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draconic-ichor · 2 months

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The Cat, The Sun, and The Moon

Fnaf fanfic

Sun/moon x female oc

Part 7

Warnings: strong language, sexual themes, brief mentions of medication/sickness/mucus, hand kink, vaginal fingering, Masturbation, brief mention of bugs

Summary: As Tabitha heals from her chest infection there’s a shift in her relationship with her two animatronic roommates…

Feedback appreciated, 18+. We finally at the smut chapter!

With the antibiotics, Tabby improved drastically over the next week. The boys doted on her around the clock, keeping her on a strict schedule of food and sleep. She noticed that they had started being much more handsy, petting her or simply touching an arm or leg whenever they could.

Besides touches, the boys started displaying little acts of courtship as well; mostly bringing tiny gifts or doing acts of service. Sun ramped up the pampering while Moon searched around for hidden treasures, while they both made artwork for her.

Tabby woke from a late nap by Moon crawling onto the bed. She rubbed her eyes, yawning.

Moon eagerly held out his hand to her, smile spanning his faceplate.

She blinked, looking into his palm curiously. Her body tensed: there was a large dead bug in his hand.

“Jesus!” She cursed, waking up fully.

Moon cocked his head, offering out the little prize like a proud cat.

“T-Thank you…for killing it.” Tabby managed, backpedaling to mask her initial shock.

He made expectant movements, smile faltering a bit.

She wilted, steeling herself before carefully picking up the insect, depositing it on the nightstand for later disposal.

Moon beamed, coming closer to cuddle her. He made a contented purring rasp from his voicebox, faceplate nuzzling into her side.

Success!

Tabitha never connected the dots, the animatronics keeping up the shenanigans all the while.

She didn’t know they were constantly replaying her words through their minds like a mantra echoing through their whole being.

Even when I’m not sick…I’ll love you.

I’ll love you.

I’ll love you…

By day ten she was well enough to return to work, the only lingering symptom hacking up mucus. Sun made comments about being a good house husband for her, his smile widening at her blush the statement brought.

“What if I get takeout and we watch a movie tonight?” Tabby offered, trying to change the subject, “To celebrate, you know?”

“Tired of soup?” Sun asked, amused.

“Well…” she wilted, adding quickly, “It’s not that it’s bad!”

Sun tilted his head, smiling mischievously, “Don’t check your thermos I packed then.”

“Is…Is it soup?” She asked worriedly.

When he looked away, smile widening, she feigned distress.

“Sun! Sun, is it soup?”

He started to crack, turning away as giggling bubbled from his speaker.

“Oh God, Sun!” Tabby hammed up, leaning against the counter as if she was starting to faint, “Please, don’t…please have mercy! Not more soup!”

“It’s soup.” He managed, voice eeking out before bursting into laughter.

“NOOOOOOOOOO!” Tabby cried, putting a hand over her face making him lose himself even more.

Over the time she spent at home, Tabby also hooked the boys up with a direct messaging app, it being much easier to use than email. She unwittingly opened herself up to them sending memes and pictures all hours of the day though.

Sun loved animal memes, especially ones with crying cats, while Moon normally sent obscure images with one word text.

Tabby checked her phone on her lunch, finding such things.

She took a selfie of herself with the thermos, sending it to Sun with the text: Soup time.

He sent a picture of a fat kitten back saying: full of soup.

She giggled.

Tabby: What food would you like with the movie?

Sun: Up to you! You’ll be eating it after all

Tabby: I was going to share, it’s a celebration

Sun: PIZZA

Tabby: Remember last time you ate melted cheese???

Sun: *crying cat*

Moon: No cheese.

Tabby: XD

Sun: *even more crying cat pictures*

After work Tabby decided to stop for Chinese takeout, heeding Moon’s earlier warning. She ordered extra, just in case the animatronics wanted to try any. After a period of caution the boys were in full swing of filling lost time with trying foods.

Her mind wandered as she waited, the wanderings not stopping even after entering the apartment.

While Sun greeted her and she placed the multiple small boxes on the counter, her thoughts pooled:

One downside to having a seven foot animatronic, that is constantly aware and active, stalking about the apartment is that there is never really a safe time to take care of more…personal needs. Especially after Tabby realized Moon was a damn near constant observer to her at night. For lack of better terms, she was pent up.

All of their little touches as of late pushing her closer to the edge. It had been a long time since she looked at a person and desired them in such a way. Of course she watched porn or read dirty stories, but she’d become almost jaded to real touch after past traumas.

But these were animatronics!

Just as human as anyone else she’d ever met, and much kinder than most men she crossed paths with.

And their hands…

Her mind roamed.

“Starlight?”

Tabby jumped, realizing Sun had been talking to her.

“Oh sorry…” she blinked, cheeks rosy as she asked, “What was that?”

He tilted his head, single optic narrowing as he gave a calculating eye over her. She avoided his gaze…curious.

“I was just telling you: I got a job!” He announced again, brightening.

“Oh!” Tabby smiled, but asked quickly, “What do you mean, though?”

“Well,” Sun’s rays spun excitedly, “I was asked to be Dakota’s and Donn’s new babysitter! I’ll be able to see them four days a week and it’s all during the day when you will be at work.”

“Sun, that’s so good!” Tabby smiled, happy for him, “That will be so good for you.”

“Yea!” He agreed, “Different apartment for a change of scenery. And she’s even going to pay me! I've never been paid for anything before.”

“That’s really good, Sun.” She reiterated, “Congratulations!”

“Thank you!” Sun’s rays spun again.

They sat closely on the couch, mimicking the pose taken previously when she was repairing their hands. Sun watched the movie, begging for little bites here and there.

Tabby, eating right out of the box to save on dishes, would lift the box up above her for him to steal some. His rays would spin happily every time.

As the food was finished and leftovers put away she relaxed back into him. Sun held her, cuddling becoming a normality since her bout of sickness.

He didn’t breathe, no rise and fall to his chest, no heartbeat when she lay her head back against him. She instead listened to the mechanisms inside, still little sounds of life that echoed from within.

The warmth that radiated from him made all those thoughts worm back into her mind…

Tabby felt a familiar ache, squeezing her legs together in an effort to push down whatever was threatening to bubble up. She tried to focus on the movie, playing with her shirt sleeve a bit nervously.

“Star…” Sun’s voice was a full octave lower than normal, the gravely notes sounding more like a purr as he drew out his words, “Your heart rate is so high.”

Tabby swallowed, face flushing a bit as she took a quick glance over the top of her head.

There was a gleam of knowing in his milky gaze. Sun tilted his head as she quickly looked back at the movie. “You’ve been distracted…” he perceived.

“Just fully getting over being sick.” She lied, hoping he didn’t pick up on it.

Problem was, she was a shit liar.

“No….” He drew out, curling a bit forward to look at her, “This is different.”

“Let me take care of you.” He whispered, a plea to the words. He wanted nothing more than to please her and be everything she needed, in every aspect of her life.

She felt her heartbeat in her throat, almost trembling.

“You do take care of me.” She attempted to stall, stomach making flips.

Sun’s face split into a gentle smile, “In every way.” His voice was suggestive, hand moving to her inner thigh.

Tabby’s face flushed, watching as his hand spanned across her thigh.

Damn his hands were big.

She gulped.

He felt her pulse quicken, detecting her temperature rising as his fingers rubbed small circles into her skin.

“Sunny, you don’t even have the parts.” She pointed out.

“I’m nothing if not creative.” He gave a languid smile, eyes hooded.

All the feelings she’d been trying to ignore bubbled over like a forgotten pot. Her core ached, every nerve crying out for him to continue.

“Okay.” She nodded, swallowing thick spit.

“Are you sure?” He asked again, just to be completely clear.

She nodded more fervently, “Y-Yes.”

The movie was quickly forgotten as his large hand slid higher, fingers softly tracing over her sex through her night shorts. She cursed herself internally, for not wearing panties, feeling moisture already pooling where he explored. The fabric quickly stuck to her skin, allowing him to feel every fold. When his fingers brushed over her rapidly engorging clit she made a little mewl.

She quickly swallowed the sound but it was too late; Sun’s head clicked to the side, calculating her every small detail. He repeated the action with more precision, drawing out another little sound.

The wet fabric was rapidly becoming too much to her over sensitive sex, the roughness scratchy.

Tabby swallowed down a sound of discomfort, Sun’s exploring paused.

“You okay, Starlight?” He asked worriedly.

“Y-Yea.” She managed, sucking in a breath, “Just give me a second.”

He nodded, pulling his hands away.

She let the thumping blood in her clit calm for a moment before leaning more heavily back into Sun to lift her hips off the couch. Tabby shucked off her night shorts, dropping them to the floor before snapping her legs closed against the cool air. Her eyes closed tightly, hearing his rays spin.

He waited for her to relax into him again, letting go of the tension in her legs. When he finally resumed his fondling it was more blundering with his inexperience. All the videos in the world couldn’t have prepared him for the real thing.

“Ummm.” Tabby bit her lip, taking his wrist to guide him to her clit and away from her urethra opening.

Sun leaned back more, taking her with him to allow better access. He pulled his hand away completely, enjoying her little whine.

“Show me.” His voice was gentle. Her blush deepened, realizing he wanted her to touch herself.

Her hand dipped down over her sex, nervous with an audience. Sun tilted his head, ever attentive, watching every little movement. Her middle and index finger began to make tight circles over her clit, a little moan leaving her lips.

Sun’s optics widened, hand placed over her thigh almost possessively. He urged her to open more, letting him see. She gulped, allowing him to spread her legs, a thrill of excitement going up her spine.

He made a sound akin to a purr, hand gliding to overshadow her own. His fingers mimicked the action, her hand falling to the wayside to allow him full access.

His free hand curled into the meat of her fat thigh, keeping her good and open as she tried to tighten a bit. Leaving her clit, to her dismay as her climax waned, he explored down.

“Not here?” He questioned, fingers rimming her cunt.

“I-“ she gulped, “I don’t usually put a-anything in there.” She admitted.

“Never?” He asked, curiosity peaked.

“Well not never.” She gave a nervous giggle, “I've fooled around before with an ex but…that,” she swallowed, “…wasn’t much and was a long time ago.”

“Ah.” He nodded, fingers still circling, “May I?”

His question took a moment to sink in, Tabby giving a little nod, face crimson.

“Let’s play a little game.” His voice was low and soothing, free hand on her other thigh, “If things are good you say ‘green light’ and I’ll keep going. If you need a moment but don’t necessarily want me to stop, you say ‘yellow light’, okay?”

Tabby nodded, feeling his thumb rub delicate circles into the meat of her thigh.

“And if you want me to stop, you say ‘red light’, and I stop. No questions asked.” He tilted his faceplate down to rest on her crown, “Understand the rules.”

She nodded, but when he didn’t react she realized he wanted verbal confirmation. She swallowed down thick spit, core aching, “I understand.”

“Good, good.” He purred, fingers resuming their soft explorations, dipping down.

He heard her breath hitch as he breached her opening, single fingertip. Her body was tight, the single intrusion causing little quivers to run down her thighs.

S: She’s so pretty…

M: Pretty little star.

“G-Green light.” She managed, hand coming up to hold onto his arm. The metal was warm to the touch.

Sun pressed in further, velvety walls of her pussy greeting him. She was so soft, every piece and part. He marveled at how a single finger could reduce her to such a mess already, simply dragging it back and forth causing her to hiccup and moan.

M: More.

S: Patience…we don’t want to scare her off.

Sun soothed his counterpart, hearing a growl for a response. Despite his calm demeanor on the surface he was truthfully using everything he had not to lose himself in his excitement. He needed to be careful, to be patient…

Tabby was rapidly coming to full understanding of just how large Sun’s hands were, the point punctuated with the tap of a second finger asking entrance.

“Green!” She mewled, hips lifting off the couch.

Sun gently slid in the next finger, pausing for her body to adjust.

It burned, walls fluttering around him. She made a little sound, core clenching.

“You’re doing so well.” Sun whispered.

When he started to move again, it was with purpose. He wanted her to fall apart, needed to see her wanton, all for him.

She obliged, the two fingers stretching her and sending waves of pleasure she wasn’t able to give herself.

He listened to every little sound, changing his methods to elicit the most powerful from her. Forever calculating and filing away what made her squirm.

Sun swept over a bundle of nerves deep inside her, making her cry out. Startled, Sun froze.

“Green!” Tabby sobbed, needy, “Green, green.”

He resumed with a vengeance, abusing that newly found place. Pleasure burned from her core, Tabby giving small thrusts up to meet his movements.

His palm brushed her clit and she was done for, thighs pressing together as she came.

Stars burst in her eyes, a sobbing cry leaving her lips. Sun worked her carefully through it, giving little whispers of praise.

Coming back, the movements suddenly became overwhelming. Tears pricked her eyes as she gulped in needed air, managing the word, “Red.”

Sun paused, carefully withdrawing his fingers from her heat. A string of moisture connected them, optics trained on it.

Tabby panted, little quakes of pleasure running down her legs with the aftershocks.

She lay back into him, boneless, as she tried to regain herself. Eyes closed and trembling. It had been a good long while since she had such an intense orgasm.

Sun watched her, feeling proud of himself. His attention shifted to his fingers, still drenched with her release. He brought them closer, separating the digits to marvel at the connecting threads. Ever the creature of curiosity, he very carefully took one finger, running it over his tongue.

“Gross.” Tabby commented from below.

Sun withdrew, caught red handed, rays clinking back and forth a bit.

“It was for science,” he informed.

“Uh-huh.” She didn’t sound convinced, cuddling into him more. Sun shifted so she could be more comfortable, overjoyed to hold her this closely.

Part of her knew they needed to talk about what just occurred, discuss the implications. But that part was far off, fogged in her pleasure-addled mind. Right now sleep tugged her deeper, the pleasant warmth of the animatronic soothing her.

Once she was asleep, Sun carefully reached up and behind himself, pulling the cord on the lamp.

The room was sent into darkness, the soft glow of the tv the only light. They shifted forms: Moon taking the stage.

He glanced down at the slumbering form before him, Tabby cuddled into his chest. Worry spiked through him, hands up as if his touch would provoke her.

S: Just rest….She won’t bite.

Moon slowly relaxed, hands tentatively coming to rest along her back and head. His faceplate tilted to the side as he gently caressed her cheek. Tabby murmured.

Moon gave out a little purr, heart melting. His music box clicked on, playing soft soothing notes.

“Ours.” He hummed, petting her lovingly.

S: Ours.

Sun agreed.

She woke in her bed, tucked in carefully and with a new pair of pajama pants. She felt more rested than she had in weeks, despite the young hour, core feeling both sore and tingly.

Everything from the night before came rushing back in, clenching her thigh together from the memory.

She swallowed…they needed to talk.

Tabby slid open the balcony door, breath coming out in puffs from the cold. She smiled, “You’re a real sunflower now.”

Without moving, Sun commented back, “You are up early.”

“I couldn’t sleep…” she murmured.

Sun’s faceplate tilted towards her now. He searched over her features, eyes calculating.

“Is it me?” He finally asked.

“Well,” she gave a nervous smile, “You are involved.”

He stood, gesturing for them to go back inside.

“Don’t you need to finish charging?” She asked.

“I can catch up later.” He shook his head, “This is more important.”

She followed him in, sitting on the couch as he closed the glass door. He sat beside her, looking worried. They awkwardly avoided eye contact for some moments, silent.

“I feel like we should talk about last night.” She finally blurted out.

Sun nodded, fingers beginning to twitch.

“I know we should, but I don’t know how to talk about shit like this.” She went on, “It’s weird and I don’t know what we are anymore or what’s normal or even ok.”

She started to ramble, stress levels rising.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Sun frowned, taking her hands to calm her. Tabby focused on the contact, taking in a breath.

“First…do you regret it?” Sun asked gently, adding, “We won’t be mad at you.”

She shook her head, not lifting her gaze.

“Okay, that’s something. Did…did you enjoy it?”

“Y-Yes.” She managed.

He tilted his faceplate closer, “Do you care about me?”

She nodded, eyes closed.

“And I care about you.” He softly pressed his forehead to hers, “Can that be enough for now?”

“But-,” she started, voice lilting.

“We want you to be happy…we want to take care of you.” Sun squeezed her hands, voice soft, “Things don’t need names…not yet.”

She sucked in a breath, nodding, “Just give me some time, please?”

“Of course!” Sun agreed, “All the time you need, all the time you need.” He squeezed her hands again, “We’ll be right here.”

#here we gooooooo #tabby has a hand kink #sun can get it #he shoot his shot #the cat the sun and the moon #fnaf sun/moon #fnaf sun/moon x oc #sun x oc #fnaf fanfic

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sassykattery · 2 years

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Harsh Reality, Pt. 4

Hello readers! Welcome to the first part of the "Harsh Reality" finale in my series "Love, Eternal." This part is rather intense in terms of conflict, so, please, as always, check out the cw. This is super long so saddle up!

*As a side note, I am aware that a certain character said something in Lesson 40 (40-22), but I won't spoil it in case some haven't gotten that far. Remember, this is technically an AU, though I try to write the cast as canon as it fits with the storyline I have chosen, or headcanon to fill in the gaps. This is a situation in which there has been a canon decision made by said certain character, however, I want this to go in a different direction. I actually have a headcanon draft made in case anyone was ever curious as to the literary choices I've made and why, and if there's enough interest, I'd be happy to share it.

CW: MC is afab and she/her pronouns are used. MC is poly. mentions of smut scene from Part 3 and pursuit scene from Part 2, arguments, harm to the reader, violence against the reader, use of profane and degrading language: slut, whore, bitch.

Themes: violence, angst, DiavoloxMC, LuciferxMC

Characters: MC="You", Lucifer, Diavolo, all brothers, Barbatos, mentions of Simeon and Solomon.

Minors, ageless blogs DNI

18+ only

Masterlist

Enjoy~

-----

Putting the cursed record back in its sleeve, Lucifer began to select a new one to listen to. He found a soft, classic symphony to play, a benign one that he knew you liked. Humming as he put it on the record player, he then walked over to his bottle of Demonus to pour himself a glass. He swirled the drink in his hand, thinking about you.

He finished the glass and set it down, then proceeded to sit on the sofa. Watching your form on his bed, he patiently waited for you to come back to reality. He had already cleaned up the room, disposing all evidence of what you two did for the last few hours. Even going as far as making sure you had all the necessities on the end table for when you woke up.

His mind wandered to the images that flashed back into his mind. The ones of you running in the house, the ways you looked at him when he punished you, your moans and wails as he fucked you. You satiated a very sadistic part of him, and he would make sure you knew how much he appreciated it when you woke up.

However, you didn't wake up when he thought you would. You remained motionless on his bed, under his covers. He finally sauntered over to you, and he watched how lifeless you looked, but still breathing softly. His brows slightly furrowed in concern, and then maybe he thought he should just let you sleep for the night.

Decidedly, he proceeded with his nighttime routine and afterward crawled into bed beside you. You didn't even move when he draped his arm over you.

Lucifer woke first to find you still in the same position you were in last night. He wanted to give you a good start to your day, so he got up, got dressed in his uniform, and made your coffee the way you liked it.

When closed the door on his way back in, you finally shifted.

"Lucifer..." you called out, barely lifting your head. You started to roll over when the mattress depressed behind you. His fresh cologne along with the coffee made for a wonderful aroma in the room. Turning your head to look behind you, there he was, sitting next to you holding out a cup of coffee.

"I could-" your voice hitched. You coughed and felt the burn of your vocal chords at how hoarse they were. Lucifer immediately frowned.

"Here, drink this, it should help," he offered. You sat up gingerly, wincing at how sore you were, and graciously took the cup. Indeed, the liquid helped soothe your throat.

You cleared your throat and tried again. "I could get used to you bringing me coffee when I wake up," you mused quietly.

"I could agree to such an arrangement," Lucifer whispered, scooting closer to you and putting his warm arm around your back. He brushed a soft kiss on your temple.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, side-eyeing you.

"I'm very tired, and sore. Really, really sore," you replied timidly. Lucifer saw the bruises and bite marks all along your neck and his frown deepened.

"Are... you unhappy?" he inquired, almost afraid of the answer.

"Well, I need to talk to you about that little... game you played," you replied, sounding unenthused. "I was..." your voice trailed off, getting quieter with each syllable, "scared of you..."

He froze. You felt the tension in his whole body, and you knew he was instantaneously beating himself up for what he did now. "To be clear, I enjoyed the sex, you just were a bit... rougher than I expected," you continued.

You two sat there in complete silence, and you finally peered at Lucifer in your peripheral. His head was turned away from yours, his free hand balled up in a fist on his lap.

"Do you wish to leave me then?" is all he said, voice painfully neutral.

"Leave you?" you asked, surprised. He didn't elaborate. "No... I don't," you replied.

"I've broken my promise to not hurt you," he explained.

"Lucifer, I did ask you to be rough. I'm sorry I didn't realize how much that could be until-"

"Don't apologize," he hissed as he shot up from his spot next to you. He stood next to the bed with his back to you, arms crossed. His pride was clearly hurt, and you knew when that happened, he was inconsolable. Your blood pressure spiked with your annoyance, so you stood, still very much naked, and walked over to stand up to your boyfriend.

"I'm allowed to make my own choices, and last night I made a choice. If I wanted it to be different in the moment, I could have said so, but I didn't. I didn't need the safe word. I enjoyed what we did, and I'm glad I had that experience with you, because I trust you enough to give it to me," you snapped. "I'm merely telling you that maybe we need to dial down some of it... for me." you said more quietly. Now your heart hurt.

"I'm sorry that I'm so... fragile," you whispered, looking down at the floor.

Lucifer blinked at you, unsure how you could apologize for such a thing. He held a hand out, offering you a choice. You took it and stepped into his embrace.

"Lucifer, I love you. I don't think I could be without you again," you said into his chest. "I need you in my life," you murmured.

"I need you as well, MC," he whispered into your hair as he softly kissed the top of your head. "And I love you."

It wouldn't be a day in the House of Lamentation if Mammon didn't barge into Lucifer's room right then.

"Oi! We're gonna eat breakfast without ya and - oh sweet hell!" he said as he saw your naked body, hugging Lucifer.

He immediately covered his eyes, his face burning with his blush, but kept yelling, "Let her go right now Lucifer! You filthy demon quit buggin' MC and-"

He didn't get to continue his sentence as Lucifer sidestepped you and beelined for Mammon, literally throwing him out the door, closing it behind the two of them as he yelled at Mammon for barging into his room.

You sighed and looked around. Really, you didn't have any clothes to wear, thanks to Lucifer ripping them to shreds last night. So, you wandered over to his closet and grabbed a plain t-shirt that almost went to your knees when you slipped into it, figuring that was enough to get you from his room to yours. Just in case, you grabbed your blanket and wrapped it around you like a cloak.

Opening the door, you side-stepped the arguing brothers and scurried to your room, leaving them to bicker.

The rest of the morning went on without a hitch, just with Lucifer and Mammon silent at the dining table, to which, any of the brothers would agree that was favorable. Mammon couldn't look you in the eyes after seeing you naked, and worse yet, naked and hugging Lucifer instead of him. He still got to see you naked though.

At RAD, you went about your day as normal, none of the lower demons verbally harassing you like the previous day, but they still made sure to scowl at you while you waltzed through the halls, whispers wherever you went. Though, you did hear rumors about what a certain demon endured at the hands of the Avatars of Sin after bullying you.

There was a Student Council meeting after classes were over, so you made your way to the meeting room and found your seat, though every time you sat it was painful. Diavolo greeted everyone shortly after and went on about the end of final exams and the start of the seasonal break. As you watched him, he seemed to keep looking at you and then quickly looking away. It was typical for him to sneak looks at you and hold your gaze, but it was the way he wanted to look at you but couldn't for some reason. You weren't doing anything out of the ordinary, so you elected to ignore it until later.

After the meeting, Diavolo watched as everyone left, and just as you were about to grab the door as the last one out, he called out to you.

"MC," he said. His voice, you knew, sounded slightly unhappy.

You turned around to see him approaching you. He didn't have his usual big smile for you, so you immediately started panicking. "Walk with me to my office, will you?" he asked. You nodded and away you two went.

As you stepped inside his office, he closed and locked the door behind him. He sat on the sofa, so you joined him, looking at him expectantly.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I feel like I should be asking you that," you replied. "You kept looking at me during the meeting, and for once I wasn't doing anything."

He sighed and reached to undo your RAD uniform jacket and blouse and looked up at you. Nodding, he proceeded, exposing all the bruises, hickies, and bite marks littered across your shoulders, neck, and chest. He stared at them silently, still frowning.

You sighed this time and waited for him to answer.

"You looked like you were in pain today and that's when I noticed these," he stated.

"Diavolo..." you groaned. "It's fine, I'm okay. I... asked for it," you replied sheepishly. He glued his hands to his lap, gripping his knees to keep his cool. "I already told him to dial it down since..." you let the statement hang.

He remained silent, looking incredibly unhappy, at whom you weren't sure.

"How do I explain to you, clearly, that I hate seeing you hurt?" he ground out through his teeth. His eyes shifted to yours, and there was no warmth to be found.

"How is it any different from when you do it?!" you asked, gesturing at your chest.

"I don't enjoy hurting you and I work very hard to make sure that I don't. The marks be damned, do you not realize you wince every time you sit? When you picked up your bag, I saw you struggling to move. You also don't look like you've slept well. Tell me, what else happened?" he argued.

Now it was your turn to frown, clicking your tongue. For the second time today, your patience wore thin between your boyfriends, and it was going to be even more short-lived at this rate. When you stood, you silently put your uniform back together and headed to the door, leaving your prince behind.

"MC," you heard him call your name, but you just kept walking out of his office and wandered the empty halls of RAD.

Eventually, you found yourself in the RAD colosseum. The doors were left open and when you looked around, it was empty. You took a seat on the ground next to one of the entrances to the main floor. It was serene, and a place just to think.

Though the concern of your boyfriends was endearing, it was getting more difficult to deny, your mortality was becoming irksome. While Lucifer was willing to indulge himself, it ended up in disaster in his eyes. You knew you would never be able to satisfy his every whim, and it hurt you, because he more than satiated yours.

Then there was Diavolo. He obviously struggled to see you as anything other than a porcelain doll, in your mind, and you certainly refused to be treated as such. There's no freedom or fun in being held up on a pedestal so high no one could reach you, even if it's for your sake.

The harsh reality of it all, was you knew you couldn't keep up with them. A fragile human can't withstand the stamina or strength of demons, and the last couple days just proved it.

Feeling worn out, you brought your knees to your chest and rested your arms on your knees, letting your head lay on your arms to shut your eyes for a little bit.

---

"Hmph," Beel mumbled, unenthused. He sat on the sofa and scowled as his stomach rumbled, again.

"Wow, dinner is running late tonight. I wonder what's going on?" Belphie asked.

Mammon came stomping out of the kitchen and into the common room. "Anyone see MC today? She was supposed to help me with dinner, and she isn't here!" he griped.

"Hmm, that's strange. I didn't see her go home with any of us, so perhaps she's running home now? Have you tried calling?" Satan postulated.

"MC probably realized she didn't want to spend her time with the likes of you, Mammon," Asmo retorted, looking fondly at his nail polish.

As Mammon started griping out Asmo, Lucifer's hands immediately went for his D.D.D. He assumed you were with Diavolo if you didn't go home after the meeting.

Lucifer: Did you plan on keeping MC long after the meeting? There's going to be a riot at the house if she doesn't show up soon.

Diavolo: She left my office hours ago. You mean she's not at home?

Lucifer: No, she isn't. Did something happen?

Diavolo: She's not terribly happy with me. Where could she have gone?

Lucifer: Meet me at RAD, ASAP.

Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm afraid no one knows where she is. Lord Diavolo said they went to his office after the meeting, but she left hours ago."

There was absolute silence in the living room for a moment, right before the riot actually started with Mammon panicking that they needed to find you, and they all chimed in. Satan pointed out your D.D.D. went straight to voicemail when he called.

Lucifer waited several seconds and then barked, "Enough."

After the uproar died down, Lucifer continued, "I will meet with Lord Diavolo, and we will look for MC. You lot need to remain here in case she shows up, except Mammon, you need to search the streets just in case she's out there. Everyone else, remain here until there's further instructions."

There was disgruntlement among the brothers, but Lucifer left them no time to actually voice complaints to him directly because he was out the door to join Diavolo at RAD.

"Stupid slut, sending your little boyfriends to kill our friend. They aren't here to protect you now, are they?" the demon sneered as he kicked your side again. You rasped another cry, no longer being able to hold in your choked sobs, unable to properly talk around the gag they put in your mouth.

"I wonder if she lets them all have turns with her, passing her around like a common whore," another jeered.

You had dozed off and woke up to find yourself being drug to the middle of the colosseum by a group of three demons. They took turns taking swings at you, kicking you around, choking you out until you almost passed out, then finally dropping you to the ground to writhe and gasp for air.

One pulled you up by your hair, causing you to groan in pain, and looked you in the eyes. "You know, we heard how you tried to stand up to our friend. We were actually rather impressed you would even try to fight back, but of course your boyfriends had to save your ass and rip him limb-from-limb. You really oughtta learn your place, bitch," he reamed.

"Why don't we just kill her? We get caught and we'll end up the same way," one of them called out.

"Naw, we won't, but I wanna send a message before we go, to those snobby upper demons, thinking they can just kill anyone who defies them," the one holding your hair replied with a bone-chilling smile.

---

Lucifer and Diavolo had checked every room imaginable at RAD, only to come up empty-handed. They tried to remain calm, but both had a sinking feeling in their bodies about where you could've gone. Even your scent leading out of Diavolo's office was long gone. Diavolo explained to Lucifer what had transpired in his office, and how you probably just went to be alone.

The two were walking along in the gardens trying to come up with every place on campus that you would have access to.

"The library?" Diavolo asked.

"Checked, nothing. Cafeteria?" Lucifer replied.

"Nothing," Diavolo replied.

"Would the colosseum be open? Wasn't there an event today?" Lucifer pondered aloud.

"It shouldn't be open, but we can check before we try somewhere else," Diavolo replied.

As the two drew closer, the coppery smell of blood hung heavy in the air near the entrance of the colosseum, and the main doors were left open. They both dashed inside, to see you laying on the ground in the center of the ring, laying on your side and back to them.

Rushing over to you, they saw in red letters written behind your back "Royal Slut," presumably in your blood. Lucifer stopped and immediately called for Satan and Mammon to get over to the colosseum, nary giving them the reason why except for Satan to bring his med kit.

