#THE VERY UNIVERSE ITSELF PRESSING HIM TO BE THAT AND HIM DENYING THAT PART OF HIMSELF FOR AS LONG AS POSSIBLE UNTIL IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE
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Do i adore the people around Mk telling him to embrace his monkey side and to be okay with it and that he’s going to need to use it and even the battle itself pushing him to unleash it and when it finally comes out despite him trying so hard to suppress it we get him accepting the fact its out and part of him now with a terrifying: “well alright then”?
YOU BET I DO THAT’S A BANGER
#knox rambles#Monkie kid season 4 special spoilers#lego monkie kid season 4 special spoilers#lmk s4 special spoilers#Mk#Monkie kid#Lego monkie kid#I THINK THIS DUDE IS SO NEAT#THE VERY UNIVERSE ITSELF PRESSING HIM TO BE THAT AND HIM DENYING THAT PART OF HIMSELF FOR AS LONG AS POSSIBLE UNTIL IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE#TO SUPPRESS#AND THEN FINALLY JUST#s i gh s well alright then#BANGER M A N
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Fbdkdbrkwdhrk3jdneknrjfhfd YALL it's been too long since I've touched a word document. Dbkdndndncbf
Anyways, I'm still heavily thinking about SoFS&V, in particularly Poison & The Grand Inquisitor. As well as Wasted Potential & Minister Tua. Ramblings below the cut-
Grand Inquisitor:
Having to do with how much he had dipped to the dark side of the force in pursuit for answers to questions unsatisfied.
I'm going to be characterizing him and his backstory in a very specific way for this au, and part of that will include how he obsessively wanted to learn more about the force, and try and find out why he had been chosen by the universe itself to have this connection that he has such a difficult time comprehending. He knows he's different in many ways, unsavory, and it's not in his control to try and feel things the way others do, so why was he chosen despite the way he seems to have been wired since the beginning.
Unable to find an answer that he understood, he began to want to press further into the archives, but was repeatedly denied. After so many straws were lost with the order, he embraced the twisted distortion of the darkside to finally try and get his answers.
And now that he's having to attempt to reverse it, it's proving to be just as challenging as he expected it to be. There's just, something different now. Something he didn't quite have in the order, where he felt like an outsider; something he didn't have nor didn't think of ever needed among the inquisitorius. A year ago, it's something he would have scoffed at, even now he has the urge to recoil from it yet still wants to allow himself to soak in it to the point of drowning himself in it.
It's so much easier to stay; he's well aware of the endless agony he submits himself to, but it's something he knows like the back of his hand and *understands*.
To return to the light though? The fact that, even with the work he has to put into dragging himself back, that the force is still calling to him for a welcoming return? Still? There's so much in that radiance that he still doesn't understand and rejects.
---
Minister Tua
Maketh is an heiress; one from a large and overly competitive family. She feels that she's had so much just handed to her on a silver platter that she has to work twice as hard to have earned it. From a young age, she was taught immense responsibility and strives to be greater than she was in the last moment.
She's aware of both her weaknesses and strengths, as well as the potential, and to desperately reach for her full potential, is always trying to limit or cover her short comings.
Like responsibility, she was never a stranger to high expectations. And with important figures in her family, all striving just as much to grow status and power, she pushed through to get herself into academies in the inner rings- first in her family to do so. Immediately after became minister of lothal, securing her and her parents' spots as the family heirs.
Where the rest of the family had looked down on him, Tua saw the strengths he had and learned just as much from him. She credits him as her inspiration for having a strong core desire to help her people. The best way for her to initiate responsibility and meet expectations- to be more and be better and make the family that gave her everything proud- was to excel in her studies and land a role in the community that would have direct and important affects.
For the first half of her life, everything she learned had been from her family and families like hers. Most of her family had the same status important, power grabbing, shark competitive mindset. Except for her uncle, who had willingly taken himself out of the running to pursue hard&honest work; a desire to support the community in a much more straightforward way.
And to have worked so much, still having failures piling on her from her shortcomings, *and* to have ended up only harming the very people she was supposed to be representing and being responsible for weighed on her.
And of all the responsibilities and duties she's ever had, taking accountability and being brave were never taught to her. And now she's figuring it out on her own and is learning to not run; to better embrace things. Though, it's easier said than done. She fights for community, to support it, but still needs to learn to be wholy and completely be part of one and be supported.
#star wars rebels#swr#SoFS&V AU#SoFS&V#the grand inquisitor#minister tua#maketh tua#sense of faith self & valor
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Different; Similar
Chevalier & Gilbert
Gen Fic
Angels / Demons AU
Word count estimate: 900
Because there's something so interesting about their relationship?
The only complaint I have this time is that this entire story wanted to rhyme, and I... didn't want it to rhyme.
Written for Different Universe, Same Love 2 CCC by @xxsycamore & @queengiuliettafirstlady !
Content Warnings: none
From a black mist, there emerged fingers – first, an index, then a middle, a ring and a little, followed shortly by a thumb. All disjointed, they floated for but a breath before morphing into a hand, nonchalant joints flexing to asses their state. Satisfied, the hand called onto an arm and advanced, the darkness weaving itself into a glove. The door snarled at the sight.
There was a heavy door, of steel and ivory, of leather and bones. Locked somewhere between the worlds, it stood, the frontier above frontiers. The mightiest among all. A remnant, a warning… Or, perhaps, a place of respite some could very well call a sanctuary of sorts. Its purpose a tale of the days long gone, it simply was, unmovable to nearly all. The exception made? The gentlest of the brutal. The most brutal among the gentle. A demon and an angel, both different from their lot.
From a black mist, there emerged fingers – first, an index, then a middle, a ring and a little, followed shortly by a thumb. All disjointed, they floated for but a breath before morphing into a hand, nonchalant joints flexing to asses their state. Satisfied, the hand called onto an arm and advanced, the darkness weaving itself into a glove. The door snarled at the sight.
At first, it was merely a caress, but even that was met with a growl. Chilled to the very bone, each individual finger pressed onto the ivory with merciless force. The hinges shrieked in disuse, their metallic voice tearing to become a roar. It cried in brass-clad storm, painful thunder churning in the entrails of the foul clouds above. The calm conjured up a storm, but even that was futile. The door could not ward Gilbert off – the conqueror conquered, and so a near perfect silence befell on the world. The end of his cane tapped against the broken granite plate that separated him from the void below.
“Here again?” he spoke, with a touch of thinly veiled – purposefully or not – mirth to his voice. “You’re almost too predictable at this point.”
Gilbert waited, red eye trained on the figure seated at the edge of the palpable existence. He calculated, senses tuned to pick apart even the seemingly meaningless gestures, to make full use of the faintest of changes. He watched, however, it was a needless endeavour. A head of platinum blonde hair shook in exasperation.
“Like you’re the one to talk.”
Gilbert met Chevalier’s scowl with a smile of his own. Just as he always did. Just as they always did, fully aware that the chase hadn’t started, for it had never stopped.
“Ah, you can’t hope to make any more friends with that face.”
Chevalier made no effort to talk – much to Gilbert’s amusement, his mind latching onto the possible implications of this call. You will neither deny nor confirm anything, hm? Centuries pass and you’re still this hard to provoke, Gilbert mused. Would it not reveal his true thoughts, he might have even voiced the sentiment. However, it would be beyond pointless at the time. Silent and hardly discouraged, he walked forward to eventually sit down. He set his cane aside and kicked his legs, carefree in the face of ravenous nothingness. His lips parted to speak again, but…
“You haven’t set the scene,” Chevalier interrupted with a sigh. “Save yourself the effort.”
“My, my, how cold.”
“I believe you have already been made aware that your voice grates at my ears.”
Gilbert laid his back on the ground, rested his head over his folded arms.
“And yet you come back. Of course, it is merely an accident this here is the only place we can talk, I believe you. But are you sure that not even a fraction of you wants to see me? Don’t break my heart.”
A pause – eyes so freezing they could call upon a snowstorm fell upon him.
“Ridiculous,” Chevalier surmised. “We do not have hearts. We are not human.”
“Ah, maybe you don’t, indeed,” Gilbert remarked. “Although we are the birds of feather, we weren’t meant to agree,” he laughed.
“And we can’t. Therefore, any conversation that will follow is futile.”
Chevalier rose to his feet. He turned on his heel, away from the only being that, despite having been designed as his material opposite, was very much like him. Whether the cause behind the matter was some inherent deficits present in either of them was debatable. That, however, was not a question Chevalier intended to ever pose to anybody, be it an angel, a demon or a human – and most definitely, he would not be the one to inquire Gilbert about it. The obtained answer would be neither of use nor worth.
“Leaving already? Ah, aren't you impatient today. I was yet to even mention humans properly. Heehee, I’ll start to think that you’ve become fond of them, and what may happen then…?”
No response.
