single cell in his body turns to fire, it’s a fucking miracle he doesn’t move a muscle in response.  His sweet girl, the one so far removed from the nightmare of the Empire that she made best friends with the orphans of it.  How the fuck did he know?  He shouldn’t even be breathing, let alone gathering information about you, how did he know?

But then Din thinks back, remembering your makeshift bed on the floor, your panicked eyes and heaving chest as the quarry taunted him with a sick little smile.  Who’s this, Mando?  She’s just darling, isn’t she?  Does Gideon know your crew has a lovely new addition?

“A girl?”

The trooper nods.  “Moff Gideon insisted that if the Mandalorian did not have a child with him, then a girl would likely be protecting him instead.”

He’s going to kill them, Din decides.  Every single one of these imperial pigs, every single soldier standing right now is a dead fucking man.  The blood pumping through his body suddenly turns to acid, deadly black hate poisoning his soul.  His heartbeat morphs into a war drum, the armor strapped to his limbs is the barrel of a gun.  He’s going to fucking kill them and leave an imperial base full of bodies to greet his old nemesis upon his return, and he’s going to enjoy every single second of it.

Except, then—

“Mando?”  The sweetest voice in existence suddenly crackles through the earpiece under his helmet.  “I’m coming to get you.  Less than a minute to your location, do everything you can to get outside.  If you can’t, I’ll just… uh.  Figure something else out.”

And, as Din kneels there in surrender, surrounded by a crowd of enemies he thought he destroyed long ago, all the anger—all the fury and defiance and murder surging through his veins—suddenly morphs to fear.

The emotion is so foreign and old to him, it feels like a face he barely recognizes and a name he can’t remember.  He’s panicked before.  He’s been in situations where a threat has made him blind with rage, he knows what it’s like to look death straight in the eyes and say that he’s busy and to come back another time.  This is different.  This is ice cold that freezes over beskar.

He can’t speak out loud to warn you—he can’t move his hands to press the button on the back of his helmet and allow him to talk without detection.  There’s plasma turrets on the roof of the base, he can see them right now.  The helmet’s scanners say they’re manned and engaged, and though he is outside and this is how you retrieved him before whenever he needed a quick escape, he has fifty fucking imperial blasters trained on him and you know absolutely nothing about this threat.  You’re flying right into a war zone and if either you or his son dies, he won’t ever be able to forgive himself.

Behind the helmet, his eyes fly to each and every trooper, wondering which blaster will be the one to do it.  Which weapon is going to be the one he can’t block in time when you descend, the one that’ll kill him right in front of you.  Which turret will be the one to obliterate the Crest with you and his son inside of it.

“Maker, where are those fucking binders—” he hears someone behind him snarl, but the white noise of pure terror roaring through his ears drowns them out.  His chest starts heaving against his will, sheer panic begins to blur his vision.  For the first time in his life, his armor feels too heavy, his lungs feel like one of these boulders are sitting on them instead of beskar.

All too soon, his helmet starts making a familiar sound that signals quietly in his ear, alerting him of an incoming ship, and the only thing he can physically do is count down the seconds to prepare himself for what is to come.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two…

Like lightning, Din breaks the grip of multiple troopers and surges up, tackling the officer in red to the ground.  There’s a clatter as they both slam into the rocky floor, but in the ensuing scuffle, he easily snatches the thermal detonator from his side holster and holds it up for everyone to see, before pressing the red button on the front and hearing it begin to beep rapidly.

---

You’re right on time.

The Crest rises up through the rocky cliffs surrounding the base and you spot the turrets you were warned about.  Weapons controls are already engaged and you’re too low to be detected by radar—you fire once, twice, and blast both of them to smithereens from behind before they can even rotate around to target you.

Alarms start wailing but the guns are destroyed.  It’s not comforting, though; blasters won’t touch you up here, but that doesn’t mean they can’t fire at Din on the ground.  Your eyes dart across the sea of white, looking for a flash of silver anywhere, and then you spot him instantly in the chaos.

For some reason, the troopers in his vicinity all seem to be bolting away from him.  Their rifles are down, clutched in their hands while they nearly fall over each other to run away as fast as possible, and your heart soars when you spot his jetpack firing up.  Din launches into the sky while another trooper is revealed underneath him, seeming to juggle something in his hands and then throw it into the crowd of retreating soldiers, but the sight of the man you love rising into the air while a flurry of blaster shots from the far edges of the imperial structure follow him gives you the confidence to immediately turn the guns down towards the horde of troopers.

“Which ones are in charge?”  You ask Oshua breathlessly, who leans forward and points out the transparisteel.

“Red pauldrons—” he barely has time to say it before you aim and fire at one of the troopers wearing red that was closest to Din, the plasma beam launching from the Crest so powerful and devastating that it outright obliterates the surface he’s laying on.  Pieces of shattered armor fly and a smoking crater of rubble is all that’s left behind, but your mind is whirling and you’re already onto someone else wearing red at the edges of the complex, and then two more near the doors, and then another—

To their credit, you think the sixty or so soldiers in training seem to figure out that you’re not aiming into the enormous collection of them.  If you were, the damage would be catastrophic and spraying everywhere, but you’re precise and meticulous with your shots, and the only ones who are loyal enough to the cause to hold still and raise their blasters at the incoming threat tend to be the ones you need to mow down anyways.  The rest of them scatter in all directions, scrambling over each other to escape and then disappearing into the distant boulders surrounding the base—but you notice that not a single one of them runs back inside the safety of its open doors.

The hull dips with the weight of Din dropping in, and relief floods your soul even as you continue raining hell down on the superiors in charge.  Any flash of color you see is a target, your eyes lose focus of everything, your vision blurs and turns monochrome as you just search for red.

“Lift up!”  You hear Din’s voice roar from the hull.  You can hear his rifle unloading through the open door.  “Now!  We have to go now!”

You press the button to shut the hull door with Din inside and punch it, rising so fast that the shove of gravity makes it difficult to keep your head up.  Through the sudden surge of downward force, you just barely manage to raise your incredibly heavy arm to push the button that pressurizes the Crest and ignites the launch boosters, preparing the vessel for space travel.  Outside the transparisteel, the gray sky begins darkening as the atmosphere eventually disappears.  The ship’s engines roar, burning so much fuel at once that you’re actually accelerating through the climb, you’re boosting through the gradual ease of gravity as the planet’s curvature and glow becomes softer and softer below you.

As soon as the blackness of space begins to fill the windows, the slight subsiding of force allows you to plug in the coordinates for Nevarro with less difficulty, but you’re still moving, still rising, still escaping.  You can’t find it within yourself to slow down, but then something catches your attention.

Claws suddenly dig sharp into your thigh, sharp enough to sting and cause you to wince, and you look down to see that the kid has gone incredibly tense.  Deadly tense.  Your heart is still pounding even though you’re away from danger, you’ve got Din in the hull, everyone is safe, and yet—

It flickers into existence all at once.  One second it’s just space, just the endless depths of nothingness spread out for light years in front of you, and within the blink of an eye it’s suddenly there.

A star destroyer.

Your body freezes in horrified awe, having never seen a ship so fucking big in your entire life.  It looks like a massive satellite, the size of an enormous asteroid instantly appearing in your vision and dwarfing the vastness of space around it.  All the stars you used to dream about are suddenly blotted out within a fraction of a second, terror so immense seizes your soul that you stop thinking.  You stop calculating, you stop being yourself for a split second that lasts an entire lifetime.

Before you can move a single muscle, the computer beeps quickly and lurches the Crest into hyperspace.

---

The stars streak across the transparisteel like so many times before.  Utter silence nearly deafens you with how abrupt it is after so much noise, but the peace it used to bring does nothing to quell your fear.  Everything is the same as it always was, same bursts of light as you hurdle faster than it towards Nevarro, same quiet, same rumbling hum of the ship.  But now, everything has changed.

You hear the quarry next to you suddenly inhale and exhale loudly, and it shocks you a little bit, reminds you that there’s a person next to you and another is on your lap.  Other people exist outside of the vision of death that just flickered out of existence just as quickly as it appeared.  They’re breathing, Oshua is shakily unbuckling his seatbelt, life is continuing on in the quiet cockpit but you can’t seem to move like he is.  You can’t seem to breathe like he is.  It’s only when the baby slowly maneuvers himself around on your thigh and blinks up at you, placing a tiny hand on your stomach that you finally feel air enter your lungs.

After a moment, you reach down and click open your seatbelt with trembling fingers, scooping the kid up in your arms and slowly attempting to stand.  Everything feels wobbly and dreamlike, you have to brace yourself on the headrest to prevent yourself from falling back into the chair again.

“That was…” Ryler mutters, his voice sounding foggy and distant, “uh.  A close one.”

You look over at him, recognizing that he’s speaking but not quite able to understand the words right now.  Red catches in your vision, and you blink down at the way he’s clutching his left shoulder, the smear of blood darkening the white armor he’s wearing.  You blink a few more times at the sight of it, and though it feels like you normally would be sickened at the wound, somehow shocked out of your state of shock, it does nothing to you.  When you look back up at his face, his expression seems strangely grateful, even when it’s screwed up in what you know must be excruciating pain.    You did that, a quiet voice whispers in your mind, even though the rest of it seems incredibly blank.

Instead of responding, you stumble a few steps over to the ladder, spinning around and hesitating for a moment.  You’re severely lacking in coherent thought, but one thing seems to break through.  You’re not sure if you have enough coordination to do this safely right now.  However, when there’s movement in your peripheral and you look to see Oshua gently offering his right arm to you, seeming to understand you’d like to use both hands for this, you snap back to your senses just the slightest bit and hug the baby tighter to your chest.  Carefully, you begin making the slow climb down the ladder with the kid, still trembling with the aftershocks of adrenaline.  Your limbs feel extra heavy, but eventually the floor meets your feet.

Din is standing there when you slowly turn around, armor gleaming and still as a statue, but he has his back to you.  His helmet is tilted down at the ground, and when you follow his gaze, you’re met with the sight of the bloodstains of dragged bodies that leave dark red streaks all the way up the ramp.

You feel something this time.  It’s… cold.  A burning, searing cold that creeps into your skin.  Like your heart decides to pump nitrogen through your chest instead of warm blood.  You did that.

There’s a sudden urge inside of you to speak, to address him and inform him of your presence, tell him everything is okay, everything worked out, but you can’t find it in yourself to say a single word.  You can’t find a single word to say.  The kid twists as best he can in your clutch, his ears drag against your chest to greet his father, but for some reason, there’s still a strange sense of fear in your bones.  It’s enough to wake you up slightly, it’s enough to tell you it’s not over yet.  There’s a terror in your heart that hasn’t left since he first called over the comm and begged you to run, a crippling dread that you thought climaxed after seeing that star destroyer appear, but it’s somehow only increased after laying eyes on him like this.

You watch as his helmet turns, slowly meeting the pauldron on his shoulder, and for some reason, you feel yourself harden.  Your feet brace against the metal floor like this is another threat you have to face, you let its unyielding metallic strength transfer up through the souls of your boots to your heart in your chest.

But the second you hear cheap white armor clatter as the quarry steps down the ladder behind you, Din bursts into movement.  He suddenly spins and storms up to you in one single step while catching your holstered blaster on your hip.  It’s out and aimed in the blink of an eye, and it’s a miracle you remember how to speak before he remembers how to kill.

“Mando—” you warn, just in time for the quarry to land on the floor of the hull and turn around to reveal his face.

Din holds there for a second, his helmet locked on Oshua’s features.  His gloved fingers twitch wildly on the trigger of your gun held over your shoulder, like he has to remind himself multiple times not to.  You hear Oshua’s armor clack while he likely raises one good arm in surrender, but then Din’s helmet moves a fraction of a millimeter to your face and holds there.  He just stares down at you, and the air feels heavy, your body feels heavy, the feather light child in your arms feels heavy.

Slowly, he lowers his arm, lets it fall while he continues looking at you from behind the visor.  You look back at him, unblinking, unfeeling, and there’s a few seconds that last an utter eternity where nobody moves.  Nobody speaks, nothing happens, but then a soft coo comes from your arms before you can finally break eye contact, knowing there are still some things that need to be done.

You eventually turn around and lift your chin to address Oshua.

“You have to go into carbonite,” you inform him quietly.  Your voice sounds strange, like it’s coming from outside of yourself.  “We’re taking you to Nevarro, and then you’ll be transported to your home planet. When they unfreeze you, your sister will be there to collect you.”

He looks uncertain, one hand still raised while the other hangs uselessly at his side, and you don’t blame him.

But you also don’t feel like saying anymore, not unless he decides he doesn’t want to go in willingly.  Normally you might’ve tried to empathize, offer him further reassurance beyond just a couple short sentences, but you don’t.  Speaking feels difficult, thinking feels difficult.  You’re still in survival mode, not active but reactive.  There’s also no reason for you to lie to him about this, and you can see him glance at Din standing silently behind you, who hasn’t moved a muscle.

He eventually nods and you walk him over to the chamber without another word, watch him turn to face you as he backs into the opening while you reach up towards the control panel.

But then there’s a moment.  One where you hesitate slightly, one where your vision flashes back to the sight of those bloodstains on the floor, and that burning cold fills you again, so cold it feels completely numb.

“I’m… sorry,” you whisper quietly to him, though your voice sounds so empty.  There’s so much emotion that should be there but isn’t, so much regret and pain that should break through but can’t.  “I’m sorry I… killed your friends.”

Later, you’ll think about how you felt absolutely nothing saying it.  Your heart doesn’t constrict with remorse at the mere words leaving your mouth, guilt doesn’t flood into your soul, pain doesn’t wrack through your bones.  You could’ve been saying anything at all and nobody would be able to tell the difference.

He blinks at you, flicking his eyes between yours for a second or two, but then you press the proper button and watch the gas quickly freeze him where he stands.  He’ll be conscious the entire time, but Karga will send him to the correct location and you have no doubt that this elemental purgatory is leagues better than where he just escaped from.  It’s a benefit being the last quarry to be retrieved—he’ll only have to spend a few days trapped in here before being reunited with his family.

When that’s done and Oshua is a complete statue in front of you, bulky white armor now colored a dull metallic gray and frozen in time, you will yourself to finally turn around to face the enormous mountain of a presence behind you.  The baby gently reaches out for him, but Din doesn’t move from where he’s stood.  Your blaster is still clutched tightly in his hand, and he isn’t looking at you.

Slowly, you walk over and stop directly in front of him in the middle of the hull, blinking at him while the helmet subtly moves to lock onto your face.  The kid begins wiggling in your arms, making soft impatient noises while you both stand in complete silence across from each other.

After a few moments, you hear him flick your blaster’s safety on by his side and then toss it carelessly to the ground.  It skids along the floor, light enough to be mostly quiet.  Gloves reach out as he carefully takes the kid from you and settles him in the crook of one arm, and then he looks you up and down, still not saying anything.

Your eyes follow his movement, watching his arm slowly reaching out to you, and you think he’s going to cup your jaw, or brush your hair back.  Give you some sort of physical reassurance since he hasn’t spoken a single word of it.

Instead, Din suddenly grabs the armor clinging to your chest and starts ripping it off you with one hand.  It clangs to the floor so loudly in the silence of hyperspace, the kid’s ears twitch and flutter with each shattering bang.  You hold still while he does it, you barely respond except the unavoidable movement your body experiences as the pauldron is yanked from your shoulder and thrown against the ground.  The ammo belt is tugged over your head and hurled away, the thigh braces are snatched from your legs and they clang to the floor, and the pearly, opalescent fabric revealed underneath is stained in dead man’s blood, rusty and in such great quantities that it shows up as brown instead of red.

“Are you hurt?”

He sounds… dead.  So monotonic that you can’t possibly gauge his emotional state.  He doesn’t move.   His fists don’t clench, he says every single word like it means the same exact thing as the last.  If nothing at all was a person who could speak, they’d use his tone of voice.

“No,” you eventually whisper.

The helmet nods once, and then he spins around and walks away without anything else.  Without saying anything, without touching you, or double checking you for injuries in case you were lying.  You stand utterly still while Din climbs the ladder with the kid cradled in one arm, and you don’t even flinch when the door to the cockpit slides shut behind him.  You have no idea how long you stand there in the splitting silence afterwards, numb and unmoving.

You feel… nothing.  Absolutely nothing.

The hard defenses you strapped to yourself today to reconcile the things you had to do are still high and strong, guarding your soul even if he stripped away your physical armor.  Self preservation is still animating your body, and your facial expression barely changes.  Your first thought, as soon as you remember that you can have one, is that there are things that still need to be done.  Tasks to complete.

Alone, you shower the lingering traces of blood off your body, the normally clear and refreshing water running a sickly, toxic brown.  Alone, your stomach rolls and suddenly decides to empty itself of the very little that was in it as the scalding drops rain down over you—mostly liquid and bile that easily rinses down the drain.  The water is too warm, it beats down on you like blazing hot sand pelting your skin in the desert.  You feel like you did those first few months with Din, where the silence was suffocating, where you’d only interact with the baby if he was on a hunt or if you could tell he didn’t know how to calm him when he was fussy.  If you were in hyperspace, you usually spent time by yourself in the hull while he lived in the cockpit, and if he decided he needed to be in the hull for whatever reason, then you’d trade places with him.  It was… isolating.  Lonely by yourself.  The quiet used to haunt you before it became your cherished friend, but now it’s a betrayer, a ghost that whispers memories and nightmares in your ears.

When you finally finish rinsing the blood from your skin and get dressed, you see the sheets that used to make up your bed now have fried holes in them from your charred plasma marks, the inside of the hull is covered in them and the trails of dried blood where you dragged the bodies down the ramp.  Your armor is still strewn about the hull, the kid’s hovering shield lays dead in the corner.  Everything you meticulously cleaned and organized and collected and created, now the scene of a bloodbath.  One committed by your hand, your blaster still laying uselessly on the floor forever linked to this atrocity.

You spare a glance towards the ladder, but you don’t want to come face to face with Din yet.  You already knew he’d be furious, but… you had hoped that he’d at least…

What?  At least what?  Comfort you?  Coddle you after you deliberately ignored his instructions?  What exactly, in the past year or so of learning Din’s inner workings and intricacies, would ever give you the impression that he’d come give you a big hug after you purposefully defied him?  You flew the kid directly into an imperial base after being told to protect him, you ignored every order he gave to you in the moments he thought would be his last, and though you did it to save his life, you have a feeling that Din has never valued his life even a fraction of what you do.

The misery stabs at your soul, but your mind is finally beginning to process things logically.  He’s alive, the kid is alive, the quarry is secure, and you’re all onboard the safety of this ship hurtling through hyperspace where nobody, not even the Empire, can touch you.  You weighed the consequences before making your decision, you did what you had to do.  If he wants to be mad, then he can fucking well be mad and you’ll find some way to comfort yourself.  At least he’s here being mad, at least he’s alive and safe and breathing and mad, and your rare act of disobedience is to thank for that.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realize it’s probably easier than it should be to reconcile the punishment.  Right now, you welcome the exclusion, the negativity and sorrow beating itself into your soul.  Four innocent people died today on this ship, gunned down under your blaster while they panicked and ran for cover.  You keep hearing their screams.

So you start to clean up the hull, needing another task to focus your thoughts on.  You work to erase every inch of the evidence of your deeds, make it disappear like the pool of blood Din once cleaned up while you were sleeping and never acknowledged again.  You only allow the bloodstains to fuck with your head for a single moment, and then you swallow back the nausea until you’re a blank slate again and sink to your knees with a rag in your hand.  After that, your vision stops focusing and it just becomes red contrasting against gunmetal gray, and you work tirelessly to get rid of all remaining traces of it.

Then you start on the blaster marks, you need them gone.  After a few informed attempts at mixing cleaning chemicals, you find one concoction that allows you to wipe them away like they’re nothing more than dirt that got tracked in.  The Crest’s oxygen recycling system works overdrive to constantly purify the air so you don’t get high or pass out, but your nose still stings.  It’s fine, it’s sterile, it burns a bit but it smells sharp and metallic and keeps you hyper focused on the task at hand.

After that’s done, you pick up the charred blankets and ball them up to throw into the trash vent.  You don’t feel anything as you do it.  You don’t think about how long it took you to collect these over months and months of being stuck on this ship, how comfortable they were when everything else was industrial and rigid, how many nights you spent with Din curled up in their softness while he breathed easy and warm.  Sheets are just luxuries, they can afford to be lost.

Next, you gather your armor and wipe it down with the rag, put it away along with your blaster.  The stained robe goes in the trash, along with the sheets and the blood soaked cloth you used to clean everything.  They’re all ruined, you’ll never be able to make them right again.

The hull is sparkling clean when you decide to take another shower.  Nothing on you is dirty except your hands, but you feel filthy.  Wrong, cold, numb, cold, stained, cold.

After scrubbing your skin raw under the water and changing clothes again, since you don’t really know what to do with yourself anymore, you slowly climb the ladder to the cockpit, keeping perfectly silent.  When you reach the upper platform and come face to face with the closed door, you can just barely hear Din’s whispered voice speaking quietly to the baby beyond it.

You raise your hand for a moment, hovering your knuckles over the metal, but then it eventually falls.  Instead, you look over and spot the corner, the same corner Din bunched himself into when he snapped at you for even suggesting going on a hunt with him, blew up at you for the mere notion of something happening like what happened today.  You back yourself into it in defeat and slowly sink down on the floor, resting your head against the metal and hugging your knees to your chest since you don’t have a tiny baby to take their place.

You can’t sleep.  You don’t even try, it’s pointless.  The concept feels foreign the longer you sit here by yourself.  You don’t hear Din or the baby anymore, but you feel… so fucking awful that it’s fitting that you don’t knock or go looking.  You don’t want to hold that sweet child with hands that were covered in blood just a few hours ago.  You killed more people than you can count on your fingers today, and of the ones who had done nothing wrong…  They screamed like younglings, ducked for cover and were able to fire off one single useless shot in the mayhem before you closed their eyes forever and left their bodies to rot in armor that wasn’t ever their choice to wear.

