#them in the desert watching the setting sun

[sergeantwoods]

soap needed some time - some time to rewind. after missions, depending on how they were, he'd feel... overwhelmed. mind reeling, going over everything that had happened. he needed his journal to write down what he felt, how he felt, what had happened, so that he wouldn't have to remember it after. it was nice.

and he'd draw too, if he was feeling the urge to sketch something down.

and it was fucking gorgeous right now. they were in al mazrah, some in and out mission to gather intel. it was just the four of them, just soap, ghost, price and gaz. he (personally) liked those missions the most.

laswell set up this safehouse for them, just for the night, because tomorrow morning, exfil would come and pick them up. they each had their own rooms, small with a twin sized bed that was probably too small for any of them - but that was fine, soap probably wasn't going to sleep in a while. he'd go back to his room when he felt like it.

his gazed swept over the desert, the sun slowly sinking over the belt of amber sand in the distance. everything was lit in an ethereal orange glow, his already tan skin practically glowing. (he wasn't saying that to make himself feel pretty, no sir.)

he had his journal in one hand, pen twirling idly in his fingers of the other as he watched the sunset. he had written down everything in his journal about the mission, and now, with this view - he wanted to draw.

but - he felt as though he couldn't capture it. the otherworldly beauty couldn't be caught on paper. he had two pens - one thick, one thin - but that didn't matter really. the colors, the colors are what he wanted to draw.

fuckin' hell, he'd die for some pencils or markers even watercolor, but he isn't bringing any of that to a mission. that's bordering childish. it's nice to be childlike every once in a while, no?

he leaned back onto the roof, shutting his eyes and letting out a small breath. it's nice. pretty, and the weather is perfect. he'd stay here for the rest of his life, if he could.

the almost silent padding of feet approaching him made him open one eye to glance scornfully at the intruder. he immediately softened, though, seeing ghost.

leaning forward, soap patted the spot next to him, uncrossing his legs and letting them swing off the edge of the building. ghost came to stand beside soap, slowly crouching down to sit next to him.

they just sit there. quiet, excluding the shuffles of ghost shifting his weight around and soap sketching on paper.

soap pulls away from his paper, turning to stare at ghost.

the man was bathed in a tawny light, white mask basking in beige-ish cream sunlight. he turned to look at soap, tilting his head slightly as if asking, what's on your mind?

"did you know, after death the human brain lives on for seven minutes?" soap asked, quietly. his gaze slid away from ghosts, settling on focusing again on his paper before adding with a shrug, "to replay it's best memories,"

he felt ghost press closer to soap slightly, then murmured back, "yeah? that's cool to think about."

"aye."

it's quiet for a few seconds before soap continues.

"you'd be my seven minutes."

-

i saw something about this and i had to write it but ghoap

but yay, yippee, zoinks ,,,!!! the writings bad because i didnt care!!!

take some fucking ghoap you loser /j

#call of duty #cod mw2 #cod mwii #modern warfare ii #cod #soapghost #ghostsoap #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #ghoap #sarges blurbs

[the-californicationist]

The Powder Keg

John Price has just spent the whole afternoon teaching his new recruit how to shoot, and after pining for her all day, he’s about ready to burst, just like a powder keg…

Hot, steaming water sprayed out of the shower head and soaked his burnt, pink skin. When he took in a deep breath, it was humid and heavy, filling his lungs with more moisture than air, leaving him panting and weak from the heat of it. But, he let it suffocate him. He allowed it to obfuscate his senses, to coat his mouth like a gag, to stop him from calling out for her. John Price was so damn close to forgetting himself. He pulled his imaginary muzzle tighter, just in case.

He’d spent the better part of the day in the frigid sands in some Urzikstani Green zone, teaching his new sergeant to shoot his M-16. She was a good marksman, but she was unfamiliar with the desert’s unforgiving winds, and she needed to see how he had set his sights. It shouldn’t have taken so long for him to help her, and if he was before Peter at those gates of pearl and splendor, forced to tell the truth, he had chosen to keep her there. He’d been selfish, preferring to watch her laying there, prone and panting, firing bullet after bullet, all to please her captain. It was the betrayal of the sun that had ruined his gluttony. It had set behind the dunes, forcing John to come indoors and try to wash off all of his sin. 

Price had been hard all day. Seeing her plump arse in those canvas pants, looking down at her, concentrating and vulnerable in the sand… it was enough to drive him wild. Now, here he was, gripping his heavy rod like a teenager, squeezing himself tight enough to see stars. 

The soap and the suds had all washed away, but the billowing steam had remained. He felt each scalding droplet stinging against his sun-ravaged skin, and he used it like a million little flogs, punishing himself for his thoughts of her. She, in the inky blackness of his mind, had been… everywhere. She was stripping for him, peeling away each article of clothing, each layer of her uniform with calculated effort, revealing herself to him bit by bit. He was watching as her fingers dug into the band of her pants, sliding them down her thick thighs, showing off her tattooed skin, uncovering scars like tiny secrets. Secrets only he could know. 

She was grabbing his cock. It was her hand tugging him hard, not his. Her palm slipping over his rosy head, her fingers slipping his foreskin down his shaft, her mouth…

“Unghh…” John leaned against the cold tile, trying to calm himself down. His forehead dug into the white ceramic, rolling across it, trying to find some relief to his torment.

He knew her mouth would feel so sweet. She would plant a delicate little kiss on the top of it, wouldn’t she? She was so kind. She would be so kind to him. An old dog who didn’t deserve it. Not one lick. And yet, she would lick him. Her tongue would lap around his thick base, purring at his size, gassing him up, pumping his ego. Maybe it would be the truth. Either way, he’d buy it; hook, line, and sinker. 

“Baby, baby, baby…” He’d name her. She’d be his. His woman. His everything. She’d steal his breath like this impenetrable steam.

The tip of her tongue would find that ridge, the one tucked under his head, the one just below his hole, and she’d suckle at it, just as if she was pulling venom from a snake bite, like his life depended on it. And maybe it did. 

Maybe she would be willing to sit across his lips, giving herself to him like a feast to a starving man. She would taste like nectar, and it would coat his tongue, sticky and cloying, painting his palate and filling his nose. He would learn her scent, burying himself into it, finding himself within her taste and her warmth. 

Then, mercifully, perhaps she would take him inside of her, deep into her body. He would sink into her, down into her depths. Engulfed. Surrounded. At her mercy. Perhaps she would use those soft muscles to hold him in, to clutch at him like a hungry, suckling mouth. 

His hand tightened around his head and the rhythmic milking noises of his self-made pleasure filled the tiny shower like a perpetual echo. He began to fuck his grip, rutting wildly into his palm, coating his callused skin in precome. He was dripping from the shower, but nothing was slipperier than his wet pleasure. It made his cock slide even faster through his huge hand, helping his head burrow itself into his fingers. 

John wanted it to be real. He dreamt, with his eyes squeezed shut, of the way her legs would part for him, spread like the petals of a flower, soft and pliant like a little, pink rose. As he jerked his hand across his pulsing head, he imagined what it would be like to rub himself amongst her delicate folds. He almost came from the thought, shuddering, catching himself against the wall, whimpering like he was pressing into a bruise. 

A little faster. A little more friction. He grunted, unable to hold his voice inside of him, desperate and feral. 

Her eyes, gleaming and beautiful, looking up at him, calling his name. 

And that was enough to do it. He came, crying out for her…

“Oh, fuck… baby…” 

“Captain?”

His blood went cold, and when he heard her voice, he froze, letting his come leak out of his balls, coating his hands and flooding over his knuckles. 

The curtain hissed as she pulled it away from the wall, her eyes traveling all over his body, appraising him and approving. She smiled, a little coy,

“Got room for one more?”

#call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #captain john price #cod #john price #captain price #call of duty

[kpopnstarwars]

Upon the Sands of the Arena: Feyd-Rautha x Reader

A/N: basically reader fights feyd in the arena, my apologies if there are any inaccuracies, i'm dUmB

tw: 18+, smut YAAA, fighting, swearing, i use fire metaphors too much, blood, violence and death (it's in a a gladiatorial arena ffs), creampie, one ass spank, fingering + oral (f receiveing) hella lot of sexual tension, Fighting as Foreplay, feyd sorta has a blood kink but he's just freaky like that, sort of fluffy at the end, hint of voyeurism if you squint really hard, lmk if there's anything else

wc: 4.1k

part 2

The Bene Gesserit are distracted.

If the Kwisatz Haderach was not so near, they would have disposed of you properly. Instead, they sucked you back into their dark web of deceit and occulted plans only to spit you out just as fast, leaving your fate to the blood soaked sands of Giedi Prime’s arenas. You believe that if it were not for the actions of Lady Jessica Atreides and her defiance of the order, they’d pay you more attention.

Not that you’re complaining.

You were trained to flourish in the dark, lurking in the shadows of the deepest of nights, awaiting a time to strike. However, you are not like your mentors, you do not believe in the hoping, the weaving of bloodlines for the production of a distant messiah, nor do you dirty your hands to obey an imperious Reverend Mother.

Truly, you admire Lady Jessica for doing the same as you did - defying the order and thereby splintering from it; all the same, you do not desire what she wants. For she wants power for her son and her unborn daughter, and you want nothing but to be left alone.

In a universe full of yearning for a greater purpose, you want the opposite. Often, you find yourself wishing you were something of nature: not mundane, by any means, but uncontrollable, like the desert winds that sift through the sands of Arrakis simply because. To be like them, without a master, without the endless search for purpose, is freedom.

Instead, you have been branded with the title Bene Gesserit - ex Bene Gesserit now - and you wield too much power for the order to ignore you, even alone. Hence why they incorporated your capture into their plans, engineering it so that you face the Baron’s brutal, bloodthirsty nephew in the arena.

They’re going to have to try harder than that to kill you.

You think they forget that you once were as good as the rest of them. They forget that you still possess the ability to alter the molecules in your blood to resist the drugs they pump into the arena prisoners, and they forget that you trained beside the best in combat.

The arena is where you thrive.

The roar of the crowd is deafening. It excites you, the swell of noise that is thousands of harsh Harkonnen tongues heckling for blood; the stamp of their feet as they cry their na-Baron’s name vibrates through the arena, through the grains of sand beneath your feet, deep and heady like burgundy wine.

Your fingers tighten around the blade given to you, barely sharpened and made of unsanded wood, but solid all the same. It’s all you’ll need against the na-Baron. He is but a cruel man set on fire with exterminable blue flames, and you are Bene Gesserit: defiant of the order or not, it is who and what you are, and it is pure power coursing through your veins - power that answers to you and you only.

The roar of the na-Baron soars over the crowd’s cheering, animalistic and full of fury that makes you wonder what incenses him so much. Something in his past, maybe, something that he only acknowledges in the inner machinations of his cunning mind.

The grate in front of you opens, and you allow yourself a smile as you step out into Giedi Prime’s tortorous ebony sun. High above, you spot the slit of a balcony where the Baron himself reclines, watching his nephew with a benevolent smile and a pipe in his hand, flanked by subservient concubines with bowed heads. All around, the crowd shouts, thunderous, urging their na-Baron to spill blood on the sand, to paint the arena red. It swirls around you like a washed out dream, black and white but simultaneously vivid, the stink of rotting bodies and sun bleached white sand pungent in your nostrils, the occasional pop from the fireworks overhead heavy in your ears.

Rolling your shoulders, you pace a few steps in before sitting down in the sand, cross legged, the backs of your hands against your knees with your blade flat against one of your palms. Pitiless, you watch as the na-Baron slices the throat of the first prisoner that staggers his way, throwing him an enigmatic smile when he glances towards you.

His eyes are cold; calculating. They’re dark, striking against his pale skin as they suck in the light, and hungry too, as if he strives for something he does not quite know, always reaching, always burning for more.

Intriguing.

He circles in on the next prisoner, who meets his end by the same savage knife work as the first, his guts spilled out onto the greedy sand. Insatiable, chest heaving with excitement more than fatigue, the na-Baron turns to you, his final prey - his black teeth are bared in a magnificent, maniacal grin, his footsteps silent as he approaches.

Facing him now, you understand why the Bene Gesserit believed that by crossing the Atreides’ meant-to-be daughter with the Harkonnen’s na-Baron, they would make the Kwisatz Haderach. There’s no doubt in this man’s genetics, in the solid lines of his strength sheathed bones and the sheer virility and ferocity that permeates the air around him - it’s almost elegant, the way he prowls towards you, his stride lilting and laced with power. They picked him well.

Too bad you’ll have to kill him.

If he proves to be obtuse, you’ll have no choice but to slay him in order to save yourself. If he is, however, as cunning as they say, you’ll give him a chance to live - it’d be a shame to end him, actually: something draws you to the rawness of his nature, to the frigidity of the ire in his eyes.

The na-Baron circles closer, his skin like moonlight. He watches you like a hawk, as if he’s the one who’s hunting, ready for his next meal; his eyes flash in the sun, studying you, watching for your tells even as you identify his. Smiling, you drop into a crouch, knife outstretched like a twisted mockery of a peace offering, waiting for him to take the bait and strike.

He cocks his head. ‘It’s rare that I face a woman in the arena.’

‘I’m sure it will still be of pleasure to you, Feyd-Rautha.’

‘I believe it will increase it tenfold, little witch.’

You don’t have time to figure out how he knows you’re Bene Gesserit, because he slashes at you, once down towards your ribs and once back up at your throat. His knife flashes in the sun, reflecting the bloodlust in his eyes as it arcs towards you; light on your feet, you parry both of his blows, dipping in to land your own. He’s strong, which is of less concern to you than his speed. Feyd-Rautha fights as if he’s dancing: not in the aspect that there’s flourish in his bladework - quite the opposite, he keeps his strikes efficient and tight - but in the smooth, hypnotic way that the movements of his body blend seamlessly together.

The crowd screams as he forces you into defence. It’s temporary, though, because he gets reckless, both driven and blinded by his hunger for blood - enough so that you can dart your foot out, hooking it around his ankles and overbalancing him. Sprays of sand are kicked up as he tries to steady himself, and you force him down with the tip of your blade to his pale throat.

A single, sleek drop of scarlet slides down his skin. Unhurriedly, he brings a hand up to catch it before it leaks onto his black armour, lifting it so he can see the blood your knife has shed. His gaze flicks up to you, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

‘Huh,’ he remarks, pleasantly surprised.

And then he lashes out, bringing you down into the sand beside him. With the hilt of his knife, he knocks your own out of your hand, and it’s catapulted into the air, spinning end over end and catching the light before it somersaults into the ground a few feet away. The grit plumes up at your face as you scuffle with him, and you hiss, frustrated that the sand does not lend you any more traction.

Rolling you over so fast your head spins, Feyd-Rautha drives his knife down towards your exposed neck. It makes a bolt of panic shoot through you, followed by the deep seated, survival impelled instinct to use the Voice on him, but like hell you’re doing that; honour prevents you, as well as the desire to finish this fight properly. You have no choice but to grab his forearm, slowing his blade’s descent, and a mirthful, rasping noise leaves his chest - a laugh that sets his eyes alight.

And then, the pressure dissolves, falling away. He stands, smirking down at you, the sun like a damning halo around his head. Silence falls over the arena, the anticipation thick in the air as he raises his hand, gesturing somewhere over your shoulder.

‘Go on, little witch, get your knife.’

You sneer, seeing the greed in his eyes, the misguided belief that he’s got you where he wants you. He wants to play, and it delights you.

Taking a few steps in the direction of the knife, you feign acquiescence. You can feel his eyes on your back, can sense the triumph oozing off him, and you let the adrenaline coursing through your veins guide your limbs, twisting you around so you can lunge at him, one hand wrapping around his bare forearm and bending it backwards as you spin him sharply until his back meets your chest. Viciously, you yank his arm further back, and the pain of that combined with your elbow tight around his throat, constricting his airways, is enough to loosen his grip.

A gasp ripples through the crowd as Feyd-Rautha drops his knife. It lodges in the ground beside your foot, and you flick it up with the toe of your boot, your hand darting out to snatch it from the air. The man in your arms bucks and writhes, but you keep your hold on him as you bring the knife to his neck for the second time.

‘Uh oh,’ you sing-song into his ear. ‘What’s happened here?’

He stills in your arms a little. ‘Why don’t you do it?’

‘I fear I’ve grown attached to you during our little fight,’ you hum. ‘It would be a shame to end a specimen like yourself.’

‘You are Bene Gesserit, I’m sure that you have arrangements - ’

‘I may be one, but I do not follow the order,’ you snarl. ‘I spare you because I wish to. Now, Harkonnen, knock the knife from my hand.’

You feel his muscles tense, the hesitation coursing through his body as he determines whether your bid is a trick or not, and then he does as you say, catching it smoothly and spinning to bring it to your throat. Calmly, you stare into his narrowed eyes, the cold caress of the blade harsh against your exposed skin.

‘What’s stopping me from killing you now, little witch?’

You laugh. ‘I trust I’ve piqued your interest sufficiently, na-Baron.’

‘Just Feyd is fine.’

You open your mouth to mock him, but he slices the blade away from your neck, very purposefully nicking you. Blood beads at the seam of the cut, hot and vengeful; he grips the back of your neck, exposing your throat to him, and prickles of pain shoot through you as the wound stretches. Frozen, you wait to see what he’ll do next, heart fluttering in your chest in a way that you know is not fear.

Insouciantly, he licks a long stripe up your skin, his scorching tongue following the trail of crimson his blade left behind. All consuming heat wells up in your stomach when he grins at you, displaying the hint of red coating his obsidian teeth, his eyes igniting the air between you as they dip down to survey your body, your heaving chest.

And then he releases you. You find your knees have gone weak, and you stumble as the guards close around you, grabbing you roughly under the armpits and dragging you out of the arena, your knees making twin tracks in the sand.

Managing a glance behind you, you catch sight of Feyd, his fist held triumphantly in the air as the crowd roars for their na-Baron.

Unsurprisingly, they throw you into a cell. Its walls are made of smooth, dark metal which seem to swallow up any sound that you make - it doesn’t surprise you that Vladimir Harkonnen has a Bene Gesserit proof cell - and the only thing furnishing it is a black blanket on the ground. A servant comes in and treats the shallow cut on your neck, but he refuses to meet your eyes and scurries off as fast as he can, almost forgetting to lock the door behind him.

You estimate two hours, maybe three, before Feyd appears in the doorway. His silhouette appears in the small glass window set in the door and pauses; you wonder if he’s considering leaving you there for a little longer, but then the lock disengages with a whoosh and the door slides open.

The air is immediately charged as he strides down the steps, eyes locked on you. With the smooth hiss of hydraulics, the door closes behind him, and he prowls forward, not quite smiling yet - you sense that he’s here to continue what you didn’t finish in the arena, and your back straightens a little as his gaze rakes over your body. He’s taken off his armour, leaving him in the thin black underclothes beneath, and he too has had someone treat the wound in his neck.

‘Your resistance to the drugs is remarkable, little witch. My blade was laced too.’

You raise an eyebrow. ‘I find that matter quite disappointing, actually, that you must face your opponents in the arena when they are half sedated in order to best them.’

He smiles, stepping closer to you until you share air. ‘It’s not just the winning I seek.’

‘Oh, what is it then?’ You ask. ‘Pain?’

Quick as a snake, you strike, letting the thrill of the fight shoot through you yet again as he matches you blow for blow. He looks at you as if he wants to eat you, to taste you - not just your lips or your tongue, but the defiant burn of your lifeblood too, and it makes you want to sink your teeth into him.

Slipping past his guard to catch the front of his shirt, you bunch the material in your hand and tear, baring his well muscled chest to you. The sight of it makes your lips quirk upwards, further so at the sound he makes: a half growl and a half groan as he lunges for you, wonderfully infuriated by the way you dance just out of his grasp, slipping through his fingers like water. His eyes are kindled with ardour - for both your blood and your flesh - and when they meet yours, shivers snap down your spine and tug at your stomach.

Feinting to the left, you jab at his neck. Like a scorpion waiting to strike, he grabs your wrist, tugging you towards him; you glance down at his feet, easily predicting that he’s going to sweep your legs out from under you if you let him bring you any closer. Yanking your hand back, you attempt to shake his grip on you, but he refuses to let go.

You slap him across the face.

Hard.

His fingers loosen on you as his head snaps to the side, the noise your palm makes against his chiselled cheek sharp and ringing in the cell. A soft, animalistic sound leaves the back of his throat, and when he lifts his chin, his jaw clenched to perfection, the pure lust in his eyes makes you stumble back a step.

Rushing at you, he takes advantage of the heady swoop of desire that messes with your head, slowly backing you against the wall with each punch and kick he throws. Heat roils in his gaze, so intense that when he slams you against the wall, you don’t know whether he’s going to kill you or kiss you - the not-knowing thrills you, sets your bones and soul on fire. One of his hands comes up, his fingertips caressing your throat before he pounces, mercilessly cutting off your air supply.

Leaning into your space, he brings his lips up to your ear. ‘If I’d had my way, little witch, I’d have fucked you right there on the sand, with all of them watching.’

Your head spins, and you can’t tell if it’s because of the lack of oxygen in your lungs or the feeling of his strong thigh pressing between your legs, relentless as he grinds it against your clit. You allow yourself a second to enjoy it before you retaliate, adrenaline seething in your blood.

Burying your nails into his arm, you twist it to the side, unbalancing him and taking him to the floor - his fingers grip your shirt, bringing you down with him. You land on his torso, straddling his hips, and as you do, he snaps his wrists down and rips your shirt from top to bottom down your back. The cool air of the cell sends ripples of goosebumps up your skin, and Feyd’s wide, calloused palms follow their path, surprisingly warm, deceptively gentle.

Bucking his lower body, he flips you over, pinning your hands over head, his long fingers circling your wrists as his hips press heavily into yours. Your eyes flick down to his mouth as he dips his head, his breath ghosting against your cheek; the curve of his lips is soft and almost graceful compared to the rough way he grinds against you, eager for more, yet eager to torture himself with the wait.

Tipping your jaw up, you let your lower lip brush his before you turn your head to the side, denying him. Amusingly, he follows your touch, insistent that you kiss him, but you ease out of his grip and trap him between your arms when he gives chase - a growl sounds low in his chest, one of his hands gripping your thigh, futilely yanking at your trousers as you grapple, rolling over and over on the cell’s floor.

His hand slams down beside your head, stopping your course, his forearm flat against your throat - not quite choking you, but not letting your air supply run free. Feyd’s touch sears your skin in the best way, and you wish to be consumed by the flames.

‘Must I tie you up, little witch?’

His voice is low and rasping, sending shivers up your spine. You don’t answer, instead claiming his lips, welcoming the insistent press of his tongue as you thrust your hips against his, seeking that exquisite friction. Running your hands up his strong back, you hook your elbow around the nape of his neck, locking him to you as he explores the taste of you.

Abruptly, he pulls away, and you open your mouth, protest on your lips until he tugs down your trousers and underwear, tossing them somewhere to the side, his own garments following. You get one good look at him, at his powerful, muscle lined thighs framing your hips and the curve of his leaking cock against his stomach before he swipes his fingers between your folds, sending jolts of pleasure through your core.

When he lowers his face to your heat, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, a breathless moan slips from you, loaded with anticipation. You can’t stop the louder echo that leaves you when he dips his fingers into cunt, curling them to hit your sweet spot, and your nails claw at his shoulder blades, leaving red trails behind them.

‘That’s it, little witch,’ he croons. ‘Sing for me.’

And sing you do, as he wrings the pleasure from you with his tongue and fingers until your legs tremble and close around his head. He pins your thighs to the floor, holding you open for him as he tastes you, insatiable, pushing you unrelentingly over the edge, again and again until hot tears slide down your cheeks and your voice breaks from crying his name.

Finally, he buries his length inside you. Your eyes roll back at the stretch of it, your pussy fluttering around him; you muffle the moan that rips itself from your chest by biting down on his shoulder. He chuckles as you mewl his name, your back arching as he pulls out, only sheathe himself up to the hilt when he thrusts back in - he’s as drunk on your sounds as you are on his cock: he needs more. More of you, of your delicious sounds and your intoxicating scent and that sweet, sweet cunt of yours.

Feyd fucks like he fights: ruthless, full of passion and lust, remorseless.

Just as you’re about to come around his cock, he pulls out, leaving you scrabbling against the floor, hips futile as they follow his, his name like a plea on your lips. He drinks in your desperation, flipping you over and cracking his palm down hard on your ass before slamming himself back into your weeping pussy, the ragged cry that escapes you like the nectar of the gods on his tongue as he swallows it with a kiss. Gathering your hair in his fist, he pulls your head back, pounding tirelessly into you as he pins you to his solid chest, mouthing at the skin behind your ear.

As Feyd spills his warm seed inside you, you wonder if the Bene Gesserit were actually distracted, or if that was what they wanted you to think as they crossed bloodlines, even despite your defiance of their order.

You flop onto the blanket as Feyd eases himself out of your spasming cunt. Your head is fuzzy, warm, and a dumb smile pulls at your lips.

Feyd chuckles. ‘I have not broken you, have I, little witch?’

You send him a look half as fierce as it should be. ‘Barely. You have merely sated me - for now.’

He laughs again, lying next to you on the blankets. His body is angled towards you, but he doesn’t reach out - that he lay down beside you is surprising to you in the first place, but you seize the opportunity and curl up in the curve of his body, enjoying the warmth of his skin. Slowly, his fingers card through your hair, and you close your eyes, letting yourself enjoy the moment of softness from the bloodthirsty na-Baron of House Harkonnen.

Reaching out, you grab the blanket and fold it over the two of you - he rolls over so that he lies with his head resting on your chest. His lips brush the skin between your breasts, and you're struck by the glimpse of vulnerability that Feyd allows you to witness; this is not by accident, this is a gift from him, a way of silently telling you that he has come as close to trusting you as he could ever come to trusting someone.

Silent, you bask there in the afterglow, eyes half closed. At some point, you seek Feyd’s lips, and he obliges you, lazily exploring your mouth in a way he did not get a chance to do before, sighing contentedly as you trace the lines your nails carved along the grooves of his broad back. Eventually, you pull away, staring into his eyes where the embers of the fire that had blazed in them still glow with the heat of it. You need to go.

Gently, your breath mingling with his, you kiss his cheek, your lips gliding against his skin before you get up, briefly laughing at the wobbly nature of your legs before gathering your clothes and dressing as best as you can, considering he ripped your shirt all the way down the back.

When you glance over your shoulder, he’s propped himself up on his elbows; the blanket has slipped down to reveal most of his moon coloured stomach, and he regards you with mirth mixed with something like respect.

You pause in the doorway. You can tell he’s letting you leave.

A smile plays on his lips.

‘We’ll meet again, little witch.’

It’s not a question, nor a whimsy. It’s a promise.

#feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha smut #austin butler #austin butler smut #dune #dune two #dune part two #dune 2 #dune part 2 #dune ii #dune part ii #feyd smut #feyd rautha fic #feyd rautha fanfiction #feyd-rautha #dune fanfiction #dune smut #atreides #house harkonnen #feyd rautha x reader #feyd x reader #feyd x you #feyd rautha x you #dune x you #feyd oneshot #bene gesserit #feyd x bene gesserit #feyd rautha x bene gesserit reader

[bisexualiteaa]

Domestic Serenity

Soft Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x Fem reader

Synopsis: You and Cooper return to your settlement you set up, it being the closest thing you could call a home on those harsh days in the sun and from the rad storms. After too many close run it’s lately out in the wastelands, Cooper comes home from the market to appreciate the closest thing you guys have to a post apocalyptic little slice of domestic life and show you how much he cares about you.

CW: Smut MDNI! Slight OOC Cooper, slight deviance from the show, oral (fem receiving) dirty talk, established relationship, unprotected sex, p in v, irradiated cream pie, p0rn w/o plot, reader has a southern accent, Cooper being a perv, Cooper makes a few crews jokes and one liners to reader

AN: so I’m relatively new to Fallout lore and such, but the hubby and I finished the Fallout TV series a week or so ago and like most others, Cooper Howard’s got me in a grip tighter than his lasso. 😮‍💨 Please be gentle, I pulled a little from Fallout 4 and the TV series in a meshing that I thought felt right. This is briefly proofread but I’m still new to all things Fallout but I hope I did our cowboy justice and I hope y’all enjoy!