The door opened itself before Chevalier. It did not dare make him wait, perhaps having grown aware of the expectations he had set. Perfectly silent, it merely obeyed – a tool, not an entity, not a person. Not anything with any sort of capacity to feel and therefore complain, his presence alone the very chain that put it in its place. Grace for those who were born into grace, it merely shivered, before shutting itself. Bones rattled against steel, steel rattled against bones, leather spreading itself out for drums to form.
They sighed, separated by the heavy door. Perhaps, somewhere far, far away, in a different world, among some other race, there exists another Gilbert and another Chevalier. And perhaps, just perhaps… Perhaps this once, they do not inhabit the opposing sides of the barricade.
Tag List: @lancelotscloak @violettduchess @pathogenic @fang-and-feather @tele86
Tell me if you'd like to be added to my taglist :)
#chevalier michel#ikepri chevalier#ikemen prince chevalier#ikepri#ikemen prince#ikemen series#gilbert von obsidian#ikepri gilbert#ikemen prince gilbert#different universe same love 2 ccc#different universe same love ccc
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Little Weirds
two halves of the sun that warms me
My vulnerability is natural and permissible and beautiful to me, and it should remind you of your responsibility to behave like a friend to me and the world. (8)
This book is the act of pressing onward through an inner world that was dark and dismantled. This book is me putting myself back together so that I can dwell happily in our shared outer world. (9)
My heart can feel like an elephant who is feeling dread and has an exceptional memory and naturally possesses something valuable that might be hunted, poached, wasted. (15)
I was born in the day, right before lunchtime, and I arrived with a full appetite and it hasn’t settled down at all. (16)
This is also one of the first ways that I perceived power in another person: Information about art and nature feels like the best stuff to have, and if you have it, it is powerful and excellent to pass it on. This is an act of power, showing what you know, giving it to another person, realizing that as you spread it, you get to keep it but watch it grow, and by watching others have it, you learn new things about the original thing. (20)
“The more you give, the more you have, the more new things you are a part of, the more you are truly alive.” (21)
He thinks that it is so precious that he knows that it would be a privilege to be allowed in to my evening. He thinks in layers when he thinks about how he loves me. (34)
He sees me as myself when nobody is watching, except that he is watching. (34)
Sometimes there is something mean living in me and this mean thing gets a sick pleasure from harsh punishment and frightening imagery about who I am or what I should do. (40-41)
I am tired of sinking down to a lower place to be with men. I am tired of throwing a tarp over some of my personality so that the shape of my identity suits some gross man a little better, for whatever shitty things he needs to do in order to keep his boring identity erect and supreme. (43)
I am supposed to be touched. I can’t wait to find the person who will come into the kitchen just to smell my neck and get behind me and hug me and breathe me in and make me turn around and make me kiss his face and put my hands in his hair even with my soapy dishwater drips. I am a lovely woman. Who will come into my kitchen and be hungry for me? (56)
Nothing cared that nothing cared. (59)
It is hard to even describe what it’s like to have someone use your own revelation of suffering as a way to accuse you of being cruel. (75)
Instead of asking the old questions that sounded like “What is wrong with me?” I would start asking important questions like “What if I only dreamed gardens, what if I are carrots because what if I were a pleasant rabbit? What if I got a crown for doing nothing but being who I am, what if even just one plant said hi to me or a tree bashfully bowed as I walked by, what if my dog know what I meant when I wave to him? What if I could always be a little bit naked, a little bit kissing everything, an unplundered trove of my own love?” (84)
As the image of myself becomes sharper in my brain and more precious. I feel less afraid that someone else will erase me by denying me love. (85)
In the very grooves of my being is the desire to bust open, and the certainty that it is right to begin to live again even after long periods of cold and darkness. (87)
I was born and everything in nature seemed like arms reaching out. I was born and the wildness from outside put itself inside of me. (89)
I saw that it was possible to do it, to be closer than what is allowed. Maybe I never got it for myself, that kind of closeness during which emotion fuses you together and you can only see that there is a separation between you and your beloved if you use a microscope. (97)
The rest of me went home to the universe. (98)
The pit is also a deep place with an actual bottom. You could argue that the bottom of the pit is where you plant the start of the thing that is made to travel to the light. You could prove, if you tried to or wanted to, that the bottom of the pit is of course the start of getting up to the top. But it is the planting of the pit that is the hard part. The part where you have to go down there and cover a small hard thing with dark matter. The part where you are supposed to believe in a process and the part when you must admit to your desire for the thing to work, and that is hard too. But you can do it if you want to try to do it, and the act is singular and special even though also you may have to do it many times over and a few of those times the put will simply stay a pit. You will have to be comfortable with the truth that there is a stone in the dark, a grave for hope. But if you can get a better view of what is going on, you ca see that problematic pit is really just a small hold along the path that is otherwise lined with the other living things that shot up toward the light. (106-107)
I said goodbye to all of them and I felt very odd. Something had happened but nothing had happened, really. Nobody touched me but it felt like I had been touched. (117)
In the forest, everything that is inclined to thrive really does, and has a job, and some jobs are to grow things up and some jobs are to take things apart and everything is accepted because there is no notion—among bacteria and moss and busy mice—there is no notion of who deserves to do something or be in a place. There are only lives to be lived, and they are everywhere. (121)
What if, when I felt a little off, I could flip up the top of my head and sprinkle just a few flowers around my brain and then flip the top of my head back down? (126)
I wanted to present a big, full energy markedly different from the stress of whatever is outside my walls. (132)
Then I admired myself. What’s more, I felt tenderness about my personality and my choices for delight. I said who I was, on my land. (134)
It occurs to me as I fight so hard with myself that these cruel and persistent voices are the echoes of trauma from the times when people treated me like I am now treating myself. And that, perhaps, it is possible to close an inner door and shut out voices that are not mine. (142-143)
I will go without digging deeper into the dark. And then it occurs to me that it is never too late to write yourself a good little personal creed, and that finding a creed for yourself is about gathering a set of rules that supports your self-respect and your community. (144-145)
Nature belongs to Nature, first and foremost. Nature wants to give to us, but that does not mean we should take more than we need. Nature wants to engage, but not fully submit. (148)
I see it. I know it. That nature makes art and I am creation and I make things. (162)
Good, let it fall away, and look, look, everything is always remaking itself and so are you. Everything is art and nature and so are you. (162)
And I’d rather live with a tender heart, because that is the key to feeling the beat of all of the other hearts. (162)
And then we would be friends, at peace with the idea of being two creatures who started together but needed different environments. (167)
My body will always show what my real inner situation is. My body will never let me lie. (170)
I believe that wildness belongs in people. I believe that wildness belongs in the home. I believe this and so I belong in myself and in my home. My gods are inside of me first and foremost, and the mother of all of them is the wild one. (170)
I want to be a part of a system of power that does not disgust me. (175)
I need a new story please. I suppose I have to give it to myself. (175)
I’m sure you can’t bake it all away, but you can transform the reality while still accepting the essential elements that make it what it is. (187)
Hello, I live in a constant state of growth and regeneration without being obsessed with the threat of decay. (190)
Sometimes do you ever get jealous of the plants, that they only have to grow and not know about it, and they don’t take anything personally? (192)
I am connected to eternity and I am part of everything and although I am with all of it, I am still different from anything and everything. I am an example of a specific way of spending time and feeling existence in this world. (192)
“Should we just collide and burst into atomic dust here in the back seat?” (205)
“Here we are again in a new day. I want you to see it with me.” (209)
You can gaze on yourself with love when nobody is there to that for you, and how you can make it so that your own loving gaze is truthful and not obsessive or vain. (209)
The reason I think that it will be hard to meet someone who I am actually interested in is that I cannot stand these preliminary moments when you can’t deeply know each other and be together forever ... I am trying to force an intimacy that needs time to grow. (212)
The other problem is that lots of people are simply not the right fit, but somehow I always make it my fault, even though it is nobody’s fault at all when you don’t fit. (212)
“You protect yourself and all the little weirds that make up who you are.” (216)
I never slip away from myself by simplifying myself. I can’t become smaller to fit into a crouching love in somebody else’s meager world. (218-219)
I look up to you because I love the heavenly bodies of the universe, and the way I see it, your heart is a planet. Your heart is factually a part of the universe, which is a miracle of endless force and boundless beauty. There is literally no way that you are not a part of that. Despair can force you to turn your eyes away from this fact, but it is the real truth and it will be waiting to be with you when you are free enough to turn back to it. Your heart is a planet. I can see that you are from the sky. (221)
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Hear me out
Step-brother Shigaraki shoving a vibe in (male) reader during a dinner and Shigaraki is controlling the vibrator and then after dinner Shigaraki fucks the life out of Reader
i was gonna work on monster stuff but this is just *chef's kiss*
i think i'm going down the road of a pseudo-incest kink whoops and laughs at myself as i add plot for no reason (also gives you guys a visual reference of the toy in the fic)
pairing: step-brother shigaraki x male reader
content tags/warnings: dub-con, pseudo-incest, mild exhibitionism, choking, sex toys, degradation, mind break
word count: 2.1k
Things around the household have changed drastically since your mother remarried. You love your mother and want her to be happy, but you feel that things have changed far too fast and far too much.
