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jamjaemin · 4 months

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꒰ "Be brave, Angel" ꒱ 彡 ♡ ⋆｡˚ (m.l and h.l)

summary:you want your first tattoo. but are you ready to deal with who will do this to you?

Word count: 6k!

Pairing: tattooartist!mark × tattooartist!haechan × f!reader

Content: fuckboy!mark/haechan, slutty!reader, Praising, petnames(good girl, princess, ect), friends with benefits,teasing ,threesome, double penetration (pussy and ass), ass and pussy spanking, unprotected sex,creampie ,no mention of aftercare :( , lmk if i miss any.

A/n:This is based on the poll I posted before I know y’all voted the most for mark but some besties wants them both like I don't blame them bc I'm down bad for this two. I'm literally busy but yeah here it is I hope you like it, thanks for your time bestie, enjoy♡.

the soft tinkling of bells rang out as you opened the studio door, but your nerves were so sensitive that you flinched as if the sound had been amplified by large speakers. The frigid air inside the studio ruffled the hairs on your arms and you pulled your cardigan tighter around you, immediately recognizing the soft music playing in the background.

If this was a visit like one of the other times you’ve been here with your friends, for company and support in getting their tattoos and piercings, then you would have been able to once again admire the modern decor and beautiful artwork hangs on the walls - all strategically placed to catch the attention and arouse the interest of clients.

But this was no ordinary visit. For once you weren’t here for your friends. You were here for yourself.

No one but you and Johnny knew of your intention to get your first tattoo and you didn’t want to change that, wanting to surprise your friends since they had been encouraging you to get it for years.

That was weeks ago, and frankly, you’d almost forgotten that you’d expressed that wish to Johnny. At least until you got a message from him, asking you to come down to the studio as soon as possible to see the finished artwork that he would use as a base to finally get your tattoo done. You weren’t nervous until that moment.

But when the possibility of getting a tattoo stopped being a ‘possibility’ and became a matter of 'when’, you started to regret your own decision.

It’s been three days since you received the message and only today did you pluck up the courage to come to the studio.

But judging by the way your hands were cold and clammy you didn’t think you had mustered enough courage.

Swallowing down the nerves you took a deep breath and looked towards the reception desk, but there was no one there.

Oh.

You are completely alone.

That means there’s still time to turn around and walk out the same door you just came through, right? Yes right. It would be the perfect excuse.

��Well, at least I tried.” You said softly, already turning towards the exit.

“Y/N?” The melodious sound of Haechan’s voice interrupted your hurried steps, and you squeaked through your teeth, knowing it would be very difficult to escape now.

“Y/N! Wait, what are you doing here? Are you expecting one of your friends?” He asked already walking towards you, not noticing - or choosing to ignore - the tense expression on your face, choosing to hold his arms out to you in an invitation to hug.

“Hi, Hyuck. Uh, not really, not exactly…” You replied, accepting his warm hug. When he let go and looked at you questioningly, you sighed.

“I’m here because Johnny said he finished the artwork I asked him to create. I’ve been talking to him about getting a tattoo.” The last part you said in a whisper.

“Really?” He smiled brightly in response and added,“if that’s what you really want, you can bet it’ll all be worth it when the job is done.”You brightened up a bit, nodding slowly and offering him a gentle smile, silently grateful for his support.

The nervous knot in your stomach felt a little less dull thanks to hyuck's sweet words.“But I’m afraid unfortunately we can’t do that today, dear.” He said in an apologetic tone, looking disappointed in himself.

You furrowed your brows and cocked your head in confusion, waiting for his next words.

“Johnny isn’t even here. Today he went to a family meeting, as we’re near to closing time for the studio, he’s already left.”

Closing time?You looked up at the clock on the wall, blushing and stuttering an embarrassed response when you saw that he was right, the hand almost reaching the closing time mark for the studio.

You squealed with your hands over your mouth.“Oh my God! I’m sorry. I didn’t even pay attention to the time. I should have checked the time before coming.”

Damn, it was just like you to be embarrassed like that.

“Hey, no need to apologize, if i know where's the artwork I would have done it myself. I’m sure Johnny wouldn’t mind staying after hours to see you, but he really can’t miss this meeting.”

“D-don’t worry about it, really. I’ll come back another day, it’s no problem to-”

“I’ll attend her.”

You both looked at the source of that voice, both of you surprised by the sudden appearance of someone else in the room.

There, casually leaning against the doorframe, taboo clutched between the long fingers of one hand, the other comfortably tucked into his pants pocket, was mark lee.

His body was covered in black clothes as usual. Combat boots and jeans, a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the numerous tattoos on his arms.

“Oh, mark, this is Y/N, she’s the client of-”

“I know who she is. I said I’ll attend her, the art is in my office along with the others.”

The abrupt cut left your cheeks red and you looked away at the man beside you, leaving them to stare at each other in the tense silence afterwards.

You were about to say that you didn’t need him to attend to you, but Haechan spoke first.

“That would be amazing”

You heard Mark breathe a little bit heavily, the sound piquing your curiosity until you looked up at him, seeing that his gaze had now fallen on you – disturbingly bored and somehow still so intense.

He keeps looking at you like he’s sizing you up with that sleepy look; like he’s trying to understand you just by the way you’re standing there next to his friend and your friend bc you talked with hyuck comfortably so many times but mark...you didn’t have the chance.

The man before you doesn’t seem the least bit concerned that you’ll find his obvious inspection impolite.

No, instead he just stares you down from head to toe completely, undisguised and not saying a word as he does it twice. By God, twice!You always felt like there was a suffocating tension surrounding the two of you, even though you haven’t exchanged a single word with each other in the months you’ve been in the studio with your girls.

You always told yourself that it was all in your head, but when he looked at you like that it was almost impossible to control your own thoughts.

With a shudder you break your gaze and fix your attention on Haechan again.

“No, don’t worry about it. I can come back another day, I really don’t want to disturb anything.” You said pulling away, but Haechan’s grip on your hand didn’t allow you to go very far.

“Wait. Mark is an amazing professional and I don’t think there could be anyone better than him to get your first tattoo, not even Johnny.”You fought back the urge to say that you had serious doubts about that, especially given the look of sheer boredom on the man’s face and all that awkwardness surrounding the two of you.

He didn’t seem like someone capable of offering emotional support and allaying your fears.

“Fine. Lock the door when you leave.” He set the tone for the end of the conversation before you could argue, but you heard hyuck whispering to mark before he turn and head back inside "leave? take care of her until i comeback" giving him a playful wink.

“you, follow me.” You watched his broad back disappear from view, then turned your eyes to Haechan, smirking at you like he knows you were scared to get your first tattoo. His joy was so intense that you didn’t have the heart to say the things you were thinking, instead offering a forced smile and a gentle hug before walking away to follow his friend.

“see you” You waved at him stepping into the hallway that led to the tattoo and piercing procedures.

"I'll join you soon baby" haechan whispered to himself.

You didn’t know how to react around him and you were afraid it was obvious from the almost robotic way you followed him.

Even on your other visits to the studio, you hadn’t spent more than a few minutes in the man’s presence. Always mysterious and elusive, you noticed over the course of visits that he preferred to work in the back, creating fine art for inspiration and serving specific clients by appointment directly with him. And the few times you saw him it was always the same awkwardness as usual, the same disturbingly intense stares and a total of zero verbal interaction.

He just slowly cooked you up in an excess of visual intensity and then was gone.And now he said he would get your tattoo.God, you didn’t think you could be more nervous than you are right now.

Mark doesn’t say anything to you as he places the book on top of a small table in the corner, heading over to the alcohol spray bottle and disposable wipes, using both to sanitize the black leather high recliner chair you’ll be sitting in for the next few hours. You just watch him, nudging the toe of your sneakers into the other as a distraction as you wrap the cardigan more tightly around your body.

When he’s finished sanitizing the chair you understand it’s your cue and, sucking in a deep breath, you push your legs to move to the padded chair, your body feeling like heavy lead as you just imagine the pain that will come from shoving a needle in your skin. You settle into the chair, hands clasped on your thighs and body taut as a bow, staring at mark’s work like a frightened hawk. If he had noticed how nervous you were - and you really think it would be hard for anyone not to - he said nothing about it, opting to continue his preparation silently.

His moves are practiced, probably memorized after so much time working at it, and he barely looks at you, completely focused on his little world. The only time he stopped what he was doing and gave you any attention was to hand you a clipboard.

“Before we get started I need you to read and sign this if you agree to the terms.”You nod and he immediately goes back to what he was doing, leaving you alone to read through paragraph after paragraph of the studio’s consent and disclaimer if the job doesn’t turn out exactly the way you wanted it to.

You found it really hard not to approve the final work, given what you already knew about the team and their perfect artwork. But you found such terms understandable and necessary, as working with the public could be challenging at times.

You’ve read the document almost through when a sound of packages opening catches your attention and you look away to the man in front of you. None of your friends had done any procedures with mark, despite their many efforts and attempts to make an appointment, but here you were, waiting for him to finish preparing the materials to get your tattoo done. You couldn’t believe it.

He was attractive in a way that would make a woman swoon. His eyebrows were full and his ears were decorated with a variety of piercings and when he turns to grab something from the top shelf you find yourself fighting an appreciative sigh as you get a clear view of his profile, everything about him was appealing.the sight causes the already visible blush on your face to deepen to an even more embarrassing degree.

The sound of a new song starting up snaps you out of your reverie and you stare awkwardly at the clipboard in your hands, deciding that you definitely assent to all the terms and quickly signing your name at the bottom - your handwriting not as graceful as usual, due to the way your hand is slightly shaking.You hand him the clipboard and he places it on the table next to other documents, turning his attention to the materials.

You see him sort out alcohol, wipes, packets of disposable needles, and a small container of ink, all neatly arranged in a straight line on a tray that he brings over to the leather chair you’re sitting in. He sets it down on the side table, along with the pistol and stencil he would use as a base for your art, pulling a stool on wheels next to your chair.

“The tattoo will be in the rib area, right? Under the breast.” He asked quietly, sitting down on the stool. You looked at him curiously through your lashes, surprised that he already knew the location of your tattoo.

“Y-yes, how do you know?”

“johnny told me.” That’s all he told you about it and, surprisingly, that’s all you needed to understand. “Alright. I need you to take your shirt off.”

He says without looking you in the eye, unflappable and confident, putting the pair of black gloves on his hands with a final snap that only served to make you even more agitated.

While you logically knew that you would need to go topless for this particular tattoo, there was an extra nervousness about doing it in front of him. And you knew it was because it was him, because that self-conscious nervousness wasn’t there at the time when you thought johnny would be doing the procedure.

But there was no choice, and besides, he wasn’t being anything but professional with you. Surely he’s seen a lot more exposed skin than that during procedures.

With a sigh of courage and decidedly rosy cheeks, you pulled the cardigan from your body, quickly doing the same with the light shirt you wore underneath, tucking both into your backpack.

You bite your lip and rub your hands on your thighs, focusing on feeling the material of your skirt against your skin in an attempt to calm yourself down. But your efforts go down the drain when he looks up at you, that disinterested, half-lidded look opening for the briefest of seconds as he looks down at your black push-up bra hugging your breasts. You nearly choke on your saliva because, by God, for two seconds you’re sure a purely appreciative look danced across that bored expression of his.

But then, as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.

“Lie down please so I can sanitize the area.” He grumbled letting the disposable mask rest on his chin, and amidst your mental daze you wonder if he only has black items to use.

You comply, lying back on the soft leather, looking up at the ceiling. You almost jump at the feel of the icy liquid on your skin, instantly shivering at the sensation. The smell of antiseptic hits your nose and you try to breathe more slowly, feeling the circular movements of cotton on your sensitive skin.

“I’ll paste the stencil now.”

As you watched, his fingers smoothed over the stencil, the dark outline showing against your skin. He slowly removes the paper and your gaze strays momentarily to his mouth, his lush lips catching your attention as he nibbles on his lower lip in concentration. You blush and look away quickly, afraid of being caught. It takes a moment for you to realize he’s talking when you turn your attention and notice his lips moving.

“See if you like the position and design. Don’t hesitate to say if you don’t like something, the time for changes is now.” He says it more seriously than any of the times he’s addressed you tonight (which hasn’t been many), voice low and direct, wanting you to understand the importance of this moment.

You swallow and accept the round mirror he hands you, positioning it so you can see the art. Your lips part immediately.

“Oh.”

The delicate butterflies and hearts stretches across your rib cage, just below your breast, rising just a little up the side. The way the design undulates naturally, as if a particular breeze is constantly on your skin, gently shaking your tattoo. You find yourself smiling at the beauty and elegance of the art. It wasn’t a large or very ornate tattoo; you were absolutely sure that mark had already done tattoos infinite times more complex than this one. But it was beautiful. Beautiful in an undeniable way, an art made obviously by gentle and skilled hands.

“It’s…it’s beautiful. I love it.” You say quietly, still turning the mirror to observe the design from all angles, a soft smile on your lips.

Mark didn’t respond immediately and you looked away from the mirror to see the cause of the silence. You felt your smile lessen at the way he was looking at you, specifically at your lips. That realization brought butterflies to your stomach, your cheeks flushing again. He didn’t speak up when he realized you’d caught his gaze, eyes rising to look at your flushed cheeks, then locking into your slightly widened eyes.

“Hmm, can we get started then?” He questioned quietly, still looking at you in that disturbing way, pulling the mask to cover the lower half of the face.

“Y-yes, please.” You said, handing the mirror back to him with trembling fingers. Even with the mask on you heard the amused snort and couldn’t help but feel even more embarrassed. The laugh itself was low and silent, just above a rumbling, guttural breath. It made you feel silly and childish.

Great, now he thought you were an idiot.

“This is a pretty sensitive area, so it might be uncomfortable. I need you to take a deep breath for me. I’ll start with a simple line and you tell me how your pain tolerance is, okay?”

You stiffen but nod, doing as he asks. He grunts a little, satisfied with your compliance, but you barely hear it over the now-screeching sound of the pistol.

“Here we go.”

You bite your bottom lip hard with the initial sting. It hurts. It’s not uncomfortable as he mentioned earlier. It’s painful, really painful. Your small hands curl into fists on the chair and you struggle to breathe slowly, trying to focus on that instead of the stinging pain in your skin. He goes on with the simplest strokes for a few minutes and you’re rigid as a rock during the whole process.

“Hey, you’re okay?”

He pulls the needle away from your skin for a few seconds and you take the opportunity to sigh in relief, refusing to open your eyes because you know they’re teary and you definitely don’t want him to think you’re a crybaby.

“Y-yes, fine, you can continue.” You respond, praying your statement sounds confident enough for him to believe it and continue.

But he doesn’t continue.

“Open your eyes.”

You shake your head slightly, feeling the tears welling up in your eyes.

“Y/N, open your eyes for me.” He orders harder, the fingers that are still flat on your stomach pressing your skin a little to get your attention.

Having him say your name that way makes you gasp softly, obeying what he says after a deep breath.

As you knew, the act of opening your eyes causes the accumulated tears to fall, streaming down the sides of your face. You sniff and blush harder, feeling the weight of his gaze on you - so intensely dark, like the sky in a quite night.

“It’s okay to cry. This is a pretty sensitive area and, after all, it’s your first tattoo.” Despite the look of boredom, his words are spoken in a reassuring, deep tone that immediately works to quell the worst of your nervousness.

You nod and wipe the tears with your fingers. He waits for you to calm down as he draws slow circles on the skin of your stomach, and despite the fact that you’re pretty sure this gesture isn’t entirely professional, you still feel better about his patience. You’re honestly surprised by this, as his overall expression suggested nothing but utter disinterest. But you accepts the kindness with open arms.

Suddenly the door opened slowly and it's hyuck, his gaze never leaving your face as he start clicking his tongue teasingly before he said “my little girl crying?”