You were doing laundry for the day in your house, or better yet, what you could call a house these days, at the little settlement you set up for you and Cooper to live, and some houses for a good few other people you’d met along the way to make it into a nice small town. There was plenty of food to go around from the growing gardens, fresh, clean water, some electricity to keep the gates protected from raiders and things of the like, but also for some street lights at night. It was like a nice little slice of life before the war, or the closest you could get to it anymore anyway, it was peaceful.

It was a particularly sweltering hot day outside, hotter than usual as the sun beat down on the sand, and your skin when you’d step foot outside for even just a few minutes. “Shew, it’s hotter than hell outside” you exclaim, feeling the rush of the hot air that funneled in when Cooper set foot through the door. You were thankful to have chosen a pair of shorts and a tank top to wear out of your small selection of other clothes when you woke up this morning. “Don’t half mind it. Means I get to watch you pad around the house in them lil’ shorts you got on” Cooper said as he shut the door finally, then dropped his saddlebag and things off at his feet, having just come back from a run to the market to grab the essentials like RadAway, Rad-X, Stimpacks and some other chems and things here and there to keep handy for when you both set back out on your travels. You heard his boots clomp heavily against the floor as he drug himself inside, his eyes traveling your figure as you were washing some clothes in a wash bin, watching you bend over and your ass shake a little when you would scrub hard enough at some stains. He gave a crude whistle at the sight, one you were used to him using as a form of expressing that he liked something, making a small grin stretch to your lips. “Somethin’ tells me you’d make one hell of a sexy housewife” he said, coming behind you and tapping your ass playfully to get you to stand back up. You gave a chuckle before swatting at his hands as you turned to face him, making him only grin wider. “Don’t threaten me with a good time. Although I’d miss wanderin’ the desert with you and all the shit we get up to” you said with a grin, putting the rag you had in hand over your shoulder as he stepped closer. “Like annoyin’ the piss outta me and stealin’ my kills?” He asked playfully, putting his hands gently on your hips to pull you into a kiss. You giggled in response as you put your hands against his chest to keep him close. “You love watchin’ me kill things with that big ol’ gun’a mine” you said in between kisses, making him hum in agreement with you, or maybe it was a groan at the thought because you were right, the sexiest thing to him was seeing you with a gun in hand, cocking it back after taking down raiders, roaches, scorpions, or whatever your target may be, with the confidence you do. He loved the excited “oh yeah!” Or “booyah!” You’d say to yourself afterwards too in celebration before you’d both rummage through whatever it was you downed. “Oh I absolutely do. Like it even better when it ain’t my bounties you’re droppin’ there, lil’ missy” he quipped, making you giggle again as he tapped your hip with his gloved hand before parting from you to let you get back at what you were doing. Also to watch you bend over some more, can’t restrain a dog once it’s loose. “Just be a quicker shot honey bun, then it won’t be a problem!” You joked, twirling the rag that was over your shoulders in your hands to wind it tight before cracking it against his ass, making him turn his head to look at you from over his shoulder all slow and intimidating like. “Oh it’s like that now, is it?” He asked, turning towards you some more, making you flash him a wide, deviant smile, knowing exactly what you did and that you’d likely be paying the consequences for it here in a few seconds. “Maybe it is! Whatchya gon’ do ‘bout it?” You asked with a widening grin the closer he got.

Before he gave you an answer, he picked you up, placing you over his shoulder with ease. You yelped playfully as he did, still sometimes surprised by the strength he carried before laughing as you started to wiggle in his grasp. “Fix that lil attitude of yours ya got goin’ on” he said, tapping his hand against your ass again, making you only laugh more as he started to walk out of the kitchen away from your chores. “Cooper! I was in the middle of somethin’ there, put me down!” You ordered through your relentless giggles as he continued to walk, almost slow at this point to torment you. “No can do sweetheart. Not ‘til you’ve nicened up” he said as he brought you to the bedroom and threw you on the bed but not too harshly. Just enough to see you bounce and hear you laugh. “I was in the middle of laundry! Your shirts’ll get all starchy an’ stiff if I don’t do it a certain way” you said, sitting up some and getting ready to get up but he sat down with you, which stopped you. He gave you a grin as he looked at the way your thighs were squeezed by the legs of your shorts, and how short they were sitting on you. “My shirts ain’t the only thing gettin’ stiff, I can tell ya that much” he said, making you swat at him once more as he gave a raspy laugh at your blush and facial expression in reaction. “You fiend. You ever thinkin’ with that head on your shoulders? Or just the one in your pants?” You asked with a smirk, knowing all too well the answer to that question, not that you minded one bit either. “I think we both know they’re about the same, I ain’t ever seen you complain about it” he said, making you chuckle as he leaned in and pulled you into another soft, loving kiss that you knew was going to lead to something much more. “Not one bit” you replied between kisses as his hands rested on your hips once more, giving you a nice squeeze while also doing what he could to keep you as close as he could get. He always had his hands on you in some way, sometimes in a suggestive way, but most times in a protective manner. He had to show the others and everyone out there in the commonwealth that no one fucks with, or gets between him and his girl. “C’mon take a break, laundry can wait. I ain’t seen you all day” he said, and he always did have a way with words that made you weak. “Only if ya promise me you won’t get mad if your shirts get stiff” you said, making him laugh. “I don’t give two shits about how them shirts feel, I just need you” he replied, making you smile as that happy twinkle came to your eyes, and gosh how they lit up every time you saw him. “Then I suppose the laundry can wait” you said with a soft giggle as he started to climb over top of you as you laid back against the bed again. Your hair fanned out around you against the pillows like a halo, your eyes half lidded as you looked up at him expectantly with those siren eyes he swore turned his mind into a frenzy. You smiled up at him with those pretty white teeth before he kissed you, feeling his hands wander your frame over your tank top and moving downward as your arms looped around him to pull him closer.

Your one hand removed his large hat, placing it off to the side as the kiss grew more heated, your tongues tangling in a fight for dominance with one another, a battle which he won. You moaned into it as one of his hands slipped beneath your tank top, surprisingly free of his gloves as he groped one of your breasts, tweaking your nipple between his forefinger and thumb. “Let’s get this off’a you” he said, bringing your tank top up and over your head then tossing it to the side to be forgotten until later, trailing his kisses down your neck to your chest that now laid bare and exposed to the air. You were always a sight to behold to him, no matter how many times you had sex, or how many times he’d just seen you naked or even half naked, he considered himself lucky that you chose him. When he looked at you, everything felt right in the world again, even out in desolate wasteland. When you looked at him, you looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky, like he was your whole world, and he was. “My beautiful lady” he complimented before taking one of your nipples into his mouth, working his tongue and thin cracked lips along it as he toyed with the other in his fingers, being sure to give them both the love they deserved. You moaned as he did, your back keening up off the mattress some at his touch. It had been a while since the last time you two had a chance to have sex, so needless to say you were more than receptive to his touches. You shut your eyes as your head fell back against the pillow, soft moans leaving your throat as he switched treatments, leaving behind nice little hickeys as a reminder of who you belonged to. You bit your lip and casted your gaze down onto him as you felt his lips begin to trail down your chest to your stomach, before he was resting between your legs. “Much as I like these, don’t think you’ll be needin’ ‘em right now” he said, unbuttoning and sliding his fingers into the waistband of your shorts before tugging them down and off from you, tossing them aside as haphazardly as he did with your top. His eyes delighted him when he saw you lying before him in lace, a commodity that’s damn hard to come by these days, making him whistle before making another sound of satisfaction at the sight. “And you were just gonna let this stay hidden? You’re like unwrappin’ a present” he said, making you giggle as he was careful with them as he slid them off you, but tossed them aside all the same. “You’re enough to make a man like me go feral darlin’, ya know that?” He said, making you chuckle once more. “Gettin’ you t’ act a fool is my favorite pass time” you replied, making him chuckle before he placed one of your legs over his shoulder, laying teasing butterfly kisses to your inner thigh that trailed slowly down to your aching cunt.

“Thought I’d pick up some RadAway while I was down at the market today for ya, that way I can give ya what you’ve been wantin’” he said as he sheathed himself fully inside, giving you a moment to breathe and accommodate to his size and the intrusion. You gave a happy little gasp that made him give a dark chuckle in response. “How romantic” you said teasingly but you were truly warmed by it, a bright smile on your face that joined with the blush that came from him already prodding at the apex of your cervix. “Anythin’ for you sweetheart. Besides, be a real shame if this sweet ass a yours looked like mine because of my doin’” he said, making you laugh. “Oh hush you, you’re mighty fine in my book” you said, pulling him into a soft sweet kiss. “For a cowpoke anyway” you added to tease, earning a sharp snap of his hips against yours in retaliation, making a loud moan leave your lips. “Wanna try that again, darlin’?” He asked, making you blush a bit brighter. “Was just kiddin’, shit. But if that’s what I gotta do t’ get ya t’ be rough with me, might just have to get on all them nerves of yours” you responded, making him smirk down at you, god he loved that attitude and humor you always about you, it’s one of the things that kept him going through all this. “If you want rough, all ya gotta do is ask. Fair warning, I don’t play nice when I do” he said, snapping his hips once more to hit deep inside of you, making your back arch up off the mattress once more. “Fuck, don’t want you to play nice. Want you t’ fuck me like you hate me” you said, making him chuckle as he quickly pulled out, making you whine at the loss of contact before you were abruptly rolled onto your stomach and his hand reached into your hair to pull your body into a harsh arch. “That dirty mind and mouth a yours’ll be both our undoin’ sweet cheeks” he said, bullying his way back into your pussy, starting a harsh pace that had your eyes rolling back as his hips slapped against your ass harshly. “You and I both know ya wouldn’t want me any other way” you quipped, making him chuckle as he yanked your hair to pull you back some more, earning a loud moan from you. “Look mighty tasty like this, I could just eat you alive” he said in a low growl, his lips and teeth sinking to your shoulder, leaving a bruise and teeth marks behind, marking and claiming you as his. He felt the way your walls squeezed around him as you whimpered pathetically with his bite, and the way you grew wetter as he did. “Fuck…Cooper” you moaned, making him chuckle as his hands gripped your hips, watching as you moved your hips back and met his thrusts hungrily. “Sure is a pretty sight, seein’ you split open on this cock. Hungry little thing, swallowin’ me the way you do. Tell me who this pretty pussy belongs to” he said, making you grin proudly at his praise. “‘s all yours baby, only for you” you replied as you felt the bed start to rock back and forth and heard it creaking beneath your bodies as he found that spot inside you liked so much. For as hot as it was outside, you two fucked like it was the only way to keep warm. “Damn straight. Fuck…” he groaned, enjoying the sight of your ass jiggling each time his cock entered then reentered you and the sounds you made when it would happen. “So close…please, don’t stop” you begged, knowing full and well he never had any intentions to, but the words flew from your mouth as if they were the only thing you knew to say. You felt one of his hands leave your hip, coming to reach and rub tight circles against your clit, making that coil in the pit of your stomach wind tighter. “Cum for me baby” he said, working you closer and closer to your peak that was just around the corner, all you needed was one last push and he knew it, he could feel it with the way your walls hugged him.

He bit down on your shoulder once more, making you moan as you toppled over the edge. Your walls clenched around him tightly, earning a groan from him as your cunt spasmed and milked him for everything he could give you. Your mouth laid open in a wide O shape as your back arched, keeping him deep inside of you as his release creeped up on him from yours. He let out a deep, feral growl as he came inside of you with his teeth sunk into your perfect skin, missing the feeling of what it was like to empty himself into someone again. You hummed contentedly as you felt him fill you up, a pleasant tingle running through you as he laved over the teeth marks with his tongue. “You alright, sugar? Wasn’t too rough with ya, was I?” He asked by your ear, littering your skin with kisses as one of his hands rubbed soothingly up and down your side. You gave a giggle. “You always act like you’re gonna break me” you replied, making him chuckle. “I just might if I ain’t careful, certainly ain’t known for being a softy for others sweetheart” he said, making you chuckle as he pulled out of you slowly, trying his best not to hurt or overstimulate you both, allowing you to turn around and look at him. “Maybe I’d like it if ya did, but no you didn’t go rough on me. Was perfect, as always” you responded flirtatiously but with a sweet smile, making him chuckle dryly once more. “Good, I’ll always take good care of my girl” he replied, leaning down to kiss you softly before grabbing a rag and wetting it to help clean you up. As he came back and spread your legs, he watched his seed leak from you, moving down your thighs. He gave a crude whistle. “Now that’s a sight” he said with a mischievous grin, making you roll your eyes with an entertained smile as he helped clean you up, laying a kiss to your inner thigh. “At least give me a little recovery time, I ain’t got that stamina you got yet” you said, making him laugh as he disposed of the rag and climbed back into bed with you. “And don’t worry, I had my Rad-X for the day. Though I gotta say, that’s a feeling that’s totally worth a little radiation sickness if ya ask me” you said, both of you giving a chuckle as you kissed him softly once more, your hand resting on his chest as you did. “Well, just t’ be safe, I got RadAway. Some for me to keep me from turnin’ feral and rippin’ you to pieces, and some for you for those nights you crave that sweet feelin’” he said, handing you the IV bag of yellow liquid from off the bedside table. “What would I ever do without you?” You asked, hooking it up to the rack and putting the IV in to allow it to take effect. “A whole lotta nothin’ good I imagine. Probably spend a whole lotta nights hoping them dainty little fingers a yours can achieve anything close t’ what I give ya every night” he teased with a grin, making you roll your eyes with a laugh but he wasn’t wrong.

His hand came to yours, pulling it to where your fingers would intertwine with his, something he always did when you used needles and medicines on yourself as a gesture of comfort. He pulled his inhaler and a vile of RadAway from his duster that lay on the floor as you let the bag drip slowly. He took a hit off of his inhaler, giving a contended sigh as he leaned back against the pillows and let it work its way into his system. He looked over to see you, admiring him like he hung the moon and the stars in the night sky. He gave you a sweet smile, one pulled deep from his heart as you leaned your head against his shoulder. One that said the three words he’d been struggling to try and tell you after all this time being together, a loving look in his usually dark, haunting gaze. “I love you” he said, making you look up at him in astonishment that he’d finally come around to saying it. You smiled at him, that same sweet smile he saw the first time he ever sent a flirty word your way, the same smile he’d come to absolutely adore seeing stretch to your cute face every time you saw him. “I love you too, Coop” you replied back, easing the tightness in his chest as he awaited your response. He gave you a relieved smile as he kissed your head, slinging his arm around you to pull you into his side and hold you close.

The moment was sweet, quiet save for the sounds of your joined breathing and heartbeats but peacefully so. You both stayed like that for a good while, the bag of RadAway already run down to nearly empty. That peace was disturbed when you realized you still had some chores on your list left to do for the day. “Shit, I still got laundry and shit to do” you said, sighing as you realized it and tipped your head back with a groan, removing your IV and bandaging up your arm, getting ready to get up and go back to it. “Hold it there, little lady” Cooper said, getting up and putting his briefs and pants back on. “I gotchya. You rest that pretty head a yours while I take care of it, ‘kay? Let that stuff work its way in ya” He said, making you look up at him. “You ain’t gotta do that Coop…” you replied, making him shake his head at you. “Shh, shh, shh. Don’t you move a muscle there, pretty lady. I got it” he urged, kissing your head once more before placing his hat back on his head, grabbing his shirt from the floor and throwing his duster over his shoulder. “‘s a good look on you” you said with a half lidded smile, your eyes raking his form as he turned and looked at you, shooting a grin your way. “And that is a good look on you” he replied, tipping his head to gesture at you who still laid in bed naked, hair slightly messy, a few bite marks and hickeys littering your otherwise mostly unblemished skin. You gave a grin and a giggle as he stood there, a calculated look in his eyes as he looked you over, resting himself by his arm along the doorframe. “I think I can live without a couple extra shirts” he said, tossing his shirt across the room without a care for where it landed, dropping his duster along the chair in the room. “What are you…Cooper!” You yelped playfully as he climbed back onto the bed, a hungry look in his eyes as he climbed over top of you. “Chores can wait a day, I need you sugar” he said, leaning down and slotting his lips against yours, pulling you into a soft, sweet kiss. “I need this” he added genuinely, his tone soft and loving as he pressed his forehead to yours while he held one of your hands in his. “Been enough days out in that shit hole wasteland that got me scared I was gonna lose you, and that’s somethin’ I just can’t have. So I wanna enjoy this, this little slice of paradise we got right now, with you” he said between soft, loving kisses, making you smile as you gave in and kissed him back. Laundry could wait for another day, he was right, times like these were hard to come by. Needless to say, no other chores got done that day, but it was certainly a night neither of you would ever forget.

#fallout #the ghoul #cooper howard #cooper howard x reader #fallout x reader #cooper howard smut #the ghoul smut #the ghoul x reader

[thoughtsandmusingsandideas]

Dehya + Arlecchino Forgotten!Creator AU

A proper response to @ninjacomix sorry for the wait!

Dehya

You woke up in the deserts of Sumeru when you first arrived in Teyvat, so it’s no surprise that the first people you met were Eremites 

Unlike the Traveler, you are not immediately attacked- half because of your divinity subtly making them more docile, and half because you’re covered in sand and dressed in foreign clothes and practically melting under the sun- and yeah, you look too pathetic to rob

They end up taking you back to Aaru Village, and that’s where you end up meeting Dehya.

Well, technically you meet Dehya the day after you arrive, when you rush outside during a sandstorm and spot her fighting monsters

It’s a bit surreal, watching an actual fight like this, and you’re frozen in awe

At least until you notice the Rifthound sneaking up on her

You’re panicking as you lunge forward, feeling something begin to expand inside you, and-

Everything is still

Both the storm and the Rifthounds are frozen in place, and Dehya is looking at you, extremely confused

“What is this?!?” “HOW SHOULD I KNOW?!?!” “YOU’RE THE ONE DOING IT!!!!”

Dehya dispatches the Rifthounds quickly, and the sandstorm resumes

And the next day, the both of you set out towards the Akademiya, wanting to figure out what your deal is

(You don’t realize that now the gods are remembering the creator, the Akademiya is Scrambling to find any and all information on you and why they forgot you)

During the journey the both of you grow close, and a few weeks in, the both of you wrapped in a blanket to protect from the chill of a desert night, you turn to her.

“Hey, let’s get married.”

And after choking on her water, she agrees to it

Congratulations! You have a wife!

The Creator, showing up hand in hand with an Eremite is not what an Akademiya scholar expected to see at four in the morning on a random day, but that is what he saw- and he thinks the subsequent panic is very understandable

Before you know it, you and your new wife are sitting in the acting grand sages office as Nahida uses some kind of Archon communication to page the other Archons

It takes about an hour for them to burst through the door

(In that time you’ve taught Alhaitham and Dehya how to play Rock Paper Scissors, Go Fish, Uno, and you’re in the middle of teaching them slapjack. Alhaithams hands are suspiciously red and Dehya is smirking)

They’re instantly fretting over you, apologizing for forgetting you and generally praising you, completely overwhelming until Dehya pulls you away

“Hey! Who are you supposed to be!” It’s Venti, disappointed that his god has been taken from him

“That’s my wife!” You state proudly.

And then everything clicks

“Wait, I’m a god?” 

The room explodes in noise, but Dehya’s hand never leaves yours

Arlecchino

When it comes to Arlecchino, instead of taking you to Aaru Village, you ask them to take you to the border of Fontaine

You’ve only made it to the end of Sumeru in the Archon Quests- maybe if you head to Fontaine now, you’ll get to see the Archon Quest in person!

It’s only once you’ve taken the Aquabus to the Court of Fontaine that you realize you do not have a single mora on your person. 

It’s after a day of exploring that you end up near the sea, and after being startled by a giant crab appearing from nowhere (It was Very Scary I promise) you end up tumbling into the water, you’re trapped under, and-

Wait… you can still breathe!

You light up with excitement, diving deeper, and that begins your life as a diver.

You end up becoming a collector, selling cool shells and oddities to anyone in the Court who’s willing to buy them (You’ve built up a pretty good rapport with the supply manager of Chiori’s Boutique)

It’s also underwater that you discover you’re the creator- finding an old abandoned temple with murals of a god that look just like you, helping you make sense of the power beneath your skin

But hey, if no one else was gonna bring it up, you wouldn’t either

And it’s underwater that you end up meeting your first Fatui member: Freminet

He was surprised when he first saw you swimming around- but now he’s grown pretty accustomed to you, and sometimes you guys even interact

Admittedly, sound doesn’t travel well underwater, so most of your communication is via charades, but the two of you end up growing close

Freminet shows you cool diving spots, you collect valuables from the ocean floor together, swim together in blissful silence, and play with all the friendly ocean animals you seem to attract

It only takes about a month for Freminet to begin mentally referring to you as mother (This boy is starved of a parental figure)

And after that it only takes a week before he slips up

He’s waiting in Father’s office, looking around as he waits for him to arrive

It’s pretty sparsely decorated- but there are a few ornaments still left around.

“Mother would like this…” Freminet muses, looking at a small model boat, delicate and intricately carved.

A flash of heat at his back. “… What did you just say?”

After a very long and frantic explanation, and a slightly shorter lecture on stranger danger, Arlecchino demands to meet you.

You first meet the harbinger after a day diving with Freminet, and he shoots you an apologetic look as you both surface to find a harbinger on the shore

And then you make eye contact

Your thoughts: That is a harbinger. From the Fatui. Huh. I’m going to pretend not to know that.

Arlecchino’s thoughts: That is the Creator that The Tsaritsa told me to look out for. They have the exact same appearance. I will pretend not to know that.

Arlecchino asks you to tea to get to know you better, and it devolves from there.

At your tea party, she introduces herself as a completely normal orphanage matron, and you’re polite enough to not point out that her brooch is a tiny Fatui emblem

You introduce yourself as a normal diver and she ignores the fact that your spoon has been stirring sugar into your tea without you even touching it

Your relationship continues in a similar fashion, with the both of you pretending to be a completely normal couple

After a few months, when both of you are getting married, you both ignore the oddities of your guests

“Ah, darling, the Fatui are here.” “Oh yes, they sponsor my orphanage, how polite of them to come.”

“Angel, Morax is here.” “Huh. Isn’t he supposed to be dead?” “Yes.” “Well, I’m glad he could make it.” 

The both of you continue with intense purposeful ignorance

Venti: Your grace, do you really want to marry the harbinger? Is she threatening you?

You: What harbinger? I’m marrying a completely normal and totally average orphanage owner. So kind and generous she is.

Arlecchino, in the background, kicking Childe for trying to start a fight at her wedding, pausing to turn and wave: Hello.

Also Freminet is the flower girl

#genshin sagau #sagau #sagau genshin #sagau x reader #sagau forgotten!creator au #genshin impact sagau #sagau cult au #Sagau forgotten!creator au #sagau Dehya #Sagau Arlecchino #Sorry if my writing is inconsistent I won’t fix it #forgotten!creator au

[love-quinn]

RIGHT BACK ━━━ remus lupin x reader

━━━ 𖥻︰ 1899 words

summary: you and remus meet in a way that is predictable for you both; hiding from the rest of the school.

pairing: remus lupin x reader

tags: remus lupin x reader, no pronouns but reader wears a skirt and is referred to as a girl, reader is in the same year as the marauders but house is unspecified, slightly shy reader coming out of her shell, reader and remus are both bookworms, one single swearword

The wooden panelling of the window was sticking into your back but you weren’t planning on moving. The sun was hitting your back in a way that filled you up completely. You had your current read in your lap, curling your neck into a crevice. The East hallway on the fifth floor was pretty much deserted most afternoons, most of the classrooms up there were for classes that no longer ran anymore. 

Summer was quickly approaching, and with summer came the end to your time at Hogwarts. You weren’t a hundred percent sure you knew what you were doing after you finished school, you knew the general field, but you didn’t have a dream job or anything. 

The pages of your book were browned by the sunshine, and it was hot to the touch as you flipped the page. 

There was the distant sound of footsteps, and you shrunk further into your alcove, a little sunset set right into a window that overlooked the Quidditch pitch. The Hufflepuffs were training down there, and you watched them zoom around between pages. 

You had nowhere you were meant to be, it was hours until curfew and the wing wasn’t off limits. No danger of getting in trouble. 

The footsteps slowed to a stop around the corner, you couldn’t see them with your back pressed into the panelling. Eventually, you heard a breath, and swivelled your neck to see who was there. You recognised him from a few of your classes, and just from around. He was tall, taller than the rest of his friends, with messy hair and a heaving chest. 

You weren’t staring at him, but you were definitely looking. He locked eyes with you and gave a sheepish smile. “Ah, sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You’re alright,” you said gently. “What were you running from?”

He looked embarrassed to have been caught. “Oh, just… you know.”

You didn’t, but you nodded anyway. “Right.”

He looked back in the direction he had come. “Don’t think anyone will come up here looking for me. I don’t suppose you mind sharing your hiding spot with me?” He asked softly. 

You pulled your knees closer to your chest, giving him enough room on the seat to sit. There was already room, it was deep enough for you both to sit side by side, but you figured he’d want the space. “I’ve seen you around loads,” he said, tucking himself away. His eyes were the colour of honey in the sunlight. He sat cross-legged, sleeves of his jumper pulled over his slender fingers. “Are we in the same muggle studies class?”

You nodded, pleased with the recognition. “I don’t know why you take that class, you already know everything.”

“My mum’s a muggle born,” he laughed, ducking his head. “But she was never able to share that stuff with me as much as she wants to, not with… all this,” he gestured around and your eyes fell to the quidditch team on the ground. They were packing up, dusk was coming soon. 

“That’s really sweet,” you said honestly, smiling behind where you held your book against your chin. 

He gave you a mirrored grin, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m so sorry, but you’ll have to remind me of your name. I’m normally not this rude, I promise.”

You told him and he snapped his fingers like you’d just given him some sort of breakthrough. “Right, I am awfully sorry.”

You shook your head, leaning against the glass of the window. “There’s no need to be sorry.”

He studied your face for a second, a frown working its way into his eyebrows. “You already know my name,” he guessed.

You shrugged, somewhat embarrassed. “I get you guys confused,” you said airily. “You’re either Remus or Sirius.”

He groaned, forehead landing on your knee. “Don’t say that to me, I thought we were becoming friends.” He wiped his hand over his face. “Do I look like much of a Sirius?”

“About as much as you look like a Remus,” you reasoned. That wasn’t entirely true. Remus was soft, it was a cosy name that had some sort of academic background you couldn’t recall. Sirius was a star, you’d learned in mandatory first-year astronomy. You’d never spoken to any of Remus’s friends, but if you had to guess any of them to be named after a star, you’d pick Sirius, charming smiles and chipped nails. 

“Godric, just say you hate me.” He said dramatically. “I can never tell him that, he’ll be over the moon.”

You smiled at that, and he brightened. He’d been trying to pull a real, proper, one out of you since he’d arrived. He gave them a lot more liberally than you did apparently. Remus couldn’t really imagine looking at your face and not smiling. 

There were more footsteps and Remus sighed. “I’d better head off. You only need one idiot interrupting you.”

You didn’t correct him, though you wanted to. He walked off with the air of someone who wasn’t actively being chased. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” you said agreeably, not really believing him. He’d been a lot nicer than you’d expected. All three of them, Remus, Sirius and their friend James, were fairly intimidating. Taller than most of the other seventh-years, James was the captain of the Quidditch team and Head Boy, and Sirius had his own reputation. It was easy to see them as scary. They’d never done anything to you to cement the idea, but they’d also never done anything to disprove it. Not until then, anyway.

Dinner arrived and you took your book back to the Great Hall to eat. You sat with your friends and had almost forgotten about your encounter with the boy until the next afternoon. There was a summer storm coming, heralding in the season, with thick grey clouds off in the distance. For the moment, though, it was as warm as ever, and you were looking forward to being stretched out on the seat and continuing your book. You had friends, roommates, classmates, plenty of people who would be more than happy to let you keep them company after classes ended. But you liked coming up here. Hogwarts was often busy, especially outside, especially in the warmer months. You got to people watch in the quiet, and you didn’t mind it. The large windows gave you a view of the changing weeks without needing to ever alter your routine to suit the weather. 

When you reached the seat, though, it wasn’t empty. Remus Lupin was sitting there with his History of Magic textbook open on his lap. You stood there for a moment, right in the spot he had been when you had seen him the afternoon earlier. 

“You can sit,” Remus teased, “I don’t mind sharing.”

You sat, flattening your skirt and mirroring his crossed legs. His were a lot longer than yours, but there was more than enough space for you to give him extra legroom. “Oh, how generous.”