You had been told that your step-father wanted you to move in with him for two reasons. One; you don't have a job since you're attending university full-time and two; his house is pretty close to your university. You've seen his house from the outside and you can't deny the thought of living in such a large house is pleasant. It's a good deal. But if you had been told that your step-father has a shut-in son that lives with him before moving in, you might've reconsidered it.
Shigaraki is rude and has zero social skills. While you don't actually mind people that don't have social skills- it's often times not their fault- there's something about your step-brother that just unnerves you. You see him and alarm bells go off in your mind.
He likes to catch you off guard. Coming into your room to watch you, pinning you to surfaces, groping you, watching you shower- there's something really wrong with him.
"Tomu-"
You're trying to walk downstairs to go eat dinner with your mother and step-father. Trying, being the keyword. Shigaraki has you pinned to the wall once again. One of his hands is able to completely hold both your wrists- he's not even that much bigger than you! He's using his free hand to tug your sweatpants down to your knees. The pinning isn't exactly new, but he's never actually pulled your clothes off.
"I bought something for you. It's a little present for having such a cute brother." His voice makes you shudder, but the item he holds up next to your face makes you tense up. It's a brand new, probably expensive, sex toy.
"Tomura- hey- let's not-" You squirm and shake your head.
"Don't cause a fuss. Just let me do this, 'kay?"
The lube on the toy is your only saving grace as he nudges your legs apart with his knee and tries to put it on you. It doesn't work very well, the lubed up toy sliding against your limp cock a few times before Shigaraki growls lowly.
"I'm taking my hand off and I expect you to stay still." True to his word, the hand on your wrists disappears. If this were the first time he tried to do something like this, then you might've run away. But you've unfortunately learned through experience that your step-brother is far stronger than he seems. It's only because of your knowledge do you stay.
His hand is cold and calloused, an uncomfortable feeling against your skin. You grimace as he grabs your cock to slip the ring over it, making sure it’s snug against the base before he pushes the vibrating part of the toy into you. It doesn’t actually seem that bad until he turns the toy on.
“Shit-” You’re not oblivious to the toy’s function but you didn’t expect it to be so snug against that spot inside you. Shigaraki grabs you before your legs buckle, laughing at your state.
“Wow, you’re that sensitive?” He’s taunting you, making fun of you. “Is my little brother just a slut in disguise?”
Your pants are pulled up and a small slap is given to your ass. It brings a small yelp out of you, making you turn around to glare at him. He doesn’t seemed fazed by it. Instead, it spurs him on and you can feel him grind against your ass. Even through the fabric of both of your sweatpants, you can feel how hot and heavy his cock is. You can tell it’s thick and that’s barely hard.
A sliver of arousal makes itself known with a twitch of your cock. The realization makes you stand up straight and shove your step-brother away, adjusting your clothes to hide the erection beginning to strain underneath your pants.
It’s difficult to sit down at the dinner table and act normal. You give your mother a small smile as you squirm in your seat for a moment. The toy’s low vibration stimulating every part of you- the base of your cock being teased, vibrations going through your balls and taint, the dildo pressing snugly against your prostate- and it’s difficult to hold your composure.
“Are you okay, dear?” Your mother is looking at you with concern.
“O-oh, I’m alright, mom.” You force another smile.
“Go lay down after dinner, okay?”
You give a small nod before you start eating, not waiting for your step-brother to sit down. He’s probably snickering to himself and thinking of what he should do. The sudden increase of vibrations of the toy surprises you and you choke on a piece of food.
“Honey?”
“Don’t worry, he’s just a little out of it, right lil bro?” A large hand comes to rest on your shoulder. As you turn to look over your shoulder, Shigaraki stares down at you with a small smirk. You can see the small remote in his hand and you almost want to reach out and grab it. But that’d cause a scene- the last thing you want at the dinner table.
He slides into his seat, not bothering to eat. All he’s doing is staring at you and analyzing your reactions as he plays with the remote in his pocket.
“Yeah, j-just a little bit out of it.” You try your best to keep yourself together. Eating your dinner as fast as possible is your goal, hoping that this torture is only for the sake of humiliating you in front of your mother.
The vibrations of the toy change rapidly. It seems like Shigaraki’s just cycling through them for the first time, gauging your reactions as he does so. He’s trying to find the best setting for you right now, surely. The one that does you in is the low and slow pulsing of the toy.
He’s learning so much about you. You’re smart enough not to fight him physically but still have the guts to snap at him with your words. You prefer to be teased with a lack of stimulation rather than overstimulation. You won’t tell your mother about anything he does so she’ll stay happy. The best part... You’re easy to read.
Now that it’s been a few minutes of dealing with the toy, you’re settling down. It’s still uncomfortable, the low stimulation keeping your cock hard, but you’re able to eat your dinner for the most part. You’re eating quicker than normal just so this can end.
“Thanks for dinner, mom.” As you stand from the table, Shigaraki cycles through the toy quickly to put the vibrations at its most intense setting. You curl in on yourself and groan, facing contorting.
“Dear?”
You give her a reassuring smile despite the heat pooling in your stomach. As much as you want to leave the table, you’re not sure you can do it yourself. It seems to be part of your step-brother’s plan. He puts his arm under yours, holding you up to help you shuffle back upstairs.
“I���ll make sure he’s alright, don’t worry.”
They can’t see it, but you’re glaring at him as he helps you up. With him being the only reason you’re still standing however, that’s all you can manage to do. You hold onto his torso as he takes you up the stairs and opens the door of your room.
“You’re close, huh? You were about to cum in front of our parents, weren’t you?” Shigaraki throws you onto the floor of your room with a thud, using his foot to turn you onto your back. He stares down at you and steps on your cock, moving it back and forth.
“Alright little bro, cum for me.”
With a particularly large amount of pressure, almost painful, you tense and spurt ropes of cum inside your pants. A stain begins to seep into the fabric and Shigaraki looks down at you with a sneer. You’re squirming under his foot, the toy still vibrating aggressively inside you and around the base of your cock.
He picks you up by the hair and drags you to your bed, manhandling you so your face is against the comforter and your ass is in the air. He doesn’t even bother turning the toy off as he takes it out of you and slides your cock out of the ring. Your ass clenches around the air pathetically, teasing Shigaraki. Even with something inside you, stretching you out, your ass still looks tight and almost untouched. The only thing eluding to its use is the lube smeared around it.
You’re given no warning when your step-brother grabs your hips and slams his cock inside you. When did he take it out? You don’t know.
“Shiiiiiit- Do you know how tight you are?” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond. Shigaraki begins to fuck you with abandon, thrusting into you with no care for your comfort. The stretch of his cock, how it reaches almost too deep inside you- it’s horribly uncomfortable. There’s a tinge of pleasure from the stretch of his cock pressing against your prostate almost constantly, but not much else.
His balls slap against your ass with every heavy thrust and the grip on your hips is bruising. You can feel his nails digging into the skin and you’re sure they’ll leave marks. He’s leaving reminders of this.
A hand leaves your hip to hold your limp cock, pumping it aggressively. The sudden stimulation is painful and you squirm.
“Now, now, little bro. Be a good slut for me and let me play with you.” Shigaraki sneers at the way you stop squirming at his words. “There... See, you’re a pathetic little slut for your big bro, aren’t you?”
You refuse to answer, only burying your face into the sheets to hide your humiliated tears. It’s not like it matters. He continues to pump your cock at a fast pace, enjoying the way your walls twitch and tighten because of it. Even if you’re not feeling anything, he is. Your pleasure is more of an afterthought, a bonus. Then your cock begins to twitch back to life.
“Seriously? You’re feeling good?” Shigaraki leans against you, biting your ear. “Getting off from your step bro treating you like a whore and fucking you? You really must be one if you like this.”
“I’m not!” You protest, turning to look at him. Tears are falling down your face, cheeks red from the embarrassment. “It’s your fault! You’re forcing my body to feel like this!”
Both of you know it’s a lie. You’re definitely enjoying it. As cute as your denial is to your step-brother, he isn’t in the mood for you being like this the whole time. He wants to have to shut you up so your parents won’t hear you begging for his cock.
With a bit of reluctance, he pulls out of you. You’re allowed a brief moment of confusion as he decides how he wants to position you. Once he decides, he flips you onto your back and hikes your legs over his shoulders. In this position, he rubs your cocks together. His is undeniably thicker than yours, but your length isn’t too drastically different. There’s only a few seconds of rutting them together before he lines his cock up with your ass and slams back in.
Much to his surprise and amusement, you let out a confused moan. The new position must feel good. Your face contorting into pleasure with a mix of self-disgust is beautiful to him.
“Little bro, come on. Just let yourself feel good.” His thrusts slow and he reaches for your neck. The grip on your throat is intense and you can feel yourself becoming lightheaded almost instantly. It’s an intense feeling that mixes with pleasure, clouding your senses.