You didn’t know they were kidnapped and smuggled and forced into that situation.  You couldn’t have known, but that isn’t the point.  In this case, knowing doesn’t make one bit of difference.

You also can’t face Din yet, not like this.  You don’t want him to see you cowering, shattered with guilt over the decisions you made under pressure.  How will you ever get him to forgive you for not listening to him when you can’t even forgive yourself for the result of your choices?  Din is a hardened man who grew up in blasterfire and bloodshed, just because you love him doesn’t mean he’s going to magically become someone he isn’t.  You’re here letting guilt sink sharp claws into your chest over four dead men when he had a good fifty or more corpses scattered on the battlefield around him.  You decided to wear that armor, you decided to fly into an imperial base with the kid on your lap, and this is now your penance.  You’ll accept it with your back straight and your chin held high.

Figuratively, of course.  Physically, you’re smaller than you’ve ever been.  Crumpled up into a ball, taking up as little space as possible, curling up as tight as you can like an animal protecting all your vulnerable parts during a brutal attack.

So, since he isn’t here to comfort you himself, you just try to think about what he would tell you.  A long time ago, what would he tell you?

Din would tell you… that you killed someone.  Multiple people, this time.  He’d also tell you that it doesn’t matter what he tells you, what you could have reasonably foreseen or what you should have done.  The end result won’t change.  You own this now.  You’ll carry their deaths with you.

You take a few deep breaths, self-soothing with the undeniable truth that would be murmured matter of factly from his quiet voice.  He wouldn’t argue with you.  He wouldn’t deny the decisions you made or the consequences of them.  It happened, and at the end of the day, you either learn how to handle that, or you don’t.

And, for the four you did shoot, you were responsible for freeing ten times that amount.  You’re responsible for reuniting Oshua Ryler with his family, even if your place in yours is momentarily shunned.  You’d rather be out here alone than in there with the kid, wondering where his dad is or if he’s even still alive.  You rescued Din and now he gets to be here to shut this door on you, hold his son, and whisper calm reassurances to him.  If you listen really hard and imagine, you can pretend they’re for you, too.

That’s it.  Focus on them both, alive and well together.  Focus on the bodies wearing white armor that were moving, the ones that were bolting away from the imperial training base as fast as they could, free from the torture of imprisonment and conditioning.

Finally, you close your eyes and slip into unconsciousness.  It’s not a testament to your exhaustion, but rather just how long you’ve been left to sit here by yourself.  Hours, maybe.  Time is strange in hyperspace.

You dream of a faceless man ringing bells.

---

When you wake up, a small baby has been placed in your arms, and you’re being dragged into a strong, secure beskar hold on the floor.

“Din,” you suddenly lift your head as soon as you’re conscious and nearly bonk it into solid metal, apologies rising in your throat before you even remember where you are.  You did what needed to be done to keep your family alive and together and you’d do it a thousand times again if necessary, but that doesn’t mean you won’t apologize anyways.  After the deeds you’ve committed today, regret feels as natural on your lips as speaking your own name.  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I know you’re mad at me but I—”

“Shh,” he whispers, running his gloves through your hair.  He’s still wearing his helmet, he hasn’t taken anything off yet.  “Don’t say anything.  Just… stay here, stay right here with me.”

“I tried to save you,” you croak, tears instantly flooding your eyes.  You did save him.  You saved him and the baby and yourself but you’re so physically and emotionally exhausted that all you can recall is your intent.  “I tried.  Wasn’t gonna leave you there by yourself.  I tried to be brave, like you—y-you wouldn’t have left without me.”

His arms tighten around you, cradling you in such a strong embrace that you burrow into him, you find a place for your head on the hard metal strapped to him and bury yourself there, wishing that you had shovels of dirt being piled on you to justify the death you still feel staining your soul.  Your heart is starting to pound now that you’re remembering, your body is starting to shake with tremors of shock now that you’re aware of your own skin again.

“I was so sc-scared, Din, I didn’t—didn’t know what was happening,” you lament through watery eyes, gasping it out in hopes that it’ll relieve the slightest bit of the gut wrenching guilt just mercilessly crushing you.  It caught you before you could protect yourself against it, that armor you built around yourself isn’t on when you first wake up.  “I-I didn’t want to kill them, but they were already on the ship and y-you said—you said they were coming after the kid s-so I had to, I had to—”

“Stop,” Din whispers, voice so quiet that you can barely hear him.

“I-I cleaned up the blood,” you turn your face against the cold beskar to let all the positives you listed for yourself before scrape across your throat.  They don’t sound comforting anymore, they just sound like excuses.  “It’s gone, it’s like it never happened, everything is okay now, I got the quarry, I protected the baby, I saved a bunch of people, you’re both safe—”

“Stop,” he chokes out.  The modulator cuts off before you can hear his next breath, but you feel it shudder under your body.  “St-Stop it, please.”

Your eyes clench shut so tightly you feel like the streaking stars outside are behind them, tears drop down against his pauldron and you press your face tighter to it like it’s a wound, like the pressure will somehow ease the bleeding.

“Listen to me,” he says very quietly, and you instantly brace yourself.  The walls you just let down shoot right back up, your body physically tightens in preparation for another pain, another trauma, another scar you’ll carry, and you stop shaking.  You stop breathing, even when his hand comes up to ease your face away from his armor.

“You,” he whispers, holding your chin so you’re staring right at him, and your eyes flick fearfully in between his behind the visor, “are a sweet girl.”  Din’s leather thumb brushes along your skin, dragging over the tears below your puffy eyes.  “Not,” his voice catches, “a Mandalorian.”

Your heart goes cold.  Again, everything turns numb.  It doesn’t matter that you already said this yourself out loud earlier today.  It doesn’t matter that you acknowledged this fact, verbally insisted it more than once to hammer home the truth and felt some sense of comfort in it.  For some reason, hearing the words from his mouth is a fucking knife to your chest.

“I taught you how to fight, how to shoot a blaster,” he murmurs, thumb catching every single tear that continues to fall as he speaks.  “I taught you everything I know, everything that’s been taught to me.  I taught you how to defend yourself, how to protect yourself when you’re in danger.  I gave you your blaster, I gave you my armor, I gave you everything I could give you to keep you safe.  And when I thought you were ready, I let you loose on Sanctuary II.  Do you know why I did that?”  The helmet tips forward the slightest bit at the question, probing deep into the most shattered part of your heart.  “After all those months of fighting, and shooting, and training, do you know why I told you to run?”

You blink silently at him, a shaky breath quaking through you, and your expression wants to crumple under the reprimand.  You’re so fragile right now, taking hit after hit after hit to the softest parts inside you, and you want to just give up.  Let the guilt and remorse take you, let it wash you away.  But then, instead…

There’s a flicker of something inside you.  Something strong, endlessly strong, and it makes you want to revolt against what he’s saying.  It replaces the hurt and fear and desperation for comfort with a strange sense of insurgence, like it did earlier when you were hiding behind a boulder, cowering and trembling and not wanting to die.  You’re filled with a quiet urge to defend yourself in the face of this, stand up for yourself and refuse to be beaten down any longer.

“Because you needed to know how to escape danger,” he answers himself when you don’t.  “You needed to know how to disappear, how to outsmart any pursuer and find safety, even the trained ones.  Especially the trained ones.  Anything else was meant to be your last resort.  Not your choice.  Not something you chose.”

“I couldn’t leave you,” you admit to him quietly, voice shaky and tears still coming even as you try to speak up for yourself.  The regret you carry has nothing to do with this, and you decide right now that you won’t feel bad for saving him.  Your hurt comes from the meaningless things, the ones without any need whatsoever, not the necessary ones, and you tried.  You repeated his words to yourself over and over again, told yourself to run, told yourself to get to Nevarro, and it wasn’t going to happen.  “I couldn’t do it.  It wasn’t a choice.”

“It was,” he tells you.  He says it softly, whispers it like it’s the gentlest thing in the world, but the power and inherent distance of the armor strapped to his body finds its way into the words.  “And it was the wrong one.”

“What was I supposed to do?”  You ask, just a hint of that rebellion swimming to the surface now, rising out of the waves of self doubt, the one that feels like a spine growing in your back, an energy coursing through your veins that makes your heart start to beat faster.  Din’s hand slowly drops from your cheek but you don’t care.  “Was I supposed to run away and just let you die?”

“Yes.”  It’s quick and blunt and completely emotionless.  Delivered like a punch to the vulnerable parts of yourself he taught you how to protect, and the utter silence following this single word is comparable to the physical pain you learned to defend against.  It jabs hard against everything good and sweet and tender inside of you, and you’re left speechless even as he continues impassively.  “That’s exactly what you were supposed to do.”

It takes a second, but then that unfamiliar feeling suddenly surges up, breaches with the power of an entire ocean.  Your voices may be nothing more than whispers in the dark, you may be clinging to each other, holding each other with the softest, gentlest love in your hearts, but the strength of your conviction on this would rip metal apart.

“No.”  The word holds the might of your entire being, and it stands alone and defiant in the face of everything you fear, everything that threatens you, him, and this child.  Never.  You’ll die before that happens.  “I love you, and there’s nothing in this galaxy that would ever make me do that.  Not fear, not danger, not the Empire, nothing.  Not even you.”

Din stares at you.  His visor reflects your hardened expression back to you, the force in your soul and the purpose in your eyes, and you don’t even realize the gravity of what you just said because like your love for him, gravity is a constant.  It’s a fundamental truth cemented into the rules that govern your actions and it stays true no matter where you are, no matter what terror you face, or how scared you become.  You have him, you have this little boy in your arms, and if that’s all you have, then you have everything.

After an eternity of this, of feeling his eyes pierce deep into you from behind the helmet while you refuse to wither under his stare, you watch him slowly turn and look down, landing on the sleepy child tucked between you both.  He holds there for a long time, before finally whispering, so quiet that the modulator barely picks it up, “It was the wrong choice.”

You stay quiet.  It happened.  What’s done is done, you can’t change the past.  He can scold and reprimand you about this as much as he wants, but you did the right thing and that decision is the only reason he’s even here to be able to do so.  This exhausted child was reunited with his father because of your choices, and this exhausted father was reunited with his child.  You won’t argue anymore, but it’s a certitude that lives deep in your heart now, builds a home there right alongside the both of them.  Din eventually looks up, his eyes find yours again behind the visor, and his hand rises once more to gently cup your jaw.

“I… thought I’d enjoy seeing you in my armor,” Din finally whispers.  It’s not what you expected, but his voice sounds… weak.  Broken.  “You wore mine once before, and it was…”  He brushes his thumb along your cheek, and then his head shakes slightly, pushing the thought away.  “It wasn’t real.  It didn’t fit.  It dwarfed you, it made you look out of place, it made everything soft and innocent about you stand out.  I liked it because it wasn’t real.”

“Was it… really that bad?”  You whisper back, partially to ease the tension just slightly but quickly breaking eye contact with him when you realize it doesn’t land correctly, it just sounds self conscious and sad.  You try to find that conviction again, that strength and assurance that propped you up so sturdily before, but…  Not a Mandalorian, he’d said.  Of course not.  Of course not.

“It wasn’t the armor.”  Din gently tugs up on your face so that you look at him again.  “It was you covered in blood.  It was you purposefully putting yourself in danger.  You killed multiple armed soldiers of the Empire, you dragged their bodies off the ship.  And then you flew into an imperial base, where you killed the officers, too.  You…”  He shakes his head slowly at you while speaking, and although you can’t see his face, you don’t need to in order to hear the horror in his voice.   “You… collected a quarry… in the middle of a massacre, sweet girl.”

Not a Mandalorian.

“You don’t chase down bounties,” he tells you.  “You don’t fly into war zones.  You don’t kill imperials, you don’t collect quarries, you don’t sacrifice yourself, or our son, to save me.  You said you tried to be brave… like me.”  His fingers tighten against your cheek, he dips his helmet to make sure you understand.  “I’ll never ask you to be brave.  I’ll ask you to survive.”

“I’m… sorry,” you finally whisper, and his arm drops from your cheek to join the other in wrapping around you and holding tight.  They hug you and squeeze, encasing you and the baby in a beskar shield and staying there for a long time.  Long enough for you to tuck your head back into its proper place under his helmet, long enough to start to feel okay with the silence again.  It brutalized you the last time you were surrounded by it, it made you feel alone and desolate and barren inside.  You greet it warily now, settling into it for an unknown amount of time until it’s forgiven once more.

After a while, Din quietly breaks it.

“How many?”  He murmurs to you.  You already know exactly what he’s asking, there's no more clarification necessary on his behalf.

You slowly close your eyes and think back to the smoldering craters, the blood soaked ramp, the fear in Oshua Ryler’s eyes as he begged you not to kill him.

“That didn’t deserve it?”  You ask, clenching your eyes tighter at the memory.  “Four.”

And maybe, maybe six or eight months ago, you would’ve begged for some guidance on how to reconcile that.  Hell, maybe a few hours ago, you could’ve used his arms around you exactly like this, his low voice repeating the same things he’s already told you before, over and over again, if only for some semblance of stability when everything feels turbulent and uncertain.  You’ll never be able to change it, though.  This belongs to you now.

This time, all Din says is, “I’m sorry, too.”

And that covers everything.

The silence envelops you both again, but… there’s something else.  Something that still sits deep in your worries, an image that isn’t a scar of what’s happened but a dread of what’s to come.  You need to tell him.  You don’t feel like saying it, you don’t want to speak it aloud for fear of bringing it into existence, but you need to tell him.

“Din?”  You breathe out, and he makes a soft noise in his throat while cuddling you on the floor.  “I saw…,” you whisper, every word sitting tight and reluctant in your throat.  “Right when we made the jump, I was looking through the window and I-I saw…”

“A star destroyer.”  He says it like… like it’s the worst thing in the world and also completely expected at the same time.  He says it like he already knew, yet can’t even imagine.  You lean every bit of your weight against him since you can’t hold him in return, squish him as best you can against the small corner and curl up even tighter in his arms for comfort.

He takes a deep breath, a shuddery sound you don’t think you’ve ever heard him make before.  It holds untold anxiety, unsaid conflict, uncertain action, an unknown path forward.

“I don’t know what to do,” Din eventually whispers to himself, to you, to the baby in your arms.  His voice is barely a breath through the modulator, his fingers digging into your skin with how many emotions he’s repressing.  “What do I do?”

He sounds so distressed that you automatically feel your soul find the floor—instantly, you become steady and calm and you locate all that rationality that kept you going today.  All your worries still twist deep down, all the guilt and the turmoil wrestles with your soft, easy nature until you can only find bits and pieces of it in the most vulnerable places inside you, but if he’s struggling this terribly, then the least you can do is offer some good, true, unwavering faith in times of uncertainty.  You’re in hyperspace, everything worked out, and it’s going to stay that way for right now.  If he doesn’t know how to talk about it yet, then you trust him enough to wait for him.

“It’ll be okay,” you tell him with a newfound confidence and purpose, carefully easing the baby into one arm so that the other can find its way to the other side of his helmet and pull him closer.  Din tucks his head and allows you to brush your lips against the metal, whisper the words soft and steady to him.  “We’ll figure it out together.”

---

@cptnbvcks thank you so much for the incredible art!

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

[anundyingfidelity]

TRAINING SEASON — Jensen Ackles

Summary: After a tumultuous relationship and a hard break up, you get trapped in between your co-star and a casual one night stand. But there's nothing you regret about.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x female reader, actress!reader.

Word count: 1,076.

Warnings: implied sex like the morning-after-sex, nudity, some sexy time but no full smut, friends to lovers, language, idk just wrote this quickly.

Notes: AU where Jensen is obviously single, and reader is like 38 in my head don't asky why I like this number, I still have no idea. And I just love, and I mean, loooveeee getting obsessed with hot men over 40, can you tell?

>> disclaimer: i totally respect the private lifes of the actors and celebrities i use for my fanfictions, and of course their personal relationships. this is only fiction written for fun and nothing more.

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

GEN MASTERLIST!

Opening your eyes, you stirred on the soft bed and noticed your sorroundings. This wasn't your hotel room. Your bare body hidden under the blank, messy bed sheets reminded you of yesterday's events. You smiled.

The other side of the bed was warm. His body pressing against yours felt perfect, and you wrapped your hand on his own, which was laying on your waist, like if he didn't want to let go of you. Your mind started remembering his touch on your skin, the way he would kiss every inch of your stomach, the trail of kisses he left all over you, and his love bites around your neck and chest. The burning between your thighs and the soreness let you notice it was as good as you imagined it to be, even before it happened.

"Whatcha thinking?" he asked, raspy and soft voice booming in your ears.

"Mmm... Nothing, just how great you felt last night," you teased, turning your head to see his face directly. Bare skin, disheveled hair, and tired but loving eyes met you. God, he was beautiful. He looked so fucked out in the best way possible one could describe it.

Jensen chuckled and kissed your cheek. Still, he never let go his embrace on you. He looked at you vividly for a long time, scanning every feature of your face, like he wanted to save all of you in just an instant. Your brows furrowed for a moment.

"What?" you whispered.

"We didn't fuck this up, did we?"

A sigh left your lips, your hand ran on his hair softly. You knew what he meant. You had a bad relationship and an even worse break up months before you started working together, and Jensen became a great friend as you tried to overcome it. And it was so hard not to fall for him when it felt like you knew each other for decades. He was someone you could trust your deepest secrets, pain and thoughts. A part of you did not want to cry on his shoulder for days once you got comfortable around him, nor letting him know how terrible you felt at the time. But he never judged you. He just was there, listening and offering a helping hand expecting nothing back.

But your feelings changed in the course. As months went by, an amazing, caring and loving friendship bloomed between both of you. Since the project was a long new TV series, you used to spend a huge amount of time together as your characters appeared to be in a slow building relationship. And now, the premiere was done, but the press tour barely started, so that meant you were not getting away from each other in a good time now.

"No," you finally answered. "Of course no."

"I mean, I know what you been through, and I- I don't wanna ruin anything-"

"Jensen, is fine," you cut him off. His eyes locked on yours, concern washed all over his handsome face. "I am fine with this, are you?"

"Absolutely," he said. "I always was. I mean, I liked you for a long time now," he laughed a little, making you smile. One of his hands now carressing your bare thigh, feeling the heat of your skin.

Jensen leaned down and pecked your lips softly, his lips slowly found its way to your neck, kissing and biting the flesh, exactly how he did last night. He groaned, tasting the saltiness, and you let out a soft moan as he flipped you around. You laid on your back, him on top. His tongue tracing your skin, stopping right before your breats. God, you were getting wet again.

Unlucky for you, your phone started ringing, breaking the moment and Jensen, with a disappointed look on his face, gave you the space to run and answer. By the way you were talking, he figured it was your manager, so he hid behind the covers, admiring you from afar. When you ended the phone call, you walked to him. His eyes kept lusting over your naked figure as you looked for your clothes all over the room. He sadly knew you were postponing until you had enough alone time together.

"I keep forgetting we're still on press tour," you kissed his cheek softly once you put on your underwear and grabbed your clothes to get decent to leave. "I'll be going now, sorry."

"It's fine," Jensen smiled, standing up and putting up some pants. He followed you before you crossed the door. "I'll see you later tonight then, how about dinner?" he casually asked, leaning down. "And then we could probably take care of some other things," he whispered in your ear. You bit your lip, eager to know what he had in mind.

"That'll be amazing, surprise me!"

You gave him a playful wink, and taking your purse you left his room with a wide grin on your face. You were so glad you stopped dating trainees to build a relationship with. Jensen was a self-confident, expert man, and you were more than happy to give it a shot.

#jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x female reader #jensen ackles imagines #jensen ackles imagine #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles x y/n #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen ackles fic #supernatural #the boys #jensen ackles #i love you sir

[navstuffs]

Emptiness

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x GN!Reader

Summary: You are dead, and Leon wonders why he is still alive.

Warnings: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, long one-shot, leon is suicidial, suicide attempt!!, leon is depressive, MAJOR ANGST, abuse of alcohol, some usage of y/n, cigarettes/smoking, leon is a mess, SAD SAD SAD!!!, leon is suffering a lot, lots of pain, NO HAPPINESS!, dates in italic count since reader's death

Author's Note: idk, except i am sorry i like to make the characters i love suffer and share that on the internet? i made my husband read this, and he doesn't care about leon whatsoever, and he ended up upset for him at the end so you can imagine how this goes. i have more happy leon's fanfics, you can check it out here!

PLEASE, PROCEED CAREFULLY, AS THIS FANFIC DESCRIBES SUICIDE, SUICIDE ATTEMPT, DEPRESSION, AND ALCOHOLISM.

If you have been struggling with depression or suicidal thoughts, you are NOT alone! Here is a link for tumblr support for some helpful information, depending in what country you are! Seek help, you are loved, you are strong, you are wanted!

3 months, 27 days, 3 hours, 5 minutes

The first thing Leon notices when he wakes up is that he is cold. He isn't wearing a shirt, and for some reason, the blankets covering his body look dirty with some unknown substance. He groans, throwing the blanket on the floor. He still wears the jeans from last night, has no shirt on, and doesn't smell well.

The second thing he hears is his phone's ringtone. It had to be Chris. Or Claire wondering if he is alive. He sits up, his hand rubbing his face as a way to make the headache less.

The third thing Leon notices is his hand resting in the empty space of the bed. Your empty space on the bed. He gulps because he hasn't touched that part since returning to the house. He raises his hand as if Leon contaminated the area, the last pieces he had of you.

Leon glimpses under your pillow a very familiar black shirt. One of the ones he gave to you. Leon doesn't remember grabbing it last night. He holds it, checking if he got dirty, but the shirt seems clean. Leon takes the shirt to his nose, smelling it. 

His phone rings a second time breaking his trance. He gets up from the bed and sighs when he sees the nightstands filled with beer cans. You would have hated that.

When he finally finds his phone on the bathroom floor, Leon's headache worsens when he sees Chris's name.

"Yeah?"

"Fuck Leon, I was on my way to your house right now. You scared me, man."