Diavolo came around and knelt down in front of you. Your face was downturned, so he couldn't quite see it. But what immediately got his attention was the giant laceration across your right shin, exposing the bone that was clearly broken, snapped completely in two. Blood sullied your torn uniform, and when he moved the hair away from your face and turned so that he could see you properly, there were more cuts around your hairline and jaw, leading him to see the dark rings around your neck.

The scents of multiple demons were on you, that much Diavolo could tell, but not who exactly. He carefully pulled you into his arms and sat back on his rear. You looked like a mangled ragdoll with your arm just hanging off of his arm that cradled you against him, legs twisted, and your head had to be supported into the crook of his elbow. He smoothed your hair back, blankly looking over your features.

Lucifer finally approached; his face plastered with despair at the sight of you. Falling to his knees, he felt all his emotions bubbling within his chest, unsure of which he could appropriately express in this moment. He grazed a finger against your cheek.

"I... can't keep going like this," is all Diavolo could say. There was silence for a while as the two looked at you. Your breaths were so light, and your pulse was faint, but you were still there.

"I want to make her into a demon," Diavolo finally stated, still looking over your face.

"What?" Lucifer was taken aback. "But does she want it?"

"I'm not sure. I don't know if she understands the process either, but I'm going to offer it to her," Diavolo replied solemnly.

"And if she says no?" Lucifer probed.

Diavolo was silent then. He couldn't even fathom thinking if you would say no, because at the present moment, all he could think about was getting you to wake up.

"I just want her to know I love her," Diavolo whispered.

Satan and Mammon finally arrived after Diavolo's words, and it was all they could do to not fly into fits of unadulterated rage as you lay limp, like a corpse, in the prince's arms.

Mammon dropped to the ground in anguish, slamming his fist into the floor. His sobs echoed through the colosseum, a haunting sound you would shudder to hear.

Satan dropped down to the floor near your feet, immediately looking over your broken leg. "It's a clean break, I'll have to set it, but I can fix it," he said, mostly to himself as the other two were too busy just staring at your lifeless face. "Diavolo, I need her on her back so I can have her legs straight. She may wake up when I set it, so you need to hold her down. Lucifer, go see to Mammon," Satan ordered.

Lucifer, feeling as though he were on autopilot, got to his feet, and went to Mammon. He explained to Mammon they needed to scour the area to figure out who did this and if there's a way to track them down.

Diavolo opted to pull your back up to his chest, in between his legs that laid flat out on either side of you. Satan straightened your bottom half out and prepared to set your leg.

"Please hold on to her," Satan whispered.

With a firm grip, he forced the break back into place with two shudder-inducing snaps, and the piercing scream that erupted from your throat abruptly was so blood curdling, Lucifer and Mammon looked at you in horror. Diavolo held you and still tried to console you. The pain was so overwhelming you passed back out. The Demon Lord clutched you tighter as he tried to fight back his tears, and Satan began to finish up his work on your leg. The Morningstar couldn't move for a moment, temporarily paralyzed by what he heard, but eventually broke his trance. Lucifer left with Mammon, and they hunted down the scent of the demons that mauled you.

Satan went to his feet after he was finished. "I'm going to go see Solomon for some potions, and then I'll call up Simeon for his help."

Diavolo stood as he held you, bridal style, and he nodded to Satan as his thanks. In his demon form, Diavolo flew back to his castle.

Wordlessly, he took you to your suite, not even greeting Barbatos or filling him in on your situation. But, even so, Barbatos could gather a lot of information just based on his master's reaction and your state, so he immediately worked on tea and preparations for your stay.

Diavolo placed you ever so gently onto your bed. He looked you over and decided to put you into clean clothes. Carefully, he undressed you, and rage boiled in his heart as he saw the blooms of red and purple on your waist and stomach. Discarding your old clothes, he dressed you into fine silk pajamas.

"I'll be right back," he whispered into your hair, kissing your forehead. He quickly left to change his own clothes that were covered in your dried blood.

Upon his return, he found Barbatos holding a tray, just staring at you. It was rare to see his butler in such a state, broken of his usual smooth and methodic movements. Barbatos radiated anger and sadness but wouldn't show it on his face.

"Barbatos," Diavolo rasped. Instantly, breaking his trance of your form, the butler set the tea tray down on a table and approached his master. "Find out who did this, now," he ordered. Barbatos bowed and left.

Diavolo slid into the bed, sitting up against the headboard, and pulled you back into his arms. He situated your head to prop up against his upper arm, his bicep as a pillow for you. Leaning his own head against the headboard, he stared at the ceiling. He focused his attention on your pulse, slow and weak. You were with him, but just barely so.

Hours went by like that, and your prince refused to move from his spot or have you removed from his arms. Barbatos informed him who had hurt you, and it was taken care of by the Avatars of Sin. Though he would have liked to punish them himself, staying by your side was most important.

Thank you for reading <3

Post made by sassykattery. Do not repost. Likes and reblogs appreciated.

Masterlist

#obey me fanfic #obey me mc #obey me shall we date #obey me #diavolo x femreader #lucifer x female reader #love-eternal #sassystories

36 notes · View notes

slightly-smarter-nat · 2 years

Text

Prison Break || The Unknown Widow

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Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Yelena Belova x Reader (Platonic)

Warnings: Mentions of torture; Explicit language; mentions of weapons; mentions of injury, mentions of blood; Alexei just kidding; mentions of the Red Room, description of sterilisation of Widows. If I have missed any warnings, please let me know.

Word Count: 4194 words.

Summary: It’s time to break Alexei out of prison; will he be as useful as Natasha hopes in taking down the Red Room?

A/N: Part 8 of ‘The Unknown Widow’. This ended up being longer than expected-oops. Aspects of this part were inspired by the music included on the ‘Black Widow movie soundtrack’- ‘Red Rising’, Lorne Balfe. I hope you all enjoy!!

Please do not repost (on here or any social media platform) copy, translate or take ownership of my work. Reblogs, likes and comments are always appreciated <3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Masterlist

Translation: “прощайте, мудаки”, roughly translates to ‘Farewell, douchebags’.

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GIF not mine

Prison Break- The Unknown Widow:

-The Seventh Circle Prison-

We steadily hover over the Russian Prison; on the way here we- meaning mostly Natasha, formed a plan in order to rescue Alexei Shostakov; the infamous Red Guardian himself. From my time in the Red Room, I can remember how Dreykov reminisced on the days that he used the Red Guardian to his ‘full disposal’. I did always wonder what happened to him- well now I know.

Yelena receives a ping on her device to signal that Alexei has activated his ear piece/tracker. She is sitting up front with Natasha, piloting the aircraft. I would help, but Natasha made it very clear that she doesn’t want me to have any part in this, for reasons beyond me. All I can think is that she still doesn’t trust me- I guess I’ll have to show her that she can. I could always ask Yelena to put Natasha in her place, but I don’t want to overstep or put her in a position where she has to pick a side.

I look up front when I hear Natasha’s voice boom through my headset, “Today is your lucky day, Alexei”.

Yelena moves the device towards Natasha, I lean forward from my seat at the back to see the screen. I can barely make out the map of the Prison, along with a green dot to represent Alexei’s position.

“Move to the door on the south wall.” Natasha instructs him.

We don’t hear a response from his end, so we can only assume he’s following her instructions.

I choose to crouch down in between the two piloting seats, much to Natasha’s dismay. I just simply roll my eyes at her, whether she likes it or not, I’m involved in this. Yelena shows me the display, sending me a smile before turning her attention back to the scene ahead.

“Go left. Just don’t make a scene.” Natasha guides Alexei through the layout of the Prison.

Distinct shouts of protest can be heard through our headsets, suggesting a brawl breaking out, causing Natasha to comment, “You made a scene, didn’t you?”

“What? You actually expected him to follow simple instructions successfully?” Yelena mocks, causing a smile to grace my lips. From the image they’re painting of Alexei to me, he doesn’t sound very reliable at all.

We can see from the device that he- somehow, managed to escape the Prison through Natasha’s guidance and a few door tricks.

I stand up and look towards the ground, noticing a door flying off its hinges and a scruffy looking man exiting the building-is this really the former Red Guardian?

He staggers across the ground. We hear his voice sound through the communication system, “What now?” He grunts.

“We’re gettin’ you outta here.” Natasha replies.

Yelena and Natasha menovure the aircraft into a better position to allow us better access to Alexei.

“Um, that’s not a good sign.” I say as we watch the swarm of guards and inmates surround Alexei.

Natasha shakes her head before instructing Alexei, “Go to the upper level.”

Alexei scrambles through several gates; whilst avoiding flares being thrown at him by prison guards.

“Move your ass, super soldier.” Natasha encourages him along.

With quick, skilled motions, Alexei scales a wall. That is until he is tasered by a guard, causing him to fall straight back down to the ground.

“He’s never going to make it.” Yelena says.

“Get me closer.” Natasha tells Yelena, causing her to give her a sceptical expression.

“You got a better idea?” Natasha finishes off.

I see this as my opportunity to help, so I stand in front of Natasha as she gets up from her seat, “Natasha, let me help, come on I’ll go down there and help Alexei. You can stay here with Lena.” I attempt to plead my case to Natasha.

“No Lara, just go sit down and I’ll deal with it.” She says as she grabs the equipment needed to scale down to the ground.

“Why not Natasha, just because you have the title of an Avenger, doesn’t mean-“ Natasha cuts my words off with an outburst.

“It’s because I don’t trust you Lara. You’ll just end up screwing the mission up and I can’t allow that to happen.” She glares at me, causing me to look towards the ground in hurt. I’d do anything to protect either of them, but hearing Natasha confirm my suspicions sends a wave of uneasiness through me.

I miss the way Yelena glares at Natasha, silently signalling for her to let me help.

Natasha releases a heavy sigh before saying, “Fine, go up front with Yelena, and help her pilot this thing.”

I look up to her in surprise; not expecting her to change her mind. I remove my headset before rushing over to the front with Yelena, placing Natasha’s headset over my head. I look over to Yelena and give her a heartfelt smile, knowing she will have had something to do with Natasha’s sudden change of heart.

Yelena gives me a light punch on the arm, causing me to playfully roll my eyes as I get into position and buckle up.

Natasha asks for us to unlock the door; I press the unlock switch and look over to her as she readies herself for her jump.

Once the door is opened, she grabs hold of a rope-like material and leaps down from the aircraft.

She swings as Yelena and I gently guide the aircraft down, allowing her an easier landing.

She masters a flip from the rope and lands heroically on one of the top levels; holding many guards.

I raise an eyebrow at her form; and Yelena shakes her head, “Such a poser.” Yelena says, causing me to laugh, remembering our conversation in the gas station store.

Whilst maintaining control of the aircraft, we watch as she uses the rope to swing and kick a guard directly off the platform. She then delivers harsh strikes on the other guards, alternating which foot she uses to carry out her attacks. Natasha then sends the rope swinging directly into the remaining guard- the metal hook at the end serving as a means to knock him out.

As soon as she takes out the guards, I remove my headset and unbuckle my seatbelt and go towards the open door.

Yelena snaps her head towards me, “You’ll be alright on your own won’t you?” I say as I prepare my suit for the jump to the ground.

“Wait, what are you doing? Natasha said to stay on here!” Yelena shouts, compensating for the sound of rushing air muffling her words.

“Natasha can say what she likes, that doesn’t mean that I have to listen to her. See you in a bit!” I say as I jump out of the aircraft.

Yelena can’t hold this against me, she should be used to my spontaneous behaviour by now.

As I am falling down towards the ground, I activate my suit’s glide mechanic, causing a strengthened material to make wing-like shapes under my arms and between my legs. Allowing me to control my movements in the air. This feature is possibly the only good thing to come out of the Red Room, it allows me to cover more ground quickly, and has saved my life more times than I care to remember.

Thankfully, I zoom straight past Natasha- avoiding the infuriated expression I’m sure she’ll be displaying at my blatant disregard for her words.

I tilt my arms in the appropriate directions to avoid stray bullets and structures that I don’t want to crash into. As soon as I spot Alexei, I place my arms down my side and charge my way down to the ground.

I pick my target- an inmate striking Alexei, and I plough straight into him- taking him out instantly.

Once I deactivate my glide mechanic, I get to work in defending Alexei, giving him a clear window to make his way up to the higher platform, and board the aircraft.

“Get to Natasha, I’ll deal with these guys.” I tell Alexei, I expect him to move but he just looks at me in shock.

“Go!” I shout which seemingly knocks him out of his trance as he makes his way across the ground.

An inmate grabs my shoulder, which causes me to grab his wrist tightly and twist it, causing him to yelp in pain. I duck under his arm, causing it to stretch behind him, I push it hard causing a snapping noise to sound through the air. I ignore his cries of pain and kick him away as I move to the next inmate approaching.

I aim my grappling hook at him and swing it enough to latch onto his prison uniform; I pull harshly on the rope, bringing the inmate close to me. Using the advantage of the velocity travelled by the inmate, I deliver a brutal hit to his face. This causes his legs to come from under him due to the force, allowing me to punch him to the ground.

I quickly glance up to see Yelena steering out of control due to the guards firing at her. She nearly takes Natasha out in the process as she tries to regain control. I wince at the close calls Natasha has with the propellers of the aircraft.

After a few seconds of swaying, Yelena finally regains control. All I can see from my lower position is Natasha waving her arms frustratedly at Yelena, most likely telling her to steer away.

Due to my distraction, I fail to notice the guard making his way towards me, allowing him to get a free strike at my jaw. The force from the hit sends me down to the ground, I gently grab my jaw, cringing at the pain. I look over to the guard, seeing him activate a stun baton.

I feel an excess of blood fill my mouth from the hit, I spit it out on the snow below me and stand up. The guard gulps at my protective stance. He lunges towards me, attempting to stun me with the baton. I quickly grab it; placing a hand on the weapon and his arm and kick him in the stomach, causing him to let go. Once he stumbles back I use the baton to send a shockwave through his neck, after a cry of pain I put him out of his misery and headbutt him to knock him out.

I give my head a firm shake to even out the pain throbbing through it.

Suddenly I hear a huge explosion behind me, I look up to see one of the guard watch towers has exploded.

I look around confused until I notice Yelena holding a rocket launcher in her hands. I know she isn’t looking at me, but I give her a disapproving shake of the head at her actions- she’s far from discreet, I’ll give her that.

A distant rumbling fills the air, causing us all to look around. At first I can’t pinpoint where it’s coming from, until I see the snow build up in the distance slowly making its way towards us.

“Oh my- Yelena!” I shout in annoyance, realising she’s caused an avalanche.

“Tell me that’s a good sign for us!” I hear Alexei shout not far from me.

“Move your asses!” Natasha shouts to us both from the higher level.

We instantly bolt towards the ladders, desperate to make it to higher ground.

The snow starts coming in rapidly, causing many guards and inmates to scramble back inside the prison to take cover.

Alexei launches himself from a guard’s shield to hop up to the next level.

I avoid most of the crowds by using my grapple hook to hoist myself up, level by level.

The inmates pick up their pace, as the rumbling becomes even louder, signifying its closeness.

“Get us outta here!” Natasha shouts up to Yelena, hoping she’ll move herself over enough for us to board the aircraft and escape.

I finally make it up to Natasha’s level, I jog over to her completely out of breath from my efforts, waiting for her to make her move.

She turns to me with a hardened glare, “I told you to stay!” She shouts.

To which I reply with a breathless, “I know.”

I clutch my sides, breathing heavily as she continues, “Yet you’re standing in front of me-“ I hold my hand up to stop her.

“Look, this lecture is absolutely mind blowing, but I think we’ve got an escape to master so if you’ll excuse me.” I say as I look up to see Yelena lining up the rope for us to leap on.

Natasha and I take a running start, going alongside each other in sync as we finally cross the railing and latch onto the ropes hanging from the aircraft.

Yelena pulls up so she can do a U-turn and rescue Alexei- whilst narrowly avoiding multiple explosions.

I clutch onto the rope for dear life, swinging along with the aircraft’s movements. I squint to attempt to locate Alexei, that’s when I spot him yelling at us to pick him up.

I look down at Natasha, she looks at me and then nods up, signalling for me to go. I struggle up the rope, trying to make my way back into the aircraft as she attempts to grab Alexei.

Yelena finally lines the aircraft’s route with Alexei. The snow starts to build up, making it extremely difficult to see if Natasha caught Alexei.

As I’m near the top, I grunt as the snow surrounds me and nearly causes me to lose my grip from the force.

However, Yelena manages to lift us up into the air, avoiding being lost to the avalanche. I look down to see Alexei clutching onto Natasha, relieved that she managed to grab him.

I use one last exertion of force to pull myself back into the aircraft, gasping for air at the struggle.

I hear Yelena laughing at the front, causing me to get up and go over to her.

“First of all, what the hell were you thinking!?” I say as I playfully flick her head, causing her to let out an exaggerated ‘ow’.

“Secondly, well done Lena!” I say as I place a grateful kiss on her head for saving us.

“What did you expect, I am a pro after all.” She states.

I hear grunting from behind me, so I rush over to help lift Natasha into the aircraft, which she actually allows me to do for once. I’m about to pull Alexei up but he has already lifted himself up.

“I do actually need some help up here!” Yelena shouts.

I looked over in confusion- why didn’t she just ask whilst I was standing there?

Natasha gently guides me aside as she takes her place next to Yelena. I’m hoping these signs of gentleness are an indication that she finally trusts that I’m in this to protect everyone and stop the Red Room.

I sit down on one of the seats in the back, finally being able to relax after the near death experience.

Alexei staggers over to the doorway, shouting “прощайте, мудаки!”

I roll my eyes, just hoping he doesn’t fall out as he’s shouting otherwise that entire mission would be a waste.

He slams the door shut before running his fingers through his hair.

“Oh, that was exciting; oh, I’m so proud of you girls.” He says, breathing heavily.

I lean my head back onto the wall of the aircraft, closing my eyes for a moment until Alexei shouts, “Oh, you can’t hear me, huh?” -If only that were true at this moment in time- with having my newfound headache making its appearance.

Natasha and Yelena attempt to ignore him as he tries to catch their attention.

He looks around and sees a spare headset resting from across me, he quickly grabs them and places them on his head. I release a sigh and grab the set next to me so I can hear what he’s about to say.

“Ah… wow.”

He releases a grunt of pain in response to a punch in the face delivered by Yelena. I quickly covered my mouth in order to suppress the laugh that was desperate to escape.

After a few groans, and a rub of his face, he continues, “Okay, why the aggression, huh? Is it your time of the month?”

I roll my eyes at this, here we go.

“I don’t get my period, dipshit. I don’t have a uterus.” Yelena tells him.

“Or ovaries.” Natasha includes as she glances out at the scene surrounding us.

“Yeah. That’s what happens when the Red Room gives you an involuntary hysterectomy. They kind of just go in and they rip out all of your reproductive organs. They just get right in there and they chop them all away, everything out, so you can’t have babies.” Yelena informs him as she acts out all of the actions involved in the process.

Alexei releases many uncomfortable noises at hearing the details of what the Widows have to endure.

He staggers back and is about to sit next to me, to which I tell him, “Don’t even think about it.” Causing him to sway himself to sit on the other side of the aircraft.

He looks over at Yelena as he takes a seat, “You don't have to get so clinical and nasty.”

By this point, Natasha and Yelena glance over at him, “Oh, well, I was about to talk about Fallopian tubes, but okay.” She looks over at me before turning back to face the front, I give her an amused smirk at her attempt to wind Alexei up.

Alexei looks over at me, in a similar way he did when he first saw me at the Prison. The surprise in his face confuses me.

“You know, I am surprised you’re here with the girls, you know with the whole history and everything.” He states directly to me.

I lean forward towards him, “What? What history? What are you talking about?”

Natasha briefly glances at me and shouts, “Don’t listen to him, he tends to make shit up. I wouldn’t worry about it!”

Alexei looks at her with his mouth open, shocked that she would accuse him of such things. I lean back and think over what he said- the only history I have with Yelena and Natasha is that of the Red Room- nothing further, but that wouldn’t warrant me not working with them. I want to push Alexei further until he turns towards Yelena and Natasha.

“It means so much to me that you came back for me.”

“No. No. You’re gonna tell us how to get to the Red Room.” Natasha firmly instructs Alexei, not wanting to entertain his words.

He looks over at me in uncertainty, “Huh? Whoa, look at you, huh? All business.” He clearly takes offence to Natasha’s blunt tone towards him.

“Trust me, this isn’t pleasure.” Natasha enlightens him.

I lay across the seats in the back, releasing a pained sigh at the conversation at hand.

“Little Natasha, all indoctrinated into the Western agenda.”

“I chose to go west to become an Avenger. ‘Cause they treated me like family.” Natasha attempts to defend her actions of leaving Russia to start her new life away from the trauma of the Red Room.

Alexei looks at Natasha in disbelief, “Really? Family? Well, where are they now? Where is that family now?”

I look over at Yelena, seeing her glance over at Natasha. It seems that she’s not the only one who still holds a grudge for Natasha attempting to move on within their little ‘family’ that was created; and in Natasha’s eyes, left behind in Russia- in the Red Room.

Natasha dismisses Alexei’s attempt to tarnish her relationship with the Avengers, “Tell me where the Red Room is.”

He takes a moment to pause, glancing at each one of us before saying, “I have no idea.” We all scoff in return- knowing he has some knowledge that could help us.

Natasha roughly removes her headset and makes her way to the back. She taps at my legs, causing me to sit up, “Go sit with Yelena.” She tells me quietly.

I huff a breath of exhaustion before moving past her and sitting in the pilot seat next to Lena. I place the headset on before taking hold of the piloting controls needed to guide the aircraft.

Natasha knocks Alexei’s headset from his head as she sits in the seat I was recently occupying, “Come on. You and Dreykov were like…”

“Dreykov?” Alexei exclaims.

Causing Natasha to confirm.

“General Dreykov, my friend, huh?” He says as he slams his back into the aircraft surface, “Gives me glory… Soviet Union’s first and only super soldier. I could have been more famous than Captain America. Then he buries me in Ohio on that stupid mission.” He rambles on.

I scoff in disgust, what I would have given to be placed in Ohio, pretending to be part of a family; instead of being tortured daily and being sent to kill not just enemies, but allies once they had outlived their use. I grip the controls tightly, annoyed at Alexei’s lack of awareness.

“Three years! So tedious, boring me to tears. No offense, huh?” He says to Yelena as she looks at him in loathing.

I look over at Yelena, attempting to catch her eye; she looks over and I give her a slight nod- a silent question of ‘are you okay?”

She gives me a nod in response, guiding her vision back to the snowy mountains in front of us.

Unfortunately, Alexei continues his rambling, “Then puts me in prison for the rest of my life. Why, huh? Why? Why would he put me in… You know why? ‘Cause maybe I want to talk about the withering of the state; or maybe I don’t like his hair or something and I say something casually about that. Maybe, you know-“

I attempt to zone him out after that, hoping that he’ll exhaust himself with his words and give our ears a rest.

Though my attention is spiked as soon as I hear him say, “I’m not the one who killed his daughter.”

I glance back at Natasha attempting to gauge her reaction- Though Yelena picked up on this topic in Budapest, part of me has always wondered what involvement Natasha really had in Dreykov’s Daughter’s death. It always seemed that on the anniversary of her death was when Dreykov was at his worst- the pain inflicted on me mostly increased. I had no involvement in this so I want to know why I was effectively punished in her place.

Natasha just looks away with a shake of her head, attempting to cover up her hurt with the topic being brought up.

“Though, I guess he got his payback with that one right?” Alexei says cryptically, directing his gaze towards me. I look over at Natasha confused; she mirrors my expression.

Yelena sighs before asking- clearly dismissing Alexei’s odd comment, “Can we throw him out of the window now?”

I continue to look at Natasha, though hopeful now, wanting her to agree to Yelena’s suggestion. We’ll have to get Alexei to justify his words later on when he’s not as hysterical over Dreykov’s betrayal.

“I think we should wait till we get to a higher altitude.” Natasha remarks, probably more serious than Alexei would like.

Alexei interrupts by asking in Russian, ‘why not ask Melina where it is?’

Yelena whips her head around and asks, “Wait, Mom Melina?”

I look over at her, finally realising where Melina fits into all of this after days of wondering.

Natasha looks at Yelena in a puzzled way until she says to Alexei, “We thought she was dead.”

Alexei simply scoffs at the statement, “You cannot kill a fox that swift.”

I turn my face up in disgust; rather remaining ignorant to his apparent attraction towards Melina.

Yelena smirks at my expression, she’s probably used to Alexei’s vulgar ways.

Alexei briefly explains his and Melina’s role in the Red Room, gracing us with the information of her residency in St. Petersburg.

Having mentioned her being a prime scientist in Dreykov’s schemes, I sit and attempt to recall her presence within the Red Room, having never come across her before. Dreykov made a point for me to be aware of every member of the Red Room, having held a higher rank myself- why would he keep Melina and I separate?

I look over to Yelena when she speaks up, “Uh… I don’t think we have enough fuel for St. Petersburg.” I look at the fuel gauge and see that we have nearly run out of fuel, most likely running on the reserve.

“No, we’re good. We’ll make it.” Alexei assures us.

Yelena gives a lack of convincing, ‘okay’ as a response.

She was right to do so, since we ended up plummeting to the ground shortly after.

If this day has taught me anything, it is that Alexei Shostakov is quite the character.

ⴵ ⴵ ⴵ ——— ….. ⴵ ⴵ ⴵ ——— ….. ⴵ ⴵ ⴵ ——— ….. ⴵ ⴵ ⴵ ——— ….. ⴵ ⴵ ⴵ ——— …..

Tag list: @sheisnotalone @jeyramarie @sophie-reads-too-much

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otstudentwithalife · 1 year

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Week 3 if you can even call it that !

This week’s blog is less about what I’ve experienced this week alone and more about how much I’ve learnt throughout my time on fieldwork until this week. Now I’ll be frank, when I first arrived at the facility I had paralyzing anxiety but with time and more practice. I could say, I’ve found myself. Now one thing about me is that I’ll ask, ask, ask if I don’t understand and that is all I’ve been doing. Then I go back to the drawing board when I receive constructive criticism and find new, creative and appropriate ways to meet the goal I have envisioned for my client. This week I had to make a presentation on my client. When you start typing out a presentation, you realize how much you either HAVE or DON’T HAVE! Considering my client’s inability to communicate verbally, I have always had this one question hanging over my head since day 1 “DID I ASK THE CORRECT QUESTIONS”

Needless to say, I’m an overthinker and my anxiety about not getting enough background was very very unnecessary seeing as I utilised any and ALL resources I could get my hands on. I mean, I asked the nurses, the nurse practitioner and even had a conversation in passing with my patient’s physiotherapist about who she is and what they know about her background. Which brings me to this week’s topic which I feel is seldom given enough thought. When treating a patient, I always find it absolutely necessary to read all medical notes written by all members of the medical team. Why? Well before I draw my own conclusions, I find it better to have a clinical image based on professional opinions of what my patient’s starting point was in order to be able to determine where I am planning on setting my goals. According to Epstein (2014), Utilising cohesive MDT teams limits adverse events such as medication side effects, injury, psychological harm or trauma, or death, it also improves patient outcomes, decreases patient length of stay (LOS), and increases patient satisfaction. This not only benefits patient’s but also the team members themselves, it allows us to learn from colleagues, share insight into conditions, improved our own job performance and optimises healthcare provided at the facility.

I’ve always enjoyed asking questions and when I’m curious I don’t hold back. I’ve had nurses, doctors and other physicians at my disposal and picking their brains has been something I never pass up. Since the beginning of fieldwork , I’ve been the curious cat when it comes to my supervisor and maybe she's had it we me or she appreciates my will to learn. Either way, she still smiles when she see's me so I'm not on the wrong side of this surely.

Now last week I sprinkled some of that over into my interactions with the nurses who I felt know more about my patient than anyone else at the facility can possibly know. This one nurse I asked chuckled at the questions I had about my client’s past and said “ I won’t tell you everything but I’ll show you how to ask Ms N.D questions so that you get the answers you need. She walked right over to my patient and began having a FULL BLOWN conversation even with my client’s 2/3 word responses and my jaw hit the floor because she was getting the answers I needed. That right there is exactly why every single member of the MDT can optimise healthcare for patients and their families. Yes the answers were vague but they were more than I’d gathered in 4 sessions with my client so I was definitely excited. It was definitely a “TEACH ME YOUR WAYS, MASTER” moment for me.

Now, I would’ve loved to combine sessions with the speech therapist because ideally that is who would help me and my client the most. However, I did note in the file that my patient hadn’t gone to speech therapy in a year and the nurses didn’t know why. So I took lemons, made lemonade and drank it with the ward C nurses.

I love sharing information, even faults with my colleagues, I also even evaluate myself to them because outside perspective can provide insight into things I could’ve missed which I can appreciate.

I mean the actual quote from Maxwell (2018) does say “Teamwork makes the dream work,…” after all and to me this week, my presentation would've been nothing short of hollow without the help of those nurses. So yes MDT approach is nothing short of essential to optimise healthcare and save resources.