Maybe it’s the lack of oxygen or just you giving up, but you begin to buck your hips against Shigaraki’s. Your jaw goes slack and your mouth is open, eyes rolling back into your head. The choking keeps you from making much noise so all you can let out are strangled groans.
“Finally. Let yourself go. Become my whore, my pathetic cumdump of a little brother. Just be my personal cock sleeve, yeah?”
The words go in one ear and out the other and you let out a string of agreements. Your back arches, cock twitching and covering your stomach in your own cum. It’s the sudden tightness around him that pushes Shigaraki over the edge. He stills inside you as deep as he can and cums, filling your ass. As he comes down from his high, he lets go of your throat.
“Good boy.” He smacks your face gently and chuckles at your lack of response. “Gone already? Come on, we’ve barely started.”
#shigaraki tomura x reader#shigaraki x reader#shigaraki tomura x male reader#shigaraki x male reader#bnha x male reader#bnha x reader#bnha x reader smut
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Ruby Red ⁂ OT7 Poly
⁂ Pairing: embodied capital sins!OT7 x Reader
⁂ Genre: smut | supernatural | dystopian
⁂ Sins: all of them
⁂ Collab: Seven Deadly Sins Collab
⁂ Rating: 18+
⁂ Word Count: 2.5k
⁂ Summary: Being part of the Sacred Special Forces in charge of the chaos unit was difficult as it was. When news break on the successful capture of the capital sins and you’re called into action, everything is about to get a tad more interesting. Would you risk your life, your career and the world’s well being if it meant getting everything you could ever desire with all seven sins at your service?
⁂ Warnings: mentions of a gun (never used), unprotected sex, gangbang really, blowjobs (two at a time), handjobs, oral sex (f receiving), shrimping, stuffing full, nipple play, a lot of potentially incorrect information regarding sins but you know- it's dystopian.
⁂ A/N: Long time coming, I know, life found its way of keeping me away but I'm back now. This was really something (and very long overdue HELLO) either way I hope you enjoy it!
The air inside the office seemed to get increasingly more suffocating each day that went by during what was soon becoming known as the most grandiose mission the Sacred Special Forces of the Universe had ever encountered.
Generations upon generations of a carefully structured plan almost as old as time itself. Your father had carried out what was known as the Evagrius Plan until his death, as his father before him had done. Without any masculine sibling to take over the centuries-old tradition of your family leading the ever-growing mission, the responsibility had fallen on your shoulders, as untraditional as it had appeared to everyone in the beginning. It had been hard. Not only was it a complex mission itself, but having to put up with the whispering around the Forces, the mistrust of what should have been your people for such an insignificant and rather antique matter that it was you being a woman. They had soon learnt their lesson. The progress that had taken decades were cut down to mere months under your rather firm hand and even firmer mindset. There was absolutely no chance you were taking on not going down in history as the one that had managed to capture and process each of the seven deadly sins, all while being the first woman to wield the title of head of the Sacred Special Forces of the Universe.
The constant bustling inside the building had become second nature and almost a synonym to the rather quietness that ruled over the rest of the world, at least to you. It wasn’t unfamiliar having to find your way around people running around the floors, hands-on heavy armoury, ready to deploy while sirens were blaring, the red tinge of the light flickering above your head. Today was no different.
“Captain Y/N! Captain Y/N!” a rather breathless voice called out for you, making you step aside and wait for the intern to catch up to you “Code red for Evagrius has been set off” you could have sworn your heart was ready to escape its confinement inside your ribs. It was finally time. “They’re waiting for your- your assessment downstairs”
You started moving after a curt nod, feet moving on their own accord, mind suddenly completely blank, running on instinct. However hard you had worked, you were almost certain the last step to the Evagrius Plan would have taken at least a couple more years, having it kickstart on such short notice had your mind running on overload: the press conferences, the protocol, the imprisonment, the paperwork. The world seemed to tune itself out as you found your way to the arrival lobby, protected completely by a one-sided mirror–a precaution your father had taken back in the day, so as not to corrupt the protocol– as you simply watched the specialised forces tugging each man forcefully into the building for registration, hands restrained behind their backs, most of them sporting a rather amused smile on their handsome faces.
There was really no denying in what the eye could see, the seven men entering the building were as dangerous as any criminal could get. All of them old as the universe itself– perhaps even older than that– yet with such youthful faces that were undoubtedly the reason behind worlds destroyed, civilizations demises down the lane of existence itself. Wrath, Sloth, Envy, Pride, Lust, Gluttony and Greed, all lined up prettily under your watch, the last of them, brown locks shading his eyes as he toyed a lollipop on his mouth, seemed to be staring right at your soul even through the mirror. A teasing smile on him that was enough to have you look away as he turned to face the officer handling him with a chuckle.
“I don’t think you realise just how humongous this is” you had been trained for this exact moment, after years of taking over the main mission, an installed fear covering the whole place not only as a natural reaction but as a universal effect of them being there.
Your face was kept as straight as you could, having read about what the capital sins presence could do to one’s mind, it was best to not let the whole ordeal get to your head. “I do”
“What’s next then?”
“We follow protocol” You diverted your eyes as soon as the words left your mouth, not missing the way that the brown-haired one from earlier seemed to be staring right into your soul even from the one-way mirror– you wouldn’t really be surprised if he did. Although the organisation had been preparing endlessly for this exact moment it was most certainly impossible to have it all covered, never 100% sure of the tricks the seven men had under their sleeves.
“Well that was-” your coworker stealing a glance at the detention space for a second, you swear you can see a rather teasing glint in all of their eyes as they collectively look up at the action.“rather anticlimatic”
You really didn’t intend to become the harsh boss at the time, although the situation most certainly called upon the measures. One slightly crooked move and the whole place would be burning up in major chaos.“I don’t think you realise, we’re working”
“Whatever you say big old boring boss”
The thing about having the embodied sins locked up not only meant the theoretical dangers that one might think it entails, but many more as the protocol had never once considered the possibility of catching them together. It was a situation unbeknownst to any alive creature of the modern age, capturing them one by one required endless security measures, one can’t even begin to think about what capturing all seven of them at once could mean. What having all of them contained in the same place at the same time? You were almost certain they could break out any second should they want to do so. The playful stolen looks in them were a game to be played, and two could play all the same. The plan was a rather simple one. Getting everyone on isolation cells as soon as they were captured, follow a strict protocol meant to test their limits and their relation to the reality of the world, get snippets of information on exactly what they were capable of. The twist? They would not– for the love of everything divine– let themselves be separated from one another.
The halls are empty, emergency lights flashing as you march your way around the facility, reviewing time and time again the protocol, wanting everything to be strictly as planned. Your steps resonate in the pristine floor, hand stuck on top of your gun as it laid comfortably against your hip. Most of the workers have been dismissed for the chaos that will surely ensue the next day as everything is set to be put to work. Other than not considering to catch all of the sins together in the same mission, was the fact the old documents and research suggested an eighth member to the compound, an eighth sin called Acedia, detached from the original stories to be turned into a horseman of the apocalypse, the reason unknown, any further information had disappeared from the face of Earth a long time ago, the sin suggested gone for good without a trace to latch on, seven remaining.
Thoughts occupied with words that had been long memorised. That’s when you heard it first. A teasing tone to it, like a predator toying with its next meal. “Y/N. sweet lovely Y/N, would you look at yourself?”
You tried your best to get a grip on your mind, knowing better than to let it get to you, not once relenting your steps as you walked the familiar path to where they were all held in, a useless one-way mirror separating you from them along with a more complex and mythical security system that you could only hope to be working.
“You do realise, we’re more powerful than what your pretty little head could fathom” the tone is teasing, recognising the buff blond man as the leader of the group– if they even believe in such position. Easy to spot, Pride. The rest of them carbon copied his smirk as the lights above them flickered for a few seconds before settling down again.
If their embodiments were anything to go by, you could spot the one next to him as the youngest. Gluttony, if the records were right about him being the youngest of them all. “We could obliterate you with a snap of our fingers darling”
“We’re only here” there’s a pause in their speech as his eyes lock on yours, something inside you having you place your hand on the disconnecting device to enter the small containment cell– fuzzy feelings inside you, making you want more, get closer. It was undoubtedly Greed’s doing, boxy smirk and tantalizing eyes never leaving yours. “Because we want to be”
“Not because you got your hands on us” There were enough spotting records in the modern age to be able to spot Jung Hoseok as Envy wreaking havoc around the world.
Feline eyes lazily checking you out as the door closes behind your back, mind as calm as ever even if it is betrayed by your ragged breath in their presence, Sloth might have been the lowest profile one, but it was unmistakeable on-brand for him “But we’re definitely getting our hands on you”
“Such a lovely pet” There are enough witness records signalling Wrath as the most handsome man they had ever lied their eyes on to recognise him on the spot.