“Can we try again?” mark said looking back at you.

This time you nod more confidently, a small smile on your tearful face and it’s convincing enough that he accepts with a satisfied grunt.

Hyuck gets closer to you and brush his hand softly on your cheek calming you down, neither his words or gestures seems just friendly but you didn't have time to focus on that when all you can feel is pain.

The pistol buzz returns and you make an effort to be more relaxed this time, humming softly to the music playing through the speakers.

“Do you like this song?” he asks casually and you jump an inch as you feel the needle again in your skin, the pain returning as before. But you try to focus on his question.

“Yes, very much.” You say with some difficulty, but glad you have something you can use as a distraction while he continues tracing the painful lines on your skin. The needle scratching your skin in a more sensitive part now, if that was possible, and you squeal a whimper. Mark looks up at you and you smile weakly, waving to say that everything was fine.

Haechan bite his lower lip softly at your words feeling his cock twitching from how hard he is seeing you like that but after some time he decided to complete tatting you to forget about it and that's how they exchanged roles.

He hums thoughtfully and then is silent, long enough for you to think he’s not going to say anything else. But then he speaks.

“Ready, princess?”

You blush at the nickname, but try not to imagine too much. "Yes I'm ready" you breathed.

“That’s my girl,” he turns to your ribs as you try your best not to feel dizzy - whether it was from the object currently stabbing your skin or the words that had just come out of hyuck’s mouth, you didn’t know.

He swallows thoughtfully, the movement making his Adam’s apple rise and fall, immediately drawing your attention to his neck.

You shyly bite your lip as you stare at the tattoos visible across his skin; the striking features of a butterfly right in the center of his throat, the lush wings spread out to either side. A single rose in the space just behind his studded ear. The top of a dragon’s head peeking through the collar of his black shirt, indicating a larger tattoo spread across his back and biceps.

You swallowed hard.

“Hm, do you like my tattoos that much?.” He asked after a while of silence, pulling back a little to look at your tattoo from a different angle, pulling you out of your thoughts. Long fingers gripping your ribcage area firmly, but gently massaging every now and then, making your mission to ignore the signals more difficult by the second.

And so you two go on for a little over one hour, the excruciatingly long time it takes for your tattoo to be done. You cry sometimes and wince at others, but haechan is patient and so as mark who was sitting across from him watching his work more likely watching you.

Of course, you try to remember that they are professionals and that they probably do this for his other clients. But it’s hard not to feel special when they're so nice.

Sometimes you feel hyuck's fingers caressing your skin in a way that you suspect is beyond what a professional needs to do, and yet you struggle to mask your emotions. It becomes particularly difficult when he asks you to pull up your lower bra line a bit so he can finish off the tattoo. Of course, you don’t lift the fabric completely or anything, but the bottom half of your breast is visible and that’s more than enough to make you hyper-aware. And it only gets worse when you feel his gentle touch on the side of your breast, a series of goosebumps erupt over the area, the length of your face down to your collarbone turning red with the embarrassing reaction. It’s absolutely mortifying and you try to cover your embarrassment with a strained laugh, saying the air conditioning was making you cold.

It sounds too ridiculous to be taken seriously, but haechan push it, his dark gaze is dancing with amusement and interest. "Oh i know you liked it, princess"

“i-...You finished?” You ask when he turns off the pistol buzz, placing the object on the tray, throwing the disposable items in the adjacent bin along with the gloves and mask. He stands with his hands up, stretching his muscles tired from being in the same position for so long. You try not to visibly drool at the sight of the muscles in his arms stretched out like that.

“Yes. Do you want help getting up?” he looked back at you, his smirk growing bigger just like what's between his legs.

Yes, you did. In fact, you wanted him to do more than just help you up. But of course you didn’t say that.

“No, that’s fine. I can do it, thanks.”

Despite this, you have trouble getting up. And the fact that he’s watching your every move like an eagle doesn’t help matters. Your tattoo area hurts like a bitch and your body looks like it took a beating, but now you couldn’t take back what you said, it was a matter of pride. Then with delicacy and patience you drag yourself across the chair, avoiding putting weight on the most painful areas. It takes longer than you’d like, but eventually you’re on your feet.

Mark has one eyebrow arched and a half smile on his lips, but mercifully doesn’t comment on what just happened.

“Here, want to take a look?” the younger one asks, nodding towards the full-length mirror on the wall.

“Yes yes!” You responded excitedly, looking forward to seeing the job done.

“Wow, it’s so…so beautiful!” You admire the artistry on your skin, now more vivid and expressive than before. Lips clamped between teeth, nearly jumping with glee at the result. The detailing is elegant and beautiful. It’s even better than the sketch they have drawn.

Your skin throbbed and burned, but you couldn’t be more pleased. The reflection in the mirror is just perfect. “Johnny is an amazing artist I swear, he’s amazing.”

Haechan seems to think about what you say, but the way his brows are slightly furrowed tells you he’s still confused. Hearts fluttering in your eyes as you look away from the mirror at the silent man beside you. But mark on the other side is quiet, deathly quiet.

You’re so nervous that you’ve offended them that you feel your body almost shaking where you’re standing. But then he slowly approaches, standing behind you in the mirror, staring intently at the overview of his work now permanently imprinted on your skin with a thoughtful hum.

“It looks really good on you, princess.” He says from behind you, close enough that you can smell the faint scent of cigarettes and mint gum, and something woody like sandalwood. A scent so intoxicatingly masculine it almost makes your head spin. He's literally behind you pressing on your ass and you’re still only in a bra and thigh-length pleated skirt.

Sweet hell.

You open your lips to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. The two of you just stand there, staring at each other in the mirror, neither of you knowing how to act.

God, he feels it too, right? That tension around the two of you?

It is haechan who breaks the silence, apparently more in tune with his feelings than you are.

“Okay, let me clean this up.“

You’re feeling shaky from your recent interaction, but you nod quickly, watching as he cleans your skin. The cold water soothing the tattoo burn.

You don’t know what you’re supposed to do, now that mark is standing close to you too saying nothing, just staring at you in that disturbing way.

For a solid minute, maybe two, he still doesn’t say anything. The look he pinned you with made breathing very difficult but then he finally parts his lips to say something, and you allow yourself to exhale expectantly.

"It wasn’t Johnny who made the art.”

Mark’s deep tone rang like molten gold, clearly knowing he was too close for things to be considered platonic at this point – though it didn’t seem like he minded too much. No, whatever is going on between the three of you is coming to a head right now. You can feel it in your bones.

“E-excuse me?” You blink rapidly, feeling your senses go dangerously numb at his approach, he lied to you.

“I said…” He says more slowly, tilting his head letting the attraction that now seemed mutual run through your veins. “That it wasn’t Johnny who designed your tattoo art, princess.”

He keeps looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters in the world. Disturbingly intense. You try and can’t remember the last time someone looked at you with such obvious desire. The sexual tension rapidly rising.

His long fingers glide along your jaw, tracing the shape, caressing your cheekbones. You don’t entertain the illusion that he can’t hear the rapidity of your breathing, perhaps even the rapid pulse under your flushed skin.

You looked to your right and realize that haechan already cleaned everything and he's staring down at you smirking before he whispered in your ear "Every time you visit the studio I wonder what it would be like if we are more close. What it would be like to have friends with benefits...with a pretty little thing like you"

You swallow the choking lump in your throat, lips parted on a shuddering sigh. It’s palpable that something big is coming and you don’t know if you can handle the rest of what he has to say. Still, you want to hear him say it. You wants him to tell you the things that make your stomach flutter and your toes curl. You want it so bad.

“I want to ruin your pussy, fuck you until your throat hurts from screaming. I want to make you cum with my cock, my mouth and my fingers. I want to lick every damn inch of you.”

…

For a few seconds the world stops turning. Nothing but what he said occupies your mind. You were going to die. Right there, in their tattoo studio.

"I….” You try, although the options are so many that you don’t know exactly what to ask for, your tongue feeling heavy inside your dry mouth, “…please.”

“Please what, sweet girl?” Mark's head dips to your exposed neck, wet lips pressing against the skin there. His breath is hot and your eyelashes flutter at the contact, then his tongue slides out to drag slowly against your skin.

you sighed and can't reject this offer ofc, as if your words had been forcibly punched out of your body. Desperate. “Just touch me, please.” you breathed, halfway between crying and begging.

“…Where?” He pulls away to look you in the eyes. His pupil is swollen, almost completely black with lust. A smile plays on his lips.

“Everywhere. Everywhere, I just need to—” You can’t pronounce the rest. Instead, your breath is interrupted by a sudden pressure against your lips, and it takes you several moments to realize exactly what’s happening. Mark is kissing you.

Haechan take the chance and grabbed your waist his fingers tracing up to your back unclasping your bra like a pro. “Been dying to see these tits,” he said, giving the one on his side a squeeze the one you tatted just under it but You hadn’t bothered the pain when all you feel is pleasure.

Mark sucked and kissed all over your lips, while hyuck focused on your nipple. His tongue flicked the peak before taking it in his hot, wet mouth.

Right behind the three of you there was a big couch facing the mirror where you saw the final result of the tattoo.

The older one doesn’t wait for to long before taking a few steps back, until he lands comfortably in the couch that you only now realized was there. “Come here, princess.” He ordered.

But haechan grabbed you hard from your wrist and pushed you against mark making you sit on his lap, god he look so turned on, just an hour ago he was smiling brightly and welcoming you.

With a movement of muscles he is pulling the black shirt over his head - he's shirtless, tattooed chest and neck, his bun was slowly coming undone after all the moving. "hold her legs up" He growled while his friend spread your legs lifting them up in the air.

Haechan kneeled down face only few inches away from your panties, the way your pussy was pulsing now watching his tattooed fingers rubbing on your wet underwear, he damn near moaned. “She’s fucking soaked.” The way he spoke about you made your pussy ache even more.

He pushed them to the side and you tried to close your legs but mark grip was stronger, his fingers digging into your soft skin. “Don’t you dare try to hide this pretty pussy from me” hyuck said giving your cunt a good slap making you gasp.

Getting closer then slip between your legs. He kissed your throbbing clit before licking up your arousal, your head feel back on mark's chest with a moan while hyuck devouring you mumbling and degrading your pussy, his tongue flicking your clit faster and harder. Before you could draw another breath, you were tipping over the edge.

Looking at mark with those needy eyes and squirming all over his lap making him throb as well, "shh- I know baby, I know". Haechan licked at you until you finished, then looked up you grinning “So sweet, fuck.”

Mark start hooking his fingers into his pants and yanking them down along with his boxers, his big veiny cock was in a light needy shade of red. He tugs on your skirt as you risen slightly from his lap carefully avoiding your tattoo, For a few seconds you just look at him, asking - begging - for him to guide you in what to do next, and he doesn’t let you down.

One large hand holding both of your wrist behind your back and the other one grabbing his cock guiding his tip on your folds, “Come on princess, let me have you…” He practically pleads against your skin huskily, his larger body slightly trembling in need beneath yours.

You lick your lips and nod shyly looking back at hyuck who is fully naked now standing in front of you not only watching your pretty face but rubbing circles on your clit and choking you softly squeezing on your throat.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispered into your ear as he reach down and slowly rub your folds back and forth with the tip of his cock harder, spreading your slick across the entire length of him. “You have no idea what you are doing to me, princess…”

Your pussy burns as you stretch around his cock. You whimper softly when you felt him inside you, he encourages you the whole time, murmured compliments between his tense jaw.

You close your eyes and sink an inch deeper.

The burning stretch and you biting your bottom lip. When you squeeze a little, mark lets out a groan of pleasure. “That’s it,” he encouraged. “Just like this. Good girl. You’re going so well, princess,” he says through a pent-up groan as you lower until the plump tip of him is inside you, the praise coursing through your veins like liquid fire. “Come on, I know you can take my cock.”

“Does it feel good, baby?” Haechan asks hoarsely, pinching your nipple, as he smiled seeing you coming undone.

“S-so good! It’s so good!” You almost cry, He runs his tongue across your bottom lip and you let him in to explore your mouth, your tongues gliding over each other.

A loud moan is shared between you and mark as you sinking fully into his cock. You swear you can feel him in you chest as he opens you, pulsing and writhing wildly where you spasm along the length.

Bouncing on his cock while choking on another is how you ended up, both of them taking turns on fucking you.

“Gonna be a good girl and take us both, right?” hyuck asked. Your lip went between your teeth at the thought of having both of them inside you. You’d never done something like that, but fuck it sounded good. The second you nodded, haechan was lifting your hips and sinking you on to him. You let out a his as your soft walls opened for him. “Fuck she's so tight,” He groaned.

“mmh that ass is even tighter,” mark said from somewhere behind you giving it a spank. You instinctively rolled your hips, letting your body adjust to hyuck. He rocked his hips up slightly, admiring the moans it pulled from your lips. Mark tried to be as patient as he could so you could adjust to his friend, but his patience feared very thing watching his cock disappear inside you. He did not like feeling left out.

You felt mark press up behind you, He pushed you down so your chest was flush against hyuck’s, allowing himself to spread your ass cheeks rubbing your juices all over it. He used his thumb to spread it over your hole before lined himself up to you. His cock head pressed against you, slowly pushing through the ring of your ass.

“Aahh fuck mark!” you whined as he slowly filled you up. You gripped haechan’s shoulders, fingernails digging into his skin

“You can take it, be brave, angel” mark insisted, continuing to press inside. He bottomed out with a deep satisfied sigh. “See? Taking two cocks like no problem, that's it baby.”

They began to move inside you. It was such a strange, full sensation, but fuck you couldn’t deny it felt so good. They moved slowly at first, making sure you were enjoying it. With each moan that left your lips the moved more freely.

Both men continued to thrust into you more faster. Hyuck’s moans were lighter, on the precipice of a whine, while mark’s were deeper and raspier. It was music to your ears. “Fuck gonna cum? Let it out princess,” mark moaned.

You nearly screamed as the pleasure in your lower stomach completely snapped. Your whole body shuddered as your orgasm flamed through you, your body shaking and twitching, tears falling down your cheeks as you collapsed on top of haechan.

#nct fic #nct smut #nct dream smut #nct dream x reader #nct x reader #haechan smut #haechan x reader #nct hard hours #mark lee x reader #mark lee smut

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no-droids · 1 year

Text

Another Rough Day

gif credit @chrishemsworht

Part Twenty of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 13.7K

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

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

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

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

anyways chapter below the cut lets get serious yall

---

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

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

They’re… awful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“P-Please don’t kill me!”

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

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

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

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

You pause, staring down at him in shock.

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m n-not—I hate the Empire—”

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

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

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

“W-What?” He squeaks up at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You make the decision immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just… not really your thing.

---

They’re everywhere.

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

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

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

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

Din needs to go.

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

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

Run, sweet girl. Run.

---

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

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

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

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

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

“Radar?”

“Old. Only engages above fifty meters.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

There’s too many for Din to handle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He also spoke of a girl.”

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

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

“A girl?”

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

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

Except, then—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

You’re right on time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A star destroyer.

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you hurt?”

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

“No,” you eventually whisper.

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

You feel… nothing. Absolutely nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You dream of a faceless man ringing bells.

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not a Mandalorian.

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

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

After a while, Din quietly breaks it.

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

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

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

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

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

And that covers everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

@cptnbvcks thank you so much for the incredible art!

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

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mooncalvin · 10 months

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Across the hall (pt. 2)

Summary: just George and you getting to know each other a bit better.

Warnings: pure smut. Choking kink, Dom!George, and much more.

Words: 4k

A/n: I'll leave this here and go back to my cave. I just finished uni and now I have much more time for writing so let's just see how it goes. Hope you like this very much!

A few days later you two meet at the same caffee of the last time.

“So what about Georgie?”