References

Miller, E. T., Murray, L. L., Richards, L., Zorowitz, R. D., Bakas, T., Clark, P., & Billinger, S. A. (2010). Comprehensive Overview of Nursing and Interdisciplinary Rehabilitation Care of the Stroke Patient. Stroke, 41(10), 2402–2448. https://doi.org/10.1161/str.0b013e3181e7512b

Taberna, M., Gil Moncayo, F., Jané-Salas, E., Antonio, M., Arribas, L., Vilajosana, E., Peralvez Torres, E., & Mesía, R. (2020). The Multidisciplinary Team (MDT) Approach and Quality of Care. Frontiers in oncology, 10, 85. https://doi.org/10.3389/fonc.2020.00085

Epstein N. E. (2014). Multidisciplinary in-hospital teams improve patient outcomes: A review. Surgical neurology international, 5(Suppl 7), S295–S303. https://doi.org/10.4103/2152-7806.139612

Maxwell, J. W. (2018). Teamwork makes the dream work. World Pumps, 2018(5), 20–24. https://doi.org/10.1016/s0262-1762(18)30253-0

Flanagan, S. E., Damery, S., & Combes, G. (2017). The effectiveness of integrated care interventions in improving patient quality of life (QoL) for patients with chronic conditions. An overview of the systematic review evidence. Health and Quality of Life Outcomes, 15(1). https://doi.org/10.1186/s12955-017-0765-y

#occupational therapist #student #physically exhausted #self improvement #teamwork

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undiscoveredclassics · 1 year

Photo

(11/12) As you may have guessed from my cliffhanger in the last post, there’s a epilogue to the story of the Shark prototype. When you’re a teenager with a car or two, they live at your mom’s house and even in the early 1980s, there were always had unusual cars out front. The same is true of my own house now. Back in the 80s, I only had a couple of cars in front of my mom’s house, and one of those was the Shark roadster. And not too long after I had moved it there, a police officer stopped by and wanted to discuss the car. It turned out he was a car guy too and his name was Al Lendzian. Al had found a car similar to mine on one of his neighborhood patrols, and wanted to know if I was interested in seeing it. Can you image how a 20 year old “Geoff” must have felt when Al asked? I wanted to jump in his police car right then and there. Take me away! That weekend, Al came over to my house and we traveled down to Largo, Florida to see the car. Rick D’Louhy joined us for the trip and he took the photos you see here. It was a short trip, about 30 minutes, so I took my brother Josh along with for the ride and the adventure. My family has always been involved with cars so he jumped right in. I had wondered what shape the Shark would be in and Al told me “not good.” It turned out that the Covington family still owned it when I found it in the early 1980s. Brothers Jim and Jon owned it and they were very nice in helping me learn more about my car and the history of their father’s car too. Our visit kindled a fire under Jim Covington and shortly after our visit he moved the car to a shared workshop of his. Sadly, the remains of the car were disposed of several years later, so the fate of Covington Tiburon #1 is known and the car is lost. But sometimes opportunity shows itself in other areas, it would just take 25 years to find it. Those of you who know me appreciate my tenacity, and know that the story on the Shark didn’t end there. It actually started. Twenty-Five years after acquiring my first Shark Roadster we found and acquired a nicely preserved Shark Coupe built by famed customizer @winfieldscustomshop for his sports car customer, Eldon Rosenow. (at Tampa Florida) https://www.instagram.com/p/CbI8watvb_1/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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dndfanfiction · 2 years

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"Tell me something," Rockseau starts, turning to look at her. Valerie's lying with him outside the tent as they stare up at an unfamiliar sky, the sounds of other Crystallian knights snoring the only noise this planet has to offer. "What made you want to fight in all of this, anyway? Why only send one valkyrie?" Part of her wants to avoid the question; maybe embarrassment, maybe exhaustion. Arlunas is the third planet they've visited this month. First, they quelled a rebellion on a small, ocean planet in the surrounding galaxy of Akerema's void. Then, a small bit of political intrigue on a planet of genasi. Now, they were trying to help pick up the pieces left by those who gave into the Dark Empress and died fighting for her cause. There weren't enough people left on the planet to form a society, at this point. Rockseau was leaning toward relocation, but Valerie still hopes to salvage their home. Perhaps she's sentimental, given hers is burning.

"I was a spare, as it were," she answers honestly. "Odin was not certain this conflict was worthy of our full force, and I had just come back from an assignment." She remembers her homecoming, Brunhilde meeting her at the gates of Valhalla with a grim look on her face and a small piece of parchment in her hands. "A warrior of your skill, and you were disposable?" Rockseau sighs. "What a force we would have been, with all the Valkyrie." "What it would be, to have even some of my sisters still alive," Valerie cuts back. It's not a fair remark, she knows. Rockseau faced his own losses in the war; the headless body of Vex is an image her mind will never forget. "The Empress saw that we were distracted, despite the distance." He's going to apologize, she knows, can see the paragraph forming in his mind, stringing words like beads onto cord. Instead, Valerie holds a hand up. "Let us not compare sufferings. It does little good." He nods, and she reaches a hand to cover his. "I appreciate that apology was your impulse." Rockseau laughs, one she's grown familiar with over this year since the end of the war. Since the Lovelace Massacre and the end of Akerema. Valerie hasn't seen Sasha in months; aiding the Crystallians reconstruction efforts across the universe has been her life. Instead of going home to glory, she's doing grunt work with a man who's a few steps removed from stranger in comparison to the bonds she once had, and he's the closest companion she has. "And I suppose the prince had to fight?" she asks. "Normally royalty tries to stay off the front lines. Makes carrying on the crown difficult." Valerie does not mention that his choice to fight is what she respects most about him. It is a fact which likely goes unsaid. "Many were lost in the war. It was only fair I join them, that my life might risk being among those who did not return home." He sits up then, looking down at her. "I do admit, I'm grateful to not be the one breaking the news. My loud personality isn't comforting, I'm told, in times of ill tidings." "It reminds me of home," she admits. "You and Thor would have been fast friends. He was like a brother to me. I imagine he would have approved." "Approved of that thing we aren't talking about?" Rockseau asks, a hint of laughter on the edge of his voice and a lift at the edge of his lips. "Yes," she says instead of rising to his teasing bait. "That thing. We could go continue to not talk about it, if you'd like." He stands quickly, and she follows him into their tent.

#writing #dnd stuff #does this count as fan fiction? i did not create all of the characters that exist in this universe and I AM a fan of our DND campaign #dungeons and dragons

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burnedbyshoto · 4 years

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hawks_littledove.mp3

— You’re an avid listener to NSFW ASMR artist Hawks. It’s just your luck that he’s offered to have phone sex with you.

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pairing: takami keigo (hawks) x fem!reader

warnings: smut, 18+, slight abuse of power/influence, phone sex, masturbation, degradation, praise, nsfw asmr artist!hawks

word count: 5,018

a/n: my keyboard is broken and i could actually cry. but hey, hawks do be sexy even tho I would never trust him with my life. also LOL this might be a call out to a lot of us, do not be offended or I will cry.

kinktober day 14 main kink: phone sex | kinktober masterlist

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Fantasizing about being in relationships with fictional characters was entirely healthy and normal.

That was something you believed to the core. It was fictional; thus, no one but you were to be hurt at the end of the day. The character, being fake, could never have an opinion because you must be real in order to have an opinion. So when you were between boyfriends, you discovered a new anime, and before you could stop yourself, you fell hard for a character.

It started as a mild obsession.

You had looked up fanart via google images, your heart warming when you saw the plethora of different fanart. The anime itself had been in circulation for a few years now, the manga for much longer, so the content was endless. Then google images wasn’t enough, and you began crossing into Twitter and Tumblr.

The fanart became better, more engrossing, and definitely much more NSFW. And then, one night during your endless rabbit hole down Tumblr after your daily search on Twitter, you stilled when seeing a new type of content.

⇒ grey fullbuster x reader

The obsession grew worse.

So much so that you had followed nearly five hundred self insert writers and artists on Tumblr, and maybe seven hundred artists, meta writers, and thread makers on twitter. But three months into consuming all the content you could find, you came across a new name that made you tilt your head.

Hawks Fierce Wings

It was a name that was being repeated and heavily talked about on both sites. It was an ASMR artist, apparently, and you frowned at the thought. You didn’t have anything against ASMR videos, but you weren’t exactly sure how to handle an anime ASMR artist. Were they cosplaying while making all those weird ASMR sounds? You really didn’t have any idea, but due to the immense boredom of your lazy day in, you decided to hell with it and tried out his most popular video.

It was simply entitled: Hawks is Jealous.

Did you have any idea as to who Hawks was? God, no, you didn’t. But if it was just some random cosplay he was going to do, you didn’t think it was going to matter. So as the only slightly educated ASMR listener, you never truly became invested when it was a thing; you slipped on your earbuds and pressed play.

The introduction screen faded into an illustrated picture of a slightly handsome man, and some calming yet tense music played in the background. You shifted, eyebrows drew as you waited for the ASMR session to begin, and when it did, you were not ready.

“I saw you walking around with that asshole today,” a voice practically growled in your ear, and you froze.

Oh, no.

Oh, no!

For almost an entire hour, you sat glued to your sofa, your fingers digging into your lap as the jealous, spiteful words of this man named Hawks poured bitterly in your ear. His words were a near aggravated assault on you and definitely something you were beyond uncomfortable hearing from a stranger, but there was something about his voice that kept you there. Maybe it was the tenor of his tone or the way there was this sly, cunning scent to his words that he seemed to hide deep within his throat, but there was something that kept you there.

The second the passionate, heated kissing noises and heavy moans began to spill from his lips, you screeched, slamming your laptop closed as your cheeks pounded heavily.

Oh my god?!

It took a bit, but eventually, you were able to finish the audio and quickly figured out why he was an NSFW artist. You had never, ever heard a man eat a pussy fake or real as eagerly or vigorously as he did. Your hands were gripping the pants of your leggings, and your chest heaved.

Oh, motherfucking shit.

Finding out there were almost seventy other videos for you to still experience sent you scrambling for more, and eventually, you had to confess you were obsessed. Despite the anime fandoms you had discovered him for, Hawks seemed to be more famous for the content he created as himself. His real name was unknown by the looks of it, and he was only addressed as Hawks by his audience, something you caught on to quickly. So only after creating a new profile for his Youtube account, you made quick work of liking and commenting on every single of his already published seventy-eight nearly one hour and thirty-minute videos.

Each one was different.

Each one filled with various roadmaps on how Hawks' scenarios would play out for you — the listener. When he used his own persona, he called the listener his little dove or his chicken nugget, sometimes his KFC thigh, or his shish kabob.

You were glad at the very least he didn’t call you by any of those nicknames when pretending to fuck you at a speed only a “porn-is-my-only-education-on-porn” virgin teenage boy. You knew it wasn’t ideal, usually, but for some reason, it just worked. You commented on everything, read his summaries and thoughts on each video. Eventually, when you found yourself on his final, most recent video, you were ready to go a step further.

The Patreon app on your phone seemed jarringly out of place as you opened the app and subscribed yourself to Hawks' highest tiered option for the price of twenty USD.

And when you got your access to his page, you were immersed in more heavier, better content.

It was a goldmine in a sea of fools gold, and you absolutely went insane.

You weren’t sure if you were insane, needy, or just straight-up idiotic for scrolling to the very first Patreon post and indulging in the content Hawks created.

There was a stark difference between the warnings alone between the Youtube videos and the Patreon posts. While the porn was readily accessible on Youtube, the kinkiest thing that ever happened in a video was a slight implication that Hawks had left the listener on a vibrator and fuckmachine as he went to go talk to the visiting neighbors.

It was a slight, tiny zone out and miss a detail, but one you had clung onto like an obsessed psycho and even commented on in your comment on the post. Of course, Hawks hadn’t responded, not that you had ever expected him to because all things considered, a video that was eight months old and hadn’t done that well, to begin with, didn’t seem like anything he would remember: notifications and all.

But Patreon? Oh good, sweet, ravishing Patreon.

The very first video was of the following:

Stepbrother!Hawks fucks Stepsister!Listener in the stairwell during Christmas Dinner.

After praying and swearing to all the deities of the world that you were merely a person with a voice kink for this man and not, in fact, a perverted pseudo-incest worshiper, you clicked on it and began. It was downright sinful.

There were active voices whispered in the background as Hawks laughed about how fucking slutty you were for letting your brother fuck you like this. In the hallway, like a dog, where anyone in your joint family could walk out into. He laughed that you probably wanted it, how your wet ass pussy was greedily sucking him in, so how could you even begin to deny your lust for your brother.

You had to take a break five times during that audio.

Eventually, you do end up catching up.

Each video he had ever posted to your disposal, and most likely due to the different tier levels, you always commented on the videos. Even if it made you feel awkward for lusting over things months old, even if there were no other comments on the videos, which was much more common than you thought, you always commented and liked. It wasn’t anything ever crazy, you had seen the rarest comments bring a whole essay of analysis on why they loved it or the hating words, but you kept it simple.

Just something to keep Hawks spirits high without draining you even further of energy.

A simple: holy shit, that was hot as fucking hell!!!! you never disappoint me!!!

You never expected anything out of it; as a matter of fact, you had merely thought that you were doing the least by merely appreciating his creations when, one night, a few hours after you had gotten home. Your phone chimed with an alert.

Your mouth formed an ‘o’ in surprise; you hadn’t realized there was going to be a new release after he had just updated four days ago. Still, you popped in your earbuds and began the audio with a simple title.

i fuk ur stupid lil pus until u cri

He wasn’t precisely putting much effort into his titles these days, but his tags were definitely accurate and entirely explicit in what was to come. And in this newest video, the prominent tag was degradation.

You weren’t entirely into degradation, but still, you did what you had to do because you weren’t turned off by it. With the beginning sounds of the music playing in the background, you warped into the situation Hawks carefully carved.

But, oh?

Your face simmered with heat as Hawks dirty words dripped from the earbuds, the wet, squelching noise of your cunt and throat being fucked like some inanimate object made you soak through your panties as his disparaging words burned against your spine like a hot brand. After the thirty-minute audio was finished. Your body trembling with the aftershocks of an orgasm that had come despite the lack of actual stimulation of your clit, and you panted on your bed.

Opening your phone once again, you quickly liked the new audio and typed out your comment.

listen, i know i always comment about how fucking hot this shit is, but i have /never/ fucking soaked through my panties… you just did that and i expect a full refund for these panties 💦

You pressed send and, without so much of a second thought, continued your night. You had dinner, talked with friends, and ended the night curled back on the couch with a wine glass in your hand and a simple sit-com playing on the TV. The familiar sound of the Patreon alert rang in your ear, and you frowned, confused.

Grabbing your phone, you opened up the device and nearly shrieked at the sight of the information the notification that said:

Hawks F.W.: lets see those panties before i refund anything

A chill ran down your spine as you quickly put together the indications of this message, and you smirked, despite your quivering hands.

Me: I have a seven inch dick requirement before seeing any of the goods — yes, that includes my panties

And from that very moment, you began a strange arrangement between you and the NSFW ASMR artist Hawks.

Working was the worst part of your life, you would say.

At work, you would sit in your small 4x4 cubicle, your shelves stacked with plenty of papers and items you needed, not to mention the computer that took up the majority of your desk. You weren’t quite sure what your job here was, you sort of sat at your desk and did meaningless assignments when assigned, but you did nothing for the most part.

Before becoming an active Hawks stan, you would spend your time doing nothing playing video games. You had somehow managed to install a VPN onto your hard drive so that your employers wouldn’t be able to see what was on your screen outside of the home screen. They couldn’t trace what you did all day, but they could care less, given you got all your work completed on time and done in an over exceptional way.

But lately, since you had dropped into this… engrossed whore like relationship with Hawks, things changed.

To be honest, it still shocks you to no end when he tells you that he had always been aware of you. Well, with your consistent, ever appearing comments on his posts and overall enthusiasm for everything he posted, it was hard to not be aware. The mental image of your soaked through panties after a long day at his own work had sent him over the edge, and he finally messaged you.

Through the DM’s in Patreon, the two of you grew to become quite the friends with benefits. He would send you countless personalized audio files because you had quickly confessed to your voice kink and how his voice sent your stomach into hormonal knots. In return, you’d send the picture of an occasional soaked panty, and if he was lucky, an audio clip of your pathetic whines back to his audios.

You couldn’t complain about this arrangement.

But as the number of his patrons doubled, and he wanted to entice his subscribers with paying him even more money, Hawks began to offer a bimonthly personalized five minute audios for his $20 tier. The fans poured into that spot, and Hawks and proudly sent you the new number of adoring fans he was getting. On account of growing platforms such as Tiktok, the number of new listeners he got was nearly exponential, as he currently passed one million followers last week.

The cheeky bastard was also making enough money to stop working his regular work hours anymore. Choosing to transition slowly into his Patreon career while recording.

Hawks, however, seemed to have other ideas for your eventual personalized voice audio.

Hawks had simply asked if, by any chance, you were going to be working tomorrow the night before. Groaning loudly in recognition of your work schedule, you had texted him back that you were going to be working. Snidely including the fact that you weren’t rich like him, you needed the tedious old nine to five job.

Hawks: how utterly boring anyway u can b free around 2?

Me: Eh… probably not. Busy girl w busy schedule, ill be back from lunch so no break Why?

Hawks: well, u knw tht uve been amzing & th bst follower so i wanted 2 give u smthing better then the personalized audio

Me: Oh? Well, what is it?’

Hawks: pick up tmrw n find out

He had changed the subject immediately afterward by dodging all of your questions with ease. So you dropped it, and the two of you resumed a night of flirting. But now, sitting in your small cubicle, your eyes flashing to the clock that read 1:57 p.m., sweat began to build on your palm.

You peered down to your phone as you waited for something, anything from Hawks to show up. The fucker was too cheeky, evasive, and quick for his own good. You felt like pouting as you glared at the phone, waiting for the screen to light up.

And you stilled when finally, at precisely 1:59 p.m., your phone gleamed with light. You couldn’t abandon your computer mouse quicker than you did as you grabbed your phone, unlocking it, and reading the message from Hawks.

Hawks: do u have earbuds?

Me: Yes?

Hawks: good put them on n pick up

The moment you had read the first message, you were already pulling out your earbuds, synching them up to your phone, and placing them into your ear. But your jaw dropped when, for the first time, the call feature highlighted onto the screen, the time immediately changing to that of 2:00 p.m. The decline or accept button had never looked as daunting as it did right now.

Despite the call trying to go through, you still saw his follow up.

Hawks: if u dont pick up u wont get shit

[Accept]

You felt your heart hammering in your chest as both fear, apprehension, and excitement boiled through your veins, the hammering blood pounding in your ears as you waited for some sort of noise on the opposite side of the line.

“Little dove?” Hawks' voices filled your ears, and despite yourself, you smiled softly. The naturalness of his voice sends warm thumps down your spine.

“Hi, Hawks,” you whisper breathlessly, your head already checking to make sure your neighboring cubicle mates didn’t try to look over the divisions to stare at you. For the most part, the office building was quiet except for the phone calls, the clanking of computer keys, and the monotonous music playing softly on the speaker's head.

“Whatcha doing?” he drawled, and you felt your skin heat up when you heard the all too familiar sound of his shoes hitting the top of his desk, the soft whine of his chair as he leaned back onto it. “Are you really at work?”

“What do you mean, am I really at work?” you squeaked, half horrified at the way the lazy, warm heat of lust was infiltrating your body at the sound of his voice, and the annoyance that he thought you had been lying? “Of course I am; it’s two p.m. on a Wednesday!”

“Ah, so little dove-chan is a raging pervert who engages in phone sex to bypass her long hours at work?” Hawks sighed his tone that of understanding and dismissal. You splutter. “You never fail to surprise me.”

“I do not do… that!” you stammer, your face feeling like hot cinders, your fingers and eyes double-checking to make sure that the audio was going to your earbuds and your earbuds only. You also couldn’t help the way your eyes swept around you, trying to make sure you hadn’t accidentally invited unwanted attention. “I said I was busy!”

“But, you picked up my call?”

“You said, or else!”

“Mmm, okay, I think I see,” Hawks tutted, and although you had never seen what you supposed to be his handsome face, you could imagine a lazy, toothy smirk on his face. “Don’t worry, I don’t mind using your little cubicle to talk you into fucking yourself good for me.”

Your jaw drops.

It hits the desk, and the muffled shriek of utter humiliation is only silenced because you bit onto your tongue like a rabid animal.

“Aw, you sound so excited for me already, little dove. I bet you want to know what I’m going to do to you, don’t you? I just know that I’m going to make you feel so... good…”

“Hawks!” you plea in a hushed whisper, your heart hammering where you sat frozen like a deer in headlights. Sure, you had definitely played his audios before to pass the time, but never before in your existence had you had actual phone sex. This was riskier than just listening to his audios; his audios always had a pattern, a way to escape from the madness of his voice when people were closer than you’d like. But this? No, there was no escape. “I’m at work! I c-can’t!”

“But, fuck, I want you so bad,” Hawks' voice dipped into a gravely tone, his voice just perfectly scratchy enough that your shoulders trembled in unspoken, untouched want. “I want to feel your cunt around my cock, baby, your pussy is so hot and I want to be the fucking lucky bastard that gets to fuck you through your bed.”

“O-Oh my god…”

“I’ve been thinking of what your tits look like,” Hawks continues on, his voice continuing in the style you liked the most. It was raw, heavy, and deep. No character impersonations, just him, pure Hawks. “I hope they bounce the way they do when I imagine you riding me. I want to see you moan when I kiss the underside of your tit, I want to see your face when you realize that you’re my girl, nobody's else's, but mine.”

Heat floods your panties at his words, your shallow breaths making him chuckle on the other end.

“You’d be so lucky to be just mine, wouldn’t you, little dove?” Hawks snaps, his voice demanding a response, and you heave.

You look around, no one is near, and you croak out: “I’d be so lucky.”

“Louder.”

“I’d be so lucky.”

“Mm, there we go,” Hawks laughs, and your ears prickle for any noise that may indicate that someone was listening in. “What? Are you getting nervous that your needy ass will be heard by your coworkers right now? Answer me.”

“Mhmm,” you hum loudly, your cunt pulsing with more incredible heat and your hands shaking with a slight fear of being caught.

“Aww, don’t worry, little dove. I’m sure your boss will understand that you’re my newest fucktoy and will let me continue. Maybe they’ll want to join in?”

You whimper softly, shifting in your seat at that thought. You didn’t really want your boss coming anywhere near you, he was old and gross for one, and nothing could take the place of this beautiful man's voice in your ear right now.

“Oh, was that a no? You don’t want other people fucking you, do you, y/n? I bet you only want to have my cock in your tight little pussy, bet you want to watch the way that greedy little thing sucks me in, begging for my seed. Would you want me to cum deep inside you? You would like that little dove; you’d like to be full of my cum.”

“H-Hawks,” you keen as quietly as you can, your hips shifting uncomfortably in your seat, your heart hammering in your throat. The pressing heat in your cunt is growing, your panties growing with wet slick as Hawks' voice whispers down your ear, filling every empty and void space in your brain until you were having trouble focusing on the very much public spot you were in.

Hawks let out a soft, guttural moan, and you froze, face entirely combusting into an inferno as the familiar slick slapping of his fapping cock filled your ear. Immediately, you forgot everything.

“A-Are you—?!” you splutter, unable to find the words or the energy to come up with a way to ask if he was masturbating right now. Your eyes spun, your mind in a complete haze as soft, raunchy moans spilled from his lips, striking against your nerves and soul with each successive sound.

“I’m only trying to help you out here, dove,” Hawks growled, undoubtedly in effect to a rather loud smack of his fist colliding with his thrusting hip. “You’re the little office slut who picked up a phone call to entice in phone sex. I bet you knew exactly what I was going to do, and your pathetic, needy whore self caved to my instructions.”

Your fingers curled into the armrest of your chair.

“I bet this makes your boring ass job tolerable, the perfect distraction to a shit job, then imagining a few minutes of fucking yourself against my hard cock.”

“That’s not true!”

“No?” Hawks laughed, not believing you any more than you did. “So you wouldn’t hate it if I showed up and fucked you into the wall of your cubicle? You wouldn’t mind if I claimed your sweet-smelling pussy against your desk for everyone to hear? I know you can scream like a bitch in heat. I know that pretty little cunt of yours would milk my cock dry. Oh, I just know you would look so fucking sexy with your back arched, eyes closed, and you begging for hours just to cum. You wouldn’t cum without my permission, right?”

You gasped, heart fluttering, hammering in your chest as you shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak.

“I need a verbal answer, little dove.”

The heat in your core was blistering, your thighs shaking with your unadulterated lust and need as you ground into the cushion of your chair. All logic and moral long gone as he snarled and moaned your name in your ear, the slick of his fapping cock echoing like a great bell in your ear. You wanted to hear him cum, wanted to listen to the pithering sound of his echoing moans as he spilled the contents of his balls onto his hand — and how you wished it was your womb.

“I won’t cum w-without your permission!” you whispered, your skin shivering with your fear of being caught.

“God, you sound like such a dirty fucking bitch. I bet your pussy is fucking soaked already. Bet you really want to run that slutty embarrassed finger against your clit but don’t want to be caught by your perverted coworkers,” Hawks hissed, his breaths turning into steady, heavy hot pants. You mewl softly, confirming his spoken thoughts, and he huffs out a laugh. “How many fingers do you normally shove up that pretty cunt of yours, little dove?”

“T-Three!” you gasp, your forehead pressing to the cool of your desk, your eyes glazed over and looking at the entrance of your cubicle, fervently wishing that no one tries to check on you as you grind against your stable chair. “O-Only three fit.”

“Fuck, you really do have a tight cunt, don’t you,” Hawks snaps, the wet sounds of his fisting hand around his cock a beautiful melody in your ear that makes you whine at the back of your throat. “Bet you can’t even fit cocks up your cunt without lube, huh. You gotta stay on top, or else you’ll get hurt with how thick and long my cock will be up that baby pussy of yours.”

“H-Hawks!” you grit out, the friction of grinding on the seat no longer working.

“Go to the bathroom, now,” Hawks commands, the small gasps on his voice from his approaching orgasm more than enough ammo for you to do as told.

You sprint to the bathroom, the slick of your cunt hot, and evident to you as you sped to the bathroom. Your phone clenched in your hand as you locked the door behind you, glad the room was empty. Barely managing to get yourself into the stall, the toilet paper placed on the seat as you raised your legs up, already prepared. The skirt you wore was bunched above your ass, and the panties you wore, stretching out around your knees.

“Sounds like you’re ready to start fucking that pussy for me,” Hawks laughs, but there's no humor, just bite. “Put in three fingers, now.”

Without even arguing or caring, three fingers slip into your cunt, and you cry at the feeling of your fingers completely stretching you out. The smell of sex and slick filling your nose as your fingers slick up, fucking your tight cunt as you moan louder and louder for Hawks.

“God, your fucking pussy is so fucking wet, I can hear it from here!” Hawks moans, the frantic sound of his drilling hips gaining speed and momentum.

“I want it to be you!” you moan, your face burning in your humiliation. “I want it to be you fucking my pussy, claiming me in this bathroom. I need you, Hawks, I want your cock so badly!”

“Fuck,” Hawks gasps, something tumbling in the background. “Such sweet words for a fucking dirty ass cumslut,” he growls, and your legs shake, your clit and cunt thrumming with your increasing arousal and pit of tightness in your core.

“HAWKS, FUCK!” you sob as your hips try to start a merciless speed against your fingers, your body trying to match the speed in which Hawks was fucking his own hand.

“Keep screaming my name, whore.” Hawks gasps, his noises of pleasure beginning to grow louder and louder, your eyes crossing in satisfaction. “Screaming my name like the fucking slutty mess you are. All this shit just to get me to fuck you? God, you’re so fucking pathetic y/n. Begging for me, begging for more? I think you’re my favorite little dove ever, gonna make you mine whenever I get to fuck that pussy.”

“Hawks!” you wail his name again, your arms and pussy throbbing with the energy it takes to keep up with his inhumane speeds. Your vision seeing stars as you tremble more and more, your legs slipping from the toilet seat, yet. “I am your whore, your little dove. Please let me come, please! You fuck me so well, fucking hell, please, I needa cum, I needa cum!”

“Cum with me,” he snaps, his voice so deep, so dangerously smooth. It was precisely what you needed, the voice kink you had for his tenor exactly fulfilled entirely with that simple, last command. And just like that, your jaw slackens, head slamming backward, and pleasurable waves crash through you.

Your fingers still rock at your clit, and your vice gripped walls, your toes curling within your shoes as you soundlessly scream. Hawks, on the other end, is practically snarling, voice deep and altogether dangerous as grunt after grunt leaves him, and you can imagine the milk-white cum splattered all over his chest and hand. A beautiful, perfect sight that you wish you could see for yourself.

Exhaustion settles in your bones as you sit on the toilet, still entirely exhausted as you heave for air.

“I think that was the best fucking orgasm I ever had,” you mumble, your eyes closed, not ready to stand up and move. “Thank you.”

“I’m good at what I… at what I do,” Hawks stumbles, husky exhaustion ringing in his own voice. “Now, little dove, finish up work, and I promise there’ll be a surprise waiting for you when you’re done.”

Not entirely agreeing, but not disagreeing with his command to go finish you last… two and a half hours at work, you begrudgingly said goodbye to Hawks before washing your hands and exiting the bathroom.

When five o’clock came, you watched as your phone screen lit up, and your face flushed as you read the DM from Hawks.

Hawks: this is my fav audio now ↳ hawks_littledove.mp3 but you surprised me today, so in case u ever want to have more fun sometime call me 03-9183-2495 ;)

#hawks smut #hawks x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #mha #bbs kinktober 2020

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honeymoonjin · 3 years

Text

pairing: namjoon x jimin genre: smut, 18+ readers only word count: 5.1k

summary: namjoon has worked as a bodyguard for an upscale BDSM dungeon for long enough to know that jimin is the most sought-after dom there. it only takes one miscommunication for namjoon to discover firsthand why that is.

warnings: unedited, sexually explicit content, power bottom!jimin, sub top!namjoon, unprotected sex, degradation, light pain play, BDSM dynamics, kinda temperature play, i think that's it but i'm so out of practice so i apologise if i missed something

a/n: this piece came to fruition thanks firstly to the @armyadvocates AAPI Justice and Advocacy initiative, and secondly to the kind commissioner @goldenwallsvol6 on twitter who requested this (i'm so sorry for not including everything you asked for, i got a little carried away kdsjfdssk). please check out the AAPI initiative here, consider donating, and check out the resources that come with it.

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Clocking in to work has become such a routine for Namjoon that he often finds himself switching his brain off, preoccupied with half-thoughts as his body runs on autopilot.

He signs in, uses the staff changing room to replace his sweats with the company standard uniform - a tight t-shirt and slim fit jeans, the belt of which he hooks his keys on. He doesn’t actually start his shift for another couple minutes, and so he ducks to the bathroom, chews a breath mint, and stretches before heading out of the office and down the narrow hallway that leads to the den.

In fact, it takes him a few steps into the dungeon before his automatic schedule is disrupted.

It appears Namjoon is entirely alone in the facility.

His steps, taken with heavy-duty boots, echo around the hollow space with nothing but the walls to absorb them. It’s a Thursday night (he consults his phone just to be sure) and he was on the closing shift. On any usual day, he’d be starting work right at the bustling high of the BDSM dungeon, yet he finds himself wandering alone.

Shaped in a rough X, the center of the dungeon is open-plan, with more private spaces forking off. The wing he’s in is generally full of swingers and kinksters making use of costume changing stations and a room full of cleaning supplies and disposables like condoms or wet wipes. It was always the calmest section, but never dead like this.