"What do you want?" Leon isn't in the mood to talk, especially with Chris.

"Claire told me she went by your house last night, and you weren't there. She says the motorcycle wasn't there. Have you been drinking and driving again?"

Leon rolls his eyes. As if drinking and driving was a big problem for him now.

"Okay, mom, if that is all, then."

"Look," Chris sighs, and there is a long pause before he speaks again. "There is a mission. If you are still interested."

Finally, Leon thinks. He has been begging for one for weeks now, and Chris has always said "no," "next time," or "we shall see" due to his mental health situation.

"Yeah. When?"

"I will send you more details when I have it. Look, Leon, I just don't think you should—"

Leon hangs up without letting Chris finish. He scrolls through his lost calls, mostly all of them being from Chris and Claire. A few from Jill when she was trying to help. It got too much for her as well. Leon scrolls down even longer, finally finding your name.

Almost four months ago. Has it been that long? Two last calls.

As a ritual he repeats every morning, Leon clicks on your name, hearing the call go straight to voice mail. Precisely as he wanted.

Hi, this is Y/N, you tried to reach me, but I can't take your call now! Leave me a voice message, and I will contact you as soon as possible!

Beep.

-x-

 4 months

Jill Valentine is sitting in front of Leon inside the jet. She hasn't looked at him once inside the plane as they are being taken to a contamination site. Her eyes are distant, her form is tense, and Leon maybe thinks that time can't cure it all.

"Preparing to land," They hear in their radio communications. Leon rechecks his gun, wondering without significant interest if any of that would ever end. When he looks up, Jill is observing him.

"You ready for this?" She asks with a mild tone of curiosity in her voice.

You knew Jill longer than you knew Leon, actually. You were her best friend before becoming his lover. Jill had given Leon all the solemn talk of "Don't fuck up with my best friend, or I will kill you." After your passing, Jill had become somewhat like a ghost in his life. She tried, Leon wonders, if not for you, to give him support in the first two weeks, but Leon knew deep down she blamed him.

And she was right.

"Yeah," He answers.

Jill nods. The last time she had seen Leon, he was miserable. With the longest beard Leon has ever had, bloodshot eyes, hair a mess, drunk, and the smell of cigarettes around the house. She told herself she would try for you, but it wasn't easy to see Leon like that. And after she said you would hate it if he smoked inside their house and Leon grunted that you were dead and never coming back, she left without looking twice.

She never understood why Chris and Claire continued. Maybe because they knew him longer than they knew you.

The plane finally lands in a safe space, and they exit. It is in an abandoned industrial area this time, and they might have survivors who live nearby and might need help.

"Do not fuck this up," Jill warns.

"I won't."

-x-

1 month, 1 week, 2 days, and 5 hours

Claire Redfield is knocking on Leon's door. It is way past dinner time, but she brings pizza. From your favorite place. Claire knows he won't have eaten anything since Chris kept telling her Leon is losing weight. Since your death, Claire has tried to help Leon out as much as she could because she knows that is what you would have wanted, to no avail.

"Come on, Leon, I have pizza! I know you haven't eaten today!" She announces.

That's when her sixth sense starts beeping. All house lights are off, which is strange: Leon either left the TV or any light on. Leon didn't like the darkness. Claire tries to open the door but is locked. Leon never locked the door since he was back for this house. With her heart racing, Claire goes to her bag and grabs the reserve key. She shares one with Chris, and they both trade every week. Leon doesn't seem to care, not that he cares about many things lately.

She enters the apartment to complete silence. No sight of him anywhere.

"Leon?" Her voice is distant, as her hands are looking for her gun. Maybe someone invaded and got him? Perhaps something else—?

The air escapes from Claire's lungs when she sees Leon. Hanging from the ceiling.

"Leon!" She screams, running fast to hold his legs. She doesn't know what she is doing, she is calling for help, she is trying to get a chair, she is trying to hold his legs up so he can breathe. Claire doesn't dare to look up.

With one sudden decision, Claire gets her gun and shoots three times at the rope. Leon's body drops, and he is pale as a ghost. She kneels near him, feeling his pulse. There is still one, very light, but there is one.

Without thinking twice, Claire starts CPR, Stayin' Live by Bee Gees, in her head. She knows Leon will hate her for this, but she can't fail this. She would have hated herself, you would have hated her.

"Come on, Leon, come on." She begs desperately as she compresses his chest with all her strength. When Leon finally breathes, a small vigorous one, Claire is sweating on her clothes. She sighs, relieved, sitting down on the floor, drained.

She grabs her bag and finds her phone to call the emergency number, asking for an ambulance. That her friend attempted suicide. She gives them Leon's address, checking for his breathing. When Leon opens his eyes, he is confused. The last thing he remembers is kicking the chair away, the air escaping slowly from his lungs. He looks around, finding Claire's face in his peripheral view. She seems to be crying, her hands on his chest.

His blue eyes find hers, and Leon looks with hatred in her direction for the first time that Claire doesn't recognize him. She feels tears form in the corner of her eyes, and her lips shake, but she holds them back.

"I have called an ambulance," Her voice shakes, and Leon's stare carries so much weight that she must look away.

-x-

1 month, 3 weeks, 8 hours, 2 minutes. 

The hospital door opens, and Leon exits, carrying his duffel bag. After staying confined for almost two weeks, he inhales the fresh air. Those two weeks, instead of helping, just made him feel worse. Much worse. With no alcohol, no cigarettes, nothing, Leon had no way to forget. He woke up and went to sleep with your face on his mind.

Going through what he did wrong. What he could have done right.

He feels the pain sting his soul, thinking about your smile. Fuck, he needed a drink. He needed some sort of dubious mixed-up cocktail. The stronger, the better. When he looks to his left, he sees Chris Redfield standing.

Sighing, he walks toward Chris. Leon knows he won't be able to run away. Chris has a worried stare as he gets closer. To be honest, Leon thought he should have hated after what he did to Claire, but no, Redfield still manages to give him a small smile when Leon gets close.

"Hey."

"Who told you I was going to leave?"

"Mhm, the hospital? You are in my care for the next couple of weeks."

"I am going home." Leon starts to walk away from him, but Chris's arm stops him.

"No, you are not. As I said, you are in my care. And if I need to drag you to my car and make a scene in front of all those people, I will. What do you think?"

Leon hates how Chris can look like you so much regarding his care. Always to drastic measures, you both could say. Pretending to have given up, Leon holds his hands up as a sign of defeat and follows Chris to his car.

"Is...Claire okay?" Leon mutters as Chris starts the car. Leon can see Chris hold the wheel stronger than he should, but the moment passes, and Chris answers.

"She is worried sick about you. She has been...busy, that is all."

Leon knows that is a lie. He had seen Claire on one of the visitations day, and she seemed upset like she had been crying every day since she found him. Leon felt guilty Claire was finding him (he thought someone else would) and was outraged when she saved him. And he ended up lashing out at her. When Claire tried to argue during the visitations that is what you would have wanted, Leon roared that he never wanted to see her again.

To be honest, Leon is relieved. One less person for him to hurt. Chris, well, that one was hard. Leon knows he isn't giving up that easily. Especially after the last thing he said to you was that he would protect him during a mission.

"No, no, Chris, you don't understand, he bikes around without a helmet and thinks that is super cool? I mean, how old is he again? You better keep your eye on him, if I am not around. Got it?" You asked, winking in Leon's direction. He knew you were teasing him, but Chris's tone was serious when he answered.

"Loud and clear."

In the first three weeks after your death, Chris was there. He rummaged through the house, taking everything Leon could use to harm himself. Leon's guns were the first to go, Leon didn't know how he discovered the password, and honestly, he didn't care. He just woke up a day with them gone. Knives? Gone. It was like Chris was baby-proofing the house. 

Leon would have lost much more weight during that time if it wasn't for Chris insisting on him eating. Or hydrate. Warning if he got too weak to take care of himself, Chris would have made sure to strap him to a bed and kept him there against his will.

"There are cigarettes in the glove's compartment," Chris says, cutting his line of thought.

Leon looks at him with suspicion before opening. Chris wasn't lying. There is even a lighter there.

"You smokin' now?" Leon asks out of curiosity.

"No. I bought those for you."

Leon lights up a cigar, opening the window. The rest of the car ride goes silent, and when they finally arrive at Chris's house, he turns off the car, sighing.

"Look, Leon. I am not very good at this, and you know it. You will stay with me as long as you want, but I can't keep you a prisoner in my house."

Leon observes him, and Chris takes the courage to finally say it.

"No one wants you dead, Leon. What happened to Y/N, it wasn't your fault. And you need therapy."

Leon gives a humorless laugh, opening the door of the car.

"You are not bad at this, Chris. You are terrible at this."

-x-

4 months, 1 day, 5 hours

Ada Wong is good at her job. She does what she is paid to do when she needs to do it. No feelings attached, except, well, when Leon Kennedy is involved. It had been like this since the events during Raccoon City.

And then, suddenly, you appeared on his side during the events in Spain. You were something else, for sure. Standing by his side, remaining strong, although that was your first mission, or so Ada heard. And facing up her, determination in your eyes. Ada found you adorable, perfect for Leon. The loyalty, in your eyes, was something she could never demonstrate.

The man in front of her now was just what once was Leon Kennedy, her..."ally" from the other side. Ada had to admit she was shocked when she first saw him, barely recognizing him. Leon had big dark bags under his eyes, not as strong as he once was. And there was...no life in his once vivid blue eyes. Nothing.

"Ada Wong. Doing something for yourself again?" Leon asks, his voice monotone.

Ada was used to his hostility, mistrust, and even anger. But not that complete apathy, a complete lack of emotions. Leon Kennedy was dead, she was confident, and he died when you did.

"You know I don't share my secrets, big boy," She says, her tone the same as always. "But we can always find common ground, as we always do."

Leon nods, and Ada tells herself she shouldn't care, she shouldn't ask. But she has never seen it like this, and this Leon frightens her.

"I have heard about Y/N. My condolences."

Leon's eyes go wide with surprise. He looks at Ada as if she has just arrived from outer space.

"Is this one of your schemes? 'Cause if it is, cut the crap, I am not in the mood."

"It is not. I heard about what happened." Is Ada Wong really showing empathy? Leon blinks, surprised, but he shakes his head. No, it has to be one of her tricks. Since when did Ada start caring about him?

"Shut up, Ada. Do not mention this ever again. We are here for a mission, nothing else, nothing more. Stop pretending you fucking care." Leon's voice is low, and Ada doesn't say anything as she watches him walk in the dark corridor before her. She has known him long enough to know when he is being serious, and she knows he is threatening her life now.

Ada sighs. The Leon Kennedy she once knew, was gone. You left a carcass behind, a damaged man for the rest of his life. Ada still remembers the last thing she said to you, before she disappeared.

"You are truly special. Take care of him."

-x-

1 minute

"Is Mr. Leon Kennedy speaking?"

Leon stops when he answers his phone to a strange voice. 

"Yes? Who is this?"

"Mr. Kennedy, this is from McKenney Hospital. Could we speak with you in just a moment? Are you busy or driving?"

"No. Hospital, you say? What is going on?"

"We just need a moment of your time. Do you know Y/N L/N?"

Leon's heart starts bumping against his chest.

"Yes. What about it?"

"Y/N L/N was involved in a car crash today, sir. At this moment in time, they are doing surgery on them."

"What? No, excuse me, ma'am, this is some mistake."

The gentle voice behind the phone silences as she listens, Leon saying you weren't involved in an accident. It was impossible. You were coming to have dinner with him later, you were going to forgive him, you were going to be back together just fine. When Leon shuts up, the voice speaks again with much more compassion.

"You are tagged as their emergency contact, Mr. Kennedy. How long can you get in here—"

"I just fucking told you, lady, that is impossible, they are coming to have dinner with me, we are supposed to reconnect, and you aren't listening to me!" Leon screams the last part, punching the counter before him and making all the glass bowls in the counter jump. 

The compassionate voice waits to speak again in a much more determined tone.

"Mr. Kennedy, I suggest you come to the hospital, not alone. Come with a friend. We will answer all your questions and concerns when you get here. Just don't come alone."

Leon turns off the call, pissed. How can the lady be so stupid? He told her over and over again you were on your way to his house, your house. Leon had been cooking the whole night, preparing your favorite dinner. After that, he would never let you away from him ever again. He breathes deeply now, trying to ease the tremors on his hands, when he lets his eyes wander off to the TV, a news broadcast about a terrible accident that happened. Some drunk driver caused this accident that involved a with a truck oil tank, and five people were killed. Many injuries reported.

Without thinking twice, Leon grabs his motorcycle's keys.

He doesn't know how he got in one piece in the hospital. Something inside him tells him to call Jill, Claire, Chris, or someone, anyone, but he doesn't. The hospital's entrance is chaotic, with most victims being taken there since it was the closest location.

Leon asks your name to the front receptionist, and they say they are operating you now. The lady points to the waiting room area, where Leon waits. Leon had felt fear many times in his life, but nothing compared to this. He knew you were strong. Stronger than him, actually. You were brave. You were getting out of this.

Because he didn't know how to live without you.

Leon observed families getting good and bad news for what seemed an eternity. The death toll climbed to more two people, a mom crumble in the doctor's arms due to the loss of his son and husband. Leon was praying, begging for some higher force or anything for you to live.

He would never drink again. Leon Kennedy would never let the darkness inside him win and let you go. He would never doubt himself or his ability to love. No, Leon would love you even more intensely than he already did, more than anything in his life.

Leon takes a while to get up when the doctor finally calls his name. He feels sick, his stomach is twisting. He counts nine steps until he gets to the doctor, a lady with scrubs and an indecipherable face.  

"Mr. Kennedy, do you want me to take you to a more private room?"

"Tell me."

The doctor sighs, looking directly into his eyes when she says. 

"We did everything we could, Mr. Kennedy. I am sorry they didn't make it."

No. 

"I am sorry, Mr. Kennedy, I truly am."

No. NO! NO!

"Mr. Kennedy, please, don't, I am sorry. Can I get some help over here? Please, don't do this!"

It takes six or seven security guards to stop Leon from destroying the waiting room or even hurting someone. He is crying, he is begging, he is losing himself. It couldn't be true. It just couldn't. It was unfair: not after everything he had done or everything you went through together. He always told you he needed to die first because Leon knew damn well he couldn't live without you. Leon has a hole in his chest that will never close again. He feels someone pull his sleeve up, a pinching sensation, and Leon falls into darkness. 

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy fanfics #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy imagines #leon kennedy angst #leon x reader #leon x you #please dont hate me too much #but i had to :( #someone give reader to leon back please #i almost cried at the end of this I SWEAR

[moodywyrm]

HI I'M NEW IDK HOW TO USE THIS BUT I HAVE SUM TO SAY ABOUT ABBY-

imagine she asks you for a massage after gym and you're all excited n stuff and u sit on her ass bcs she's laying on her stomach while u take care of her back and massage it gently and she can feel the heat from u like as u sit and djejskdjd😩

we're modifying this a little bit because I have farmer! abby on the brain. so instead of the gym, she asks you for a massage after a long day on the farm. just some notes: reader is described as wearing lipstick, owning self care items like body oil, has a vanity, and referred to with traditionally fem words like wife, girl, etc. but, genitalia for the reader is not mentioned. more farm abby for my wife @pinknightsinmymind

Planting seasons starts soon, which means Abby has been plowing the field all day and she's fucking exhausted. Every inch of her body is sore, and she's all but soaked through her wife pleaser, her flannel long forgotten on the porch railing. She's bone tired and, to make things worse, she hasn't seen you in two whole hours.

You've been inside making dinner, cooking up her favorite stew so she had a nice hot meal ready once she was done plowing. It's incredibly sweet, really, and she couldn't ask for a better wife, but she feels like she's gonna wither away if she doesn't see you right now.

By the time she slumps up the farmhouse steps, snatching her dirty flannel and swinging it over her shoulder, she doesn't know how she's still standing. Her thighs are quaking from exhaustion, just barely carrying her through door and into the kitchen. But then she sees you, her lovely wife, finishing up dinner and looking as gorgeous as ever, and it's like the weight of the day is erased, lifted from her shoulders.

You spin around to look at her, having heard her slumping through the house in her big ol' work boots. The grin on your face makes her heart flutter, your lipstick perfect as always and your arms held out for a hug. You're absolutely gorgeous, as beautiful as the day she met you, and Abby's just so glad to be back with you.

"Heya there, darlin'," She drawls as she slumps over to you, melting into your outstretched arms.

You wrap her up in a hug, not caring about how sweaty she is, just wanting, needing, to hold your girl. "Mmm, hi baby, ya done with the field?"

"Mhm, finally done plowing. Gonna do one last check tomorrow and then get to planting, hopefully," She mumbles into your hair, feeling your hands trailing up and down her back. It's good, but not enough. She groans, melting into you and pressing a kiss to your cheek, huffing out a sigh.

"Everything alright there, big girl?"

"Mmm, my back's sore 'n your hands feel real good."

"Aww, maybe, after dinner and after you shower, I could give you a massage? How's that sound?"

Abby hums, squeezing you and kissing your forehead before pulling back and pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. "Sounds incredible, sugar. What did I do to deserve you?"

"You're Abby Anderson, 's more than enough baby," Your voice is soft, whispered against her lips like a prayer. When you pull away, you giggle at the remnants of lipstick on her lips. With a swipe of your thumb, you wipe it away, giggling at her pout. "Now go sit down, I'll bring you a bowl."

Abby giggles, trailing towards the kitchen table and sitting down, smoothing her hands down her thighs as she sits. She eases into her usual manspread, rough denim pulled taut over her thighs. Your eyes catch on them when you walk over with two bowls of stew, a loaf of freshly baked bread tucked under one arm.

“Mm, thank you darlin’, this looks delicious,” Abby hums, watching as you sit down. She gently takes the bread knife from the center of the table, slicing off some of the loaf and handing it to you before cutting her own piece.

When she leans forward to eat, elbows on the table in a complete lack of dining etiquette (though neither of y’all ever really cared for it), she groans. The tightness in her back is striking with a vengeance, egged on by the promise of relief at the hands of her wife.

"Oh honey," You murmur, frowning at her.

"Mm, 's okay. Just a lil tight," Abby says, giving you a tight smile. She gets through the rest of her meal with minimal movement, having to sit up straight like her dad always said she should. By the time y'all are done, she's dying to get into the shower and wash off all the grime that had settled on her skin.

While she's off showering, you set your plan into motion. Y'all have a habit of leaving out pajamas for each other, whenever you can. Since you're gonna give Abby a massage when she's out, you should pick pajamas that give you easy access, right?

So you leave a pair of soft grey boy shorts on the bathroom counter, and nothing else. All in the name of having full access to her back, of course.

Then you run to grab one of your body oils from your vanity, a rosemary one that would smell delicious with her body wash. You set it out on the bedside table, alongside some water and a hair clip for Abby. And, for good measure, you reapply your lipstick.

You can hear Abby step out of the shower, can hear her scoff and giggle when she sees the 'pajamas' you laid out for her. When she steps out of the bathroom, hair damp and just barely covering her nipples, soft cotton stretched over her ass and hips, she looks delicious.

"Now what's this about? Thought you were offering to give me a massage outta the goodness of your heart, turns out you just wanted me naked, huh?" She chides, walking over to your position on the bed, kneeling and looking all pretty for her.

When she leans into to kiss you, you press one hand to the center of her chest and keep her at bay. "I am gonna give you a massage, now lay down on your tummy, big girl."

"Yes ma'am."

You let her get situated, laying face down on the bed with her arms folded up under her head. You watch the way her back shifts, muscles rippling as she gets comfortable. She's beautiful, a goddess, and you want to spend the rest of your life worshipping her.

Once she's settled in, you straddle the backs of her thighs, eliciting a nervous giggle from her.

"Whatcha doing there, honey?"

She sounds so giddy, you almost feel bad that you're not gonna give her anything right now. "Settle down big girl, just trying to get access to your back."

You swear you can almost hear her pout when she says, "Okay :(."

She hands you the body oil from the bedside table, settling back into position as you uncap the bottle and pour a small amount into your hand. Rubbing it between your palms to warm it up, you then place your hands on Abby's back and start spreading it over her muscles.

You can feel how tense she is, noting which spots are gonna need the most work as you coat her sore muscles in a thin sheen of oil. Everything is so warm and hazy, since you'd turned off the main lights and left only a few dim lamps and some candles on while Abby was showering.

Abby, for her part, is already in heaven. She's always had a thing about feeling your body weight on her, as in she fucking loves it, so the feeling of you sitting on her thighs is already making her head all fuzzy. To add to it, your hands, soft from gentle work – courtesy of Abby, who never lets you do the rough work on the farm that has calloused her own hands – feel so fucking good on her back. Your touch always melts her into a puddle, but when it's combined with the slick slide of oil and a gentle massaging at her sore back? God, she's melting faster than an icecream in the summer sun.

With every pass of your hands over her sore back, she's whimpering and sighing, and you can feel the heat in your lower belly growing warmer and warmer. It wasn't your intention to get this aroused, but when Abby looks so sweet, so submissive, under your touch, how could you not?

You refocus your attentions, working the knots out of her upper and middle back with a firm press of your hands. The groans she lets out every time you hit a tough spot make you shaky, sounding far too close to the noises she makes when you're pressed up against her. It makes you nervous, giddy with excitement at just how much you want her, how much you want to please her. You're so distracted by the thought and image of her, needy under your touch, you barely notice when she starts talking.

"Mmm, that's good baby, I think you got it all," She murmurs, sounding utterly boneless. She's limp under your touch, the drowsiness creeping in.

"I'm not done yet baby, you're also tense," You mumble, slowly dragging your hands down her back, thumbs massaging at her back dimples, "down here."

Abby lets out a soft, "Oh", before whimpering at the feel of you in massaging her hips. Even if she usually doms, the feel of your thumbs in that very specific spot conjures up images of her on her hands and knees, staring at herself in the mirror while you bounce her back onto your cock, the slick noises of her cunt making her flush bright red. It makes her press her face into the mattress, blush creeping higher and higher as your hands slide lower and lower, until your finger tips are trailing at the waist band of her undies.