You flush once again “I mean, he is really nice, I don’t really know much about him”

“It’s not like you have to know an awful lot of someone to want to fuck them” she stated “By the way, I think he likes you too, we went to see him on Tuesday and he couldn’t shut up about you and your paintings, and he isn’t really an artsy guy, you know?”

“But before this , he barely even looked at my direction, I’m sure he didn’t even know I existed”

“Girl! The only reason I went for sugar to your house is because he said you looked nice and didn’t want to go by himself, we weren’t even baking a cake” her answer took you by surprise.

“Lily!”

You kept talking to her as the days went by, you were more similar than what you would’ve thought. But he wouldn’t stop bringing up George, dead-set on getting you two together.

You haven’t seen him since the last interaction at your apartment one week ago. So you were surprised when you saw him knocking at your door.

“Hi” you greeted him, failing to hide your smile “is there anything you need”.

“Not really” he answered “I thought it was only fair to invite you for coffee at my place since you invited me the other day.” he proposed to you shyly.

“Sure I would love to,” you said enthusiastically.

You walked to his flat, very different from yours, sober and modern style, almost impersonal, probably because he has recently moved in. You smiled when you saw some of his helmets and pictures of a much younger him from when he was in the lower racing categories.

“You were cute here” he smiled as a red layer covered his cheeks.

“Well, do you want to sit down? I can put on a movie or something while I prepare the drinks” he muttered.

“Yeah, sure”. After a while he returns and sits next to you, fairly close to you, but not enough. Neither of you started a conversation at first, feeling a bit awkward. It’s him who breaks the silence.

“How is your artwork coming?” you turn to him to answer.

“I finished the piece I was working on when you visited, now I’m working on a personal piece.” he hummed and turned his gaze to the tv. A while after, you turn your head to discover him already looking at you. This man has to be interested in you, right? The looks he’s been giving to you since you’ve entered his apartment screaming “I’m thinking about fucking you right now”. He wouldn’t be smirking and staring at you if he didn’t want to sleep with you. But were you going to act on it? Hell no.

“So, you are a formula one driver” you stated.

“I am indeed” he answered.

“And how is it?” you asked, genuinely curious about it.

“Well, I’ve been racing all my life and formula one is the top of racing, so it feels like an actual dream but it also has its flaws. I don’t really like all of the press stuff and how paparazzis and magazines intrude into your private life, ” he said. You bite your lip while listening to him.

“If you don’t stop biting your lip like that I don't know how much more I could control myself” he mutters so quietly that you almost can’t hear him, but you do. Your eyes go wide as you freeze, watching how he licks his lips as he approaches you “God I want to fuck you so bad.”

All the breath leaves your body, heat rushing to your core. Your cheeks are bright red, heart shaking as you look at him.

He actually wants you. He wants to fuck you.

All you can do is look at him, muttering a quiet “George…” Before he is leaning over you, body pressing against yours, lips so close that you can feel his hot breath, hands gripping your chin. You can feel the slight hardness poking at your stomach so you look down briefly before looking into his eyes again.

George’s blue eyes stare into yours, watching your every movement. Your lips are practically brushing each other. And his hand goes to your hip, pressing you close to him. A moan escapes your mouth before his lips are fully into yours, silencing you.

It takes you a second to respond to the kiss. But then you feel his lips move against your and follow, kissing him with passion. Your hands come up to hold onto him. One pressing against his cheek and the other on the back of his head, so you can run it through his hair. He presses you harder against him as his other hand goes to your hair tugging it, leaving your neck uncovered, so he can start to kiss it and bite it.

He lets out a little moan when you pull his hair to bring your lips together again.

One of his hands moves up to your neck, wrapping around it and adding a light pressure. You take his bottom lip with your teeth , pulling back and biting down lightly before pulling away from his lips entirely.

He stares down at you, hand wrapped around your neck as you pant and whine, legs wrapped around him squeezing while you attempt to grind into him.

“Do you like it rough sweet girl?” A laugh escapes him, fingers pressing into your throat a little tighter for a moment, you moan out, nodding your head.

Right now you feel like you’ve never before, relinquishing all your control to George as your mind goes fuzzy and your pussy gets wetter.

Both of you moan when George grinds his cock straight into you, the friction scratching right against your clit.

He buries his head into your neck befores going upwars, his mouth coming to rest beside your ear.

“I’m going to take you into my room and I’m going to eat this pussy before fucking you raw. Is that alright darling?” your pussy clenches as and your head is nodding before he grabs you under your thighs and picks you up, walking through his apartment towards his bedroom.

You bounce on the bed when he throws you down, giggling while you lay there and stare at him.

He stands at the end of the bed, tall and imposing.

You watch as he takes off his t-shirt, his body skinny but full of muscle, wanting nothing more than to rip the rest of his clothes, but he is quicker as he grabs your legs and slides you down the bed.

“Do you want this sweetheart?” he stares down at you with a smirk, palming his erection through his trousers. You glance at him, nodding your head. “Words, darling”

“Yes,” you mutter.

“Yes what? Your eyebrows furrow, and you take a moment comprehending what you heard before you realise.

“Yes sir” you practically moan.

He lets out a groan at your words, hands rushing to undo your belt and take off your trousers, sliding them down your legs, leaving you in only your panties.

You’re grateful that you didn't choose to wear your teddy bear panties, maybe you knew that something like this could happen.

George moans when he sees your soaked underwear, a hand reaching your covered pussy. You whine and move your hips up, only hoping that he would do something else. “George…” Suddenly he is rushing to pull your pants down your legs, spreading them and throwing them over his shoulders as he kneels in front of you.

You lay there in anticipation as George lays open mouthed kisses on your thighs. He continues to tease you, coming closer to your core before moving away. Your whine at the teasing.

“So desperate for me, aren’t you?” When you look down at him, he’s still looking at you, lips puffy from all the kisses you shared. “If you beg me I might just consider going further love” he says before nipping the skin of your thigh.

Your legs tighten around his head “Please, George, please, I need it so bad”. He scoffs against your leg, a hand going up to caress your ass gently, before laying a smack onto it, making your hips buck into him.

“I don’t think I remember what I told you to call me, was it that?” He says sharply.

“Please sir…” you let out another whine as he licks a strip up your pussy, getting the attention you needed.

“You taste so good, sweet girl” he says before diving back and running his tongue all the way to your clit, sucking it.

You moan out, and your hands fly to tangle in his hair and pull. He lets out a moan and brings an arm to hold your hips down, continuing his duty.

You cannot stop moaning, a pressure building up your lower stomach as he continues with his torment.

He fucks you with his tongue, his nose digging into your clit, one of his hands harshly gripping onto your thighs as they rest on his shoulders. All you can do is look down and watch him, eyes almost closed because of the pleasure.

His hand releases your leg and comes to your pussy, one of your fingers sliding into it, making your grip on his hair tighten.

He puts another one not long after, curving both of them, hitting the spot that makes you see stars. He pulls his face away from you for a moment, his fingers still fucking you as he looks up at you, his chin covered in your slick. Your walls clench around his fingers, making him let out a laugh, motivating him to do it harder.

“Such a dirty little whore, aren’t you?” you tighten around his fingers as he says it, making him laugh again “You like that, don’t you? My little slut” you let out a moan indicating that you are going to come soon.

“I-I’m going to come” you stutter, not being able to form a coherent sentence.

“Yeah baby? Are you going to soak my fingers like the dirty girl you are?” you feel as he adds a third one, stretching you.

You moan as a confirmation, and he leans down again, sucking you hard as he continues pounding his fingers into you.

You feel your stomach pull tighter, as your release comes, moaning his name as you cum. Your legs shake, back arching as the pleasure invades you. That doesn’t make him stop, as he continues licking you through your orgasm.

He pulls away from your pussy, and lets his hand to his mouth, tasting your release as he lets out a moan.

He stands up fully, towering over you once again as you lay in bed, recovering from the orgasm that has just hit you.

You come back to earth as you feel him grab your waist and hike you up the bed, resting your head on one of the pillows that lies there. Then he dives down to connect your lips and your hands go up to wrap around his shoulders, nails digging into them. You continue to kiss as he grinds his erection over your pussy. You shake at the overstimulation, whining when his lips leave your mouth. You open your eyes to see him hovering over you, smirk on his face.

“From the moment I saw you I knew I had to ruin you” he says, eyes dark with lust. You moan at his words.

“Please fuck me George” you mutter, pulling him back down and kissing him fiercely. He pins your wrists to the bed, taking control.

He pulls away, releasing your arms and pulling you up so he can pull your shirt off, admiring your breasts in your bra before removing it. He pushes you back down and starts laying kisses across your chest until he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking it lightly and pinching the other one with his hand. You moan, your hips grinding on him and hands on his hair as he continues to lap at your breasts, switching between them.

He pulls away and stares at you for a moment, “I’m going to fuck you so hard” he says before pulling away undoing his pants so he can push them and his underwear down, revealing his cock to you.

He’s actually bigger than you expected, precum dripping from his tip. You can’t help but moan at the sight as your legs open on their own, almost like a reflex, exposing yourself to him again.

He laughs at your eagerness. “You don’t mind if I fuck you raw, do you, love?” you shake your head quickly.

“Please I need to feel you inside me” You whine, becoming desperate for him. He smirks at you as he climbs the bed, crawling on top of you, getting himself between your legs, dragging his cock across your wet folds, making you leave a moan as he brushes your clit.

He grabs your legs, pushing them up slightly as he holds himself up on top of you, guiding the tip to your hole, pushing it slightly.

Both of you moan, your back arched at the feeling and your eyes closed. But they shoot open when you feel George wrapping one of his hands around your throat, adding a light pressure “that’s right babygirl” he whispers “keep your eyes open for me”.

Then he begins pushing in, your walls squeezing him as you struggle to keep your eyes open, gasping.

He mumbles a “fuck” and keeps pushing in, hand squeezing your throat slightly.

“Oh George…” you whine when he bottoms out, him fully inside you.

The feeling is just amazing. The stretch of his dick and the feeling of his hand around your throat sends you into a state of bliss, making you struggle to keep your eyes open.

George is not much better, his eyes are also closed as he refrains himself not to start pounding into you like some kind of animal, wanting to give you a second to adjust to his size before fucking you fully.

His eyes are open when he hears you mutter a little “please”. And he looks at your face as you stare up at him, begging him to move and fuck you.

He doesn’t waste a second, pulling out of you before sliding back in.

You both moan at the same time and he begins pushing in and out of your cunt, picking up his pace.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, and your hands come to grab his wrist as he continues to choke you, slowing your breathing in the most delightful way.

The coil is back on your stomach, this time faster than before. The feeling of his cock pushing against your walls is just as good as you had imagined, maybe even better.

You stare up at him as he pounds into you, his pace picking up as your eyes catch his. He slides the hand that was at your throat down your body until it reaches your clit, rubbing it.

“Open your mouth” he suddenly says. You can’t help but be confused, not really understanding why you should open your mouth, but you do it anyway. You watch as he spits in your mouth. “Swallow it”. You do it immediately, your pussy squeezing as he lets out a “good girl” after.

He lets out another moan before pulling out of you.

You whine at the emptiness, hands going to his arms before he’s grabbing you and flipping you over onto your stomach, grabbing your hips and pitching them up, hips in the air and face buried in the pillows.

George grabs onto your ass, kneading it before leaning down and biting you, spanking you after you let a little moan. “You’re just the perfect girl for me”. You hear him mutter before his hands go to your hips and he starts pushing his cock into you again, making you moan happily.

Now he goes pounding into you, pace fast and rough as he fucks you into the bed.

His cock glides in and out of you, the occasional smack on your ass as you moan out.

You feel so close to coming. “Harder George please!”, you call out, painting and gripping onto the sheets tight as his trusts get harder.

He grabs your hair, pulling until you’re leaning up on your knees, your back to his chest, hitting deeper with each thrust. You moan together, and you turn your face to his, your lips connecting in a sloppy but passionate kiss. Your hand cradles his head, the other grabbing his side, as he continues to fuck up into you.

You feel the coil tighten and tighten, bringing you closer to relief. And as if he had read your mind, George’s hand comes to your clit, making you cum all over him.

You moan loudly, body trembling as he continues to fuck you, your hand pullin his hair tightly, even louder when you feel the heat of his cum fill you as he comes inside of you, his own moans mixing with yours as he connects your lips again.

You keep kissing as you come down from your highs. Breaths steadying when you pull away from each other.

You stare into his eyes as he stares into yours, the both of you panting. A smile makes its way into your lips, one forming in his no long after. One of his hands comes to cradle the back of your head, pulling you into him to kiss you again.

He then slowly pulls his cock out of your pussy, making you whine at the feeling, already missing him. He gives you a short peck and helps you lay down on the bed before pulling away from you entirely.

“I’ll come back in a moment, love” he says. You nod and close your eyes as you feel the exhaustion creepin into you.

You don’t even know how long it went until George gets back. You feel him spread your legs a little before a wet cloth is cleaning away the cum that pools your pussy. You half open your eyes and watch him, a dizzy smile on your face at his caring actions.

He glances at you when he’s done, climbing back into bed next to you.

He pulls you into him, pulling you to rest onto his chest. You wrap your arm around him, squeezing harder when you hear his heart beating faster.

You feel him lean down and press a kiss to your head, sighing in contentment at the moment.

After what could have been hours but were just a few minutes settling after your littler encounter, you pull away from him a little bit, leaning up as you look at him, him looking back at you. A small smile rests on his face, and you lean forward to press a kiss to his lips, humming with joy as his lips press back.

When you pull away you look back at him.

It’s now or never.

“Would you go on a date with me?” you ask him, anxiety crippling.

He can’t help but laugh at your question.

“I’d love to go on a date with you”.

Taglist: @mysticalnightenthusiast @vildetry06 @rens-daylight

#f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #george russell imagine #george russell x reader #george russell smut #george russell fluff

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slvt4felix · 3 months

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Inspired by the Masters

Pairing -> Artist!Hyunjin x reader WC -> ~ 2,400 words Includes -> maybe fem!reader considering they do wear a skirt but gender isn't really mentioned, strangers to friends (to lovers in the future), fluff, meet-cute Summary -> Your local art museum was your home away from home. Your favorite place to go and you can't help but visit when you need inspiration for a new art project. With a sketchbook in one hand and your backpack in the other, you enter the elegant building not expecting anything more than to admire the artwork. However, you soon find yourself admiring something else, or perhaps someone else... Author's note -> Lets just pretend that this isn't entirely self indulgent and written pretty much for my enjoyment. But I hope you manage to enjoy anyway! Thanks for reading! ♡ Masterlist ♡

You push open the heavy door, light nearly blinding your eyes as you walk back into the fresh air. It's one of the rougher days of the week. You just got out of one of your many stem classes, and are exhausted.

You're a junior in college, excited to take on the world, but first, you need to get through the education part of life. And let's just say it isn't easy. The building behind you is one of the many science buildings at your university. Although you despise the boring lectures held there, you can't help but admire the architecture. Your university was built a long time ago, and you feel beyond lucky to have gotten accepted here. You hadn't realized until late in your high school career what exactly you wanted to do with your life or if you even wanted to go to college at all. But ultimately, you decided on psychology. But upon starting school, you realized something was missing. That's when you enrolled in an art minor. It's been one of your obsessions since you were young. You had never even considered adding it to your schooling until the idea had been placed in your head by your high school art teacher. You had quickly gotten in touch with your advisors and changed your major. It just wasn't like you to not have anything creative on your schedule.

But today was one of your unlucky days. It was pure science labs and lectures all day long. It was now midafternoon, and there was some time to kill before your last class of the day.

Your first thought would, typically, be to head back to your dorm. It is shared between you, your high school best friend and two other people you met last year. Despite the fun times you have there, it was the last place you wanted to be today. Your roommates have been constantly arguing against each other, and you need some quiet time, especially after the grueling day you had.