In a daze, Namjoon glances inside the rooms anyway, half-expecting the place to burst into life at any given moment. But it stays undisturbed, and in no time he’s in the central atrium, weaving through bolted-down couches, benches and racks until he can sink onto a stool at the bar.

Coherent thought escapes him. His brain flails for a reason, but the absurdity of an entirely vacant sex dungeon has him lost for words. After a moment, in restless futility, he stands back up and goes behind the bar, back further into the mini storage/kitchen that he knows features a window.

Outside the narrow, slightly dusty frame is an empty parking lot. His heart sinks, feeling sorely left behind and out of the loop, but a glint catches his eye. Pressing his nose to the glass, he squints and peeks a somewhat familiar vehicle, pulled into the closest park to the entrance of the dungeon.

Namjoon stares pointedly at the Hyundai, racking his brain. God, who was it that had a-

A wooden scrape from behind has Namjoon jumping in violent fright, catching his forehead on the protruding frame of the window. Cursing, he whirls around and glimpses movement further inside. Another drawn-out scrape is followed by a very human-sounding huff.

Heart still racing, Namjoon makes his way out of the storage area and stands behind the bar, seeking out the presence.

“Oh, shit, you gave me a heart attack!” Park Jimin stands off to the left of the room, hands on his hips and head tilted back in relief. “I thought you were a burglar.”

“No,” Namjoon states redundantly, mouth not quite working beyond that. He knew he recognised that silver SUV - every Thursday he watched Jimin hop into it and pull away after a long night of scening. The two had exchanged words often, more than Namjoon could say for most patrons. Being the bouncer for a sex dungeon didn’t lead to that much genuine conversation, but he always appreciated the effort Jimin would put in, hair wet with sweat and lips curved with happy exhaustion but still asking Namjoon if he’d managed to work out whether it was birds or the neighbour’s cat eating his strawberry plants.

He forces himself to check back into the present when current-Jimin cocks his head with a slightly sheepish grin, awaiting an actual explanation. “I, um,” Namjoon stutters, having to avert his eyes to construct anything coherent, “I didn’t realise the club was shut, I’m honestly a little confused.”

Jimin’s smile drops, plush lips rounding in surprise. “Oh, really? Hoseok-hyung said he sent out emails to all the staff. There was a pipe leak so we called off our whole calender until Monday. Did you not get it? We’ve had troubles with work emails getting stuck in spam; something about a sex dungeon really seems to set off the detectors,” the man quips with a jovial lift of his brow.

Namjoon bites down on his tongue, offering up a silent nod of acknowledgement. He’d seen Jimin more times than he could count in black, red, royal purple. In the club he favoured leather, not buckled and studded but sleek and tight, often decorating his lithe body with harnesses, gauntlets and heavy rings instead. More often than not, he’d boast unsmudgable smokey eyes with sharp liner, cheekbones as harsh as they were dewy. It had taken a while, but Namjoon had eventually grown used to the sight, able to prevent chubbing up at the mere sight of his ass as he bent to open his car door.

For some reason, seeing him outside of that whole persona is far more intimidating. Still covered in a light sheen of sweat, that’s the only linker to the Jimin Namjoon is faced with today. He’s got chunky white sneakers weighing down his feet, long overalls rolled up at the cuffs to let some air reach his ankles. The overalls prove particularly problematic to Namjoon, as they don’t seem to have anything underneath. Namjoon can see collarbones, glorious collarbones, and the lean bare sides of Jimin’s torso. If he bent over, Namjoon would probably get a glimpse of his nipples. The thought dampens his mouth with need.

Jimin himself seems unaware of, or at least unbothered by, the way Namjoon stares him down. Instead, he reaches down to push a cardboard box as tall as his waist across the hardwood floor closer to the bar one shove at a time. “Anyway, you’re welcome to head home. I’ll get Hoseok to add half an hour to your payslip for your troubles.”

“What are you doing here then?” Namjoon asks reflexively, cringing at how loud he’s accidentally pitched his voice.

Jimin’s face is surprisingly round without the stroke of makeup to emphasise dimensions, and when he beams at Namjoon, it softens his whole face even more. “I’m taking advantage of us being closed to install some new furniture. D’you wanna see?” He seems to reconsider, shooting Namjoon a worried look. “It is sex stuff, though.”

“I wasn’t expecting a bookshelf,” he answers honestly, and is rewarded with the bubbling sound of Jimin’s laughter, drowned out prematurely by another shove of the box. “Here,” Namjoon says suddenly, darting out from behind the bar, “let me help.”

At first, Jimin pushes while Namjoon pulls, but after a few grunts of exertion, steps back and lets Namjoon take over, not disguising the way his eyes linger on the way Namjoon’s biceps and pecs flex under his t-shirt sleeve. Obediently, Namjoon lets the bleach-blonde guide him to an open space near the centre of the room, depositing the weighty box there.

With a satisfied hum and a lingering glance at Namjoon’s body, Jimin bends over with a pen from his pocket, using the nib to pop and rip the tape on the box lid, yanking back the flaps with ferocious enthusiasm. He lets out a delighted cry upon lifting a frame of styrofoam out of the box, revealing the goods inside.

One at a time, he takes out oddly-shaped plates of metal, plastic baggies of bolts and screws, and some rubber caps. Kicking the empty box away, Jimin slots his hands back on his hips and grins at Namjoon. “Can you guess what it is?”

Namjoon takes a moment to consider the different sections of stainless steel. The largest isn’t flat, but a rectangle with a slight curve to it, the gentlest arc. The rest come in mirrored pairs, most just for structure, but four of them featuring heavy-duty O-rings. Though he works outside the play area, Namjoon can guess what those are for. “Something for bondage?” he ventures, stomach flipping when Jimin eyes glint with thinly veiled interest.

“A breeding bench,” Jimin explains, squatting to let his fingers trail down the side of one bar, “the metal feels sterile and cold for those that like it. Have you used one before?”

Namjoon feels unsteady on his feet. “No,” he answers, but the softness in his voice betrays his lack of aversion to the thought. But Jimin might think he was a dominant, too, Namjoon worries. Everyone else tended to. “Not yet,” he adds after a moment.

Jimin sucks in a silent but sharp breath, chin lifting. “I could use a hand setting it up. Would you mind…?”

“Oh! Uh, yeah, no problem.” Namjoon tries to clear his throat, but the lump of anticipation remains. “Happy to help.”

“Excellent,” the dom beams, fishing around the pieces of styrofoam to locate the printed instructions, handing them to Namjoon. As Namjoon begins to make sense of them, looking over the basic diagrams, Jimin sits down on a nearby ottoman, intended for viewing the other stations, but continuing to face his new help instead. “I’ve been wanting to get to know you more anyway,” he divulges in a honeyed tone.

“Really?” Namjoon glances up from the instructions, feeling the heat of Jimin’s gaze. Even in worn overalls and unstyled hair, the man strikes a gorgeous image, and his posture screams distinguished dominant down to the curl of his fingers. His mere presence has Namjoon feeling off-balance in the most electric way. “There’s not much to know.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Jimin replies immediately, deadpan. “Why are you standing outside every night when you’re just as kinky as those of us indoors?”

“Excuse me?”

Jimin leans forward, legs splayed wide and elbows on his knees. His eyes are intently focused, blazing. “For a while it drove me crazy,” he starts, “you looked so familiar. I saw you every evening and couldn’t put my finger on it. But you used to scene here, didn’t you? Years ago.”

Namjoon’s heart stops beating, sitting heavy behind his ribs instead. “You- You’re not meant to approach people you know from the dungeon outside. It’s against the rules.”

“We aren’t outside,” Jimin counters. “I want to know why you stopped. You don’t look happy, Namjoon, seeing others come and go while you’re stuck to your post. Help me understand.”

Taking a few deep breaths, Namjoon stays silent, opening his mouth seeming too daunting a task. After a moment, Jimin swallows hard and sits back again, giving up the inquisition. Namjoon chooses to continue the task at hand, consulting the instructions.

The bench itself is a relatively simple setup. There’s two long cuts of steel in an X below the main panel for stability, four legs with the O-ring bars at either end, and the rubber caps on the bottom to avoid scratching the floor. As he putters around with the nuts and bolts, using a tiny spanner provided in the baggies to tighten them, he feels Jimin’s curious gaze on him. Silent.

Eventually, the silence has its desired effect, and Namjoon lets his internal thoughts vocalise. “I played here for a while. My partner and I ended up going our separate ways, and I wanted to give him space.” He doesn’t make eye contact, pulse thudding and heating the pieces of metal he fiddles with.

Jimin takes a short moment to reply, but it feels cavernous. “It’s been years, then. Hasn’t he had enough space yet?”

Namjoon’s eye twitches. How many nights had he stayed up with that exact question in mind? “It doesn’t feel right anymore. People would know me for who I was then. And I’m- I’m not that person.” His partner, an eager sub with a need for a firm hand, had asked Namjoon one day if he was sure he was really happy being a dom, and it had entirely dismantled the place in BDSM that he’d cultivated for himself. That sub was right, and he didn’t know how to adjust his course to fit his true desire.

So he’d pulled away entirely, unable to fully leave this world, but unsure of whether it still had a spot for him inside it. He just wants to feel what it’s like to let go in the way his subs did. And as his hands focus on constructing the heavyset bench, his mind wanders deeper in this vein, loose-lipped enough to confess it all to Jimin.

Jimin listens without judgement, not even seeming surprised when Namjoon admits to feeling more submissive, and the lack of reaction is liberating in a way he couldn’t have expected.

It’s not until the final bolt is fastened in place and Namjoon leans back, slightly breathless, that Jimin stands up and approaches him again. He crouches in front of Namjoon, eyes tender and hesitant, reaching out a hand.

Confused, Namjoon holds his out, palm-up, and Jimin takes it carefully, circling his fingers around the narrowest part of his wrist. Still, it’s too meaty for Jimin’s fingertips to connect. He squeezes lightly, carefully, before locking his gaze with Namjoon again, who swears he’s no longer breathing.

“Do you want to try?” Jimin asks. His voice is low, soft but full-bodied. “Do you want to try to let go? Club rules would apply.”

And Namjoon is nodding, and the grip on his wrist is tightening, restraining, and Jimin’s surging forward, lips on his.

His free hand comes up to hook around the nape of Namjoon’s neck. He’s held there, unforgiving, as the dom deepens the kiss. There’s no space between them, just skin on skin, tongue on tongue. It’s uncoordinated on Namjoon’s part, but so calculated and thorough on Jimin’s, like he knows the exact way to unwind him.

Jimin’s fingers scratch up into Namjoon’s hairline. He’d been growing out the length a little for winter, just enough to cover his ears, and it provides leverage for Jimin to grip on and tug, tug, tug in sharp bursts, timed unevenly enough that Namjoon is never ready. Every pull sends an electric shock down his spine, right between his legs.

He’s hard already, achingly so, and it just worsens when Jimin shifts his weight, bringing a foot forward and over Namjoon’s thigh, half-caging his body flush against his.

Jimin’s body is hot, even through the denim overalls and searing when it’s skin-on-skin. Namjoon can hear himself panting when their mouths split apart briefly, but he can’t stop his head from spinning long enough to care.

Before long, a rumbling growl escapes Jimin’s throat, and his teeth find Namjoon’s lower lip, scraping and nipping at the flesh. It’s not until Namjoon’s hand is shaking in Jimin’s grip that he pulls away, eyes wild and alight.

Namjoon must look utterly debauched, with swollen lips, hazy eyes and rucked-up hair, but his cock is screaming to be touched, and his breaths become infused with pleas for more, begging Jimin to touch him.

“God, you greedy little thing,” Jimin remarks in wonder, and a shudder takes over Namjoon’s body. Jimin quirks a brow. “Good? Bad? I don’t know what you like.”

“Good,” Namjoon insists without shame, “oh my god, good. Say m-more like that.”

Jimin hums with a grin, hand on Namjoon’s neck slipping around front to fist his shirt, yanking it suddenly. “Up, then,” he barks, standing himself, “I want you on the bench you built for me. Thank God that body is good for something; it’s not much fucking use now, is it?”

Namjoon’s breath leaves him in a rush, and he gets up shakily, almost tripping over his own feet as he lowers himself back down on the end of the bench. It’s chillingly cold even through his jeans, and he trembles at the thought of touching it with bare skin. Jimin has no such qualms, however, planting his palm on Namjoon’s chest and pushing him backwards, insistently guiding him down without knocking his head on the metal.

His teeth chatter briefly, but it’s nothing compared to when Jimin clicks his tongue and reaches down to strip the thin fabric of his t-shirt off with one fell swoop, the stitches breaking as they’re forced over the broadest part of his shoulders.

Ice erupts across his back and he gasp, shooting up. Jimin’s hand prevents him from getting far, and his breathing grows loud and sharp, shivering violently as his body fights to warm up the steel. The slight arch of it slots perfectly into the divot of his spine, meaning every inch is flush against him.

“You stay where I put you,” Jimin scolds, flicking at a nipple in punishment. “It’s pathetic, isn’t it? You, lying here, asking to be degraded by somebody half your size? Pathetic. You’re lucky I’m a giving man.”

“Th-thank you,” Namjoon offers up with wide eyes. He doesn’t know the protocol, doesn’t even know how he should be acting as a sub, let alone as a sub for Jimin. He can barely believe the situation he’s ended up in, but he’s never felt so alive. The cold steel is a wakeup call to sluggish veins, his blood rushing faster than ever, most of it going straight to his dick.

Jimin huffs like he’s not quite pleased with the response - even as his eyes crinkle and glint with satisfaction - and simply hooks a finger into the waistband of Namjoon’s jeans, frowning. “Can’t even get undressed yourself. For goodness’ sake.”

Namjoon’s cheeks burn, and he squeezes his eyes shut, feeling so overwhelmed. Though it was years ago, the habit of being in control hasn’t left him, and part of him feels anxious being so vulnerable. Closing his eyes eases that, and Jimin lets him, briefly reaching up to give his upper arm a squeeze, a lilting hum asking the unworded question.

“I’m okay,” he breathes to the darkness behind his eyelids, and the squeeze returns before Jimin straightens up again, fingers yanking impatiently at Namjoon’s jeans, undoing them and yanking them off, taking his briefs with them.

The new level of nudity sends another shock of cold to his system, but this time Namjoon welcomes it with a groan, tilting his hips up so that his cock rests on his lower stomach. His fingers twitch, aching to wrap around himself.

His desire is answered, not with the delicious grip of fingers, but with the hard press of the heel of Jimin’s palm, pinning his hardness down without mercy. A moan dies in Namjoon’s throat as his body tries to curl inwards. A second hand holds him down still, leaving him unable to escape the heavy pressure.

He pants, writhing and toes curling, but Jimin just sighs softly, like he’s more relaxed than ever. “Such a waste,” he drawls, his voice blooming with all the flourishes of a Disney villain, “wanting to be treated like a slut, but what am I getting out of this? Hm?”

“U-uh-” Namjoon has no idea what to say, cracking his eyes open to seek out the comfort of acknowledgement above the level of the scene. His breath is taken away at the sight. Jimin, above him like an avenging angel, golden-haired and glittering with sweat, still fully clothed (as fully as you could call a single piece of denim). He finds Namjoon’s searching gaze and sends him a calm, dreamy smile of encouragement, before twisting his palm against the base of Namjoon’s dick, wringing a strangled groan out of the man. “You can take me,” he pants, filled with the urge to provide, to serve, “take what you want.”

Jimin tilts his head to the side, like this proposition is worth considering. As he makes a show of pondering, he taps his fingers lazily against his cock’s dripping head. Namjoon swallows the whimpers that threaten to bubble up, and forces his hips not to budge. “I’ll be honest with you,” Jimin says finally, “because you don’t deserve sugar-coating. If I was here with a fleshlight or a dildo, I would’ve come already. You’re wasting my precious time, sweet boy. I don’t want you to lay here and simper, I want you to be a good toy for me. So what’s it gonna be?”

Namjoon’s muscles are trembling; from his lips to his toes, he feels like he’s vibrating slightly, restless down to the very atoms that make him up. Jimin is patient, lazily drawing sticky patterns of precum on Namjoon’s abdomen with his pinky finger. Namjoon fights against the primal part of his brain for something coherent, replaying his words. Fleshlight or dildo. Be a good toy. Jimin was offering him the choice to top or bottom, Namjoon realises, and his cock twitches, feeling liberated and thoroughly taken apart with that heady mix of submission and power. He was giving control to Jimin, but never losing his choices.

For a moment, he does consider what it might feel like to let Jimin take him. He’d never bottomed before - at least not for anyone but his own fingers in his experimental years - but if anyone could make him feel safe, he suspected it would be the dom leaning over him. It’s once he really thinks about it that he knows he’s not ready, a thin strand of dread winding around his lungs that won’t go away until he’s stammering to Jimin that he can have Namjoon’s cock if he wants it.

Jimin sucks in a slow, pleased breath, a smile curling at his lips as he lays the weight of Namjoon’s length across the palm of his hand, looking it over. The chill of the steel beneath him is nothing compared to the iced shiver that runs through him upon being inspected in his most private area. Second most private, he corrects. Baby steps.

“I suppose,” Jimin declares finally with a sigh, “this should do. Not winning any awards, though, is it?” Namjoon’s cheeks burn with shame at the comment even as his face scrunches up in disagreement. If there was one thing to be proud of physically, it was that he could always bring his partners pleasure with the equipment he grew into.

Jimin sees the unfiltered reaction on Namjoon’s face and suddenly claps his free hand over his mouth, turning away. The giggle, impish and delicate, doesn’t get as muffled as he probably intended. “Dammit,” he mumbles, “stop being funny, that’s not fair.”

Namjoon blinks, still stark naked and hard as rock beneath the clothed and chuckling dom. “...Apologies,” he says after a pause, “but do you want to- um- are we-”

“Sorry, sorry,” Jimin says, clearing his throat and wiggling the muscles in his cheek to force the smile down. His fingers reach nimbly for the straps that hold his set of overalls on, and undresses down to skin as he takes some deep breaths as if to hype himself back into character. Once he’s done, he swings a leg over the metal bench and straddles Namjoon’s thighs with a swiftness that takes his breath away.

While it may take Jimin a second to slip back into his dom headspace after the break in mood, all Namjoon needs is the feeling of Jimin’s plump ass cheeks settling onto hs lap and he’s being smacked in the face with submission, ready to beg to feel it more intimately.

Jimin doesn’t wait for him to beg, however, rolling his body forward and down, all the way until their cocks are pinned together between their stomachs, and their noses bump. Close enough to kiss, Jimin stays right there, a breath away, and Namjoon freezes, unsure if he’s allowed to close the gap.

Pleased with the restraint shown, Jimin smirks, eyes wandering over Namjoon’s face in pure bemusement, slightly cross-eyed with their proximity. “Most toys can’t kiss back,” he mentions, a hand sliding up Namjoon’s forearm and shoulder to thumb at his jaw, tilting his head back and holding it in place, “so I figure I might as well treat myself.”

“Most?” is the final worried exclamation Namjoon manages to get out before lips are descending on his, and heat erupts.

There’s no way Namjoon could keep up. Not when his face is pressed tightly to Jimin’s, lips nipped at, tongue sucked at, and mouth thoroughly explored. Not when every inch of his front is pressed to Jimin’s, the latter’s nipples hard against the soft, relaxed flesh of Namjoon’s chest. Not when he becomes aware of slow rocking, Jimin grinding their cocks together.

It takes him an unknowable eternity of this to realise that the slow, indulgent groans passed between them aren’t all his, and that Jimin’s shifting motions are brought on by the way he’s reached behind himself with a finger slick with their shared spit, working himself open.

It’s that realisation that becomes the last straw for any of Namjoon’s reserves. He feels so - so passive, not even prepping the man who’s about to take his cock. He’s lying on unforgiving steel, body used as a grinding post and mouth deeply plundered, just a mindless toy, dumbed down to pleasure and need. He isn’t even really aware of his own body where Jimin isn’t touching it; he isn’t too sure where in space his hands are, or what his feet are doing. His lips are for Jimin and his cock is for Jimin and that’s enough to make him light-headed.

When Jimin sits up, Namjoon grunts a bit and fights for some clarity to help line himself up against Jimin’s awaiting body, but the dom just tuts and rebuffs the advances, suiting himself. Part of his weight is on Namjoon’s right shoulder as he props himself up, slowly bearing the rest down so that the head of Namjoon’s cock pushes inside.

The moan that leaves Jimin’s mouth is enough to make Namjoon’s bones shake, wishing he could hear it on repeat, and the dom certainly seems to be doing his best to make it a reality with the enthusiastic way he works his hips down in tight circles, clenching around the intrusion.

Namjoon feels like he’s floating, the hard edges of steel no longer grounding him. He doesn’t lift his hands up to hold onto Jimin, he doesn’t fuck up into him, he’s barely even looking at him with how low his eyes are lidded, but there’s liberation in that inaction.

The pressure to perform is entirely lifted, and he feels the pleasure twofold, once from his own sensation and then again like an echo with every sigh and groan that leaves Jimin’s lips.

The dom has the stamina of an athlete, lifting a leg up onto the metal base beside Namjoon’s hips to gain better leverage, and Namjoon has a front row seat to the way the muscles in Jimin’s thighs flex. They’re corded and thick, such an erotic contrast to the softness of his ass, and Namjoon feels drunk off of it.

He lets Jimin take what he wants, and he feels, and that’s all.

He doesn’t even think, not really, nothing deeper than mindless observation.

Jimin is beautiful, like nobody he’d seen before, and the lack of makeup and unstyled hair certainly doesn’t change that. It’s a reminder that he’s real, and that he’s sharing this experience with Namjoon. He sits up, leaning backwards with a hand on Namjoon’s knee instead of his shoulder, and the first time he plunges down, his whole body is wracked with a violent tremor.

“I’m close,” he pants outs, eyes flicking down to Namjoon, a lazy grin appearing momentarily, onto to be knocked off by an expression of pure euphoria as he swaps the bouncing out for grinding. He rocks his hips back and forth, Namjoon buried deeply inside, and seeks out his own end irrelevant of the body that cock belongs to.

Namjoon doesn’t care, loves the near out-of-body experience he’s having, and wills the pleasure to simmer long enough for Jimin to come first.

When Jimin gets really close, he loses some of the fluidity in his movements and becomes jagged, seizing up more and more until he’s stock still, breaths staccato and mouth wide open. The physical release follows soon after, and Namjoon shudders as hot white paints the underside of his chin and his chest.

Jimin has a hand around himself, tugging out every last drop as he sucks in desperate lungfuls of air, slowly curling in on himself until his burning forehead is on Namjoon’s shoulder. “Fuck,” he curses under his breath, chest heaving.

Namjoon reaches his end without even noticing. The pleasure throughout his whole body is so electric that an orgasm is barely a notch higher, more so a spreading warmth throughout his body. Wet where Jimin’s still joined to him, and damp everywhere else with perspiration, but it’s blissful nonetheless.

Jimin heaves himself back upright after a brief interlude, brows furrowed as he glances down at Namjoon. “Did you- oh,” he remarks, shifting a little and seeing the cum that’s split around the base of Namjoon’s cock. He lets out a deep sigh, eyes slipping closed for a moment as he tips his head back. “Okay, bye-bye dom.”

Namjoon’s mind slips back into awareness at a snail’s pace, feeling first the way his throat has dried up a little and his jaw hurts from clenching his teeth. Then his voice comes back to him, and he coughs a little, blinking up at the dom above him. “Does dom have a return date by chance? That was… fucking incredible,” he admits.

Jimin laughs, the action causing him to clench around Namjoon. With playful fingers, he reaches down and lightly pinches the fat of Namjoon’s cheeks. “You’re too cute,” he declares, before lifting himself up and off, clicking his tongue at the rush of wetness that drips down his legs. “Far out, it’s like you haven’t nutted in a year.”

Namjoon feels his cheeks heat against his best intentions. “That’s just normal.”

Jimin sends him a sharp look, searching his face. “Holy fuck,” he muses, stalking over to the nearest station to raid a small drawer of wet wipes, “and you’ve been letting that beast sit out in the cold every night instead of coming in here? Masochist.”

It takes all the energy left in his body to sit up, but Namjoon gratefully accepts a fresh wad of wipes and begins to clean himself off. “The beast doesn’t pay the bills,” he quips, already feeling more casual with Jimin after their intense shared experience.

“Then I suppose I’ll have to enjoy its company on your free time,” Jimin offers up, avoiding Namjoon’s gaze with what appears to be a shy streak as he dresses himself.

Namjoon smiles, appreciating the gorgeous sight of Jimin’s body before he covers up. Appreciating even more the way he feels so comfortable in his presence, enough to let go the way he did. “I’d like that.”

#armyadvocatesaapi #minjoon smut #dom jimin #sub namjoon #bts smut

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littlesniggy · 3 years

Text

Princess Part Two

Part Two of the Kid x princess reader and well...I might’ve gotten carried away a little but oh well. Thanks to @pure-kirarin for requesting this! Btw, this plays either pre time skip or during the time skip since Kid still has both arms lol.

Part One is here!

Warning: 18+, smut, dirty talk, virgin reader

Word count: 4.4k

She was laying in her bed, her face still wet from crying the whole way back. Her clothes were dirty; she had slipped multiple times on and some scratches were visible on her arms and legs. She needed to cover them so no one would see them. Otherwise, they’d ask uncomfortable questions and she simply had no answer as to why she looked like this.

The sheets of her bed felt comforting and soothing but she couldn’t quite fall asleep; too many thoughts were running through her head and every single one revolved around Eustass Kid. To say her image of him and pirates in general had been shuttered was an understatement. Was he right? Had she been too influenced by all the stories she’s read? In them, pirates were criminals but in a charming way; they’d drink and have fun and play around with women but they never gave off that aura of danger. And still: some part in her wanted to know more about pirates, know more about their life, their ambitions, and motivation.

Kid said something about becoming the king of pirates; wasn’t this just a myth? Finding the One Piece? Gol D. Roger’s call to find it? She wasn’t sure but he seemed serious. And this part of him was the one that intrigued her the most. She closed her eyes and slowly but surely drifted off into a restless sleep, haunted by a certain bloodthirsty pirate captain.

It had been two nights since she encountered the Kid pirates and ever since she felt down and less ambitious. The prince, his father, and their entourage left yesterday. Finally, she had time for herself but it did her no good; her thoughts were still running wild, always returning to Eustass Kid. She even had a somewhat wet dream about him where she woke up breathing heavily and completely unsatisfied. She’s never been intimate before and her urge to be was rather non-existent – until now. Only the thought of him doing anything remotely sexual to her had little butterflies flying in her belly, making it incredibly difficult to focus.

Suddenly, she heard the sound of weapons clashing on weapons, loud yells calling to gather in front of the entrance and protect the king and the princess. She hurried to the big window and saw with horror how one guard after another got killed, their screams echoing through the night sky. She clasped her hands over her mouth but couldn’t move her eyes away from the horrid scene. The ones killing her people were none other than the Kid pirates. She saw weapons flying through the air and gathering around one person – Eustass Kid. All the weapons manifested into one huge weapon-arm he used to kill more of the guards.

She heard footsteps in front of her door and turned around, expecting pirates to storm in at any moment. But instead, two guards were rushing in, weapons ready to protect or fight. “Princess-sama! You need to get out of here! It’s too dangerous!” one yelled while the other one grabbed her arm and pulled her with him. “W-wait! What’s going on?” she demanded to know but followed the two guards down the stairs. “Pirates. They invaded the palace. Probably looking for treasure but we’re not sure. As long as they’re here you’re not safe, princess-sama.”

The stairs led down until they reached the dungeons where a safe-room was located. But they didn’t make it until there because in a flash the guard’s weapons were taken from them by what seemed like magic but when she turned around Captain Kid was standing there, a huge and sadistic grin in his face.

The guards positioned themselves in front of the princess but without any weapons they were defenseless. “Princess-sama! Please, keep going until you reach the safe-room! We will handle him!” the guard told him. The princess didn’t think twice before she turned around and ran through the long corridor. She didn’t make it far though because suddenly, she felt a hand grab her hair and yanking her back painfully.

“Just the princess I was looking for.” She heard a voice right next to her ear. “Let go” she screamed and tried to get free but his grip was like iron. “Stop struggling and be quiet. I only want your treasure, that’s all. If you’re a good little princess I’ll let you live.” He purred. “Y-you killed the guards! Why should I trust you?” tears were running down her face. This was definitely not how she had imagined their next meeting!

“Indeed, I have. But maybe I’ll make an exception for you? Can’t kill a princess now, can I?” it sounded sarcastic and she new he had no qualms killing her as well. “Now, tell me. Where do you hide your treasure? The sooner you tell me the sooner we’re on our marry way.” “How do I know you’re not lying?” “You just have to believe me.” He sounded amused at her question. “And by the way. Didn’t you say you wanted to join us? As a pirate you should be okay with robbing and killing people. That’s just part of a pirate’s life.” She pressed her lips together and felt stupid once again. Deep down, she had known this but she just didn’t want to accept it.

“So, tell me. Where is the treasure?” he repeated the question. “I-in the south tower, top floor, behind a huge door. Can’t miss it.” She pressed out and expected him to let her go. But Kid had other plans. “That wasn’t too difficult, was it? Let’s go.” And with a push she stumbled forward. He let go of her hair so technically she could run away but she knew he’d catch her. “Lead the way, princess.” He said while he followed her, his eyes running down her body while they were walking, appreciating the silky nightgown she was wearing which was running down her body like water.

The princess noticed but kept quiet about it. “W-where is my father?” she instead wanted to know. Kid shrugged, the grin still on his face. “Who knows.” He simply answered and she knew he wouldn’t tell her. Maybe he was already dead?

When they got to the entrance hall she heard yelling coming from all over the place but she couldn’t see her father. Kid pushed her forward with his hand, making her almost fall to the floor. “Keep moving, princess.” It sounded like an insult when he called her that but she wouldn’t complain. She heard him call some of his men who followed them up the stairs until they all reached the huge door guarding the treasure. The two guards were quickly disposed of and the princess couldn’t hold back a squeal.

Kid laughed at her reaction while the others opened the huge door, revealing lots and lots of gold, silver, jewels and precious gems. “That’s what I call a jackpot. Pack it up!” Kid ordered and shoved the princess with him to the side to not be in the way of his crew. Silently, they stood next to each other, Kid had his arms crossed in front of his chest, she looked down, fidgeting with her fingers. “Did we wake you?” Kid suddenly asked, his eyes still appreciating the treasure in the room. She stayed silent, not wanting to answer.