"Can I take these off?" You ask, leaning down to press a soft kiss between her shoulder blades.

"Mhm, please," Abby begs, her voice sweet and whiny, face still shoved into the mattress. It makes you giggle, even as you hook your fingers into her panties and pull them down, unfairly slow. You're drooling by the time her ass if exposed, but you almost moan when you see the string of slick and the wet patch left on her panties. You drag them all the way off, throwing them in the general direction of the bathroom.

Once they're gone, her gorgeous ass is completely exposed to you, but her pretty cunt is hidden, her thick thighs allowing you only a glimpse of her slick folds. Abby's breathing is heavy, and you can tell she's trying to stay composed even as you drip more oil onto your hands and rub them together.

Abby whimpers when you run your hands up her thighs, cupping under her ass and massaging the fat of it. You slide your thumbs up, spreading her ass apart and making her whine at the feeling of her pussy being spread open. You haven't even really touched her and she's leaking, for fuck sakes, her pussy made a slick lil noise when you spread it apart.

"Aw, baby, you're this needy already?" You chide, massaging her ass and watching her clench around nothing. A little dribble of slit leaks out of it, and you can't stop yourself from letting your thumb wipe it up, popping your thumb into your mouth and moaning at her taste.

"You've been, shit, you've been teasing me this whole time," She whines, wiggling her ass for you. You giggle, catching sight of the lipstick ring left around your thumb and feeling an idea grow in your head.

"Abby, get on all fours if you want me to fix that," You order, leaving one gentle swat on her ass before sliding off her legs, letting her scramble into position.

Everything about her makes your mouth water, from the slick sheen of oil and sweat on her body to the arch of her back, and the way she spreads her thighs just enough to give you a good look at her aching cunt.

"You're such a good girl, Abby, did so good," You murmur, getting behind her and rubbing at her ass, your tone soft and teasing as you slip into a more dominant role. She whines, wiggling even more as you lean forward, pressing a kiss to the swell of her ass.

When you pull back, you nearly moan, your idea having come true. Left on the plush fat of her right asscheek is a perfect lipstick mark, and the rest of her freckled ass and thighs are just begging for more marks. You giggle, pressing more kisses all over her ass and thighs.

Abby's confused, loving the attention but not knowing why you're just kissing her when her pussy is right there, needy for you. She nearly starts crying when you slide off the bed, grabbing something from the vanity and running back. The next time she feels you kiss her ass, it's a little wetter, stickier than before.

"What're you doing back there?" She asks, head a little fuzzy from your kisses.

"Mm, I could show you. Are you okay with me taking a picture of you?" You ask, pressing more kisses down her thighs, framing her pussy in pretty little kisses.

Abby swears she blacks out for a second, the sheer hotness of the question making her dizzy. "Yeah, yeah, of course, go ahead."

You hum, pleased with her answer and the desperation in her voice. Swiping your phone from the edge of the bed and opening up the camera, you point it at Abby. She looks gorgeous, completely needy and covered in lipstick kisses, slick dripping down her thighs and pretty hole aching for you. The hair around her pussy is slicked down, dark with wet, her bush wet and framing her clit. Her clit, large and swollen, is just peeking out of its hood, and she looks absolutely debauched. You take the picture and hand her your phone, waiting for her reaction.

Abby is staring in awe, not entirely convinced that's her. She looks so slutty, and it makes her hot all over. She lets out a little "oh lord" before handing you the phone.

"Mhm, that's all you pretty girl, you look absolutely gorgeous," You murmur, scratching your nails down the side of her thigh. She whines, arching her back even more as she shoves her face into the mattress.

"Uh huh, the prettiest, being so good for me," You whisper, bending down to press a trail of kisses all the way to her cunt. You lick a stripe from her clit to her hole, making Abby whine and scramble for purchase on the plush bedding.

You lap up the slick leaking out of her hole, spreading it over her clit before laving at it with the flat of your tongue.

"Fu-fuck sugar," Abby whines, bucking back into you. You grip at her thighs, trying to hold her in place as you dig in, pressing a kiss to her entrance before wiggling your tongue in. You fuck her with your tongue, listening to her whimpers before pulling back and spreading her pussy apart with your thumbs.

"Hmm, got the prettiest pussy ever," You tell her, watching her squirm under your attention. She tries to shift her thighs closer together, but stops at your disapproving hum.

With one hand, you trail two fingers down her cunt, pressing into her clit before dragging back up and teasing her hole. You want her to beg for it, and beg she does.

"Shit, baby, please, please fuck me," She cries, pressing back into you and trying to push your fingers in. You chuckle, loving how needy she is and not wanting to torture her too much.

"Hmm, good girl," You hum, as you press two fingers into her cunt. Abby moans into the mattress, loving the stretch. When you're in to the hilt, Abby clenches around your digits, a shiver running up her spine.

You lean down, angling your hand so you can both fuck her with you fingers and eat her out. You leave little licks at her clit, starting to fuck your fingers in and out of her, curling them just enough to try and press at her g-spot. When you get the right angle, pushing up against that gushy little spot, Abby wails, pressing back against you and clenching.

You hum against her clit, sucking on it lightly while pressing against her g-spot, feeling her leak around your fingers.

"G'so good baby, hmmm– fuck" She whines, her voice muffled into the comforter.

You can feel her thighs twitching, and decide she's getting too close too fast. Pulling off of her clit, you trail your tongue around her pussy, from the edge of her hole, where she's taking your fingers so well, to the spot right under her clit, teasing her with the almost-stimulation. You keep toying with her, avoiding her clit even as you finger her, driving her insane.

"C'mon baby, please, I wanna cum, please - fuck, 'wanna cum for you," She whines, kicking one leg and bucking back into you.

"Aww, my needy girl, you wanna cum?" You tease, leaning up to curve your body over hers and press a kiss behind her ear.

"Yes, yes please, ma'am, please, I need it," She cries, turning her head to look at you, making your heart skip a beat. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes blown out and her lips plumped up from biting at them. She's beautiful, your angel and your love, and you feel the overwhelming. need to please her.

"You're so good for me Abby, 'll make you cum," You murmur, pressing a soft kiss to her lips before sliding back down. You take one glance at her ass and thighs, still covered in smeared lipstick marks. Pressing one more kiss to her ass, you dive back into her cunt, licking and kissing and sucking at her clit, making out with it as you fucking her even harder.

Abby whines, dropping her head onto the bed and arching her back even more, letting you play with her pussy. You can feel her getting closer, the excess slick, the tremble of her thighs, the clenching of her walls around your fingers. She's almost there, she just needs a little something. And god, you deliver.

You spit on her clit and suck on it, massaging her g-spot with no mercy as you stimulate her sensitive little nub, moaning against her when Abby wails, pussy convulsing around your fingers and her whole body shaking. She's a wreck, pushing back against you and babbling into the bed. Her clit throbs under your tongue, a twitchy mess.

You fuck her through it, feeling her drip around your fingers, leaving a ring of creamy cum for you to lick up. She squeals as you punch at her g-spot, extending her orgasm as she clenches around you, keeping your fingers inside her.

Slowly, you ease your fingers to a stop and pull out, pressing a kiss to her clit before pulling away. Abby lets her breathing even out, feeling as you rubbing her hips, waiting to see what she needs. Abby lets out a blissed out sigh and sits up on her legs, reaching back for you to wrap your arms around her.

You do, hugging her from behind and laying your head on her shoulder, pressing kisses to the muscle. "How're you feeling baby?"

"Hmm, perfect," She hums, tilting her head to kiss your temple, "You're so good to me."

"You're so good to me, Abigail, I love taking care of you," You mumble, meeting her in a soft kiss. It's so gentle, and you can feel her trying to push every ounce of love into this kiss. It's heart achingly sweet, like every moment you have with her.

"Mm, gonna let me take care of you now?" She asks, catching you of guard as she turns around and eases you back onto the bed. "Because I think you're also feeling a lil tense. Strip and hand me the oil."

ahhhhhhhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

#anon #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson smut #abby anderson x reader smut

[sevenpoyo]

some brooklyn slang ik for all the ppl who wanna write for miles and kilometers‼️

feel free to add more idk everything but i i am originally from there and visit a lot this stuff i hear a lot and if you wanna add slang to ur writing this is a good place to start, not all of these brooklyn or ny exclusive but that’s where a lot of american slang starts and u prolly heard some of it b4. imma list it ne ways

don’t use like 8 of these in one sentence bc it will sound weird and i can’t really cover ny puerto rican slang or any puerto rican slang really bc my grandad is a bum so if you know some add it

the city is manhattan, not the other 4 burroughs, just manhattan, cus that’s where everything’s at

to cut ass is to roast tf out of someone , to get your ass cut is get tf roasted out of you

wyling/wilding is being outta pocket, something being absurd or crazy

yeah nah means no and nah yeah means yeah idk why they gotta make it complicated just look at the second word

good looks is like good looking out

it’s bout to be winter and i’m bout to see mad christmas fics and shit but do y’all know the proper way to describe cold ny winters?

if it’s cold as hell, it’s brick outside, not regular cold, ny winter is like nipples so hard i see em thru the bra cold

ex; “how it’s so brick outside i walk to the store wit my hair wet and it deadass got icicles in it” “yeah it’s fr brick outside today” “i’m not walkin wit u in this brick ass weather for a bacon egg and cheese?” (actual convo between my sister and me last winter break)

fronting seem kinda easy to me but is like acting or pretending i can’t explain it with out an example

“why you fronting like you wouldn’t die if they text you asking u to go out with them” “you can stop fronting like you like cars it cool if you don’t” “don’t sit there fronting like u don’t wanna dance wit me”

being tight over something is just being upset or annoyed

rj is so smart they said “We say tight bc you kinda huddle close to yourself when you tense/stressed or angry” i had no idea i just be saying it i aint know it had a reason💀 it make sm sense now.

“who got you tight like that this early in the morning?” “my momma came home tight yesterday for no reason, she threw a boot at me!” “i’m so tight this damn shift change has me working all closers this week”

jack is like claiming someone or something

i talk old as hell idk what the youths be jacking nowadays

cop is basically to get, used to be mostly 4 drugs back in the day my dad said (he don’t know why im asking him this)

“just copped me some retro 3’s” “bout to cop me a few percs in a minute”

speaking of a minute, mostly for my non americans bc that’s who get confused the most when i say this one. depending on the context this can mean a actual minute, a short time or a real long

“i’ll be back in a minute” is short “i ain’t seen y’all in a minute” is long. idk how to explain the difference besides context

bop is a good song, pretty easy but i see ppl on tiktok use it wrong

bangs/banger goes hard is kinda like bob for music but i be using it for anything fr

“this push pop is banging yo”

mad can be used normal like angry but it also means a lot or really kinda like hella ig? i usually uses hella when i would say mad so ppl can understand me easier up here

dumb also mean very in the same way

ex; “my english teacher give out mad homework for no reason.” “she be giving me mad shit over the smallest stuff” “i just had some mad good wings so i’m cooling rn” “this shit is mad spicy u sure you want some?” ''This shit got me dumb tight'' “you don’t need no jacket it’s dumb hot out here”

smacked is like high as fuck idk how to elaborate ur just high

lit is drunk

“Yuuuur!'' A signal, a greeting usually used to catch the attention of someone or something very fun greeting and very hated by schools, it’s weird anywhere outside of ny kinda at least to me.

being hollywood means u get a little fame and think ur all that or just that u got a little fame and they’re jokingly hating

ex; “i saw u on the news the other day, “the prowlers return” u must be real proud of yourself huh hollywood?” “and here comes hollywood wit his trending tiktoks”

real talk is when ur about confess something or say something serious in a not real serious setting or convo

“real talk we play a lot but i love you, my life would be boring with out you around” “real talk i’d never do that to you foreal”

go together is like go out kinda, y’all kinda match behavior cus y’all a couple, this one need a sentence 2 i think. (THIS ONE IS OLD AS HELL ONLY USE IT IF UR TRYING TO RIZZ MOMMA RIO)

“he want ur number? he don’t know we we go together or sum?” “why she wanna act like we go together, ion even know her?” “don’t we go together?”

i can’t even explain it with a sentence y’all just gotta figure this one out 💀

A bodega/deli is a convenience store ik most know this from the movie but some ppl think it’s all stores or all spanish stores when it’s just a corner store

the owners of the deli closest to my granddad house is muslim. and so we keep track of all muslim holidays when he’s closed

an ock is the bodega man, miles knows the man’s name at the deli we see him visit, but at any other store he’d call the guy ock

dipping on someone is changing ur mind last minute, usually canceling plans

ex “we was supposed to go get outfits together but they dipped on me last minute”

staticky is like wanting to fight or still being pissed after a fight

static is beef or on sight energy

you good can really be anything but imma list ones i can think of

it can mean like are you ok? or don’t worry about it, or how are you, or stop, or do you got a issue? or do you want an issue? it’s all in the tone of how it’s said fr

'Word of my moms/dads I saw/ did/did not *insert topic*'' Honest term, no lying present in statement i feel like (my cousins be putting anything on they momma fr risking shit on her for no reason)

'hold it down'' handle buisness / take care of someone or something. can also be in refrence to criminal who handles ''buisness''

NOW EVERYONE SAY THANK YOU TO @rashadisback BC HE CARRIED ME ON THIS‼️

i hope this helps any writers that don’t live here!

#42 miles morales x reader #miles morales x reader #atsv x reader #across the spiderverse #atsv

[hoosurdaddy]

Post Covid!Kenny NSFW headcannons.

Pairing: Kenny McCormick x Reader.

Triggers: 18+, smut all over. Smut throughout. Pt2??

NOTE!!!: I can’t find a gif of Kenny during post covid therefore I am using @.SPFKymanCartyle on Twitter. This is THEIR work and THEIR design. All credit goes to them. Their work is incredible I would 100% recommend checking it out. Once again, the picture of Kenny is NOT MINE, it is @.SPFKymanCartyle on Twitter.

NSFW Headcannons:

* Kenny for real, has a size kink and loves manhandling you and throwing you into every position he can. However, he only does that when he’s 100% sure he won’t hurt you. Kenny will literally be fucking you against the wall then throw you onto the bed.

* Kenny adores you. He would 100% body worship you in every single way. Kenny is so grateful for you and he wouldn’t be satisfied if he didn’t allow himself to indulge in you fully.

* If you’ve long hair, Kenny loves pulling your hair into a ponytail and guiding your mouth up and down his cock. He loves stroking your hair all the while he controls how long he wants to last. If not, Kenny would adore fucking your mouth and hitting the back of your throat. Ughh, imagine his moans as he fucks your mouth. Kenny could of died happily when he came home from a stressful day of work to see you, naked, with your mouth opened and on your knees, ready for your mouth to be fucked.

* “That’s my girl.” Kenny smirked as he pulled your hair into a makeshift pony. “How did I get so lucky??”

* Kenny has nicknames for you, but his favourite is “baby girl” 🤍

* “You like my big cock inside you, baby girl?”

* I feel like Kenny isn’t really into Dom/sub, however, I think Kenny is more on the Dom side of things?? Like idk how to describe it. Anyways, Kenny has a need to protect and pleasure you. It’s his pussy and he’ll do what he wants. 🤷‍♀️

* Kenny is the furthers thing from a gentleman, he will leave marks everywhere and anywhere you want him too (well where he wants) especially in the heat of the moment, Kenny will leave dark bruises all down your neck, breasts, thighs, hips, ass, etc. good luck wearing shorts or skirts during the summer.

* Tends to grunt rather than moan but hearing him saying your name in his deep voice is just chef kiss.

* Loves loves love doggy style. Kenny loves looking at your ass as he fucks you from behind. He loves pulling you back onto him, holding you there for a few seconds before going back to thrusting and repeating.

* Also really really really loves you riding him. Kenny would have one had holding your ass and another going between your tits. He enjoys thinking you have control but he would easily flip you over in two seconds.

* I feel like Kenny has a bit of a dumbification kink?? Idk why. But since Kenny has all this money, and is buying you nice clothes, he enjoys the thought of you dressing like a complete slut for him and pretending to be stupid when he asks you a simple question. Kenny takes pride in his smart girl but sometimes he’s needs to fuck his smart girl dumb.

* I feel aswell that Kenny might have a breeding kink but doesn’t want kids (just yet??). Idk I’m a bit iffy on this. But he would finger his cum back into you to be safe ✌️🤍

—

“Oh fuck! Kenny.” You whined as his hips thrusted up to meet yours as you rode him. You throw your head back, bouncing up and down to meet him. Between the pain of the overstimulation and pleasure, you knew Kenny wasn’t letting up just yet.

“Kenny! I’m gonna cum.” You whimpered, and Kenny began thrusting into your cunt harder. Your cunt clenched around Kenny’s cock, despite the burning in your legs and tummy from bouncing on Kenny’s cock, you swear you were to explode.

Kenny grunted before spilling into you, and continued to fuck you through your high as your moans and whines of your orgasm got louder before you plopped down ontop of Kenny, panting, him still inside you. The two of you laid there for a few minutes, enjoying the warmth that radiated from eachothers bodies. It wasn’t long until you felt Kenny getting hard once again along with the burning kisses he left on your neck, you knew you were in for a long night.

#post covid!south park #post covid!Kenny McCormick x reader #post covid!Kenny McCormick #post covid!Kenny McCormick smut #South Park x reader #south park imagines #kenny mccormick #kenny McCormick x reader

[taboo-delusion]

So, I just discovered something interesting.

This is a bit of a long one, so bear with me. It's important. Seriously.

I just woke up a few hours ago. My meds are starting to kick in. I was having a very serious and genuine, deep conversation (in-head) and it was... beautiful. It wasn't happy, but it was beautiful. Not the point.

Point is:

I had not had a single fucking intrusive thought today until someone made a noise in the other room.

I am so fucking PISSED OFF

Why my brain refuses to realize that intrusive thoughts CAUSED the good feeling to go away, I have no fucking idea. I've known that for almost a year now, yet my stupid fucking subconscious refuses to change anything it's doing

Before I snap my fucking android phone in half and yeet somebody's face into neptune, I thought I'd share the discovery!!!!

Basically:

MY INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS DID NOT START UNTIL SOMETHING STARTLED ME OUT OF FOCUS

AS I TYPE THIS, I REALIZE THAT INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS -AT LEAST FOR ADHDERS- ARE A SURVIVAL TACTIC.

Elaborating:

When you fall asleep and your heart slows too much, your body does the falling thing to make sure you're still alive.

It's not that intrusive thoughts are *Just* because your brain gets too quiet, It's because your life has never been completely quite before, or -like me- the few times it is quiet, something interrupts. And even if it doesn't piss you off, even if you don't jump like I do, your brain still registers it as not safe.

--

Falling asleep, heart slows a lot-

Body: *Sends adrenaline just to make sure it still actually works.*

Drowning, even mostly unconscious-

Body and brain: *Hold onto that last half-breath even if it feels like you're head is going to explode.*

Going grocery shopping or talking to someone you think is cool-

Brain: *Remembers what it felt like the first time your guardian was indifferent or mean about something that made you happy or calm.*

Things around you actually get quiet-

Brain *Sends a thought you hate just to make sure you're prepared for a sudden problem.*

TDLR 1: Your brain isn't mean on purpose, It's just paranoid and still has a will to live.

Listen. I know I'm just some random dude from a weird blog. But I'm trying to translate, to assist. Maybe somebody else needs this realization as much as I do. I apologize for the yelling earlier. I'm still just as upset, but only at my dumbass subconscious. Now some time has passed, and I have regained self-control.

(I also apologize for the above paragraph, my brain nags for me to do this, but I can't remember why. So:)

I am no psychologist. Here are my qualifications (why you should listen to me):

As my friends call it- "Disturbingly self-aware at all times."

Paranoid Schizophrenic with actual (unrelated) OCD, with years of experience dealing with it- more healthily in recent years.

Philosophy and deep thinking is simply my default. I use metaphors, but everything in this post is entirely literal, ...except the angry threat. (*begrudgingly accepts disappointment*)

I am a fiction writer. I don't know about healing people/first aid, but I know a LOT about how anatomy works, with many deep-dives on the psychology/evolution side.

People irl generally consider me a genius? Idk how to gauge that, IQ tests are irrelevant with this type of... smart?. I've been compared to both Da Vinci and Einstein. So, ...actually that's pretty fuckin' cool- (I AM NOT TRYING TO BRAG! I APOLOGIZE IF IT COMES OFF THAT WAY! I've never put it all down like this, and I'm just surprised and questioning my reputation.)

(Also, I love playing detective, so naturally I call myself Batman XD.)

Autistic; I experience the world, and every situation, from a view without any context.

ADHD: My brain automatically -As a guardian I hate describes- "Can watch three different movies at the same time, all in fast forward, and can keep up with all of them." ... Well, yes, but technically no. Idk if other ADHD people do this, but my brain "connects the dots" so quickly, I end up laughing at jokes I've never heard before the 'punchline', because I've already figured out what you're going to say next.

Now combine all that. I am kicking depression's ass and now I want to help you do the same.

I have only mentioned the relevant things. Please keep in mind that ALL of these have both advantages and disasters. Thank you for your patience and understanding. I am running on four hours of sleep. For the love of whatever, I hope this actually helps someone other than me.

Qualifications are noted because: This is all stuff (and stuff like this) that I am just always casually aware of.

TLDR2: Even if I wasn't trying to help people feel better, Apparently I was born with a nat 20 perception/insight check, so please don't argue that I truly understand what I'm talking about here.

#this is serious #serious #intrusive thoughts #adhd intrusive thoughts #especially adhd #psychology #psychological analogy #human instinct #evolutionary psychology #survival instinct #fighting depression #original content #adhd #it can be done #it can be fixed #mental health #mental illness #mental issues #actually mentally ill #mentally fucked #and still going #so i'll help where i can #and you can't stop me #hope #how to get better #get better #getting better #you're not alone #you're gonna be okay

[sehodreams]

Plus size idol has a bad attitude and a chip on her shoulder because she made it in an industry where the odds are against her. She’s the kind of idol who proudly thinks “I got on this stage because of talent, not because of daddy’s money (Anton), plastic surgery (Wonbin), or steroids (Sungchan)”

Dark please.