You step away from the antique building to a bench next to the sidewalk a few feet away. Sitting down, you pull your phone from your pocket, unsurprised to see no messages. You haven't made many friends yet, but it's not all that shocking due to your reserved personality. Nonetheless, you open your messages, sending a quick text letting your best friend know you won't be home until later.

You put your phone away again, hands rubbing against your skirt, hoping to regain warmth. The heat in your class doesn't work well and, unfortunately, the heat from summer has faded. Reminiscent only in the nearly bare trees and brown leaves blowing in the soft wind.

Slipping your headphones back over your ears, you stand up and start the short walk to what's practically your home away from home. It's your favorite place to go, especially when seeking refuge from the chaos within your life. There's even a little cafe to get snacks or study in. Not to mention how beautiful it is. You can't help but be drawn to the beauty of it as an artist.

You walk up the glossy white stairs, excited to see the art within. Luckily, you get into your city's art museum for free. Upon walking in, your jaw nearly falls open like it always does. The beautiful cream walls and intricate paintings on the ceiling. You stop at each and every sculpture on the way in, eagerly reading about the pieces. You can never learn enough from the masters, and luckily enough for you, art is your favorite thing to study. Yes, it was your minor, but it was also your favorite hobby.

Strolling through the cool halls, you start to search for a painting to sketch out. With an upcoming art assignment due next week, you need to find inspiration and fast. You have been in a bit of an art slump for a few weeks now which is really hard when it's a quarter of your schooling. Hopefully recreating some beautiful paintings will be able to help you get back into your groove.

You walk into a well-lit room and are shocked to see new artwork mounted to the walls. They must have changed this room out recently; maybe it was a new exhibit. The thought excites you, your feet instantly shuffling closer to get a better look.

After taking a quick glance at some of the descriptions, you begin to realize it's an exhibit containing all local artists, the artwork absolutely gorgeous.

However, you were instantly drawn to a painting just about in the center of the long wall. The blood-red roses were noticeable from all the way across the room. As you get closer, you notice it's a stunning oil painting, the flowers depicted with heavy, but thoughtful, brush strokes. It was full of stark highlights and shadows, a delicate crystal vase holding the roses up. You can't help, but be in awe of the artist's talent. For the first time in a while, you don't feel reluctant to draw.

Thankfully there's a bench directly across from the artwork. You take a seat, smoothening your skirt. You set your backpack down beside you, reaching inside and retrieving your sketchbook. The inside contains various things. From journals to notes for your psychology classes, to actual drawings, the notebook is nearly filled to the brim. It may seem random, but the small notebook was essential for you.

Taking your pencil out from your bag, you start on the sketch. You'll have to be quick since you only have about an hour before class. Hopefully, you won't lose track of time.

You slowly get absorbed in the drawing. Beginning with the roses and making your way down, adding emphasis to the dark shadows. You barely notice as another person walks up to admire the art. But it's hard to stay concentrated after you first glance up.

A young man is standing off to the side, looking at the same painting. His jet black hair is slicked back slightly with gel, leaving a couple framing pieces in the front. He was dressed oddly nice, immediately drawing your attention. Although it was an art museum and people do tend to dress up more, you're starting to see fewer people make that effort. So it's interesting to see the man dressed in a designer black suit. You know it's rude to stare, but you simply cannot look away. Some people just draw attention like that.

He starts to turn around and you quickly look back down into your lap where your abandoned sketch sits. It was going well, but now looking back on it, something is off, you're just not sure what. You notice movement next to you and glance back up to see the man taking a seat next to you.

The two of you make eye contact and he smiles kindly, sending butterflies into your stomach. You return the smile before returning to your drawing. You gingerly trace over some of the lines of the roses trying to figure out what could be the issue.

"Beautiful painting, isn't it?" you say trying to keep the air from turning awkward. He simply hums a bit, with a small smirk appearing on his face. He glances down at your notebook and his eyes widen a bit.

"Your sketch is just as amazing," he says with his eyebrow quirking up. The compliment instantly makes blood rush to your cheeks. You can't help but notice how attractive the man is.

"Thank you," you reply, genuinely. You don't really show your art off to anyone so you take any and all compliments.

"It's not much so far, but it was just something to help pass the time," you explain, hoping he won't judge it too harshly. You shake your head slightly, annoyed at how strangely eager you are to please this random stranger.

He nods back in understanding giving you the idea that maybe he’s done similar things before. The two of you sit in silence after your bit of conversation. Somehow, it’s surprisingly not awkward. It's obvious that he’s simply enjoying the peace and seems to like watching you draw. You’ve never really minded having people watch you in your hobby. Despite the few nerves it adds, you feel proud when people like to see what you’re working on.

You sigh quietly, annoyed that the problem with your drawing is not going away.

"Something feels off, but I can't seem to figure it out," you admit to him in defeat. He nods and you watch as his eyes scan over your drawing. He leans a little closer, trying to get a better look and almost loses his balance for a second. It's endearing to see the confident man lose his composure even for even just a second. You lightly grip his shoulder steadying him with a soft giggle.

"Sorry, I just-," he starts a little flustered, "can I?" You're a little confused at first about what he is actually asking you and his eyes staring directly back at yours isn't doing much to help your comprehension skills. You can see him start to get a little nervous when you don't answer right away, his hands fiddling with his sleeves. His eyes dart down to your notebook, and a light bulb goes off in your head. You smile, a little embarrassed, and hand him your sketch.

"Yeah, of course," you respond. It was you who asked for help in the first place, so it would be silly for you to mind letting him see your drawing. He takes it from your hands carefully. He can tell how much it means to you from how tight your grip has been on the notebook since he came to see the painting.

"Oh I see," he exclaims, excited to have found the issue, "May I?" You are surprised when he turns to you with the question, his eyes shining eagerly in the bright lights of the museum. His hand reaches for your pencil and you instantly go to hand it to him. Your hand slightly grazes his as you release the pencil, making your heart flutter. He smiles in thanks and goes back to analyze your sketch while his other hand reaches up, rubbing the back of his neck.

'Oh my god,' you think, hoping he doesn't realize you are panicking internally. You glance away, trying to calm yourself down. You would hate to look like an idiot.

The man notices the distance and glances over, seeing you discreetly covering your mouth. He nearly laughs, finding your actions endearing, but he manages to hold it back. He quickly looks back down, so you won't catch him staring.

He brings your pencil to your sketch and goes over the petals, bringing the edges in a bit with more of a curve. Then he moves to the vase and erases a little of one of the shadows to lighten it up. You watch all the while, amazed at how he figured out and fixed the issue so quickly.

When he finishes adding his touches, he holds the sketch out in front of him, trying to see it with a new eye to check if it looks the way it should. He nods his head, content with the result.

"Wow, you fixed it. It looks amazing!" You compliment, extremely impressed.

"It was no big deal," he brushes it off, "sometimes you just need a fresh pair of eyes to see something."

"I'm Hyunjin by the way," he says, introducing himself, "Hwang Hyunjin." You're a little confused when he gives his last name, but you don't think too hard about it. I mean, it was kind of cute of him to be so formal anyway. He stands up from the bench and you follow, aware that you have to get going sometime soon.

"Y/n, nice to meet you," you respond, excited to have made a new friend. All of your friends were majors in engineering and other sorts of classes. None of them really enjoyed the same things you do, so you can't believe you've managed to find someone who seems to be into similar things.

Hyunjin reaches into his pockets, pulling out his phone. He takes a second to unlock it and looks at you in hope.

"Could I get your number? Maybe we could do this again sometime. I’d love to have someone to paint with," he asks shyly, extending his arm out for you to grab his phone. You accept his offer and put your number in, sending yourself a text so you'll have his number, too.

After you hand his phone back, his eyebrows shoot up upon realizing the time written at the top of the screen. You can tell he panics a bit, immediately slipping his phone away.

"I actually have somewhere to be, but I'll see you again, yeah?" He asks, trying to make sure you feel the same way. He starts to walk backward, albeit a little clumsily, while awaiting your answer with a charming smile painted on his face.

"For sure," you tell him with a smile, and he turns around and walks away. You watch his retreating form, shocked at what just happened.

"Oh my god," you whisper as you celebrate a little. You start to realize how many other people are in the room and take a deep breath, not wanting to embarrass yourself. You're just so excited and to be honest, Hyunjin was breathtaking.

You calm down a little and walk back up to the painting, wanting to admire it one last time before you have to leave. Not only is it one of the best paintings you have ever seen but it also happened to start a very interesting conversation and bring you a new friend. Maybe it was fate.

As you go to turn away, the silver of the plaque beneath the painting catches your eye, and you realize that you never read it like you typically try to. You love to see where and who all the beautiful artworks come from. You lean down a bit, trying to read the small black print. Since it's only a temporary exhibit the descriptions weren't anything too fancy.

Your mouth falls open within seconds of reading it. Your expression quickly turns into one of amusement thinking back on your latest interaction. You shake your head slightly in disbelief.

There, written as the artist of the piece was the one and only...

Hwang Hyunjin.

#slvt4felix #skz #stray kids #skz x reader #hyunjin #artist!hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #strangers to lovers #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x you #hyunjin x y/n #self indulgent

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shoccolatine · 2 months

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purple.

⚘pairing: rafayel x gn!reader ⚘summary: for the first time, rafayel asks for your help with his latest painting. ⚘tags: sfw, oneshot, 2nd person POV, gender-neutral reader, fluff, mutual understanding, a lot of metaphors, blushy rafayel bc boy can BLUSH ⚘word count: 943 ⚘a/n: hi!! i started playing l&ds two weeks ago and i am HOOKED. rafayel is my favourite, and so i was inspired to try writing his voice! this is my first l&ds writing so thank you for reading and i hope you enjoy~!

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

As usual, the door to Rafayel's home studio is unlocked. You push it open and slip inside, removing your shoes. The heat of your bare feet sticks against the surprisingly cool hardwood floor as you move into the room.

Rafayel is actually where you expect him to be for once, headfirst in a painting you haven't seen before. You sigh and get ready to settle in for a while, knowing how absorbed he gets when inspiration hits. He probably didn't even hear you come in. So it catches you off guard when he actually speaks first.

"Hey. Come over here," he says as he slides a thick, wet stroke of paint onto the canvas, never looking away.

You oblige without fuss, mainly because his tone is so airy and earnest that you feel being mischievous right now would go over his head. You stop next to him.

"What do you think?" He asks, still gazing at his work.

You puff air out your nose. "You're asking for my thoughts? That's a new one."

He finally looks at you then, his expression just as light and floaty as his voice had been. It's not a side of Rafayel that you're used to, but it's one you find most interesting—the one where he's so deep in artistic expression that he himself has become one with his canvas. An abstract impression of its own creator. A secluded forest monk reaching a state of nirvana like sunlight's warmth on his face.

You don't see it often, since he paints in solitude and you get him out of the house more than he bargained for, but it's the rare intrigue of it that makes this Rafayel all the more special.

"Just tell me," he says simply.

You finally take a good look at the artwork perched on the easel.

It's gorgeous and colourful, his trademark thick strokes, playful yet meticulous and reminiscent of sea foam, present a scene that is at once novel and familiar. It's significantly warmer than most of his other paintings, liberally using more reds and purples alongside his usual blues, as if plucked directly from a sunset.

Knowing Rafayel, if he could do just that, he would.

And yet, as lovely as it is, you can't help but feel like something's... off. The canvas is nicely underpainted, but the centre is dreadfully blank. The painting has no focal point.

"It's missing something," you point out. He hums a thoughtful "mhm" in reply, as if those were the exact words he was waiting to hear.

Suddenly, he turns the paintbrush on you. You realize, a bit delayed, that he's holding it out as an offering.

"I want you to add something to it."

"Huh? Me?" He doesn't respond right away, so you continue. "What would you want me to do?"

Rafayel shakes his head, but there's a gentle smile on his lips. "If I told you what to do, then I might as well just do it myself."

His smile remains as silence grows between the two of you, a silent invitation beckoning a leap of faith. You break his gaze to turn back to the canvas, the gaping void in the centre like an eye of the storm, pulling you in and yet blowing you in every direction. What could you possibly add to this piece that Rafayel couldn't?

"I thought you hated people messing with your work. This is a trick, isn't it?"

He shakes his head again, his soft messy purple curls tickling his lashes. "Kinda a lame trick. And annoying. I put a lot of hard work into this already, only for it to go to waste like that..." he says, and the pouty Rafayel you're more accustomed to is back. "Besides, you're not 'people'. You're you."

"And what exactly does that mean?"

"It means you know what this painting needs. You'll treat it well. You know my vision for it more than anyone else because, well... my vision is you." His voice trails down to a whisper.

You look at the painting once more, with new eyes. This painting... is you?

"Rafayel..." you say, unable to say much else.

He takes your hesitation gently, holding it like a hand and guiding it along, taking the reins and allowing you to find your footing again. "It looks different from my other pieces, right? I'm sure you noticed. That's because you make me different. Not like I've changed for you or anything, but more like... I've changed because of you. You know?"

"Um...? Not really," you reply sincerely.

He taps his chin thoughtfully. "You're red where I'm blue. And together, we make purple." He breathes out a laugh. "It sounds so simple when I put it like that. It's not that simple at all. Nothing about you is simple. You're annoying and loud and strong and everything I'm not, and yet somehow we blend together so well that I don't know how I was able to be content with being blue for so long. I want to be blue, and red, and purple. But only your shade of red will do."

He pauses, his ears a dark shade of the exact colour he speaks of. His eyes are pleading, as if saying 'understand me as I understand you', and before he can open his mouth to spout more abstract nonsense, you dip the brush in red—a perfect match to the hue blooming in his face. You are in this colour as much as he is.

"I think I know what to do now," you say, and your red splatters over his blue, mingling purple like summer plums, sweet and sour and bursting.

#love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace #rafayel #rafayel x reader #fics #i love him soso much......

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hazurasinner · 1 year

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Calamity Anne, both as a design and character arc reveal in the Amphibia series still holds up as one of my favorites from recent animation. Started out as a vent doodle, but midway I loved the intense body expression that I decided to just clean up the outline a bit (I'm really trying to be less perfectionist about my inking haha) and colored it. Actually finished this almost two weeks ago and forgot completely haha... Please do not repost, edit or use this artwork in any way.

#my art #amphibia #anne boonchuy #calamity anne

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constesplanetarium · 6 months

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Watch the show.

☼⚠︎ Male! Yandere Circus Ringleader/Magician x GN! AFAB! Reader

Darkness rating ) 7/10: “Getting a little shocking now.”

✧─── ･｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

this is inspired off what im dressing up as for halloween, literally a circus ringleader :)

i hope u guys like him <3

✧─── ･｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

TW! General Yandere shenanigans (possessiveness, jealousy, aggression towards other guys, etc.), light sexual activity, violence, blood, murder, choking, dacryphilia, implied kidnapping.

Word count: Around 4k.

⋆♱✮☽🦇☽✮♰⋆

The acrobats swing too and fro above you, lighting up the crowd's eyes with excitement and anticipation for what's next. Will one of them fall? Will they pull off the trick? You gasp as the acrobat flings himself across the stage, almost covering your eyes in case he misses and falls…

But as always, he lands the trick, the acrobat clinging onto the other one's arms as the crowd erupts in cheers and laughter. Your nerves ease as you smile softly at the acrobats on the stage, still swinging as they revel in the excitement.

This is your… What, fifteenth show by now? But you never get sick of any of the tricks they do. The circus always comes over for the fall, and a friend of yours won tickets from a raffle for the first show when this whole festival started, about a week ago. The show ended up being so good, that you went to the next one on your own accord. And then the next one. And the next one after that. And the next one…

They have shows pretty often, huh? It’s surprising how they never run out of energy.

You had never been interested in the circus before this, but the jaw-dropping tricks, alongside the good-looking members of the cast, made you stay and come back for every single show. It looks like many shared your sentiment, since it seemed that the crowd grew more and more ever since the first show of the season.