He turned his head towards her, his eyes wandering up and down once again. “You got a lot of those nightgowns, don’t you? You were wearing one two nights ago as well, weren’t you?” a blush creeped on her cheeks and she pulled her arms over her body to hide it from his few. “Don’t be shy! It looks good on you!” The red intensified even more and he could swear her head was about to pop like a tomato. “Show me your room.” He demanded. Shocked, she looked at him, eyes wide and mouth open. There it was again – the excited feeling in her stomach. Even though he had just killed more than a dozen if her men she still felt intrigued by him; his whole aura had her body drawn to him.

“C’mon. A little princess like you must have a huge room, right? Let me see it.” He insisted. There was no rational reason why she did it but she obliged. As if her body was out of rubber, she walked along corridors with doors to every side, legs daring to give in with every step. Kid walked behind her, she could feel his eyes on her body.

She stopped in front of the door, hesitant to turn the nob to open it. But Kid took over this part. His big hands grabbed the nob, turned it and opened the door. He pushed her inside and followed her right after. She heard him whistle but didn’t turn to look at him. Two clicks indicated he had closed and locked the door behind him. Now it was only the two of them, alone in her room, her only in her nightgown and underneath it only her panties.

“That’s a nice ass room. Being a princess has its perks, hasn’t it?” he passed her and took a look around her room. His eyes wandered over pictures showing her with her father, some friends and one with her mother when she was young. She expected him to ask about her but he didn’t. He simply didn’t care.

When he was done he walked towards her bed, sitting down in the mattress. His legs spread and his arms crossed in front of his chest. His grin was ever so present on his face and had her look away. “Why did you want to join us?” he asked out of nowhere. “I…I don’t know.” She answered truthfully, still not looking at him. “Bullshit! Did you think I didn’t notice your reaction? When I had my thumb buried in your mouth?” His grin grew even wider. “Did you hope for something more…filling?” he laughed at her shocked expression when she turned to look at him.

“Now is your chance, princess. I can almost smell your pussy from here and believe me she wants me.” He said cockily, way too full of himself. But he was right. Ever since he asked her to see her room she had thought about all the things they could do in there – and none of her thoughts were G-rated. “C’mere.” He demanded.

Slowly, she put one foot in front of the other and made her way over to where he was sitting. She stopped in front of him, her sight set on the floor. Even though she was standing was he almost as tall as her when he was sitting. “Have you ever knelt down in front of anyone else?” he asked. She shook her head no and received a dark chuckle. “Then it’s time you learn how to do it. Get on your knees, princess.” His tone was demanding and left no room for arguing.

With trembling limps, she got down, took her place between his legs. Pleased, he hummed. “That’s a nice sight, princess. You look good on your knees. As if you were made to kneel down.” “Stop saying that.” She whispered, completely embarrassed by his words. Kid laughed out loud at her wish. “But it’s the truth, princess. Now, get down to business.” He demanded but she didn’t follow his order. Kid raised an eyebrow.

“Didn’t you hear me? Go, suck my dick, princess.” He clarified but again she didn’t move. The princess bit her lower lip, seeming like she wanted to say something but too embarrassed to say it out loud. Kid grabbed her chin and made her look up at him. “What is it, princess? Spit it out or get going!” She averted her gaze but after receiving a slight slap to her cheek she answered.

“I….I have never been….intimate….with a man before.” She whispered, barely audible. The captain made a surprised sound but didn’t let go of her chin. “A virgin, huh? That’s rare. But I like it.” With his other hand he opened his pants, freeing his semi-erect member from its restraints. “Don’t worry. I’ll guide you through everything.” His thumb circling his huge mushroom head. The princess took a quick glance at his dick before looking away, cheeks blushed once more.

“You can look. It gets him excited, y’know.” Kid purred. She hesitated for a moment but then looked back at his dick which twitched in response, slowly becoming harder and harder. “Good girl.” He praised. He let go of her chin and instead took one of her wrists between his fingers and guided her hand towards his member. Before she could touch it, she tried pulling back instinctively but his grip was too strong. “Don’t be shy. Touch him.” He encouraged her and simultaneously pulled her hand closer until he wrapped her hand around his dick, his hand covering hers.

She gasped at the touch. It felt warm and…weird, as if it was some kind of animal. But it made her pussy wet at the same time, making her rub her thighs together. “You like how it feels?” he started to move his hand around hers so she was stroking him. He pressed his hand down, showing her how he liked it. Her legs kept rubbing against each other and she didn’t know what to do about her growing wetness.

“Touch yourself, princess.” His demand came out of nowhere. “What?” she asked bus his grin told her she had heard him right. “I said: touch yourself. I can see you want to.” Her cheeks were burning and she couldn’t move. “Have you ever touched yourself?” he asked, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. “Don’t tell me you haven’t!”

“W-well….n-not really.” God! This must be his lucky day! Fist the treasure and now this!

“Then let me teach you how to do it….Follow my orders, princess.” Her eyes were uncertain but he knew she would obey his orders. She was way too curious.

“Are you wearing panties?” she nodded hesitantly. “Good.” His hand kept holding hers in place, still stroking him.

“Move your hand between your legs and rub your index and middle finger over your panties where your pussy is.” Her hand slowly moved down between her legs and she gasped when she touched herself. “Tell me, are you wet?” his grin was now predatory. He leaned down to be closer to her face. The princess nodded shyly. “Good. Now move your hands in your panties and feel your cunt. Tell me how it feels.” She followed this order as well and a small moan escaped her lips when she touched herself. “How does it feel?” he demanded to know.

“W-wet….hot.” he grunted at her words, closing his eyes for a moment. “Good girl. Do you feel the little nub?” her fingers glid over said nub and she jerked away a little. “Circle it with your finger.” A whimper escaped her lips and she had to close her eyes at the sensation. She felt how her juice coated her pussy even more, making small sounds while she moved her finger over her clit. Kid squeezed her hand slightly and gasped at the feeling. “Do you feel how you’re getting wetter? Does it feel good, princess?”

“Y-yes.” She moaned. Kid picked up the pace at his dick and her hand between her legs followed his pace.

“Do you think you’re wet enough now? Are you dripping?” his voice filled her head and she could only nod. “Push your finger inside.” The princess opened her eyes and looked at him, stopping for a moment. “B-but what if-“ but he cut her off. “Just do it, princess.” His harsh tone made her whimper and her pussy clenched around nothing. Slowly, she moved over her slit and inserted one finger, making a slightly uncomfortable sound. “Try rubbing your clit.” It was difficult and she had her hand at a slightly awkward angle but managed to circle her clit with her thumb. Her legs opened wider when she started moving her finger in and out, the feeling of herself around her finger was weird and exciting at the same time.

His hand picked up the pace around his shaft once more and her hand followed suit. “When you’re ready put another finger in. Spread them.” “Ah!” another small moan when she entered a second finger, scissoring them and also curling them inside of her, moving them in and out of her pussy. The moans came out more frequently now and she hand to rest her cheek against his thigh, watching their hands pump his dick with hooded eyes. It was so hot, she didn’t know where to put her lust. Kid grunted, his eyes never leaving her frame.

“Such a good, slutty princess. Following a pirate’s orders to please herself.” He praised, making her moan again. She started moving her hips up and down on her finger, her moans getting louder and louder. Kid laughed at her action, licking his lips at the sight. “That’s right, princess. Fuck yourself on your fingers. Ride them like it’s my dick.” Another moan. Her movements became frantic and he knew she was close. It was now or never. He let go of her hand and put his hand on the back of her head. “Open up!”

She had no time to think before he pushed his huge dick inside her mouth, almost choking her. Her eyes were wide open and she tried to get away but he wouldn’t let her. “Breath through your nose, princess. And don’t forget fucking yourself.” The problem was not her breathing – at least not her primary. Her gag-reflex had kicked in and it took all her will power not to puke. Kid started moving her head between his legs, low grunts rumbling thorough his body. “Fuck.” He grunted.

The princess listened to his grunts and it somehow got her distracted from the uncomfortable feeling on her tongue. She also started moving her fingers inside of her again, soon getting back the feeling inside or her that indicated her coming orgasm. She moaned around his dick, entering a third finger. His dick moved in and out of her mouth at the same pace, his mushroom head bumping against the backside of her throat; spit was dripping down her chin, his pre-cum salty on her tongue. With two more pushes of her fingers did she clench around herself, cumming hard and coating her fingers.

Kid stopped his movements a little bit unwillingly when she came but he watched her come down from her (probably) first orgasm. He removed his dick from her mouth and grabbed her chin once more, making her look up at him. “Show me your hand.” He whispered. With a small whimper she pulled out her fingers and slowly raised her hand with shaky limbs. Her fingers were coated in her juice and kid licked his lips, then grabbed her hand and closed his lips around her fingers, sucking on them. His tongue swirled around them, licking up every little bit of her cum.

She could only watch in amazement, brains till a little foggy from her high. When he was down, he let her fingers go with an audible plop. “Slutty princess, making such a mess while masturbating. Dirty, dirty little bitch.” His grin took in almost all of his face, that’s how satisfied he was with her job. But he wasn’t done yet…

“Get naked, princess. The main part is about to start.” He purred. “W-what? But I just…I just-“ “I’m gonna make you come again. You’ll like it since you’re such a little whore.” His words made her clench around nothing once more and she knew he would be true to his word. She got up, legs still shaky but she managed to stand in front of him. Her hands moved over her body, down to the hem of her nightgown and pulled it up over her head, exposing her breasts, the nipples hard from her arousal. Kid hummed in appreciation and couldn’t help himself but grab her tits in his hands and fondle them quite roughly.

“K-Kid…” she moaned and leaned into his touch. He leaned closer and took one of her nipples between his lips, sucking and biting at it. She threw her head back and had her eyes closed. “P-please….be gentle.” He looked up at her, licking her nipple before grinning again. “Can’t promise that.” He said and dedicated himself to her other nipple while his hand massaged her breast. His rough hands felt incredibly on her skin and the excited feeling between her legs came back.

The pirate noticed and looked down at her still clothed sex. “Take it off. I wanna see all of you, princess.” His voice was coarse from arousal and had her shiver in excitement. Her hands moved to her panties and pulled the, down, exposing her wet sex. Kid licked his lips at the sight and just had to take a lick by leaning forward. She moaned because of the sensitivity but jerked her hips forward, pressing herself closer to his mouth.

“So eager.” He murmured against her clit before teasing it with his tongue a little. The princess was afraid she might lose her balance and fall but Kid Kid wrapped one arm around her waist to keep her up, the other one grabbed the back of her knee and pulled it up to have better access. His mouth now savored her pussy, licking and sucking at the sensitive flesh and having her moan above him.

“K-Kid! I-it’s too much!” she whined and moaned at the same time, not knowing if she liked it or hated it. Just in this moment a knock on the door could be heard. Kid grumbled in discontent. “What?” he barked. “When are you done, captain?” he heard Killer’s voice from the other side. “Fuck off. I’m in the middle of eating dessert!” her cheeks turned pink again but she couldn’t think straight when he sucked at her clit once more, making her moan.

They heard a Killer clear his throat on the other side and then his leaving footsteps.

“Naughty princess. Letting him hear you moan.” He teased. Kid pulled away from her sex and threw her on the mattress instead. She looked up at him, body heaving, legs slightly spread, exposing her wet pussy. “Such a nice view.” He complimented. The princess sucked on her lips, knowing what was about to happen. Should she really let a pirate take her virginity? She was promised to the prince, was engaged and about to get married. Should she throw this away? But Kid was already above her, his body like a blanket covering her own. He had lined himself up with her pussy, ready to push in.

“Take a deep breath, princess. This’s gonna hurt.” And with these words he pushed forward, sinking into her wet and hot pussy. A painful scream escaped her mouth and she clawed at his muscular arms, trying to find some support for her pain. But Kid showed no pity and pushed himself in completely. Her whole body was tense and she tried to push the foreign body away but the pirate was too strong. “Relax.” He huffed before he started to move inside of her.

“It hurts!” she pressed out, eyes shut tightly. “Stop whining. It’s gonna feel better soon!” Maybe. He thought to himself and grinned. Now was his turn.” His movements were sharp and hard, his dick moving in and out of her. It was a great feeling, especially since he knew he was the very first to thrust into her. Her face looked tense and he knew she was in pain. She was probably bleeding as well but why should he care? She had her orgasm and he wanted his. Well, maybe he could help her a little.

One of his hands moved down between their legs and started rubbing at her clit, making her jerk against his touch. “Good girl. Keep moving against me.” She whimpered, the pain slowly moved to the back of her mind thanks to his finger in her clit. She bucked her hips against his thrusts, making him grunt and curse with each thrust. He picked up the pace, his hips snapping back and forth at high speed, making it hard for her to keep up with his pace. She moaned, eyes closed and her arms were next to her head after she had let go of his arms. Her body was shuffled over the sheets, her body sweaty from all the feelings inside of her.

With each thrusts she got closer and closer to her next orgasm, her voice hoarse from moaning and screaming. Her legs wrapped around his hips, pushing him closer to her and pressing him deeper inside of her. With a last, loud scream she came around his dick, clenching around his thick meat and making him groan in pleasure.

Breathlessly, she laid underneath him, slowly getting her breath back under control. Kid had stopped moving; he looked down at her, had watched her face twitch in pleasure while she rode his dick through her orgasm. It was really hot; he wouldn’t lie but he wasn’t done yet.

“Little princess cumming around my dick like a whore. What an exciting sight. I like it. But I’m not finished yet. Let’s see if I can make you cum a third time. After all, three’s the lucky charm.”

_____________________________

Her whole body felt sore; her body was covered in dark bruises left by his mouth, her breasts and lower body was covered in his semen, dripping down onto the sheets. She felt used and dirty but at the same time completely satisfied.

Kid had left a while ago, the castle was silent. Before he left he had praised her for being such an obedient little princess who took in his dick so well. Alone remembering those words made her smile. She knew she would most likely never see him again but that was fine; after all, he taught her how to pleasure herself and that was enough. At least for now. Maybe she would teach her soon to be husband how to pleasure her.

#one piece #op #eustass kid #eustasscaptainkid #captain kid #captain kid x reader #kid x reader #eustass kid x reader #ns.fw #scenario #op scenario #requests

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slasherhaven · 4 years

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Hi, sweetheart! I just found your blog and i think your writings are wonderful. I think you are very talented about writing. Can i request a headcanon for Michael, Brahms and Billy's reaction to an artist reader who bought their house and use it as a studio and living space. They almost don't go outside. They fiiled a room with canvases and paint tubes but their art is... Let's say it may cause a trauma if someone sees them. Like full of blood and massacre images. And they started to like her.💖

These got pretty long so they’re under the cut 😂

Michael, Brahms, and Billy. His future s/o buys his house, using it as a living space and a studio for their very macabre art:

Michael Myers

The house had been up for sale for a long time but had no buyers. Nobody wanted to buy the house where the infamous Michael Myers grew up and committed his first murder. So, it remained empty.

Which was great for Michael because it meant that it was somewhere he could hideout. After all, even he needed to eat and sleep from time to time.

But then, by some miracle, somebody bought it. It had been the cause of some surprise and gossip among the rest of the town.

You were new to the town but had been informed of the history of the house, they had to disclose that information after all. They expected you to withdraw your interested but you took it with little hesitation. Maybe it had been your interest in the macabre.

Michael wasn’t happy about this.

No only would somebody being living in his home but he now wouldn’t be able to use the space.

But he was curious, even if his plan was to just kill you and take back his home.

So he watched you.

He actually watched you for some time.

You seemed to be doing a lot of decorating, storing old furniture and bringing in your own. But at least you weren’t throwing it away...

He got as close as he could without alerting you to his presence and ever watching gaze.

He wanted to explore the house some more, see how you had changed it, but you barely ever left.

Finally, you had to leave to do some grocery shopping.

And Michael took the opportunity to explore.

Most of the house had actually been left alone, the old furniture that was still usable was where it belonged, just cleaner. But you had added your own belongings.

It seemed that you had turned the living room, the largest and brightest of the rooms, into an art studio. Your easels, canvas, sketchbooks, pencils, paints, anything else you liked to used, scattered around the room in an organised chaos.

As Michael moved around the house he would find more of your works he would find.

Normally Michael didn’t care about the hobbies of his victims, or of anyone for that matter, but this was interesting.

All of your paintings were...morbid, for the lack of a better word.

All your works seemed to portray blood and gore, massacres and death, violence and chaos. All the things that normally made people uncomfortable, you used it in your art.

Now Michael was genuinely curious about you.

He even found himself picking up one of your sketchbooks and flipping through it, curious about the rest of your work. It all had similar themes.

Placing the book down, Michael slipped back out of the house only moments before you returned.

He started to watch you more, wondering about you.

Why did these things interest you? Did you find some sort of positive emotion from them or are you interested in how uncomfortable they make people? Is there a sick part of you that is just fascinated by it? How much real life experience do you have with the macabre?

How would you react to real gore? If you were to be presented with one of the scenes you painted but in the flesh? Would you run or would you be just as interested?

Perhaps what he was starting to ask himself was...how would you react to him?

You must have known who he was and what he’s done, since the information had been disclosed when you bought the house. Was he part of the reason you purchased the house in the first place?

He just couldn’t help but wonder about you.

There was still so much to learn, so he would just watch you for a little longer.

Slowly getting closer to you, getting more confident with his ‘visits’. He’d be in the living room while you slept upstairs, looking at your latest works.

You had started to notices that various painting and sketches where getting moved around. At first you thought you were just misplacing things, maybe you needed to take a break, but now you were starting to think that something else was going on.

You were living in the Myers house, the house where the Shadow of Haddonfield once lived. You couldn’t help but let it effect your work, some pieces being inspired by Michael Myers himself. You just couldn’t help it.

You knew it was insensitive considering the tragedy he had brought to the town but nobody had to see them, these pieces were just for you.

Those pieces also happened to be Michael’s favourites, one might have even gone ‘missing’.

These were even more interesting to Michael, that you had taken inspiration from him for your art.

You’re just so...interesting.

Yes, Michael is starting to like you. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing that you bought and moved into his house.

Perhaps he’d have to let you meet the inspiration for these newest pieces sometimes.

Hopefully you won’t react so bad that he’ll have to kill you, that would be a real shame.

Brahms Heelshire

The thought of somebody actually buying his house infuriated Brahms but he knew there was nothing he could do about it.

Maybe he could just dispose of you and make it look like a home invasion?

This was his home after all.

Yes, it might have been getting boring up in the house all alone but it was better than having strangers live there. People he didn’t know or trust.

But it was only one person, only you, so it wasn’t the end of the world even if it was starting to feel like it.

When you arrived, you moved your stuff in but didn’t move anything out. Which Brahms silently appreciated.

You actually seemed fond of the furniture that was already in the house, just cleaning it up properly instead of getting rid of it.

The first week consisted of you getting settled and Brahms just watching.

You moved your belongings in, claiming the largest bedroom as your own and personalising it some more.

Alright...he could live with that.

You had stepped into the child’s room and frowned to yourself. You knew the past of the house, it had been disclosed when you bought it (it had also been the reason you got such a good deal), and it just felt wrong to disturb the room.

For now you would leave it, and Brahms was happy about that. Maybe you wouldn’t be so bad, you would at least keep the house clean...so...you’re alright for now.

But then you started moving around the furniture in the living room. It was the largest, brightest, and most open space, and you thought it would be perfect for your studio.

Brahms didn’t like the changes you were making.

You still weren’t getting rid of anything, just moving it out of the way to give you more space and to make sure you didn’t stain any of it.

Then you set up your art supplies, even having some time that evening to continue with a painting you had started just before moving in.

That night, after you went to sleep, Brahms crept out of the walls to investigate some more.

He moved around the lounge quietly, examining the new stuff you had brought in.

It was all art stuff. You were an artist...well, at least that is interesting.

But as Brahms examined the piece he had seen you working on that evening, he realised that maybe it wasn’t quite the type of painting he had expected.

It was all just so...morbid...

Gore and blood, death and destruction. It made him cringe a little.

But you were very talented...he had to admit that.

He spent all night going through your art, finding that they all had similar themes. All morbid.

He couldn’t help but wonder why...what about all this awful stuff interested you and kept inspiring you?

It was supposed to make people uncomfortable but apparently not you, you welcomed it in your art. How very intriguing.

He started watching you for a different reason after that. His cautiousness turning into curiosity.

You didn’t seem...bad.

You didn’t seem like you would enjoy that stuff.

In fact, he often saw you smiling softly to yourself, sometimes even humming.

You hadn’t touched his childhood bedroom because you had felt empathy for the family and their past.

You had been polite and kind to the men who helped you move your belongings.

And he admittedly thought it was cute when you would get a smudge of paint on your cheek without noticing.

How could somebody who seemed so sweet and so normal, create such morbid art?

He supposed it was a little interesting though.

He’d keep you around for a while...just to learn more, that’s all.

He noticed that you kept the portrait of himself and his parents up. He didn’t know why. Maybe you respected the art, maybe you respected the family that once owned the house and didn’t take it down for the same reason you left his bedroom untouched.

Either way, he appreciated it. And it made him all the more confused as to why your art focused on such dark subjects.

You’d been living there for a few months now.

You noticed some weird things happening. Things moving around or going missing, mostly your belongings or smaller pieces of art.

Some items would show back up out of nowhere, making you even more curious as too where they had disappeared too.

Brahms continued to watch you, liking you much more than he did when you first arrived.

He saw how you were confused by the occurrences around the house but you didn’t seem scared and you never ran away.

That was a good sign.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be too much longer before he let you know that you actually had a housemate this whole time.

Billy Lenz

Once again, of course you know the history of the house. At least you knew that it used to be a sorority house, where numerous young women were murdered.

And yet you still bought the house, perhaps against your better judgement.

Billy actually isn’t that mad about somebody buying the house. It’s just the next person he can mess with.

Would probably be more annoyed if a family were to move into the house but it’s just you so he’ll be fine.

He sees you a soon as you step through the door, deciding that he found you attractive and deciding that this was going to be fun.

It could get lonely being all alone in the house all day.

It was nice to have a new face around.

He decided to let you settle in before making his first phone call. He would learn about you secretly before making that call, that would be best.

He didn’t want to scare you too soon and make you run away.

You took about a week to move in your belongings, clean the house and make it your own.

You found the largest, most open room that let in the most natural light and made that your studio. Spending most of your attention on that task, setting it up just as you wanted it.

Billy had perked up a little when he realised that you were an artist. At least you should be entertaining!

The house was already looking better than it had for a while. He was almost impressed.

He liked watching you paint, even if he couldn’t see what you were painting from this angle. You looked so calm when you painted and that calmed him to some extent.

One night, when you were sleeping, Billy crept down into your studio and got himself a closer look.

Your art was definitely...shocking.

From how nice you had seemed over the last week, Billy hadn’t expected your art to be so dark and morbid.

Don’t people usually paint flowers or fruit or something? Well...this certainly isn’t flowers or fruits.

And Billy didn’t know how to react.

But he did spend the night looking through your work, eventually falling asleep in your studio and having to hurry up to the attic once the sun started to rise before you woke up and found him.

He spent the whole day watching you, just learning more about you.

He decided to put off making the first phone call because now he was even more curious about you.

Eventually that call came though.

The phone rang and you answered it, only to be met by the sound of somebody moving around. You couldn’t really make it out the sounds.

But then you managed to make out a few actual sounds. There was a voice but you couldn’t really make out what he was saying and then...was that a moan?

You just told him he got the wrong number before hanging up.

Over the next few weeks you received some more calls. Just some perv, nothing to worry about too much.

But then you got a call from the same perv, you were used to it by now. You just carried on painting as you listened to his mostly unintelligible ranting.

You froze with his question, the only clear thing you could make out fully. “Why do you paint that stuff?” but he hung up before you could answer.

So...this man could see you?

You were suddenly reminded of the smaller sketches you did that had randomly gone missing. Had this man taken it?

You remembered him muttering the name “Billy” once or twice so you took it that was his name.

So you dedicated a piece to him, leaving it on the easel that night for him to see.

The next morning you headed down stairs to find it missing, meaning that he had accepted your gift.

You were interested in the man who had been watching you.

And Billy was even more interested in you.

It was a large house for one person but you tried to explore every inch of it, finally getting to the attic that you had been avoiding. You just though it would be dusty and neglected but you wondered if you could find anything interesting up there.

It didn’t take much looking around before you came across a pile of blankets and pillows, beside them a phone and the painted you had gifted your stalker.

Then it hit you.

This is where the man on the phone, Billy, had been staying and calling from. He had been in the house the whole time, hiding in the attic during the day.

Just as you were processing this realisation, you heard a door close downstairs.

Guess it’s time to meet the man behind all those creepy phone calls. Maybe another gift would encourage him to take mercy on you?

#michael myers x reader #michael myers #brahms heelsire x reader #brahms heelshire #brahms x reader #billy lenz x reader #Billy Lenz #slashers x reader #slashers #slasher #my writing

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firstofficerwiggles · 3 years

Text

Chapter 9: Not Without My Cyar’ika

Link to Chpt. 8, Link to Masterlist

Pairing: The Mandalorian x female reader

Rating: M/E, 18+ only

Warnings: Canonical violence, death, SMUT, explicit description of unprotected sex (be safe in the real world please), mentions of the possibility of sexual assault (but NO sexual assault takes place in this fic)

Word count: ~10K

Author’s Note: I’m sorry this took such a long time to write, but I was at the end of my academic year and it was a tough one. You’ll see in this chapter there is a mention of cloaking technology, which I completely stole from Star Trek. As always, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

“And so he has her now… I- I feel like I failed her, but I’m going to get her back,” Din has been conveying the unfortunate events of the last few hours to the Armorer over a holocall.

“You should return home to the tribe,” she replies, her voice even and calm, “You need the assistance of your aliit.” The soft blue glow of her image in the holo is somehow comforting to him. He knows she is correct; he needs the support.

“You’re right, I do,” Din acquiesces. He says goodbye to the Armorer with a promise to see her in a few hours. Even if it puts the Covert in danger again, he can’t rescue you alone, not against the forces that Kerrick has at his disposal. A soft coo sounds from the co-pilot’s seat and he looks over at his foundling. The little guy is looking at him with an almost hopeful smile, and Din reaches over to let the child sit in his lap cuddling him close. He tells himself that it’s for the child’s benefit, but deep down he knows he needs the comfort too.

As he makes his way back to the Covert, Din is greeted at the mouth of the cave by Paz and another warrior. Both nod to him gravely, clearly having been briefed by the Armorer of the situation.

“We will stand with you, vod,” Paz states, and the other Mandalorian punctuates this with more nodding, “We should have insisted on mounting an attack on this Commander Hoven from the start.” Paz says Kerrick’s name as though the taste of it is foul in his mouth.

“I appreciate your willingness, and I’m ready to accept your help,” Din admits. His reluctance to take advantage of his tribe’s assistance and his feelings of guilt over Nevarro have evaporated in the face of his need to save you.

“The Armorer said your woman willingly sacrificed her freedom to save you and the child; that shows real bravery,” the other Mandalorian speaks about you with respect. He has black armor and Din recalls that he is called Throm. He continues on to say, “My riduur, Mirmim, became close to her while she was here and it would be my honor to help you with the rescue. Also, Mirmim has offered to care for your foundling while we carry out the mission.”

“Thank you,” Din says appreciatively, “That means a lot.”

Din follows Paz and Throm into the main area of the cavern where almost all of the other tribe members are gathered. Everyone grows quiet as they enter.

“Din Djarin, we are sorry to see you again under these circumstances. We have discussed the need to rescue your woman, and we have decided to send our best warriors with you,” the Armorer greets him in her calming yet authoritative voice, “I will also be accompanying you.”

“Thank you all, I am honored and humbled by your support,” Din replies sincerely.

“The warriors will meet now to formulate our best plan of attack,” the Armorer states.

A woman in pink armor comes up to Din first, before he can join the others. He recognizes her as your friend and as she greets Throm too, it’s clear that she is his riduur. “I can take care of your foundling while you attend the meeting,” she says with her arms outstretched for the little guy.

“You must be Mirmim; Throm said you were willing to care for him while we’re away… while we get her back,” Din says, his voice catching a little. His emotions are so close to the surface right now as he tries not to think about what could be happening to you. He hands Mirmim the child and gives the little one a small pat on the head as he settles into her arms.

“You must have faith. You will rescue her and your tribe, our tribe, will help you succeed. This is the way,” Mirmim reassures him.

“This is the way,” Din tries to sound confident but still he knows that Kerrick has a powerful and well-protected ship and many troopers. They’re going to need a very solid plan.

This is the first point he raises in the warriors’ discussion, “Hoven has a light cruiser with turret-mounted twin light turbolasers, port and starboard quad laser cannons, missile launchers and likely concussion missiles. Not to mention he has at least a squadron of 30 storm troopers aboard, possibly more, not to mention other officers who are likely under his command.”

“We have 16 warriors, and we all know that storm troopers can’t aim for shit, so I’m sure we can take ‘em,” a man in orange armor says confidently. He’s a younger man from the other tribe and Din knows he means well, but he needs more than cocky bravado right now.

“Din Djarin, has an excellent point though that we do not know the total number of fighters,” the Armorer says, quieting the boastfulness of the warrior, “We would be better to find additional warriors.”

“I have an idea about that,” Din says, “I want to ask the Mistresses from Angel One. I’ve seen their warriors in action and I believe they would be willing to help, although their old leader was in league with Hoven, the others were not. Plus I know we made quite the impression there… she made quite the impression there.”

“You should contact them at once,” the Armorer nods her approval.

“I also have another person I need to contact; someone who I think can get us into Hoven’s ship undetected.”

“You don’t think we can take them on in a true battle?” Someone asks.

“No, I don’t. We don’t have enough ships to take on that kind of firepower in a ship-to-ship fight,” Din explains, “I believe our best option is a sneak attack. If we can be aboard another ship that docks with Hoven’s cruiser, we can do maximum damage from inside the ship.”

“Yes, but how do we convince Hoven to let this other ship dock with him?” Paz raises an important question.

“We need to offer him something he wants, something that could make him more powerful,” Din answers, “Hence, why I need to reach out to my other contact.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Looking out into space from the comfort of your bed on Kerrick’s cruiser, you sigh and wipe at your teary eyes. It’s only been a day since you were forced to part from Din and the child, but you feel like you’ve spent an eternity crying wretchedly into your blankets. Fortunately so far you’ve managed to put Kerrick off from wanting to be with you and mostly you’ve been left to your own miserable devices. You think back to yesterday and give yourself a small pat on the back for accomplishing this small victory.