“I brought a book as well,” he held it up. “Mine’s nonfiction, though. I get shy. Figured I didn’t want to put you out too much. Not that I have to stay, of course.”

You shook your head. “Like I said, you’re alright. I can’t really picture you being shy about anything.”

He beamed. “Oh, you should see some of my books.” He let out a puff of air like he hadn’t used enough of his breath by talking. “It’s appalling, honestly. You’d lose all respect for me.”

“I don’t care what you read,” you assured him.

He shook his head. “No, it’s the state of them. You seem like one of those people who think books are this sacred thing - which, don’t get me wrong, I agree. But the state of them, I think I’ve written more in margins than I ever have for school.”

You let out a laugh, not too loud for how close you two were sitting, but loud enough that he could make out each individual layer of your voice. You flipped over your book and showed him your annotations that you had made months ago. This was your favourite, and you’d reread it dozens of times. “Ah, one of us I see,” Remus said happily. His whole face lifted when he smiled, like a spring that had finally let go and been snapped back to its original position. 

“This one’s blank, I donate my books back to the school at the end of the year,” he explained. You didn’t even realise the school did that, you’d always gotten your books from Diagon Alley at the beginning of each year. You did vaguely remember seeing old potions textbooks in the bottom of the ingredients cupboard. 

“Of course you do,” you shook your head, looking down at your lap and stifling a giggle. “Pack of saints, you lot are.”

Remus looked offended. “I resent your insinuation, evil girl.”

You raised your eyebrows innocently. “I’m just saying, I’m pretty sure I saw one of you throw a dungbomb across the hall during breakfast yesterday morning. I find it rather difficult to connect that person to this one.”

“I am multifaceted,” Remus said matter-of-factly. “Besides, that was James. I had no part in it.”

You gave him an appraising look, but he didn’t waver. “Of course. Where do your friends think you are, anyway?”

That surprised him well and truly. You’d been a bit of a surprise as a whole, really. You usually kept to yourself as far as Remus had seen. Even when you were with your friends, Remus had never heard you talk as comfortably as you seemed to be doing with him. He didn’t understand why you’d ask him that. “Here,” he said like it was obvious. It should have been. “With you.”

“Oh,” your eyebrows furrowed and then your face cleared with much deliberation. “Of course, right.”

“Why would I lie about coming to see you?” He asked, looking right at your face. Your eyeline was still in your lap. “I think you’re great. I want to get to know you better.”

You finally looked up at him and he felt the sun hit his face again, despite the fact that it was now hidden behind the impending clouds. “I want to get to know you better, too, Remus.”

He flashed you a wide grin. “I’ll have to ask their permission, of course.” He was teasing you again. You rolled your eyes and uncrossed your legs, stretching them so you could kick him as gently as possible. 

“I hope they’ll like me,” you didn’t realise you did until you said it out loud. 

“James’ll love you,” Remus said casually, like you were actually planning on meeting him. Neither of you had any intentions on breaking from your new tradition, especially not so early on. “It’s Sirius you’ll have to win over.”

You bit your lip. “I have to like, prove my intentions with you, or something?”

Remus laughed, and the sound echoed around the corridor. “No, no, you could fuck me over royally and he wouldn’t care.” Your laugh joined his and Remus scooched as close as he could in such a confined space. You didn’t mind, your thigh pressed against his. He finally spoke up again after a minute, voice filled with honey. “No, you’re just much prettier than he is.”

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin #remus lupin fic #remus x reader

[sooniebby]

Hello, I am actually not sure if requests are open or not but feel free to ignore me if they aren’t! Would you be comfortable writing nsfw, pirate Bakugou x merman reader? Maybe Bakugou found him and decided to examine, and found a “hole” on m/n’s backside.. y’know? :D Thanks love, your writing is great!!

ఌ 𝐁𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐆𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈

꧁ 𝙆𝙖𝙩𝙨𝙪𝙠𝙞 𝙭 𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 ꧂

Word count › 2.2k

Rating › NSFW

Warnings › reader has a vagina. Use of pussy/cunt. Weird mermaid butthole

Kinks › breeding/creampie, dub con

╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

╰┈─➤ ＢＥＧＩＮＮＩＮＧ

Katsuki wasn’t scared of anything. Any sea creature was swiftly killed by himself before they could even get a chance at him. He was the leader of his ship for a reason. But the sea was unpredictable.

He had knew that.

His ship, and his crew, were almost killed by a sudden tsunami passing through. Their boat was set off course and they wound up on some island. It was deserted so he sent his crew to find someone to repair the boat.

His crew was pretty small. Just Izuku, Tenya, Eijiro, Mina, and some random ass man named Aizawa. He wasn’t even sure were Aizawa came from. But it was nice to have a much older pirate to give him some tips whenever he was having trouble.

He would never tell him that. That’s for him and his brain to now.

But being captain, he decided to stay back with Tenya to watch the ship. Tenya was doing the best he could to fix the ship but he certainly needed help and new material. It was a miracle the ship hadn’t sank.

Katsuki was giving Tenya his space to work properly when he spotted a body on shore. He ignored them the first hour, believing they were just sunbathing.

But the body didn’t move.

It didn’t move for two hours.

He decided to just check. Just to make sure he hadn’t been staring at a dead body for so long.

“I’ll be right back,” he grunted before jumping off the ship. He didn’t even wait for Tenya to answer.

Not like he could stop him. He was captain after all.

Once he reached close to the body, he froze.

A mermaid!

He had thought Aizawa was crazy when he told about it before. But no, a mermaid was on the ground. Dead..?

Katsuki leaned down and pressed his ear on the mermaid’s chest, waiting for a heartbeat. Maybe it shouldn’t be in the sun. He reached down to grab the mermaid’s tail(?) and tried to pick it up.

That didn’t work. It would’ve even budge. He grunted and decided to just drag it to the ocean. Grasping the end of the tail, he began to drag it.

The thing didn’t even budge. Could it really be dead?

The first touch of water on his feet and the tail sent the mermaid awake wihh the a jolt. It screamed in shock, mainly fear, and began to try and pull away from Katsuki.

“Hey! Calm down!” He yelled, letting go of the tail as it began to violently slash water in his face. Wiping away the water, he glanced down at the mermaid who had stopped moving.

It looked at him in fear before looking around the area.

“Where…?” It said but soon stopped.

“You okay?” Katsuki asked.

Katsuki wasn’t even sure if this mermaid had a gender. It looked male based on its flat chest and boyish features. But was that a male to other mermaids?

“The water..” the mermaid replied. He(?) looked at Katsuki before glancing over at their wrecked ship. A frown appeared on his lip. Was he connecting the dots..?

“The water pushed me away. I don’t know…” he looked panicked, tears streaming down his face. “Oh no…”

Katsuki didn’t know what to say. What could he say to someone, a creature he thought was fake, on basically being washed away from his family? How far did it take him?

“I can… I can help you find your family.” Katsuki said. He wanted to punch himself in the face. How the fuck were they supposed to find them?

A smile appeared on the mermaid lips. “Really?! You’re so nice!”

“Yeah…”

“Meet me back here tonight, yes?” The mermaid asked.

“Sure.” Katsuki said. He didn’t have the heart to tell him that he wasn’t sure he could actually do that.

“Call me… oh. (Name)!” (Name) said. “What’s your name?”

“Katsuki. Bakugo Katsuki.”

“Suki!” (Name) giggled.

“No—”

“I’ll see you later, Suki!” With that, (Name) went back into the ocean. Katsuki watched with a heavy feeling on his heart. He didn’t know what to do. For the first time in awhile.

He’d have to ask Aizawa.

ꕤ

“Hey! Those mermaids you were yapping about! I got a few questions.” Katsuki said when everyone else was sleeping in their quarters. Aizawa looked at him with a raised brow but nodded for him to continue.

“What if… what if they were real?”

“They are.”

“Tch! You know what I mean. What if you meet one?”

“Mermaids don’t like talking to humans. Only if they need something.”

“…what if you promise something one of them?” Katsuki asked, glancing at the sunset. It was almost time for him to meet (Name).

Aizawa finally turned to face him. “What have you done?”

“The fuck? Why’re you so scared?”

“Katsuki, what did the mermaid want?”

“To find his home. He got washed up by the tsunami.”

“Okay.. okay. What was the promise?”

“Well, to meet him tonight. The family was something I said.”

Aizawa seemed to calm down a bit. “Alright. Go tonight but tell him you can’t help him. You have a ship and crew to worry about. Mermaids aren’t as innocent as they seem.”

Katsuki hummed. “Alright. I’ll tell you how it goes.” He didn’t know why he felt sad. It felt so cruel to get the mermaid’s hopes up only to tell him no right after. But if Aizawa was fearful of the mermaid, he’d do what he said.

At the spot he had last seen (Name), it was about a twenty minute walk from the ship. It was a bit hard to see anyone from where his ship was, especially in the dark. Katsuki waited a bit until he saw (Name) swim up.

“Suki!”

“Hey, I’m sorry but i can’t help you.”

(Name) frowned.

“I have my ship and crew mates to worry about. We also got displaced by this tsunami too. I’m sorry for getting your hopes up.” Katsuki hoped that would suffice.

(Name) stared at him. He just stared. His mouth opened and suddenly Katsuki found himself in a cave. Katsuki looked around in shock, wondering just what the hell happened.

The cave was illuminated with blue crystals. It looked like the cave they had saw when steering themselves to this land. But how did he get here?

He looked around and saw (Name) beside him, on his front. His backside was out and free, showing off a hole in his tail. If (Name) had been human, Katsuki was sure it would’ve been where his ass is.

Was that a butthole?

Something was certainly wrong with Katsuki because never in his life would he willingly touch someone’s asshole. Especially a sea creature. But he slowly reached over and pressed both hands on either side of the hole and pulled it apart.

It certainly mimicked an asshole. But it was blue, like (Name)’s tail. Katsuki couldn’t help himself. It was as if his body moved on auto pilot as he slipped in two fingers with ease.

The feeling was unreal. He wasn’t sure what it felt like but he didn’t really have anything to compare it to. It clenched tightly around his fingers whenever he pulled them out too far.

“Suki…”

Huh? Was (Name) awake?

“Suki, you big pervert!”

The sound of skin slapping together caught Katsuki’s attention. Whatever or wherever he was, he was back on the beach. The sand on his back and the moon shining down on him.

Did he take any fucking drugs during dinner? What the hell was going on?

“Suki! What were you dreaming about?”

Katsuki grunted as he looked at the heavy body on top of him. It was (Name). But with a human lower half. (Name) had a pussy. But still had a male upper half. It was strange but Katsuki couldn’t ignore the pleasure he got from (Name)’s pussy(?) around his cock.

Was he going crazy?!

“You’re so big, Suki. I’m glad the moon chose you,” (Name) moaned, picking up the pace as he slammed down on the cock beneath him. His moaning tied with the slapping of skin was so foreign to Katsuki.

He had become a pirate since he was fourteen. He never had the time for dating. His crew and ship mattered too much to worry about dating. Sure he masturbated but he never felt tight heat of a pussy or ass.

And god was he angry he waited until he was twenty-five for it. What a boring life to live.

(Name) was a moaning mess, his pussy clenching down on Katsuki’s cock whenever he almost slipped out. He was too focused on his own pleasure at this point.

Katsuki grunted as he gripped (Name)’s waist. He wasn’t sure if he should push him off or pull him closer. Something about the moon above him was making him feel hazy. He couldn’t think straight.

All he could think about was breeding.

But he was never into having children. Was it because of (Name)? He wasn’t sure but he knew that future Katsuki could worry about that. Katsuki right now would enjoy the pleasure he’s been missing.

“Suki… Suki, please give me babies,” (Name) babbled, his bouncing beginning to be inconsistent. He was getting tired. If (Name) was a mermaid all this time, using legs would be so tiring.

Katsuki smirked to himself. He might as well help the poor guy out.

With ease, he switched their positions. (Name) squeaked as his back touched the cold sand and Katsuki towered over him. He blushed at the sight of him covering his body.

“You want a baby so bad? I’ll have to breed this cunt, then.”

Katsuki slammed his cock back inside (Name)’s awaiting cunt, enjoying the squeals he got from him. He reached one hand down and rubbed at the large nub sticking out of (Name)’s pussy. It resembled a little cocklit, if he had to be honest.

The attention towards it gained screams from (Name). His hands clawed at Katsuki’s back as he wrapped his legs around his waist, effectively making him trapped inside of his wet cunt.

Whatever the moon was doing to his libido, Katsuki felt close already. His thrusting began to speed up, wanting to dump his load inside of (Name).

“Suki! Inside, please~!”

Katsuki simply grunted as he captured (Name)’s lips into a kiss. (Name) easily returned it, his moans being muffled by it. It took only two more thrusts before Katsuki’s was emptying himself inside of (Name), pulling away from the kiss for a breather.

“Suki, you helped me fulfill the moon’s promise.” (Name) said, grasping at Katsuki’s face as he smiled up at him. Katsuki hummed in confusion. He honestly just wanted to sleep.

“Mermaids are born female and male… but a curse makes males unable to have a cock. We have to get pregnant by human males. It’s why I have a vagina.”

“I’m so confused..” Katsuki yawned. “It doesn’t explain that weird dream..”

“Thats what I have in my true form. The moon gives us human body parts for the breeding. Thank you, Suki. I’ll be able to have babies.”

Katsuki simply hummed and collapsed on top of (Name). (Name) blinked as he heard the pirate fall asleep. In the moon, mermaids got their human body and much more hornier for breeding. It did enhance the human males’ libido as well but it always gave the after effect of falling asleep right after.

“But I’m still horny…” (Name) whined.

ꕤ

Katsuki woke up with a jolt. The sun was beginning to rise. He groaned in pain as he felt something clench around his cock. It felt similar to the weird hole in his dream.

He glanced to his side and saw (Name)’s back towards him. Katsuki’s own arms was wrapped around his waist as his cock was buried deep inside the asshole. (Name) had his tail back.

“Are you finished…?” (Name) whimpered, his breathing shallow. He sounded tired. Just how long did they go for?

“What the..?”

“You started to fuck me so suddenly. I think the moon was still affecting you to breed. But I’m back in my mermaid form, it won’t take.” (Name) sounded disappointed.

Katsuki glanced down to see the hole was drenched with cum inside. A few drops dripped out onto the sound. He kinda wished he was awake during that. How did a mermaid asshole feel to fuck?

Well, it’s not like he’d have anything to compare it to.

Katsuki pulled out, watching the sudden glob of cum that rushed out of (Name)’s hole. (Name) whimpered at the feeling.

“Sorry… but do you mind pushing me back to the ocean…?”

“Oh, sure.”

Once (Name) was in the water. He looked back at Katsuki with a grin.

“Can you come back here in six months? The babies would be born by then!”

Katsuki felt faint. First time he ever had sex was with a mermaid and he was already a father.

“Yeah.. yeah I’ll come back.”

With that, (Name) was gone with a flourish. Katsuki pulled up his pants as he tried not to think hard about how he was going to be a father to mermaids. How much would (Name) give birth to?

“I’m shocked you lived.”

Katsuki looked over to see a tired Aizawa.

“The hell? What do you mean?”

“Usually the mermaid kills the father. He probably likes you.” Aizawa muttered, turning to go back to the ship. “Oh, congrats on the kids.”

Katsuki wanted to fucking kill him.

But he wasn’t wrong. He was now a father.

But he did wonder, was (Name) really washed up by the tsunami?

╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

╰┈─➤ ＥＮＤ

Added a few things 🤭 little special something

Thanks for the request!

#bottom male reader #bnha x male reader #bakugo x male reader

[delfiore]

—MY DEAREST FRIEND AND ENEMY. (4/5)

pairing: ona batlle x fem!reader

synopsis: your start at barcelona is rockier than expected. luckily, you have ona there to support you through it.

word count: 4.3k

a/n: we're almost at the end guys final stretch!! this series is ending at part 5

PART I, PART II, PART III, PART V

“I forgot how fucking dreadful press days are.”

You had just returned home from an entire day of cameras shoved in your face and smiling until your cheeks hurt. It didn’t help that you were nervous as hell at a new club and country. To say your battery was spent was an understatement.

“Well then don’t get used to it, 'cause I’d be happy not to do any of the work that got you here,” Toni answered on the video call.

“Fuck off,” you laughed. “I wanna stay here for a while. So, no need to worry.”

“Good. You deserve it, Y/N. You’ll do great.”

“Thank you for all that you do, Tones. I don’t thank you enough for putting up with me and my bullshit.”

“You can thank me by becoming top scorer this season?”

You grinned, “We’ll see.”

There was a different expectation of being a Barcelona player. You were presumed to integrate yourself into a team of champions and help prolong the club’s success.

These were high expectations, and with them came intensive physical and technical training. You had to adapt to a new style of play, new players with different sets of skills, not to mention having to settle into a whole new footballing culture. But you were where you are because you never backed down from a challenge, and this one was no exception.

It certainly helped that there were people you have played with at the club—Lucy, Keira, and, of course, Ona.

You felt her eyes on you as you finished a sprint on the training ground, slightly self-conscious as you were already sloppy and perspiring just from the warmup.

“Need some water, Y/L/N? You’re not already sweating, are you?” Lucy teased as she jogged past with a ball at her feet.

You pointed at the glaring sun. “Just gotta get used to the weather.”

“Well, ya better get used to it fast ‘cause I’m not gonna wait for you to catch up,” the English defender said before nutmegging you with a cackle.

“Oh, you’re fucking on!”

The laughter caught Ona’s attention. She looked over and saw you and Lucy fighting the ball off each other, your giggles rolling like a child’s yet your movements were fluid and expertly as if you were on the pitch. She couldn’t help but smile as her eyes followed your form, energized and youthful, your skin glistening under the sun.

The ball rolled to her, and she stopped it when the sole of her feet, before passing it back to you. Your giggles died down as you took the ball in your hands and tossed it over to Lucy.

“Hey,” you said with a lingering beam.

“Hi,” she returned your smile.

She lingered, watching the smile never leave your face as you jogged—practically bounced—over to Coach. You were much happier here, it was apparent. How could you not, when there is sunshine all year round in Barcelona? She could only hope she wasn’t the one to rain on your parade.

During a physical training drill involving two people, you were paired with her. Something about similar height and body weight, but she could only think about the way you were panting from the heat, and how you chugged your water like a parched man in the middle of the desert.

“Ready?” She smirked, handing the elastic band to you.

You huffed with a grin and put the band around your waist. “Don’t hold back.”

“Not planning on it.”

Somewhere along the session, Ona had forgotten all about her worries. Something had changed in you, or maybe she had never known the real you at all; the playful and charismatic part of you that you weren’t using to charm her, but it was just the way you were with people. It made her rue not cherishing you as you were before, and letting you slip through her fingers.

You were sprawled out on the grass like a starfish, heaving from the strenuous session. Several of your teammates were also on the ground, some sitting, some lying down as you were, so you didn’t feel too bad about being absolutely destroyed.

“You getting up anytime soon, partner?” A figure blocked the beaming rays of the sun, a short relief from the heat.

“Keep gloating,” you groaned and stood up, pulling your shirt up to wipe the sweat from your face. You knew your plan was working when you spotted her looking at your abdomen, your skin glowing and contoured in the light.

Hardly hiding your smirk, you grabbed a bottle of water, feeling a strange tightness in your thigh just as the session was brought to an end.

“Everyone, gather around,” Mapi waved her hands. “We’re hosting a little party to celebrate a new season at ours. Saturday night, 7 o’clock, BYOB, and a potluck vibe. Whatever you can bring, okay?”

“As long as there won’t be another fire like last time, we’re all good,” said Rolfö with a smirk.

“That was one time, okay? And it wasn’t even that bad,” Mapi protested.

“It almost burned your pretty little face off,” Pina teased.

“Hey, you alright?” You heard Ona whisper next to you. She must have noticed the way you were grimacing and grabbing at the back of your leg.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just feeling a little tight right here.” It was the spot in which your hamstring was injured a couple of years ago.

“Okay, let’s go to the physio,” Ona offered you her arm.

“Oh, it’s okay. I can find my way there.”

Ona hesitated. She suddenly realized how this must have looked for her; either an overly concerned and attentive teammate or an appropriately concerned and attentive lover.

“Do you . . . not want me to come with you?” She asked, her voice quiet and almost inaudible over Mapi frantically defending herself.

“Well, I . . . I don’t want to bother you.”

“It won’t be a bother,” she was astonished to know you thought you could ever bother her. “Promise.”

You nodded and walked with her to the physio quarters. All the while, Ona was walking a step behind you just in case you needed her assistance. When you arrived, a couple of the physios greeted you heartily in Catalan, and Ona was quick to jump in and translate when you looked at her for help.

“We’ve got a feeling this might happen, given her history with that hamstring injury. Tell her to lie down, I’ll have a look.”

You grimaced as the physio felt your thigh, digging his fingers into your flesh, your soft groans stirring a hidden part in Ona. There was a time when she was the one to dig her digits into your thighs. She knew you liked it when did because you would always make your pleasure known.

“He said you’ll be okay, Y/N. Just have to remember to stretch thoroughly before and after physical exercise.”

You sighed and pouted, as you rested your chin on your folded arms.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. I just came to a new club, I don’t want this to slow me down,” you blew air out of your mouth. “I just don’t wanna let anyone down.”

“You won’t, Y/N,” Ona took a stool and sat in front of you. “I know any club would be happy to have you at 70%, much less at your full capacity.”

You smiled and shook your head. “Is this your attempt at making me feel better after everything?”

Ona stuttered, gawking at your comment. Your grin never faltered, and you tilted your head, taunting her.

“I guess I deserved that,” she chuckled quietly, feeling warmth creep up her cheeks.

“I’m just kidding, Ona. I wanna get past it, really,” your eyes softened. “It was causing unnecessary stress and . . . I don’t wanna feel like that anymore.”

“Y/N, I’m sorry—”

“No, please. Don’t apologize anymore. I know you’re sorry.”

“Okay, sorry,” she cringed as soon as it came out. “Okay.”

“I want us to start over. As friends.” You said, extending a hand towards her, dangling it in front of her face. “After all, I feel like we should at least be friendly if we’re playing on the same team now, right?”

She wanted nothing more than to scream in your face and tell her how much she wanted you, how much she wanted to wake up in the morning and find you in the bed next to her, to make you coffee and hold you and kiss you and tell everyone on the team about it because she would be so proud to be yours, to tell you that there hasn’t been a day since she left Manchester that she didn’t wish she could go back and tell you how she really felt.

Instead, she nodded and took your hand. “Yeah, okay.”

It wasn’t just her decision anymore, it never was. And yet, she decided anyway and had to live with it.

As the season rolled on, you found yourself slipping sometimes. You would think about Ona and the time you spent together, but you also cherished what you had now. You were teammates, but you were also friends. You supported and helped each other during training and matches, just as good teammates should. Maybe it was easier that way, but you yearned to be close to her again.

Keira insisted that the best thing you could do was to go on dates and go on dates you did. You went on so many dates in the span of a month that all the faces seemed to have blurred together. A couple of them became one-night stands, but none turned out to be anything meaningful, not when you only had one person in the back of your mind, hard as you tried not to act on them.

They reminded you of Leena, how shitty you handled the situation by basically fleeing the country. You had called her a few times, and left a few messages, wanting to talk and apologize, but none of them were answered. You tried her Instagram, but she had blocked you on there too. You didn’t blame her, and maybe reaching out now was only giving you the closure you needed to move on, but you wanted to do it because you believed Leena deserved an apology for everything she’s done for you.

So you texted Gio, letting him know what happened. He wasn’t pleased when you told him, not exactly liking that you had disrespected his friend, but agreed to pass a message along.

“Hello, Coach. Tough loss today. What do you think was the main factor in Barça’s defeat today?” “Well, it’s never fun to go through a loss, and we all have a lot of work to do. I can’t comment as to why we’ve lost—I’d have to watch it back—but we simply were not the better team today.” “What do you think of Y/N Y/L/N’s performance? There were several chances that she’s missed today, and she hasn’t made an impression at the club quite yet. Have you had any reassessments about this signing at all?” “To evaluate a player’s performance this early is simply unfair. Some players hit the ground running right away, but some don’t. It doesn’t mean they are doomed. Y/N has shown time and time again that she is a world-class player, and I have full faith that she will become an integral part of our squad.”

Barcelona hadn’t won in five games. It was starting to worry the board. You knew it was a team sport, and that if you lost, it meant multiple people were doing something wrong. But you started all five of those games, and you missed a lot of chances and passes. It made you think it was your fault somehow.

You turned off the press conference you were watching of Jonatan’s. Even though he didn’t show it, you knew he was stressed, trying to find a fault in the system. You wished you knew the answer, but you didn’t, because you were trying your best and it still didn’t seem to be good enough.

“Alright, girls.” Alexia clapped her hands together as she stood in the middle of the dressing room. “We lost. Big deal. Feel the sting, and let it pass over you. If you don’t, we might as well just give up on the title now. We can’t do that. We’re champions. The reason why we are is that we are strong enough to get back up, time and time again. That’s what makes us champions.”

Your eyes darted toward Ona sitting across the dressing room with her head in her hands. There were two goals out of the four the team conceded that came from the right flank, where Ona was covering. The moment those goals hit the net, you had the urge to yell, but seeing the way her shoulders sagged as she dejectedly looked away absolved you of any anger you felt.

You remembered the nights you spent consoling her over losses that could have gone either way. She blamed herself for every defeat she had suffered, finding every fault that she had contributed to, and today was no different.

“Hey,” you knelt in front of her.

She looked up at you, and you knew she had been crying from how red her face was.

You offered her a sad smile. “Look around you. There’s something worse than being sad, and that’s being alone and sad. You’re not alone.”

Placing a firm hand on her knee, you rubbed her skin softly. She laughed quietly, and you remembered how it was to kiss her. It was so long ago, but the traces of it still haunted you before you closed your eyes at night. It wouldn’t be good for either of you now. Plus, everyone was here.

“Did you just quote Ted Lasso at me?”

“Yeah, but he ain’t wrong.”

Looking around the room at the sullen faces of your teammates, you couldn’t help but feel grateful that they were all here, united by the same emotions. But you still couldn’t shake that gnawing feeling in your stomach that you might have been the problem. The moment you came to the club, Barcelona went on its worst streak in years? Was it the inevitability of a club’s success running its course, or that you had come in and fucked it all up? You knew the answer, of course, and you hated the anxiety that followed.

But you were Y/N Y/L/N, and you never backed down from a challenge, and it wouldn’t be fun if there were none.

It felt like everything you were doing, it was all wrong. Jonatan had sent you in to utilize your dribbling, but you felt like every time you tried, the opposition would mercilessly cut you off. You felt helpless, seeing the way your teammates attempted to hide how annoyed they were you had lost possession again, this time from a quick pass to the flank from Aitana. You were subbed off halfway through the second half to make way for Salma, who managed to salvage a point with an equalizer later in the game.

You sat on the bench, watching your teammates fight on, feeling dejected and trying not to cry before you could get to the dressing room. Patri, who had also been subbed off, put her arm on your shoulder and rubbed it soothingly.

Whilst you were coming off, you heard boos coming from the stands, from Barça fans, calling you names, telling you to go back where you came from. You bit your lip, and kept your head down, so people wouldn’t see your tears and make fun of them too.

You excused yourself at the final whistle to find a bathroom you could hide in. Why was it so hard for you to receive those passes? You had never had trouble with passing before.

Looking in the mirror, you saw a face looking back with pity. But it wasn’t you, not really. It was the insecure child you were years ago, the one whose ambitions were driven by fear of abandonment. Her eyes were brimming with tears, her bottom lip jutting out and quivering, her chest rose and fell like she awaited the world to close in on her and swallow her whole.

Your breathing picked up, and you started pacing back and forth, breathing heavily out of your mouth. Your hands shook as you mumbled to yourself to get your shit together. The breaths you drew grew faster and shallower until you sunk to your knees on the cold tiles and wept. You didn’t know how long you were there. It could have been minutes, or hours until two arms wrapped around you tightly.

You looked up, panicked, but it was just Ona. Still, you stood up and walked away from her attempting to hide your tear-stained face, but she insisted, pulling you into her.

“It’s okay, Y/N.” She said, over and over. “Look at me.”

So you looked. You were so tired of fighting, you just wanted to go home. Her eyes darted back and forth between yours, hard at first trying to get you to stop being stubborn, but then they softened, seeing you fall apart like this.