Hi, sorry for taking so long, I had to change my phone that suddenly DIED and then I wrote one but didn't like it, I hope this one is a bit better, I struggled a bit with my words idk why, but I hope you like it!

BITCH

TW and tags: foursome, dark!idol!Anton, dark!idol!Sungchan and dark!idol!Wonbin x idol!plus size!reader, a bit of cum eating, cum play, no p in v, oral sex (f and m receiving), noncon, a touch of choking (like always), munch!Anton, god Idk what else please if you don't like dark content don't read.

WC: 4.9k sorry again

They didn't know how to describe their relationship with you, you were just... Such a bitch.

They tried to be on your good side, knowing how much influence you had on the industry.

You were an excellent artist, a good writer and singer, even a good actor, but God, they hated you so much.

They didn't believe the others when they told them to be careful with you, how could you ever do something wrong to them? You had those cute cheeks and that sweet smile on cameras, you treated your staff good and even directors loved you, so punctual and organized, always doing your best.

But with them, you would critic every little mistake they did.

First you had to share a waiting room out of the blue, theirs had a problem with the plugs and they needed to get their hair done, so they went to yours. You smiled when their manager talked to you, "oh don't worry, it's always a pleasure for me to be helpful!" Their manager got charmed by you instantly, thanking you many times before they could go in.

It was a chaotic day, having to get ready even faster than normal, everyone walking around and moving things, when suddenly they heard a crash.

Everyone looked at it, Wonbin had pushed a flower pot by accident and it got all your fan letters wet. You looked at it surprised, not knowing what to say, and Wonbin's ears got red instantly, embarrassed to the core. He bowed many times, apologizing, and you stopped him with your hand. "Accidents happen" you smiled.

All of them got up their seats and apologized at the same time. Their manager ran to ask for a hairdryer to one stylist that had gone out.

When you and the boys were alone, in silence, you spoke again. "Fucking rookies" you spat. All of them looked at you surprised by your tone. Your whole face had changed, your sweet camera smile nowhere to be found.

"We're really sorry" Shotaro, as the eldest, apologized again.

"Shut up, I don't want to heard any of you anymore, I'm tired of all your obnoxious voices" you were sitting in front of them. All of them standing with their heads down. "Do you think I'm a joke? Why did you think you could all run around as if it was your playground?"

They could feel the heat coming out of you, your voice making them feel small, tiny, as if they were nothing.

Their manager came back and started to dry the letters, you smiled and told him to not mind, they were just paper, they'd get dry on their own. "She's such a good person" the manager said later, hopeful eyes filled with emotion, touched by your kindness. They didn't dare to say what happened, just nodding.

Their second meeting was even worse. Anton's father was in the same show with you and they saw you on TV talking with him. "Please take care of him when you see him" he smiled, the exact same eyes that their maknae had. You replied immediately "oh please don't worry, I've met him already, he's such a sweet and respectful boy, I can see how much effort you've put into making him a great person" it had to be an accident what happened last time, you talked so good about one of their members on tv, caring and soft words were the only things that came out of you, maybe it was just a bad day, they thought.

When they met you in another program they knocked your door, everyone with their best smiles and a bouquet to apologize for what happened last time. One member of your staff opened the door, they could see you inside wearing a pretty pink gown, getting your hair done to the presentation in a couple of hours.

You lifted your eyes from your phone and looked to them. "Can you leave us alone a second?" You asked your staff, all of them left, leaving you alone. Maybe you would apologize to them too, right? "What did I tell you last time? I can see you're all stupid enough to come and bother me again" your glossy lips said smoothly, as if you were singing. They couldn't help but look at you, pink robe showing your legs, your hair up, neck naked, and your honey lips moving, spitting harsh words like a praise. "I guess you have no idea how to respect your seniors, you're lucky I'm a good one, but don't ever come here unannounced again, and this is my last warning, the next time I'll fucking kill you"

They left the flowers and went back to their room. No one said anything, but they all thought the same thing, "bitch".

When the show finished and they were leaving they saw some cleaning ladies pushing trash carts, their flowers showing on top of one, over a bunch of plastic bottles and makeup wipes.

At least they agreed on one thing, to never bother you again. However, what they didn't expect was the collaboration the company arranged with a couple of singers, you being one of them.

You'd be on one of their tracks that you'd write and produce.

Anton, Sungchan and Wonbin were the choosen ones, the others exhaled, feeling grateful to not being paired with you, and feeling sorry for the boys that would work with you.

They talked a lot about it, how would they behave in front of you, not talking unless they were asked to, not contradicting you and not even maintaining eye contact with you for too long, anything to work in peace and finish the job as fast as possible.

They couldn't deny how good of an artist you were, all your songs hits and your fandom making noise every time you arrived to shows.

It was unusual for a girl like you to be an idol, a big girl, your face was quite slim, but your thick legs and full chest always caught attention. Still, you were loved by many and they respected that.

And they liked it too.

"Hi boys, is such a pleasure to work with you, I hope we get a hit!" You laughed and raised your hand, cheering for them. Their manager smiled, wiped for you, while they smiled shyly, afraid of shifting the energy in the room if they weren't careful.

You all went to the recording room, alone there, you sat on the only chair, claiming your position, and they had to sit on the little couch behind you. You showed them your notes and told them your ideas for the song, a love song like usual. They nodded and agreed to everything you said.

If you said the sky was green and the grass blue, they would go along with you.

"I thought you were stupid only in front of me, but it seems you're like that all the time" you said after half an hour being together. They couldn't nod this time. "You're so useless, I don't know why would they make me work with you, some fucking rookies" you walked to grab your bag and pulled a box of cigarettes, everyone focus on your figure walking, appreciating your bubbly ass that showed through your yoga leggings and oversized t-shirt that tried to covered it but rolled over it. Then, when they saw you put the cigarette between your lips and search for a lighter, they looked at each other. It was prohibited to smoke there, but how could they defy you? "I'm sick of everyone disrespecting me, I got here after so much, you have no idea what I've been through to get here" you laughed sourly, "well, of course you don't know about it, I got here because of talent, not because of daddy’s money, plastic surgery, or steroids" the room started to get hot, their faces couldn't hide the irritation anymore, they perfectly knew who were you referring with your words but preferred to stay silent, biting their own tongue "and yet I feel like they continue laughing at me, making me their favorite joke" you slowly exhaled the smoke, not directing your eyes to them, as if you were talking to yourself.

They were exhausted, exhausted of you insulting them, critiquing them for everything, and doing their best to not snap.

"You really have no shame" Wonbin broke the silence after a long minute. "Talking like that, acting like big shit, and I guess that's why everybody laughs at you, trying to act big when you're just a fat bitch" he stood up and walked to you, the other two looked at him alarmed, shocked by the outburst. You, sitting, crossed your legs and exhaled a long line of smoke, maintaining eye contact with the talking boy, with a blank expression.

He smirked, seeing you sitting down there you were only a common girl, without no one on your side, and he felt like he could do anything to you. You felt that, you saw it on his face, you could recognize that expression anywhere, conceited, power hungry, resented. Then, he suddenly felt his hand burning, quickly moving it away. The other two jumped and walked to him, checking the mark your cigarette had left on his pale hand.

"What is wrong with you?!" Anton asked, shocked with your impulse. "You hurt him!"

Sungchan grabbed a cold water bottle from the mini fridge and pressed it against the burn spot. When he moved it away Wonbin checked his hand better, there was a small red spot getting darker because of the ash. He inspected it for a long time, too astonished, then after not much thinking he walked to the door and pressed the secure. The other two followed him with their eyes, holding their breath, waiting for what was gonna happen next.

You didn't waver, set on not appearing weak in front of those three rookies.

"I think you forgot something" he talked, hand on the door handle "You, at the end of the day, are just one girl, and we'll always be stronger than you" he turned his face to you, ears red again, but not from embarrassment this time, from rage.

You, in that exact moment, knew you'd get hurt too.

You gave him a sided smile, "do whatever you want, I'll fucking end your careers after I get out of here"

You saw the younger one put himself between Wonbin and you, as a wall, protecting you. "Hyung, let's talk about this, don't do anything careless" he tried to stop him, the other gave you a glance and then moved his attention to the taller one. "We can get on serious problems"

"We're already on serious problems, it doesn't matter what we do now, she's gonna talk around, we can say goodbye to any deal now" Sungchan, who remained on one side, finally talked.

"You too? What the hell are you thinking?" Anton didn't know what to do, he was displeased too, but going so far hadn't crossed his mind.

"I think this bitch needs a lesson, if we don't give it to her now, she's gonna continue acting like this with others" he grabbed Anton's shoulders and made him turn to you, you were still on your place, frowning, not having were to go, expecting the younger one to help you escape, but when Wonbin whispered to his ear, you knew it was over "look at her, she's not regretful at all, and if we don't do it now, someone else is gonna do it later"

Anton agreed with that, someone was gonna teach you a lesson at some point, and it better be them, right?

When Anton's eyes wandered around your body, hips and thighs bigger on that chair, chest so full it was slightly spilling over your bra, he decided this was a job they had to do.

The job he wanted to do.

Sungchan saw the conviction on Anton's eyes, and when his lips slightly parted, the two older boys smiled. "You can have the first taste" Wonbin pushed him closer to you.

A chill ran down your legs, "move, now" you stood up and ordered the younger one. The three of them were in front of you, all of them taller, you had to lift your head to look at them in the eyes, you had never felt so small in your life. When they saw you there, cornered, eyes up and hands shaking, with the same fucking bossy expression, as if you had any power there, they snickered.

Wonbin nodded to Sungchan, who instantly understood what the other wanted. The two of them caught your arms and made you sit on your chair again. Anton was in front of you, still doubting, not knowing what to do.

"Stop right now! Let me go!" You demanded and squirmed, trying to get yourself free.

"Don't move so much, it's gonna happen you want it or not, no one is gonna help you, there are no cameras here to not leak content, and the whole room is soundproof" you felt yourself get weaker with Wonbin's words, your lips started to quiver and your eyes tried to soften the youngest so he could help you. You looked at him with your most helpless eyes, pleading for help. He sighed, and you saw his face change, desire starting to show on it.

"Come on, you need to pacify her now, if you don't she'll be all feisty later" Sungchan laughed. Wonbin knew he'd need a little help, so he lifted your t-shirt and pulled down your bra, your full tits bounced with the rough movement and the maknae's eyes couldn't leave you, tongue wetting his lips. You were about to scream when Wonbin made you bite your shirt to maintain it up, and then he covered your mouth so you wouldn't spit it. Sungchan decided to move to the back of the chair, grabbing both your arms with one hand.

Your full chest was there, in front of their eyes. Your tits were perfect for all of them, so big and full, your nipples were bigger than what they had ever seen, but they still liked them, all round and calling for them to get a taste.

Sadly, the two older ones needed the youngest to be on board, so he'd have the privilege of the first taste.

Anton kneeled in front of you, his big hands went first to your waist, to see how much he could hold, and then they started to roam up, holding the weight of your tits with his hands before he gave you a look. You didn't move, your eyes were getting a bit wet, but you tried to keep an stoic aspect, strong as always. He didn't waste any more time and gave them a good lick, moaning to himself. They felt so good on his tongue his eyebrows frown. They were soft, easy to handle, and he had to enjoy it as much as he could.

He kept licking them, his tongue playing with one of your nipples while one of his hands molded the other, pinching your little bud every now and then. He played with both of them like that for a good time, making you feel more and more wet with time, you still felt bad, kind of sick of the way he seemed to enjoy it so much, making eye contact until you couldn't and decided to lift your gaze.

Big error, you saw the expression on the visual boy, smiling, proud of his member working you so well, and felt worse.

You shook your head and tried to kick him to get away, but the young boy was so strong he pushed his weight into your thighs so you didn't interrupt his activity.

"Come on, do something else, we don't have all day" Sungchan talked behind you. Anton found the strength he needed to pull apart from your tits and touched your thighs, watching you with a drunk expression. Your nipples were hard, glistening with his saliva, begging to receive more attention, but he couldn't monopolize you.

"Pull down her pants" Anton, after Wonbin ordered him, started to pull down your pants and your panties, slowly, trying to see as much of you as he could to remember it later. Your soft and thick thighs showed a couple of marks because of their size, but he followed the way they pushed against the velvet seat and thought how good they would feel around his face.

And your pussy, god, so plump and wet, he made you open your legs, lifting one over the chair arm, and saw your sweet pussy shine, like honey pouring down, he thought, wanting to taste you.

"Can I..." Anton mumbled.

"Do it" Wonbin encouraged him. Anton didn't need more, he opened your lips with his fingers and saw how precious you looked down there, then he pressed his flat tongue onto your clit, eyes closed and almost rolling of how good you tasted.

He slurped, the wet sounds echoing in the room made everything more dirty and the two other boys felt their tips tingle, dying for their turn.

"Shit, she's dripping" Sungchan said, the sound of your pussy was so dirty his head started to get numb, and when you let your head fell because of the stimulation, looking up and catching each others eyes, he couldn't resist it and with his free hand squeezed your tit. He wanted to kiss you, push his tongue into your mouth, but you were still biting your shirt. You squirmed, overstimulated with his little touches over your sensitive nipples and the other boy eating the life out of you.

"Are you gonna be a good girl now?" Wonbin asked on your side, you moved your eyes to him and nodded, not being able to talk because of the shirt he made you bit. "Good" he let your mouth free and stripped your t-shirt off.

You felt the cold air touch your naked body and slightly shivered.

You screamed, a clear and loud "Fuck you". Wonbin slapped you, shaking your whole body. You stayed there, mute, feeling your cheek sting, and decided to just stay silent from that moment on. You couldn't afford to get hurt, you had job to do later, and tomorrow, and the next day. The boy slurping your juices hadn't even noticed the other hurt you, too concentrated on his dessert.

"Can I kiss her now?" Sungchan asked, polite and eager, after seeing you cry in silence, but calm. Wonbin nodded and Sungchan grabbed your chin to make your head fall again and kiss you, softly at first, then deeper. Your tongue felt like velvet against his, soft and wet, smooth, like the seat you were dripping on. He couldn't contain himself anymore, he stopped kissing you and pulled down his zipper and his underwear, just enough for his dick to bounce in front of your face, moving his hand up and down his member. Your lipgloss was smudged around your mouth and you looked up to him with dull eyes, death, and distracted with the boy between your legs, trying to contain the sounds that wanted to escape, you couldn't let them know how much stimulated you were.

You were so close, your hole started to beg for something to fill it, but of course you'd never say it. You're eyes were unfocused and, after a couple of minutes containing them, pretty moans started to leave your lips. "Wait, wait, please" you begged, with your singing voice, it sounded like an echo, music to their ears.

You didn't want to cum, you couldn't get more humiliated, not more.

"Move" Wonbin pushed Anton's head away of you. You sighed, glad the boy helped you resist. You were wrong, he pushed Anton to occupy that spot, eating you even harder, with his thumb poking your entrance.

"That's not fair, I wanted her to cum on my mouth" Anton protested and tried to push the older boy "I deserve her orgasm"

"Shut up, you were about to cum faster than her" Sungchan laughed, still jerking off in front of your face. The image of your dumb face and open lips making those sounds was enough to drive him crazy.

"Hyung please let me, I'll let you put your dick first, I swear" Anton pleaded. Wonbin didn't want to, but he had a soft spot for the youngest, so he moved away and let him finish you. Your hands were free now, hanging yourself on your seat, trying to calm yourself, but when the boy pushed his face onto your entrance you had to grab something else, so you grabbed his hair, hard, wanting to hurt him as much as they hurt you.

It had the opposite effect. Your pussy dripping, with your hands pulling his hair, made him insane. He rubbed his dick against your free leg, and when your hands painfully pulled his hair with force and your pussy spammed around Wonbin's fingers, he came. While he was cumming he didn't stop slurping, drinking your orgasm like a thirsty man.

Sungchan moved his dick to your lips, touching it with the tip. You were still drunk on the feeling, trying to recollect yourself, when Sungchan decided it was a good idea to cum on your face. His cum fell onto your lips, and he moved it around your mouth, smearing it over the rest of your lipgloss.

"You have two options, what do you want to do, do you want me to fuck your pussy or to fuck your mouth?" Wonbin said putting his hand around your neck, making you look at him in the eyes. Sungchan had decided to sit on the couch to recover, and Anton on the floor, next to you and caressing your thigh, also trying to catch his breath, but focusing more in his fingers drawing on your skin.

You didn't want to choose, the cum on your mouth tasted like shit and your legs hurt, you only wanted it to end and go home, but you could see in the eyes of the boys that they wanted a lot more of you.

Tears started to flow out of your eyes, one by one, falling down your eyes, which made Wonbin smile more, giving you a peck on the lips Sungchan had dirtied with his orgasm.

"I want to go, please, I'm tired" you cried. Anton's hand got tighter on your leg and Wonbin's hand too, around your throat. You wanted to cough, not being able to breath.

"She's been good, I think she deserves a kiss and to go home" Anton said with a sweet tone, low.

"Well, I think she deserves one more orgasm" Sungchan smiled at you, proud of his work.

"You both say that because you got to cum, but what about me?" Wonbin was defensive, his hand kept squeezen your throat and your eyes burned.

"Then you can use her mouth, but not her hole, if one fuckes her, everyone fucks her, deal?" Sungchan said with authority. Wonbin scoffed at the sudden lider.

"You've heard him, you have no option now" Wonbin was quickly to pull down his underwear, the time was running out and they had an schedule after their session with you. What would happen next? They didn't care. They knew, when they saw the fear in your eyes, that you'd never talk about this. Three rookies fucking you? Who would believe you? Were you trying to brag around that you fucked those gorgeous men?

His grip around your neck got loose. You coughed and he let you catch your breath. He knew you'd need that air when he was fucking your mouth, because he was going to fuck it properly, like a bitch like you deserved.

He made you kneel in front of him, grabbing your arm and pushing you to the floor. It hurt your knees, you made a painful noise and Anton side-eyed him, not liking how he treated you. "Don't do that again, those are not the kind of marks we should leave on her" Anton, on your side, held your hair with care and moved it out of your face so you could be more comfortable.

"Why do you care so much how we treat her?" Sungchan bluffed.

"She's mine too, and I like to take care of my things" he cleaned your tears with his thumbs, caressing your chin and giving you a look full of love. He smiled at you, not showing his teeth, but sweet enough to make you warm.

And you hated that.

"Anton-ah, help me, please" you sobbed. He nodded.

"Of course honey, one more orgasm, right?" He answered, making you cry harder.

"Now say ahh" Wonbin grabbed your hair and made you sit back in your knees. You had to hold yourself with one hand behind you, your tummy and thick thighs completely showing. You were almost completely naked, only your usual expensive jewelry on your neck and wrist.

Those golden jewels look so good on you, all naked and glowing. Your face was sweaty and had cum around your mouth, filthy, contrasting with your gold necklace with a little heart around your throat.

Wonbin licked his lips and pushed the tip of his cock in front of you. You had no option than to leave a little kiss on it, closing your eyes to not look at him.

He had a pretty cock, pink with a red tip, as if even it was angry and trying to break you. You licked it as much as you could, covering the left part of it with your pretty hand with the bracelet tingling.

Anton held your hair to help you, and when he moved his eyes down your chest to your thighs he couldn't help but pay attention to your pretty tummy, a little pouch over your chubby and pretty pussy. His free hand started to touch your clit, gently at first, but then, second by second, he started to want more, and at some point, when Wonbin pushed your mouth over his whole dick, tired of your lame work, he pushed two fingers inside you, distracting you. "You're doing such a good job" he praised you.

Sungchan got enough, he situated behind you again, pushing his cock to your lower back and kissing your cheek and pinching both nipples between his fingers. "Cum one more time, just one more" he begged.

It was too much, you wanted to cream but your mouth was busy with Wonbin's cock. Your eyes cried and cried, and muffled sounds stayed on your mouth.

After minutes that seemed to never end, when Wonbin was about to cum, he pushed your head out of his cock, jerking in front of you. You couldn't think, shaking with Anton's fingers inside you and the tension forming in your stomach.

"Stop!" You tried to remove his fingers out of you, feeling something close. A strong orgasm, the strongest you've ever had on your life.

Sungchan, still rubbing his dick with your back, left your tits alone and grabbed your waist, making you fuck yourself against Anton's fingers.

You yelled after a minute, coming hard as never. A liquid poured over Anton's hand and leaked to the floor wood, making a little pod. At the same time Sungchan came over your back, and Wonbin over your beautiful chest, with white drops falling all around, one drop over your heart necklace.

You shook and fell onto Sungchan's arms. He held you, giving you a soft kiss on your temple. "Good girl" he appreciated.

You closed your eyes, about to pass out, trying to breath normally again, but opened them again after you felt a sting on your chest, almost near your collarbone, hissing of pain. "This is a gift, so you never forget what happens if you don't behave" Wonbin kissed your cheek. He had burned you with a different cigarette, one he had just smoked.

Anton pushed his hand away. "I told you to not hurt her" he was mad with Wonbin's action, hugging your side and giving you a kiss on your other cheek to comfort you.

You cried and hugged the youngest, big and warm, comforting you like a little girl.

Anton and Sungchan helped you to get dressed. Your thighs were a mess and they were looking for something to help you get clean when they heard knocking over the door.

The three of them looked at each other alarmed, it was impossible to hide you or the mess they had done.

Wonbin decided to give face and make the people on the other side of the door leave. He opened it, trusting the other two to cover you.

Eunseok was there, looking a bit tired. "We have to go, manager says that..." He looked inside the room. It was impossible to not understand what happened, the smell of sex and orgasms was too strong, and the boys were glowing, clearly satisfied.

You stood up and ran to the door, not leaving time enough for the bigger boys to hide you. "Get me out of here, now!" You demanded. You weren't wearing pants and he could see how fucked you were, hair dirty and smelly, face smeared of gloss and what he recognized as semen.