Ah, those acrobats are really cute. Maybe you can get lucky and get to meet both of them after the show. Maybe you’ll even get to meet the ringleader, he’s so handsome…

You don’t rip your eyes away from the rest of the show, cheering alongside the crowd at every little trick and flip the cast does; you cheer the loudest in your row once the ringleader bows in the center of the stage with his members, concluding the show.

“Make sure to come see us for our next show in two hours! You won’t want to miss it.” The ringleader does a simple wink, sending every fan of his into a frenzy. You still aren’t sure why people like him so much. People don’t even know his last name, let alone his first one. He’s just referred to as ‘the ringleader’ or ‘the mysterious master of the circus’ by eccentric journalists who are trying so desperately to keep the reader’s attention. A bunch of celebrities, along with reported billionaires and people from big spots in large companies have come here to watch his tricks, and maybe even strike business, but reportedly he’s always turned down these people, no matter how much money they offer him.

Strange. If they offered him a billion dollars to buy out his circus, would he take the offer? Ah, you know you would. Maybe he already has a private sponsor?

Once you gather your things, you step back out into the festive atmosphere of today's holiday; halloween. Jack-o-lanterns and scarecrows line the pathway back to the main center of the festival, and you can hear the screams of fear coming from the haunted house they all set up. The orange and red lights from the ferris wheel look so pretty from here…

You find yourself wandering around the festival for around 10 minutes, noticing every little detail the festival coordinators setup. There’s even cute little artwork for the signs pointing you in the events you might want to check out later. Looking at everyones costumes and the decorations makes you feel all giddy.

Oh wow, look at that huge skeleton! Your hand digs into your pocket quickly to-

Wait.

Your phone?

Where’s your phone?

You pat down your pockets, and the moment you realize it’s not with you, you run back over to the building, swinging open the door and bound for your seat. Holy shit, lady luck must be on your side today. Thank god no one had closed the entrance yet.

You bend down, trying to dig around for your phone on the floor. It’s so hard to see, since they already shut most of the lights off, damn it…

Where the hell is it?!

“Hello.”

Oh my gosh!

You jump up, almost stumbling right back down, yet a hand grabs your arm before you can fall, and you see who it is instantly once you look up.

“Looking for this?” The ringleader smiles cheekily, waving your phone around as the screen lights up your surroundings a bit. “I’m sorry, I should’ve waited by the door to see if the owner would pop up.” The shock of seeing him this up close is so bad, you don’t even reach for your phone. He takes your hand in his and sets your phone down, right in your palm.

You slowly hold your phone close to your chest, and thank him for returning it.

“It’s not a problem.” Should you ask him for a picture? Maybe an autograph? “I’m glad you came back for it, instead of giving up, and assuming that someone already stole it.” You don’t even have paper for him to sign. Maybe he’ll sign your clothes or something?

Oh my gosh, he’s so much better up close…

“Are you alright?” He chuckles, brushing his hand across your cheek, and your body flinches in response. “You were zoning out there. Oh! I see,” He chuckles. “You’re surprised to see me up close.”

Right on the money.

Warmth spreads all the way up to your face, and all you can do is giggle nervously. God, it’s like you’re a schoolgirl asking out her crush.

“It’s alright. I find it flattering.” He glances between you and your phone for a moment. What’s up? “Would you like a picture?”

On my god.

He brushes up next to you, pressing your hips together as you open up your camera app quickly, setting it in selfie mode. “Is this okay?”

Yes.

“Good. Smile.” You would find it amusing how he’s holding up a peace sign for the picture, but you're more nervous about the hand he’s set on your hip, digging into your body.

“Oh, you aren’t going to take the picture?” Oh my god, the picture. “Or are you distracted by something else?” You glance up, seeing his guilty smile as his gloved hand rubs your hip slowly.

These pictures need to be taken before something else happens right here, right now.

You signal him to look over and smile, snapping a couple random pictures. You don't even know if they turned out good or not. Is it hot in here? You should probably get out.

You thank him quickly, and turn your heel-

“Leaving so soon?” You turn back to see a clear frown on his face, the dimmed lighting shining right on him. “You can stay a bit longer, if you’d like. I’m not in a hurry.”

But what about his next show? Doesn’t he have to prepare?

“The break is more for my members than for me.” He sits down in an empty seat, patting the spot next to him. “Come, sit. I would love to have your company for longer.”

You walk back up and sit down next to him, shuffling in your seat as he takes his hat off, setting it down in the empty seat adjacent from him.

“Thank you for staying with me.” He clears his throat and starts to take his gloves off, flexing his fingers in and out as he tosses the gloves in his empty seat too. “Meeting all types of people when they come to my shows is wonderful, but not being able to talk to them personally makes me a bit sad.”

You smile empathically, and he returns your smile.

“Oh!” He snaps his fingers, his smile widening at the thought of his sudden new idea. “How about I save you a seat for my next show? Please, tell me where you’d like to sit!” Woah, really? “I mean, you are coming to my next show, right?”

Uh. You were planning to go to the ferris wheel with a friend of yours, actually…

His mood shifts from happy, to immediate disappointment. “Well, you can just visit the ferris wheel after my show, can’t you?” Well, you COULD, but-

“Oh please, I would really like you to be at my next show…” He takes your hands in his, rubbing his thumb over your palm. “Please?”

Urgh.

“Oh, just amazing!” He laughs and stands up, pointing to a seat around the front row. “How about there? Perhaps I can even perform a trick for you once I’m on stage! How does that sound?”

Wow, this man’s pulling out all the stops, huh? You can’t help but thank him again, from saving your phone to getting you a free seat. This ringleader’s so nice…

“Oh? ‘Thank you, Mr. Ringleader?’” He laughs and grabs your shoulder, rubbing it affectionately like you two are good old friends sharing a joke. “You don’t have to call me that! Loosen up a little, will you?” Even with his encouragement, your whole body is still tense with nervousness. “Please, call me Mr. Vidales.” So that’s his last name! Ah, how pretty…

“Now, now, don’t be all fidgety with me.” Mr. Vidales grins, clasping your hands with his again. Oh my god, what if your hands are clammy now? But the way his thumb is caressing your hand is strangely putting you at ease. “You’ve been looking all over the place.” He tilts his head while peeking at you, seemingly lost in thought, until his face lights up. “Ah, how about this? Watch me.” He pulls out a small deck of cards from a coat pocket around his right thigh, pouring the cards out into his hand. It doesn’t take long to see he’s performing a small card trick for you, yet you don’t tear your eyes away from him.

“Pick a card, any card.” He murmurs, the enthusiasm still there behind his voice, but it also sounds like he’s sweet talking to you, enticing you further. You pick a card on the far left, looking at it discreetly.

The 2 of hearts.

“Back in the deck now.” He shuts his eyes as you slip the card back in, and he shuffles it all with his eyes still closed. “Now,” he starts, picking a card from the deck. “Is this what you chose?”

NAH.

Hah! He failed the trick! You grin and shake your head, the king of hearts in his hand instead as his smile drops to a frown. “Oh.” He stuffs the deck into his left hand, placing the card face up on top. But strangely enough, he starts to smile, and reaches behind your head, leaning closer to you. “Now let’s see.”

Oh. He smells really, really nice…

Why is your heart racing?

You peek up at the ringleader’s face, your body warming up as he looks down at you, a mixture of amusement and something else in his eyes. “Ah, now what do we have here…” He whispers, and his hand drags down your back slowly as he shows the king of spades in the deck on his left hand. Is he still trying to prove he’s not cheating? You sigh at the shivers flowing up your spine, pressing your thighs together once you feel the heat between your thighs get more intense. Lord, he’s good at this. Does he do this often or something?

“How cute.” He says adoringly, like he’s talking to a small puppy. “Look at you, how cute.” He repeats, his hand pressing itself against your waist, tugging you closer to him. “Ah, I’m sorry, I’m supposed to be showing you a trick…” He can show you something else in just a few seconds if he keeps this up. Mr. Vidales groans loudly once you palm his bulge, followed by a small laugh once you tease him for reaction. “Please, let me finish my trick. Unless you want to do something else right now…?” He begs quietly, and you sigh with a smile as you move your hand.

A bit disappointing, but you do want to see the end of this trick.

“Ahem.” He clears his throat, clearly still a bit riled up, but fine. “Now, watch me.” His warmth vanishes from your waist, and you see his hand come back into view with…

The 2 of hearts in his right!?

You stare at his right hand in awe, as he waggles the card around a bit, grinning sheepishly at your dumbfounded expression. “Good, huh?” Even after all of that, you never saw the deck vanish from view! How did he…?

“I’m not just a ringleader,” he says. “I dabble in some magic here and there too.” He shuffles the cards again, stuffing them back into the box, then back into his coat pocket. A light clap of your hands at his trick and his mood shifts from proud to flustered, fidgeting with the buttons on his outfit as you praise him for the trick.

“Thank you, thank you.” Mr. Vidales bows a bit and laughs quietly. “Your praise is very appreciated.”

… He looks scared. Ah, no.

Shy?

“There must be something on my face, with the way you’re looking at me, it’s…” Mr. Vidales stops talking, staring into your eyes for a moment. “Oh…”

Is he okay? You frown, tugging on his sleeve in concern for his well being. He seems to snap out of his trance, blinking repeatedly.

“Oh! Erm, yes,” he says. “Yes, I’m fine.” A smile spreads in his face quickly, but you can’t help but think that it’s all insincere.

“It’s nothing, I promise.” He sighs. “It’s just some fatigue.” There’s a voice in the back of your head, telling you repeat that he’s lying, but you ignore it in favor of his charming voice and attitude.

Maybe he just needs some time alone?

And, to be completely honest, the hunger’s kind of getting to you too; maybe you can grab a bite to eat and bring something back for him?

“Oh, please.” He nods quickly. “That would be wonderful, thank you. Perhaps you can get me those cinnamon bites with the glaze? They’re delicious.”

You fidget with your wallet as you run out the tent, waving him goodbye as you run for the food stalls.

Hopefully the lines aren’t too long…

The line was pretty damn long. You glance down at your phone to check the time, and decide to jog back over to the tent once you notice it’s already been 25 minutes. And it’ll probably take you another 5 minutes to get there, ugh, the ringleader probably thinks you left to go on a couple rides or something, and forgot about the food entirely.

You slow down once you notice the door’s closed, and look around for a sign of him, but there’s nothing around. Maybe there’s another entrance in the back?

Clutching a drink in one hand and a bag, witn a box of sweets at the bottom in your other, you make your way to the back of the building to find the door slightly ajar, and you use your foot to kick it open the rest of the way, walking through.

There are several doors on both side of you, and by just reading the names on the doors, you can tell these are the member’s dressing rooms! Ah, no way…

It’s so tempting to go up and knock on one of their doors, but you have to shake your head a little to get those thoughts out. Mr. Vidales. That’s who you’re looking for.

You wander around for a bit until you come up to his dressing room, about to bang on the door, but as soon as you try to, the door slowly opens up, and you-

You…

What.

What?

The smell of iron and the sight of crimson fill your vision as you stare at the ringleader, tugging and shoving a man's body into a small closet. It looks like the man was stabbed repeatedly in the chest, along with the broken teeth in the pool of blood in front of you, and a spot of blood on his head.

Isn’t that… Isn’t that one of the employees here? He literally gave you free shit, what the hell…

Mr. Vidales’s face is splattered with blood, alongside his chest, and his outfit has puke on the lower side of his coat. A fallen, bloody knife lies on the ground, surrounded by his victims blood.

“Bastard. Must’ve wanted to give me a goodbye gift before his passing…” He scoffs, staring at the stain with disgust.

The police.

You need to call the police.

Mr. Vidales looks up at the sudden stream of light, and a couple beats pass as neither of you move from the sheer shock.

“Oh.”

Run.

You turn your heel, but trip once someone grabs onto your arm and pushes you down, spilling your drink all over the floor. You try to scream, but a hand covers your mouth instantly, and you feel the tears start to flow.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He frantically whispers and he climbs on top of you, his hands shaking and bloodied as he struggles to keep you quiet. There’s blood all over him, and he’s spreading it onto you. All over your mouth. Your body.

It’s sickening. You have to fight back the urge to throw up once he turns you over and you see his face. Why does he look so excited to see you?

“Stay quiet. Quiet.” He hushes you, keeping your mouth covered as he helps you up. "It's okay darling, see?" As soon as you get up, you’re going to run. That’s what-

“Quiet, or I’ll kill you.” A sharp knife is suddenly pointed at your throat, and you let out a choked-up sob. “Oh, I’m so sorry darling…” He whispers, as he slowly lets the hand from your mouth go.

You don’t dare scream.

“Come on, come.” He pushes his arm against your waist, slowly pushing you back as he steps into the room, shutting the door. “I’m not going to hurt you, or kill you. I promise.”

You shut your eyes as soon as you step in, shaking as you hear the door lock. The bag you’re holding is slowly taken from your grasp, and set down with a thud on his desk, along with the knife. All you can do is listen to what he says.

“Oh, you did get my favorite! Thank you.” Mr. Vidales cooes, pushing you closer as you wince at the gesture. You can feel the blood seeping through your clothes. “Shame about the drink. I’m sorry for grabbing you so tight.” He sighs. “Now, let me just…”

He slips his coat off, revealing that the blood stain on him went deeper than expected, staining his grey undershirt with a dark crimson. You stare at the blood on your own body and almost feel like puking yourself.

“There’s no point in running,” his face is full of pity, yet he smiles at you all the same. “My acrobats are already outside, waiting to catch you if you try to run. Not that I’d let you get that far anyway.” He wipes the blood on his hands away with a loose rag, the white of said rag being stained with that sickening red. “Weren’t their tricks just wonderful? I worked hard to teach them, you know.” You immediately catch that he’s stepping closer to you, and you back away in response, glancing around the room for another exit point. “I know a thing or two about flipping around myself. Maybe I can perform some tricks for you?”

There isn’t any. Not even a window.

“Why do you keep looking around? Why can’t you be happy with me?” Mr. Vidales whines, throwing the rag aside in frustration, with a small splat. “I did all of this for you! You like me, don’t you?” But… Why?

“Oh, you’re so sweet,” he murmurs, almost as if he’s afraid that someone else will hear him. “When I first saw you in the crowd, I saw your excited face and couldn't stop thinking about how adorable it was. But then,” He takes a step. “You came back. Again.” And he takes another few steps closer, suddenly feeling yourself bump into a wall behind you, frantically glancing around for a way out. “And again,” His breathing becomes shaky as he lunges forward, grabbing your arm as you try to escape from his right side, your left. You cry out in fear as he pins you up against the wall, grasping your neck tightly. “And again. And again, you came back every time. You must’ve loved seeing me so much…” The grip on your neck tightens. “Next performance, I’ll be up on stage with all of them. Performing just for you.” Your breathing becomes ragged and hazy from the lack of oxygen, but he acts as though nothing is wrong, kissing your cheek. “Tell me what you want me to do. I’ll do anything.” It’s getting hard to see. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and run down your cheeks as he kisses them away, licking them up before they drip down to your shirt.

“You’re adorable, even when you cry…” His soft lips press against your cheeks repeatedly, his chuckles making you feel sick to your stomach. “You’ll be all mine, ah,” Mr. Vidales lets go of your neck, and as you take those much-needed gasps of air, he hugs your body close to his, and you wince once you feel his hard cock press against your thigh. “There’s nothing better than that…” His hand wraps around the back of your neck, applying some pressure, but jot enough to cut off your oxygen

What the fuck…

You try to turn your head, trying to get a glimpse of the corpse so you can identify who it is, yet he’s already shut the door to the closet, so you can’t.