That would only leave the blond man with a deceivingly eye crinkled sweet smile– Lust. “How many of us do you think you could take before bursting”
“It’s Jungkookie’s birthday, after all, we wanted to celebrate him” you can’t move in the slightest, only stare at the way that Pride comes up to you, big calloused hand coming up to stroke your cheek as you catch movement from the corner of your eye, lights flickering and settling on a comfortable red that makes all seven of them ready to devour you whole and you wanting nothing more than for it to happen as quickly as possible “12 billion years is such a baby age still”
Before you can even begin to comprehend what’s going on, there are two mouths lapping up the skin on your neck, nipping a bit at it as you feel your knees weakening, a hand wrapped around your hair, pulling relentlessly so you can set your eyes on his, a smirk playing on his lips, fingers expertly working you out of your clothes, a dry laugh as they empty your loaded gun onto the table. You can feel yourself getting wetter by the second as you keep thinking about all seven of them absolutely ravishing you in a matter of minutes.
You find yourself on your knees as all seven of them tower over you, hardened cocks waiting impatiently at your eye level, you can feel your mouth watering at the sight, only thinking about the prospect of being able to take two of them at the same time, stretching you nicely before whatever wicked game they had in mind could be played with you as a birthday present to their youngest. You make sure to take a hold of one in each hand, angry red tip popping out against every sharp thrust your hand provided, ragged breath followed by sharp intakes of breaths from the men being handled, the delicious sounds encouraging you to open your mouth to welcome the two shafts being presented on top of your tongue in a rather unaesthetically and impractical way, eliciting grunts from both of them anyhow each time they clashed into each other as they slicked themselves with your drool on them, carefully managing the tempo at with you were supposed to suck on them while handling the other two. A moan bursting from your throat has you almost gagging as you feel a wet and warm presence lapping up your wet fold from the small space where your naked core was almost hitting the floor, you’re almost sure you miss a beat as you feel your head floating around when both of your nipples get attacked by the last two men latching onto them, nibbling the skin rather forcefully.
You have to be grateful for the lack of technology monitoring as the small place is filled with moans, grunts and ragged breaths, an all too familiar warm building inside you before it gets taken again from you completely, the scene shifting almost magically, being manhandled against a wall as a cock is shoved inside you, deliciously hitting your walls as you clench down on him, eyes closed, half a mind to register the model-like sin waiting in line as the pseudo leader spurts inside you, all too quickly handing you over to the eldest one with amazing speed so as to not let his seed spill from inside you, the man taking his place doing exactly the same in record time, tits bouncing against thin air as he comes inside you after positioning your flailing arms on the wall, legs spread and spilling just a little before you’re plugged in with on-brand lazy but deep thrusts, large ahnds holding your hips down, own climax long gone as you’re deprived of it once again by Sloth spilling inside before the envious gaze of Jung Hoseok guides you to rest most of your upper body on the metal table, the coldness of the surface prickling yiur skin in cintrast with how hot it feels around you, no doubt in your mind it’s all over with him as the expert in the topic takes matter in his own– rather tine but skilled– hands as he works you closer to the edge at the same time as he fills you up, you’re almost sure you’re ready to burst before Greed takes a hold of you, head spinning, unable to form words other than babbles and incoherent words, just feeling like bursting as he paints your already full cunt white, edging on the dreading moment the youngest takes you before slurping noises take over the space, warm muscle inside your hole lapping up every drop you can give him, tasting the rest on his tongue as you make your best effort to keep yourself standing up right, the combinaation of the circling of his tongue on you along with his slender fingers inside you throwing you over the edge.
Mind still fuzzy as you let your head hang against the cold metal table, you can hear Hoseok talking “It was a long time no see, Y/N”
“Or should we say… Acedia?” the playful glint matches yours as you look around at the seven– very much naked– men around you, feeling hot all over, you can almost assure you’re dripping on the floor once again.
“They won’t ever see us coming” You make your best effort to place your lips on the youngest, tasting distinctly of the rest of the six of them on his tongue before the rattled place looks brand new with a snap of his fingers, the door unlocked, alarms blaring as all eight of you exit the building unnoticed by the rest of the team.
#bts fanfic#bts imagines#bts smut#bangtanarmynet#houseofddaeng#ksmutclub#namjoon smut#seokjin smut#yoongi smut#hoseok smut#jimin x reader#jimin smut#taehyung smut#jungkook smut
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search for my tongue
warnings: smut (18+): in-depth exploration of kissing, mutual masturbation. also: language, x fem!reader
a/n: haven’t written ezra in awhile. got a hankering and the hornier parts of myself took over. what are you gonna do about it? 🤷🏻♀️
forewarning: i wrote this in one sitting. it doesn’t make a lot of coherent sense and is marvelously unedited. plz forgive my horny brain.
“Hands to yourself now, birdie. Keep ‘em nice and pretty on your lap where I can see ‘em.”
You nod, and a childlike thrill zings through your chest. A whisper of cool air breaks your skin into gooseflesh. Your heartbeat thrums in your cunt.
Oh, but this is silly. Really, it is quite silly.
You sit on your knees, palms flat against thighs. If Ezra has anything to say about it, you’ll be here for awhile, but it’s no matter. You’d kneel for him until the end of time, until the universe folded in on itself and vanished to nothing. You would kneel for him longer still, your adoration runs so deep.
Nevertheless, the fibrous rug beneath your knees eases the strain on work-weary joints, and you’re once again thankful you dropped quite the penny on this... outing. Price can be forgotten, but memories—carnal appetites made soft in the confines of wealthy society—remain etched within the mind and heart for eternity.
Hair a cascading tumble around your shoulders, you bat your painted eyelashes. “You really don’t want to touch me, Ezy?”
Everything about you tonight is varnished. From the makeup smoothed over your face to the white lingerie clinging to your body, you are pearlescent, glowing beneath the lodge’s warm light. Silk stockings and a beaded bustier, red lips and neck adorned with a single pearl drop necklace—he’s made you this way, bought it all, and laid it out on the bed for this moment. You will not deny him—the Him that stokes the fires of your very soul—but you will tease, as is your right.
“No, I do not,” he says—without pause, without hesitation, firm enough it makes you arch a brow in surprise. “I remain stalwart against the barrage of your beauty. Besides, I reckon I have quite the advantage over you, dear heart. My one remaining hand, the last vestige of my puerility, will remain snug beneath my thigh here, and you—you, you, you—will be the first to break. I have half the creeping fingers to worry about.”
Winking, he wedges his thick hand between his left thigh and calf. He kneels before you as well, though entirely unvarnished. He offered to spruce himself up prior to jumping into this remote system (Perhaps a hair cut? Or a fresh suit? Anything for you), but you declined the offer. You like him, love him, as he is. A thin grey shirt and soft, black trousers is enough for you.
“I won’t break.” You straighten your spine with a wiggle, pushing your breasts outwards. His eyes drift to the squeeze of your cleavage before returning to your face. “I really want that cosmolevel.”
“And I want that hydrospanner.”
“Then we’re at an impasse.”
The corner of his mouth lifts; the delicate scar on his cheek pulls with the movement, and you long to lave your tongue over the faded memory. Soon, soon.
Ezra leans across the gap, his breath fanning your mouth as his gaze roams your face. “An impasse indeed,” he whispers. The low gravel of his voice tickles a nerve in your chest, and you bite your lip. “However shall we come to a decision? The last of our money: a cosmolevel or a hydrospanner, both equally as vital in our return to the workforce. I haven’t the foggiest idea how we’ll solve this conundrum.”
You angle yourself forward. Your nose nudges his. “Touch me, and you’ll find out just how quickly I can order what I want.”
“No, I don’t think I will.”
“Then kiss me, and I’ll have you dripping like goo, begging for one touch of my hand, before you can say—”
Ezra swallows the last of your taunt with his mouth.
His kiss is soft, a mere peck to your lips. Once, twice, before moving slightly to fit his upper lip over yours for a longer, firmer press. You sink into him, curling your fingers in the thin material at your thighs as his warmth bleeds between the thin part of your lips.
You angle your head to the side, and your mouth follows, dragging along the curve of his cupid’s bow. His mustache tickles—always has, always will—but you push the sensation aside, instead anchoring yourself to the ridges of his chapped lower lip. He spends too much time in the sun, your Ezra. You press against his mouth, pursing your lips to an untimed beat as your heartrate grows. Kiss after kiss, tender and chaste. The room echoes with the sounds of your simple connection.
When the tip of his tongue skims your bottom lip, you gasp.
He takes the opening.
His tongue slips into your mouth, dripping with saliva and heat. You fit your tongue over his, and the two slide together in an unhurried circle. Around, around, warm and wet and quivering. Pushing your tongue aside, he wanders through your mouth, licking over your teeth, your cheeks, your throat. Warmth spreads from your chest to the pit between your legs, and you shift to relieve the pressure.