As Kerrick dragged you onto his ship, you felt yourself becoming increasingly worried for Din and the child, as you knew they wouldn’t have been able to get away without a fight. You repeated to yourself that Din was more than capable of getting out of a jam, but it didn’t stop you from worrying. You were feeling positively nauseated at the negative ideas running through your head. Not to mention, every time Kerrick leered at you over his shoulder, you felt your stomach flip in an unpleasant manner. It worked out to your favor, however, because once you were at the entrance to Kerrick’s personal quarters, you managed to vomit spectacularly all over his floor and boots. He was instantly repulsed and it put a stop to any romantic notions he had cooked up for your reunion. With a look of disgust, he had a storm trooper haul you away to your own quarters for the night. Since then you’ve been left almost completely alone, except when another trooper came by to bring you some soup. You’re grateful to have had the time to think, as well as cry, because at least now you’ve come up with a plan to keep Kerrick at arm’s length at least for a little while.

A crisp knock sounds at your door, but apparently it was only perfunctory as the door swishes open to reveal Kerrick, who clearly doesn’t think he needs to be invited in to your space.

“So, my doll, I hope you’re feeling better today,” Kerrick looks you over as you sit up on the bed. He takes in your disheveled appearance and tear-stained face. You’ve done absolutely nothing to make yourself look pulled together in any way and you can see by his expression that you must look rather awful. He grimaces at you before saying condescendingly, “I see that you must still be sick, or else living with that Mandalorian has caused you to forget all about personal grooming?”

“I’m still not feeling well,” you sigh and clutch your stomach dramatically, “I’ve started my period and the cramps hurt so bad. It’s making me feel so bloated and nauseous.” This is a lie, but you remember that Kerrick is one of those asshole men who thinks everything about menstrual cycles is disgusting. He never wanted to touch you at that time of the month back when you were dating and you’re praying the same is true now.

“Ick, did you have to tell me that?” He recoils from you in horror and you almost laugh out loud at his reaction. “You know I don’t need to hear details about any of that. Ever.” He backs up towards your door looking as though he can’t wait to be gone from your presence.

“I’ll have someone send in some new clothes for you at least,” he says with a frown, “I guess I’ll see you in a few days.”

“It might be as long as a week,” you say trying to sound as pathetic as possible, but any extra time you can gain will be helpful so you can figure out an escape plan. Or maybe it will give Din time to rescue me? Your thoughts are hopeful that Din will come after you but at the same time you try not to get too excited about the possibility because how in the galaxy is he supposed to find you? And how will he fight his way on to this heavily protected ship? No, it’s best that he doesn’t put himself in danger like that; you will just need to keep working on a plan to get yourself out of this mess.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Din waits as the holocall works to connect to Eira on Angel One. He’s hoping the friendship you were able to build with her will be strong enough to garner her assistance in his mission to rescue you. When Eira’s blueish image appears, he’s bolstered by the smile and warm greeting she gives him.

“Mistress Eira, I wish I were contacting you under better circumstances,” Din explains, “Your warning was helpful, but ultimately we were unlucky. Hoven has her, he caught us in a trap.” He has to pause here to collect his thoughts because his anger and shame at begin tricked by Kerrick is still so raw. Before he can continue though, Eira is speaking.

“We will help you rescue the princess,” Eira pledges solemnly. “That man would never have known how to find her if it weren’t for the treachery of Mistress Sigrid. You must allow us to send warriors to assist you so that we can repay our debt to her and to you.”

“I’m so grateful to hear you say that, Mistress,” Din responds, “It’s why I was contacting you, I was hopeful you’d be willing to help me… to help us.”

“I know you were only here for a few days, but the princess left a lasting impression on many of us,” Eira tells him, “Both of you have helped us see that perhaps our society could be more open to outsiders.”

“Mistress Eira, I do need to tell you one thing, she… she isn’t really a princess, we only said that to make us seem more important so we would be welcome on Angel One,” Din feels sheepish admitting the lie and hopes she won’t rescind her offer. He continues to explain, “It’s just… we were trying to protect our foundling; he’s very special and we needed a safe place to stay for a few days.”

“You lied to protect the child?” Eira clarifies.

“Yes, and I’m sorry we had to deceive you like that,” Din apologizes.

“It was for a noble cause, I understand your reasons,” Eira sounds satisfied, “Now let’s discuss how we’re going to help you get your princess back.”

“She isn’t a princess,” Din repeats.

“She always will be to me,” Eira says with a smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’re quietly making your way through the corridors of Kerrick’s cruiser trying to find your way to Engineering. Your plan has been working wonderfully and Kerrick has stayed far away from you. The first few times you ventured out of your room, no one said anything to you and they seemed to pretty much think it was normal to see you walking around. As you seemed to be granted free access to the ship, it occurred to you that perhaps you could find small ways to weaken the ship as a way to assist you in a possible escape. The first thing you did was check to see if your old access codes would still work at one of the workstations. Fortunately, they did. Same old lazy Empire, they never thought to delete anyone from their system because it would be too much work to keep those types of records. You knew you couldn’t make your sabotage too obvious or you’d be caught right away, but if you could do small things that could be brushed off as typical problems you would be able to create a whole host of annoyances.

You started with changing the lighting cycles in the barracks. The lights were designed to automatically turn off and on at certain hours for sleeping, but you managed to get in and change it up so that lights would randomly turn off and on at all hours of the day and night ensuring that none of the storm troopers could get more than a couple hours of uninterrupted sleep. Of course you locked your new lighting program with an extremely secure password so you knew it would be hard to fix.

Next you made your way to the officers’ mess hall, and while no one was around, you dismantled the caf machine and dumped several of the parts into the trash compactor. You remembered how strong the caffeine additions always were amongst the officers and now they’d need to go to the troopers’ mess if they wanted caf. In many cases this would mean they’d have to be far from their posts and stations would be left unmanned, opening up more opportunities for your little acts of defiance.

The destruction of the caf machine was why you were headed to Engineering right now. You had overheard the head Engineer and his assistant talking about working on the caf machine today because they were sick of having to go to the troopers’ mess. So you figured there was a chance you could do a little bit of damage in Engineering while they were away from their posts. You’ve just poked your head into the Engineering bay to have a look around when a lieutenant commander spots you. Damn!

“Hello, what are you doing down here? I thought you’d be in your room resting,” He speaks to you pleasantly and you realize you know him; he’s a former student of yours from the Sy Bisti class.

“Lieutenant Commander Roth, I didn’t know you were here. It’s so nice to see you again,” you force a polite smile onto your face.

He chuckles warmly, “Please, call me Sergio, and I’m sure it isn’t all that great to see me, but I’m enjoying seeing your pretty face again.”

“No, it really is good to see you, Sergio,” you tell him, sounding a bit more truthful this time. Honestly, he was one student you didn’t mind so much. You remembered him as a cheerful and handsome scoundrel, who was always kind to you. He never seemed too overly indoctrinated like the rest of the officers and although he had morally ambiguous air about him, he didn’t seem as truly evil as the rest of the officers you had known. Although he’s a little older now, he still has that attractive rascal look about him.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Sergio smirks at you, “What are you doing down here?”

“I’m lost,” you say trying to think of where you could say you intended to go.

“No, you’re not,” Sergio smiles as he sees right through your lie, “I think you’re right where you want to be.”

“Why would you think that?” You give him your best wide-eyed innocent look and blink up at him.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he laughs, “I know you’re much too smart to be anywhere but where you planned to be. That idiot Kerrick doesn’t give you enough credit.” There’s no malice in his laughter and he seems genuinely amused by your lie.

“Maybe I was looking for you?” You venture.

“Ha, that’s rich, you didn’t know I was here,” Sergio is very amused, “It’s ok, I think what you’re doing is brilliant and maybe I’d like to help you.”

“What do you mean?” You don’t know what to think, so playing dumb seems like the best option.

“There’s only one person I know who could have locked that lighting pattern with such a great password that no one else can figure it out.” Sergio looks at you pointedly, “After all, isn’t a password just a mini code?”

“Oh” You look down at your shoes, not sure what to say to that.

“Don’t look so disappointed! I’m not going to say anything,” he tells you sincerely, “I’d rather help you.”

“Are you serious, Sergio?” Could it be that you have a friend here somehow?

“Look, I know I’ve made shitty decisions with my life. I should have left the Empire years ago, it was a mistake to get involved in the first place,” Sergio sighs, “But I just sort of fell into this and the next thing I knew I had a little bit of power and I liked it. It’s a terrible excuse and I should have turned myself in to the New Republic years ago. But I’ve never been good at handling the consequences. I’m way too pretty for jail.” He says this last part with a small wink and a self-depreciating chuckle.

“You really won’t say anything to Kerrick?” You ask him.

“No, that weirdo doesn’t deserve you,” he says, “And I don’t know, maybe if I help you, I can redeem a part of myself in some small way.”

“Do you think you could help me escape? Could you fly one of the Tie Fighters?” You know it’s a lot to ask but you have to try.

“I’m sorry, but I think we’d just get caught right away, it’s too risky,” he responds, but there’s a sincerity to his voice so you feel that he’s being honest with you.

“Ok, so maybe we could mess up something here? I was thinking maybe the tractor beam?” If Din does manage to mount a rescue you’ll still be able to get away if the tractor beam is out of service.

“Sounds like fun.” He gives you a cocky little smirk and leads you over to the right workstation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Din leads a group of his fellow Mandalorians into an office building on Canto Bight with a shining plaque that reads “DeWitt Systems”. A receptionist stands up immediately when she sees the intimidating group enter the foyer and with a shaky smile she greets them.

“Welcome, Mr. Mando and um, guests,” she tries to be as polite as possible but doesn’t seem to know how to address anyone. Paz snickers a little at Mr. Mando but Din quickly shushes him. He thinks to himself that it’s a good thing half the group decided to stay behind on the Crest. She attempts to smile at everyone, as she gestures down a hallway, “Mr. DeWitt is waiting for you in the conference room; let me show you the way.”

“Mando, I’d say it’s good to see you again, but that isn’t the case under these circumstances,” Eugene is there looking sharp in a new suit. He moves forward to shake Din’s hand.

“Eugene,” Din returns the handshake and gives him a nod in greeting, “Thank you again for agreeing to be part of this rescue.”

“I’m happy to help in any way that I can, Mando,” Eugene says earnestly, “After my evening with your charming companion and you my business has skyrocketed, so I’ll do anything I can do to help her.”

Din nods again. When he spoke to Eugene earlier, he was worried that the man might not want to get involved in this type of risky undertaking, but blessedly you had made quite a lasting impression on him and he agreed to lend a hand almost at once.

“Have you finalized the idea to entice Hoven and get us aboard his ship?” Din asks.

“I think I’ve got something brilliant, not to brag, but I think it will definitely get us a meeting with Hoven,” Eugene is confident and he brings up a holoscreen. “I’ve come up with a mock-up of a cloaking device for a starship. The idea is that it can make a ship become virtually undetectable to scanners of all types.” Eugene shows a brief demonstration on the holoscreen of this technology. It shows a complicated series of mathematical symbols and equations and a diagram of a ship that vanishes when Eugene clicks a few buttons.

“That’s incredible, does it really work?” Paz wants to know.

“Not really, I can make it look like it works for about 5 minutes, but that’s all,” Eugene says, “However, it sounds really realistic and my tech mock-up is convincing enough that I think Hoven’ll be interested. If we get an invitation to meet his ship, I’ll be able to make us look ‘cloaked’ for just long enough for him to think the tech is real, but it’ll just be a ruse.”

“We’re getting that invite; Hoven won’t be able to resist tech like this,” Din states, “This is really great work, Eugene.”

“I have even more great news for you,” Eugene smiles looking rather proud of himself, “Do you remember the casino owner, Mr. Belvers? He’s going to lend us a ship. He was so impressed with the two of you from the party, you especially, Mando, and I happened to see him right after our call. When I told him about the trouble you were in, he was eager to be able to help out too.”

“Eugene, you’re more resourceful than I realized, thank you again,” Din is humbled and very grateful for the assistance. He remembers how jealous he felt over Eugene back when you all first met and he thinks about how much it bugged him that Eugene was so enthralled by you. Now that jealousy seems rather ridiculous and petty, and Din’s thankful that Eugene isn’t holding any of that against him.

After some additional discussion, they decide to leave the Razor Crest on Canto Bight and take Belvers’ ship which turns out to be a luxury cruiser. It’s smaller than Kerrick’s but large enough that it can easily transport the Mandalorians and the Angel One warriors. It’s flashy enough to be impressive but it’s not going to be seen as a threat in any fashion by Kerrick. Plus, without the Razor Crest, there’s no way for Kerrick to have any inkling that Din is coming for you.

“Alright, we’re ready for you to make the call to Hoven,” Din instructs Eugene.

“Let’s try and sell a cloaking device,” Eugene says enthusiastically.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’ve managed to keep Kerrick away from you for three days, but when a new dress showed up at your door with your breakfast this morning, you figured your reprieve from him was about to end. Reluctantly you pull on the dress, and try to prepare yourself for a difficult day. Sure enough, shortly after you’ve given yourself a little pep talk to psych yourself up for having to deal with Kerrick, you hear your door swish open. Not even bothering to knock anymore.

“Baby doll? Did you get the new dress?” Kerrick’s head pops into the fresher where you are fixing your hair.

“I did, thank you, Kerrick,” you give him a bland smile.

“Excellent! I know you’re still, ahem, untouchable, for a few days,” Kerrick says with a slight look of disgust, “But you can keep me company on the bridge for at least a few hours, surely?” He gives you a creepy smile that turns your stomach, but you know you need to do this to keep him calm.

“Of course, Kerrick, that sounds nice. I’d like to see you while you work.” You do your best to bat your lashes at him and then say, “I always thought you were a natural leader.” To make it through this, you figure your best option is to just compliment him as much as possible.

“Oh, yes, I think you’ll see I was born to be in charge,” Kerrick replies smugly and holds out his arm pointedly for you. You gently loop your own arm through his and let him lead you out into the corridor. When he reaches over to pat your hand you try not to flinch away, but he notices your discomfort.

“Don’t worry, my doll, you don’t need to be nervous, everyone will like you,” he lets out a small laugh as he says, “And if they don’t, well, they’re all expendable.”

You let out a nervous laugh at that comment, and hope to Maker that he is making a joke, but something tells you that he might actually mean it and you pray that you can stay as inconspicuous as possible. Even though these people have given their allegiance to a terrible organization, you don’t want anyone to get hurt, or worse, because of you.

Kerrick leads you to the bridge and then proceeds to give you an extended tour of the area, being sure to tell you how crucial and important he is at every opportunity. He’s such a braggart, you don’t know how his crew put up with it, frankly, and you’re surprised no one has attempted a mutiny yet. Then Kerrick begins telling you of some of his greatest accomplishments with the Empire. Each story is horrific and you feel sickened again by what he has become. He’s finishing up a tale of how he used his superior language skills to successfully trick a village chieftain on the planet Morak into giving up a major portion of his tribe’s land to the Empire so they could mine rhydonium and you can’t hold your tongue any longer.

“Kerrick, weren’t you ever worried that your actions could have serious consequences? I mean, look at what you just told me. Rhydonium is incredibly unstable and I’m sure that mining it must have put all of those people at serious risk.” You want to say so much more, but you try to reign yourself in so that you don’t anger him.

“Why do you care about a bunch of smelly villagers on Morak? They’re so beneath us, baby doll.” Kerrick sneers and then laughs, “You have such a soft heart, but that’s ok, you can use it to worry about me. I’m the only one you should care about. Why don’t you give me a little kiss? Show me how much you care.”

He grips your chin and you know you can’t avoid it, so you lean in and kiss him, but thankfully you’re spared from too much because the sound of a holocall is dinging loudly. Kerrick lets out an exasperated sigh, before answering with a slightly disgruntled greeting.

“Good morning, Commander Hoven, I am Eugene DeWitt of DeWitt Systems. Please excuse my directness in calling you without an introduction, but I believe I have an excellent opportunity for you. One of my other clients, a Commander Pershing, recommended I speak with you.” You hold in a gasp when you see the blue glow of Eugene’s face displayed and you know that this can’t be a coincidence. You carefully move closer to Kerrick so that the holo will be able to pick up your image too.

“Oh? What is this opportunity, Mr. DeWitt?” Kerrick seems rather bored but the mention of Commander Pershing is enough to have him a little curious.

“Oh, I’m certain you will be interested in ship cloaking technology,” Eugene says with a small flourish, “You see I run a technology firm that specializes in cutting-edge innovations. With my program, your ship can become undetectable to scanners of all kinds, especially those used by the New Republic.” Eugene gives a small nod and then seems to make eye contact with you for just a moment. Your heart fills with hope that Din must be involved in this call. Your attention snaps back to Kerrick though as he answers Eugene.

“Well, now I am intrigued, Mr. DeWitt,” Kerrick’s eyes grow wide at the prospect of this new technology and you can almost see the evil gears grinding in his head thinking of how useful a tool it would be. “But how do I know if it really works? Are you willing to offer a display of some type?”

“Yes, absolutely, Commander Hoven, I am prepared to come to you as soon as possible to demonstrate the immense capability of this unique technology.” Eugene gives Kerrick his best salesman smile as he launches into a description of the tech and displays several fancy charts and equations. Before you know it, Kerrick is sharing his ship’s coordinates with Kerrick and setting a time for a meeting tomorrow. You keep a placid look on your face but inside you are bursting with excitement. This has to be Din, he must be coming for you. If Din has gone back to enlist Eugene’s help, he must have formulated a rescue plan. Now it’s up to you to figure out what you can do here to make the rescue successful.

Kerrick finishes making plans to meet with Eugene and then he turns to you and grabs your hand pulling you in closer to him as he says, “You see my doll, I’m an important man now, one that other men respect. While all those fools think the Empire is dead, I’m here in the heart of it all making us stronger than ever. Just think, we’ll be able to traverse this galaxy virtually invisible to the New Republic scum!” Kerrick’s eyes light up as he gives you this speech and you can see that no shred of the man you once knew remains. The young man who shared your love of languages and the world of academia, the man who was once funny and charming, the man to whom you once gave your heart freely is completely gone as surely as if he died or rather was killed by this new Commander Hoven. You can’t help but let this sad realization show on your face.

“Oh, don’t be sad, I won’t forget about you, my beautiful doll. You’ll be right there with me, supporting me,” Kerrick says with an indulgent grin, “A strong, powerful man needs to have a pretty woman behind him, or rather, underneath him.” He laughs at his own bawdy joke and you manage a weak giggle that seems to placate him. It’s about all you can manage as his misogyny is making you want to punch him, but that won’t help your situation.

“I’m afraid all this excitement of being with you has me feeling a bit lightheaded,” you tell Kerrick, “I think perhaps I should return to my room to rest for a bit.” You’re not sure if he’ll buy this, but he sees you as weak anyway and you clutch your brow dramatically for effect.

“So soon? But we’re having such a nice time, and I prefer to have you here with me,” Kerrick says pouting.

“Commander, we need your approval over here,” another officer is requesting Kerrick’s presence.

“You have so much important work to do,” you simper at him, “I wouldn’t want to get in your way.”

“Hmm, I suppose that’s true,” Kerrick says considering you, “I’ll see you in a few hours and we can have lunch together.” You nod to him and move to pull your hand out of his grasp, but instead he yanks you back to him hard and forces you into a kiss. You remind yourself not to struggle and just hope it will be over soon. “There you go, have a nice nap, baby doll.”

You hurry out of the bridge area as soon as he releases you and when you’re certain you’re alone you wipe your mouth in disgust. Oh, Din, please be with Eugene when he comes tomorrow. You’re not sure how much longer you’ll be able to hold off Kerrick and his amorous advances. In hopes that tomorrow really will bring a rescue, you wonder if you can rearrange the storm trooper work shifts somehow. Since you heard all the details of the meeting, you know precisely when Eugene’s ship is scheduled to arrive and wouldn’t it be convenient if somehow there were a lot fewer troopers on duty then?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Din looks out at hyperspace from the pilot’s seat of the luxury cruiser. After a quick stop on Angel One, the rescue party is now complete and the atmosphere aboard the ship is rather jovial despite the danger of the upcoming mission. The Mandalorians and Angel One warriors have bonded quickly as they speak about the chance at a good fight with each group eager to show off their skills. Eugene is also in high spirits having perfected the way to temporarily mask their ship from Kerrick’s scanners when they arrive at the designated coordinates. It will only last for a few minutes, but it will give off the impression that the cloaking technology really works. If all goes well, Din plans to see if Eugene can rig up something similar in the Crest since it could come in handy at times. Who knows, maybe Eugene really will invent starship cloaking someday.

Din tries not to look at the time and count the minutes until he reaches you. Once the first phase of the plan was complete, he’s been impatient to get to this next step. When Eugene told him that he saw you in the holocall, and that you looked safe, he was filled with relief but also worry knowing that it meant that Kerrick was keeping you close to him. Din knows that you are smart and will do whatever you can to keep yourself safe, but at the same time he knows what Kerrick wants from you. He can’t let himself think about that right now though or the anger will consume him.

As if sensing that Din needs someone to speak to, the Armorer joins Din in the cockpit. “You have amassed a good team; I believe we will be formidable against the enemy,” she tells him sagely.

“Thank you for agreeing to be part of it,” Din replies; he’s still honored that she has chosen to accompany him on this rescue.

“You are right to be worried for her, she is surrounded by dangerous men,” the Armorer says, “But, remember, she was amongst such dangerous men before and she survived.”

“I know she did, but this time she may have to… he might force her…” Din can’t bring himself to say it aloud, and just the thoughts that swirl in his head are enough to fill his stomach with a deep, burning ire.

“You must not let your thoughts dwell on what might happen,” the Armorer advises him, “Your woman is intelligent and resourceful, and we do not know what she will or will not need to do.”

“I know you are right, but in my head I keep replaying the moment I saw him force her into a kiss and then I think the worst,” Din’s voice is dark and angry now.

“I understand, but you must channel your anger into your strength, focus it as a weapon to use against this man,” the Armorer instructs him, “Do not let it overwhelm you and cause you to be foolhardy in your attack.”

Din nods in agreement, “You are correct, as always.”

The Armorer pats his pauldron in response. It’s a small gesture but one that is full of meaning. He thinks again about how grateful he is to have her support and the support of everyone on board. He also knows that she is right, he must maintain his focus.

An alarm dings from the ship’s console alerting Din and the Armorer that they are closing in on Kerrick’s ship. Eugene hurries in to activate his tech virtually hiding them for the few minutes before they reach the meeting spot.

“Tell everyone this is it,” Din tells the Armorer, “We’re getting her back.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re certain the shift changes worked?” you whisper your question to Sergio as you’re standing on the docking platform. Kerrick has arranged a welcome party to greet his guest and you’ve been able to have a few minutes to speak to Sergio while there. There are still several storm troopers here and you’re concerned that Din won’t be able to handle so many.

“Yes, I went by the barracks just before arriving here and there are way more troopers off duty than there should be,” he tells you in a low voice.

“Good.” Yesterday while you were supposed to be napping, Sergio helped you mess up the storm troopers’ shifts so that only a skeleton crew would be at work now.

“I also decided that neither the main guns nor any of the missiles needed to be online today,” Sergio shrugs like this is no big deal while you look at him with surprise.

“Thank you,” you say, grateful for his help.

“Just remember this if I ever need you to testify at my trial,” he chuckles.

“What are you laughing about, Roth?” Kerrick has taken notice of you both and he looks annoyed.

“Lieutenant Commander Roth was reminding me about my language lessons and some of the funny pronunciation exercises I made the class do,” you lie smoothly.

“Yes, she had us doing these silly sound drills that made us all sound like a bunch of hissing serpents,” Sergio laughs again.

“Well, if you’re done with your trip down memory lane, perhaps you could tell me if you see Mr. DeWitt’s ship on our scanners?” Kerrick gives the command with a frown.

“There is nothing reading on our scanners,” Sergio responds promptly.

“Well, either his tech really does work, or he’s late,” Kerrick states.

“Commander Hoven, sir, there is a holocall for you,” an ensign brings over a holopad with Eugene’s image.

“Mr. DeWitt,” Kerrick says in greeting.

“Do your sensors detect us, Commander Hoven?” Eugene asks with a smile.

“No, are you sure you are in range?” Kerrick asks.

“How about now?” Eugene smirks.

“Sir, there is a ship just off our port side, it appeared out of nowhere,” Sergio sounds surprised and bit impressed.

“Well done, Mr. DeWitt,” Kerrick seems pleased, “Let’s proceed with docking and then you can come aboard to show me more about this incredible new tech you’ve created.”

You’re watching the docking mechanism intently, looking for any sign that this is more than just a strange coincidence. Suddenly a plasma bolt fires down the docking tunnel taking out a storm trooper. For a moment there is merely stunned silence around you until more bolts come hurtling in the direction of the troopers.

“What the fuck!” Kerrick exclaims as a total melee ensues.

You dive for cover while silently cheering inside. You take a peek and see the gleam of beskar helmets. Din is here and he’s brought plenty of help with him! Another quick glance shows you Mandalorian and Angel One warriors working together, fighting against the Imps. Although your first instinct is to run straight for Din, you don’t want to get caught in the crossfire, so you force yourself to stay where you are. Your hiding place isn’t very secure though and abruptly Kerrick is there grabbing at you and forcing you to your feet.

“Get up, you bitch,” he snaps at you, “This is all your fault.”

“Let go of me!” you yell back, but he’s too strong for you and he yanks you after him. You scream as loud as you can and try to kick and break free of his hold.

Din hears you scream and it immediately draws his attention across the fighting in time to see Kerrick drag you out of the area and down a corridor. He quickly moves to pursue you, kicking a trooper in the stomach and shooting another in the neck as he follows after you. Both Eira and the Armorer hear your scream too and quickly trail after Din, shooting a path to do so.

Neither you nor Kerrick are anywhere to be seen in the corridor, but this is no problem for Din as he brings up a tracking program on his vambrace.

“What’s that?” Eira asks

“I put tracking devices in her shoes,” Din responds, leading the three of them forward as he follows the signal.

“A smart idea,” the Armorer replies as Eira looks mildly shocked.

They continue down the corridor, weapons at the ready. As they encounter a few troopers, the trio easily dispatches them. They pass a sign indicating the location of escape pods and Din breaks out into a sprint; there’s no way he’s letting Kerrick get you off this ship.

Kerrick is pulling on your arm so hard you’re afraid he’s going to dislocate your shoulder. He’s got you at the escape pods now in a desperate attempt to get away with you. As soon as he starts to force you into one, you start fighting harder. You remember the fighting techniques from Din’s training and you manage to land a sharp kick to Kerrick’s shin.

“What the kriffing hell is the matter with you?” He yells at you in pain. You try to kick him again, but he slaps you hard across the face. The shock and the sting of the blow makes you stumble. But then you’re struggling against him again, hitting him in the side with your free fist and then whacking him hard in the face.

“Oof! Fuck! Stop it!” He slaps you again, harder this time and you feel your face throbbing.

“That is enough! Don’t you ever do something stupid like that again or you’ll regret it,” Kerrick threatens you and then brandishes a blaster in your face. The fact that he might actually shoot you makes you stop struggling.

“Please, Kerrick, please, you don’t have to do that,” you say your voice trembling.

“I won’t have to hurt you unless you keep acting so fucking stupid,” he snaps back. He still has the blaster pointed at your face and you’re afraid to even move now.

“I’ll do what you want, you can lower the blaster,” you try to make your voice soft and sweet in an attempt to calm him. His eyes are wild and he looks unhinged.

“That’s right you’re going to do what I want,” Kerrick says menacingly, “Because you’re mine, he doesn’t get to have you, and you’re going to keep doing what I want for the rest--”

But Kerrick never gets to finish that threat. Instead you watch as a bolt hits him square in the temple and he collapses dead at your feet. You jump back in horror and shock as it happens, but then you turn and see Din with his blaster still aimed from where he shot Kerrick. You feel nothing but utter relief and before you can think, you are running at him and launching yourself into his arms.

Din catches you and embraces you tightly, never wanting to let you go again. He feels like his heart is going to burst from the joy of holding you again.

“You came for me, I knew you would, I knew when Eugene called it had to be you, I just knew it,” You’re babbling you’re so happy that he’s here, that he’s really here holding you. “Oh, but I’m so sorry for the awful things I had to say, I didn’t mean any of them, you have to know that, I didn’t mean it at all, I love you, only you, Din.”

“I love you too and I’m so sorry, cyar’ika, so sorry that I couldn’t protect you better, I can’t believe I fell for his trap, I won’t ever let that happen again,” Din is babbling too in his elation at rescuing you. He pulls back a little to look at you and raises a hand to cup your injured face. “I’m so sorry he hurt you, I’m sorry I wasn’t here to stop it.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Din,” you tell him, “You protected me now, and you rescued me.”

“Well, technically we’re still in the middle of rescuing you, so maybe you two lovebirds can save the happy reunion until we’re out of here,” Eira pipes up.

“Oh, right,” you reply sheepishly.

“Come, we should return to the ship before more Imperials arrive,” the Armorer motions to you both.

Your group hurries back in the direction of the docking platform and you meet up with more of Din’s group. It’s a mix of Mandalorians that you met from the Covert and warrior women from Angel One. You’re so humbled that they came to fight for you.

“I can’t believe we haven’t seen more troopers than this,” Paz speaks up.

“I made sure a lot of them would be off duty now,” you say with a grin.

“You did?” Din sounds impressed.

“Yeah, I tried to do a little sabotage here and there where I could,” you tell him, “By the way, the tractor beam, main guns, and missiles are disengaged right now too.”

“You’re so smart.” You can hear the admiration in his voice as he praises you.

“I was lucky to have some help,” you demure wondering what has happened to Sergio.

When you are back at the docking platform you can see the resounding defeat of Kerrick’s troops. You glance around looking for Sergio; despite his allegiance to the Empire, you hope he isn’t hurt or worse. You don’t see him and so you hope he got away. You don’t have time to dwell on his fate however and you quickly head for the docking tunnel with Din and the others. When you reach the other ship, you see Eugene’s relieved face and you cheerfully hug him in greeting.

“Eugene! Thank you, I knew it wasn’t a coincidence when you called,” you tell him excitedly.