“Are you trying to peek?” He frowns. “You don’t need to look at him. He isn’t your concern.” It looks like he’s trying to avoid the topic of the dead body altogether. He reaches over and pinches your cheeks, chuckling at your displeased expression. “Ah, I hope you understand how angry I get when you get so starry-eyed by looking at my member’s performances.” Mr. Vidales sighs, pushing you over to his desk by your waist. “I wish it were only me that you show that adorable expression to.” Why the hell is he acting so casual? He just killed someone. Your eyes keep on glancing towards the door, since you don’t see any other escape route.

Oh, when will you get your chance?

“But, I guess we all can’t have what we want.” He stops. “Well, maybe I can.” He shoves you up against the desk, patting his hand on top. “Sit.”

Oh.

You shakily hop up to sit on his desk, and he slides himself in between your legs, both of your faces mere centimeters apart. You have to hold your breath with the way you can see every drop of blood slide down his face,

“Now you’re with me! Isn’t that wonderful?” He presses a small kiss on your lips, grinning. “You’ll get to be with me everyday!” What? He tugs you closer, pressing your back against his chest once he pulls you into a big bear hug.

“Yes! With me.” he says plainly. “Forever.” No way. You glare at him in horror, but his smile never falters for even a moment. The blood splattered all over himself and his clothing, along with his declarations of love towards you…

It’s so sickening.

“What a dream come true.”

ミ★ 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴. ★彡

happy halloween! ik i said i was gonna do the ghost boys for halloween, but i couldnt help myself </3

plus im gonna just extend the ghost boys into november bc i got hit w/ a mean writers block halfway thru….

hopefully this little fic can get me thru it

BUT IM WORKING ON OLIVERS DAY AGAIN SO YAY!!!!

yall gonna see the fnaf movie??? i am <3

#yandere #yandere x reader #male yandere #x gn reader #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #male yandere x reader #dead dove do not eat #not proofread #circus

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scarredwoods · 29 days

Text

Leosagi Beauty and the Beast AU

I few weeks ago I created the idea of a Beauty and the Beast Inspired AU for Leo and Usagi so I shared it on a Discord server I was on. I wasn't planning on doing anything more with it, just sharing it, but a lot of people on the server seemed to enjoy it including @el-pada who created some beautiful artwork for it, so I decided to get out of bed and start writing it.

A few people from the server gave me some ideas and themes to add to the story, so they were definitely a big help in building this story together. Including _Grayson_Robin_ who helped me with any editing, spelling, or mistakes in my writing.

For anyone who doesn't want to read the fanfic on Ao3, here's the entire fic down below

Chapter 1

The day began beautifully with clear skies and the sun shining brightly as children played. Unfortunately, two little boys, a dog and a bear, decided that the best way to spend it was to play keep away with a little girl. a fox half their size. They mocked her relentlessly as they flung her little straw doll between them. Frustrated and desperate for her toy, the girl began to cry and screamed at the boys to return it. That only made them laugh harder as they continued their cruel game.

Finally reaching her breaking point, the girl lunged at the dog's leg, sinking her teeth in it as hard as she could. The boy yelped in pain, dropping to the ground and shaking his leg in a desperate attempt to get her off of him. She finally let go and received a kick on the shoulder for her troubles. The boys were relieved to see no blood coming from the bite mark.

The little girl huffed and went to reach for her doll. But the bear boy was faster and managed to grab the doll before she could. Angry at the girl for hurting his friend, he took the toy and threw it as far as he could into the deep dark forest. The little fox cried out as she watched her precious doll fly into the air and disappear into the dark abyss.

“If you don’t go fetch your doll, you’re never going to see it again!” one of the boys said. Without a second of hesitation, the little girl lunged at the dog once more and started beating him to a pulp. As best as she could, anyway. She tried to hit him as hard as she could with her small hands balled up into fists. “Bring her back! Bring her back!” she shouted. The bear had enough of this. He grabbed the fox in an effort to get her away from his friend, but he struggled to pick her up. Even as she was lifted up into the air, she kicked and punched as if her life depended on it. “Put me down! I’ll make you sorry for this!”

It wasn’t until the bear heard the call of a young man that he finally dropped her. “What is the meaning of this?” the young man said. It was another dog, coincidently the older brother of the younger dog that was bitten.

“He threw my doll into the woods!” the young girl shouted.

“Is this true, brother?” he crossed his arms knowing full well that the little girl was speaking the truth but wanted to hear his brother admit it himself.

“She bit me!” the little boy showed off his leg with the bite mark still on it. “And then she beat me-”

“Because you took my doll and then he threw it!” she interrupted.

The Young man pinched the bridge of his nose and put a hand up to stop them all from talking. “Alright, alright, that’s enough. I want all three of you to apologize to each other. Preferably closer to the village. None of you should be this far out anyway.”

“But what about my doll?”

“I shall go fetch it for you. Now all of you, back to the village. And I better not catch you all out here again.”

His younger brother was not happy with the order and wrapped his arms around his leg. “But Father said no one is allowed to go deep into the forest alone.”

“It’ll be quick,” he pulled him off his leg and pushed him into the direction of the village. “Besides, how far could you have thrown it? It will only be a moment and then I’ll come right back.”

Once the three children started heading back in the direction of the village, the young man ventured into the dark forest in search of the little girl’s doll. Despite the sun still being out, he felt a chill run through his spine as he ventured deeper into the forest. He started growing concerned when he couldn’t find the toy, creeping farther and farther from the village. “Tsk, where is that doll?” the sound of a branch breaking stunned him. He slowly looked around for the source of the noise. His head sharply turned left as he heard the rustle of bushes. He could faintly see something solid blending in with the green bushes.

“I mean no harm!” he called out, hoping that whatever person or spirit would leave him alone. “I only wish to find a little girl’s doll! I will leave after my search.”

The bushes rustled again. At the bottom popped out the faint legs of a doll. The man crept closer to it, thinking that the spirits of the forest were giving him back the lost object. Once he was a few feet away, the entity pushed it out more to reveal the toy. Finally, the man crouched down to grab it, but before he could quickly snatch it away, he looked up and focused on the inside of the bush, only for his face to pale. There he saw the face of a ferocious beast! A hideous monster! Now realizing that this was a trap, he released the doll and ran straight to his village screaming in fear.

—

For many years, a samurai ronin has traveled throughout Japan in a path of purpose and fulfillment. For the purpose he once had, his late master, Lord Mifune had died in a war against the soldiers of Lord Hikiji. Having failed to protect his master, Miyamoto Usagi now wanders the land on a warrior's pilgrimage, continuing to serve him even after death. Occasionally, Usagi would sell his services as a bodyguard to make a living. But he does his best to help those in need, and sometimes those people are generous enough to reward him for his selfless help.

This day felt like any other. After wandering for what seemed like hours, Usagi finally spotted a village next to a riverbank, where many farmers were seen tending to their crops—finally, a place to rest for a bit before continuing with his travels. He looked in his coin purse and tried to figure out if he should rent a room for the night, or buy something to eat. Perhaps if he asks around, he could find an abandoned temple to sleep in so he could have a warm meal.

As he ventured into the village, he saw everyone running in the same direction. Being the nosy rabbit he is, he couldn’t help but get drawn into the crown and see what was happening. That’s when he heard the shouts of a young man.

“Monster! Monster! It was horrible! A hideous ferocious beast! It will come feast on this village at nightfall!”

Once again being nosy, Usagi turned to the woman next to him and asked her what the young man was going on about. “Nonsense, if you ask me. The young man over there went too far into the forest and claimed to have seen a beast.”

“It is not nonsense!” The young man said, “I saw it with my own eyes. It bared its teeth at me, luring me closer to it to have me as its next meal. If I had not run away, I would be good as dead!”

“Bah! Youngsters these days.” the lady turned to walk back to what she was doing before.

Despite what the lady thought, everyone else believed the young man and grew concerned for the safety of their village. Usagi watched as the village started going into a state of panic. A man who seemed to be the village’s magistrate stood on a crate and told everyone to quiet down.

“I know you are all worried for your safety but we must not panic. If this beast knows that we are afraid of it, it will believe it has an advantage over us.” Everyone nodded in agreement as they continued to listen. “Now, if anyone is brave enough, I shall give a reward to whoever volunteers to slay this beast and bring me proof of its death-”

Without hesitation, Usagi raised his hand. “I volunteer to slay the beast!” The moment he heard that there would be a reward for this, all he could think about was getting both a bowl of warm food and a cozy place to sleep in. After sleeping outside in the cold for so many nights, you just become desperate. It didn’t help that he absolutely hated the cold. Besides, after everything Usagi has been through, and all the strange fights he’s gotten into, a so-called beast was nothing new to him. The young man might have misinterpreted a regular animal as the beast because of how dark it was. And if it turned out to be a spirit of some sort, he’d just use any tricks that his old “friend” Sasuke taught him.

Everyone turned their head to the samurai and cheered. The magistrate stepped off the crate and walked towards the selfless hero. “That is wonderful to hear. If you end up coming back alive, make sure to have evidence of the slain beast.”

“That will not be a problem, I am sure this is something I can easily take care of. Perhaps the woman was right and it might have been something else.” Usagi walked to a stand and decided to buy a small fruit to eat on his way to this so-called beast.

“Good, good,” he said, “But if you do not end up coming back, we will assume you are dead and will not be able to recover your body.”

The rabbit paused right before he could take a bite from his fruit and stared at the magistrate. “Ah… Okay. I suppose that makes sense. But again, do not worry.” he took a bite from the fruit and continued once he swallowed. “I am not so easily killable. Surely I would end up being able to escape if it ever comes to it.”

“Ha ha! Of course, of course,” he patted, well more like slapped, Usagi’s back in a sort of reassurance way, causing him to drop his fruit but catch it right before it could hit the ground. “Like I said, IF you come back alive, I’ll be sure to have a reward ready for you. Thank you for your brave services, samurai.”

Usagi wasn’t gonna lie, he did feel a little hurt hearing that they had such little faith in him coming back alive. Of course, he’d just have to prove everyone wrong. Was he feeling a little cocky? Maybe. But after everything he’s been through, it’s safe to say this is just another walk in the field.

The young man from earlier stood behind Usagi, shaking with his tail between his legs, at the spot where the doll was thrown from. He dared not step anywhere near the forest until he knew for sure that the threat had been eliminated. All he could do was point in the direction of where he saw the beast. “O-over there. Deep-deeper into the w-woods is where I saw the… the beast.” the last word was said in a whisper, afraid that simply saying the word would anger the monster of the forest.

“Alright, this shouldn’t take too long.” Usagi began his descent into the forest. “I will be sure to bring back a souvenir on my way back.” was the last thing the young man heard before Usagi was completely swallowed by bushes. He couldn’t believe how confident the samurai sounded as he went on his way to his certain death.

Usagi did his best to follow the directions he'd been given, but it became increasingly difficult to remember to stay on the path when there wasn't one to begin with. Adding to his frustration were the numerous leaves and branches that seemed determined to smack him every time he tried to push them aside to make his way through. Around the third branch to the face, Usagi finally realized just how dire the situation was. It could’ve been his stomach talking, but entering an unknown part of the forest to confront a beast that could potentially end his life started to sound like a completely idiotic idea. Did it align with his morals and code of honor to help people and prevent harm? Yes, but perhaps he could have entered the danger zone a little more prepared.

He decided to pause and look around. Unfortunately, with everything looking the same, it was safe to say he was lost. Because of that branch, he couldn’t remember which exact direction he just came from. He cursed under his breath and decided to close his eyes for a bit to listen to his surrounding area. Suddenly, a bush rustled right next to him. Usagi wasted no time unsheathing Willow Branch and cut the top of the bush clean off. He held his breath waiting and listening for any other reaction. A tokage scurried out from the bush and paused to look up at the Samurai. Usagi relaxed, he crouched down and sheathed his sword.

“Hello there, little friend,” he extended his hand to let the reptile smell it. “I apologize for frightening you, I am just a bit on edge.” After the tokage finally licked his hand, Usagi sat down and continued to pet them. “Say, you wouldn’t have happened to see a ferocious beast roaming around, hm? There’s a village around here worried for their own safety.” The tokage could only squeak at the samurai as it rubbed its head on his hand to continue being pet. Usagi smiled and used his non-occupied hand to stroke his chin. “Hmm, that’s what I thought. I suppose it only makes sense that someone as small as you would try to avoid being near anything that could harm you. But some direction would be nice.”

Not wanting to waste any more daylight, Usagi got up and dusted himself off. “Well I best be going, little friend. You are welcome to join me in my small adventure. I could use the company.” He smiled down at the little critter and continued in what he hoped was the direction he was first heading in.

It only took a moment for Usagi to hear the sound of running water. He grew worried wondering if he accidentally circled back to the village. It would be a pain if he had to go through all those bushes and tree branches again. To his relief, he pushed a leaf to reveal not a village, but an abandoned temple. Separating him from the temple was the river he had heard earlier.

“Well, this is certainly surprising. I was not expecting a temple so deep into the forest. Did you know this was here, little friend?” Usagi looked down at his new companion, but it was too busy drinking from the river to notice his question. He pouted and placed a hand on his hip. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to ignore someone when they ask you a question?” Finally, the tokage looked up at him but all it could muster was a squeak before it ran back to Usagi to demand more pets. Usagi couldn’t help but smile, he crouched down enough to give it a small pet like it wanted. “Perhaps this beast is hiding in the temple. But how do I cross- Ah!” In the distance, he spots a bridge that is hopefully in good enough condition to bear someone’s weight. “Alright, let’s go. The sooner we get this done, the better.”

As the rabbit tested the bridge to make sure it was stable enough for him to stand on, he was unfortunately unaware of a pair of eyes watching him from the waters. It did its best to watch them from a distance but be close enough to hear his intentions. Right before Usagi leaned over the bridge to look at the river, the owner of the eyes submerged himself into the river and swam away.

“Wow, this river is filled with so many fish. We should come back later and catch some of them. Maybe I can find someone to prepare them for me. What do you say, little friend?” Usagi turned to look at the tokage but instead watched as it ran towards the temple without him. “Hold on, wait for me!” once he caught up with the tokage, they ended up at the entrance of the temple. It wasn’t very big, but it could certainly have a few rooms in it. It still looked to be in good condition but it was very obvious that it’s been abandoned for a long time. Usagi wondered what had happened to the people who once lived in this temple. And who it was dedicated to. He was pulled from his thoughts by the tokage’s squeak. “You shouldn’t run off on your own like that. What if something happened? But let’s not stay out here much longer. I can feel a chill run up my spine just standing out here.”

The inside was not exactly what Usagi expected. And by that, he meant he expected the place to look run down with broken furniture and ripped walls, filled to the brim with dust and dirt. But surprisingly it looked a little more well-kept. Granted there were still ripped walls and broken furniture, but everything looked organized. There was barely any dust or dirt and there was makeshift furniture around the room. Anything salvageable was put to use and anything wooden that was beyond repair was placed in a corner close to a fire pit. He continued to look around to see that all the rooms were the same as the first; well-kept and tidy. There was only one room he wasn’t able to inspect, only because there was a giant tree that looked to have fallen, blocking the sliding doors and preventing anything or anyone from entering.

With how well-kept everything is, at first he couldn’t help but wonder if he had stumbled into someone’s home. But despite everything looking neat, there wasn’t exactly anything here that someone would need to continuously live here. Perhaps there was someone who would regularly come and clean the place, unable to let the old temple go to ruin. “Yes, it certainly would be a shame if this temple went to ruin.” He finally left the temple and made his way back to the bridge, the sun already beginning to set casting a golden hue. “Once I finish dealing with this problem, perhaps I can tell the villagers of this temple so that they can restore it. Maybe they can even find out who was worshiped here and build them a new shrine.”

Usagi only made it halfway through the bridge, turning to a complete stop. He stood still, pushing the hilt of his sword up with his thumb, and turning his ears to listen to the surrounding area. Something wasn’t right. The splashes in the river were no longer sounding like the swim of fish. That’s when he heard the sound of a faint growl right underneath him.

The beast.