A groan filters from the back of his throat when you pull back long enough to wrap your mouth around his tongue. The muscle relaxes between your lips, and you suck gently, bobbing your head back and forth, flicking the tip of his tongue with your own when you can. You suck his tongue as you would his cock, going so far as to rise on your knees and force his head backwards with the angle of your body alone. It is a struggle to not take his shoulders for stability, but you want that fucking cosmolevel and you want him reduced to pulp beneath your capable mouth. You can win at both games; you know it.
Ezra wrenches his head back when the pressure of your mouth grows too strong. “Fuck, birdie,” he whispers.
You drop to your knees, gasping for breath, lips swollen and raw. “Too much?”
Something blooms in his eyes. His pupils expand until you see nothing but dark pits of want. He shakes his head. “Not enough.”
His hand slides from its careful place in the pit of his knee. Your heart skips a beat. Oh Kevva, you’ve won! That easily too! Pride explodes in your chest and you open your mouth to congratulate yourself but then—
He merely shucks his pants over his hips, releasing his hard cock from the confines of his trousers. He spits in his hand before rubbing the saliva over his swollen head. He nods to you.
“Go on,” he says. “Touch yourself while you kiss me.”
“But I—”
He shakes his head. “Touch. Yourself.”
You are you to argue with Him?
Pulling the crotch of your thong aside, you find Ezra’s mouth again as you press your forefinger to the damp heat of your pussy. You whimper as you part your lips, and his tongue sweeps through your mouth again. You whimper as you part your lips, and you spread your wetness from opening to clit.
“I can smell you sweet elixir from here, dear heart,” he mumbles against your mouth.
“I can hear how hard you are for me, baby boy,” you murmur back.
Words vanish from there, superfluous when touch and sound and taste can do all the necessary communication.
Ezra fucks his hand, and you fuck your fingers, and you both fuck one another’s mouth. Your skin blazes with hidden heat, and your clit sobs against the pad of your fingers as you rub yourself to pleasure. You can hear nothing but the wet slap of Ezra’s cock and the wet slap of your pussy and the wet slap of your tongue in his mouth.
You have never felt dirtier—you have never felt more desirable.
You come in a sudden rush, jaw dropping as you quiver over writhing hips and pruned fingers. Ezra follows soon thereafter, shooting his load onto the apex of your knees with a strangled moan that hits the back of your throat. His lips remain pressed to yours until you drop to your elbows on the carpet, body trembling, cunt displayed for him in the garish room.
His hand lifts, fingers twitching, as he stares at your swollen, dripping heat. You blink—and then he touches you, running his thick thumb over your pearled bud, drawing the remains over your orgasm over the thatch of hair above your center. You shiver, dropping your head back with a moan.
“How could I resist such a thing?” he wonders. “Never again.”
.
.
.
tagging those who might be interested: @skeletonstwins @pleasedin @headinthestarz @heartsofbeskar @babydarkstar @littlepadika @literallydontlook @javierpinme @sharkbait77 @queen-sands @punkremus @goddessofsprings
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ONE DAY WE’LL REVEAL THE TRUTH (THAT ONE WILL DIE BEFORE HE GETS THERE)
title: youth by daughter
pairing: dabi x f!reader
words: 1.7k
excerpt: But what is rage, you’d ask him, if not one of the many faces of grief?
a/n: dabi my beloved (derogatory). this fic is my love letter to parentheses.
tags: angst, toxic relationships, explicit s*xual content, light choking, dabi is a bastard but he is a needy bastard
in case you’d rather read it on ao3!
MDNI
He’s just outside the door. He hasn’t made a sound, but you know he’s there. You can feel it; in your blood, in your bones, in your marrow.
(You’ve always been able to feel him, monstrous and cruel beneath your skin. An itch. An awful taunting itch. You’ve wanted him out since he first stuck his claws in you and buried himself deep, but he’s near impossible to shake. He won’t leave until he’s hollowed you out, until your flesh is no longer your own, until all that’s left of you is him. Until all that’s there, is what he believes there should be.
He’s a self-important bastard like that.)
When he finally decides to open the door, he does so with a slam. It would’ve made you jump if you hadn’t been so focused on the skyline. Tracing the buildings, looking for stars you know you won’t be able to see. They get swallowed up, this deep in the city. Drowned out by light.
(When you were a child, you didn’t quite understand how stars could vanish in the night. Weren’t they the brightest things in the universe? Burning and brilliant, even light years away?
You understand it better now. How mankind has this nasty habit of ruining, of polluting, of blotting out things of wonder and then desperately trying to remake it in our own image.
It’s never as beautiful as what was, but it’s far too late for us to admit defeat now.)
He’s mad, burning up with fury. You can feel the heat of it, cutting straight through the heavy chill of the night air. It’s stifling, your balcony so small that he’s practically breathing down your neck with how close he is. Accompanying his presence, always, is the faint smell of burnt flesh he can never quite mask, no matter the amount of cheap aftershave he tries to drown himself in.
He’d texted you, and you’d ignored him. For a week, you’ve ignored him and if there’s one thing Dabi hates, it’s when he gets ignored.
He’s the one that ignores you, it should never be the other way around.
You know that, of course. You know all his little unwritten rules.
(Don’t ignore him is at the top of the list. Except, of course, during those nights when he thinks you’re asleep and he clings to you like a child, his tears burning where they touch your skin. Even his grief, you can’t help but think, is scorching.
On those nights, you’ve found it’s best to stay quiet. He wields his grief like rage and you’d rather not be caught in the crossfire.)
He’s waiting for you to talk, to stumble over your words, make some sort of vague attempt at an apology. It’s what you would usually do after you’ve broken one of his rules.
But you say nothing, content to sit in the too-heavy silence. You’re tired. Of him. Of whatever it is you two have been doing. It’s the same stupid story, the same vicious cycle. A snake cursed to eat its own tail.
He’s using you. He has been for a long while now. If you’re being perfectly honest with yourself, he most likely has been since the beginning. And God, it’s exhausting work, being used.
Although, really, you’re not all that much better than he is. In the beginning, you were with him purely because he fascinated you. All his grief laid bare, and so vulnerable. So obvious and painful. Undeniable in its brutality.
(Rage, he’d say, it’s righteous rage, not grief.
But what is rage, you’d ask him, if not one of the many faces of grief?)
It didn’t take long for you to realize he’s chasing something. And it took you even less time to realize that whatever he’s after, is probably going to kill him one day.
(You wonder if he knows he’s chasing his own death. You wonder if he’d care at all.
He reminds you of Eve, eating the forbidden fruit. You think she’d take a bite of the apple, again and again and again if ever given the choice, even knowing the consequences. Even with intimate knowledge of the suffering to come. How could she not? How could any of us hold our fate in the palm of our hands and choose not to sink our teeth into it?)
He’s growing impatient beside you, burning up with it. If he touched you, you’re sure he’d melt your flesh straight to the hollow bone.
But you don’t break. Just once, you want him to fall apart first. Just once, you want him desperate.
(He’s always been so good at making you desperate, with a hand around your neck, just tight enough to leave you gasping for air, your back to his chest and his staples drawing blood, as he pounds into you so hard all you could do is dig your nails into his arm.
His lips are right by your ear, you’re mine, he says. You’re mine. You’re mine. You’re mine.
And God, with his cock hitting all the right spots in your cunt you’d believe it. You’d believe anything he’d said to you as long he just kept going.
Say it, he hisses, say you’re mine.
You don’t answer him right away, mostly because you can’t, not with the way he’s fucking you. You can’t catch your breath enough to form a sound, you can’t get your bearings enough to collect a single thought that isn’t Dabi Dabi Dabi.
Annoyed at your lack of answer, he brings a searing thumb down to your overstimulated clit. You keen, arching, desperately trying to get away from the sensation that at this point is more pain than pleasure.
Say it, he says again, there’s a strange sort of edge to it. Looking back you think it might’ve been desperation. Say it.
When he presses down just a little harder, you finally crack.
Yours, you gasp. I’m yours. Yours. Yours. Yours.
He laughs, so deep in his chest that you feel it in your own.
It echoes in your head for weeks afterward.)
“What,” he grounds out, low and furious, “the fuck.”
It’s not a question.
You turn towards him, at last. Though you can hardly see him, surrounded by shadows. There are glints of his piercings in the polluted light, a gleaming flash as he runs his tongue along with his teeth. But it’s his eyes that you lock on. Bright and a brilliant blue. Glowing and monstrous in the dark.
(You’re reminded, once again, of the stars. Burning and burning and burning.)
With no preamble, you say, “I think I love you.”
The air around you quiets. Like the city itself is holding it’s breath.
It’s not a sweet confession under the moonlight. In the week since you came to the realization, it’s already started to fester, to rot straight through your bones.
It’s a curse more than anything. You love a man whose chasing his own death. You love a ghost. Or, you suppose, a ghost in the making.
Before you can say anything else (though really, what else is there to say) he cuts in sharply, meanly, “No, you don’t.”