“This feels oddly familiar, doesn’t it?” She said.

You sniffled, and let out a tearful laugh before launching yourself into her arms. She stood there holding you while you cried until you were too tired to continue.

Winter could have come and gone in Barcelona and you would have never noticed. Still, the Catalans were big on Christmas, at least the ones you knew were. Everyone had been talking about their holiday plans, much of it involved big dinners surrounded by family and/or drinking until you passed out, but you thought about the vacation you would be taking somewhere warm. Mexico perhaps, the Maldives, or back to good ol’ Ibiza.

So when Ona invited you to come back to Vilassar de Mar to spend Christmas with her and her family, you had an important decision to make. You knew how it looked, but things were far from how they appeared between you. After that game away, you had found it easier to confide in Ona about things; little things, big things, it didn’t matter, Ona was always there to listen. In return, you lent her your ears and maybe a shoulder to lean on. You had almost become something like friends.

Ona’s childhood home was no grand castle, but it was warm and loving. Her parents and brother greeted you like you were family right from the moment you stepped through the door, taking your suitcase and jacket from you. Her father, claiming to be a big fan of yours, asked for your autograph and you could only happily indulge him.

“Please, our home is yours,” her mother said, leading you inside.

“Told you they could be a lot,” Ona murmured with a grin.

“What do you mean? I’m being treated like royalty! I’m not complaining,” you smirked and she rolled her eyes.

Her mother led you and Ona to her childhood bedroom, a small room littered with posters and trophies sitting on a shelf at the foot of her bed.

Just then, her mother gasped quietly as if remembering something, and spoke to Ona in Spanish. She stuttered for a few seconds, then turned to you. “My mom’s saying you could take this room and I’ll sleep in Joan’s. He’ll take the couch if that’s—”

“Oh, no, no, please. I feel bad enough that you guys are hosting me, I can’t just kick your brother out of his room.” You shook your head quickly. “I could sleep here if that’s okay.”

Ona nodded gingerly and relayed the message to her mother, who was fully understanding and left you both to unpack.

The door clicked shut, and you looked over to Ona, who had lifted the corner of her mouth looking back at you.

Aitana came to visit on the 23rd, claiming it was always a treat to hang at the Batlles because she always leaves well-fed. You could attest to that, as the dinners they served you were mouth-watering, and you found yourself thinking about the next one the moment you opened your eyes in the morning.

You had helped Ona’s mom with juicing some lemonade to bring out to everyone relaxing in the backyard or—in Ona and Aitana’s case—passing a football around. Quickly setting the lemonade down on the table—much to Mrs. Batlle’s dismay—you sprinted towards the girls and took the ball from Ona’s feet.

She stuck her tongue out at you and walked towards the table, taking a glass of lemonade for herself.

“Would it be so hard to admit to what you’re both denying yourself?”

You chuckled quietly at Aitana’s words. “It feels more like deprivation than denial.”

“Ona loves you, Y/N.” She said, watching Ona on the other side of the yard conversing with her brother.

“Did she tell you that?”

“I’ve known the girl ever since we were 15,” she shrugged. “And yes, she cried to me last year about you.”

You chuckled. “Well, the feeling is definitely mutual.”

“But . . . ?”

You glanced at her and sent a wordless smile, plopping your sunglasses back on before joining the Batlles for their daily lemonade. Aitana watched you to the table, picking up on Ona quickly handing you a glass, and brushing hair out of your eyes as you drank. Idiots, she thought, the both of them.

Looking back, there was not a single moment during your time in Vilassar de Mar that you weren’t holding your breath every time you were in the same room as Ona. It made you seek out her mom, and hang with her more than you did with Ona. You were also able to pick up some more Spanish, as it was the only way you could effectively communicate with her. You didn’t want to toot your own horn, but her mom did call you an aprendiz rápida, a fast learner.

“Your parents have outdone themselves once again,” you said, leaning against the window. “I wish I grew up with the stuff you guys eat here. Christmas would be so much more fun.”

“Did you like the caga tío too?” Ona grinned and took a seat on the edge of the bed.

“Best thing ever. It poops nougat!” You said excitedly and shook your head.

As your laughter died down, you could hear slurred singing and laughing outside the window somewhere down the street.

“I can’t remember the last time I was this happy,” you said, a ghost of a smile remaining on your lips.

Ona looked out the window, smiling too. “It’s why I always go home whenever I feel down. If I can’t go home, I’ll bring my family to me.” She was sitting next to you now, her arms folded and propped on her thighs. “You’re always welcome to visit. I’m sure they love you more than they love me now.”

“Well, I’d be surprised if they could resist my charm,” you grinned and pushed her shoulder. “I envy you, Ona. Your family’s fantastic.”

“You’ve never told me about your family before,” she said.

“Because there’s nothing to tell,” you shrugged. “Mom and Dad never really cared about me anyway. The only good thing they did for me was sign me up for football and let me leave home to go to my youth club.

They used to go to my games because they were obligated to. The moment I turned 18, they never felt the need. Sometimes I just want to win a game, then look into the stands and see them wearing my shirt, cheering me on, be proud of me.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Ona offered, bumping her knee against your own.

“Don’t be. If they’re not, you shouldn’t be,” you smiled sadly.

Your gaze shifted to her face, seeing the way she studied you, just like that day in the tunnel. Ona was an observer, and it was apparent whenever she was. It was why she was so good at the game; she absorbed like a sponge and repeated what she learned like it was nothing.

Her eyes darted back and forth between your own, and you smiled, watching her nuzzle into her arm, yet leaning in ever so gently.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

“Is this wise?” You raised an eyebrow at her, grinning.

“No,” her voice came out as barely a whisper, “but I know it’s not wrong.”

She was right. It shouldn’t be wrong to feel the way you did. From the beginning, it’s always been her.

You were depriving yourself of the one missing piece in your life, but you were afraid of getting hurt again. But you wanted to be loved so badly, and you didn’t want anyone else.

#ona batlle imagine #ona batlle x reader #ona batlle imagines #ona batlle angst #one batlle #woso x reader #woso fanfics #barcelona femeni #aitana bonmati #lucy bronze #woso imagines

[stevenose]

the lonesome border (18+)

a cowboy!steve fic for @moodringeyes

contains: cowboy!steve; gender unspecified reader; reader with a vagina; oral (reader receiving); fingering (reader receiving); piv; reckon you could call him a soft dom; hard feelings; realizations; sweetness

word count: 2.5k

There’s a knock on your door.

It’s a little too late for visitors - the sun has long set, the desert cold. You’re still awake, sitting at your desk with a gas lamp and writing. You sigh when the knocking continues and move towards the door, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders.

Steve’s not wearing nearly enough clothing, arriving only in his usual daily garb. More shocking is the bouquet of wildflowers he holds in one hand, the other still raised as if he’s about to knock again.

“Hi,” he says.

You move to shut the door but he steps forward and shoulders it gently. “Wait!”

“It’s past your bedtime,” you say.

“Then it’s well past yours.”

You stare at each other for a long moment. ��Can ya let me in, then? They’ll die out here.” He nods down towards the flowers.

You decide to let him, opening the door wider and allowing him to step in. His boots click against the hardwood and he shivers. You shut the door and lock it. You watch silently as Steve takes his hat off and kicks off his shoes.

“Cold,” he smiles, shivering again. He looks towards your fireplace, at the dying embers, then back at you. “Mind if I add som’ore?”

“That’s fine.”

He watches you for a beat, then remembers what’s in his hands. “These are for you,” he says, taking a step forward and extending them out to you.

You narrow your eyes. “For me?”

He’s a little startled. “Well, yes. I picked ‘em myself this afternoon.”

You cautiously reach out and take them from him, cradling the stems in your hands. He smiles and nods before heading to your fireplace, kneeling before it and grabbing a few pieces of wood.

You only know how to talk to him if he’s on top of you, it seems. It’s otherwise a little sharp and odd. He’s always been a nuisance - a handsome one, to your detriment. Flowers aren’t his thing, you’d figure. Romance isn’t his thing.

“Why?” you finally ask.

“What’d you say?”

You finally move towards him, slow and gentle, socked feet padding against the floor. “I asked why you got me these.”

Steve doesn’t answer you, just fiddles with the fire until it’s glowing. He stays in front of it, taking in the warmth, but he does turn to face you as you sit across from him in a wooden chair. “I saw ‘em and they reminded me of you.”

You face heats, heartbeat quickening, to your chagrin. “Oh,” is all you can muster.

“Do you like ‘em? Tried to find your favorite color.”

“My favorite color? Do you even know what it is?”

And he recites it for you, without even thinking.

“Since when do you pay attention to things like that?”

He sighs, loud and long, fingers playing with the bottom of his pants. “I know I’ve got a reputation with you, and I’m tryin’ to fix it.” He swallows. “I like you.”

You scoff. “You like bein’ inside of me.”

“That’s not true - well, i-it is,” he says, standing. “I like all of you. I like bein’ with you.”

You don’t entirely know what to say, so you just watch as he walks towards you. He kneels down in front of you, brown eyes searching yours, warmed hands on your knees. “I think you like bein’ with me, too.”

You set the flowers aside, on a walnut end-table. You feel transparent, see-through, as he looks at you. “And what makes you think that?”

“You let me in,” he says, smiling.

You bite the inside of your cheek. “It was cold.”

“What a sweetheart,” he grins toothily. “Takin’ pity on me.”

“Letting you around me is taking pity on you.”

Steve’s hands slide up your thighs, pushing your nightdress up with it. “You mind takin’ some more?” he asks quietly.

Now you’re comfortable. Your hands move down to touch his. “What’s in it for me?”

“Flowers aren’t enough?”

You smile coyly and shake your head. “No.”

“How about I give you what you want?” he says, leaning forward a little. His thumbs rub your thighs gently. “What you need. Be a real gentleman and take care of you.”

You wish you could argue, but you can’t. You like when he takes care of you. When he’s on top of you and giving and giving and having you take it. Telling you what you want and determining what you need. It makes you throb, his hands so close to where you want him.

You part your thighs, biting back a smile when his eyes go a little wide. He quickly gets a grip on you and pulls you forward, your cunt level with his face. “There we go,” he coos, hands reaching for your underwear and gently pulling them down. You bite your lip and watch, chin touching your chest, as he stares at your aching core.

Steve finally leans forward and kisses the inside of your thighs, tickling you with the bit of scuff he has. Your hands find his hair and simply rest there - you know better than to tug.

“What do you say?” he asks softly.

“Please?”

He looks up at you through his lashes and laughs. “Try again.”

You try to be a little more sensual, moaning slightly. “Please, Steve.”

His teeth dig into your thigh - not soft, but not too hard. You gasp, brows furrowing. “Please, I need you.”

“You’re so good at beggin’ but you can never say thank you, huh?”

You feel like a fool, cheeks heating and embarrassment spreading hot through your chest. “Thank you,” you say. “Thank you, Steve.”

Now he leans in and engulfs your pussy with his mouth, hot and wet. He licks a broad stripe upwards, laving over your clit - and then he suddenly nips it, making you gasp.

“Thank you for what?”

You swallow hard and try to think. “The - the flowers, thank you for the flowers.”

“Hmm.” He licks his lips, then rears back to spit on your cunt. You gasp again and then cry when he buries his head between your thighs. This time, he sucks on your clit, nice and gentle. It makes you squirm, back arching off the chair as you watch the top of his head under your dress. Your fingers tangle up in his sun kissed strands.

Steve’s ruthless. Like he’s been starving for it all day. And maybe he has. You wonder about it - if his pants were tight while he bent down to grab the daisies and lilacs for you. If his mouth watered. If he was unfocused out in the field because he was thinking of you. The idea is exciting, and scary, but you don’t think much of it now. Not when his tongue and lips and jaw are making you unravel quickly. You’re already feeling close, crescendoing towards a climax.

“Steve,” you whimper. “I’m close, so close….”

“Go on,” he drawls, voice thick. “Take it, let go.”

Your breath picks up and you finally snap, gasping and moaning and humping his face while his fingers dig into your plush hips. Your eyes squeeze shut and your thighs clench around his face, forcing him to moan. He doesn’t stop until you relax, and then he’s quick to slide you off the chair and onto the floor.

“Hey!” you squeak, but his mouth envelopes yours before you can tell him off. He’s ferocious, licking into your mouth, transferring your taste onto your tongue. You gasp a little, grabbing at his biceps like he’ll keep you grounded.

Steve finally kisses away from your swollen lips and down your jaw, occasionally licking your skin as he moves to your neck. “What do you say?” he asks, pressing his lips against your ear.

“Thank you, Christ, thank you!”

One hand moves between your legs again. His thumb finds your clit, swollen and recovering, and he presses down on it. Your eyes roll, hips jutting up. “Ah!”

“You can take it,” he mumbles, teeth scraping your neck. “Be good, I know you can.”

Steve pulls away when his middle finger extends out, teasing your entrance. He looks down at you, hungry, cheeks red. He watches your face twist as it slowly sinks inside of you. Your head tilts backwards, exposing your throat, pushing your tits out and God, he can hardly stand it. How pretty you look stretched out and overstimulated on his fingers. Your nails dig into his back and threaten to rip holes into the fabric.

“I’m gonna make you cum again,” he says softly, his middle finger down to the knuckle. He curls it, watches your breath catch and eyes widen. “And again.” His thumb swipes across your clit and you jerk. “And again. Until you learn your lesson, pretty thing. Til you’re fuckin’ grateful.”

“I am!” you swear, pleading up at him. “I am, Steve, I’m so grateful for you -“

“You sure?” he asks. He fucks you steady with his finger now. “I know this cunt’s grateful. Are you?”

Your skin crawls, stomach flips. “Always,” you say, looking into his eyes. It’s the truth. “I’m a-always gr- ah! Grateful f’you.”

Another finger slides in, stretching you on it. Your mouth falls again, brows furrowing from the pain-pleasure.

“You might not like me, but your pussy does. You’re gonna ruin the floor, darlin’, so fuckin’ wet.” To prove his point, he finger fucks you fast - you can still hear your pussy over your moans.

“Sh-Shut up,” you mewl, fighting the urge to roll your eyes back.

“Me?” he pants, keeping up his momentum. “Your cunt’s the one talkin’.”

He curls his fingers again and you wail.

“Oh, and so’re you.”

You try to retaliate, digging your fingernails into his shirt and pulling, tugging, feeling close to falling and overwhelmingly irritated. His free hand moves to grab your wrists and hold them up above your head. Steve’s fingers slow, and he sort of tilts his head at you.

“It really bothers you, huh?” he asks softly, his thumb back on your achy clit. He circles it slowly. “Thinkin’ about bein’ with me?”

You don’t know how to answer. It does bother you, but not like it should. It bothers you because it’s scary and makes you anxious - territory not yet explored. Territory you’ve been told to stay away from. It bothers you that you want it.

“I don’t know,” you answer.

He sighs, looking down at you sadly and letting go of your wrists. “I guess I can take that.”

Then his fingers are moving fast on your clit, back and forth, and you’re cumming before you even know it. You scream, which Steve silences with a kiss. It’s much more tender than usual. His lips move slow and methodically against yours, moaning into your mouth while you moan back. It’s intimate, romantic, makes you melt before you can stop yourself.

You pant when he finally lets up, sitting back on his haunches. His hands shake while he fiddles with his zipper and pushes his pants down enough to free his cock. You’d usually be tuned in on it - instead, you’re focused on Steve, the way his cheeks glow from the fire and his blood, how his hair falls in his face, how his throat constricts as he swallows.

“Gotta feel you,” he mumbles. “You can take my cock, right, peach?”

You nod and reach out for him. His cheeks turn redder at the notion.

He pulls one of your legs up to lock around his waist and leans forward, towering over you, sliding his cock up and down your folds. You tremble as the head kisses your clit before he pushes it against your entrance. “I really got you stupid, huh? Just how you like it, right?”

You hum and nod, your eyes falling shut.

“What’s your lesson, darlin’?”

“B-be more grateful.”

Steve sinks his cock into you, watching your face intensely as your mouth drops and brows furrow once more. He couldn’t possibly tire of the sight. “That’s right,” he grits out. “Are you?”

“Thank you for the flo-flowers,” you whisper. Your hands come up to cup his cheeks and you let your eyes open, just a little. “Thank you for takin’ care of me.”

He kisses you again, soft and slow while he pumps his hips. You sigh and moan, rocking your own hips to meet his. It’s the most intimate you’ve ever been with him - he’s usually quick and hard in bed. Now he’s slow and smooth and gentle, filling you up completely before pulling out and pushing back in. His pelvis meets your sore clit and stimulates it again.

“Steve,” you whine.

“I know,” he shushes, kissing your cheeks. “I’ve got you. Always got you.”

You nod and tremble under him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, pulling back to drink you in. “So pretty, wish - wish….”

He never finishes his sentence. Just keeps fucking you slow and tender, moaning and gasping and whimpering. Every sound he makes has you clenching.

“Where do you want it?” he groans, nudging your jaw with his nose.

“Stomach.”

He chuckles. “My favorite.”

A shaky hand moves down to your core and he strokes your clit one, two, three times before you cum again. It’s weak, sort of painful, but you clench around Steve so hard that his orgasm hits him almost too swiftly. He gasps and pulls out, wrapping his hand around his cock and groaning gutterally when he paints your stomach with his cum.

And then it’s over. He kisses your forehead and lets your leg rest back down on the floor. You’re both sweaty and exhausted, but you watch with hooded eyes as he tucks himself back into his pants.

“You alright?” he asks, getting up on his knees and holding out a hand to you. You muster your strength and let him hoist you up, your dress falling down onto the mess on your stomach. You cringe, but you still lean into Steve when he embraces you, holding you to his chest.

“You alright?” he repeats, running his fingers through your hair.

“Yeah,” you say after a beat. “I’m fine. Are you?”

He kisses the top of your head quickly before moving away from you, leaving you feeling cold and alone. “You have another one of those?” he asks, nodding his head towards your nightgown.

“Why? You wanna keep this one?”

“Maybe,” he grins. “You need somethin’ to sleep in?”

“I have more.”

“Alright.” He turns away from you, reaching into his back pocket for his rolled tobacco and matches. He lights a cigarette as he grabs his hat, then struggles to get his shoes on. You watch him in silence.

“I’m off,” he says, turning to look at you again. “Promise.”

Stay, you want to say. Add more wood to the fire and stay with me. But you just nod. “Busy tomorrow?”

“Next few days,” he sighs. “See you soon?”

“Soon,” you say softly.

He smiles, nods, and walks out the door. You walk to it, partially wanting to swing the door open and call him back, but you only flick the lock back into place. You pause before heading back over to the bouquet he’d gotten you, now a little wilted. Your fingers touch the petals. Soft, velvety. Kind of like him. You bring them to your nose and smell them, then walk towards the kitchen for a vase before you change.

#steve harrington smut #stevenose posts #ns/fw #steve x reader #cowboy!steve #thanks again finch!!!

[softlyspector]

Out of the desert

Summary: You need to get out of town, and the bounty hunter that sometimes passes through is willing to help you escape. He'd do anything for you, but you don't know that yet. As you journey together, you realize you have more in common than you thought. Western!au

Pairing: cowboy!ace!Din Djarin x ace!Reader

Word Count: ~13.4k

Warnings: western!au, pining, very protective din, absolute FOOLS in love, old fashioned social norms (this fic borrows from a lot of things, so it is not a typical western au or social norms), mentions of previous relationships, nonthreatening injuries, playing fast and loose with adapting mando lore

A/N: I'm happy to finally be able to share this with y'all. It's very special to me. Please let me know what you think and thank you for reading and being so patient.

The setting sun looks like violence on the horizon, blood red tendrils of light spearing across the dust ridden desert. 

It chokes the air, settles in a fine mist over everything. 

You watch the particles float for a moment, your back to the empty apothecary behind you. 

Travelers are settling in for the night, horses tied to the banister outside. Most are single men passing through looking for work. You tilt your head and watch them shelter in the tavern across the road, the one you’ve had your eye on for the last hour or so. 

You're waiting for the Mandalorian to emerge.

The orange light of the sun hurts your eyes, but you don’t look away. 

Still, seeing them pass through, knowing they could leave, that they probably had people waiting on them, makes your heart ache with loneliness and you have to remind yourself that this is what you chose, this life, this town.

You’re content here, even if you’re so lonely your chest feels like an empty cavern most days, echoing back your own lonesome wails. 

You’re safer here, for now, even if no one cares for you. 

Only the sheriff looked out for you, and he didn’t so much as care for you as covet you. His attention is a constant reminder that you do not belong, and that one day his patience with you would wear thin and the town would no longer be the safe haven it currently is. 

You should be grateful for the safety the town provided to you, even if it's a brief respite. 

Still, you would like to belong somewhere, to someone. 

That a lump forms in the back of your throat at the thought means nothing. You don’t take your eyes off the door of the tavern across the road.

The sun settles lower in the sky, sinking slowly beyond the horizon. The flush of dusk makes everything look more beautiful, a sky coated in midnight hues instead of the painful blinding sun of the day reflecting off parched earth. Stars are already appearing on the horizon. 

You should just close up for the night, but you know the Mandalorian is across the street. And you won’t get a chance to talk to him alone if you go over now. You need him to come to you, to the quiet little store away from the prying eyes of the tavern’s patrons. 

His people, the Mandalorians, are famed bounty hunters, or cultists, depending on who you asked. You’d seen him come down the street with a bounty, watched him tie up his horse before he disappeared inside. 

Crest is in front of the apothecary, so you know he hasn’t left yet, that you haven’t missed him. 

The Mandalorian’s horse is a beautiful silver gray and speckled with black, as though someone had flicked a paintbrush at her. She’s incredibly intelligent and seems to meet your eyes through the glass, like she knows you’re there and waiting for her owner. She isn’t tied to the post, though he never seems to be worried about her wandering off. 

Everyone in town knows the Mandalorian’s horse. She’s still saddled, his pack rolled on her back. 

They know, too, that you keep an eye out for him, on his things and his horse. They’re wary of you, whispering wild rumors to each other when they think you can’t hear - about how you’d come to the town, that you killed your husband, that you were a witch. 

Your vigilance is unnecessary, really. The townspeople might be wary of you but the Mandalorian terrified them.

When the dark settles in fully, you sigh and unlatch the front door. Crest nuzzles her nose against your hand when you step down to her. The air is still warm from the day’s heat. The sun ripened smell of hot earth hangs in the air, the scent of desert flowers beneath sweetening it.

It’s a clean scent, and a comforting one. 

“He’s taking longer than usual,” you tell Crest when she snorts at you. “Turning in a quarry? You must be heading west again.” 

You’d only been in town a little over a week the first time you saw the Mandalorian. You had just been hired by the pharmacist for your knowledge of herbs, which only added to your reputation as a witch. 

The woman next door had been holding you hostage on the front steps that day, trying to understand where you came from, who you were. She’d stopped talking and glanced at the lone man riding slowly down the center of the street, a body lashed down to his horse’s flank. 

Intimidating didn’t even begin to describe him. 

Hat pulled down low over his eyes, bandana tucked over his nose, you hadn’t really been able to make out his face, just the faint wisps of dark brown hair curling by his ears and the sweat shined cut of golden skin of his throat. “Get inside,” the woman had advised, starting to turn towards her own door.

“Wait,” you’d said. “Why? Who is that?” 

“Don’t you know a Mandalorian when you see one?” She’d asked with a sneer. “Sheriff didn’t think to tell you about that cult that lives up in the mountains?” You’d started to open your mouth, “Go on and get inside. He’s a mercenary and bounty hunter. He’s bad news.” 

She’d slammed the door without another word. 

You hadn’t gone inside, just watched him come down the road, chin lifted. 

He hadn’t paid you any mind. The Mandalorian just calmly dismounted his horse, and took the bounty inside the tavern to the sheriff, who regularly drank himself sick there. 

It had only been later when you were closing up the shop that you spoke to him. He was standing out front with his gloves off. His knuckles had been bloody, his skin purple with bruising. 

“You got bandages for that?” 

He’d slowly looked up at you, eyes still obscured, face still mostly covered. “No.”

“Well, c’mon in and I’ll get you some.” 

There had been a pause long enough that you’d started to doubt if you should have bothered, when he answered. “I’m not usually welcome.” 

“You are today. The good doctor isn’t here,” you’d jerked your head toward the door with a roll of your eyes. “C’mon in.”

Since then, the Mandalorian has become something like a deterrent to the townsfolk that found you odd. You were still an outsider, but now one with a powerful guard dog. 

The Mandalorian had taken to you easily that day. He had listened to you talk, offered surprisingly kind, if short responses. He hadn’t fussed too much when you insisted on bandaging his hand for him. 

And after that day, he made a point of seeking you out every time he was in town. 

He’s kind to you, even if he’s quiet and a little gruff. Even if you don’t know his name, and his face remains perpetually shrouded in shadow. He always makes time to sit with you for a while, and even if it was because he pitied you a little, you don’t mind. He listens to you, and, once, he’d even brought you a gift - a white and blue western patterned cowl that now perpetually rests around your neck. “Keeps the sun off,” had been the only thing he said about it. It was similar to his own, different in coloring and pattern. 

You suspect it means something to him, that gift, something important to him or his people. But you wouldn’t know, no one knows anything about the Mandalorians. 

He’s never made you uncomfortable. He’s never tried to come onto you, which you couldn’t say for the rest of those that frequented the tavern across the road. He should intimidate you - a strange man with a dangerous job and no ties.

The town gossiped, but you tried not to put stock in anything they said, since they whispered the same kinds of things about you as they did about him. 

You glance up from Crest’s nose now to see the Mandalorian in question step out onto the front step of the tavern, the sheriff just behind him. 

His wide brimmed hat sits low over his eyes, the rest of his face obscured by the bandana he always wears over his face. His button up shirt and vest are obscured by the long coat he wears, the barrel of his rifle poking over his left shoulder. 

“Are you sure?” The sheriff steps up next to him, their voices carrying much too easily across the road to you. You glance down, not sure if you want them to know you can hear them. You watch them from the corner of your eye, careful not to turn your head. “Sure we can’t interest you in any of the…services here? On the house, of course, as a sign of our continued gratitude.” 

His voice carries a sarcastic edge. He knows the Mandalorian would never accept the kind of thing he’s offering. 

Mando doesn’t so much as turn his head. You reach for the Crest’s brush in one of the saddlebags. “If not for women…men?” The Mandalorian still doesn’t speak. “We got all types of folks around here, y’know.” 

“I’m not interested.” He steps neatly away when the other man attempts to lay a hand against his shoulder. 

“At least stay the night,” he insists. “It’s dangerous here and out there alone,” he nods at the open plains beyond the town’s perimeter. “After dark.” 

You can’t help feel those words are meant for you, that he knows you can hear, a reminder that you’re stuck and alone. 

Mando finally turns his head, but doesn't say anything for a long moment. The silence stretches until it's uncomfortable. “No,” he repeats, his voice low and rough as it always is. 

“C’mon now, Mando. I know you’re crazy about that creed of yours, but you can have a little fun.” He puts his hands on his belt and raises an eyebrow, the wooden planks creaking beneath his feet as he shifts. 

The Mandalorian’s shoulders rise and tense, the first real sign of his irritation, when the sheriff continues, “Maybe I can offer you somethin’ - someone you really want. What about that one there?” Even without looking you know the sheriff is pointing straight at you. “I know you’ve taken a special liking to her and all. Well, I have too, but…she’s playing a little hard to get y’know? She-,” 

“No.” 

His voice is stern, this time, hard. 

He steps down the tavern’s front steps to the cracked earth below without another word. 

“Fuckin’ Mandos,” you hear the sheriff mutter. 

You tuck Crest’s brush back into the saddlebag as Mando approaches. The words unsettle you, a shake twisting inside your chest, the walls of your safe place closing in again. You weren’t long for this town now, not with claims like those made out in the open. 

“Headin’ west again?” You ask lightly, like your nerves are knotted in the pit of your stomach, like you weren’t just offered up like someone’s leftovers. 

He nods, his voice low and gentle as it always is with you. Different, you’ve noted, to how he speaks to most anyone else. “I need some supplies.” He steps close to you and glances over his shoulder, blocking your body from the view of the tavern. 

“Of course,” you say, swiping your hands along your trousers. “C’mon then, Mando,” you jerk your head in the direction of the apothecary. 