"What the- what have you done?!" He was terrified, holding your hands inside his. You threw yourself into his arms, shaking, "Really guys? Without me?"

All the boys in the room smiled with the cry that came out of you.

Such a bitch, they thought.

#riize x plus size reader #riize x reader #dark!riize #dark!wonbin #riize smut #dark riize #dark!anton #dark!sungchan #PLEASE READ TW

[fariesoiree]

Heyy babes it's me againn

I was wondering if you'd consider writing a smutty drabble about hobie with a reader who has a praise kink? 👀

Much love from yours truly, ☄️

welcome back! always love the interactions c: of cawrse you can! idk how long this is but i think it qualifies as a fic soooo . . . hate the ending but it was getting tooooo long c: ageless and minors dni i will block you, black fem reader, she/her prns

hobie first notices the way you sort of . . . cower when he compliments you a few weeks ago. maybe cowers isn’t the best word — more like shy away. sure, you’ll always smile and accept it all with grace but there’s always something about it. if he looks at you hard enough, your brown eyes looks a little different than usual. it brings about a curiosity in him that he’s never had before.

it’s a question that dwells in the back of his mind and only resurfaces now, when you’re both created comfortable indents on hobie’s gray couch, one that he’s gotten secondhand and restored himself. he holds a wine glass in his hand, filled with cheap, store bought wine. he doesn’t care too much for the taste or expensive experience and you feel fortunate that you are able to pick out the bottle this week.

on the tv, just large enough to cover the stand, plays another episode of too hot to handle. each time another bad episode of trashy reality television comes to an end and netflix auto plays another — your account because hobie would never — you just let it continue playing, transfixed on the forced drama.

“you think you could last on a show like that?” hobie asks, taking a sip from the round glass. the wine is more sweet than bitter and leaves a subtle alcoholic aftertaste on his tongue. he would prefer something a little stronger but the point is not to get drunk. instead it’s to enjoy each other’s presence. “like, on an island with a bunch of hot guys that you can’t fuck but you want to, so bad.”

you glance at him from the corner of your eye expecting to meet his gaze, only to find the side of his face. even from this direction, the angles of his jaw is still just as sharp and reflects his true beauty in a way that used to intimidate you in the earlier days of your relationships. “well, can i fuck the girls?”

hobie’s tongue clicks against the ridged roof of his mouth with a hushed tut! he rolls his eyes but the corners of his lips twitch upwards. you’re such a smartass. “obviously not. don’t act daft.” in between his words, he pauses to scowl at the private interviews from the contestants.

“then no. plus, i only want you. if i ended up on that show after meeting you, i’d just be bored, i think. what would i even do?”

a chuckle rumbles in his chest, spreading in thick warmth that crawls its way out his throat. his head lulls in your direction and the hand, attached to the hand wrapped around your shoulder, rubs across your bare skin, left uncovered under the white shortsleeved loose, cherry patterned top. it’s long enough to be perfectly comfortable when you’re curled up into his side, hanging around your arms without constricting your movement when the fabric gets bunched and stick beneath you.

“jeez, bug. aren’t you proper perfect. always treatin’ me so well.” when he looks down at you, there’s that look again, along with the sheepish smile that slowly creeps along your face. he doesn’t know how to describe it, but it’s there and it makes him curious. you’ve never been too shy with him, not anymore at least. yet, here you are, losing your train of thought every time he sweet talks you. “why do you do that?”

this time, instead of continuing to sit there with that distracted look on your face, you squint at him. his question confuses you enough to turn your head, having to tilt your head up to eye him comfortably. “do what?” you rest the base of the wine glass on your knees, propped up and pressed into your chest. the sock-covered soles of your feet are stable on the couch.

“that thing. every time i say something nice to you, you start acting weird.” hobie explained. he mirrors your expression, confused that you’re confused. how could you not know? you’re consistently doing it, each and every time without fail.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about, ‘bie.” you say with a small shake of your head. the shiny fabric of your silk bonnet catches the sunlight and reflect it back out of the skylight over your head.

hobie’s houseboat is quaint, a little small, and depends heavily on the natural lighting. several windows are littered around the walls and occasionally left open to allow the cool breeze, rolling over the water, inside the room. the kitchen and the living room are only a few steps away, so much so that hobie doesn’t necessarily need a table in the kitchen. instead, he opts for bar stools at the counter that keeps the space from feeling stuffy.

the small, gray sectional is covered in a throw blanket and a few pillows, all varying in color and material — courtesy of you. the brown, coffee table in front of you has its own decor on it. decals from different shows hobie watches, figurines of characters he’s a fan of, a couple plants too that thrive in such sunny conditions.

a little ways down the hall is the bathroom, which is more open concept than your standard way of living. the sink is left unguarded and open to the houseboat residents while the shower and toilet are surrounded by three walls and a door, all designed to mimic the texture and appearance of wood.

farther down from that is the only bedroom in the boat, the one that you frequent for midday naps when you’re seeking the comfort of your partner. the little space is does have is narrow and only enough to fit a full sized bed, stacked on top a bed frame that allows for pullout drawers beneath, optimizing the storage. there’s a window next to the bed with blinds that stay pulled up during the day so you can ogle at the soft waves the push and pull of gravity brings about.

he’s gotten his walls decorated with posters of bands, memorabilia, and other random clutter hobie’s collected over the years. it’s never truly tidy here but it’s comfortable, it’s cozy to be somewhere that feels lived in without regrets.

“you don’t know what i’m talkin’ about?” hobie reiterates with a curl of his lips. he’s got his thick, dark eyebrows furrowed together, knitting and inching together on his forehead akin to caterpillars. sometimes, he’ll rest with his head on your lap and flinch under the cold tweezers when you pluck astray hairs out of their follicles.

you shake your head again and lean further into the warmth of his side. “mm-mm,” you hum and take a sip of the stella rose, pink and swirling in the rounded walls of your glass. you can still feel his skeptical eyes focused on the top of your covered head. before he can press you anymore, you cut him off, lifting your finger to point at the screen. “she’s actually an idiot. he’s been flirting around with two other girls but she’s still trying to get with him. that’s so stupid.”

he wants to side eye you, listening to that voice in his head coming up with what feels like rational assumptions but he doesn’t, because you’ve already moved on. instead, he just shrugs and drops it entirely — for now. “maybe she’s into that. a girl cuck.”

nighttime comes peacefully. the horizon darkens as the sun dips out of visibility. you made dinner, seasoned asparagus with steaming mashed potatoes and herb-crusted chicken; hobie washed the dishes from that night and after going through the motions of getting ready for bed, you both ended up in bed and under the soft sheets, wrapped in each others arms. you’re especially grateful that the boat remains well-vented and the air is cool on the water when you’re pressed into hobie’s bare chest. his skin is always so warm to the touch, so much so that it makes you hot with prolonged contact. in the summer, you can only cuddle for a few minutes before rolling away and throwing the sheets off to cool down.

you got your phone shoved into his face, playing yet another cat video. you smile at the orange feline on your screen, running around its living room in glee. “it’s so cute. i want one so bad.”

“yeah? think you’d be better off with a rock. can’t even take care of yourself.”

you can feel him smirk into your shoulder. one of his long arms goes to trap your body before you can turn and swat at him for his antics. he knows you and how you’d probably flick his forehead for talking about you in such manner.

“what — fucking — ever. get off of me.” you mumble, writhing in his strong hold forcing you into the mattress. he’s left you with enough room to turn your head. it’s a desperate attempt but you try anyway, straining your neck towards his skin to clamp your teeth down. each time, he angles just out of your reach and scoffs.

“feral ass animal. say please and i’ll let you go.”

“hobie!” you more or less whine, lifting your legs and pushing it against is. your futile kicks do nothing but tangle your legs in his until he’s got them squeezed and trapped. you’ve officially lost and there’s nothing you can do.

hobie couldn’t be more pleased with himself and distributes more of his weight onto your back. he grins, white teeth gleaming in the yellow lighting from the lamp on the shelves above your head, set on dim and creating a cozy mood to relax in. “say it. say it or we’ll sit here all night.”

you purse, pout, and wiggle even more. your phone has been discarded and forgotten about, lost somewhere in the bed between your struggling for power. it takes a few minutes to fall still and the air fills with harsh breaths from the both of you. hobie’s giggles are mixed in with snorts and you can’t help but smile at his delight.

“fine! whatever. please let me go.” you’re more upset that you have to admit defeat than the playful battle you’ve gotten yourself in.

it’s almost immediate, the way hobie retracts his grip and removes himself from you entirely, except for the sole arm lazing over your waist, lightweight and without purpose. “atta’ girl. you’re such a good listener.”

he expect some snarky remark to leave your lips, glossy and slathered in aquaphor but nothing. you don’t do anything at all. you only lay there, hands feeling around for your phone. you don’t even turn around to smack his shoulder. you do nothing at all and it confuses him.

hobie sits up, propping his head into the palm of his hand. from here, he gets a wide view of the expression you’re trying so diligently to hide. he can see the soft, timid smile on your face. you’re too busy digging around for your phone to notice his peaked interest. by the time you’re wrapped your fingers around the now warm glass of your phone, hobie’s fingers have done the same but with your chin and tugging it in his direction. “you’re doin’ it again,” he muses.

you’re forced to roll onto your back in his new position and clutch the phone against your chest. you feel a bit like prey, stationed underneath hobie and being accused of something you aren’t even sure about. “what?” your attention flickers between both of your eyes. you’re trying to get an gauge on the situation and turn even further to him.

hobie, much like you earlier, says nothing. his brain whirs with thoughts that rush through a million miles a second. he’s back to jumping to conclusions, working through the possibilities on his own. there’s only a few theories that he can come up with but they all sound silly. all except one. “you like it, don’t you?”

“what?” you repeat, even more lost than before. you’re rapidly falling behind his train of thought and squint your eyes at him. “you have to give me more than that, hobes. i don’t understand right now.”

he repositions himself, sitting up in totality. he doesn’t hold onto you anymore and instead moves to the space in front of you, space that he created by pushing your legs apart until you’re straddling his waist. he’s got a leg hanging off the side of the bed and dangling. the other is folded into him. “are you acting dumb or are you deadass?”

the sudden change in his demeanor has you spooked, even more so because you’re left in the dark. “are you mad at me? did i do something?” you push yourself up until you’re just a few breaths away. your heart races and you’re already wondering how to make up for your wrongdoings.

with the lighting, the room is still pretty dark. you can’t see too well that far apart but when you’re up close and personal with hobie, every detail in his face is on display and perfectly meshing together.

“you like when i talk nice to you. it’s obvious, darlin’. you start acting weird every time. ever since a few weeks ago.” his accusation is based on a few things he’s noticed as the days passed.

“well, yeah.” you sound like he’s the one pretending to be dumb, getting so worked up because you’re appreciative of his kindness. “of course i do . . .? what’s your point?”

hobie shakes his head. his own night cap glints with the occasional red glow. by now, he’s got his hands on your waist making temporary indents into your skin. “no. no, not like that. i’m talking about you like it. like, real bad. like, i bet i could get your panties wet from it, alone.”

your mouth falls open in a shocked o shape. it catches you completely off guard that he’s so suddenly brought up your infatuation with his sweet talk in such a suggestive manner. “huh?” is all you can manage because worst of all, you know he’s right because you have been hoping you’ve been discrete about it this entire time. “shut up?!”

“you didn’t say no.” he looks arrogant now, thumbing the elastic band of your cheeky-cut underwear, made from a gray cotton material and hemmed with a cream lace trim. the little bow on the front is sewn in and perfected with perma-stitches. hobie pulls it back and retracts his thumb. every time it snaps back into place, his grin widens. “i mean, if you wanna experiment, we can. y’know i never mind it, gorgeous.”

it’s suffocating. this whole thing is suffocating and you feel like you’re going to die in the best way possible. this so called “experiment” was not supposed to go this far. it was only supposed to be for a little bit, a half hour max and then you’d both go to sleep with the new knowledge to expand upon at another time. this was particularly important because you had to wake up early tomorrow and hobie knows this. it’s your fault; you shouldn’t have believed him. he looked too excited to worship you in praises and got so carried away that you’ve gotten your chest pushed into the bed. the arch of your back is so deep, you’re pushing your ass so high in the air and against hobie’s thighs.

hobie’s experiment is going so well for him. he’s gotten his chest against your back and his lips right next to your ear. his goal, done successfully, is to make his words as clear as possible so they process in your brain and send another wave of desire racking through every nerve of your body. a hand of his swipes along your clit, curling around the front of your body. his arm is getting somewhat squished underneath you but he couldn’t give fuck all about it. he’s too busy focusing on your wanton moans as you lose yourself, throwing your ass back fervently.

you got your head planted firmly into the bed and hobie hates it. he despises the muffled tone he’s given no choice but to hear; he puts up with it only because he’s having so much fun, too much fun. leaned down so close the the shell of your ear, he’s able to speak so alluringly, never mind the gravely tone his voice had taken on under the strain of casting his pleasure to the back of his mind. “my good — shit, god you’re so perfect — good fuckin’ girl.”

your response is nothing but open-mouthed whines into the sheets, leaving behind a damp trace of the shape of your lips in your wake. your legs quiver and would have otherwise been plopped onto the bed but you’re held up, what little strength you can muster through your forearms and hobie’s snacked around your waist working together keeping you where he’s got you.

you roll your head in his direction and cup his cheek. you look needy, basking in the warm lighting and drowning out the croaking frogs hidden in the shrubbery surrounding the lake. your fingers dig into his cheek to pull him closer and attach your lips to his, rewarding him with wet and sloppy kiss. both of your saliva mix as your tongues swirl against each other.

each particularly deep thrust paired with the smooth words of encouragement constantly flowing from hobie sends another watery gush of arousal from your cunt. it leaks down the sides of your thighs and becomes slathered on hobie’s.

he can’t help but laugh when your attempts to kiss him fall weak and you’re moaning against him. “hobie,” you whisper with a flutter of your eyelashes. they brush across his cheek and hide the burning desire in the brown rim of your eyes behind your eyelids.

a shudder runs down your back, all in preparation for your ultimate undoing. your head droops back into the bed and you clutch the sheets between your fingers. it’s all balled up and pulled into wrinkles.

he wants to reassure you but he can’t; hobie isn’t any better. he’s just as needy as you are, just as dizzy and on the brink of ascending. it’s just something that comes with being buried in your fluttering cunt. “perfect fuckin’ pussy. soo wet f’me, huh.” he says it more like a statement than a question. he doesn’t have to ask because he knows. it’s not like there’s anyone else that can get you to unravel like this, get you so soft beneath them, get your cunt dripping in slick.

there’s a moment when all movement stills and the feeling, the orgasm ebbing away brings a certain discontent that makes you mewl in hopes that the sound would active some carnal sense in his brain. it doesn’t. the only thing that happens is hobie shifting behind you, lifting his torso until he’s looking down at you. his hands grip at your waist, thumbs pressed into the curved dimples in your back. he likes to think they’ve gotten deeper from the amount of times he’s planted them here. “you want it?”

if you were in your right mind, perhaps the eagerness at which your head rise and falls with a nod. “yes, yes please. please, hobie. i want it.” by now, your bonnet had slipped off and tumbled onto the floor, leaving your hair exposed to the elements. you’re fortune to have twisted it a few days ago because even with the hairs beginning to frizz and coil into knots, most of it remains maintainable.

you can feel his rather large palms massaging your skin. it jiggles in waves whenever his hand cracks down hot and heavy. with enough time, you’re sure he could leave behind a dull shade of red. “do it yourself then, treacle. go ahead. take your dick.” he wraps his hand around the back of your neck, brushing your hair off your shoulders until he’s able to get a good, firm grip. he’s able to lift your head this way, pulling you out of your trance so you’d really and truly hear him.

you can feel your breath hitch and is stolen away. your limbs move for you, reaching out and taking a hold of the headboard. the other hand is firm on the bed, as firm as you can get it. you’re panting by the time you’ve gotten yourself here but you know it’s the right decision because hobie’s fingers trail down the column of your spine.

your tongue goes to spread across your now chapped lips. you can feel each ridge created from your once hydrated lips, stolen from the kisses and rubbing against the sheets. with your newfound hold, you sniff, grit your teeth, and throw yourself back against him.

hobie does nothing else but lightly hold your waist and eye each ripple of your round cheeks when they slam against his groan. he wants to throw his head back but then he’d miss his front row seat to your show, in all your glory. “l - look at you. mmm, fuck! looks so — . . . so good.”

you’re so mouthy, now but it’s all warbling and blabber, nonstop and nonsensical in tandem with every stroke you subject yourself to. it’s unexpected that this is what the night ultimately led to. after watching tv, eating dinner, and bickering with the love of your life, he finishes it off by filling your pretty little head with praises.

“look at how you fit around me. y’so good.” hobie peels apart the round globes of your ass. he’s able to get a clear view of his cock, long and skinny, sinking in between the folds of your cunt. it all glistens with arousal, coating the base of his shaft in a thin, milky liquid. he can’t help but lower his head towards your body and stick out his tongue. a droplet of his spit rolls down his tongue. it adds to the wet mixture of your sex and gets lost in all the precum.

he’s going to kill you, you’re certain. his cock is going to crawl its way up your esophagus and murder you. there’s no way it won’t with how full you feel, your cunt and your brain. still, even with how overwhelmed you feel, there’s no chance you will ever stop. if anything, it’s reinforcement to keep going, to hold the headboard harder, to launch your body back farther. the praise is going straight to your head and he knows it. hell, you know it. to die like this would be an honor and somewhere, in the deep, depths of your brain, you’re hoping it never ends.

#⋆౨ৎ˚⟡ 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓵𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻 . . . 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 . . . ☄️ 𝜗𝜚⋆ #hobie x black!reader #hobie smut #hobie brown #x black fem reader #x black reader #astv hobie #x reader #hobie x reader #hobie x y/n

[antianakin]

Ok, I just saw a post and in the tags the OP said (paraphrased)-

“Don’t you guys think Luke had the same relationship with Ben [Obi-Wan] that Leia had with Vader? Like how Luke was able to forgive him but Leia would NEVER, except in the opposite? Where now it’s Leia loving him [Obi-Wan] and Luke having these complicated feelings because Ben told him to suppress his emotions, because idk about you but i’d be mad at someone who told me to suppress all my emotions.”

And…it’s certainly an opinion! Any thoughts?

Well, firstly, I think that even if we decide that Obi-Wan is wrong in what he says to Luke, that it's wrong to equate that to Anakin torturing Leia so that she'll betray people and a cause she cares about, forcing her to watch as her entire planet is blown up as punishment when she DOESN'T betray them and an extra intimidation tactic, torturing her and her friends a second time as bait for Luke, and putting Han in carbonite and giving him to Jabba the Hutt. Like at WORST Obi-Wan gives Luke some bad advice, but even if we agree that it's bad advice, Obi-Wan is clearly doing it for well-meaning reasons because he wants to try to protect Luke. Nothing Anakin does to Leia is EVER well-meaning of any kind. The two things just aren't equal in any way shape or form and I think any accurate version of Luke would be able to understand where Obi-Wan was coming from and forgive the bad advice even if he chose not to take it.

But secondly, and people have said this a lot better than I probably will right now, but "Obi-Wan told Luke to suppress his emotions" is a very literal and simplified way of describing what is happening in that scene. Like yes, Obi-Wan says to "bury his emotions", but the rest of that line is "They do you credit, but they could be used to serve the Emperor." Obi-Wan PRAISES Luke for his emotions and his connections to other people, but he KNOWS that Luke is going up against the two Evilest Space Wizards With Evil Mind-Fucking Powers. And guess what? Luke's feelings are not buried far enough and Anakin DOES pick up on them and he DOES use them against Luke. Like they go for the mental manipulation almost IMMEDIATELY upon Luke showing up, so Obi-Wan is in no way wrong for worrying about this or telling Luke that it's going to happen and trying to give him advice to protect himself against it. Obi-Wan isn't saying that Luke shouldn't feel the things he's feeling or that he has to bury them forever, but just that he needs to find a way to hide it FROM ANAKIN AND PALPATINE when he does inevitably go up against them in a fight.

So no, it's not the same, Luke DOESN'T have complicated feelings about Obi-Wan, he LOVES Obi-Wan, and so does Leia, and the two of them get to swap all kinds of fun stories about their adventures with Obi-Wan. Maybe Obi-Wan manages to stick around as a ghost just long enough for Luke to train Leia how to see them and so Leia can speak to him one last time.

#star wars #luke skywalker #leia organa #obi-wan kenobi #anakin critical #anakin skywalker critical

[mermaidxatxheart]

Ribbed II

This is the sequel to Ribbed. I hope you enjoy it. Comments and reblogs show me love.

Pairing: Benny Miller x Reader

Word Count: 4450

Warnings: Benny is taking over as the pussy eating king. Sorry Pedro, usual smut, idk. does it even matter?

Previous Part

Master List

Come over.

You stare at the text message for a solid minute before dropping your phone onto your desk. Benny needed to stop. What happened between the two of you last week could never happen again. He’s your brother’s best friend, and if Mick ever found out, he would probably explode. 

Please?

You groan and flip your phone screen down to avoid temptation. You flex your fingers over your keyboard and try to focus on your work. But the memory of Benny crowds your memory, fighting for dominance at the forefront of your brain. 

“That’s my girl.” Whispers against the shell of your ear and you shudder. “So fucking good.” A breathy moan, your name a desperate plea that traces down your spine. 

“God damn it.” You mutter, grabbing your phone. 

I have air conditioning.

“Fuck fuck fuck.” You type out a quick reply, fingers flying over the keys on your screen. 

We can’t. It has to be just the one time. We were drunk. It doesn’t count. 

Setting your phone down, you shake your hands as you try to rid yourself of the anxiety bubbling up inside you. 

I don’t want it to be just the one time. It definitely counts if I can’t stop thinking about it. About you. 