“I had to help, as soon as Mando told me you were in trouble,” he replies.

You feel the ship jolt and know that someone has put you into hyperspace and you breathe a huge sigh of relief and joy. Then suddenly you are surrounded by well-wishers as everyone tries to hug you or shake your hand in celebration of a successful rescue. Eira even picks you up as she hugs you tight. Someone brings you some bacta cream for your face and you wonder if you need it more to help relieve the bruises left by Kerrick or to soothe your aching muscles from all the smiling. Finally, when it seems as if you have been congratulated by everyone, Din is there taking your hand and leading you away from the celebrating crowd. He takes you into some sleeping quarters on the ship. It’s a beautiful room, but you don’t spend time looking around because all you want to see is him.

“Cyar’ika, I’m so sorry,” Din apologizes again, still feeling guilty over not being able to protect you from Kerrick.

“Oh Din, no, you don’t have to apologize,” you tell him, “I’m the one who needs to apologize to you. I said those hateful things--”

Din interrupts, “No, cyar’ika, I know you didn’t mean them, you- you just did what you had to do.”

“Yes, I only said those awful things to save you and the child. Oh my goodness, the child! Is he alright? Where is he?” You realize that you didn’t see him with everyone.

“He’s safe, he’s at the Covert being looked after by your friend with the pink armor,” Din reassures you.

“Thank the Maker! I was so worried for you both when I was forced to leave with Kerrick,” you say.

Din looks away for a moment when you say that, when he looks back at you, he says your name softly, almost like he’s trying to ask you a question but can’t find the words.

“Din?” You say his name prompting him to speak to you, to tell you his thoughts.

“Did he force you to… did he force himself on you?” Din asks and you can hear the horror in his voice at this possibility.

“No, no Din, he didn’t,” you assure him, “I was forced to kiss him a few times, but that was it. I lied and told him I was having my period and that was enough to keep him away from me. He always was disgusted by menstrual cycles.”

Din lets out a huge sigh of relief and pulls you close to him, as he tells you, “I’m so thankful to hear that, the thoughts I’ve had about what he wanted from you, about what he might have made you do… it was making me sick and I just, I--”

“I understand, my darling, but you don’t have to worry any more, I’m fine and we never have to worry about him again. You made sure of that for me.” Your voice cracks as you speak and you reach up to pull his helmet down to you to meet your forehead in a Keldabe kiss. Tears stream down your cheeks as you hold him to you. Din pulls off his gloves so he can reach up with his bare hands to cradle your face. You listen to his breathing and you can’t be fully certain, but you think he may be crying a little too.

“I love you so much, cyar’ika, I never want to let you go,” Din’s voice is thick with emotion.

“I love you too, Din, and I want to be with you, I want to go wherever you go,” you tell him.

“That’s all I want too, my love,” Din responds, “And I want to show you how much I want that.” He brings his hands up to cup yours, holding them to his helmet, and then he lifts his head away from yours. Gently he starts to lift your hands up, tugging his helmet with them. You gasp and try to let go of his helmet, but his hands are keeping yours in place.

“Din, wait, what are you doing?” you ask breathlessly. His hands stop moving at your question.

“Please, cyar’ika, please, I want you to see me, all of me,” he implores you.

“But your creed?” You’re so worried he might regret this that it’s overshadowing your desire to see his face.

“I believe it will still be intact, I trust you,” Din says steadily and although you don’t entirely understand what he means by that, his calm and certain tone make you trust him. You nod to him and he begins lifting his hands once again, and this time you help him.

Slowly you see his face being revealed to you starting with a dark stubbly beard, then full lips and a mustache followed by a stately nose and high cheekbones, next, warm brown eyes slightly wet with tears and framed by thick eyebrows, and then finally, a forehead somewhat obscured by wayward dark brown curls. Din is the most handsome and beautiful man you have ever seen. You’re afraid to blink or breathe because it feels as if a spell may be broken and he’ll disappear if you dare to move. It isn’t until you hear him saying your name, repeating it in fact, that you remember how to speak again.

“You have the most wonderful face, my love,” you tell him, your voice filled with awe.

Din smiles at you, a little upturn of the corners of his mouth before he tells you, “That’s impossible; I’m looking at the most wonderful face right now.”

And then he can’t wait any longer, he leans forward to kiss you. Din kisses you like you’ve been apart for decades, putting everything that he is, everything that he feels for you into his kisses. His arms wrap around you and hold you against his chest so firmly that he swears he can feel your heart beating against him. He feels a wetness on his cheeks and he thinks for a moment that you must be crying and then he realizes the tears he feels are his own. He breaks the kiss only because he knows he needs to tell you again that he loves you. As you repeat his words back to him, you reach up to kiss away the tears on his cheeks and Din thinks he’s never felt anything so tender and so pure in his entire life.

“Cyar’ika, before we get carried away, there’s something else I want to say to you,” Din says, stilling your actions.

“You can tell me anything, Din,” you reply, smiling softly at him.

“What you said earlier about wanting to go wherever I go, that is exactly what I want, for you to be by my side for the rest of my life, to share that life with me… cyar’ika, will you be my wife?” Din’s voice is emotional as he asks you to marry him and the look of love on his face is the most beautiful vision you’ve ever seen.

“Yes, Din, yes, I will,” you reply and you pull him close so you can kiss him again. He holds you as if you are the most precious creature in the entire galaxy, and when he breaks your kiss, it’s only so he can tell you how much he loves you.

“Also, that means you can have this,” he tells you as he places a soft pouch in your hands. It’s like the pouch that held your heart pendant and when you open it you see a new beskar pendant, in the shape of a mudhorn, the symbol of Din’s clan.

You unhook your necklace so that you can add this new pendant to it. Din helps you as both of your hands are shaking with emotion and excitement. When the mudhorn is resting right next to the heart pendant it looks so exactly right, a perfect combination. Din rehooks the clasp of the chain around your neck and you can see his eyes shining as he takes in the sight of the symbols of his love, his clan, and his creed on you. Before you know it, he’s kissing you again, and you can feel the power of his love in each kiss. You return his heated kisses passionately, wanting to show him how much you love him and how eager you are to be his wife.

“I love you, Din, with all my heart, and I can’t wait to become your wife,” you tell him as he moves from your lips to kiss your neck, “And for you to be my husband.”

Din nips at your neck when you say the word husband. He tells you, “Mmmm, yes, say that again.”

“I’m going to be your wife, and you’ll be my husband, my riduur,” you repeat in a husky voice.

“Yes, yes, fuck yes,” Din says before he sucks a mark onto your neck and then returns to your lips to kiss you hard, making you throb between your legs. When he pulls away finally, you feel almost lightheaded from the force of his kisses.

Din continues to trail kisses down your neck and chest as he tugs at the fastenings of the dress you’re wearing, eventually pulling it open so he can shove it down your shoulders. He barely gets the top of the dress down around your waist before he’s yanking your bra out of the way so he can kiss and caress your breasts. His hands grope down your body as he buries his head into your chest and when he shoves his hand under your skirt and works his fingers into your panties, he’s relieved to feel how hot and wet you already are for him. He tries to slow his movements, but he feels frantic for you, overwhelmed with need. His fingers circle your clit quickly causing you to moan out his name.

“Din, I can’t take too much teasing, please, I need you too much… I need you now,” you plead with him sounding desperate. You mewl as he pumps two fingers deep into you, pitching your desire into overdrive. It’s been too long since you’ve been together and your yearning for him is staggering. You manage to kick off your shoes and start yanking at your dress in an attempt to get it off your body.

“I need you too, cyare, so badly,” Din sounds equally as desperate.

He quickly helps you finish removing your clothing before opening his trousers and pulling out his weeping cock. You can see how much he wants you as his cock is rock hard and his tip is flushed dark. He’s still wearing the rest of his clothing and armor, but neither of you can bear to wait for him to take the time to remove it. He sits on the bed and pulls you to sit on his lap, straddling him. You start to sink down on his steely length but Din is too eager to wait and he meets your downward motion with a swift and powerful thrust upward, pushing into you all at once.

“DIN! Yes!” You cry out at the exquisite sensation of instantly being filled by him. You grapple at the hard, unforgiving beskar of his cuirass as you rise and fall against him. One of Din’s large hands is at your back, supporting you and holding you to him as he fucks up into you, while the other toys with your clit roughly. You are both moving fast, too caught up in each other to take your time.

“Din, you feel… so good… I missed you… soooo much,” you tell him, panting with the effort.

“My cyar’ika… I missed you too… missed being inside you… like this,” Din gasps out between thrusts.

For the first time, you look into his eyes as you feel him moving inside you, and you feel more connected to him than ever before. You watch every small expression that he makes, simply delighted as you see his desire and love for you play over his face. Wanting to see more, to have the chance to keep looking at his face causes you to draw out your movements, slowing your pace slightly.

Din also loves being able to see your entire face uncovered with his own eyes. The look of absolute love in your eyes is incredible to him and he feels a sense of belonging that he has never felt before. It is not the same feeling of possessiveness that he’s had in the past, instead it is the feeling that he belongs with you, that you belong together.

“Please, cyar’ika, please say you’ll stay with me, always,” Din begs you, despite knowing that you will, he needs the reassurance now.

“I will, I promise, I will, Din, always,” you vow to him, but then you need your own guarantee, “Promise me you’ll never leave me, Din.”

“Oh mesh’la, my love, ner kar’ta,” terms of endearment spill from Din’s lips as he tries to tell you how he’s feeling, “I’ll always stay with you, I’ll never leave you, never.”

“Din, my love, my Din, I love you,” you manage to respond and you feel your inner muscles squeeze him tight as the sensations of love and pleasure swirl around you. Between the feel of him shredding up against pure bliss inside you at a relentless pace and the sheer ecstasy of his fingers on your clit, your climax is rushing towards you.

“Look at me, cyar’ika,” Din commands as your eyes had been fluttering shut. You snap them back open and look deep into his eyes. “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum.”

You cry out as you hear Din tell you he loves you in Mando’a and you careen over the edge, falling into his body as you are overcome with pleasure. He wraps his arms around you tightly as he manages to thrust up into you a few more times before exploding within you and shouting your name.

“I love you, Din, I promise I’ll love you forever,” you tell him as you pepper his face with kisses.

“I love you too, forever,” Din repeats back to you before he kisses you soundly. His arms encircle you as he holds you close. His heart swells with joy and Din knows he has found true happiness with you.

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

Thank you for reading!! Again, I appreciate your patience with me in getting this chapter out. I have decided there will be just one more chapter for this series, Chapter 10: The Mando Who Loved Me.

Mando’a definitions:

aliit = family

vod = brother

riduur = spouse

mesh’la = beautiful

ner kar’ta = my heart

ni kar’tayl gar darasuum = I love you

Tag list: @niiight-dreamerrrr @grogusmum @idreamofboobear @theamuz @fangirlalexia @callmekane @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @theravenreads @nicotinebirds @boomtownboy @nova646 @wandering-storm-lost-shadow @becks-things @rexsjaigeyes @mackycat11 @som3thingcr3ative @punkdalek @pinkninja200 @s-unflowxr @beskarprincessjenny @peppywitch @haley7242 @the-bottom-of-the-abyss @hotsauceonabiscuit @asta-lily @onabouteverything

#din djarin x female reader #the mandalorian x female reader #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin fanfic #the mandalorian fanfic

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dabiboy · 3 years

Text

As promised! Honestly, this one became my favorite piece so far, so I hope you guys enjoy it and please don’t let it flop🥺💕

If anyone is interested in listening the songs I used for writing this one as you read, feel free to do so!

TW: nsfw, mentions of drugs and alcohol, kind of self harm, blood.

Something Other Than Pain

It was past midnight, the night was starting to get colder and colder, however, the only chills you had were of pure nervousness. Dabi wasn't picking up your calls, nor your texts. Anything. The last thing you knew, was that he was together with the League, but that was it. And now he was MIA again, apparently.

Was he finally caught? No, every single news channel would be speaking about it. Dead? Same thing. Maybe he was with someone else. And you didn't know which scenario was more painful.

The truth was, however, that at Dabi's place things were different.

Very different from every picture in your head.

In a building away from the League, away from Tokyo's downtown, in a place in which every resident cared only for themselves and no one was interested in other business either for safety or not caring, a loud and ripping scream filled the fifth floor.

Dabi saw him that day. This time pure coincidence. He was walking around the city all covered up, just looking for some fresh air after an exhausting week with the League, when the disgusting image appeared in front of him. He had a fire quirk, not a super hearing one, so hearing the conversation that was happening between the two Todorok's was impossible. But what was possible, was to see Enji's gestures. A hopeful smile on his lips and his hand resting on Shoto's shoulder, who was wearing the UA uniform. The uniform that told everyone that he was going to be a hero. A greater hero than his dad. , ''You'll be proud of me'' or ''I'm proud of you'' It couldn't be something else than that. And Dabi could felt the anger take over his body want more time. A part of him told him to incinerate both of them. No, first his little brother so then his father could watch. No, none of them. He had a plan, and it had to work.

He walked away bitterly, and got to his place once the sun had already disappeared from his view. In the middle of the threatening silence, he could hear his memories, see them so clearly it felt as if he were a kid one more time. And he hated it.

Dabi made his way to the bathroom and left the products he stole on top of the sink just to get into the shower to wash the dirt of the day. And hopefully, wash the shit out of his past. Water ran free down his wounded body, and if water could feel, it would feel pitty over that disgraced man. What a shame, he thought.

The shower's floor was tinted black, and Dabi stood under the water to remove the rests of hair dye. Once he got out, he just put on some underwear so he could start vanishing his genes one more time. But that didn't happen.

He looked at himself in the mirror, scars on his face, his torso, his legs. They were everywhere. Disgusting. His skin connected because of poorly applicated staples, anger in his blue eyes. Those damn blue eyes, a pure resemblance of his father. And then his hair. Now white, free from the chemicals. It wasn't painful because of the color, it was painful because of how he got there. Pushing himself daily, wanting to prove to his father he was worthy of being a hero, training himself to the point of burn his body, all for his father's joy. Being given a purpose, a life sentence, just to be tossed away because he reached the perfect creation. The perfect child.

Dabi used a hand to run it through his hair, not being able to forget everything. The hate in his eyes was as if it belonged to someone else, someone that was screaming that he was a piece of shit, a disposable piece of garbage. Cheap garbage. Without even realizing he was pulling at his hair and clenching his teeth, his heart was beating like crazy, and the shivers on his body were getting out of control. Everything hurt, his entire skin was burning, and his mind and soul were drowning in an endless pit of pain and hatred. The same hand that was aggressively tugging his hair hit the dye bottle, splashing it all over, covering a big part of the bathroom in black.

He held himself on the sides of the sink, breathing heavy and trying to control himself, but it was unmanageable. Slowly, as if with fear, he looked in the mirror again. The mix of white hair and blue eyes made him lost it completely. As his fist was covered in strong blue flames, Dabi broke the mirror with just one punch, not only cutting himself in the process, but also burning himself one more time. A heartrending scream left his lungs, desperate, hopeless, lonely. He hit the pieces left one more time, not caring a single shit about the mess he had in the bathroom. Walking with messy and unstable steps Dabi made his way to the kitchen, and when he wasn't able of grabbing the liquor bottle at the first attempt, he razed with every glass, every single item on the shelf. He grabbed the wanted bottles with shaking hands and made his way to the bathroom again, and when he was there, he took out all of his pills bottles. All of them to ease the pain, and some others to sleep.

Dabi made the pills rain on his tongue, and right after he drank the remanents of alcohol straight from the bottle. And he repeated the process plenty of other times.

Nothing was making the pain go away, and for more than he wanted to, the vivid memories were still haunting him. Another scream left his lips, this time crashing one of the bottles against the wall. He kept tugging on his hair, he was done. Done with everything.

Thanks to the abrupt movements, some staples fell and blood was leaping out of his scars again, down his cheeks, his chin and jaw, torso, everywhere. His back hit the wall as he slid down to the floor, waiting, wishing for the pills and alcohol to do their job.

And as salvation, or as someone who was not supposed to be there at that time, you knocked on his door.

No answer.

Then you knocked again, maybe he wasn't home. But you could see there was light, so he must have been inside, and just as you thought, you were right. Forgetting about his privacy, you used the spare key to get inside the apartment, and when you did? Your jaw fell in surprise, an overwhelming feeling took you over as you saw the scene in front of you.

''Dabi''? You called his name, closing the door slowly behind you, analyzing the mess.

Broken glass, bloodstains, and it smelled like smoke. Something had happened. You called his name again, no answer. With fearful steps you walked along the tiny apartment, and the light coming from the bathroom told you he was there.

And when you saw him, your heart broke into million pieces. Millions.

He was sitting in a corner, legs lazily on the floor as his arm was still holding the unshattered bottle. Lots of pills were spread on the floor, in different sizes and colors. Dabi's hair was white, with tiny bits of grey among some locks, blood under his eyes, chin, chest and arms. He looked like a real mess. And it was worrying.

You practically ran towards him, kneeling in front of him.

''Get the fuck out of here'' He slurred his words, not even looking at you. His eyelids were almost closed, and he smelled like alcohol and the same scent of smoke that was in the living room. He had been using his flames. ''There's no way in hell I'm leaving you like this'' You said still in shock, wondering how to help him ''What happened?''

''I was born'' He snickered bitterly, coughing right after ''Seriously, get your ass outta' here'' Dabi tilted his head to the other side, still not looking at you.

''No way, come on, c'mere'' You did your best to help him stand.

His body was heavy, especially because he was not helping at all. You made him put an arm around your neck for support, and with a struggling hand you made the water came down the faucet. You did your best to clean his wounds, wash his face trying to make him use all of his senses, but it looked like a hard task. He was like a numb rag doll with lost eyes, but he lowkey thanked you didn't arrive earlier.

''Dabi...'' You muttered his name as he was sitting on the toilet

''What did I do wrong'' He asked, more to himself than to you, eyes fixated on a black spot of dye hair on the floor ''All I ever did... Was for him to watch me'' Dabi lifted an eyebrow. ''But for what. To become a fucked up mess, all beause his precious little creation came out perfect. And Touya? Let's get rid of him, he won't surpass All Might. It's just another failed child'' He laughed bitterly, but you could see his chin trembling. Was it pain? anger? did he want to cry?

His hand went to his hair again, and just when he started to tugging it, you held him. His head resting on your stomach as you caressed his hair in slow motions, leaving tender kisses on top of his head.

''What happened was unfair,'' You whispered ''And I know you didn't deserve all of that hell...I can't do much, I just... I just can be with you'' You could swear tears were rolling down your cheeks. It hurt you to see him in such a vulnerable state. To see what was behind his snarky attitude, and behind the feared villain. It hurt that you couldn't do anything for him other than giving him your embrace. ''Come, let's get you to bed'' You said, helping him stand up.

And when he did, his eyes were fixated on you, analyzing every detail, finding what to say.

''Is there something you need?'' Of course, mental peace. But then again, you could offer him simple things. And those simple things were what he needed.

"Love me, just fucking love me" his voice came out in a desperate whisper as he pulled you in towards him. The way he kissed you felt painful, but so needy for care, love, and appreciation. He wanted that, needed the reassurance of being useful. "Please" This time Dabi's voice came out in an almost unhearable mumble, pressing you against the bathroom wall.

His kiss was rough, messy, even a bit painful as you nodded against him, carefully holding his face between your hands. It was not a heated kiss, it was not like the times where the two of you were just horny, it was different. It felt sad. He was caging your body, not wanting to feel you away from him. He needed to feel wanted, he wanted you to love him as no one did. He wanted to feel something else than just pain. Dabi sighed in between the kiss, his eyes were still closed as you pulled him closer to you. It was tragic to see him like that, so needy for reassurance and love.

You got rid of your clothes, faster than ever. His large hand cupped your ass and made you jump so you could tangle your legs on his waist.

''Wait, your wounds'' You said referring to the staples that were ripping his skin before you healed them.

''It's fine'' He said as he walked you towards his bed, sitting with you on his lap.

You grinned against him, feeling his hard on through his boxers and through your panties, his hands were all over your back, enjoying the sensation of soft skin. Your skin. Dabi bit your neck, so then he could kiss you again, just like before. Teeth clashing, lips getting redder and redder, a messy kiss. But none of you could care less.

Someway somehow you got rid of your clothes left, doing the same with his underwear. On a normal situation, foreplay was important. He'd go down on you, tease you, edge you, but now? Now there was no time for that. You just wanted to feel him, and he wanted to feel you too.

You lifted your hips enough to align his cock against your entrance, slowly going down just to adjust to his size. Dabi let out a grunt, gripping your hips strongly. You rested your forehead on his for brief seconds before starting riding him.

At a point, you didn't know if you were riding him, or if it was him sloppily pounding you, but that wasn't important. As he held your hips, you laid back a bit to support yourself with a hand on the mattress and lift your hips so Dabi could go deeper. The moans and grunts were filling the room, but rather than just horniness it was... Reassurance. Love. Passion. Comfort. He wanted to feel something other than pain, and you were helping him with it. The way he was gripping your flesh was not a sign of dominance, it was a way of telling you ''Don't go. Please don't go'' Dabi wanted you for him, for you to stay by his side. Because if it weren't for you, he was sure he would've lost his mind already.

Your mouth tasted like steel, and you didn't know if it was because he was kissing you too hard, or because one of the staples near his mouth had fallen. But then again, none of you cared. Dabi's hand landed on your nape so he could pull you closer, making his back fall into the bed as you went straight for his mouth. His free hand was securely wrapped around your waist as he thrusted fast and rough, wanting to feel. When you torso was completely over his, he wrapped both arms around your waist, moaning in your mouth, near your ear, everywhere.

''Shit, shit'' He said in a drowned voice ''I need you, I fucking need you'' Dabi whispered, even though he was having you all for himself, he needed you by his side.

''You've got me, you've got me. I'm not going anywhere'' Your voice came out in whimpers, and you couldn't resist the urge of kissing him again.

As your mouths were locked in a desperate and messy kiss, you felt your walls clenching around his cock, and just a few seconds later you could feel him throbbing inside you, that was it, that was the melting point you both were delirious for. Dabi's hand went to your nape again, and this time it was you the one who started grinding on him faster and harder, becoming a moaning mess.

Dabi sat one more time so he could hold you against him, forehead resting between your collarbones as he reached for his high, filling you up with no ounce of shame. Your hands tugged on his hair tenderly, going to his back, neck, and hair again when you came around him.

Seconds were endless, the two of you tangled together, being more intimate than ever. Dabi's breathing was irregular, he pressed a kiss on your chest, right above your breast before falling on the bed again, holding you tightly against his scarred body.

You gained distance to see his face, and there he was, all worn out. Maybe the pills did their effect together with the alcohol, maybe it was that relaxation moment after a breakdown, or maybe it was that delightful bliss after an orgasm. Or maybe, it was all together.

Dabi's eyes were looking tiny and helpless, and it looked as if he wanted to talk, but he was unsure of what to say. You caressed his white hair, combing it back to press your lips on his sweaty forehead.

''I know'' You whispered, peppering his face with tender kisses ''Let go, baby. You can rest now'' He simply nodded, and just like that, his eyes fell closed.

You stood up, whining a bit thanks to the remaining pain between your legs and on your body, his tight grip was leaving marks for sure. Shamelessly you grabbed a towel and one of his shirts to get a quick shower, you could clean the bathroom in the morning. You get back to his bedroom, and using a towel dipped in warm water, you made sure of cleaning him. The mess between his legs, and of course the remanents of blood on his torso. You tried to put him some clean clothes, but he was heavier than ever, even more now that he was practically unconscious due to many factors. But he was your boyfriend, the man you love with all his flaws, it wasn't an issue to sleep with him naked.

You covered him with the sheets, but you were sure it was going to be hard to sleep even though you felt exhausted. As you were semi-sitting on his bed, his head found its way next to your arm, leaning there, peacefully sleeping. And within a few minutes, you fell asleep with the side of your head on top of his.

Hours went by, and around three am Dabi woke up. Dizzy, disoriented, loving those first fifteen seconds. Those seconds in which you're not aware of anything, when it is ven hard to know where and who are you. But then, the memories hit him like a wall falling on his head. The way he hurt himself, the image of his father talking with his younger brother, you arriving. Making love to you. He calmed down when he saw you next to him, and Dabi couldn't believe how a bastard like him got so lucky. Well, at least he had one good thing.

''Dabi?'' You said with a raspy and lazy voice.

''Shit, didn't mean to wake you'' He said, rubbing his eyes.

''It's fine,'' You yawn ''How are you feeling?''

''Dizzy, and like shit but it has to go at some point'' He moved under the covers and furrowed his eyebrows. ''Did you cleaned me up?'' Dabi touched his torso, it wasn't sticky because of the blood, and he wasn't sticky down there either. But that was for other reasons.

''Of course, I was not sleeping with you all dirty'' You joked, making him huff.

His next movement surprised you, because he clung to you as he never did before. His leg got in between yours, making your right leg rest in between his. And truth to be told, you blushed a little at his naked form, but he didn't care. He was already vulnerable as fuck. Dabi rested his head on your chest, and he hugged you by your stomach.

''Your tits are nice'' He said in an attempt of breaking the ice, because he wasn't sure about how to talk about what happened earlier.

''My tits are nice'' You repeat raising your eyebrows, laughing at his shitty pick up line.

''Listen, I...'' He remained silent for some seconds as you played with the shell of his scarred ear and part of his hair. ''Fuck''

''You don't need to talk about it, do it when you feel like to'' Your voice and words were his comforts ''I will listen any time, ok?'' You kissed his forehead.

You could feel the light change in the grip of his embrace, he hugged you a bit tighter, and you knew what he meant. He loosed his grip, and a sigh left his mouth before sleep took over him one more time, as you carried on with your ministrations, making him feel loved, wantede, and safe in your arms.

''Thank you'' Dabi said, and in that moment, you heard the tiny snores coming from his mouth.

''Always, Touya'' You felt the tears gathering again, and as you left another kiss on his hair, you fell asleep one more time, not even noticing the tiny tear running down your cheek.

#bnha dabi #dabi #bnha+dabi #dabi headcanons #dabi x reader #mha dabi #boku no hero academia #dabi imagine #dabi angst #dabi x y/n

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specialagentsergio · 3 years

Text

all we can do is keep breathing || chapter two

summary: Spencer’s doing better, but recovery isn’t linear, and some scars run deeper than either of you knew.

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

category: angst (eventual happy ending)

content warnings: swearing, drug abuse & addiction, substance use disorder, ptsd, descriptions of panic attacks/ptsd episodes, recollection of past bullying, unhealthy coping mechanisms, yelling/fighting, negative feelings towards other team members, body image issues

a/n: i was so taken aback by the response to chapter one--i didn’t think anyone would even read it tbh. thank you all and thanks for being patient with my lack of an upload schedule. i'm so sorry the word count is massive again. you get tummy appreciation, though, because 1) we all love spencer’s tummy, and 2) i personally gained weight when i was in residential treatment and it can be a bit of a mindfuck lol.

a/n 2: repeated disclaimer that i'm not a doctor, psychologist, psychiatrist, etc., just a direct care staff, past rtc patient and trauma recovery enthusiast. the horse therapy is pretty much entirely based on my own personal experience from nearly a decade ago, so don’t expect it to be an accurate portrayal of equine-assisted psychotherapy.

word count: 7.3k

song: you will be found from dear evan hansen

fic masterlist || masterlist

He’s been looking forward to the start of equine therapy since he got a spot in the program. But instead of being excited the morning of, Spencer ends up crying for an hour straight.

The day started off fine. It wasn’t hard to get up with the horses to look forward to, and he was able to get an extra plate at breakfast, so he could keep the pancake syrup from touching the eggs and sausage. Art therapy was a few hours later. He’d started to actually enjoy the pottery project—the recreational therapist had brought him a box of disposable gloves to use so the feeling of drying clay on his hands was no longer a problem.

Everyone’s projects were coming out of the kiln today and the next step was painting them. He’d been planning out the design and colors he wanted to use since the project started and was excited to finally start applying it.

Then he dropped his item, it broke into pieces, and he burst into tears.

He’d fled the room on instinct alone and curled up in a corner of the hallway, pressing his knees to his forehead. He was upset about the pottery, and upset that he was so affected by it breaking. He felt stupid and silly for crying over it, which only made him cry harder.

He heard distant laughter and he clapped his hands over his ears. He was being laughed at again for being a crybaby. He didn’t want to be a crybaby. He wanted to stop crying, he just couldn’t. The goalpost was cold against the bare skin of his back, and his wrists were starting to burn from the ties.

I want to go home. Just let me go home, please, I’ll do anything. Let me go, let me go--

“Spencer, it’s okay. You’re safe here. Can you repeat after me? I’m safe here.”

Safe here. Safe here.

Art therapy was over by the time he came out of it.

He has lunch at his therapist’s office instead of with the group. Lara asks what his flashback had been to.

He picks at his food. “It happened a long time ago. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Alright. Can you tell me how it felt instead?”

Spencer isn’t really hungry, but bites into his sandwich to stall for time. She doesn’t rush him. Eventually, he asks, “Do you know what alexithymia means?”

“No words for feelings,” she replies.

He nods. “That’s all.”

Lara opens one of her desk drawers and pulls out a composition notebook, which she then hands to him.

“What’s this for?”

“I want you to start trying to notice your feelings and sensations throughout the day. Make some kind of note, even if you don’t exactly have the words to describe it.”

He sighs. “Why?”

“Just noticing what you feel can help you develop emotional regulation,” she explains. She’s always been honest with him about the why of what she wants him to try and do. “It’s going to help you stop ignoring what’s going on inside you.”

I don’t want to do that.

“I know you don’t.”

“I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” he blurts. “That either. I—god.” He quickly takes another bite of food before he can say more.

“It’s fine. I didn’t expect you to like it,” Lara says with a small smile. “I’m sure the thought of confronting what you’ve been suppressing and avoiding is scary. But getting better requires you to do a lot of scary things.”

Spencer wants to protest. Being strapped to a chair in a shed and dosed against your will is scary. Your mother being diagnosed with Alzheimer's is scary. Being sent to prison for a crime you didn’t commit is scary. Feeling things? That’s not scary.

Isn’t it?

He tries not to think on it too much.

Despite the unpleasant thoughts running through his mind, Spencer finds himself nodding off on the van ride to the horse ranch. His eyes unfocus, his blink rate slows… and then he jerks back awake at the sensation of his head falling forward.