You can’t help but tilt your head at that. You don’t really know what to say. You don’t know if you’re supposed to say anything. His lips are pulled back, teeth bared, he’s gleaming and sharp, pulled so taught with tension you wonder how he’s even breathing. He reminds you, vividly, of a cornered animal. A scared one. Though he’s trying to mask it with annoyance, with a type of anger that toes the line of fury.
He’s always doing that. Masking his fear with rage. Masking his grief with rage. Hiding any part of himself that might be perceived as weak, as soft, as vulnerable, under the guise of rage.
You can’t imagine that it’s anything less than exhausting.
Though you have to admit, you didn’t expect this response. You didn’t expect fear. You thought he’d be unbearably smug about it. Proud of himself for finally sinking his teeth into your heart. Ready to chew you up and spit you back out. You were ready for him to move on.
You didn’t expect him to deny it.
(He could be right, though you doubt he is.
You wonder what it means to love, you wonder how you’re supposed to love. You wonder if you can only love someone if you’ve seen the cruelest parts of them first.
You suppose if that’s the case, then he might be right.
You’ve never actually been able to force yourself to look up what exactly he’s wanted for. What exactly it is he’s done.
Mostly because you’re afraid that even if you knew every last gory detail, it wouldn’t be enough to make you walk away. And how would you be able to look at yourself in the mirror, after that? Knowing exactly who you let share your bed? who cried scorching hot tears into your shoulder?
Ignorance is bliss, they say. In your case, it could very well be your only hope for salvation.
But, you don’t really think there’s a set way a person is supposed to love. It’s what makes it so terrifying. It’s an unknown. And it’s so hard to not fear the unknown.)
“Dabi-” you start.
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he spits out. Eyes flashing, his hands stuffed in his pockets.
You want to laugh at the absurdity of it all, of him trying to tell you what you do and do not feel, but you think he’d turn you to ashes for the slight. His pride has always been so easily shaken.
“Dabi-” you try again.
But he’s two steps ahead of you. He always is.
He’s already turned around, hiding his face from view, opening the door. And you don’t stop him. You don’t see why you should.
You can’t shake him from the path he’s on. You don’t think anyone can, really.
Grief is all he has, it’s all he’s let himself have. It’s fundamental to him now. It’s all he is. And you’re sure he believes whatever he’s chasing is going to fill the hollow void it’s made of him.
It won’t. You’re sure of that, at least, because even if he does succeed, what will he be left with then?
You don’t say any of that to him, because you’re not his fucking therapist. And because you’re not so sure he wouldn’t kill you for it.
It’s anticlimactic, watching him disappear into your darkened apartment.
But all you can think about when you hear the click of the front door closing behind him is how honest his fear was, almost childlike. Remnants of a poor, grief-stricken boy.
What a monster it’s made of him.
a/n part two:
thinking about adrianne kalfopoulou’s ‘grief will keep you reaching back / for what is not there.’
i could not tell you why this took me over two weeks to write. i had a lot of fun with it though. dabi my beloved. go to therapy please. also i know dabi can’t cry but....let me have this.
#bnha x reader#dabi x reader#bnha smut#dabi smut#bnha#boku no hero academia#my hero academia#dabi imagine#bnha x you#dabi x you#dabi x y/n#bnha x y/n#bnha imagine#vicwrites#vicwritesbnha#vic.thirsts
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Hold On
Dean Winchester x Reader
Summary: When you’re injured on a hunt with a shapeshifter, Dean’s there to make sure you’re okay.
Requested by Anonymous: “Come here, I’ll carry you”
Word Count: 1.8k
Warnings: injuries, mentions of blood, mild swearing, fluff, kissing
A groan.
That’s all you could manage as you tipped your head back and let it thud against the wall, eyes squeezing shut as another groan fell past your lips. You were nothing short of exhausted as you slumped against that wall, one that surely had the outline of your body indented in it from where you’d been thrown earlier. Just how early it’d been, you weren’t really sure about that part.
What you were sure of was the incessant burning across your knuckles and the pressure behind your cheekbone, knowing for certain there was a cut running along your skin there. You were increasingly aware of the way your knee had a dull throb to it, your ankle a million times worse. That familiar pressure radiated behind your eyes as the tears stung and burned, frustration having built up and nearly boiled over. Between the pain of your injuries and the embarrassment you felt for getting them, it was enough to have them rolling down your cheeks, hot on your skin.
It was a shifter. One that’d turned into your very own twin, adding to the strangeness of it all when it cornered you in a room by yourself, the room you currently sulked in with the inability to get very far.
The saying you are your own worst enemy had taken on a meaning you never quite thought of in that moment, one that had your brows furrowing and the anger simmering within you. You knew it’d used your looks to it’s advantage for the brothers you came with, for Dean. You were his sweet spot and it seemed as though every monster in the very world you lived in knew that very fact and took full advantage of the seemingly universal knowledge.
But that wasn’t important right now. What was important was the fact that you’d gotten separated from the pair and were reduced to a hobble should you want to get up and find your way to them. That would be simple if you knew where they were—you’d heard some yelling and a miscellaneous shot fired, but it wasn’t enough to pinpoint where your beau had been.
Your hands were trembling as you brought them up to your face, adrenaline still having its hold on you as you rub your hands down your face despite the jolt of pain making itself known when your hand ran over your cheek. You grit your teeth and curse under your breath at the sensation, fists balling in your momentary irritation before they relax once more.
All around you were heaps of broken glass from windows and cabinets, shards of snapped wood joining it on the floor and you were fairly certain you were sitting on more than a few of those pieces. The couch was overturned and it’s cushions splay around the room in places cushions shouldn’t be, the table split down the middle and sitting in a pile of rubble much like the rest of the room. The paintings and pictures on the walls were torn, the glass in some of the frames broken and from where you’d thrown them in self defense. Something that also took on a new meaning.
You were tired, fatigue weighing you down as your heart hammered in your chest and sweat coated your skin. You were tired and miserable and desperately wanted to call it a day. A bubble bath seemed like a dream to you in that moment, contrasting to the way you felt having currently been covered in dirt and blood and sweat and most freshly—tears.
Your jaw tenses as tightly as you could manage when you rolled to your side, palm pressed to the floor as you leaned on your good knee. It was no easy feat getting yourself up off that floor, the smallest bit of pressure upon your ankle nearly sending you over the edge as you stood to your feet with a tear rolling down your cheek. Balance was something you lacked in that moment, never something you had down to begin with but it paled in comparison to this as you caught yourself on the wall.
“I am never hunting again,” you grumble to yourself, huff leaving your lips though you knew it was a lie.
“Y/n?”
You gaze lifted to the owner of the voice, relief washing over you as he crossed the room in as little as three strides. “Dean? Please tell me it’s really you because I can’t do a round two with that thing.”
“I could ask you the same thing, sweetheart,” he says, brows furrowing as his hand comes up to your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing over your skin as the tips of his fingers hover over the very curve of your ear.
You could see every emotion that expressed on his face, that filled his eyes as they bounced over every inch of your face at each and every scrape and scratch and bump and bruise. You could see the myriad of questions and arguments sitting on the tip of his tongue on how you should have been more careful, how he shouldn’t have let you leave his side this time. It wasn’t hard to see, even if he’d deny it till he was blue in the face if you’d said those very things you saw.
His eyes fall closed for a moment as the relief falls over him, his forehead pressing to yours as his jaw tenses. He feels the anger simmering in the pit of his stomach at the thought of what’d happened to you and at the very fact that he couldn’t do anything about it. Wasn’t there to help you. If he was, your hands wouldn’t be shaking so much and you wouldn’t have those tears in your eyes that pull at his heart every time he sees them. You wouldn’t be shifting on your feet as you try and stand on a messed up ankle and you wouldn’t have felt scared. You hadn’t said it but he knew you were.
You wouldn’t be hurt.
“You okay?” He asks instead, nose bumping yours softly in the close proximity.
“Take a wild guess, Winchester,” you said, lips quirking up in a soft smile.
He pulls back to look at you then, lips pursed as the crease between his brows deepens. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”
“Yeah, I do,” you say, getting yourself an eye roll.
You muster up the strength to push past him, all hobbles with just an ounce of balance as your face twists in immediate discomfort. The groan you try to muffle doesn’t get past green eyes behind you, especially not the gasp you’re quick to inhale when that ever familiar searing pain burns up the length of your leg. It was beyond you how you thought you could play it off, but even then you still didn’t give up your efforts.
“Y/n,” he started, a warning tone in his voice mixed with exasperation.
“I’m fine, Dean. I got it,” you insist, though the half cry leaving your lips right after is less than helping your case.
“Would you quit it with the macho tough guy act?” He says and you’re quick to flash him a glare. His brows raise and he throws his hands up. He was right and he knew it. “Come here, I’ll carry you.”
“Are you crazy?” Your glare remains as your head tilts, his hands dropping to his sides.
“Don’t be ridiculous, sweetheart, ‘m not letting you walk so deal with it.”