He follows and you hold the door open for him before flicking on the gas lights. They come on with pop and then glow low and yellow.

The shop is rather homely, worn dark wooden cabinets lined with jars take up most of the wall space. The scent of the shop reminds you of the forests where you grew up near, earthy with the smell of healing herbs. 

The Mandalorian takes up too much room in the small shop, large and imposing as he shifts on the wooden floorboards, hands on his belt buckle. 

Usually, when he comes in for supplies, he takes up residence in the chair in the corner of the shop and keeps you company for a while. Normally you talk about the goings on in the town and the characters that came through. Sometimes he’d tell you about the bounty he just hauled in, or his travels. Usually he would talk about his son, a rambunctious, sweet child from how he spoke of him. He never mentions having a partner, and so you assume the child must be from a relationship he was no longer in. 

“What do you need?” 

“Just the basics.” 

You nod and move behind the counter to get to work when he says your name. 

When you turn back with a jar in your hand, you find the Mandalorian without his hat on for the very first time. It’s clutched in his hands in front of him. His eyes are a deep shade of brown, shadowed and wide and sad. Your eyes dart over him, and you wonder not for the first time what he looked like without the bandana that covers his face. 

He repeats your name and then asks tentatively, “Are you okay?” 

“I’m…fine,” you answer as confusion washes through you. “Why?” 

“The way the sheriff speaks about you-,”

You shake your head and interrupt, “I heard him. You’re very kind to worry, but I’m fine.”

You aren’t, but what else could you say? The sheriff had made it known in the last few weeks that you belonged to him, and that your freedom depended entirely on your willingness to comply. 

It had gotten worse the last couple of weeks, because he’d come to the belief that the Mandalorian wanted you too. He didn’t like that you were friends, that Mando was oddly protective of you. 

His words had been harsh. You think he’s your friend, but he wants the same thing any man does. 

The words were nothing but a reminder of how broken you are. 

Mando doesn’t look away from you, his head tilting to the side. Your blood thrums beneath your skin, drumming along the inside of your veins. “He talks about things he doesn’t understand,” he says. “And you didn’t hear everything. You don’t know what he means to do. He means to marry you. And if you refuse, you won’t have a place here anymore.” 

“Mando-,” you begin. 

“He already thinks he owns you,” he continues over you. “He thinks you need tamed. He thinks your choices are just rebelliousness.” His voice is low, dangerous, brows tugged down over his eyes. He’s angry, you realize. “You heard him. He…offered you to me. It doesn’t matter to him if you say yes or no.” 

You cross your arms over your chest, and cock your head to the side. “You think I don’t know that?” 

He straightens, brows lifting in surprise. “What?” 

You sink slowly onto the pharmacist’s stool behind the counter. 

“You’re right,” you say. “To him, I am no longer a novelty that needs to be broken, but a nuisance that needs to be reminded of my place.” You shake your head, “But I don’t have anywhere to go. I have no family and hardly any money. Everything I had, I used to come here. Besides, I came from the east, and I don’t know how to survive the desert. I am out of options.” 

The Mandalorian doesn’t respond right away. When you look up, you aren’t quite able to meet his eyes, not used to seeing them. There’s something deeply hurt in his gaze, a sadness you can’t name. “No harm will come to you,” he promises, a dangerous edge in his voice. “I can take you west.” 

You stiffen and slowly glance up at him. His words wriggle in your mind, slither coldly down your back. First you escaped your husband, now you have to escape the sheriff, to…what? One day have to escape the Mandalorian? You’ve learned better than to trust. 

The sheriff’s words echo in the back of your mind. He wants the same thing any man does. 

And how long until he demands that from you? How long until he wants something from you in return for all his kindness? 

Still, the Mandalorian has never made you feel unsafe, he’s never made you feel uncomfortable.

And he might be your only chance to leave. 

You close your eyes, and slip a hand into your pocket to grip the knife you keep there, just to feel a bit stronger. It was only a matter of time before you had to leave, you knew that. 

The Mandalorian is a safer choice then remaining in the town. You trust him more than the sheriff at least. He’s your friend, but-

You shake your head and meet his eyes. “I already told you, Mando, I hardly have any money. I can’t pay you to take me west. And I have nothing else I can offer you,” you emphasize, gritting your teeth. “Nothing, understand? I have nothing else to offer you.”

He seems to understand. 

Mando steps forward and leans his forearms against the counter. “I am not asking to be paid. And I would not ask you for anything else.” He holds your eyes for a long moment before straightening and putting his hat back on his head. “But we have to leave now.” 

If you waited it might be several weeks until Mando returned, and by then it might be too late.  

You nod curtly and stand, gathering the things he’d ask for. “Go on and take it,” you push the supplies across the counter. 

He takes the supplies you set on the counter for him.

“He’s gonna have eyes over here. I was supposed to close up nearly an hour ago.” You glance up at him. “He’ll know.” 

“I can handle it.” He tilts his head, “Do you trust me?” 

You hesitate, you’ve learned better than to trust anyone, but you’ve already decided to throw your lot in with his. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?” 

When the Mandalorian steps outside the apothecary, you know he’s being watched. Behind him, you click the lock into place in the door and turn off the gas lights. He descends the steps and tucks the supplies into the saddlebags. 

A few men stand in clusters on the other side of the road, coats pinned back with hands on their hips, the shine of the revolvers they carry visible even in the dark. The orange glow of their cigars burn bright in the darkness. 

“Heading out of town, Mando?” The sheriff calls. 

He nods without answering. 

“Won’t be back for a while, I reckon? Shame you can’t stay, there’s a wedding tomorrow.”

You jolt at the words. 

Mando saddles his pack and glances surreptitiously up at you, his head dips forward slightly. You nod, knowing the men across the street can’t see you in the window with the lights off, and move away from the door. 

He would tell them that you were finishing a draught for one of the neighbors, someone who came to the back door. You don’t have a pack, but you have so few possessions it doesn’t matter. You grab your journal and stuff your hat on your head before slinging your long overcoat over your arm, sweeping tinctures at random into your pockets. 

You leave the key behind, and don’t bother to lock the back door. 

You can think of few things worse than being married. Again. And especially to a man like the sheriff. 

The street behind the apothecary is silent and still. It’s almost too easy to sneak past darkened doorways and empty alleys. Still, you keep your head bent to conceal your face, and move quickly. The red dust of the place swirls around your ankles, coating your boots in a fine mist. 

You wonder if this is wise, to go with the Mandalorian. He’s quiet and kind but that meant nothing, really. With the sheriff, you at least know what kind of monster he is. You aren’t sure what’s worse, to be left with a monster or to be surprised by one. 

Something about Mando tells you he’s not that way, even gruff and dangerous, he isn’t dishonorable. 

You hear a few gunshots as you hurry along, anxiety biting at your lungs. 

When you turn a corner a few minutes later he’s waiting exactly where he said he’d be. Crest snorts when she sees you and Mando reaches a hand down to pull you up. You settle behind him on the saddle, and he lets you shift until you’re comfortable. “They’re coming.” 

“Then let’s go.” 

He nudges Crest into a trott and then a gallop, and you hope you never see that town again. 

The sun is just peaking over the horizon behind him, threads of purple dawn coloring the sky, when the Mandalorian feels you shifting against his back. You’d fallen asleep a few hours into the journey when he’d slowed Crest out of a trot, your cheek pressed to his spine as you snored lightly. 

He’s given you a good head start, if the sheriff decided to follow. He’d have to take care of his wounded first before he could. 

The Mandalorian means to move quickly, to keep both of you safe. 

There’s an ache in his back from the position you’re in against him but he wouldn’t dare disturb you. You’re sleeping so peacefully and your weight against him is nice, warm. 

Din is trying to swallow the turbulent emotions swirling inside him. He cares for you, and the fear that curls around the base of his spine at the prospect of you being married to that man, is anything but friendly. It makes his chest feel tight, the weight of feelings he harbors for you crushing. 

He’ll never tell you, because he’s already learned that caring for someone isn’t enough. He wasn’t enough to settle for, he’s learned that lesson. 

To hear from the sheriff the way you’d arrived in that town, desolate and desperate. How he’d taken you in and provided for you, not because you needed help, not because you were in danger, but because you were estranged from your husband, and thought it only a matter of time before you broke and went looking for a new one - it had incensed him. 

The sheriff had assumed it would happen quickly. But you’d settled into a routine, a quiet, lonely little life in the town, seeming to enjoy your independence and solitude. 

Well, aside from Din. 

You were alone aside from him. He’s your friend, but more than that, he’s your protector. 

Sure, there was only so long the sheriff could put up with something like that. Your kind were supposed to need help, were supposed to need someone. But you didn’t seem to. And that grated on the sheriff. 

He might have already acted, if it weren’t for Din. If it weren’t for him taking a liking to you, if it weren’t for the two of you becoming friends.  

Crest trots along at an easy pace, and Din sets his sights on a copse of trees up ahead that he often stops at to rest. There’s a creek nearby too, for water and washing. 

“Hey, Mando,” you mumble against his back. Your voice is soft and fuzzed with sleep. “I’m gettin’ pretty sore. You mind if we stop for a bit? Or I can walk along if we need to keep moving.” 

Like he’d let you walk. 

He gestures to the trees. “We’ll be stopping there.” 

“Okay,” you agree, your hands lightly gripping into the fabric of his coat. 

Din doesn’t reply, patting Crest’s neck instead. The purple on the horizon quickly bleeds into a parched yellow, and then the spear of a blue that only ever came with early morning, clashing with the burnt orange of the earth, the sand yellowed grasses and pale cacti and desert blooms. 

“It’s pretty out here,” you comment, hands tightening on his sides when you lean around him. “Prettier than that town.” 

He glances out over the landscape, parched, cracked earth, dotted with sporadic clumps of trees that eventually fell away to nothing but the orange of the open desert. Gold poppies and desert lilies make homes next to cacti and tumble weed and desert grass. 

It’s an okay view, but he prefers the mountains. He prefers green.

“Yes,” he agrees with you anyways. It’s beautiful, even if he doesn’t prefer it. 

When Crest comes to a halt beneath the trees, the sun has risen far beyond the horizon. It drips from the sky, swollen and lazy with midday heat. Din dismounts carefully before offering you a hand down. 

You aren’t used to riding, as he is, and you stumble a bit. 

He catches you, steadies you with a hand on your waist before he releases you. The warm press of your hands against his forearms disappears, and the weight of the loss leaves him hollow. 

You don’t seem to notice that he can’t stop himself from drinking you in. There’s a certain beauty in the cut of your features. 

You duck quickly away from him before he gets the chance to fully admire you, stretching your legs and adjusting the hat on your head until he can no longer see your eyes. 

He wonders how long you thought it could go on. There was no way you would have been able to keep on living like that in the town. You hadn’t seemed surprised, just resigned and tired, like you hadn’t really believed you could find a place to just be. 

“We should rest. For a while.” 

“How far along is the next town?” You ask, tipping your chin up to him, hands fisted on your hips. You’d put on your longcoat, but you have the sleeves pushed up, your forearms exposed to the sunlight. He tries not to look at the glow of your skin in the light. “If it’s somewhere I can walk, you can just let me go here. I’ve been enough trouble and I can figure it out.” 

Din doesn’t respond and you knock back the brim of your hat with one finger to better see him. “We should rest here. Travel when the sun gets low again.” 

You lift a brow. “So it's far?” 

“What?” 

“The next town?” 

“Yes.” 

He’s lying. Kind of. 

You could probably walk to the next town, but it’d be a long one and dangerous. 

He isn’t planning to take you to that one anyways. It’s much too close to the one you’d just left, it would be too easy to find you there. 

And he isn’t quite ready to part with you. 

Neither of you will be able to return to the town you’d just left, and he’d like to be sure you’re safe wherever you end up settling.

You nod slowly. “Okay, Mando.” You turn and lead Crest down to the water to drink. “Go on and rest. I slept enough.”

He shifts from foot to foot for a moment before turning to the copse of trees. 

Din settles himself on the ground and leans back against the trunk, tipping his hat over his face. He trusts you enough to let himself sleep. 

You let Mando sleep for a couple of hours. 

His breathing is deep and even. You watch the rise and fall of his chest from where you sit on a log, chewing on a stick of something you found in Mando’s pack. You wonder if you should wait a while longer to wake him. 

You aren’t sure how far ahead you are of anyone that might have followed you from the town.

If anyone followed you from the town. 

Crest munches on desert grass nearby. It’s a peaceful spot. The creek makes for a gentle background noise, the air cool beneath the trees. 

The scent of wet desert earth is pleasant, the soil around the creek bed is like wet clay and when you push your free hand into it it squishes pleasantly around your fingers. When you finish the stick of whatever the ration was made of, you wash your hands in the stream before standing to refill the canteens with water. 

“We need to move again.” 

Mando’s voice startles you, and you nearly drop the canteens.

His voice is close, and when you turn, you find him directly behind you. You clear your throat and take a step back, “So, you’ll tell me how far the next town is now?”

He shifts, head tilting to the side. You can just make out his eyes. “We can make it to the next town by sun up tomorrow. But I think you should bypass it.” 

“Why?” 

“It’s not far enough. It’s the first place they’ll look for you.” He tilts his hat back a fraction, like he’s trying to get a better look at you. “You should go farther west.”

You give a slow shake of your head. “Really, I think it’s fine. I don’t have anything to pay you with to take me further.” 

You’re also not sure you want to travel any further with him. You would not jump from the frying pan into the fire. 

Mando makes an irritated noise. “I am not asking for payment,” he says. “You shouldn’t go to the next town, but I’ll take you there, if that’s what you want,” he agrees, though he doesn’t sound happy about it. 

You blink, surprised. 

You’ve never had someone so easily bend to your wishes. You’ve never had someone listen to you the way the Mandalorian does, who actually takes your opinion and wants into consideration. 

He seems to value your opinion, and accept that you know what’s best for you, even if he doesn't agree.

“We’ll have to rest again before we get there.” He turns on his heel and makes his way back to Crest, patting her side and then checking over her hooves. 

You stand by the stream for a few long seconds, emotions swirling in your belly. The Mandalorian seems to be genuinely trying to help you. And you know him - he’s your friend. You’ve known him for months, had soft feelings for him for most of that time. 

That, and he’s right. You’re still much too close to that town. A day’s ride was nothing to a determined man. 

“Mando,” you call as you start towards him. “You’re right. The first town is too obvious.” 

He doesn’t speak as he saddles Crest and adjusts the pack on her back. “I wouldn’t do that to you,” he says, his voice muffled and laden with something heavy, though he doesn’t sound angry. “I wouldn’t harm you.”  

Something in you twists, gravel lodging in the back of your throat as you shift nervously, fidgeting with your fingers. “I know. It’s not you that’s made me afraid.” 

Mando nods, “I know.” He swings himself onto Crest before leaning down to help you up behind him. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the next town?” 

“I’m sure,” you answer, lightly fisting your hands against his sides. 

The sun is once again tilting low on the horizon. You think again about how beautiful the desert is, and how dangerous. 

In the distance you can see the peaks of the mountains where the Mandalorians must live. Even a half day's ride west makes them seem so much larger. They seemed mere pinpricks from the town. “Do the Mandalorians really live there?” You lift a hand and point to the peaks in the distance.

Mando cups his hand around your wrist and lowers your hand so it’s pointing midway up one of the smaller mountains on the range. “Yes. About there.” 

He doesn’t let go of your hand for a moment, and the press of his worn leather gloves against your skin is warm and pleasant. His thumb slides over your pulse point before he seems to realize what he’s doing and abruptly releases you.

A warmth spirals up from your belly and prickles pleasantly at the underside of your skin. You’re glad at that moment that you’re behind him and he can’t see your expression. It must be written all over your face how much you’d liked his hand on yours. 

Even so, he’s warm in front of you, if a little stiff with tension now. Your thighs bracket his and you lean into his back, cheek pressed against the soft, worn material of his jacket. 

You clear your throat, “So, is it true that you’re in a cult?” 

You feel the slight rumble of his chest when he laughs and tries to suppress it. The brief tension breaks, and his spine softens back into you again. 

“No,” he answers. “It’s a good rumor, though.” 

“Why not correct them? They wouldn’t fear you so.”

There’s a long pause, the clop of Crest’s hooves the only sound aside from the buzz of insects hiding in the low grasses. “We don’t live the way they do. Their fear is our protection.” 

You consider that, watching the side of his face. 

Just above the bandana, you catch a glimpse of golden skin and the peak of a sharp cheekbone. His eyes are a deep mourning brown. The color of his eyes seems lighter now than it had in the low light of the apothecary the day before. The sun casts them a deep chestnut, even though they’re shaded by the hat tipped over his eyes. 

He’s rather beautiful, you don’t need to see the rest of his face to know that. You’ve thought so before, many times over, when he visited the apothecary. You’ve always liked the shape of his shoulders, the way he stood with all his weight on one foot, the slightly shy way he ducked his head. 

You like a lot of things about him. You like the way he covers his face, and listens to the town gossip you impart on him, and tells you about his travels if anything worth mentioning had happened. 

“I never feared you,” you feel the need to tell him. 

Mando’s shoulders straighten, the tilt of his head angling up. A strange kind of pride radiates from him. “Because you understand. You understand fear.” 

You know exactly what he means. 

You understand not living the way others do, you understand their fear being a kind of protection. But while you are alone, the Mandalorians at the very least have each other. “Would you tell me about them?” You ask. “The Mandalorians? Are you all nameless, like they say?” 

He laughs again, and this time the sound is more distinct. His body relaxes further back into yours, and you wonder what Miss Next Door would say if she could see you now. Likely she’d have a heart attack over the way the two of you are pressed together. 

It makes you wonder again, at what’s wrong with you. You can’t help feeling that being this close to him, listening to him talk, feeling the warmth of him, should inspire something more in you. 

But it doesn’t. You like this just fine. You like being close to him, you like the comforting scent of him, the sun warmed leather of him. But you don’t want more, you don’t feel more than that.

And that is why you’ll always be alone. There’s no place for someone like you. 

“Another rumor,” he dismisses. ‘No, we are not nameless.” There’s only a moment of hesitation before he continues, “My name is Din Djarin.” 

It’s a slightly strange name to your ears, but it suits him. You tell him as much, “You have a lovely name. Din Djarin.” 

“We are people of many kinds,” he says without prompting, like he’s settled into his trust of you. “A creed binds us together. We are warriors, survivors.” 

You hum and lie your cheek against his back again, through his layers of clothing you can just make out the sound of his heart. It’s a steady comforting sound, just like he’s steady and comforting against your body. “Survivors,” you murmur. “And protectors, it seems.” 

“This is the Way,” he says, the inflection of his voice a bit odd. “Our people were once decimated by purges. I was not born to the Mandalorians.” 

“You weren’t?” You ask, surprised. It seems like something so integral to who he is, like it's something woven into his bones and blood. “I find that hard to believe.” 

“It’s true,” he reaches a gloved hand out to pat Crest between the ears. “My parents were killed when I was young. The Mandalorians saved me. I was a foundling, taken care of by the collective. You know I have a foundling of my own.” 

“Your son,” you say, and he nods. You’d always assumed he was a child from a past relationship, but this somehow makes more sense. 

Foundlings are an odd notion to you, but a nice one, one that appeals to you. “So everyone takes care of the foundlings?” 

“And the children born to Mandalorians, yes.” 

You shift against him, intrigued. “You are quite different.” His spine stiffens and he doesn’t answer you. It takes you a moment to realize he thinks you mean it in a negative way. “It’s nice,” you amend. “I imagine my own life would be quite different if we shared responsibilities in that way.” 

Din relaxes again, his chin dipping forward in a nod. “It has its advantages.” 

“Are other things very different?” 

The Mandalorian pauses for a long moment, before he begins telling you of life in the mountains of Mandalore. Not everything about it is idyllic. The Mandalorians are warriors after all, which means a certain level of baseline brutality. But their culture and religion intrigue you.

He’s never spoken so much to you, and never about the other Mandalorians, like being alone together has given him permission to open up. 

“Women,” he mentions, “and men are equal. All are equal. The way you and some of the others are treated…it’s not understandable. Not to me, or any Mandalorian, I would guess.” 

“Equal,” you echo. “How do you-,” 

“Of course we have leaders, a hierarchy. But all can be leaders and all are warriors. We are all warriors.” 

You straighten at that, darkness falling in earnest now, the sky once again a hazy blue and purple. “All of you? Really?” He nods as he brings Crest to a stop. “Would you teach me?” You ask as his boots hit the ground and he holds out a hand to you. 

“Teach you?” 

“To fight. Or at least to defend myself.” You slide off Crest, your legs aching again. 

He makes a noise under his breath as he steadies you, “I’m not sure how much I can teach you in a few days.” 

“Somethin’ at least,” you plead as he releases you. “I’ve got a knife and everything.” 

“Fine,” he agrees, but something about his tone tells you he’s proud, happy that you’ve asked, that he wants you to know how to defend yourself. “After we eat.” 

You nod and let him point you to some tasks. Gathering anything that can be used for fire fuel, while Din takes care of Crest, making sure she’s well watered and that there’s something for her to eat. 

When you have a little fire going and the last wisps of rosy light are burning out in the western sky, the Mandalorian goes about preparing a dinner for you. He’s methodical and precise, and when the food is finished he makes a gesture at you to eat. 

“Won’t you too?” You ask when he makes no move to serve himself. He shakes his head. “Why?” 

“You would see my face.” 

“Oh.” Your brow crinkles. “But I’ve seen-,” 

He shakes his head, “Not all of my face.” 

Din doesn’t explain further, but you decide not to question him. 

He’s explained a great deal to you in one day, revealed things you think must be information most outsiders don’t have. 

You nod, “Okay. So come sit back to back with me. You must be starving, I won’t eat while you don’t.” 

Din seems surprised with your concern, but he does as you say. You lean back into each other as you eat, listening to the sounds of him doing the same. Cicadas sing in the grasses that sway in the low breeze.

Already you can see the changes in the landscape, soon you’ll be out of the desert bowl and into the flat plains that make up the earth before the foothills of the mountains. 

The ground is rocky beneath you but you don’t mind. The warmth of Din soaks through to your skin, even though layers of clothes, as the night and the cold descend on you. 

He’s a comforting presence. He always has been. You crave this, this closeness, the way he feels against you without the expectation of anything more. You’re starved for it. 

You’d looked forward to his time in the apothecary because it gave you someone to talk to, but also because you felt safe with him there, comforted. Now is no different.  

“Din?” You ask, to make sure he’s listening but also just to speak his name. Another thing he’s given you today; his name. 

“Yes?” 

You stare straight ahead, out into the blackness of the empty desert, and you imagine all the times the Mandalorian must have traveled these lands alone. You wonder if Din is as lonely as you are, or if he was content to be alone. 

Maybe he isn’t lonely most times. You aren’t sure how often he goes back to the mountains.

“You said the Mandalorians are equal among each other.” You feel him nodding. “And the collective cares for the children. So, is it possible to stay single? Not to have children?”

You feel his breath stop, a still kind of silence hanging in the air between you for a moment. “I only ask because it's so important to most where I’m from, and I wonder if it's the same with Mandalorians. If you didn’t, you were an outcast.” 

There’s a long pause but you just continue eating, waiting for him to decide whether he’d like to answer you or not. 

“Yes. Many don’t,” he says eventually. “Most important is the survival of the group. And many of us are foundlings. Blood is not as important. We have a saying - Aliit ori'shya tal'din. It means family is more than blood.”

You nod and don’t reply, focusing on finishing your food instead. You hadn’t known the Mandalorians had their own language, but it makes sense and the sound of it is pleasant. 

It must be nice, in those respects at least. Without the pressure of finding a match, or being matched. Without the pressure of producing children. 

Homesickness washes over you in a fierce, sudden wave, followed by a loneliness that lodges so firmly in your chest you find it hard to breathe for a few minutes. 

You desperately want a place to belong, a family and a home, you’re just sure you can’t have those things because of what it seems to require of you. You aren’t enough alone, not enough the way you are. 

The grief of not having a place, a home, is a physical thing. No family, no future.

You push the melancholy down, that lonely ache in the middle of your chest that said you would never be enough, that said there was something deeply wrong with you and that made you unlovable. 

When you’re done eating and the mess has been cleared away, the Mandalorian teaches you the basics of wielding a knife. He’s a patient teacher, his voice soothing and low in your ear as he maneuvers your hand on the handle of the blade. 

“It would be better if you had a revolver,” he tells you. “The knife should be a last resort, since it means someone got close enough for you to be able to use it.” 

You nod in agreement. “But it would have its uses,” you weigh the blade in the palm of your hand. “For protection.” 

His eyes squint and you know without seeing his mouth that Din is frowning at you. You shrug at him and tuck the blade back in your pocket. “I’m only thinking of the sheriff.” 

You expect his brow to relax with understanding, but it only makes him appear more worried. “That wouldn’t have happened.” 

“Well,” you concede. “Now it definitely won’t.” 

Your breath clouds in the air around you, and you reach up to tug off your hat. “We should get some shut eye.” 

Mando nods at you, looking distinctly more distressed.

You start to turn away but before you can, his hand circles your wrist. He says your name, the sound of it gentle. “I need you to know - you should know, I would not have left you there alone, if I thought that was a possibility. It’s why I didn’t leave you this time. Do you understand?” 

You aren’t quite sure you do, but a lump has formed in the back of your throat nonetheless. He cares about you, you realize, and has for a while, and that hurts because it means he’ll probably tire of you too. You like Din more than you care to admit, and you won’t ever be enough for him. “Yes,” you nod. “I understand.” 

His chin dips slightly in acknowledgement before he releases your wrist. 

You sort out sleeping arrangements, and Din offers to take the first watch. You curl on the ground with a blanket that smells like hay and earth, near enough to the fire not to shiver, while the Mandalorian settles beside you. 

There’s a moment, right before you fall asleep, that you think you feel his hand brush over your forehead. 

The next few days of travel are easy. 

Those few days quickly run over into a week, but you don’t mind. 

You and Din Djarin slip into an easy routine. He tells you, more and more each day, of the Mandalorians, and of the land you travel across which he knows well. He knows every swell of the earth, every crack in the soil, where to look for water, each blade of grass. 

You don’t remember him being as chatty in the town, but maybe he simply wasn’t comfortable enough there. This is his domain, and for once he’s not traveling it alone. 

He does seem more comfortable out on the open plains, away from people. 

And he seems to like you, or at least enjoy your company. 

Evenings and midday are by far your favorite times of the day, because you and Din get to lean into each other and eat, and because he teaches you small things, like how to track game and read the signs in the wilderness to tell if people or animals have passed by. 

Din lets you hunt with him, and a few nights you have rabbit for dinner. Learning how to break down the animal is by far the worst part of it all, but it’s still a useful skill to have and one you wouldn’t have had otherwise. 

He teaches you how to use your knife and then his revolver and the rifle too. 

You like how he guides your hands and presses his chest to your back as he shows you movements and how to handle the weapons. The feeling of his body around yours makes your skin prickle pleasantly, your stomach filled with butterflies you haven’t felt in a long time. You like how he touches you, careful and precise, his hands lingering just a little long. “No one ever showed you how?” 

“Never,” you say. “It wasn’t something I was supposed to know.” 

He makes a discontent noise but doesn’t comment further. You have a distinct feeling the idea is offensive to him, that some are taught to defend themselves and others aren’t. 

Each night, he points out the constellations to you. He describes how they move across the sky through the seasons and how they’re used for navigation. 

You listen with rapt attention. “So, if you know the season and where the stars sit at that time, you can find your way around?” He nods. “Wow. I never knew the sky was used to travel.” 

Din is sitting on the ground, reclined against a rolled pack while you lie flat on the ground next to him, the crown of your head almost touching his thigh. It’s cold and not particularly comfortable but you don’t care. The earth of the grassy plains is much more comfortable than the rocky desert had been, and the Mandalorian has given you both the blanket and his coat to lie on. It smells like him, like leather and pine. 

It’s the first time you’ve seen the skin of his arms. He removed his gloves when you sat down to eat earlier, and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. Din’s forearms are scarred, his skin crossed with lines from what must be many years of bounty hunting. You don’t mind it, the golden bronzed hue of his skin appealing. The veins in his arms collect in strong hands, and you want to know what his calloused fingers would feel like between yours. 

You could spend forever watching the stars, and listening to his low voice tell you stories. 

He tilts his head down at you. He doesn’t have his hat on, his hair like tufts of cloud that stick up around his head. “How did you come to that town? How did you know where you were?”