You press your thighs together, fighting against the memory of the way he felt there. The tender feel of his lips against yours. It didn’t feel like a random hookup at the time, but you’re definitely a coward. You’ve been avoiding both Benny and your brother ever since that night. 

Come over.

Staring at his name, with his picture, your weak will power crumbles and your fingers are typing before you can really protest or talk yourself out of it. 

…..when?

Tonight?

You sigh, knowing exactly what’s going to happen. 

Fine. Now leave me alone. I’m trying to work!

He doesn’t text you back, but that’s just as bad. Jesus, fix it. 

***

You pull up in front of Benny’s house, looking at the windows with no small amount of trepidation. You can’t loiter outside all night and if you don’t show, he’ll just pester you until you do. You shut off the engine and climb out, heading for the front door. 

Your fist hovers over the wood for a long time as you get your courage up. If he doesn’t have you naked within ten minutes, it’ll be a miracle. 

You groan, give your whole body a forceful shake and rap quickly on the door before you can talk yourself out of it. You stare at the welcome mat beneath your heels, wishing you had stopped at home to change out of your work dress and into comfortable leggings and flip flops. The wait stretches out and you tell yourself you’ll give him thirty more seconds before you leave and tell him you knocked but he didn’t answer. His fault. 

Then the door opens and a gust of what can only be described as Benny hits you and your knees go weak. Irish spring soap, hint of sweat, old spice deodorant, and something specific to him that makes it all work. 

“Hey, I’m just making-wow.” He says softly and you look up, frowning. You wish you hadn’t. He’s wearing gym shorts that hang loosely on him, a Motley Crüe tee shirt, his stupid backward hat, and a dish towel slung over his broad shoulder. Droplets are clinging to his hair, like he’s just gotten out of the shower. Looking so domestic shouldn’t be such a turn on. You have to force yourself not to notice all the little things about him that make you want to drop your panties right here in the doorway. 

“What?”

“You look amazing.” He says, stepping back to let you in. 

“Oh.” You enter carefully, determined not to slip on the polished hardwood floor. Benny never struck you as the type to have his shit together. He seems like the type that bounces around from apartment to apartment when his lease is up, the bare minimum of furniture: a couch, a tv, a bed. But his house is… nice. The hardwood floors are well taken care of, polished, clean, dust free. There are pictures and decorations hanging on the wall, some of it art, some of it personal. There’s a rug under a coffee table and the most comfortable looking couch you’ve ever seen, plush and tall. It looks like it will cradle you and support you in all the right ways. There’s a damn shoe rack by the door, what the fuck. 

You pause, looking at the shoe rack with his boots and sneakers lined up neatly. You lift your foot to pull off your heel and he stammers. 

“You can leave them on.” He manages and you chuckle. 

“I don’t wanna scratch your floors.” You say, but also, your toes are cramping. He offers his hand for you to use as balance and you grip it tightly, pulling off your shoes and placing them on the rack. You look back up at him, significantly taller than you now. 

“You said you were making something?” You prompt and he nods, pulling the towel off his shoulder. 

“Chicken Marsala.” He says, turning and heading for the kitchen. “I figured you’d be hungry, and I thought maybe we could talk…” he trails off. He stirs a pot on the stove and you lean against the door frame, watching him. 

“Talk?” You repeat. 

“Yeah. I figure we owe it to each other.” He says, licking sauce off his finger as he meets your gaze. “Right?” You nod mutely. “Make yourself comfortable. Do you want some wine?”

“I think drinking is what got us into this situation.” You remind him and he grins. 

“Fair.” He grabs a bottle of your favorite red wine and sets it on the island bar. “Whenever you want it.” He says, going back to cooking. 

Oh, what the hell. You’re gonna need something to make it through this. You pour yourself a glass and move through to the living room. There’s a dining table off to the side, in front of some sliding glass doors to the backyard. There are actual chairs at the table, a complete set. Color you impressed. 

A polished mirror hangs over a side table with pictures of him and his war buddies. You look at the pictures, Benny catching your eye in every single one. Strong, tall, competent. Then you lift your gaze to the mirror and spot him watching you from the kitchen. He sends you a warm smile, wiping his fingers on the towel. You straighten your shoulders and a mark at the base of your neck catches your attention. 

Instantly, you remember Benny over you, pressing you into your couch, sucking and biting on your neck as you cum around him. Your face flushes and you drop your gaze once more. You need stronger willpower. But then, there’s a reason your gym membership has lapsed and there’s a half eaten package of Oreos you got yesterday. 

Soft fingers trail lightly down your arm and your entire body electrifies. You suck in a breath, looking up to meet Benny’s gaze in the mirror. You can see the plates on the table but as you turn, you only have eyes for him. His gaze is intense, trapping you. Memories of that night dance through your mind, the way he felt on you, the desperate way he held you. 

You want it again. Your brain short circuits and before you know it, you’ve pulled him to you and you’re kissing him. 

God, you don’t realize how much you need this. His hands grip your back, lifting you and kissing you like his very life depends on it. He lifts you up and walks you backward into the edge of the table, still kissing you desperately. You moan against his lips, dragging in a ragged breath of air before giving back into him. 

His lips are feverish as they trail down your jaw, your neck, leaving blisters of pure bliss. He has you up on the table before you even realize it, leaving marks on your neck. The heat that blazes down your spine is unreal as you pull his face back up to yours. 

Did he kiss you like this last time? This feels different, almost possessive. 

His big hand slides up your thigh, avoiding that spot behind your knee as he grips the meat of it, spreading you a little wider for him. His hips are rocking against yours, dry humping you despite the fact that he towers over you. 

Fuck, he’s a great kisser. 

You rock back against him, trying to angle your hips for better friction. The heat is pooling low in your belly now, simmering while all of his attention is focused above your waist. 

“Lean back.” He whispers, pulling away from your mouth just long enough to urge you backward. You want to keep kissing him, you never want the kissing to end, but the look in his pretty blue eyes has you obeying. 

He drags his nose down your torso, kissing the fabric of your work dress as he goes, his fingers curling around the hem of it at your thighs. He pulls it up as far as the table will let him. He guides your feet to his shoulders, kissing your ankles.

“Lift your hips, baby.” He says and you hesitantly push against his shoulders. “You’re not going to hurt me.” He promises, gripping your calves. You push a little harder, surprised when he doesn’t budge an inch. Your hips lift off the table and he pushes your dress up over your waist, exposing your stomach as well. He steps closer, lifting you higher and he pulls your panties down slowly, watching them track down your thighs, over your knees, your shins before they’re dangling on your ankles in front of his face.

You expect him to push into you, primed as you are in this position, but he doesn’t. Instead, he kneels, lowering your legs slowly. He takes off your panties and they disappear, never to be seen again. He guides your legs to either side of his head, dragging his nose up your thighs, inhaling and kissing his way. 

“You smell like heaven.” He murmurs, spreading your lips. “Fuck.” He moans, licking a slow stripe up your heated center. You whimper at the promise of pleasure. If there’s one thing you’re sure of, Benny Miller knows how to eat pussy. 

His tongue flicks at your clit and the series of moves he does next leaves you breathless and gripping at his hair. His hat had been knocked off at some point during your make out session. 

“B-Benny,” you gasp and he dives deeper, fingers gripping your waist as he holds you to him, drinking from you like he’s dying of thirst. His blue eyes flicker to yours and he buries his mouth against your clit, sucking it right off your body. He growls, it vibrates through you and you arch off the table at it. “F-fuck! Right there right there.” You urge and he doubles his efforts, shoving you head first over the edge. You cum in his mouth and he slurps it all up, not showing any sign of slowing down. 

Your muddled mind flashes on a comment he made last week, Later, I’m gonna eat you until you can’t fucking stand.

Oh god. 

His tongue and lips are pulling noises from you that you didn’t even know you could make. No part of you is left neglected by his mouth, he’s determined to live up to his word. Your legs are shaking as his tongue nudges and swirls and flicks at your clit. You’re trying not to trap his head between your thighs, but somehow you really don’t think he’d mind. He moans, and that needy sound sends you over the edge again. Your hips buck and you grab for his big hands. He laces his fingers with yours, blue eyes on your face again. 

His tongue laps at your slit, catching your cum, but he doesn’t come up for air. He just keeps eating you. Puffs of his breath skate over your mound and he’s back to sucking your clit right off your body. 

“B-Benny,” you gasp, vision spinning and you feel his grin. You try to pull at your stuff dress, it’s restricting, you can’t breathe in it. He urges you to one more orgasm, this time your legs do trap his head for a minute as you tremble through it. Then he pulls away, almost reluctantly, helping you sit up. 

“Let’s get you out of this dress, baby.” He mutters, reaching around you to unzip it. You wrap your arms around his waist for support as he does the work. You can’t help yourself, you press kisses against his chest, nuzzling into him. He’s so solid, so permanent against you. In return, he’s kissing along your neck as he struggles with your zipper for a second. “How do you do this by yourself in the morning?” He mutters, lips fluttering against a particularly sensitive spot on your neck. You moan, arching into him. 

“It’s easier in the morning.” You pull at the hem of his shirt, sliding your fingers along his taut muscles. You lift it up to expose his bare chest and you lick and kiss at him, blindly finding a nipple and teasing it with your tongue. 

“Mmm.” He hums, finally sliding the zipper down. He pulls it, loosening the dress around you before lifting the dress off over your head. His lips are on yours before it’s even left his hands. He’s kissing you desperately, holding your body tight against his. Fucking shouldn’t have this much kissing, right? He shouldn’t be kissing you like his very life depends on it. And yet, you’re kissing him back just as hard. His fingers pinch your bra clasp and that’s gone in the blink of an eye. You’re fully naked on his dining room table. 

“Can you stand?” He asks softly, pulling away enough to tilt your head back and kiss along your throat. 

“Yeah, I think so.” You reply, holding onto his shoulders. 

“Okay. Lay back.” He urges, kissing down your chest and trapping a nipple in his mouth. 

You lay back, the wood cold against your newly exposed skin. He kisses his way down your body and spreads your thighs once more. 

“You’re fucking delicious. I could spend hours doing this to you.” He says, tracing your clit lightly with his thumb. You buck your hips in response to the touch and he chuckles. “In fact, I just might.” He adjusts your hips and dives in again, starting off strong. You moan, not sure how much more you can take from his perfect mouth. 

He lets your legs drape over his broad shoulders, big hands now cupping your tits and teasing your nipples as he eats you to blinding orgasm after orgasm. One bleeds into the next, your eyes are rolled back into your head, or crossed, you don’t even know. Your thighs are shaking constantly, but you can’t move, can’t squirm, he hasp you trapped. He’s making just as much noise as you are, moaning and growling possessively 

After six, or maybe nine? You try to push his head away, whimpering. “N-n-no more.” You beg and he’s slow to pull off, still sucking your clit as he does. 

“Fucking best pussy I’ve ever had.” He says, massaging your thighs a little. “You did so good.” He looks down at you, panting and boneless on his table. “Mhm, I need you like this every day.” He says, moving around you and hooking his arms under your knees and shoulders. 

“Can’t handle every day.” You shake your head before resting it on his shoulder. 

He chuckles. “Okay, every other day.” You don’t even argue because you know now you don’t actually have the power to resist him. He’s too good, too much of what you need. 

He sets you gently on the couch and starts undressing himself as you watch. He’s a fucking work of art, muscles within muscles, long and lean and powerful. You reach for him, wanting to taste him. He stopped you last time, but you need to this time, if only to give your poor cunt a break. 

“Pretty girl,” he captures your wrist. 

You look up at him with pleading eyes. “I wanna taste you.” You say softly and he groans, running fingers through his messy hair. 

“Can you kneel?” He asks, moving around to the back of the couch. You nod and roll, propping yourself over the back of it. It’s the perfect height for him. He strokes his hard cock, giving it a forceful tug as you open your mouth. “If you make me cum before I have a chance to fuck you again,” he starts.

“I’ll just get you hard again.” You promise, reaching for his shaft. Remembering how good it felt inside you had you dripping. You’re not leaving without it tonight. 

You lick the tip slowly, tasting the salt of his sweat, the sweet precum. You drag your tongue around the crown and slide him into your mouth. You suck as you pull him back out, focused like a laser on this part of him. In as deep as you can get him, sucking hard on his way out. Tongue flickering against the tip and massaging along the sensitive underside as you slide him in deep. 

It isn’t until he grunts, fingers buried into the back of the couch that you think to look up at his face. Twisted in concentration, he’s watching your every move like a hawk. Your own eyebrows furrow, wondering if you’re doing it wrong. 

He lets out a breathy chuckle and smooths your eyebrows back down. “You feel so fucking good wrapped around me with your hot little mouth, I’m trying not to cum immediately.” He says and you smile around his cock.

You pull it out, licking down his shaft. “I want you to cum in my mouth. I wanna taste it. Plus, I came plenty in yours. Fair is fair.” You remind him, flicking your tongue out against his balls. He hisses. You lift his hand off the back of the couch and place it in your hair. Something about a man’s hand fisting in your hair as you suck him off has you weak. Especially if that man is Benny Miller. 

You worship his balls for a minute, licking them, sucking them into your mouth as you watch his face, lazily stroking his shaft. 

“Oh fuck.” He moans, pulling your hair tie out and gathering your hair in his hands. He definitely has a thing about your hair being down while he’s with you. He did it last time, too. “Right there, baby. Oh fuck, that’s perfect.” He moans. 

You kiss back up his shaft, sliding him deep into your mouth, tapping the back of your throat as you start to bob your head. You grip his ass, pulling him closer so you can get deeper. He slides down your throat and you swallow around him. He growls and bucks his hips. 

You start bobbing your head faster, using your tongue wherever you can reach. His hips are starting to thrust, too, and watching him use your mouth for his pleasure when so far he’s been all about yours, is such a turn on. 

You pull him closer still, holding him in place where he can’t pull out at all. He’s throbbing in your mouth and you can feel him getting closer. You start sucking harder, massaging his balls. You look up at his handsome face, finding his eyes already trained on you. His cock swells in your mouth and you bury him down your throat, feeling him cum. You let him pull out slightly, his cum spurting onto your tongue and filling your mouth. You close your eyes in bliss, tasting it, rolling it around as you suck and massage his shaft for all of it. 

Finally he pulls out and you swallow every last drop with a soft hum of approval. 

“Fuck.” He surges forward, kissing you hungrily, fingers tangle in your hair as his tongue invades your mouth, licking into every corner and dancing with yours. You pump his cock, feeling how hard he still is. “You’re fucking perfect.” He groans, pulling back to look at you. You kiss him again but he only allows it for a second before pulling away. 

He moves around the couch and you’re about to sit back down but he grabs your hips. “Stay right here, beautiful. This is how I want you.”

You arch your back down, presenting your cunt to him with a playful wiggle of your ass and he groans, spreading you and licking your cunt again. “So fucking good.” He moans, starting to eat you out once more. The desperate way he’s devouring you triggers an orgasm before you can even try to stop him. You cry out, bucking and grinding against his face. He really is insatiable. He holds you firmly in place as he eats you out again, this time sliding two fingers inside. You tighten around them involuntarily as he finds your g-spot. They stick to it like glue, rubbing in time with his mouth suck you and you’re seeing stars. Mouth hanging open as he drags another three orgasms from you this way. Your cum is dripping down your thighs, his elbow, his chin, but you can’t stop. He won’t let you. 

You're nearly in tears when he finally pulls away, his fingers sliding out of your drenched cunt and leaving your trembling walls to flutter around nothing. 

You feel his cockhead press against your entrance and he slides in slowly, letting you feel every inch as he buries himself to the hilt inside you. His arms brace against the back of the couch, caging you in. You can feel his broad chest, mere inches from yours. He nestles home inside you, forehead resting against the back of your skull. 

“Lean forward.” He urges, guiding you forward until you can’t anymore. He rocks into you slowly, shifting his arms around you, holding you. It’s so tender, so soft, it doesn’t belong with two people who are just fucking. But it feels right. It feels like Benny. 

Kisses are pressed against the crown of your head, down the side until he reaches your ear. “Feel so fucking good around me.” He praises softly. “So fucking good. I can’t get enough of you.” He kisses down your neck. “I’ll make it okay.” He says and you frown slightly, wondering what he means, but his words are soon forgotten as he starts to move a little more inside you, building up to a good speed. 

You whimper and he clutches your hands, holding you tight against him. You can only cling to his long fingers as he fucks you, that pleasure building fast. He’s filling you in a whole new way, reaching parts of you he didn’t last time. Kisses are pressed against your shoulder as he thrusts faster and faster, marks are sucked into your skin, claiming you for himself. 

You didn’t notice the mirror hanging on the wall across from you. It’s hanging at the perfect height to see him fucking you, lost in pleasure as he buries his face in your neck. Puffs of breath on your heated skin, and he looks up, seeing you watching him in the mirror. Never mind your own fucked out look. 

“So fucking pretty, baby. Look how good you’re taking my cock. Look how pretty you look.” He murmurs, his eyes trained on your face in the mirror. “Cum. Cum for me baby. See how pretty you are when you cum. See why I can’t get enough of you.” He urges, thrusting faster, deeper. He nibbles at your earlobe, fingers, still twisted in yours, pinching at a nipple. You buck, mouth falling open as he makes you cum. He kisses up your jaw, licking and sucking another love bite. “Fucking gorgeous.” He praises. “You have me wound so tight, I won’t last much longer, baby. You feel so good.” He growls. 

One hand stays trapped around you. The other slides between your thighs, strumming your clit and you let out a pathetic cry, cumming again. Your walls squeeze and roll against his shaft, trying to keep him inside you. 

“That’s it baby. So good. Squeeze me so tight.” He praises, keeping his fingers moving against your clit. “Keep watching us, pretty girl. Watch me cum inside you, fill you to the brim.” 

Despite the fact that your eyes desperately want to roll back in your head, you watch him in the mirror. His forehead furrowed in concentration, his eyes focused on you and you alone, his hair messy from all the times you grabbed it while he ate you out. 

Another pinch to your nipple, rolling it between his expert fingers. He licks a bead of sweat off your shoulder and you thrust back against him. 

“Do it.” You tell him, watching his face in the mirror. “Fill me up. Cum inside me. I wanna feel you filling me.” You beg and his whole face relaxes. His forehead rests against your crown. He’s mumbling something but you can’t quite make it out. He doubles his efforts on your poor abused clit, forcing another final orgasm from you before he thrusts in completely, cumming inside you. He growls, thrusting once, twice, three times to bury all his cum where it belongs. You slump in his arms, completely worn out. He rests against you, not quite his full weight but enough of it to keep you where he wants you, under him. You watch his face in the mirror, entranced by the tenderness you see there. 

He doesn’t move for a long time, keeping you stuffed full of his cock, making sure his cum doesn’t leak out. “Are you okay?” He asks quietly. 

You nod. You’re better than okay. You’re orbiting Saturn in orgasmic bliss. 

“Wanna stay here tonight?” He offers and you look at him, twisting your face to the side. 

“Yeah.” You nod and he kisses you deeply, leaving no doubt in your mind that this will happen again. Probably in a couple hours. 

“Let me get you cleaned up.” He pulls out of you with a reluctant groan and you have to agree. You’d like him to stay right there forever. 

“Then can we eat?” You ask and he tips his head back, laughing. 

“Yeah, baby. We can eat.”

@everythingisoverrated @musings-of-a-rose @littlenosoul

#mermaidxatxheart-writes #romance #reader insert #fanfiction #fluff #benny miller #benny miller fanfiction #benny miller x female reader #benny miller x reader #benny miller x you #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fic

[asphalt-cocktail]

Lead Us To Temptation- Chapter 3

Chapter 3- Hell Hath No Fury

Summary: In the small town of Eden Ridge, you knew several things to be true: church happened every Sunday, the saloon served free lunch with the purchase of a drink on Thursdays, coal miners left work at 7PM sharp, and Bucky Barnes was a man sent from the depths of hell dangling the threat of temptation and sin right in front of your face. All you need to do is reach out and grab it.

Pairing: Outlaw!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Talks of crime, robbery, crime for hire, talks of violence and guns, kidnapping, talks of past smut, less religion than the previous chapters but its still there. Bucky is a criminal in this so idk what to tell you if you are shocked by the crime. There isn't any gore and nothing is described in graphic detail. Don't worry reader is a badass this is a love story with a happy ending.

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: I just want to pop in and say how grateful I am for all of the lovely comments, reblogs, tags, and likes I have been getting over the last few weeks! You guys are the ones who keep me writing. I am not doing a tag list, but you can feel free to turn my notifications to get one every time I post a new chapter <3

Masterlist

Read me on AO3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Staying in Eden Ridge was probably the longest Bucky had managed to stay in a town and not do something to get run out or have another wanted poster with his face printed on it and slapped on every shop bulletin. 

It was making the boys antsy. They could only hold up so many stagecoaches carrying rich assholes on the outside of town before they got too bored. 

“When are we going to hit the bank Buck? We’ve been here so long the damn seasons have changed.” John’s voice had the uncanny ability of springing a sudden and painful migraine behind Bucky’s eyes anytime he spoke. 

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. John pissed him off. “We need to wait a bit before we hit the bank. The ticket seller at the train station mentioned something about a train coming in to transport coal from the mines and take it back east. I guess the coal company is sending some bonds with it because the owner made a deal with Union Pacific.” 

“So what, they’re taking the bonds to the train yard?” 

“I’m glad to see you’re using the brain in that big fucking head of yours John.” To be completely transparent, Bucky harbored a strong dislike for John. 

Their association was almost solely due to John being Steve’s cousin, and Steve’s endorsement was something Bucky didn’t have the heart to dispute. Steve saved his life on more than one occasion. They’d gone through the Civil War together, they experienced the death of both of their parents together. You couldn’t get much closer to a man than that.  

The other reason being was John’s uncanny knack for survival. Despite the dangers of their lifestyle, John seemed to evade death, Bucky reckoned it was because God sure as hell didn’t want him and well, the Devil probably didn’t either so they just left him to do his business in the land of the living until they decided what to do with him.