A fist punched through the wooden floor bridge underneath him, causing him to almost lose his footing. Usagi quickly regained himself and ran off the bridge, towards the direction of the temple. The attacker jumped out of the water and began to chase. As much as Usagi wanted to turn around to see what was chasing, he knew that stopping for even a moment could end in his demise. He headed straight into the temple and quickly looked around for a place to hide. Luckily he found a table with a torn cloth that he could immediately duck under. He sat still and tried his best to control his breathing, worried that his rapidly breathing heart was going to give him away.

Great, this was just great. Just when he thought there was no beast and that everything was fine, that thing jumped out from the water. It’s fine, everything is going to be fine. He just has to see what he’s dealing with and come up with a plan to bring back its severed head to the villagers. A heavy stomp made it feel like the entire wooden floor shook, making him realize that this would be a big guy. He moved the cloth slightly to peak at the beast and quickly clamped his hand over his mouth to prevent a gasp from escaping. There in the middle of the room was what Usagi could only guess was a Kappa. But it didn’t look like any ordinary kappa. It was a turtle with a bowl on his head, yes, but it was far bigger and bulkier than any other kappa he’d ever seen. Spikes were growing from its shell and had small horns on its head. It looked more like a demon, to be honest.

Usagi was so confused as his eyes scanned the supposed kappa. It wore a set of hakama pants, torn at the hems. When the beast turned around to scan the area, Usagi spotted a piece of blue cloth wrapped around its arm and… a sword? No, it was two swords. The kappa had its left clawed hand wrapped around them both in a death grip. Looking at the material and patterns, it was without a doubt katana samurai swords.

Upon seeing the swords, Usagi felt rage and anger realizing that this monster must have taken the lives of possibly two samurais, keeping their swords as trophies. It sickened him. The kappa must’ve also taken their clothes as well and wore them to mock them. He refused to let their deaths be in vain. His sword will not be another prize for this beast’s enjoyment.

The kappa looked around the room to find some sort of clue on the whereabouts of the trespasser. He knew he had to be cautious, knowing that this samurai planned to end his life. He blamed no one but himself. If he hadn’t left the temple, the villagers wouldn’t be fearing for their lives and sending out others to take his. But he’s sure this samurai is going to be like all the other bypassers. All he had to do was scare him enough to send out a message to leave this place alone. Right when he turned to head into the next room, he heard stomping behind him and the next thing he knew, there was a heavy weight on his back. In a state of panic, the Kappa tried to buck off the rabbit, but he held on tight.

Despite Usagi's plans to jump on the Kappa’s shell and use his sword to pierce through its neck, upon trying to accomplish that, he failed to realize that the spikes on its shell were making it difficult to find a place to hold without hurting his hand. Unfortunately, he was not quick enough, and the kappa managed to reach back and grab his kimono, throwing him to the ground and slamming down his fists, but Usagi rolled away before any contact could be made. He immediately regained his footing and ran into one of the other rooms, the beast chasing right behind him.

‘Alright, time for plan B,’ he thought to himself. What is plan B you may ask? Well, that’s just facing the monster head-on. If he didn’t time this perfectly he could end up with a missing limb, but he didn’t have many other options at the moment. ‘If I knew I was going to be dealing with Kappa, I would’ve bought a cucumber when I had the chance.’

He grabbed a broken chair and threw it behind him. The Kappa paused for a moment and blocked the chair from his face, but that pause was all Usagi needed to take out his sword and lunge at him. However, the kappa was quick as well, grabbing the chair and using the seat to block the blade. He drove the blade deeper into the chair to get it stuck and then threw it across the room.

Usagi admits that he was a bit stunned to see his sword stuck in a chair fly across the room. That allowed the kappa to grab Usagi by the chest and slam him to the floor, knocking most of the wind out of him. Gasping for air he could barely muster out the words, “Okay, plan B is not working so well.”

The beast lowered his head to look straight at the trespasser beneath him and gave a threatening growl. “Take my words as a warning, Samurai,” his voice gruff and hoarse, “Leave and never come back. Tell that village that if I ever see them step foot into my forest again, they will become my next meal.”

After finally gaining some air into his lungs, all Usagi could do was give it a deadpan stare. “Is that all?”

Baffled by his choice of words, he slightly lifted his hand up from his chest. “What do you mean ‘Is that all’? I am telling you that I will kill and eat everyone if you do not leave.”

“No no, I heard you, it’s just,” he sighed, “You would not believe the amount of times I’ve heard that same threat over and over again. And it always ends the same. Me alive with something bad happening to the enemy. Would you like to test your luck?”

“Tsk, you must be the most foolish Samurai I have ever met.”

Usagi couldn’t help but snicker at the remark. “I admit to being a foolish man, yes, but YOU are the foolish one for leaving your weakness so vulnerable.”

The kappa finally took his hand away from the other’s chest. “What?”

Without a minute's notice, Usagi lifted his legs to his chest and kicked the beast’s head with all his strength. The beast fell backward and as a result, a good portion of the water from his bowl fell out. Realizing what his opponent was doing, he pushed himself back up and ran towards the river. Usagi wasted no time to get off the floor and grab his weapon. Which proved to be difficult considering it was still wedged into the chair. He struggled, pulled it, and even wiggled it around until it was finally out and ran back to catch up with the kappa.

Unfortunately, the kappa already jumped into the river and could be seen swimming away. “Oh great. I was really hoping to avoid the water this time. I should’ve kicked harder.” Much to his dismay, he began to chase after the kappa, staying on land as much as possible.

—

‘Gods that rabbit was crazy.’ The beast thought as he swam down the river. ‘He didn’t even flinch, what was I supposed to do?’ To be honest, this whole thing was completely unexpected. He should’ve known that a guy crazy enough to pretend to have a whole conversation with a tokage would willingly go toe-to-toe with a giant monster. But hopefully, that rabbit won’t be stupid enough to chase him. He didn’t want to leave the temple but from the looks of it, he’ll have no choice but to find a temporary place to stay. It was better than having to deal with any more people-

“Hey come back! I’m not done with you!”

No.

The Kappa took a glance behind him to see that the rabbit was, in fact, chasing him. And seemed to be getting closer, too. ‘Forget crazy, this guy is insane!’ Instead of swimming faster, he dove under to the bottom and slowly turned around to head in the opposite direction. He needs to find a way to outsmart this guy. But he’s slowly starting to wonder if this guy is too dumb to be outsmarted. He’s unpredictable, that’s for sure. So he needs to be more careful from here on out if he doesn’t want his night to end with his head on a pike.

Usagi stopped to a halt once he saw the kappa dive under. His grip tightened on his katana as he scanned to the water but the sun had already set at this point and it was much too dark to peer in. That’s when he heard the yips of his little friend barking at the water in the direction that he came from. The kappa was trying to misdirect him.

He quickly made his way to the tokage, “Do you see him, little friend?”

Unfortunately, he stepped a little too close to the edge of the river, and a hand shot out, pulling him into the water. But Usagi wasn’t going to let himself get taken so easily. He dug his hands into the grass and tried to kick the beast away, but the beast kept his hands tight around his ankles, pulling him under ever so slightly. Not enough to make him fully let go and be submerged underwater, but enough that he has to fight for his freedom. Usagi knew full well that the water was a Kappa’s domain where it would have the full advantage, but he needed to take the risks if he were to win this.

Taking a deep breath, he let go, turned, and slashed at the Kappa's arm that was taking hold of his ankle as he was pulled under. This caused it to let go and allow Usagi to pull himself back onto land. His body felt heavier now that his clothes and fur were wet. He took off his upper layers of clothes, unsheathed his swords, and dove right back into the water. Was this a bad decision? Absolutely. But there he saw the beast in range, licking its wounded arm before being startled at the rabbit coming back into the water.

The kappa couldn’t believe it. Who was this guy? He almost drowned him and then he came back right after escaping!? He just doesn’t quit. Something has to be wrong in his head, why would someone keep putting themselves in danger like this? If fear won’t work on him, then he has no choice but to fight back. The samurai was already charging at him, he was slow, but he made it obvious that he was getting to him one way or another. He was quick to doge his sword, but the rabbit could barely keep himself from getting caught in the kappa’s claws. It didn’t help that every so often he had to come up for air. The kappa grew more and more tired of this game that he had no interest in playing in the first place, so he gained some distance and then swam as fast as he could to slam the samurai into the rocks at the side of the river.

The impact made Usagi shout out in pain but he closed his mouth as quickly as he opened it and slashed the beast across the face. The beast let go and Usagi continued to slash him until it swimmed a bit away. He tried to go after him again but something prevented him from doing so. Usagi looked down and much to his horror, his pant leg was caught between the rocks. His eyes widened as he pulled and tugged at it but the impact from the collision caused the rocks to pile on the fabric. To his dismay, his tugs became weaker as it was getting harder to hold his breath.

No no, not like this. He was so close to getting the beast! After everything, were his final moments going to be his drowning dismay? Soon he was having trouble keeping the water out of his mouth. Everything started to feel hazy and foggy.

Once the Kappa regained himself, he looked over at the samurai and wondered why he wasn’t coming after him again. That’s when he saw him struggling to pull the fabric of his hakama. He was caught and he was having trouble getting himself free. Once he watched him instinctively try to gasp for air, he realized that he was drowning.

“Shit!” He swam to the samurai, pulled him by the waist to free him from the rocks, and threw him back on land.

Usagi landed on his chest and desperately gasped for air, coughing out any water that managed to get into his lungs. Thankfully it wasn’t a lot and he managed to recover rather quickly. He looked behind him to see the beast leaving the water. “Hold on,” he breathed in, “Just give me a few minutes and we can continue our duel.” he continued to cough out more water.

“Continue our- Are you insane!? You almost drowned!” The Kappa couldn't decide on whether he should be angry, confused, or concerned.

“Yes, I was fully aware that is the consequence when jumping into a river with a Yokai.” Usagi squeezed his ears to rinse out the water, “Although I was not expecting you to save me. Wasn’t my drowning your end goal of all this?”

“My end goal was to get you to leave! I wanted you to leave terrified and warn the village never to set foot here again, but you are so persistent in killing me, it’s like your fear left out the door along with your common sense. YOU TRIED TO FIGHT ME IN MY OWN HABITAT! And you almost drowned yourself because of that.” He grabbed him by the shoulder and roughly pulled him forward to face level. “No more other warnings. Leave this place, and tell everyone to never come here again. This is MY home. MY territory. And if I see anyone here again, I will not show mercy and kill them on sight.”

Living the life of Miyamoto Usagi, threats like these are nothing new. It’s something that he hears constantly and over time grew numb to it. That’s why he’s like this. Because these words are nothing new. Every other day there’s someone always threatening his life. But with those other guys, he can at least tell they’re genuine. But at this moment, he couldn’t help but carefully listen to the kappa’s words and hear how hesitant he sounded with his threats. Sure hearing threats were nothing new but at least those were genuine. Those people actually had the means to kill him. Not to mention he’s encountered other kappa before. None of them have ever acted the same way this one does. They never hesitated one bit to strike at him and they never once tried to stop him from getting drowned. Yet this one saved him. It had a way to get rid of him for good and it saved him. That’s when something clicked.

“You know… I’ve met many yokai before, yet none of them have ever acted like you.”

“You better choose your next words carefully.”

But he didn’t. He said his next words calm, plain, and simple. “You’re bluffing.”

The beast’s eyes widened. “How dare yo-”

“If you wanted me dead, you would have let me drown. What’s stopping you from ending me right at this moment? You want me to deliver a message to the village? You can simply do that by rolling my cold body in front of them and telling them to never come near here.” Usagi watched as the kappa’s face twitched, struggling to keep the snarl on its face. “You do not want me dead. And frankly, I’m curious to know why. I mean, not only do you not act like a kappa, but you also don’t look like one. The only thing giving you a similarity to them is the bowl on your head and the fact that you’re a turtle.”

The kappa huffed through his nostrils and let the samurai go. He stood up and sighed, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and pointer finger. “Fine. You caught me. I don’t want to kill you. I don’t want to kill anyone, for that matter.”

Usagi didn’t know why but it felt so strange hearing that. He’s been in danger so many times, it was hard to hear that someone as monstrous-looking as him never had the intention of killing him in the first place. Then he looked down at the monster's left hip and saw the two swords that he had from the beginning. “Then what about those swords attached to your hip? Those are samurai swords. Did you kill one and keep them as a trophy?”

The Kappa looked at the swords and placed his left hand on one of the handles. He squeezed and closed his eyes. “No. I never killed a samurai for their sword. Anyone I have ever killed died with their belongings. To take one’s weapon after death is dishonorable. These twin katanas are mine. I made them with my own two hands with my father and they have been by my side ever since.”

While Usagi was relieved to hear that no samurai were killed and had their swords taken from them, he was confused about why a kappa would need a sword. He wasn’t even using it during their battle.

“And you are correct. I don’t act or look like a normal kappa. That’s because I’m not. Nor am I a samurai. I’m a ninja. Or was one, at least. I…” He turned to look at the river. “I haven’t been a ninja for quite some time now. It pains me to carry these swords, knowing I will never be able to use them again.”

The kappa didn’t have to say it, but Usagi could already gather what was happening. He was cursed, and this is not what he’s supposed to look like. “What happened to you?”

He took a deep breath and let it out. This has been the longest conversation he’s ever had with someone in a long time. He turned to face back at the rabbit. “Would you like to know over a cup of tea?”

#miyamoto usagi #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #usagi yojimbo #leosagi #fanfiction #leonardo tmnt #tmnt leo #usagi yojimbo au #beauty and the beast au #katanashipping #ao3 #ao3 fanfic

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 1 month

Note

AITA for cutting my friend off after I visited him?

I, 19X (I’m nonbinary), visited my friend, M21, in his home country not too long ago. I paid for my own plane ticket, I paid for American snacks for him and his friends, and when I arrived I paid for any food I ate, all of our outings (my expenses and his for the most part), and even helped cover the difference on the electric/water bill. He provided me lodging (I slept on his couch for 3 weeks) and created the itinerary as he’s naturally more familiar with the country than I am. In total, I spent around 3,000 USD, spent 24 hours on a plane, and had jet lag for 3 weeks. I also dealt with extreme mental health symptoms alone while there because of homesickness and general issues I have.

We had been friends for almost 7 years at that point - we met when I was 12 and he was 14. For that entire time, we were incredibly close and supported each other through high school and the beginning of university. All this to say, our history was extensive, and I was excited to visit him. He was my best friend, so it didn’t matter how hard it was for me. I wanted to see him. To emphasize how strong our bond was, he literally got a tattoo representing me.

A month or so after I arrived home from my trip, he sent me a message at 3 AM (he intentionally sent it at that time so I couldn’t respond to him). The message basically said that he no longer felt as close to me, that it wasn’t anything I did, but he was changing and his interests were elsewhere. It was a classic “it’s not you, it’s me” move. He did specify that he still wanted to be my friend and that he still loved and cared for me, but that he wouldn’t be putting in as much effort. After sending that message, he didn’t say anything more for about two days.

I was distraught over this and freaked the fuck out, to be candid. But then I got to thinking and my sadness and anxiety turned to rage. I’d spent so much money just on him, I’d turned my life upside down to see him, I was jet lagged for three whole weeks, I was working back to back 12 hour shifts to make up for the money I’d lost — and that was it? He just didn’t feel close to me anymore? Granted, it’s not like he can control his feelings, but I started to feel like all that effort I put in was wasted. I asked him how long he had felt that way (distant from me), and he said he’d felt that way for around a year but he’d just now realized.

That was the nail on the coffin for me. That, and the fact that he only ever talked to me if I was the one to reach out. I removed him from all of my socials and left any servers we had in common. I deleted a lot of his old artwork. The message he sent me helped me realize a long pattern - he didn’t put in as much effort as I did, and I was secondary. Granted, I don’t expect to be the most important person in his life, but he would tell me all the time about his other friends — he’d send me pictures of them, screenshots of their messages to him, all that. And they knew nothing about me. I was going to visit and meet them and they hadn’t even seen a picture of me before.