“I…wandered. Anywhere was better than what I was facing.” You don’t elaborate further than that and Din doesn’t ask, just looks up and points out another constellation. 

He tells you of the legends that are attached to the stars by the Mandalorians. You listen until the fire burns low and he tells you to get some sleep.

You sit up and lean against his bent leg. The position is a little close, but you spend most of the day plastered to his back, and figure it isn’t too close. His scent becomes more intense when you shift, like the small cake of soap he’d used to wash at the creek when you stopped for the day, like pine and leather. “It’s nice out here. Quiet.”

He stares at you for a long moment, the dying embers of the fire reflected over his skin and in the depths of his dark eyes. His gaze flicks over your face before settling on your eyes again. You swear the skin above the bandana turns a bit pink. “It’s usually a lot lonelier,” he admits. 

“Yeah,” you smile. “I was in a town full of people, and still lonely.” You glance up at the sky, “At least out here, there’s no one to judge you.”  

You touch his hand lightly, just because you want to know how it feels. It feels nice, warm. The nerves in your belly beat up against your lungs, step on your ribs and over your heart. “Thank you for sharing so much with me, Din.” 

You release his hand when his fingers flex beneath yours and lie down again, closing your eyes to the stars. You don’t feel as alone as you once did. 

Before you drift off, you feel his fingers sweep across your forehead again. 

You wake to the Mandalorian dousing the fire suddenly, his hand is on your arm shaking you awake as he says your name. “Get Crest and go, I’ll find you.” 

“What?” You sit up, groggy. “Why? Go where?” 

Despite his urgent tone, his touch is gentle. “I need you to get to Crest,” he repeats, “and ride until you cross the river.” He helps you stand when you see the riders in the distance, torches held aloft. 

Your heart seizes hard in your chest, a fierce panic crawling up from the pit of your belly. 

“No,” you latch onto his arm hard. “Din, they-,” 

“Go to Crest,” he says, eerily calm, a quiet rage humming just below the surface. “I’ll find you.” 

“Din, there’s five of them!” You say, digging your heels into the ground. Maybe more than five, you can’t tell. 

“I can handle it,” he assures you. “I need you to go now,” his voice softens a fraction. 

You move slowly toward Crest, feeling as though you’re in a dream. You never thought you were important enough to chase this far. The last few days, you had been able to convince yourself they hadn’t followed at all. “But I can help. What - what if something happens to you -,” 

“I’ll be alright,” he says, the sky behind him starting to lighten, a rosy, dawn colored pink. “If not, just keep riding west. There’s a map and a compass here,” he taps the saddlebag. “You have enough supplies to reach the next town. Now go.” 

He has the rifle in his hands. “Din-,” 

Instead of answering, he says something lowly to Crest, in the same language he’d used the other day. She takes off immediately, and you struggle to hang on for just a moment. You dig your knees in and manage to get the reins into your hands. 

Crest seems to know where she’s going, following a small, well worn dirt path through the grassy plains. Behind you, the sound of gunfire echoes. You try only once to glance over your shoulder, but you can’t see anything. 

You aren’t sure how long you ride, and you find it hard to track the movements Crest makes. Eventually, when the sun is just fully over the horizon behind you, she slows. 

The river comes into view. 

It isn’t a large river, but Crest trots over the wooden bridge across it like she knows it well, before finally coming to a stop beneath a copse of trees on the other side. 

She’s foamy with sweat and breathing hard. “Good girl,” you pat her gently before sliding from the saddle. You’re breathing hard too, your body is stiff and your stomach churns with nerves. You clench your hands into fists to try to contain the shaking. 

How long would it take Din to walk to you? Already you want to turn Crest around and go searching for him, but you aren’t sure if that’ll make it worse. You don’t know where you are or how to get back to where you’d come from. 

You pat Crest gently and decide to stay put. 

You’ve only seen the Mandalorian commit violence once, in a shootout in the center of the town. And, you suppose, when you left the town, he’d clearly at least delayed them with injuries. 

For you, and now he was doing it again. Something about it makes your heart flutter. Its kind of morbid, and you kind of don’t care. 

You lead Crest to the water to drink before turning her out into the grass to graze. She never seems to need tied up and so you just leave her, watching the sun rise ever higher in the sky. 

A cool breeze blows over the land ruffling the swaying grass. The sky burns bright blue, clouds drifting in from the north until the day feels colder than it should. Your heart hasn’t slowed since Crest came to a stop. 

You press your hand to your chest, a bit worried something might be wrong. The stillness irks you, but pacing only makes your heart rate tick higher. The wind continues to pick up, the sky promising rain. 

Just when you start to feel too much time has passed, a figure appears on the horizon. You can’t be sure it’s Din but you click your tongue at Crest anyways. She trots over and snorts when you clamber onto her back. “Look,” you point. “Is it him?” 

She breaks into a gallop without another word from you. 

Din is clutching his side, a spot of red bleeding through his shirt. 

You slide off Crest before she’s even come to a stop and catch yourself against him, nearly knocking both of you to the ground. 

Sweat slicks his brow and he’s panting, but aside from the blood on his side he seems unharmed. “Din? Are you hurt?” 

You reach for his side when his hand captures yours, his grip tight. “I’m fine. I told you to cross the river.” 

“We did,” you look up at him. “I need to look, you can’t just bleed out.” 

He grunts and whistles for Crest, before urging you up onto her again. You help him swing up behind you before he nudges her into a trot. “I’m fine. It looks worse than it is.” His arms circle you, reins held loosely in his grasp. 

He’s still breathing a little hard, his chest rising and falling rapidly against your back. “What happened?” 

A long silence passes. You cross the river again and keep moving west. “We should stop so-,” 

“There’s a better place up ahead. It’s going to rain,” he says, his voice a familiar, comforting rasp in your ear. “Secluded. Runoff creek from the river. A couple apple trees.”

“Okay,” you agree, pressing your hands over his on the reins, just to steady yourself. Even through his gloves, you can feel the heat of his hands. To your surprise, he turns his hands in yours and captures yours lightly. He squeezes your hands and you return the comforting gesture. 

The patch of trees and the runoff creek are near a steep rock face you’d seen in the distance. It's hemmed in and shaded. It feels safe. 

Din lets you fuss over him, sitting still on one of the rocks near the creek bed while you clean and bandage the wound on his side. He was only grazed by a bullet, and he was right that it looked much worse than it actually is. 

Still, it needs cleaned and bandaged. You try to move quickly, since Din seems fairly shy about being seen, but your hands are shaking and it takes longer than you would like. What if he hadn’t been grazed? What if it had been worse? All because of you? 

His side is lined with old scars, wounds that look like he badly tended them himself. He doesn’t make so much as a peep as you work. You're glad to have taken some of the tinctures with you.

When the bandages are firmly in place, you check over his knuckles. They’re swollen and bruised but otherwise fine. “Are you in pain?” You ask, glancing up into his eyes. “We have a tincture for that if you are.” 

“No.” 

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” You ask, hands still covering his.

His gaze bores into yours, dark and calm. “You don’t have to worry about them anymore.” 

You stare at him for a long moment, before you nod. “Okay.” You glance away, very aware that you’re still holding his hands between yours. “Thank you.” 

He did that. For you. It sends another bolt of guilt through you. 

He’s your only friend and you’d nearly gotten him killed. 

Din nods and you nod back, decidedly not letting go of his hands. You can’t seem to bring yourself to do it. 

He pats your fingers. “I’m okay. I would do it again.”

You’re sure your heart is in your mouth, and you can’t seem to swallow it down. Tears gather in the corners of your eyes but you blink them back.  

“Just,” you squeeze his hands again. “Give me a minute.” 

He doesn’t try to pull away, and when you fit yourself into his arms, he doesn’t comment on that either. His hands curl into you, warm and safe and grounding, and don’t let go. 

You don’t travel that day. 

Din catches fish in the stream for you to roast over the fire that evening. He watches you carefully from the corner of his eye, not able to shake off the feeling of you curled in his arms. You’d fit yourself there as though it came naturally. 

It was only then that he’d felt you shaking and knew that you wouldn’t be able to travel. 

He also hadn’t wanted to let you go. He isn’t sure how long you’d stayed there like that. 

Instead, once you calmed enough that your lungs weren’t trembling with fast, suppressed breath, he’d let you get him the tincture, which did help with the pain even if he didn’t really need it. Only then did you seem comfortable with moving away from him. 

While he fishes he watches you. He watches you gather apples, and then twigs for a fire. He watches you feed and water Crest. The trees keep most of the light rain off, but your clothes are still lightly spattered with it. You wear the cowl he’d gotten you, he’s hardly seen you without it since he got it for you. It makes him feel like he’s standing in the sun. 

“How many have you got?” You ask as Din directs his eyes back to the stream when you approach. 

“Three so far,” he answers, the heat of your skin sinking into his when you step closer. He holds his breath but you don’t lean into him. 

“That should be enough, shouldn’t it?” 

He agrees, and drops his makeshift spear to start cleaning the fish. You stand by and watch, insistent to learn how. Din is glad you want to know, he’s happy to show you. The way you lean into his side as you watch only has a little to do with it. You rest the side of your forehead against his shoulder. 

He’s been thinking of asking you to come to Mandalore. You would be safe there, and, he hopes, happy. You could learn to fight and navigate and hunt, like you want to. 

But it also feels selfish. Din knows. He knows why he wants to ask you, and it feels dishonorable. 

You roast the fish, and then eat back to back like you always do. 

No one has ever made that consideration for him before, to make that simple change so he could eat at the same time. 

“Mando,” you curl against his spine because you always somehow finish your food before he does. Maybe because he spends too much time thinking about your warmth pressed against his back. 

“Yes?”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“Yes.” 

You make a noise like a hum and settle again. You fist a hand into his coat and he thinks about you in his arms again. Something painful clenches in his chest. He wishes he could just tell you that he cares for you. 

It’s quiet for a while before you suddenly ask, “Have you ever danced?” 

The question is a little odd but he answers you anyways. “No.” 

“We used to have dances all the time. Where I’m from.” you say. “It's something I really miss about home. I wasn’t any good at it but it was fun.” Your cheek is pressed to his shoulder. “I could teach you, since you’ve shown me so much.” 

He almost refuses before thinking better of it. He sets aside what’s left of his dinner and slips the bandana back over his nose. “Okay. Show me.” 

“Really?” You ask as he stands, clearly surprised.

“Yes.” Din helps you up from the ground, and you smile at him. He patiently lets you lead him through a couple steps that he’ll never remember the motions to, before you settle in a slow sway. 

He closes his eyes, because it's nice and he’s gotten what he wants again, you curled in his arms. “This was everyone’s favorite part,” you say. “Just holding and swaying.” 

It is nice. It’s comforting, the feeling of you in his arms, warm against his chest. 

He pulls you tighter to him, rests his chin against your shoulder, and leads you in a slow circle. 

Maybe he will remember the steps, because the laugh it pulls from you is worth it, the pleasant weight of you against his chest is worth it. 

You pull in shaky breaths, and he doesn’t make a noise of protest when your arm curls around him inside his coat. You smell like bluebells, like new rain on grass. 

He isn’t sure how long you stay together like that. 

One evening, several days on, Din just watches you breathe from his place leaning back against a fallen tree trunk. You’re closing in on the end of your journey together, and feels he should while he has the chance. You’re on the ground next to him, chewing on the slice of apple he’d just handed you. 

He likes watching you, and he’s glad you’re slightly in front of him so he can do it in peace. 

You’re pretty. Everything you do is beautiful. 

It’s not right, but he understands why you’re coveted. 

It’s also not right that he covets you.

He stares at you for another long minute before returning his gaze to the horizon. The sky is still boiling, red bleeding into orange as the sun settles lower through the long waves of grass. He’d stopped you earlier than he normally would have. 

Maybe he’s trying to prolong your time together just a little bit. 

Your body is pressed to the side of his bent leg, your chin on his knee, the warmth a comforting thing. 

You’ve completely let your guard down around him again. He doesn’t blame you for thinking the worst of him, for being wary in the beginning. What else could you be expected to think? He’s become protective of you, he’d kill those men again, if given the chance. You’re protective of him too, now. You make sure his wound, shallow and superficial as it is, is taken well care of. You make sure he eats, and rests.

Din likes you. He doesn’t want to leave you in some town that would probably treat you just the way the last one had. 

You’re smart and capable and a fast learner, and you deserve better than to be whatever thing they were trying to mold you into. 

You’ve become incredibly important to him over the last few months, ever since you offered to bandage him in front of that apothecary. He cares for you, and the last two weeks have only solidified that. He always wished he had more time with you when he visited you, and now that he’s had it, it's made everything worse, and much more complicated. He isn’t sure how he’s supposed to let you go. 

He wants to court you, but he’s not sure if the way Mandalorains court would mean much of anything to you, and he’s not sure you want that anyway. Besides, anytime he’s tried that, it’s gone badly.

He doesn’t want things to go badly with you. 

That, and he knows he won’t measure up to what you need. He never has. 

“Din?” You ask suddenly, turning from the fire to look at him. He raises a brow and continues slicing through the apple he’s cutting up for you one piece at a time.  

He likes the easy way you curl into him, craves the contact, the warmth like nothing else he ever has. 

He offers the next slice of apple to you, perched on the edge of the knife. 

You take it with a glowing smile. He knows it pleases you when he does little things like that for you. 

“Y’know,” you fidget with the slice of apple for a long moment before biting into it. “I’ve never met a man like you before.” 

He tilts his head. “What do you mean?” 

You smile and look away, scuffing your boot along the ground. 

The terrain turned in the last two days, from the light brown of the plains to the deep, rich coffee earth that lies in the foothills of the mountains. 

He’s close to home, close to losing you. 

“You don’t seem to really want anything from me,” you shrug. “You know how the sheriff treated me. Wasn’t any different with any of the other men in the town, or where I came from. I know what they wanted from me. I’m not stupid.” 

Din doesn’t say anything, just watches you reach up to push your hat back on your forehead.

“I mean, men have tried to control me most of my life,” you admit, still not looking at him. “And you don’t. You seem to see me as you said, equal.” You pause before lifting your eyes. “I was married. Before.” 

“Sheriff said as much,” Din says. “Knew you were hiding from someone.” 

That had been the sheriff’s point to Din that evening he helped you leave. You were desperate and alone. Weak, he’d said. But stubborn, and he’d already picked you, you just didn’t realize it. 

Din couldn’t have left you there, he wouldn’t have gone anywhere without you after hearing what he had. 

“Right,” you nod and take the next slice of apple he offers you. You reach over with your other hand and cup your fingers around his wrist. It sends a jolt through him anytime you touch him, and now is no different. A slow warmth spreads through him. You’ve been touching him a lot lately. “I know. But he didn’t know why.” You glance at him from beneath lowered, thick lashes, and wait for him to nod before you continue. 

You release his wrist and fiddle with the apple slice. “I did love him. He was so kind and courted me properly.” A jealousy that means nothing rakes along his veins, that someone before you’d known him had gotten the chance, that you’d married him. “At first, anyways. And all the girls kept telling me how good it’d be once I was married. That being intimate was…something special. Only I couldn’t understand what they meant. I didn’t want that, but I thought I just had to wait.” 

You shrug, “But that feeling never came. And I realized something was wrong with me. Because even as much as I cared for him and for other people, the little crushes over the years, I’d never wanted anything more. I’ve never really wanted to be intimate with anyone. And if I understand it right, that’s not normally how people feel.” 

There’s a pause, where you stare into the fire and then gaze toward the faded midnight blue of the horizon. He watches the way a tendon in your jaw jumps as you chew the apple slice. 

Part of him can’t believe what he’s hearing. He’s never come across anyone who feels the way he does, he’s never heard anyone else describe what he feels. He holds his breath, heart seizing in his chest, not daring to think you might be saying what he thinks you are. Din opens his mouth when you continue. 

“I’ve…I never felt that way about anyone,” you repeat. “I know somethin’ is wrong. I should feel something. But I don’t.” You shrug, “Anyways, he was my husband and I did love him, so we were intimate. But then I couldn’t get pregnant, and he said it was because I didn’t really want him, because I was broken. My body wasn’t welcoming. I was too cold.” 

You glance up at him, “So that’s why I had to leave. It got around the village and-,” You take in a sharp breath and shake your head, “Anyways so I left, and I decided I’d do things my way. Makes for a very lonely life, though, when you know you’ll never be good enough. I know I’ll always be alone.” 

You pat his hands again, frozen in place on the apple. “I’m sorry if I’ve said too much,” your voice takes on a nervous tinge. “I realize it’s a sensitive subject but you’ve shared so much with me, I thought you deserved to know why I was in the situation I was in. Especially since you helped me. You saved my life, I know you did. Twice. So, you should know.” 

You breathe out hard, your hands releasing his and twisting together anxiously. “And…well, I’ve come to care for you. Maybe it's presumptuous of me but, I want you to know that. How I feel and what you did for me. You saved me from more than you can ever know. Given me more, with all you’ve shared.” 

Din turns toward you and meets your eyes, your irises are glowing in the fading light. You’re so beautiful, and he can’t believe you’ve put to words something he’s always felt. That there’s someone else that feels that way. 

You swallow nervously and look away from him. “I know it's strange and you probably don’t understand. I thought I should just tell you because…I think we’ve been going along pretty well and I don’t want to disappoint you.” 

Din’s heart lurches. He needs to say something. 

He sets the apple and knife to the side and captures your fluttering hands. “I understand. I - it's the same for me.” 

You shrink back from him, your expression pinching in. It’s a pained look, like you think he’s making fun of you, like you can’t fathom someone might feel the same. And, he supposes, a couple minutes ago he hadn’t been able to either. “You don’t have to be cruel. We can just pretend I didn’t - I know I shouldn’t have said it, I’m-,” 

“No,” he interrupts. “No. I’m not - There was someone once. Someone I loved. I courted her. I did everything right. But it - it didn’t work, because I didn’t want to be with her that way. I wanted everything else but that.” 

You stare at him, unblinking. “You cared for her?” You ask slowly. 

He tugs down the bandana from over his nose and looks at you head on. You blink in surprise, your eyes flitting down his face. “Yes. But she wanted to be intimate and I didn’t. I never felt that.” 

“Oh,” you say, still staring at his face, your eyes darting from his lips to his eyes and back. “So, you’ve never-?”

He’s shaking his head before you’ve even finished the question. “I understand. Part of it at least. At first, I thought I just didn’t have time - traveling, bounties - but then realized I - I feel what you do. I never wanted it.”

You don’t answer him for a long time as you search his eyes. “Really?” 

“Yes.”  

“I didn’t know - I-,” you stumble over your words, leaning closer. “I thought there was something wrong with me.” 

He nods and takes the apple and knife back into his hands to steady himself. “I didn’t either.” 

You smile suddenly, so widely it looks just a little painful. He watches you fight the expression back as you bite your lip and look down. “Well,” you say, “ain’t that somethin’.” 

“Here,” he nudges another slice of apple into your hand.

You take it from his fingers, still smiling. 

Din presses his knee into shoulder, and you immediately lean into him. “I care for you,” he says before he can think better of it. 

You finish chewing the bite of apple before answering. “I know.” You look up, “I was just worried I wouldn’t be enough.” You sit up fully and reach up to cup his cheek gently. 

He leans into your touch. It’s all he’s ever wanted, your touch and attention. You smooth your fingers along his jawline, the tug of your skin against his is pleasant. “You’re handsome,” you say. 

A flush burns hot through him, but he doesn’t answer, lost in the way you cup his face in your hands. 

You smile, and lean up to kiss him. 

Din hesitates for half a second before meeting your lips. You taste like apple and smell like the fresh breath of rain brewing on the horizon, like desert flowers. 

You settle softly into his arms when he pulls you into them, your fingers skating down his throat and over his collarbone. 

He anchors his hands on your waist when you open your mouth to him. He’s hungry for you, and you return the press of his lips against yours eagerly. You’re so warm against, against the chill of the night, and you grin when he pulls back to rest his forehead against yours. 

Your mouth is just a little swollen when he sweeps his thumb against your lips. 

The truth of you settles down in his bones, you were never going to want more than he could give. You would never find him wanting. 

He kisses you again, and you laugh when he does. 

The next morning, when a town comes into view on the horizon, he manages to say it. “You should come to Mandalore.” 

“What?” 

“That town,” he says, tipping his head towards the collection of buildings just in view. “It’s not going to be any different from the others.”

“I thought they weren’t a problem anymore?” Your fingers hook anxiously into his coat. 

“No,” he says, his voice slightly gruff as he tries to tell himself it wasn’t a bad idea to bring it up. Just because you care for him, just because you had the same kind of feelings he did, doesn't mean you’d want to stay with him. “Not them,” he says. “But their people might be just the same.” He brings Crest to a halt. “And you wouldn’t ever have to worry about that with me.” 

“With you?” You ask softly.

You peek around at him, eyes wide and waiting. “With us,” he corrects. “With Mandalorians.” 

A smile breaks over your face and you pat his side. “It’s okay, I like the thought of being with you.” His heart nearly stops at your words, affection seeping into his very blood. His love for you integrating itself into his very being, the core of himself and his creed. “But are you allowed to do that? Just bring people back to the cult?” You tease.

“Not a cult.”

“Not a cult,” you agree. “But, really, are you?”  

“Yes,” he swings down from Crest and offers you a hand. “I am.” You let him help you down, and both of you stare out over the horizon to the town. “I will take you there, if that’s what you want,” he says, not letting go of your hand. “But I think it would be more of the same.” 

You tug at the brim of your hat before taking a step back from him. “Yeah, probably.” 

“Mandalore would be unknown to you,” he continues. “But you wouldn’t have to stay. Not if you wouldn’t want to.” 

You turn and gaze toward the mountains. “How far?” 

“Another day’s ride. Quicker if we pick up the pace.” 

“Have we been going slower than usual?” 

“I didn’t want to push Crest with two of us. This journey usually takes under a week for me alone.” 

You smile again. “Oh, and here I thought we were makin’ time.” 

He ignores your joke. This is important to him, and important that you know what choice you’re making. “You know much of Mandalorians now. You can decide if you’d like to live amongst them.” 

Your mouth twists to the side. “But, would I be allowed to learn to become a warrior? And learn to use the stars for navigation? And how to track people and animals?” 

“You already have - you are-,” he starts. 

“And I wouldn’t have to marry. And-,” You stop and stare at him for a long moment, your eyes searching his. “I could be myself and I would be with you.” 

“Yes.” A strange swell of pride bubbles up. “You would be with me. And you could leave, if you wanted. Or, I can take you to the town now.” 

You take his hand again, and consider your twinned fingers. “Would you visit me there?” 

“Yes.” He’d go to you anywhere, visit you wherever you settled. 

For a moment, you’re quiet, and he resigns himself to you leaving him. At least you wouldn’t be so far away. “I want to come with you,” you say, meeting his eyes. 

The sharp pang of relief swells in his lungs. Din steps forward and tugs you into him, cradling your face between his palms. “Good,” he says. “I don’t think I can be without you now.” 

You reach up to tug down the bandana over his mouth, your eyes running hungrily over his face, drinking him in. He tilts your face up and kisses you gently, unable to believe you’re real, someone who fits with the pieces of himself. 

He had been so sure he was alone in his feelings. 

And then, you, a perfect fit. 

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you

[hanasnx]

⋆˖⁺‧₊𓆩𓆩 ❝ stranded. ❞ 𓆪𓆪₊‧⁺˖⋆

-ˏˋ꒰ CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE - ! ꒱ PART ONE ✩ PART TWO ✩ PART THREE MINORS DNI 18+ SUMMARY: be a part of the story! vote on the poll at the bottom. WARNINGS: your vote affects how the story continues | the winning decision affects how the story ends | f!reader | eventual smut | semi-established relationship | romance | suggestive | eventual conflict.

! ── PREVIOUSLY: You and ANAKIN SKYWALKER are stranded on a seemingly deserted planet. He asks you how to proceed because he trusts your judgement.

You consider his question, rubbing your bottom lip thoughtfully with your finger. The responsibility he’s given you is not one you take lightly, and you phase through the options until you decide the smartest route. “Where’s your communicator?”

Anakin's lips press together as he nods. It’s uncharacteristically submissive of him to relinquish control like that, and part of you wonders if this is his way of calming your nerves caused by the situation. He retrieves the communicator in question from his sea of robes, and when his gloved hands brings it to both of your views, it sparks.

He flinches, protecting his eyes from the device if it sees fit to explode in his hand. Fingers fiddle nimbly with its buttons, and its silence doesn’t bode well for your plans. You approach him, watching the little mechanism sit idly in the palm of his hand. “Can you repair it?” you ask, peering up at him. He doesn’t look at you.

“We’ll have to find out.”

As he works on it, you lose track of time, but the sun does not forgive. It beats down on the two of you as you try to shade yourselves in the minuscule shadow of your totaled ship. He remains in his uniform, and beads of sweat fatly roll down his forehead. That concentrated crease in his brow makes him look older than he actually is, glaring down at the communicator as he pinches wiring together with his meticulous touch. You swallow, mouth dry, and you incline into his direction.

“Anakin, maybe you should shed some layers—“ you begin to suggest, laying a familiar hand on his arm. He tenses under your contact, and perks up at attention to hear someone call out.

“You two look a long way from home.” a gutty and baritone voice leers, and Anakin’s jaw sets. His lightsaber is hidden from view by his robings. “Did’yer ship take a tumble?” The joking tone goes unappreciated as the two of you raise your heads to see a native of the planet. Relief washes over you that you aren't alone, but Anakin does not seem convinced, wary this local is unfriendly. He's seated high up on an animal with flat feet and spindly legs, one you don't recognize at all. Its trunk is stout, and wiggles absently as it disinterestedly awaits its owner to decide on whether or not to pass on. The native wears thin clothes with a strap across his chest, the bag of water sloshing at his side as he swings to a halt against his hip.

"Engine failure." Anakin replies, vague and curt. It's a lie, and one you bite your tongue on correcting. Your eyes meander the large stranger, a flat bedded wagon with heaps of fabrics is hauled by his mount, but you know those veils are just to conceal whatever he's got underneath them. "Is there a town around here?"

The local leans forward on his saddle, propping himself up on the grip with an amused and removed grin. "Naw, not for miles." Out of the corner of your view, Anakin's hand slowly disappears under his robe. "Why don't you climb aboard? I'll take you in. S'long as I get what's left of yer ship."

Anakin glances to you, but ultimately decides he'll work on the communicator during the ride. His saber remains clipped to his belt, hidden. However, his senses aren't dulled. There's something about this stranger that tells him he can't get too comfortable, but this is progress. Regardless if there's a town at all. The two of you collect the emergency supplies from the vessel, and climb aboard the wagon. It sinks into the sand from the extra weight, but when he spurs his mount on, she doesn't have a problem in tugging it.

"Sorry I didn't introduce myself, the name's Drice. S'lucky I came through, followed the smoke trail of your ship. Can smell it on the two of you." You and Anakin exchange eye contact, silently agreeing he'll be talkative the entire trip. "Yep, this nose never lies." His finger raises to tap-tap the side of his nostril. "What were y'all headed for? Before, y'know, the 'engine failure.'" You furrow your brows at the way he quotes the statement, as if he's suspicious Anakin was dishonest. "I could'a taken a look at it if it didn't have such a rough landing. S'lucky I want the parts. I'm a mechanic by trade."

Anakin doesn't respond, instead fishes out the communicator to continue his inspection. Its guts spill out, and he carefully pools it onto his lap. "The Adega system." he replies, again another lie.

Drice emits a noise of confusion. "That's a long way to travel for a ship that size."

"That's likely why we crashed." Anakin responds, and you can hear in his voice that growing annoyance.

The reticence from the back of his vehicle unnerves the local, and he continues to try to muster up some conversation. "You two are real cute together, y'know. A real pair. How long have y'all been together?"

Anakin's gaze flickers to you.

@HANASNX 2024 | do not copy, plagiarize, or steal.

#indy: series #indy: polls #ch: anakin #anakin skywalker drabble #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x y/n #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin skywalker fic #anakin skywalker fanfic #anakin skywalker fanfiction #choose your own adventure #anakin drabble #anakin smut #anakin x reader #anakin x you #anakin x y/n #anakin x fem reader #anakin fic #anakin fanfiction

[m-ayo-o]

the beach episode

18+ explicit sex // 21+ Megumi wc 1100 selfshiptember; 29

basically jiro and akari's scene - i needed it to be finished ugh

While you and Megumi were watching the sun set over the ocean, sitting on the cool sand of the deserted beach, you couldn’t help getting wrapped up in the romance of the moment. Unable to wait for the privacy of your hotel room, your lips connected in a hot kiss, his hands roaming over your body.