Bucky was aware that his disdain for John might be uncalled for considering John’s role as the enforcer in their party. John was the one they sent out to take care of the more unsavory business transactions. However, these factors didn’t compensate for the fact that he was just plain weird and unpleasant to be around.

But Bucky was having such a lovely time playing house with you so, naturally he kept his plan to rob your father's train car transporting bonds to the Union Pacific rail yard. Management needed to cash them in and finalize the deal stating they were to use the Eden Coal & Iron as their main supply source. It was a deal that would make your father a very, very rich man. 

Robbing trains was as easy as stealing candy from a baby. An old, half balding, rich, man baby. Bucky could do it in his sleep. He didn’t feel bad about robbing your father. In fact he felt kind of good stealing from that rotten son of a bitch. 

Stealing these bonds would only be scraping the surface of the vast wealth your father accumulated by exploiting the hard working people of Eden Ridge. He was as crooked as crooked could be and there was no amount of praying or church going that would save his soul from the depths of hell once he died, god willing. 

If only you knew how your father treated the hard working miners who toiled in the depths of hell for him. He squeezed 15 grueling hours of labor from them 6 days a week, their backs bowed under the weight of his insatiable greed, all while their families languished in hunger. 

He wasn't the benevolent savior of Eden Ridge, rather, he resembled a vampire, voraciously draining the life force from the Earth and the good hearted denizens of the town you called home. Once he exhausted every able bodied man here, he’d slither away to prey upon the next unsuspecting community. 

Bucky’s plan was simple: wait a day or two several towns away to intercept the train and get to work. But he had to be careful If he got too reckless with his crimes, he’d have to leave. The question loomed in the back of his mind, when he had to leave would you come with? 

When he told you he was leaving to work a job you felt sick, “What do you mean leaving?” 

He cleared his throat and licked his lips, “I need to take the boys to deal with something for a few days. I promise I’ll be back by the end of the week. Two weeks tops.” He said hugging you tight, it pained him to see you worrying so much.

“But what if you don’t come back?” The question punched him in the chest and stole his breath. 

“Now don’t go talking like that.” He scolded you, “I’ll be back I promise.” You swallowed his words like a brick of lead. 

So for seven days you did the only thing you could do and waited. You sought comfort in Sam’s sister Sarah and her friend Natasha, spending most of your free time practicing needle work, reading, and chatting with the women. Sarah was a familiar and friendly face from the local church. Tragically widowed two winters prior, she was left with the responsibility of raising two boys on her own. To your knowledge, she had embraced her brother’s motley crew of friends, offering them sanctuary with open arms.

After your second meeting with Sarah she introduced you to Natasha, the local Madame. It took everything in your power to not turn your nose up at the idea of a woman engaging in sex for money. Your pious thoughts took a back seat when you remembered you were also engaging in sinful premarital acts with a man. 

Not sex though. No. 

Every time you thought today was the day Bucky shut it down. As much of a filthy bandit he was, he was still extremely respectful towards you. He always said he wanted to wait, the moment never felt right.

——

The moon hung low in the inky black sky as Bucky and his crew of bandits moved like vultures closing in on their prey. They moved silently, night as their accomplice- the thick fog veiling their actions, the rhythmic clatter of wheels masking the sounds of struggle. No witnesses meant no loose ends, and Bucky knew it well. 

It was quick. Efficient. 

Kill everyone on the train and then set it back on course so some poor sad sack could clean up the mess left behind. 

When Bucky’s eyes laid upon the bonds, your father’s exceptionally neat handwriting looping on the paper, he grinned like a snake. Peter could easily get a few hundred for the bonds. Having such a young boyish face always made him seem more trustworthy than the other members of the gang. 

To make up for leaving you worried half to death Bucky bought you a lovely hair pin. It was copper with a small decorative flower on the end of it. “If you think all it’s going to take is a pretty hair pin to forgive you, you’re wrong.” You lied through your teeth snatching it from his dirty hands and pinning it into your prayer veil, because of course Bucky returned just in time to take you to Sunday mass and have lunch with your family afterwards. 

Since midweek, your father had been in a downright rotten mood. He’d spent the last few days late at work and when you showed up to the office to bring him dinner he was yelling at his assistant every time without fail. 

“Tell them to double the guards! Put a damn Gatling on the top of the roof! Send the Pinkertons! I don’t care what you have to do, get that money to the train yard.” 

“But sir-“

“I said figure it out god damn it!” The way he slammed his hands on his desk made you jump. 

It wasn’t often your father lost his temper, but when he did it was frightening. 

At lunch your father glared daggers at Bucky while your mother preened over him. It was nice to see things hadn’t changed during his week away committing crime. 

“James, dear, you should work for the mining company!” Your mother kindly suggested, “My husband is always looking for strong young men such as yourself.” 

It took every fiber of his being to not scoff at the thought of selling his soul to the company, “I rather like the ranch work I’ve been doing for Miss Wilson, but thank you ma’am. If I have a change of heart you’ll be the first to know.” 

On the record Bucky was a ranch hand for Sam’s sister, sure he helped out here and there for the woman but he wasn't getting paid for it, your family didn’t need to know that. 

“We have some friends that are ranchers down in Texas, let us know if you ever venture down there and I’ll send a telegram to them for you.” Your mother was a bonafide socialite. She knew people of all walks of life and thrived on making connections for people, “Your horse is trained so well, they could use someone with your talent.” 

“Alpine?” Bucky grinned thinking of his beautiful white mare, she was almost as stubborn as you are, “I have to say she’s probably my second favorite girl.” 

Your father hated seeing Bucky around the house. He hated how Bucky was always a perfect gentleman whenever he came around. It didn’t matter, no daughter of his was going to marry some rough neck, dirty ranch hand if he had any say in it. 

There was something just plain not right with James Barnes and your father was going to get to the bottom of it. 

As it turns out, it took very little effort to find out the history of a career criminal. This was worse than if Bucky was actually a ranch hand, not only was he a criminal, but he robbed the damn train your father used to transport the bonds not once, but twice in the span of two weeks. 

He couldn’t believe he let a man who stole from him into the safety of their home. He couldn’t believe he let a criminal court his daughter (not that he even approved of the courtship). Bucky was probably sitting in his room at the inn laughing and counting the dollar bills that belonged to in his pocket. 

And the image of that pissed him off to no end. 

It pissed him off so much that he paid off a group of bounty hunters to finally deal rid him of the man once and for all. Bucky wasn’t going to come gracefully, but lucky for your father, Bounty hunters had loose morals and business practices much like he did. When he told Brock Rumlow "I don't care how you do it, just get rid of him!" your father didn't know he opened up a new, lawless realm of possibilities.

----

The late summer sun hung low in the sky as you quickened your pace home, the two men behind you following relentlessly, footsteps crunching on the dusty streets. You couldn’t make out their faces as they stayed just out of your line of sight but the feeling in your gut only harbored malevolence and fear. 

Your path meandered through town, twisting and turning to ensure they truly were following you.

Two turns left. Three turns right. Then a detour past the butcher.

Dread settled inside you and you quickened your pace, ragged breaths gasping as you neared the outskirts of town and broke into a full sprint as best you could, bunching your skirts in your arms so as to not trip. The buildings thinned, and the darkness deepened as you drew further and further from the bustling center of Eden. 

Further away from anyone who would hear you scream.

Rough hands grabbed you, forcing a bag over your head as you fought, kicking and screaming. Hissing and spitting like a feral cat. Their powerful builds quickly overpowered you, sitting on your legs as you thrashed trying to squirm away, clawing at the dirt and wedging it under your fingernails and covering your fine dress. Then they tied you, bound your arms and legs and threw you on the back of a horse like a sack of grain.

When the horse finally halted you were dragged off, stumbling and disoriented. The hood was yanked off and you were roughly pushed into a small, dark room. You turned finally able to make out the face of your captors who reeked of sweat and malice. He was tall and broad, skin tanned by the sun, with dark hair and eyes. He would have been handsome if this were any other circumstance.  

Your nostrils flared like an angry bull as you exhaled and spat at him in defiance while he manhandled your still fighting body, “Let go of me!” You shrieked, anger overpowering your feelings of fear. 

How dare they! How dare these filthy men put their hands on you and soil a perfectly good dress. How dare they throw you on a horse with a bag over your head and force you into this filthy damp room. Your rage bubbled over, you’d never felt this level of anger before. But the sheer callous disrespect of a lady pushed you over the edge. 

You should have been afraid, fearing for your life even. But the type of men who did this? Well they were cowards. Lower than the lowest cretin to walk the Earth. 

“Well look at you, now I know why Barnes has taken such an interest in you Missy.” The man in front of you grinned like a snake. His hand trailing your jaw, fingers lingering against your skin, “you’re a little firecracker ain’t you?” 

You turned your head to bite him, teeth snapping together as you snarled.  Ordinarily, you epitomized the quintessence of a respectable lady—devout and pious, a paragon of Catholic virtue. Yet, confronted with this dehumanizing treatment, a primal instinct awakened within. If they insisted on regarding you as a beast, then, in the eyes of the Almighty, you would unleash the ferocity of one. “Let me go.” You hissed, “You… you cretin!”    

The man shoved you roughly away, narrowly dodging your bite, “Easy there ma’am, we ain’t gonna hurt you.” For some reason you had a hard time believing him with the kidnapping, the pushing, the bag over your head, “We just need you to bring us out cash cow.” He said and slid over a wanted poster with an uncanny portrait of Bucky on it.

Oh

Now it all made sense. 

You took the poster and read the script:

WANTED CAPTURED DEAD OR ALIVE James “Bucky” Barnes  For multiple accounts of murder, theft, and fraudulent activities. Known leader of the Barnes Gang, responsible for numerous bank and train robberies across the Midwestern and Western United States. This is a dangerous individual who will not hesitate to murder.  Mid thirties, brown hair, scar on left arm. Last scene heading west towards the Eden Mountain range.  If spotted DO NOT APPROACH; contact local authorities.  Bounty of $5,000

Of course they’d take you as bait to lure a man with a $5,000 bounty and his gang of merry bandits out from hiding. Something told you that these men thought taking down Bucky would be easy. But you knew this would probably be the hardest $10k they were going to make. They’d probably die doing it! And silently you hoped they would.

A man’s head isn’t worth $5,000 because it’s easy work taking him down. It’s worth that much because he won’t hesitate to fucking kill you in the worst way possible. You didn’t know exactly what Bucky was capable of doing, but you couldn’t help the shiver that crept up your spine when your eyes landed on the big, bold DO NOT APPROACH, “I think for your sake, you should let me go.” 

Perhaps there was a touch of madness in relishing the thrill that such a perilous man inspired within you. Yet, it was the very specter of danger that ignited a fervent blaze deep in your core. To you, Bucky was a flame dancing provocatively over a pool of oil—intensely captivating and inherently volatile.

The dark haired man scoffed, “Your beau ain’t the big bad man everyone seems to think he is. Not when he’s got such an easy weakness to exploit.” 

It was true, Bucky was having the time of his life in Eden Ridge playing house with you. He was living in utter domestic bliss.   “If it’s money you want, my daddy will pay you.” You offered. You had to exhaust all your options and if these men were money hungry then your father would be more than happy to give them the $10k for your life. You didn’t know how much money he had exactly, but you knew it was a pretty penny. 

“Sweetheart, your daddy already paid us.” He mocked you. 

You blinked, brain barely able to comprehend the words he said to you. What a weird thing to say. 

Unbelievable even. 

You were going to have to dissect that at a later date when you were in a better position. 

#marvel #mcu #marvel mcu #bucky barnes #marvel cinimatic universe #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x plus size reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #LUT

[melon-cream-enmu]

Repost from peach-cream-yukio

Levi forces you to watch gross hentai then does the same things to you.

Cw: gross hentai, this is absolutely noncon but he’s in love with you, facials, cum swapping through kisses. mentions of kinks: mind control, monster fucking. tentacles, having a fleshlight of you, having a body pillow of you that he cut open and fucks, idk, some other stuff. Unnatural amounts of cum in one ‘session’ I guess. He just has like truck loads of cum you’ll see. He sits you on his keyboard and it cracks in half but not because of your weight just because it’s convenient for the plot. Noncon, slight nonspecific mention of noncon kink hentai. As always I write these before I start writing the actual piece and I go in and fix it later. AFAB no pronouns mentioned, plus size of course🤍you’re described as fat but not by Levi and not completely directly and it’s also not as an insult or bad thing. I wanted this to be nasty, so seriously it’s unnatural amounts of cum. You’re mentioned as his mate

Levi is such a closeted disgusting pervert. The type to steal your dirty panties and smell em, lick em, suck the crotch while he fucks his hand like his life depends on it. The type to use magic to find a way to get a perfect X-ray view of your pussy and make a fleshlight of you. The type to have a commissioned anime style body pillow of you, one side normal, just you all perfect and wonderful, and the other side raunchy, you on your stomach looking back at him over your shoulder, ass up and cute pussy on display, thighs shiny. He’ll even eventually cut and sew a satin lined pocket to the inside so he can fuck ‘your’ pussy. The type to buy even the most amateur hentai games, all because you can customize the mc and love interest character and he makes them look like you and him, down to the very last detail. So what if some are the highest of qualities, with perfect shiny renders and amazing physical 3D rigging, and others so shitty they lag and freeze? He still gets off to those images of you speared on ‘his’ cock, a monsters, a tentacle, a pistoning dildo, coating the underside of his gaming desk in cum, cum that he 70% of the time is too blissed out to remember he should clean off, so it’s mega disgusting down there. He ventured into ‘gross’ hentai long before he met you but he always felt gross about it. But the moment you showed up, the next time he’d watched one, you immediately came to mind, and it was so much better than any other times he’d watched one. When you two start to get closer and you show an interest in his hobbies, he stops going for the more ‘vanilla’ series, instead watching one’s with piss kinks, mind control, step siblings, monsters, and every time thinking about you. How he’d beg any higher power who might listen to such a gross degenerate that he be allowed to touch you.

But he’d never dare do anything that would ruin the friendship he’d built so diligently. He’d done everything right, every move was calculated. He needed to be your best friend.

He’d never risk that.

Until he got too careless one night. He’d forgot to lock his door. You coming over at the darkest hours of night is a common and welcome occurrence, but not now. He hears you call his name, having only had one ear bud in. You open his door and his mind goes foggy. He can’t think, can’t do anything but stare at you as your eyes move around the room, from the bottles of lube on the floor, to several pairs of your panties, to the body pillow all bunched and covered in so much cum you could barely make it out but you can see that it’s you, to the several fleshlights so full of cum that he’d have to stop with one and pick up another and now they’re leaking cum in loads, all strewn across his shiny tile floor.

Your eyes widen and your lips close in what’s probably fear. You shift one foot back he’s acting before he can even think to. His horns and tail materialize so quickly the magic cracks audibly like a whip. His tail is so much longer than it should be, than it usually is, and it wraps around you in hardly a second. Then he’s on you, pushing you against the door. His head finally lets him focus and he can hear his computer. He must’ve moved it so fast it tore the ears buds from the speaker, and now the character on screen is moaning loudly. He sees your eyes look at the monitor and see them crying and pushing at the player character. Levi growls and his eyes glow brightly as his pupils shrink to slits. He’s moving so fast, you’re away from the door and by his desk in a flash.

He picks you up and slams you so hard on his desk the keyboard cracks in two, the space bar having been pressed just before it broke, pausing the video, effectively cutting its sound. You whimper at the feeling of the keys harshly pressing into your skin, and Levi acts ‘kindly’, pushing your thighs up, ripping the ruined tech from under you and throwing it to the floor. You go to open your mouth but his hand is on your face quickly. Your lips are covered, cheeks pinched by his thumb and fingers, nails pressing dangerously close to breaking skin.

“Don’t…say, a word.” His fluorescent orange eyes stare at you through purple lashes before he lifts his head. You can see a sneer on his lips, several of his teeth now long and sharp. His voice is almost raspy. “Well, now you know. Now you know how much of a disgusting, horrible person I am. Thinking of you this way, doing all of this while thinking of you.” You whimper hotly behind his hand. “You weren’t supposed to ever know. This is your fault.” He picks you up by your ass and you feel his cocks on your thigh, sticky and hot, getting all over you and your really short sleep shorts. He crosses his room to where his quite large tv is, and drops you on a makeshift bed, a cheap mattress with tons of random duvets, cushions, and pillows. You wince, both at the drop, and at the large amounts of stickiness that touches your skin.

“It’s your fault you saw it…and it’s your fault I’m like this.” He picks up a remote, turning on the tv. There’s already a disc in the player, and if the menu art is anything to go by, you want out.

A girl, plush and fat like you, many features like you, crying on the mc’s dick, plunged so hard in her she’s squirting. The title is pink and bubble letters, with its secondary title smaller, sharper, harsher below it, clueing anyone in on the type of thing this truly is. You see the menu and try to claw your way off the tangle of bedding.

Levi tackles you and you both wrestle, ending in you caged to him, back to his front, your arms held back, your legs forced open and held by his. His free arm wrapped around to your front, hand holding the remote precariously, fingers spread on your soft stomach as he feels it rise and fall with each shuddered breath.

“Why are you trying to run? You came into my room without asking, and now you want to leave?” The tv sounds with the small chime of the remote moving over different selections before the screen goes black as Levi made his choice. He drops the remote to the side. His breath is heavy and hot in your ear and he’s shifting behind you, slippery strange cocks nestling between your cheeks.

It starts almost immediately, the sounds of sex, whimpers, cries, and the mc’s heavy breathing. The girl is just as she was on the menu, but now animated expertly. Her eyes are crossed, a glowing pink haze that’s easy to understand. The mc’s laughter makes sense now. She’s mind controlled, responding to everything he’s saying. Levi’s hand creeps into your shorts and plays with your pussy impatiently. He wants to get to the good stuff.

There’s a flash back, they’re best friends, but he’s hiding his true feelings and depravity, and when she rejects his feelings he already has plan B ready to go. It took mere minutes for her to be on her back, wet, legs spread, clothes discarded. He’s tossing commands with no remorse, telling her to tell him he’s so big, that she loves his cock, that she wants all of his cum, that shes just a thing to use and abuse.

It’s hard to ignore leviathan’s finger breaching your hole. You’re wet, but it still was a surprising, unwanted sensation. Whether he’s lucky or he knew exactly what to look for, he bumps something that has you jolting in his lap, and he proceeds to keep at it. It’s late late at night, no one in the house is awake. It’s just the two of you, and the door is shut. No one can hear you, they can’t even hear the tv despite how loud levi lets it play.

Levi knows how this episode goes, the mc makes her cum so hard she pisses herself and he wants to make you do it. Why shouldn’t he humiliate you, you barged in and embarrassed him. It’s his turn now.

His tail curls before pushing in beside his fingers. While his fingers pull you closer and closer to your peak, his tail bullies it’s way into your cervix while bending to put pressure on your walls. Your cries turn to full blown tears and full body shakes. His fingers and tail retreat and you look over your shoulder. The blue ambient lights reflect in your tears. You’d hoped he’d be stopping but by the look on his face he’s no where near done.

His tail winds down on it self, making itself thicker before pushing back in, while his fingers toy with your clit. You try so hard to free your arms, to move your legs. “Please, please I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to see anything!” The tv answers you.

‘It’s too late now!’

The girls cries are louder than your hiccuped sobs but Levi knew just what he was doing. Fingers rubbing your clit so fast your hips lift off of his and you’re squirting. In time with the hentai on screen. Levi’s breathing so heavy in your ear, and he’s glad you’re so overstimulated and out of it.

His cocks are already searching for your cunt so he shoves you forward and hikes your ass up. You look just like his body pillow, but you’ll feel so much better. His cocks want in you so bad that he can’t stop himself. He’s pulling your shorts down so fast they tear at the seam. The hitched cry in your throat hurts more that his hips knocking yours.

Finally. Finally, he gets to feel you. You’re so hot and tight, he collapses over you. Hes cumming hard, shuddering so much it shakes you. He’s not even waiting a moment before humping you. He just wants to fill you. His hand shakily fumbles for yours before grabbing it.

You interlock your fingers for some sense of stability but you’re pulled back by your arm. You see him behind you. Your view is Levi, smirk all teeth, eyes bright orange and lidded. His view is you, soft skin, cute expression, this is exactly how he saw you every time he fucked that pillow. Now he wants you in every position he’d had you in in those hentai games. But for now he’s focused on making you feel everything he’s felt for you.

You were everything to him. He knows he’s being rough but you need to know. You need to understand what you are to him. His best friend, the love of his life, his Henry…his mate to fuck and breed.

He pulls you up to his chest. Now with you so close he’s losing his mad facade and openly moaning in your ear. His thighs are trembling with each slap into yours and he kisses the away the whimpers that bubble up your throat. This is perfect. It wasn’t the perfect start but that’s fine! He still gets to experience this with you.

Levi’s pace stutters and he widens his legs for a better stance before he slows down and makes his thrusts harder. The tentacles that make up his dick have unwound and are trying desperately to stay in you. It takes a single well time clench off your cunt around him that has him moaning so desperately as he cums inside you.

His fingers rub your clit harshly and quickly pull your orgasm through your entire body.

When his cocks have finally let you go inside, Levi let’s you fall forward onto the bed. But he spots his cum leaking from your lips. He remembers one last thing he wants to do.

He hurriedly flips you over and settles between your legs. He doesn’t give you a moments rest before he’s eating you out. He wants to pleasure you sure, but he’s mainly collecting your combined cum in his mouth. Then he moves up your body, grabs your face. And prods open your lips with his thumb. He kisses you messily and feeds his cum into your mouth. You wince and cry out and his moans start growing.

He slows and starts moving your body to lay down with him and notes how you don’t even cringe at how wet and covered the sheets are. He turns off the tv and looks at how your eyes reflect the ocean ceiling in his room. They’re fluttering closed and your chest is finally slowing to a normal rise and fall rhythm.

He looks down at you, covered in sweat and cum from rolling in his sheets and…he just can’t wait to try even more things you.

#toasted sugar cream #cream fem #cream afab #leviathan smut #obey me smut #cream om