A frustrated noise escapes the back of his throat. He’s sick of feeling tired all the time. He’s getting enough sleep in theory, but still finds himself drowsy at least once a day. It’s to the point that he’s regularly wearing his glasses instead of his contacts to keep his eyes from feeling quite so dry. He pushes them back up now as he tries to tune back in to his surroundings.

“… don’t get how seeing some horse is supposed to make me feel better.” That’s Aiden’s voice. He’s Spencer’s new roommate. He wasn’t happy when he found out he was getting a new one, having much preferred having the room to himself, but it’s been okay so far, mostly because they keep out of each other’s way. Aiden seems uninterested in making friends, and that suits Spencer just fine. Lara’s been encouraging him to talk to fellow patients instead of just the direct care staff, but he’s resisted it. The last time he befriended someone, they ended up--

Spencer’s fine with the two of them keeping to themselves.

Melanie, one of the staff accompanying them, is leaned over the back of the middle seat as she talks to Aiden. “Well, I couldn’t tell you why exactly, but I’ve seen this program help a lot of people in my time here,” she says. “Spencer?”

“What?”

“You’ve been reading a lot about horses, right?” At his nod, she continues, “What have you found out?”

“Equine-assisted psychotherapy lacks the rigorous scientific evidence to demonstrate if it provides benefits in mental health treatment. Horses have been used to aid in psychiatric treatment since the 1990’s, though,” he says. He intends to stop there, but can’t stop himself from continuing. “It doesn’t necessarily involve riding, but may include grooming, feeding, and ground exercises. The goal is to help the client in social, emotional, cognitive, and or behavioral ways.”

He can feel Aiden’s eyes on him and takes a breath before meeting them. He knows all too well that his infodumps aren’t always well received. He doesn’t want to be friends, but would prefer for his roommate to not view him with disdain or annoyance. But Aiden looks interested, and says as much--”that’s interesting.” He looks like he wants to say more, but doesn’t, and there’s silence between them for the remainder of the drive. It’s not uncomfortable, though.

When the van pulls into a parking spot and everyone starts to get out, Spencer begins to feel nervous. He’s read everything he could get his hands on, but as a relatively new therapy, there’s no standard program; it varies by facility, so he doesn’t know exactly what to expect. He’s been looking forward to this, but what if it turns out to be a bad fit for him? What if the people here don’t like him? What if the horses don’t like him?

He hangs at the back of their group of ten—six patients and two staff—as they’re led to a shaded area. They’re introduced to the program director and assistants, and are given an overview of what they’ll be doing over the next six weeks. They won’t be riding the horses, just doing groundwork (he’s not sure if he feels relieved or disappointed). Then he learns that intention of this specific program isn’t just for the horses to help the clients—the clients are to help the horses as well. The animals all have the gentle temperaments suited for therapy, but also have their own struggles. A lot of them were adopted out of poor situations.

They’re led to a circular corral next and spaced equidistantly around the edge. Spencer’s heart rate picks up as the horses are brought in—the animals will be picking their therapy partner, the director says. As they’re let off their leads a jolt of anxiety runs through his body, making him twitch slightly. This feels uncomfortably familiar to school P.E. when teams were picked. No one wanted him then. What’s gong to happen if none of the horses want him, either? He looks down at his shoes.

But just a few moments later, he hears his name, and looks up to see one of the horses approaching him. “Looks like you and Chance are our first pair,” the director is saying.

First?

Chance is almost entirely black, save for a spot of white between his eyes and above his nose. His size is a little intimidating, but his demeanor is gentle. One of the assistants comes up to Spencer and instructs him to hold out his hand so the horse can sniff it.

His hand trembles slightly as he lifts it. Warm breath hits his fingers as Chance sniffs at it. Then the horse presses his nose completely against his hand. The moistness would usually bother Spencer, but for some reason it doesn’t. Instead, a smile slowly spreads across his face. The assistant tells him he can pet Chance now. He runs his hand up and down the horse’s snout, and despite the slight coarseness of the hair, finds it soothing.

The horse shuffles closer when Spencer is given his lead to hold. A startled laugh escapes him when Chance presses his nose into his neck. He pats his head a few times, then takes a tiny step back. He’s thrilled that at least one of the horses likes him, but feels a little crowded by the large animal. To his surprise, Chance seems to understand, and takes a step back of his own.

He absently pats his horse as he watches the rest of the group pair up. He still can’t believe he was picked first.

The rest of their time with the horses is very simple. They’re taught how to lead them, and after practicing in the corral, they take the horses back to their paddocks. Spencer’s disappointed to say goodbye already, but understands the need to not overwhelm the horses or even themselves. “I’ll see you next week,” he finds himself whispering to Chance.

There’s ten minutes left in the session, and it’s spent with the director telling them more about each horses’ specific background. Chance was poorly treated by his previous owner, mostly kept locked up in a small barn and not properly cared for. He has many talents and abilities, the director says. He needs to learn that he didn’t deserve to be treated the way he was, and be told that he is brave.

Spencer rests his chin in his hand and stares out the window on the drive back to the treatment center. He knows from his reading that horses are emotionally intelligent creatures, but he’s still… well, amazed by how the horses all picked who was most similar to them out of the group instinctively.

He feels more understood by an animal he’s interacted with for twenty minutes than he has by a person for months.

Before bed that night, he chews on the stem of his pen cap, thinking over the events of his day. Slowly, in a manner that could almost be described as cautious, he picks up the empty composition book Lara gave him and opens it. His hand hovers over the blank page for a few moments, then he puts pen on paper and begins to write.

---

You made dinner reservations for his visit this Saturday. You’re getting ready for it when there’s a knock on the front door.

“I’ll get it,” Spencer calls from the living room.

You return to fixing your hair up. You’re not expecting anyone, so it’s probably just a package or a neighbor. But just a few moments later, you hear Spencer raise his voice.

“No! No, I don’t—don’t touch me, please.”

You’re only half dressed, but hurry out to the living room anyways. When you round the corner, you immediately see what the problem is: JJ has dropped by unexpectedly.

It’s not that Spencer doesn’t want to see his team. They just bring memories with them, and he had decided shortly after his birthday that he wasn’t ready to confront that yet.

He’s standing a little ways back from the door, staring at JJ while she looks back with hurt on her face. “Spence--” she starts before she sees you.

At Spencer’s side, you place a hand on his arm and he takes a step behind you. “JJ, what are you doing here?”

She struggles to keep her eyes off of him as she answers. “(Y/N), I’m sorry, I just—Will and I made cookies with the boys today and we had a lot of extra, so I just wanted to drop some off for you. I—I didn’t know Spence was here. I didn’t mean to--”

You hold up a hand to stop her. “It’s okay, JJ. You couldn’t have known. You were just trying to do something nice.”

She nods, relieved at your understanding. “Yeah. Yeah, I….” She blows out a breath, then holds out a plastic wrapped plate of cookies to you. You take it from her with a quiet thank you. Then she looks back to the man that’s essentially hiding behind you as best as he can, despite how tall he is. “Spence, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you wouldn’t want me to touch you.”

There’s a tug on your clothing as he curls his fingers into the fabric on the small of your back. You tilt your head to look at him, but his gaze is on the floor. “You…” he glances up once, then looks back down. “You should ask next time,” he says quietly.

“Okay,” she replies, just as softly. “I will.”

You bite down on the inside of your cheeks to hold back a smile. Spencer often struggles to advocate for his needs, especially with his friends and colleagues, in fear of being a burden or more of a nuisance than he thinks others already perceive him as. He did it a lot with you when you first started dating. It took a lot of time and reassurance that yes, you really did want to know his wants and needs, for him to open up. Telling JJ to ask before touching him may seem small from the outside, but it’s a big deal for him.

After a rather awkward silence, JJ speaks again. “Well, um, I should get going. Just… let us know if you need anything, okay, Spence? We—the team, we’re all here for you.”

“That’s rich,” Spencer mutters behind you and you freeze. You recognize that edge to his voice. It’s usually accompanied by sharp words and remarks that he’ll regret later.

Please please please tell me JJ didn’t hear that.

“I’m sorry?”

Fuck.

“I hate to rush you out, JJ, but we have dinner reservations, so--” you try to interject but Spencer speaks over you.

“I’m just saying, why should I believe you’re here for me when you weren’t last time?”

JJ’s eyebrows come together. “I… don’t understand, I’ve always--”

“No, you haven’t!” It’s like Spencer can’t get the words out fast enough, the way he keeps interrupting before either of you can finish a sentence. This is clearly something that’s been weighing on him. You just wish he was unloading it onto his therapist rather than poor JJ, his best friend outside of you, who’s just trying to be nice. “Ten years ago I was shooting up in police station bathrooms and Emily is the only one who said a damn thing.”

His grip on your clothes tightens, forcing you to take a step back. You move the plate of cookies to one hand and reach back with the other, circling it around his wrist. “Spencer.”

Realization dawns on JJ’s face and she crosses her arms. “Spence, I couldn’t--”

“You couldn’t.” The little laugh he lets out derisive. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

You don’t know where all this is coming from or what he’s referring to, but JJ does, her expression hardening.

“You know what would have happened if the higher ups found out,” she says. “I was protecting your job. We all were.”

“You shouldn’t have!” he cries, emotions other than anger seeping into the words. “This damn job is one of the worst things that’s ever happened to me! I got anthrax poisoning, I still have issues with my knee from being shot. I nearly died from a shot in the neck, and let’s not forget, I was framed for murder by a psychopath I arrested, who then kidnapped my mother while I was in prison! Oh, and what else? Oh right, this job is the reason I’m a fucking addict in the first place!”

JJ’s clearly trying to hold back tears now, but one slips out and your heart aches for her. You close your eyes briefly and take a deep breath, then speak quietly but firmly. “Spencer, you need to leave the room.”

You can hear him breathing shakily behind you. “(Y/N)--”

“Now.” You squeeze his wrist and he finally lets go of your clothing. He takes a few steps away, stops, turns back and opens his mouth to say something, but at the look you give him, shuts it and continues on his way out.

A sniffle draws your attention back to JJ, who’s looking up at the ceiling and swiping at the tears sliding down. “Sorry,” she mutters. “I shouldn’t have come by without giving you a heads-up. I’ve just made things worse.”

“No, JJ, don’t be sorry. It--” There’s thumping noises from further back in the apartment so you step forward and shut the front door behind you. She has her arms wrapped around herself when you turn back.

“It’s not your fault,” you continue. “You were just trying to be nice. You’re a good friend to him. He’s just… everything is really raw for him right now, if that makes sense?”

She nods, wiping at her eyes again.

“It’s, uh, not an excuse, though,” you clarify. “That’s not what I’m trying to say. You didn’t do anything wrong. That was all him, so please don’t blame yourself.”

JJ is quiet for a bit, staring at the floor. Then she says, “I should get going.”

“Yeah, that’s probably for the best,” you agree quietly. Realizing you’re still holding the plate of cookies in one hand, you lift it slightly and add, “Thanks for these. And, um… I’m so sorry about that.”

She shakes her head and glances at the door. “Don’t be. Like you said, it was all him,” she murmurs.

You know she’s right, but you’re still barely able to stop yourself from apologizing again as she descends the stairs. You can’t help but feel like you should have done more, stopped him somehow, even though you don’t know how you could have. The way his behavior changed… it was like he wanted to get it all out, and when Spencer Reid wants to say something, it’s nearly impossible to get him to stop.

The apartment isn’t quiet when you walk back in. There’s the scraping and clatter of a desk drawer, followed by frantic footsteps and the thud of books falling off the shelves. You know what he’s doing, and you know he won’t find anything, so you just lock the front door and continue on to the kitchen to put the cookies away.

You lean on the counter and cover your face with your hands. It doesn’t matter if you mess up your hair or face, or anything, really, because you’re not making it to dinner anymore.

You stay like that for a while, eyes closed, trying to think of a place to even start with Spencer after all of that. When the sounds of him tearing through the apartment stop, you lift you head back up and promptly jump—he’s staring at you from the nearest doorway.

“Jesus, Spencer--”

“Where’s my stuff?” he asks, and the seriousness in his tone of voice makes your anxiety spike. You know exactly what he means by stuff.

“It’s gone. What did you think was gonna happen?”

“Yeah, but it’s…” he trails off and his expression puzzles you. It almost looks like he’s confused. “It’s all gone.”

Ah. “Yeah, well, I know you think you’re sneaky, but you’re very much the opposite when you’re not sober,” you reply. “Finding your hiding spots wasn’t hard.”

He drops his gaze to the floor, frowning. “I don’t like it when you move my things,” he says quietly.

“I don’t like it when you use,” you counter.

He visibly flinches, then his hand tightens on the door frame. “I’m not going to—to take it, I just want to hold it. Where’s my stuff?” he repeats.

“Holding it, right,” you sigh.

“It’s comforting,” he argues.

“Even if I believed that, it wouldn’t matter, Spencer. I threw it all out. There’s none here.”

The humming noise he makes is angry, and he rocks back and forth on his feet in an agitated manner. “You shouldn’t… I don’t….”

I don’t have the energy for this. It’s a thought you feel terrible about as soon as you have it, but it’s the truth. Lara had cautioned you before his first visit that he was going to be hypersensitive to disappointment and frustration until he learned how to cope with the feelings he’d been using the Dilaudid to block out. Unfortunately, the information, while useful, didn’t always make his emotional extremes easier to deal with.

You run a hand down your face. “Spencer…” you start. You’re not sure what to continue with, but you don’t have to—for whatever reason, that sets him off.

He tears his eyes away from the floor to glare at you. “Don’t—don’t touch my things ever again!” Then he turns and all but runs to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

You suck in a breath and drop your head to the counter. The marble is cool and you thump your forehead against it gently a few times, focusing on breathing in and out slowly to calm down. When you’re ready, you walk as quietly as you can to the bedroom door and press your ear against it to hear the unmistakable sound of Spencer sobbing into his pillow.

Part of you wants to go in and comfort him, but you suspect that you’d just make it worse right now since some of his frustration is directed at you. And truth be told, you’re frustrated with him, too. So you retreat to the living room, flopping down on the couch and pulling out your phone to call the restaurant to cancel your reservations. Doing so is more upsetting than you expected; a few tears of your own slide down your face after you hang up. Before you know it, you’re calling Tara.

“Hey, what’s up?” she asks you.

“I…” You swallow down the lump in your throat. “Spencer’s… we’re having a bad day. If you’re not busy, can I talk to you about it?”

“Of course,” is her gentle reply, and you pull yourself to your feet, moving to the farthest point away from the bedroom in the apartment so Spencer won’t overhear.

“He got angry when you told him you got rid of everything?” she guesses when you reach that part.

“Yeah. He told me that he doesn’t like it when I move his things. I already knew that; that’s why everything else is where he left it. I think he was mostly just caught off guard that I knew all his hiding places.”

“If he’s having a trauma response to seeing JJ, he’s not going to be thinking clearly, either,” Tara points out. “I wasn’t there, so I could be wrong, but from what you’ve said, it sounds like she was some sort of trigger for him.”

“That’s more than a fair assessment. It’s just… confusing,” you say. “He wasn’t like this with her when he first got home from prison. He actually spent a lot of time at JJ’s house before his relapse. He’d go over and hold Michael when he couldn’t sleep. Why is seeing his best friend suddenly such a bad thing?”

“I don’t know, but it doesn’t have to make sense to us. It only has to make sense to the traumatized part of the brain,” she explains. “He may not even know why himself.”

“Hmm.” You ponder it for a moment. “I think I’d find that interesting if I wasn’t living it.”

Tara laughs out loud at that. “Yeah, I’ve found that to be rather commonplace sentiment in the field of psychology.”

You take a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling calmer. “Thanks for listening,” you say. “I feel better now.”

“Anytime, (Y/N).”

You exchange goodbyes, making plans to catch up properly over lunch next week. You hang up, then tiptoe back to the bedroom door. It’s quiet now; Spencer seems to have stopped crying. You knock softly. “Honey? Can I come in?”

When he doesn’t respond, you try the door handle. It’s unlocked, which is a good sign—he’s upset, but not upset enough to completely shut you out. You open the door just enough to look in.

Spencer’s on the bed as expected, huddled under his weighted blanket. His back is to the door and you see his shoulders shuddering in the little breaths that follow him crying. In your experience, he usually seeks out comfort before this stage, often having the breakdown itself in your arms or stumbling into them halfway through. This is a bit of uncharted territory. You know that after outbursts of negative emotions, he tends to need reassurance and touch from someone to help him decompress and feel better. You just don’t know if that’s going to hold true for this kind of reaction. A trauma response, Tara called it. You hope it will, because you don’t know what else to do.

“I’m going to come in now,” you tell him before taking a step inside. You leave the door open behind you so he won’t feel trapped, then slowly approach him, looking out for signs that he doesn’t want you near—tensing muscles, slight rocking, shaking his head—but he stays still.

Once you sit down on the edge of the bed you can see his face. His eyes are puffy and his cheeks are red and raw from wiping away tears. A few are still slipping out, sliding sideways down his face and dropping onto the wet patch on his pillowcase as he stares blankly at the wall across the room.

Hesitantly, you reach out and touch his arm as lightly as you can. He takes in a deep breath, but does nothing to suggest that he wants you to remove it. After a few moments to ensure that he’s okay with touch, you start running your hand up and down his back. He whimpers a little in response, closing his eyes and titling back into your touch.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly.

You don’t get a straightforward answer. He chews on his bottom lip for a bit before speaking in a scratchy voice. “Can you…?” he mumbles, lifting his head up slightly from the pillow, then dropping it back down. You don’t know what he’s asking for until you see some of his fingers poking out from under the blanket and the stroking motion they’re making.

You maneuver across the mattress to sit against the headboard, jostling him as little as you can, and he shifts to place his head in your lap. When you start carding your fingers through his hair, his eyes flutter closed and he lets out a little sigh.

“What’s going on?” you ask once the tension has faded and his body has settled fully into the mattress. He just shrugs and you press your lips together to hold back a sigh. You’re familiar with him going nonverbal and you know that he can’t help it, but it’s discouraging. One of the main things he’s been working on is being more open about his emotions. It’s been a welcome change to not have to pry things out of him. But he seems to have gone right back to old habits tonight and it’s… well, it’s disappointing.

The silence carries on for a long time as you continue to run your hands through his hair. He’s so still and relaxed that you think he may have fallen asleep until he takes in a deep, shuddering breath and clears his throat. “I… I want to go back,” he whispers.

“Back whe--” you start, then your heart drops as you realize what he means. “Oh.”

Your hands fall to your lap as he sits up and clambers out of bed, muttering, “gonna get changed.” He shuts the bathroom door behind him—for whatever reason, he’s not always comfortable with you seeing him changing or in the shower anymore—and you sit still for a few moments, processing what he just said. After over a month of listening to him express his desire to come home—begging you, even, in the beginning—you were unprepared to hear the opposite.

You shake your head slightly to try and clear it, then follow his lead, leaving the bed and changing out of your fancy clothes, trying not to think about how much you had been looking forward to wearing them to the restaurant.

Spencer remains quiet for the drive back to his treatment center, staring out the passenger side window, legs pulled into his chest. He mumbles a quick “bye” to you when you check him back in—no hug or kiss on the cheek like you’ve grown accustomed to. Instead he turns right back to the nurse and staff member running the process and asks, “Is Matt working tonight? I need to talk to him.”

At least he wants to talk to someone, you tell yourself as you leave, trying to soothe the sting caused by the fact that the someone isn’t you.

---

The next time you see him is six days later, on Friday evening. You’ve only talked once since Saturday, over the phone on Wednesday night, and it wasn’t a long call. He was upset about the horse therapy appointment being canceled that afternoon because of the weather—it had rained hard all day—and didn’t say much else. He ended the call before the ten minute mark, saying that he was tired and wanted to go lie down.

He also didn’t request a visit for the weekend—he either didn’t think his treatment team would approve it or he just didn’t want one. So you’re visiting him at the center today. You’ve brought dinner with you—you cooked one of his favorites yourself—but before you eat, you’re having an appointment with him and his therapist.

Spencer glances up only briefly when you enter the office, quickly looking back down. One of his knees is bouncing.

You sit down on the other side of the couch, looking between him and Lara in the chair across from you. “So, um, what’s going on?” you ask.

Spencer looks to Lara and she gives him an encouraging nod. He takes in a deep breath before speaking. “I… I wanted to talk to you about what ha—happened last week,” he says quietly, keeping his gaze on his lap.

You don’t know why exactly he wants to do it here, with his therapist, but wanting to talk about it at all is a good sign.. “Okay. I’m listening.”

“Right, um. Seeing… seeing JJ, it--” he stops abruptly, and his hands tremble slightly as he runs them down his thighs. “Sorry, doing… doing this is making me really anxious.”

“Take your time,” Lara says and you nod in agreement.

“Okay.” He runs his hands through his hair a few times before continuing. “Se—seeing her brought up emotions and, and memories I wasn’t ready to, um, confront. It… it really tri—triggered me.”

“Yeah, I could tell,” you say quietly.

Spencer grimaces at the words. He lifts his hand, puts it back down, then lifts it again and rubs at one of his eyes. “I…” he starts, then fixes his gaze on the floor and goes silent.

“(Y/N).” You tear your eyes from him and look at Lara. “Is there anything you’d like to say to Spencer about Saturday? Maybe what it was like for you?”

“Oh. Um.” You chew on your bottom lip for a moment. You’ve worried about how what you say could effect him since his relapse—one of your biggest fears is saying something that would drive him to use. But it’s stressful to keep up with, and with his therapist is probably the best place to start ridding yourself of your new habit of… well, of walking on eggshells around him.

“I think it would be good for him to know,” Lara says.

“Alright.” You lace your fingers together in your lap. “I guess it was just… startling to me. JJ’s your best friend and you’ve never acted that way to her. Or anyone, really, other than your father.”

Spencer stays silent, but flinches at the mention of his dad.

“Do you have anything to say to that?” Lara prompts. He shakes his head, so she looks back to you. “How did seeing Spencer like that make you feel?”

You take in a deep breath and let it out slowly; you’re a little scared to say, not wanting to make him feel worse. “It was… distressing. Especially when he got mad at me for getting rid of his Dilaudid. I know he doesn’t like having his things touched without permission but I don’t think it was reasonable to expect that I wouldn’t have done that.”

Lara nods. “That makes sense. But our feelings aren’t always logical.”

“Yeah, I understand. I guess I just wish he would have told me what was wrong instead of being silent--”

Spencer finally speaks up then, in protest. “I couldn’t help it!”

“I—I know that,” you argue back. “I just—I’m just telling you how I felt.”

He looks away, folding his arms and sinking further into the couch.

“Spencer,” Lara says gently. “You wanted to know how (Y/N) felt, remember? And we talked about how you were probably going to hear things you wouldn’t like.”

You blink, taken aback that this was his idea. And with that comes the realization of just how long it’s been since he’s asked how you’re feeling. Thinking back, you realize that the last time you had a conversation that wasn’t only focused on his feelings and well-being was the day you found him asleep and tied to his mother. This… it’s Spencer before prison.

You’re drawn out of your thoughts by him sighing and muttering, “Yeah, I remember.”

“Alright. Anything else?” Lara asks you.

There’s a lot else, you’re discovering, but you’re not sure you can unpack it all right now. “Maybe…” you say. “Maybe he could just tell me what I can do to help when he’s… triggered?”

“I don’t know,” he says dully, and when he catches the small frown on your face, insists, “I don’t.”

“Yet,” Lara adds.

He sighs again. “Yet,” he repeats.

“I know it’s frustrating,” she says. “Your solution to these kinds of feelings before was denial or using. A solution, not just a problem,” she emphasizes. “I want you both to try and think of it like that, and get comfortable with the fact that it’s going to take awhile to overcome those habits.”

A solution, not a problem. It’s… weird to think of his addiction that way, but you can try, so you give her a nod.

“Yeah, yeah,” Spencer mumbles. But behind the defensive body language, he just seems tired.

He seems to relax a little when the meeting wraps up and it’s only the two of you in one of the rooms used for visits. He remains quiet, but when you place the plate of food you dish him across the table from yours, he slides it back and sits in the chair beside you. “Sorry,” he whispers as soon as you take a bite of food.

“For what?” you ask once you’ve swallowed.

“For yelling at you on Saturday,” he says quietly. “I was upset but I shouldn’t have yelled.”

His leg is bouncing under the table; you put your hand on his knee to still it. “Apology accepted,” you say softly.

He shakes his head slightly. “You don’t have to. I was awful to you on Saturday.”

You frown at his skewed interpretation of events. “Spencer, you really weren’t. You yelled at me, yes, but other than that, you were fine.” And you’ve said much worse when you’ve been high.

“I ruined dinner. And don’t say it’s not a big deal,” he adds before you can speak. “You mentioned it every time we spoke in the week leading up to it. You were really excited about it, and I ruined it.”

Spencer’s read you like a book—that was exactly what you were going to say. “Yeah, I was really looking forward to it,” you admit. “And it sucked to have to cancel the reservations. But there will be other dinners, and it’s not like you did it on purpose.”

“But what if I did?” His voice is so quiet that you wouldn’t have heard him if he wasn’t right next to you.

“What do you mean?”

“I just mean…” he rocks slightly in his seat, which you immediately recognize as one of his self-soothing behaviors. You move your hand from his knee to his hair, lightly running your fingers through the curls covering the nape of his neck to try and help. His head tilts forward a little at your touch and after a brief silence, he continues. “I just mean that self-sabotage wouldn’t exactly be something new for me.”

“Oh.” You take your time considering it; he won’t believe you if you give in to your knee-jerk reaction to protest the negative feelings he harbors towards himself. But he grows agitated at your silence, rocking a bit harder and rubbing at his eye. You tug his hair lightly without really thinking about it in response.

“I’m just thinking,” you assure. “You deserve an honest, thought-out answer.”

After taking a deep breath, he nods. “Okay. I understand. Maybe you could just, uh… to help c--comfort…” He swallows and his voice drops back to a whisper. “Could you do that again?”

“Do what?”

“Um, pull… pull my hair. You did that a few moments ago. Please?”

You almost want to tease him—a year ago, you would have. But he’s been so timid and unsure when asking for any intimate touch other than cuddling since he got back from prison. You don’t want to discourage him from asking any more than he seems to be discouraging himself.

“Of course, baby,” you answer softly, and do just that. He closes his eyes and drops his head onto your shoulder. “As far as the self-sabotaging goes, you’re… not good at lying to me,” you muse. “And after six years with you, I feel like I’m pretty familiar with all the ways Spencer Reid self-sabotages. This never even crossed my mind until you brought it up, so I don’t see that as being what happened.”

You can’t tell if he believes you. A neutral “okay” is all you get from him, but at least he’s not outright disagreeing.

You gently pull his hair a few more times. “You should eat before it gets cold and we have to heat it up again.”

He takes the suggestion, picking his fork up, but you’ve never seen him less enthused about eating one of his favorite foods. He’s only cleared half of his plate when you’re done with all of yours.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

You can’t help but sigh at the habitual response, and consider your next words carefully. “Spencer, I don’t mean to be pushy, but you told me you were working on not dismissing people’s concern for you when they express it.”

“I am,” he mutters, but doesn’t say anything else, just continues to push his food around his plate aimlessly.

“Well, is something wrong with the food?” you ask. “Did I get the texture wrong, or--”

“No, no,” he interrupts, shaking his head. “It’s not the food. The food’s great. It’s… it’s me that’s the problem.”

Your eyebrows come together. “I don’t understand.”

“I…” He starts to blush. “I’m not eating it all because I think I need to lose some weight.”

“Don’t you dare,” you say immediately without thinking. He makes a startled noise at the same time you clap your hand over your mouth. You definitely don’t want him to lose weight, you just hadn’t meant for it to come out like that.

On the day he came home and agreed to treatment, you’d seen just how underweight he’d become as you helped him unbutton his shirt. The stark outline of his ribs against his skin had been scary, and you had no desire to see that again. It was a relief when he started to gain back what he’d lost in prison and afterwards. And you were happy to see him continue to put on even more than that.

You clear your throat. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say it like that. You were just so skinny when you got here. You look good like this.”

“I’ve never weighed this much before,” he says, and the distress in his tone makes you think that this is a fact that has been bothering him for a while. “Some of my clothes are getting too tight.”

“We can buy you new clothes.”

“But we don’t know how much longer the insurance will cover my stay here. Residential treatment is expensive. We don’t need to be spending extra money on clothes when I could just lose the weight instead and not need them.”

“Hey.” You put your hand on his cheek. “I don’t want you to worry about money. The insurance is covering it for now. If they stop, that’s a problem to deal with when we get there. Just focus on getting better.”

He looks away from you, down to his lap. “I should still lose some weight,” he says eventually.

“Have you medical staff told you that?” you inquire, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” he admits with a sigh.

“Then you’re not allowed to worry about it,” you say firmly. “Finish your dinner.”

Spencer hesitates, but picks his fork back up. The corners of his mouth turn up just slightly when he starts eating again, telling you that despite his fretting, he’s happy not to stop himself from eating as much as he wants.

He seems to be in a much better mood at the end of the evening than he was when you arrived, though a bit more subdued and quieter than normal. He also appears to be very tired. It’s only 7:30 but he keeps yawning. He denies dozing off with his head on your shoulder while you were talking after dinner, but you’re sure he did.

During your parting hug, he nestles his face into your neck just like he always does when you’re sleeping in bed together. “Try and get some good sleep tonight,” you encourage, smoothing your hands down his back. “And Spencer?”

He pulls back to look at you and you settle your hands lightly on his waist. “I meant it, you know.” You squeeze slightly. “When I said you look good like this.”

It takes him a few moments to catch onto what you’re implying; when he does, his eyebrows shoot up and his breath catches. “Oh. O—okay. I’ll, um…” he glances down shyly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You better.” You look over your shoulder as you leave, and the small smile he’s wearing prompts one of your own.

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

tell me what you thought here!

i'd like to put it out there that i don’t hate jj and i really hope it didn’t come across like that. i hadn’t even planned that scene; it just wrote itself. i promise it’ll be resolved before the end of this fic.

another shoutout to the book The Body Keeps the Score for helping immensely with the planning and writing of this. i literally have pages of notes from it.

you can also find irl pictures of spencer’s therapy horse here.

all we can do taglist: @thatsonezesty13 , @jhillio , @elitereid

general taglist: @calm-and-doctor

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid #angst #my fic #tw substances #one day i'll write something that's short

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