So when you heard your friends approaching while his fingers were down your bikini bottoms, nudging your clit, you dashed to the nearest building in sight.

Luckily the door was open– so you climbed into the little storeroom under the lifeguard’s hut, your bodies squished together.

But now you’re cramped in this tiny wooden room, no bigger than a cupboard, you’re really struggling to keep your mouth shut.

You hear Nobara and Yuji from outside, sounding confused and concerned as they search for the two of you.

Meanwhile, Megumi is under you, his pupils getting wider the more he stares at your body in that little bikini.

And you’re in a similar position, arousal pooling in your stomach now your legs are spread over him, feeling his growing erection grazing your entrance.

You’re struggling to hold your body up, your hands losing traction on the wood, until you suddenly slip and land on his lap.

“Oh… fuck” he mutters under his breath.

You can hear the other two pause their chatting from outside, seemingly listening.

So you push your hand over his mouth, making him let out ragged breaths through his nose while you wait.

You can barely hear them stepping around the building with your pulse hammering in your ears and through your body. You can feel it thumping especially hard where Megumi’s tip is pressing.

You hold your breaths for a moment longer, then realise your friends have started walking away. You sigh with relief and start to sit up to exit the tiny storeroom, but Megumi seems to have other ideas as his hands find the small of your back, keeping you seated on him.

“Don’t– don’t get up” he’s kind of embarrassed with how turned on he is right now, and he’s not ready to step outside just yet.

So he brings you down over him again, the slight drag of his hips causing heat to curl through your core.

He stares up at you for a moment, a blush creeping over his cheeks, nearly panting from the heat and arousal, and starts moving your body over his erection.

“M–mm–” you stifle a moan, feeling him almost push through his shorts into you. It makes you realise just how horny he is, and that there’s no way this kind of full, thick erection will go away by itself.

He gives you a long, purposeful thrust, making him let out a choked moan of your name.

He breathes out, looking pained.

“Can I fuck you?”

His question makes your hips quiver, grinding over him without thinking, only making it harder for him.

“M-Megumi, w-we can’t, we’ll get caught,” your voice trembles as he works your body over his.

He groans, continuing his motions, temporarily satisfied with the relief your clothed pussy is giving him.

He knows as well as you that there’s a pretty high chance of getting caught– the wooden frame of the building does nothing to muffle your little whimpers and groans. But he needs it so bad.

“Oh god– let me, just– ah fuck–” his grinding has reached a peak, near enough impaling you through the two thin pieces of material.

You hesitate again, biting your lip and gripping onto his shoulders.

“Please, y/n,” he lets out another moan through heavy breaths, “please let me fuck you”

You swear you’ve never seen him so desperate. If he wants something, he’ll usually work for it, quietly and carefully building you up till you can’t say no.

But now, he’s near enough begging. And that, luckily for him, is having the same effect.

You move your hand down and drag your skimpy bikini bottoms to the side, making him moan and sigh just from the sight of you.

“Oh fuck– y/n–” he tugs down his shorts impatiently, pushing up into you and sinking in, “ohhh fuck–”

He’s so worked up from humping your clothed heat for so long that his erection is throbbing hard and ready to burst.

“Yes– ugh, yeah, let me inside you, please–” you sit on his lap and take him all the way back, your eyes rolling up when you feel him deep.

“That’s fucking– ugh– so fucking tight–” he’s an absolute mess, thrusting sloppily and guiding you up and down his length with a strong grip on your hips, your wetness coating his thighs to make the most obscene, sticky noises.

“Fuck– princess, you’re, ahh– you’re so fucking good to me,” he tugs at your ass cheeks now, spreading you further and somehow getting deeper, “letting me fuck you like this.”

He keeps running his mouth, losing his breath and having to focus on lifting your body up and down, over and over, watching your tits bounce in his face with every thrust.

You’re so glad you let him have you, now you can see that needy, pussy drunk expression on his face. Even if you are caught, it’d be totally worth it just to see him like this.

You start moving your hips in tandem with his, eager to chase your release as you feel him relentlessly hitting your g-spot, working you ever closer.

“That’s it– ohh, fuck me, baby, I’m– fuck, I’m so close–” he almost whines as his hips start moving faster, now lifting you off his lap with each hard fuck.

“C-can you cum for me?” He asks shakily, the hot white pleasure nearly consuming him.

“Y-yes– Megumiii–” a few more thrusts is all it takes.

“Fuck– yeah, I can f-feel you–” he moans as you ride him, squeezing and spilling all over his length, watching his abs clench up.

“I’m– o-ohh, fuck– yes, baby, ride me– yeah like that, please– fuck–” he moans and cums hard till you’re full and leaking, your combined juices dripping all over his lower stomach.

He slides you off his cock and makes you swear to forget how much of a mess he was for you, claiming he was just excited to do it outside.

But you know what got him so needy tonight. It wasn’t the location or your forced proximity– he’s used to that.

You know it was your body in that tight, hot bikini. Just looking at you served as foreplay, getting him ready to fuck all day long.

You can definitely have some fun with this, now knowing how easy it is to get him begging.

[ahh use protection]

selfshiptember 29!! [one more..!]

megumi m.list

likes, comments + reblogs appreciated! <3

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #female reader #megumi x reader #18+ content #megumi fushiguro #selfshiptember 2023 #selfshiptember #self shipping

[toomuchracket]

drunk in love (d word matty x reader smut)

d word smut hiatus over, everyone cheer! inspired by a fun anon i got, takes place immediately after this blurb from last year. enjoy <3

matty's skin is warm under your lips, the salt from the ocean you both swam in earlier still lingering faintly. it's a nice contrast to the sweetness of the champagne you're currently sharing, entwined on a blanket on a deserted malibu beach, watching the setting sun.

once you're done kissing all over your boyfriend's palm, you continue your trail up his middle and index fingers, cheekily taking them into your mouth with a wink. matty giggles, champagne escaping the corner of his lip and dripping down his lightly-stubbled chin; quick as a flash, you stop sucking his fingers in favour of catching the liquid on his face with your tongue, savouring the heady taste of it and him before attaching your lips to his own. your brain is already fuzzy from the bubbles in the drink, and matty's lips and tongue certainly don't help it - when he finally pulls away to breathe, slowly releasing your bottom lip from between his teeth and grinning, you're actually woozy.

he brushes a thumb over your cheek, glowing in the golden hour light. “hi, baby. i love you.”

“i love you,” you beam. the words still feel unfamiliar on your tongue, but getting to say them rather than think them makes you glow as much on the inside as matty is in the evening sunlight. “and i love telling you that i love you.”

“me too,” matty kisses your forehead, then your nose, then all over your face, drawing giggles from your throat; with a chuckle of his own, he pulls you into his chest for a cuddle. “fuck, i love you so much. my sweet girl.”

there's no doubt in your mind that he means it. in fact, there's nothing in your mind except thoughts of matty, how much you love him, and how you wish you could stay in this moment forever, bottle the feelings and the atmosphere and cork it like the champagne in your hand.

you think it might be twice as potent as the alcohol, though. but maybe that's just him.

still holding you, matty moves to lie on his back; he twirls your sun-dried hair around his fingers while you shuffle on top of him to get comfy, smiling warmly when you look up at him. he’s so beautiful that it breaks your heart, all happy-tired and messy-haired and soft worn-out band tee, but the total adoration for you in those pretty eyes is enough to mend it again.

with a kiss to his chest, right where his tattoo is, you sit up, stretching as you take a swig of the champagne set into a little well of sand beside you. matty sighs, moving his hands behind his head and continuing to look at you lovingly. “you're gorgeous, you know that, yeah?”

your cheeks burn as you shake your head. “you're drunk, baby.”

“well, maybe a little bit. but you're still gorgeous,” he runs his hands down your bare thighs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. “i always think that. even when i'm asleep.”

“you dream about me?”

“yeah. a lot.”

“nightmares?”

“no, for fuck's sake,” matty huffs out a laugh, flicking you on the thigh while you giggle. “always good dreams, when you're involved.”

“that's cute, babe,” you trace a little heart on the strip of bare skin visible where matty's t-shirt rides up. “what about sexy ones?”

matty smirks, nodding slowly. “oh yeah,” you have no idea if he means to or not, but he slides his hands across the tops of your thighs, pads of his calloused fingers tracing patterns into the silky skin on the inside of your upper legs; it makes you shiver, in the most delicious way. “those dreams are my favourite.”

“really?” you beam, flirtily biting your lip. “what are we doing in them, my love?”

matty watches as you take another drink from the champagne bottle, his pupils dilating yet never breaking from your own. “well, sweetheart, a lot of the time… you're doing something quite like that.”

“oh?” you blink faux-innocently, flicking your tongue over the opening of the bottle. “like this… daddy?”

your boyfriend groans, shuffling beneath you to try and alleviate the obviously-growing hardness in his shorts. still, he doesn't break eye contact with you, even when you slide your lips as far down the glass neck of the bottle as you can. “jesus christ, princess,” he whines, watching you pull off the bottle and tip some more of its contents into your mouth. “c'mere. wanna kiss you.”

mouth still half-full of champagne, you lean down and let your lips be manipulated by matty's. he moans softly when the alcohol falls into his mouth, drawing satisfied noises from your own throat as he licks practically all traces of it from you - these noises only increase in volume and quantity when his hands slide down to grab at your bikini-clad ass, rocking you back and forth across the hardness below you. it's heavenly, actually, being like this with the man you love in a place like this, just the two of you and the day's last warmth of the sun and the soft crashing of the sea behind you. your head is cloudy, from both bottle and boyfriend, but the desire in your stomach is as sharp as it's ever been.

you need to get matty off. now.

pulling back from his lips just enough to talk, you take a deep breath. “daddy,” your voice is soft, eyes wide and adoring and trained right on matty's, just the way you know fucks him up to an insane degree. “please can i suck you off?”

“shit,” comes the shaky reply, your boyfriend's soft lips meeting your own once again before he talks. “right now, sweet girl? princess wants to make daddy feel good, right out on the beach like this?”

you nod, an involuntary rush of pleasure pooling in your bikini. “mhmm.”

“come on, princess, you can do better than that,” matty runs his thumb over your lips, pulling them apart. “be a good girl and use your words, yeah?”

“mkay,” you smile sweetly at him. “wanna make you feel so good, daddy,” you kiss down over his jaw and up his neck, savouring the little moans he can't hold back before you talk again - well, whisper directly in his ear. “wanna show you how much i love you.”

the noise matty makes in response to that is almost enough to make you cum. he gently guides your head so he can look at you properly, kissing you surprisingly sweetly given the circumstances. “love you, my perfect girl,” he murmurs against your lips. “go on, then, do whatever you want to me. m'all yours. always.”

you hum happily. “all mine.”

matty nods, forehead resting against your own, voice barely a whisper. “yours,” he gently taps your cheek. “let me get ready for you, darling, yeah?”

“alright,” with a final kiss to his nose, you climb off matty's lap, watching as he moves to sit back on his knees and then settling onto your stomach in front of him. this position was an accidental discovery, borne out of you being too eager to get your mouth on him to let him move to lie down, and it's now a mutual favourite; you can watch each other, it's quite comfy for both of you, and - most crucially - it's incredibly easy for matty to fuck your mouth if he wants to.

you hope he does, today. but you'll have to put some work in first for that to happen, so you gently tug down his shorts just enough to free his cock, enjoying the little whine from the man above you when you take it in your hand. eyes locking onto matty's, you let a line of spit drip from your lips onto the head of his dick, smiling at the way he breathes shakily when you slowly pump him. “will you hold my hair back for me, please?”

“of course,” matty does as you ask, swearing under his breath when you press a kiss to the tip as a thank you, wrapping your lips around and flicking your tongue over it just as you did with the champagne. “beautiful girl, so fucking pretty with my dick in your mouth. use it on me, princess, that's my good girl.”

and who would you be to deny him?

you start slow, shallow, savouring the salt of him on your tongue; it cuts through the lingering sweetness of the champagne in the most delectable way, and soon enough you're speeding up your movements, inching further and further down your boyfriend's dick with every movement of your head. and even if you weren't completely obsessed with the way he tastes, the way he feels… the noises he's making, those gorgeous whimpers and groans and whines of your name, they would be enough to spur you on.

the noises turn to proper dirty talk after one particular movement; when he hits the back of your throat, you can't help but gag slightly, and the feeling of it seems to drive matty insane. “christ, princess, love it when you take all of me in that pretty mouth. so good for me, taking me so fucking well.”

you hum happily around him, pulling off quickly to breathe and beam at matty before ducking back down and taking him fully, again. squeezing your thumb in your fist with one hand, you use the other to flatten matty's hand on the back of your head; he understands immediately, gently pressing you down to keep your lips at the base of his cock and his length in your throat. you gag again, despite your thumb trick, but you don't make any attempt to move - you love being like this, mostly because you know matty loves it. he looks down at you, pretty eyes hazy with desire, smiling lazily as your teary gaze meets his own. “fucking hell, princess, look at you,” he coos. “pretty little - breathe, baby, that's it - pretty little slut for me, aren't you? sucking daddy's dick on the beach, where anyone could see, dirty girl. fucking love it,” his face softens, and he softly wipes the tears from your eyes with his free hand. “fucking love you.”

your heart glows, and you pull your mouth off your boyfriend, gasping for breath but still continuing to stroke him as you refill your airways. pressing a kiss to his hip tattoo, you grin up at him. “love you so much. and i need you to fuck my mouth almost equally as much, daddy. please?”

“god, you're so fucking cute. my needy girl,” matty laughs, massaging your scalp. “and to think you were quite innocent when i met you - had never had good sex, and now you're begging me to fuck your face in public. mental.”

you roll your eyes, cheeks burning - not so much out of shame for what you're doing, but more out of embarrassment for how clueless about sex you were when you met him. “yeah, yeah. but you fucking love it, don't you?”

“i do. i love everything you do,” matty boops your nose, smiling. “being in love with someone tends to make you feel like that, though.”

“yeah, it does, doesn't it?” you kiss the head of his dick again, smiling at the way he giggles. “and you know what i love you doing to me, yeah?”

“point taken, princess,” matty weaves his hands into your hair. “you know the drill - three taps if it gets too much, alright? and please remember to breathe, my love. no dick is worth dying for, even mine.”

you sigh. “you're an idiot. i can't believe i'm in love with you,” readjusting yourself on the blanket, you smile up at your boyfriend. “ready?”

“yeah. you?”

blinking coquettishly, you nod. “yes, daddy.”

“good girl.”

matty's eyes don't leave yours for a second as he slowly thrusts into your mouth. he's beautiful like this, you somehow manage to think despite your pleasure-addled brain, jaw slack and pouty lips parted and chest heaving, looking at you like he wants to eat you alive; that last bit changes when he’s fully down your throat, though, eyelids fluttering shut as he tentatively begins to fuck into you. “oh, baby,” he practically whimpers, hips speeding up a little - involuntarily, you think. regardless, you moan, and the vibrations egg him on even more. “i'm not going to last long, princess. you're too - jesus - too fucking good at this. made for it, yeah? made for me, for gagging on my dick like the slut only i know you are. talk to me, angel. tell me who you belong to.”

christ. you're fucking soaked.

you move to pull away so you can talk, but matty harshly pushes your head back down; another bolt of pleasure gushes into your bikini bottoms as he does. “i didn't tell you to stop doing that, princess,” he murmurs. “are you so cockdrunk that you can't multitask anymore? aww, baby.”

“no,” you whine, the sound barely inaudible with your mouth already so preoccupied. “m'sorry.”

“then i'll ask again,” a sharp tug on your hair makes you look up at your boyfriend - imminently close to orgasm, you recognise. “who do you belong to?”

you do your best to reply as clearly as possible. “i belong to you, daddy.”

matty smiles. “fuck yeah you do, princess,” his hips stutter, as do his moans, signalling what you already knew - he's about to cum. “and whose is daddy?”

fuck, you love him so much. “mine.”

and that's what does it for matty - with a groan of your name, he cums down your throat, holding your head in place until he's totally finished thrusting through the climax. you slide off him carefully, keeping your mouth open and the white liquid on your tongue to show him before you swallow; matty swears as you do, swigging more of the champagne before pulling you up to kiss him, letting the sweet and the salt mingle between the two of you as he wraps his arms around your waist. your head is spinning, a mixture of breathlessness and tiredness and drunkenness and matty, but you know you'll be alright in his arms. safest place in the world, you think.

he kisses your nose when he pulls back. “thank you, my darling. that was… yeah, that was incredible. you were incredible, perfect girl.”

shrugging, you snuggle into his chest. “i just like making you feel good, angel.”

“you're really fucking good at it,” matty giggles, sliding his hands under the hem of your t-shirt and kissing your temple. “will you let me return the favour, sweetheart?”

“can i cash it in a bit later tonight, baby?” you look up at him a bit shyly. “might sound, like, cliché or cringe or whatever, but i kind of just want to watch this sunset with you right now. if you want to, that is. we can do something else if you think it'll be boring.”

matty looks at you so tenderly you think you might cry, an eye-crinkling smile spreading across his face. “i don't think i could ever find anything boring if i was with you,” he kisses you, chastely, but the love is obvious in his lips. “come on, let's cuddle.”

and you do, until the stars appear in the inky-blue sky, and you and matty have drank all the ones stored in the bottle - which, incidentally, you make matty carry you back to the beach for, after you both decide to go indoors, tipsily saying “we can't litter, baby. what if a sea creature gets stuck in it?” and almost toppling the two of you when you reach to pick it up.

he puts you down quite reluctantly on the decking next to the kitchen door, grumbling while you put the empty bottle in the waste bucket. “hate not holding you.”

“awwwwww, baby. s'just for a second, though,” you - with some difficulty, admittedly - gently turn on the hose hanging on the side of the house. “okay - ooh, it's warm,” giggling, you hand the hose to your boyfriend. “right. get me wet, babe.”

matty smirks. “done that already, i reckon.”

“nooooooooo, not like that,” you sigh. “i mean get the sand off my legs. can't go in all messy. s'not our house.”

“could be,” matty says, absentmindedly waving the stream of water at your calves.

“hmm?”

“i could buy it. we could live here,” he smirks as another thought comes into his head. “you could just wear those sexy little bikinis all the time. i'd love that,” his smirk fades into a dazed smile as he daydreams. the hose almost slips from his grasp, and the stream of water goes up too high and soaks your t-shirt as he fumbles to catch it. “oh, fuck.”

you shriek, the water sobering you up. “matthew!”

“sorry, darli- actually, no i'm not,” the smirk returns as your boyfriend takes in the white t-shirt now clinging to you like a second skin. “i am not sorry at all, fucking hell.”

“god, you're such a boy. give me that,” you frown, turning the hose on matty and rinsing the sand from his legs in seconds. “there. easy peasy.”

“you're not going to get me all wet? you know i love it when you do that.”

despite your annoyance, you grin. “take me inside and i might.”

“no need to tell me twice, darling,” matty scoops you up, bridal-style, and carries you through the french doors into the kitchen. with a kiss to your nose, he sets you down on the counter beside the sink, leaving you to flick the cabinet lights on while he closes and locks - with a little bit of difficulty, given his tipsiness - the door, before returning to you for another sloppy kiss. he tastes like champagne, even sweeter than usual, and you're mildly upset by the loss of it when he pulls back and raises your arms for you. “need to get this wet top off you, sweetheart. can't have my love getting a cold, now, can i?”

you giggle, letting him pull the t-shirt over your head and drop it into the sink. “take yours off, too? not that you're as at risk as i am, obv. i just think you're fit.”

he laughs, obliging you. “i love you.”

“love you,” biting your lip, you lightly drag your nails down matty's chest, hooking them in the waistband of his shorts and looking up at him as seductively as you can. “would it be possible for me to cash in that favour from earlier, baby?”

“i like the sound of that,” matty kisses you deeply, hands finding their way home to your tits and squeezing gently. “wanna go down on you first, though, if you'll have me.”

“yeah,” you whisper into him. “how do you want me, daddy?”

he smiles against you. “i want to bend you over this fucking counter, princess. how's that sound?”

shit. your bikini’s practically soaked through. “sounds so fucking good. thank you.”

“my sweet, filthy girl,” matty coos, kissing you. he gently lifts you off the counter and sets you down on the floor, stepping back slightly. “alright, you know what to do.”

with a quick final kiss and a whispered “i love you”, which is eagerly reciprocated, you turn away from matty and bend over the counter. the surface is cold under your bare chest, and your entire body trembles slightly; matty groans quietly at that, a sure sign his eyes are glued to your ass. without warning, he brings his hand down on it sharply, eliciting a moan from your lips and a matching “fuck” from his. “god, princess,” he murmurs, rubbing the now-sore spot on your ass. “you're so fucking hot. gonna make you feel so good, baby, alright?”

“mhmm,” you whimper, wiggling your ass in total desperation. “please, please, daddy.”

“relax, my girl,” there's the sound of movement, and you whimper when you feel his breath on your core. “let daddy take care of you.”

you've barely whined out an agreement before matty's tongue is on your clit, flicking over the bundle of nerves before licking a flat stripe up your cunt. you gasp at the feeling, a gasp that quickly turns to a moan when you feel him dip his tongue into you, groaning at the taste he's often told you is his favourite thing in the world; you never really believe him, but the enthusiasm with which he's utterly devouring you right now hints that he might not actually be exaggerating. his hands are warm, firmly gripping your ass to keep you exactly where he wants you while he makes out - there's really no other word to describe it - with your cunt. you're not sure whether it's drunkenness or tiredness or something else, but matty's sloppier than usual with his mouth, his usual precise (deadly) tongue flicks replaced with messy licks and sucks and grazes with his teeth.

it's not like you'll complain, though; he's still making you feel good, drawing half-screamed whines out of you every two seconds, and you can feel how desperate he is for you to cum, all over his face. and isn't that just the hottest thing of all?

you find it so hot, actually, that you give your boyfriend what he wants in an almost embarrassingly short amount of time. after what seems to be an attempt by matty to bury his entire tongue inside you, your body begins to shake, nerves sending bursts of electric pleasure into the pit of your stomach and lifting your heels off the ground slightly; matty smacks your ass again, a warning for you to keep still so he can finish you off properly, and you whimper. “need to cum, daddy, please, please. so fucking close, so so fucking close. can i?”

matty doesn't answer, but his mouth continues its efforts - your grasp on reality isn't too great at the minute, but you're pretty sure he gets even wilder, even more enthusiastic, licking up past your cunt and frantically sucking your clit in his determination to get you off. and he fucking loves it; in the end, it's the vibrations from him moaning into you that actually tip you over the edge, kinetic energy coursing back through your nervous system as you cry out. “yeah, yeah, daddy, m'cumming. oh, fuck me fuck me fuck me, please, so good, so fucking good.”

amidst your babbling and the orgasm still ebbing from your body, you're vaguely aware of matty pulling away from you, one hand leaving your ass as he pulls himself to stand - that changes about a second later, though, when he slides into you without warning and just thrusts. you smile breathlessly, cheek smushed into the counter, sighing contentedly. “oh, thank you.”

“so sweet for me, princess,” matty laughs breathily, his tender tone at odds with the roughness he's fucking you with. “i love you.”

“i love you too,” you whine at a particularly good thrust. “oh, fuck, daddy, please don't stop.”

“wouldn't dream of it, my love,” he presses a kiss to your shoulder blade. “you gonna be a good girl and cum for me again?”

“yes.” you aren't lying - already, your limbs are starting to tremble again.

“yes what?” matty fucks harder into you, hips slapping against your own. “who is it that's making you feel so good, princess?”

you gulp, eyes rolling back into your head from the overwhelming pleasure. “yes, daddy. s'you making me feel good, making me cum.”

the smile in your boyfriend's voice is audible. “that's my girl. c'mere, sweetheart,” matty pulls you up so your back is flush against his chest, still fucking you as he turns your head to look over your shoulder. “give daddy a kiss.”

you oblige eagerly, sloppily kissing him and letting his tongue explore your mouth. throughout it all, his hips don't let up, and the pressure in your stomach grows with every further movement. “m'close again,” you whimper into matty, moaning when you feel his hand slide down the front of your body to your clit. “so close.”

“yeah?” you boyfriend coos against your lips. “want me to make you cum, sweet girl?”

the pleasure is blinding, your vision literally blurring as you reach breaking point. “please, daddy.”

matty smiles, fingers frantic between your thighs. “go on then.”

his lips attach themselves to your neck as you tip your head back onto his shoulder, orgasm hitting you like a freight train for the second time in minutes. you wail a garbled mixture of your boyfriend's name and the nickname only you call him, throwing an arm back around his neck to keep him close while he fucks you as best he can through your climax, given that you're clenching so tightly around his dick.

once the aftershocks subside, you flop forward; matty stops you from clattering against the counter by wrapping an arm around your stomach and lowering you gently, hips faltering as he chases his own release. “shhh, baby, i know,” he murmurs, hand returning home to your hip and softly rubbing patterns into the skin. “so good, so perfect for daddy, princess. want me to fill you up?”

turning your face on the cold wood, you smile at him, completely fucked out - he doesn't look any better, you note, sweaty and tired and red and maybe the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. “mhmm,” you nod slowly. “love you.”

“i love you, so much - oh, fuck, sweetheart,” matty spills inside you with a groan, resting his forehead against your back as he slows to a stop. you can feel him smiling into you. “christ, i'm fucking knackered - well, actually,” pulling out of you with a hiss and a hushed “sorry, baby”, matty turns and lifts you to sit on the counter, angling your hips just so to avoid creating more of a mess. “reckon i'm awake enough to clean you up before bed, if you like.”

you card your fingers through his hair. “you really do so much for me. s'amazing.”

he shrugs. “what can i say? i love you.”

smiling, you pull him in for a hug. “i love you too. come on, let's go and clean up.”

#mads muses #mads does writing #d word matty #matty healy fic #matty healy smut #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty x reader #matty healy x reader

[buttercup--bee]

Pretty as a vine; sweet as a grape - Sneak Peak

Notes: There are no real warnings, other than this is an unedited intro to the sex pollen two part fic I'm releasing next mid-week. I hope it's okay! Pairing: Cooper Howard/Lucy MaClean Warning(s): Swearing; Implications of Child Abduction; more to come

One might think that he has full sway in what happens while they travel together, as for once, he’s being nice enough to share information. He doesn’t work well with others, let alone keep them alive when it's all said and done. Cooper usually takes his caps from sales or bounty’s. And he already tried the former on MaClean. 

So it’s a wonder he puts up with her deviations at all. Sometimes it’s to help someone, other times it's to explore. 

Most times it’s a waste of daylight. 

He thinks on this now, glaring at the sun steeped beneath an array of violet, orange, and periwinkle. The clouds are capped in gold, shafts of light desperate to pour over the wasteland. They should have made camp an hour ago, and instead they’re tracking some lady’s missing kid. 

The circumstances in which he caves are almost always the same. And this is no different. A local asks Lucy for help, she agrees, he disagrees; it always comes to a head when their knowledge expands upon how the missing item is important, or God forbid, a person is missing. 

Had it been a man or cat or some random family heirloom, Cooper would have sent her packing on her own. But of course, potential life means Lucy has to fit herself into the puzzle and solve it. Whether that absorbs his day too or not doesn’t seem to bother her at all.

Little miss morality has to hold the high ground and smother ethics in his face until he can’t do anything but give in and watch her back—it's a broken system. 

“Here!” Lucy jogs ahead of him, her pip-boy praising her with a jingle upon reaching her destination. 

Vault (#) glowers at them from over the tumultuous desert; darkened steel is lost to vines thicker than his forearm, rich in an assortment of cerulean, egg-white, magenta, and sprawling masses of black roots. It unfurls from the vaults gaping cavern with no obstruction. 

Whatever plantlife this is, it isn’t native to the Mojave. Cooper takes another step, his peripheral caught on the slight thrum the plant seems to emanate. 

There’s no way the kid went in willingly, right? This has to be a set up. The whole scene practically screams ‘death this way’. As far as the Ghoul is concerned, no child of the wastes is dumb enough to wander from home and into the clutches of uncharted territory. Not any with a brain.