Some part of me feels like I’m overreacting, though. I just want other people’s feedback on this. Am I the asshole for cutting him out of my life?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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fayes-fics · 10 months

Text

It Had To Be You: Chapter 5 - This Was Never The Way I Planned

Masterpost PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Anthony Bridgerton x Kate Sharma, Modern AU

Summary: A double date with an unexpected outcome...

artwork credit @colettebronte

Warnings: discussions of sex, swearing, public sexual acts.

Word Count: 3.0k

Authors Note: Unbetaed. A multi-chapter modern rom-com retelling of When Harry Met Sally. In this chapter, Benedict and reader attempt to set each other up, but it does not go at all to plan. This chapter is dedicated to @musicismyoxygen84 and published today to commemorate the birthday of Mr Thompson, the man who plays this titan of a fictional character. Enjoy <3

18 months ago (3 months later)

“Your face is naked!!”

“Not quite the greeting I was expecting,” he laughs and leans in to give you a quick hug.

It’s New Year's Eve, and Benedict has shaved his beard off since you saw him a few days before Christmas. He looks younger and older at once, somehow, without it. Very handsome, though. His strong jawline is even more apparent now. Bastard.

You’re at some fancy rooftop party somewhere on Shoreditch High St., agreeing to be each other's plus ones, both of you not wanting to stay home and get maudlin about how your lives have changed since the last New Year celebrated with other halves.

“I like it,” you offer, “I can see more of your face.”

“This is indeed my face,” he laughs. “I figure new year, new me,” he shrugs, and you completely understand his reasoning. You briefly considered dying your hair for a similar reset.

A few hours later, you’re both quite a few drinks in, sitting at the bar. Most people, by this point, are dancing. The music has a hypnotic, heavy bass that makes you sway subconsciously on your bar stool.

“Come on, let’s dance then,” it’s almost a defeated sigh as he hauls you to your feet, two large hands landing on your hips as he walks you forward from behind. The touch surprises you, but it’s most definitely not unwelcome.

“You don’t dance,” you laugh over your shoulder as he propels you towards the dancefloor. Then gasp as he grabs your hand and expertly spins you away and back, your body curled into his—a warm solid mass.

“Don’t I?” It’s silky, murmured into your hair, and your mouth drops open in surprise.

“Benedict Bridgerton!” You admonish as he starts to lead you expertly in a salsa-type dance. “How dare you keep this from me!”

He spins you away again with a devilish grin, then back into his arms, your bodies swaying together. Something in your tummy flutters as he leads you in a dance, his hold always respectful but the moves undeniably sensual. You can feel the latent power in his body as it flexes around you. It makes your thoughts scatter in directions they shouldn’t—like when you got a preview of his sexual prowess, although for comic effect, in the restaurant weeks ago. The way he growled ‘look at me’ has occasionally popped into your head at the most inopportune moments since, making you squeak self-consciously. Last week, you dropped the gravy at Christmas dinner when it happened.

“TEN SECONDS TO NEW YEARS!!” the DJ yells, cutting into your abstraction and turning down the music.

There is an awkward moment where you stop dancing but stay holding each other as if you are, as everyone around you starts counting down. Your gaze falls from his eyes to his lips unconsciously.

“Do you want to get some air?” he blurts out, and you nod, grateful. It suddenly feels too hot on the dancefloor.

He releases his tight hold and slots your hand into his, leading the way, weaving through the crowd until you are out on the terrace. It’s so cold and crisp that few other people brave it. You stand awkwardly, half facing each other as party poppers go off inside, people yelling, and couples kissing.

His eyes cut to yours as you share a slightly awkward smile, uncertain, even tipsy, about what you should do.

“Happy New Year,” Benedict says softly.

“Happy New Year,” you reply, a flutter in your gut as he moves in for a hug and a friendly kiss.

It’s just a peck on the lips, but your stomach leaps regardless. His lips are warm and soft in the cold night air. You long to linger, grab his clothing and draw him in for more, bow your body into him, and let him plunder from you. The want for much more is electric. However, it’s over in a second, and when you pull apart, something in his expression looks thoughtful, almost puzzled.

Just as you go to say something to cut the tension of the moment, someone very drunk stumbles out of the party and projectile vomits right next to you both, narrowly avoiding your shoes.

“Seems an apt metaphor for the year we’ve just had,” Benedict comments drolly. And just like that, the odd spell between you is broken as you share a laugh and quickly move away.

——

“I’m not sure about this,” Kate wavers as you drag her down the pavement with your arm looped in hers on a cold Thursday evening the following March.

“Ben is a great guy; I really think you’d like him. It’s just dinner; where’s the harm?” you cajole.

This is a plan you and Benedict had hatched over dinner last week. He softly admitted he thought he might be finally ready to start dating again and did you know of anyone single. Your first thought was, of course, Kate, wanting her to find a good man to pull her out of the toxic thing she has with that married man. The idea of your two closest friends potentially finding happiness together gives you such a warm glow. You suggested a double date, a safe way for you to introduce each other to people you know. That’s when he lit up and said he was confident you’d like his older brother Anthony.

So now you are marching towards the restaurant to meet Benedict and his brother.

“I still don’t understand why you are trying to set me up with this guy if you have deemed him not good enough to date yourself,” she grouses.

“Kate, that's not it at all. He’s a fantastic guy. Definitely good enough to date. We are just friends, that’s all,” you insist.

She shoots you a side-eye.

“Listen, I’ll admit, this is going to be his first date since his marriage breakup,” you hold up a silencing hand when you see her go to protest, “but that’s a good thing. He has taken the time to heal and is finally ready to date again. He is a nice guy and available, unlike someone you know,” you conclude pointedly.

She sighs.

“He’s never going to leave his wife, Kate,” you add, knowing where her thoughts have run.

She slumps her shoulders. “You’re right; I know you’re right. Okay…” she concedes.

“Explain to me why you’re trying to set me up with the woman you are in love with,” Anthony drawls as their Uber crawls through Soho traffic.

Benedict splutters. “I’m not in love with her!”

“You talk about her ALL the time,” Anthony says pointedly, looking at him sceptically.

“She’s my best friend; of course I do,” Benedict frowns. “And you just said you wanted to meet someone who isn’t - I quote - so dumb you want to smack yourself. She’s smart, and I think you’d get on really well.”

“Fine,” Anthony capitulates, “but you’re paying for dinner, and if it goes tits up, remember, this was all your idea.”

“Guilty as charged,” Benedict concedes, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

Twenty minutes later, you are sat around a circular table, close to Anthony, opposite Benedict, who sits close to Kate. You wouldn’t deny that Anthony is a handsome man, and you can see the family resemblance, even though his eyes are brown to Benedict’s blue. He’s different in personality, though, no-nonsense, forthright and every inch the CEO he is. Very different to Benedict’s more laid-back temperament that you are so used to. It’s obvious Anthony runs on a schedule, whereas Benedict lives in the moment.

How different they are preoccupies your mind, to the point it overshadows your listening to him as he speaks. Too caught up in your own analysis. The conversation is one-sided as he waxes lyrical about the things he loves - apparently mostly sailing and investments so far - topics you struggle to contribute to.

“Kate,” you pipe up when there is an awkward lull after you have all placed your orders. “Benedict used to live in France, just like you,” you offer as a conversation starter for them.

“Oh, where did you live?” she asks him.

“Paris. You?”

“Grenoble.”

And they sort of both look at you askance, wondering what else you can do to assist. It’s obvious there is not much chemistry there, and they are struggling even to make small talk.

“Anthony,” Benedict leaps in, seeing it is quiet on your side too, “y/n here’s parents used to live in Twickenham, right by your beloved Harlequins,” hoping that will help you.

“Urghhh, Harlequins. Really?” Kate cuts in, unable to school her disgust. You forgot about her somewhat incongruous love for rugby—what started as something about wanting to see thick thighs morphing into a whole pastime for her.

Instantly you see Anthony bristle. “What's wrong with the Harlequins?”

“Umm, I think you mean, what’s right with them, don’t you?” Kate shoots back over the table, tapping a painted nail on the surface. “Your team has been shit this year,” she opines, forthright, tossing her hair.

“What do you know about rugby?” Anthony leans in, his whole demeanour changing, suddenly looking very engaged for the first time this evening.

“More than you ever will, probably,” Kate raises a challenging eyebrow and leans back in her chair, crossing her arms.

Before you know it, they have launched into a heated, complex debate about the sport, gesturing wildly and arguing back and forth. You’ve never seen Kate so animated. And while you don’t know Anthony, anyone could read from his body language how invested he is.

Your eyes drift across the table to Benedict and his to you. Realising what is happening, feeling guilty, the person you have brought for each other is not a good match for either of you. A little shocked at how instant Kate and Anthony’s connection, albeit antagonistic, is.

As the meal is served and the wine bottle content diminishes, conversation flows easier between the four of you than your pairs. But it seems like, at every opportunity, Kate and Anthony find a reason to challenge each other on everything from what should be included in a full English breakfast to the state of politics. As your dinner plates are taken away, they are fighting about Netflix.

“You are saying people should be able to share accounts, ad infinitum? Do you have any idea how much that is abused?” Anthony decries, very much in businessman mode.

“Oh yeah, poor little rich boy Netflix. They are so impoverished they were only able to spend, what, $20 million per episode on the last series of Stranger Things? Positively bankrupt. Pass me a tiny violin,” Kate sneers rolling her eyes.

Benedict's gaze cuts to yours, concerned, but you just shrug. It seems like they are getting pleasure from riling each other up; you see how Kate’s eyes flash, and it's not in annoyance. She is stimulated by it, sparring with a handsome man who can actually keep up with her for once. It’s more than a rare thing; it’s the first time you’ve ever seen it.

So when Anthony’s phone rings and he insists he needs to take it, Kate uses the break in their bickering to head to the loos.

“Bloody hell,” Benedict blows out his cheeks as you are left alone together at the table.

“They either hate or adore each other, I think maybe both,” you opine, taking a gulp of wine.

“I’ve never seen him like this,” he confesses, shaking his head disbelieving.

“It's a long time since I've seen Kate be quite this animated, I’ll admit,” you shrug.

As dessert arrives in their continued absence, you and Benedict chat amiably, shifting your seats closer to sit next to each other. In fact, it's only as you put down the spoons after sharing a creme brûlée that you notice Kate and Anthony have been gone for quite a while now—fifteen minutes or more.

“Where are they?” you frown.

“Ant headed that way when he took his call,” Benedict states, nodding towards a corridor.

“I think that's where the loos are,” you hum, thoughtful.

You exchange looks.

“Do you think they bumped into each other and continued arguing outside? I think there’s an outdoor space back there,” his tone intrigued.

You shrug. “Maybe?”

“I need the gents anyway. Let me go check,” he smiles.

“Okay,” you nod, reaching for your phone to text Kate.

Y/N: Where are you?

You've barely scrolled through a few Insta posts when Benedict is back with what you can only describe as a haunted look on his face.

“What’s wrong?” your question is a reflex to his expression.

“Yeah, uh, they’re not fighting,” he stutters.

“What happened then?”

“Uhhh, they are umm…” you've never seen him look so awkward and embarrassed.

Then the penny drops.

“Fucking hell!”

“Yeah…” his eyebrows shoot up.

“I have to see!” you stand up.

He reaches out and grabs your elbow. “No… you really don't.”

“Are they actually fucking?” your ask is a whisper.

“Pretty much,” he exhales, “I walked away when I saw… movement.”

“Wow,” you utter, then after a few minutes of silence. “Still sort of want to see,” you murmur, and Benedict looks at you with intrigue. “What?” you add, defensive.

“Never took you for a voyeur…” he comments, an element of gravelliness there.

“Oh, come on, our best friends are fucking on some outdoor dining tables. We should at least check they are okay,” you answer in a playful tone; you cant help.

“That's my brother,” he reminds deadpan.

“OK, fine, you stay here,” you stick your tongue out fractionally, feeling his incredulous gaze as you stalk down the corridor, shooting him a wink over your shoulder as you go.

At the far end of the hallway is a glass door, and as you pull up, you survey the outside space; over to the left, there is an outdoor deck filled with outdoor dining tables. The light is low, but there indeed is Kate, perched on a table edge, her shapely, beautiful legs wrapped around Anthony, her skirt pushed up around her hips as they kiss hard. If they aren't doing it, they are doing an excellent impression of it, him rocking against her slowly, everything concealed by the expensive dark wool coat he wears.

Somehow you linger, almost hypnotised by how good they look together. Part of you is so very pleased for your friend, completely unsurprised she would just go for it like this; when she wants something, she grabs it with gusto. Apparently, that includes one Anthony Bridgerton. If you are being honest with yourself, an even more significant part of you is jealous. It’s been a while since you shared a passionate moment like that.

Taking a deep breath, realising there could well be CCTV of you peering at them, you turn around to return to your seat. At the other end of the corridor is Benedict, watching you. He looks mildly troubled, to the point you feel self-conscious as you walk towards him.

“You watched them for a while,” he comments with a slightly uneven tone, a little vein in his neck pulsing.

“They look good together, not going to lie,” you offer with a neural shrug as you pull up next to him, and something makes you look up into his eyes. His pupils are slightly dilated. It's a very beguiling look on him. You don’t seem able to look away.

“Do you often watch other people have sex?” It’s an odd cadence like he’s attempting nonchalance and failing.

“I don’t make a habit of it,” you respond truthfully, keeping your voice low, not only not to be overheard but also to ensure he has to stay close to hear it, enjoying the proximity when he seems so flustered. “I was trying to figure out if they were actually doing it or just something else.”

“Something else?”

“Maybe just hand stuff?” you suggest.

“Yeah…I shouldn’t have asked,” he admits, pulling a face. “I don’t want to think about my brother doing.. that. Or anything really.”

“Let’s get out of here then?” you offer, moving towards the table and picking up your coat from the chair back.

He glances back towards the glass door and then nods. “I already paid. We could,” he comments. “Do you think they’d be okay with it?”

“I doubt they even remember we were here tonight,” you comment dryly.

You and Benedict retire to a pub a few doors down, grabbing a drink and sitting in a quiet corner. Just as you go to take a sip, your phone pings.

Kate: Where did you go?

“Looks like they emerged,” you inform him as your fingers fly over the screen, composing a reply just as his phone pings too.

Y/N: We left. We saw you guys…

Kate: Oh… you dirty little pervs 😉

Y/N: Says the woman fucking on a public dining terrace

Kate: We weren’t fucking!! I gave him a handjob, and he fingered me at the same time.

Kate: I did it to shut him up, tbh. It worked. 😌

Kate: Such an arrogant twat.

Kate: Fuck, he has a nice cock, though.

Kate: Oh God… I really like him. 🫣

You chuckle as you watch your friend unravel in real-time. You glance up and see Benedict is head down in his phone, too, probably texting with Ant.

Kate: Fuck it. I’m going home with him. He just asked.

Kate: I can’t say no to a cock (all senses of the word) like that.

Kate: Ciao Bella xx

Kate: if you don’t hear from me in 3 days, send an SOS. I don’t want a pussy prolapse…

Y/N: Wow, the ✨romance✨

Kate: No joke, I think imma marry this one.

Y/N: 🤣🤣🤣

Kate: Bitch I’m serious. You’ll see…

“They are going home together,” you mutter to Benedict as he puts his phone down.

“So I hear,” he raises his eyebrows with a twisted lip.

“What does it say about us that we thought they would be a good match for you and me? When it seems they were a much better match for each other?” You ponder aloud, almost vulnerable in tone.

“Shut up and drink your wine,” he grumbles.

That is an entirely fair suggestion.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @Mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fluff #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n #it had to be you fic

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