His gut churns, his skin taut in warning, and his fingers flex beside his belt before he gathers himself in a single breath. This ain’t right.

Lucy is only a little ways ahead of him, beguiled by the abstract flora at her feet. 

When she looks at him, it's confidence that glimmers in her doe-eyes. “Okey Dokey,” with a slight nod, she readies her flashlight and pistol. Cooper’s brow rises before a word can escape him, and when one eventually does, it isn’t in practice or conscious. 

It just comes out. 

“Don’t.”

Lucy frowns. It’s small, barely lasts a second, “We already agreed–”

“Something’s not right,” he grunts, patience already worn thin, “either we leave together or I leave alone. It’s up t’ you, sweetheart.”

Many emotions fall over Lucy's complexion. Annoyance, concern, her expression is wide and open and full of disappointment. “You said you’d watch my back, you said since it was a little kid–”

“There is no lil’ kid.” Cooper’s tone is short, both with agitation and refusal to be made a fool. 

“You think Alice would lie ab–”

“Who?”

“The woman who hired us,” Lucy’s voice is high, disbelief feathered beneath shock and mild bemusement, “how do you not remember that?” 

He grunts, but it’s all she receives as an answer. After a moment, Lucy adds, “She paid us up front. Why do that if you’re going to lie or kill someone?” She's more amused than displeased as her reasons continue to flow. She meets his gaze for a time, longer than he thought her capable of, until his own furrows and conveniently, the fauna is interesting again.

The vault dweller isn’t wrong, he’ll admit that. But instinct has kept him alive all these years, and he’s more obliged to listen to it than some stranger squalling about offspring she had no evidence of. 

Cooper coughs, clasping to his belt tighter with the tilt of his hips when he recalls, “Half. She paid us half.”

A beat passes. Then another. He lets the insinuation hang between them until it's thick enough to drown in.

“What are you implying?”

He threw a line, she bit, now all he had to do was reel her in. Make her see sense. Whether it’s a raider's way to lure unsuspecting victims, a Vault-tec experiment gone wrong, or a vacant chamber—he didn't care. Cooper wasn't about to go and risk his life for two hundred caps and a boy he's never seen.

Despite himself, it turns out he would much rather Lucy leave with him, than allow her to fumble such an obvious trap. It’s unlike Cooper to care—if he could name it that. Perhaps there is an attachment, a pull, something just under the brittle surface they call acquaintanceship. Nothing he’s looked too far into. If he does, Cooper is unsure of where it will lead.

The fresh finger sewn to his hand itches, tingles, a fluttering reminder of where he got it; Cooper clenches his hand so tight it burns. 

“There is no kid,” he hisses, lurching forward as if to make his point, “no more caps, no helpin’ some lost soul—that’s a death sentence, and you’d be wise to leave wit’ me.”

At first, the silence is deafening. Both edge on what else left there is to say, as Lucy fiddles with the notch of her flashlight. Her eyes dart back from the path they came, the vault, and Cooper himself. 

Thankfully, a decision is made without any more pushback. 

He's almost prideful, the way she takes one, two, three steps towards his direction—

"Mommy!" A riptide of horror settles against Lucy's trigger finger, spinning on her heel so fast, it gives him whiplash. "Mommy, I'm hurt!"

Lucy is gone, sprinting inside the second Cooper reaches for her. 

It delays him, the shock in how fast she had evaded his grip. Long enough for him to think about whether or not he goes after her.  His finger itches again, a gentle warmth crawls up his arm when it flexes, more so when the weight of his firearm rests against it. 

Dogmeat finally reminds the ghoul of her presence, whining in the direction of Lucy's trail.

"Fuckin' hell," he grunts, cracking his neck alongside his saunter, "this is why I work alone."

----

Again, this is unedited and I'm really sorry if there's any terrible mistakes! I promise it'll be much better post-release next week! I also didn't want to give too much away. Thank you!

#fallout #ghoulcy #vaultghoul #lucy maclean x cooper howard #cooper howard x lucy maclean #the ghoul #lucy maclean #cooper howard

[vacayisland]

@!; I love you. Floyd / Reader

"Summary"! "I love you" I always had and I always do. "Tags"! Floyd's POV. angst/hurt. This was more experimental in my writing so please enjoy and I accept any feedback you might have <3

@storydays @chamille-trash @valvalentine69

Floyd stood in the crowd, surrounded by a hundred faces that he did not know. He stood under the starlight sky, silent and deserted as others' cheers flooded his ears and made him deaf. The lights from the stars, which could not shine as brightly as you, drowned his vision and made him blind. His voice was all but silent. His spirit all but drained as he stood there, not one with a crowd yet a husk in a body that he no longer knew was his. With a mind that tried to barricade the disappearance that tried to flood out in a crowd of faces he did not know. Floyd stood upon the crowd of faces that blurred, his eyes fixated not on them nor on you; For you shined too brightly for him to bear, too brightly for him to hold, too brightly for him to keep. Floyd stood upon the crowd of faces that didn’t care as the stars smiled down upon him with a taunting grin, a sickening grin that made his stomach heave and quelch. Floyd stood upon the crowd of blank faces, all screaming and shouting the name of a lover that couldn’t be, trying to remember how he ended up in this crowd. In this place, in this time, in this situation. His brain tried to search for an answer, any sort of sign from the sinister stars that did not help yet laughed upon his misfortune why? Why! He wanted to scream and cry out, shout until he could no longer do so, until he was hoarse and dead. Why did it have to be you, the one who was born with the kiss of the sun, who would rival the stars above you and make them envious, who could be everything and nothing at once. Who was he compared to you?

“Floyd this is madness!” Branch had cried to him once as he followed him, trying to convince him to change his mind, go back on the words he had just spoken, anything other than this. Other than this cruel fate. This cruel, cruel fate that someone should not bare let alone Floyd who has done so much for you! Yet Floyd would not listen, his heart set on the path he had chosen knowing it was the best for you; The best for a star that should not follow another that did not burn as brightly as you, who’s light had been dimmed far beyond repair. You deserved to dance with those who were like you, who burned as bright as you and who could dance alongside you without this gut stabbing remorse for even being near. No, no…. You shouldn’t be stuck with someone who is so burnt out that they will weigh you down, drown you until you're extinguished like a light that had never shone in the first place when you were the brightest of all. No, no… Floyd could possibly not do that to you. Never to you. For you were the light that lit his flame, burned his heart, and awakened his days. For you were the one dancing around his head, countlessly, as you sang songs above a love that Floyd desired for you and only you. A love he could not push you through. A love he could not burden you with, so what else could he have done other than to say… goodbye? “I wish we were to other people,” You used to dreamily say to Floyd upon summer nights, out on the cold green grass as fireflies danced around your heads like stars who had descended to grace you and only you. Never him, he didn’t deserve such beauty. “I wish we didn’t have to say goodbye, I wished I could stay by your side.” You had told Floyd with the dreamist of sighs, a smile upon your face that made him forget about the dancing stars and the moonlight sky. God you looked so beautiful tonight that it hurt Floyd, it hurt him so much. Countless men tried chasing you down, tried asking for your hand, tried to be yours and yet Floyd had always taken your attention.

Selfish; Is what chastised him in his mind as he watched your love-struck eyes mingle with his that did not deserve to gaze upon your beauty. Beauty that Floyd could not describe; could not justify into words as it left his mouth dry. You wished that you both were different people, in a different time, at a different place, but why? Floyd could never understand the reason why your heart burned like his for a man who could not live next to you. For a man who had fallen from grace and from heaven while you still danced above, singing with all that heaven has given you to bless the ears of this selfish, selfish man in front of you. “I do not wish the same,” Floyd had told you, his words coxed in honey to make you believe that his heart did not yearn as well for this time, that his heart did not beg for you to be with him constantly. Selfish, crude, monster-ish. The words rang in his head, banging against the walls and stabbing him through the heart over and over until he felt it bleed. Selfish. He had made you cry that night, tears running down your flushed cheeks like impure stains that should not have been near you. He shouldn’t have made you cry, you didn’t deserve to cry, yet he did so anyway. What a crude man, what a monstrous man to make a star cry.

To make you cry hurt Floyd more than denying his heart, which was broken and torn into pieces as he watched you leave with such disdain and despair that he was sure someone else could repair. Not him, never him; a selfish greedy man that stood upon the summer grass, who stood upon a crowd full of people he didn’t know, who once stood next to you and your heavenly throne. Selfish. Is a word Floyd never used lightly and he would be damned if he gave himself leeway this time, any time. Never has Floyd ever been so disgusted with himself like he had when he was around you, but it was never your fault; It could never be your fault, it was his own. A burden he carried that weighed him down until he could no longer stand it, thrashing about for a way to escape. For a way to stop the pain. Away. Away from you and away from what you two had become. Never again does he want to taint you with who he has become; diminished, a star with no light. How could you have ever stand being close to someone who could never burn as bright. And then he watched as he took your flame but all for a short time. You cried and screamed, shouting with frightening might one night, “You never loved me… You knew that I loved you and you used that!” Your brightness was now a flame, anger burned instead of beauty and Floyd was scared that he had soiled who you once were. “No,” He had barely croaked out, trying to watch his tone. Yet it was useless as your words were like a scorching stone. They bruised his hair, burned him with bruises too much to bare, and he sunk to the floor in despair. For he loved you so, yet knew you should never know. And now he stood, in a pit in his own despair, within a crowd with faces that could never compare. And you, you stood upon the stage with light so fair. And oh he loved you so, he would repeat the phrase a dozen or so times in his head for the only answer to ring back dead. For you had given him your heart, and he yours. “Be careful,” He had told you oh so long ago, “As you walk home.” For since that night, you had his heart captured and chained and you always gave it a start. For since that night, he knew who he loved and no one, yes no one, could ever replace that feeling he held all so dear. And you had been careful, just as he said. You had held onto his heart with the utmost care, with the utmost importance, and with the utmost love. You were tender and soft, you fed him love. Love that was simple and love that was fair, love that was sweet and could not compare. Love that was soft, and that will forever be there. Forever be there in the corners of his mind. Forever be there, as the stars turn him blind. He would never hope for this fate for you, as it’s too cruel to bear. He would hope you would forget about him and let time head its course, and like the stars patch the wound he had embedded upon your heart. He hoped you didn’t search for his face among the crowd or call out his name in the darkest of night. For you would see only a shadow and gain no response back and it would sully your heart, and he was sure it would make you sad.

Selfish.

The word came back to him, one last time, as he slowly existed the crowd of nameless faces, upon a dark summer night. He slowly backed away from his final chance to mend the heart you had gave to him, now broken and bruised and torn and cut. His final chance to make things right to tell you how much you’re loved.

“I love you, …” Would be the words that died on his lips that night, along with his heart and diminished light.

“I love you” Were the words he wanted to say as he wrapped you in a hug, as he hid you from the pain.

“I love you”, Never again would he burden you with the possibility of those words. For he was not the one to tell you them, he could not claim your heart.

I love you. I love you. I love you. I really do. For my heart was always yours, and your heart was always mine. We were stars, you see, at the start of the world. We were atoms next to each other, always compelled by force. I love you, I love you, oh I love you so. Please stay with me, let us make our hearts whole. I love you, I love you, I love you more… but the words died from his lips before he could even give them a start, a chance, a second of thought.

Maybe, if things were different.

Maybe in another life, if we were different people. Maybe you would be me and maybe I would be you. Maybe we would be lovers, maybe even friends. In every universe I’m sure I will find you and cure your ills.

Maybe I’ll finally get the courage to mend my weeping heart. Maybe I’ll finally get the courage to face the brightest star.

Making a wish is something I had told you to do before, “Maybe a wish my love,” I had said with a tease. Yet the shooting star had shot out too quickly, leaving you with a wishing dream. And now maybe it’s my time to look upon a shooting star and wish to tell you the words that were stuck in my heart:

“I love you,” Without a frightful start. Full and truly, with my whole chest and heart;

“I love you.” I always had and I always do. I was just too scared to tell you.

.ᐟ this work is published and owned by @vacayisland. please do not plagiarize, copy, or steal this work; like, reblogs, and saves are appreciated :D

#floyd trolls x reader #floyd x reader #brozone x reader #trolls band together #trolls fandom #trolls 3 #trolls dreamworks #trolls #brozone #dreamworks trolls #floyd trolls #trolls floyd

[little-miss-vader]

Unbreakable Bonds

Pairing: Master!AnakinxPadawan!Reader

Summary: A master is supposed to care deeply for his Padawan… Right?

Word count: 3.8K

A/N: IMPORTANT: Anakin is 26 in this one. You’re 21. Okay? Okay. First. Sorry for disappearing! I’m fine and thank you so much for all the kind words in my inbox they meant the world to me. I just got uninspired for writing and burnt out from work. Second. I genuinely thought this was way longer than it is. Uhhhhh it’s a two parter. Maybe a three. No promises. Can y’all tell this is my fav trope? But i missed u guys 🫶🏼 lazy ending warning i didn’t wanna keep going i wanted to split it in two.

The sounds of the 501st yelling around you was not what you expected to wake up to. The men of the battalion had set up a camp for everybody on the remote planet you’d landed on in the Outer Rim the night before because the walk had been far too long to do in one stretch. You couldn’t even remember what the planet was called. You just knew your Master was assigned to a mission here and that meant you were assigned to it as well.

You shot out of your sleeping bag when you heard blaster shots above head. One flew through your tent, barely even a foot away from you. Your hand reached for your lightsaber on the ground and it flew into your grip as you ran through the flimsy tent door.

The bright suns of the desert planet blinded you for a moment and you adjusted your eyes before whipping your head toward all the commotion.

“They’re flanking left!” You heard Fives yell. You ran over to where you saw Anakin using a rock as cover.

“Master, why didn’t you wake me?” You yelled over the sounds of blaster fire and explosions with wide eyes. He smiled at you, a smile that didn’t aid your panic.

“Well good morning, Princess. Sleep well?” He always had time for jokes, even in an ambush. You groaned and ducked further down when you felt a blaster shot coming directly at you. “If you didn’t already notice. We’ve been ambushed, but I have a plan.” He finished and you stared at him with a blank expression.

“What would that be, Master?” You said wearily, you were preparing yourself to hear what could be considered by most to be an insane string of words in response to your question. To you though, it would be a normal Anakin thing to say. The 501st was doing a fantastic job at keeping them at bay for the short duration of your conversation but instead of responding, Anakin simply smiled before running right at the blaster shots, blocking them as if the ambush meant nothing to him.

The five year difference in your ages didn’t seem to matter. You tended to act and feel like the older one most days. It was a shame when your previous Master died, you cried in your room for days when the news arrived and you still flinched when you heard his name, it gave the council pretty much no choice but to put you under Anakin’s charge until you finished your training and completed your trials.

Regardless of who was more mature, you followed him blindly. The knowledge that you could trust him not to get you killed at the very minimum was reason enough to stay right on his heel. He was running toward a tank that was firing explosives at your camp. You tried to take deep breaths to calm yourself when he climbed up on top of it, dodging whatever came his way in the process. You followed him, doing the best you could with what you had been taught.

You stood with him on top of the tank and he used his lightsaber to cut the locked door open. It dropped to the floor of the small space inside the tank, crushing a battle droid in the process. Anakin jumped down to the bottom and you opted for climbing down the ladder, following him closely. He took the second battle droids head off with one swing of his lightsaber and took the piloting chair when the droid fell to the ground. You stood watch behind him, in case anybody came in behind the two of you.

With an aggressive turn to the handles that controlled the top half of the machine, Anakin turned the tanks artillery around causing your body to jostle around. You caught your footing and within moments, most of the battle droids around you became victim to the explosives flying out of the tank.

You heard something above head and your eyes caught sight of a droid holding a blaster toward you. You expected the thing to climb down before it blasted but when it shot at you from its vantage point you stumbled back with a stagger. Using a relatively easy Force ability, you pushed it off the tank and it landed on the ground. The tank moved as if it had gone over a bump and you safely assumed that you had done your job at getting rid of the droid.

“What was that?” He called over his shoulder and you looked down at your arm where your previously dry robe now had a small, blood-soaked patch.

“Nothing. I took care of it.” You replied with no hesitation. You heard the commotion eventually come to an end and Anakin let the 501st finish off the few remaining droids before getting up out of his seat.

“Thanks for trusting me, Y/N.” He said as he walked by you in the dimly lit space. You placed your lightsaber on your hip and followed him as he climbed up and out of the tank. You winced every time you pulled yourself up the ladder with your injured arm but you still got to the top fairly quickly. Anakin hopped down to the ground and held his hand out to help you. His eyes trailed to your stained robe as you reached your own hand to meet his.

Anakin pulled you down with both haste and caution. His eyebrows furrowed as he examined your wound as best as he could and you stared at him with an expression that screamed silent apologies.

“I’m sorry. I misread the situation and it shot me-“ You started and he didn’t let you finish.

“Next time I check in on you. Tell me the truth.” He spoke sternly as he guided you back to what was left of the camp. You closed your eyes for a moment, beating yourself up for not speaking up.

“I didn’t want to distract you.” You spoke softly and he scoffed.

“You know what’s worse than distracting me? Letting me turn around to see you bled out on the ground.” He stopped walking and his hand still held a firm grip on your uninjured bicep. Your eyes watched your shoes, feeling Anakin’s gaze bore into you.

“Never lie to me again. Mistakes happen, don’t let them fester.” Anakin’s voice was softer now. He let go of your arm and he continued walking before you could apologize again.

Your head hung low as you approached the men who fought valiantly for your Master; not because you were embarrassed, but because you couldn’t keep your head up. You felt your body begin to lose stability and you looked at your arm again, the patch had become almost the entire lower half of your arm and you were beginning to feel the pain. The adrenaline wouldn’t bring you much further and you knew it.

You opened your mouth to speak but you began to see small black dots in your vision. Your head spun slowly and your eyes fell shut. You had very little control over where you dropped, but you felt the impact right before you blacked out and you knew it was going to leave a bruise or two.

You woke up to see the interior of Anakin’s star fighter. You blinked slowly, wincing in pain. You looked down at your arm, it was dressed professionally and your sleeve had been cut off, likely to access the wound without undressing you.

“Keep still. You’re still healing.” A voice rang through the room and you turned your head to find the source. You winced when the movement caused your wound to burn. You heard Anakin sigh and stand up. He stood over you, eyebrows knitted in concern with his arms crossed over his chest.

“What part of ‘tell me if you’re not okay’ do you not understand?” He said sternly. You watched his eyes analyze your dressings from afar and you let out a sigh of your own, your voice sounded cracked and dry.

“I’m sorry-“ You started. Anakin held a hand up, signalling for you to stop speaking. His head angled itself away from you and he took a deep breath with his eyes shut. The way he always did when he had to calm down.

“I care about you.” He said after a moment of silence as he let his hand drop to his side, his voice sounded softer again. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you died under my charge. Do you understand?” He gazed at you, looking for a sign that you did in fact, understand. You nodded.

“Good.” He pulled his chair over by the small cot you were laying on and sat down. “How’s it feeling?” He asked, eyebrows furrowing with concern.

You looked at the wound with a shrug. “Could have been worse.” You seethed causing him to deepen the lines in his face, resting his hand on your arm.

“Just… Rest. That’s all you can do until we get to Coruscant.” He looked at you for a moment before getting up, presumably to fly the ship. You leaned back against the pillow and shut your eyes, letting sleep take over you. All you heard before sleep took over your body were the four words he let slip earlier. They echoed in your head as you lulled away.

“I care about you.”

You didn’t dream. At least you thought you didn’t. It was a shock to you when in your slumber, your mind filled with images of your own master smiling, laughing, and holding you. Soft words were whispered behind the backs of the council. His hand reaching for yours to squeeze it because he knew you were nervous. Kisses placed on foreheads and lingering touches were halted when you heard the 501st clanging around beyond your minds eye. In the cockpit on Anakin’s ship. Your eyes snapped open and you immediately closed them again, pretending to stay asleep and trying to grasp what the hell your brain was doing.

By the time the ship arrived on Coruscant, you’d rested and the bacta-bag wrapped around your arm seemed to have worked wonders on you. You opened your eyes to Anakin shaking you softly and the sound of his voice made a small part of you fill with an unexpected warmth.

“I’ll deal with the Council by myself, let me get you to your apartment first.” He said when you finally sat up. He rested a gentle hand on the back of your waist and you felt tingles over your entire back from the contact. The feeling shocked you, causing you to clear your throat to suppress a gasp. Anakin guided you off the bed and helped you off the bridge and onto the landing pad of your balcony.

“Are they angry?” You asked with a look toward him. He smiled, the kind of smile he held on his face when he had a joke in mind.

“They’re not allowed to feel angry remember?” He muttered humorously and you cracked a half smile. “Don’t worry about them.” He finished as he sat you down on your couch.

“Master, I really am sorry.” You spoke as he mindlessly placed the throw blanket from the back of the couch over your legs. Anakin shook his head.

“Really, Y/N. I’m just glad you’re alive.” He said, settling down on the couch beside your legs. His forearms rested over his knees and he clasped his hands between them. You looked at him for longer than you thought appropriate. He looked tired and it took everything in you not to reach out and place your hand on his cheek.

He cared about you. He said it himself. Surely it was the same kind of care every Master had for their Padawan.

But it didn’t feel that way when he looked at you now.

You grappled with your thoughts, convincing yourself you were imagining things, that it was delusion. You almost didn’t hear him speak when he did.

“I almost lost you today.” Anakin said sternly. “I don’t have the time between all my meetings for a funeral, believe me.” He chuckled humourlessly.

“But you didn’t.” You shrugged and played with the frayed edge of the blanket over your legs. He shot you a look that made you smile and he followed with a chuckle. His hair pushed further into his face as he shook his down turned head.

A silence crept its way between the two of you and you watched his every move. You couldn’t explain the feeling that arose every time he smiled at you. It was like a switch had flipped and you desperately tried to figure out a way to flip it back while you watched him place his hands on his knees to push himself to his feet with a sigh. You gnawed at the skin inside your cheek as you watched him.

When he finally looked at you again, your mouth opened to say something, but it shut just as fast. You couldn’t trust your own words right now. Not with the way you were feeling. His lips thinned as he glanced at your arm again and he cleared his throat.

“Rest. I’m leaving you with C3-PO. He’ll help you get back on your feet so we can get back to our job.” He said, not bothering to look at you. You tried to ignore the pang of disappointment you felt at that. You gave him a nod as he retreated to his ship, leaving you with nothing more than a small nod in return.

You worked your jaw as he ascended and sped off. With a swift movement you pushed the blanket off your legs and stood. You felt fine, sure maybe a little bit weak from the blood loss but him calling in a babysitter for you felt unnecessary. You channeled your confusing emotions into annoyance at his childlike treatment of you. Because that seemed healthy.

As you paced your living room you swung your arm around gently to test how mobile you were. It seemed alright, nothing to pause missions or call reinforcements in for. You planned to give him a mouthful when he came back, you practiced your speech out loud as you walked around your apartment.

~•~•~•~

Anakin left yet another long winded meeting with a sigh, closing the door behind him as he left the council chambers. The meetings were a lot more tedious when he didn’t have Y/N with him. She tended to soften the blows, her charm and kindness carried them through plenty of scoldings and lectures from the council. He ran a hand through his hair as he stalked the busy hallways of the Temple.

All he could think of was how dumb he’d been. How blind he was to her struggle. If he’d just taken one second longer to check on her, she wouldn’t have that nasty bruise on the side of her face from the fall. Maybe if he’d kept a better eye on her she wouldn’t have gotten hit with the blaster at all.

Not only did he have to deal with the guilt of letting her get hurt, it was only a matter of time before he finally faced the reality of his feelings toward her. He knew it was coming, he couldn’t hold it back much longer. It already pained him immensely to hide it before she got hurt. Now, the very real fact was, he could misstep once and lose her forever. That dwelled on him and he wouldn’t let anymore time go on without telling her he cared for her in a way a Master shouldn’t care for their Padawan.

He sighed again, turning a corner and making for his speeder that was parked in the corner of the hangar. He’d give her a choice, of course. He’d tell her it was fine if she wanted to ask the council to place her with somebody else. He’d even go as far as push for her trials to be done quicker if it meant she could leave his charge if this all made her uncomfortable. He had every aspect planned but he needed to do it. If not now it would eat him alive forever, possibly until it was too late. He shook the thought from his head as he sped back to her house.

He arrived, later than he wanted, but with flowers and her favourite fruit. It showed he paid attention, at least in his mind. As if any of that would matter if she rejected him.

None of this was right, nor okay. He knew this all too well. He knew exactly what he was doing here and he’d weighed out all the pros and all the cons. Pros, he might have her. Cons, the Code. The damned Code.

He ruffled his hair nervously before taking one final deep breath and exiting his speeder. He caught sight of her pacing around and his eyebrows furrowed. 3PO intersected his path.

“Master Anakin, I fear Miss Y/N has lost it.” He said nervously. Anakin quirked a brow, smirking at the girl pacing her apartment and mouthing things.

“I’ll be the judge of that, thanks 3PO. Stay here.” He muttered as he pushed past the droids and left them on the balcony.

With a swift hand motion, Anakin opened her balcony door and placed her gifts on the table next to him. It wasn’t long before Y/N turned to face him during her paces.

~•~•~•~

“You. What have I done to lead you to believe that I would need not one, but two damned babysitters when I’m realistically only mildly hurt- What’s that?” You stopped in your tracks as you pointed to the flowers on the table. Your eyes landed back on Anakin where he leaned his shoulder against the door frame with his arms crossed.

He gave you a smile and you couldn’t seem to remember where you were in your speech. In fact, you couldn’t remember the speech at all.

“A gift. For you. I guess it’s more of an apology now though, isn’t it? Since you’re upset at me.” He shrugged, looking down at the bouquet and back at you.

“I’m not upset.” You shrugged, crossing your own arms as you took a few steps toward him. Your eyes fixated on him, you didn’t even care about the gift.

“Is that so? I could have sworn..” He trailed and you shook your head.

“Not upset. Glad you’re here.” You muttered and he chuckled as you approached him to snatch up the flowers and fruit to place them their respective places in a home.

“Right.” He nodded, that crooked smile never leaving his face. You didn’t even have to look at him to know what he looked like right now. You muttered something in agreement as you filled a vase with water and began cutting the stems. After a few moments of letting you arrange the flowers, Anakin rounded the counter to stand beside you and cleared his throat. Your breath caught as you looked up at him.

“You feel it too don’t you?” He asked quietly, leaning against the edge of your counter as your hands worked away at the flowers. His words gave you pause, and you placed the flowers neatly in the vase before sliding it to the middle of the counter.

“Feel what?” You questioned, barely looking away from your finishing touches on the arranged bouquet before you grabbed a cutting board for the fruit. His hand rested over yours where you held the board, causing you to look at him again. You studied his features and somehow you knew. You knew exactly what he was talking about, what he was eluding to. Your heart raced as you watched his eyes scan your face, looking at every inch of you to gauge your emotions.

“Don’t make me say it, Y/N. Just tell me if you want it as badly as I do..” His voice was barely above a whisper. Your eyes fell shut for a moment and you took a breath, trying to steady your thoughts. To see reason.

“Say it.” You replied without thinking.

Anakin sighed. “I care about you far more than what would be considered normal… Or.. Correct. In the eyes of the Jedi.” He said, his mouth formed a thin line as he gauged your response.

You stared at him, long and hard. You couldn’t help but feel like this was supposed to happen, that it was always going to happen, that nothing could have stopped it.

“I care about you too, Anakin. But-“

“Show me.” He breathed.

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Show you what?” You asked, already knowing the answer. It was always like this. You were always one step ahead of each other. Which made this conversation feel all the more tedious.

“Show me how much you care. No buts. Use your feelings.” He said, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your breath shuddered again as you placed your hands on the counter next to him and pushed yourself up toward him. Your eyes watched his flutter shut and you followed suit before placing your lips against his.

You melted into him when his hands circled your waist, bringing you directly in front of himself and a small sigh left your lips between kisses. It felt perfect. It felt right. Fated, even. His warm hands sent shivers through you and you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself closer.

When you finally broke the kiss, he almost chased you before retreating and placing his forehead against yours. His heavy breaths matched your own and your eyes finally opened to see blue hues looking back at you.

“Well. Shit.” You whispered and he chuckled. “What now?” You asked.

“I don’t know.” He said quietly. “I know I’m screwed if you change your mind though.” He finished with a cocky smile.

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