You sigh as a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, one you try desperately to stave off as you roll your eyes. He turns on his heel and squats down, head turning and brow raising as he waits. A huff sounds and so does a stifle noise of discomfort as you move, your hands pressing to his shoulders as you climb on his back. His hands rest behind your thighs as he stands tall, your arms wrapping around his neck as your head rests against his.
A quiet apology is immediate at the sound of your muffled complaints when your ankle is jostled more than you’d prefer, soft and sweet. You tightened your grip around him then, your chin resting on his shoulder as he kicked the busted door open, careful not to let it hit you.
The rain was drizzling outside as he started along the trail back to the car, the droplets cold against your skin as they pelted down over you at a steady pace.
“You’re taller than I thought,” you mumble, a teasing smile on your lips. “Maybe I should stop calling you short stack.”
His chuckle rumbles against you and you can’t see the grin on his face but boy was he sporting the sweetest smile as he shook his head at your words. “Oh really?”
“Yeah really,” you say, laughing to yourself. “But you are shorter than Sam, so I’m gonna have to take it back, short stack.”
He squeezes your good leg in playful retaliation, head shaking some more as he hikes you up further on his back. Even when you’re hurting you never miss the chance to pick on him and he swears you’re the embodiment of sunshine, he knows you are but he doesn’t know how he got so lucky.
“I meant it when I said you were a pain,” he says, his grin in his words.
You laughed then, one that has him smiling like a fool. You sigh softly, another laugh falling from your lips.
“I can’t believe I kicked my own ass,” you say, brows furrowing as you thought about it and his own laughter was immediate. It wasn’t all too amusing half an hour ago but in the current moment, it was kinda comical you will admit.
“You kicked mine too.”
You sigh, quiet and gentle as you look ahead over his shoulder. His stubble is rough against your cheek as your skin brushes against it, your hand that dangled over in front of him patting his chest.
“De?” You say softly, eyes focused on his boots with every step in the mud and gravel. He hummed. “You really are sweet.”
Sweet. It was something you called him often, something he’d beg to differ on because he feels you deserve more, but that isn’t even something he’d argue with you on. He knows full well he’d lose. But it’s got him smiling, one that only widens when you kiss his cheek and your smile presses into his skin, paired with a soft press of your lips to the corner of his mouth when he turns his head. He stops in his tracks and tips his head back, kissing you once, twice, three times before he turns once more and continues by the path.
It’s his wordless I love you, his wordless acceptance of your words as he’s got that goofy smile on his lips he’s glad you can’t see. You know you’ll be just fine as long as you’ve got him, and he knows he’s not going anywhere.
—
Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @dean-is-sams-apple-pie @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @campingmonkey
#dean winchester#dean winchester oneshot#dean winchester fanfiction#dean winchester fluff#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester x you#dean winchester fic#dean winchester imagine
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Riye (A Favor) - Alpha-17/f!Reader fic
Previous | Next | Masterlist
Third installment of my Alpha-17/fem!reader fic!
Word-Count: 3,100
Warnings: aggressive flirtation, Alpha is rude.
---
You carefully straightened the neckline of your shirt, eyes on the refresher mirror. It might be silly, but today marked a full month since you had come to Kamino, and you wanted to look your best.
Your outfit had survived the morning, despite a meeting with several Kaminoans who wanted updates on your progress. You had been able to deliver good news - that you were right on schedule - but a sense of doubt overshadowed any triumph you might have felt. The first deadline had been met, but the next one promised to step up the workload, and you were already feeling overwhelmed at the idea.
Still, you were determined to push the negativity out of your mind. You would figure out a better schedule to complete the work later. Today was a celebration.
The bad thing about taking more care with your appearance was that it attracted more attention than usual from the cadets. You had politely turned away two different groups of young men by the time Alpha was due to arrive in the cafeteria. Another cadet - alone, this time - was doing his best to keep from being dismissed as well.
"Was it raining when you came in, ma’am?" he asked, leaning over you. "I have flight drills after this and it gets even more dangerous in the rain."
You did your best not to smile at the obvious way he was hinting about being a pilot. "You know, I think it was raining the last time I was near a window," you told him, voice grave.
"Then I'm going to need some luck to survive," he said dramatically, flashing you a smile he clearly hoped would be charming. "I've heard a kiss from a beautiful woman is a good start. What do you think? It might help me survive the afternoon."
"I wouldn't count on it," a dark voice warned.
The cadet stood as straight as possible as Alpha approached. The captain brushed your new pilot friend aside with a twist of his armored shoulders and sat down. He proceeded to start eating, ignoring the cadet completely.
Any other cadet would have backed away, thankful that Alpha hadn't decided to throw them directly into the oceans of Kamino, but this one was more determined than most.
He winked at you from behind Alpha's head. "By the way, my name is-"
"She doesn't want to know your name," Alpha told him. "Get out of here before I decide that I want to know it."
"Very flattering, Captain," the cadet said cheekily. "But Jango's face isn't the one I want to wake up to, yeah?"
Alpha swallowed his mouthful of food and deliberately set his fork aside, standing slowly from the table. He drew up to his full height before turning around. He was taller than the cadet, forcing the younger man to look up.
"Now I'm extremely interested," Alpha said slowly, his slow and methodical voice dripping with menace. "What's your designation?"
Behind him, you winced. You hated how glaringly obvious it was that the Kaminoans considered these men products. Also, this cadet might die in front of you and that would almost certainly ruin your ability to eat in the cafeteria anymore.
"CT-7115," the cadet said with a grin.
"Ah, part of Zackra Trem's group." Alpha raised his comlink. "Trem."
"Alpha," a female voice returned immediately.
"I've got one of your pilot cadets here in the cafeteria. 7115."
"Broadside," Trem said, clearly recognizing the number. "He's one of my best, Alpha. Don't break him too badly."
"No promises," Alpha replied, turning slightly back toward Broadside. Since you were seated directly behind Alpha, you couldn't see his expression yourself, but it was enough to make Broadside's grin slip for the first time.
"I'll make you a deal," Trem offered. "I'll give him hell here and then send him back to you tonight. I'm sure he could help you demonstrate something unpleasant to your ARCs."
Alpha considered that for a long moment while Broadside shifted uncomfortably. Eventually, he conceded, "That works."
Trem laughed. "Do I even wanna know what he did to you?"
"Harassed an uninterested female."
The laughter emanating from the comlink's speakers cut off abruptly. "In that case, I think we should coordinate punishments. I'll be in touch, Captain."
The transmission cut off suddenly and Alpha looked at Broadside once more. "You had best get to your training, son."
Broadside, looking suddenly concerned, nodded and hurried away. “What was that?” you asked quietly when Alpha had sat down across from you once more.
“I told his superior officer about his behavior.”
“What more than that?” you pressed.
Alpha grinned suddenly, and it was half a snarl. “It just so happens that his superior officer is Zackra Trem. It’s not my story to tell, but she’s got more reason than most to hate that kind of osik behavior.”
You could very well guess the rest of that story. Your heart twisted for Trem, though you had never met her. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Nice, but she wouldn’t appreciate the sentiment,” Alpha told you, not unkindly. “Feel sorry for your little pilot. She’s a Weequay who ran with Mandalorians for the past few decades. Whatever she makes him do, it won’t be pleasant.”
You chuckled at that, trying not to actually feel sorry for Broadside. In the time you had been hanging around Alpha, most of the cadets had eased up a bit on flirting, but every now and then, someone crossed the line.
Alpha picked his fork up again and shot you an intense look. “Why are you dressed like that?”
Though your immediate instinct was to be embarrassed about being overdressed, even mildly, you rolled your eyes at him. “Anything looks like too much when everyone else wears uniforms all of the time. Remember that day I wore a necklace?”
“Yeah, I remember,” Alpha said, snorting. “A necklace. What are you, a Senator?”
“Your ideas of fancy clothing are extremely skewed, I hope you know that,” you told him, adjusting your collar again.
“Hazards of the job,” Alpha replied with a casual shrug as he returned his focus to his food. “Looks okay, though.”
You paused, staring openly at him. Had Alpha just complimented you? Surely not… The universe wouldn’t survive such unexpected behavior, not without signs that space was collapsing in on itself.
Alpha noticed you watching him and lifted an eyebrow in question while he chewed. You just shook your head and applied yourself to your own lunch, avoiding his curious eyes. Explaining your thought process there would be an intensive effort, especially if your goal was to keep him from being uncomfortable.
Fortunately, avoiding Alpha’s eyes let you notice the approaching cadet sooner than your companion did, and you had time to brace yourself before the young man - even younger than you were used to seeing - opened his mouth.
“Excuse me-”
“Kriff,” Alpha said loudly, dark brows crashing down over his eyes. “Go away, kid. I’ve already ruined one cadet’s day and I have no problem adding to the list. She doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“N-no, sir, of course not,” the cadet told him, nodding respectfully at you as he went on. “I wanted to talk to you. Is it true you served with General Kenobi?”
"What?" Alpha asked, sounding uncertain for the first time since you had met him. You quirked your brows, unsure of whether to be amused or concerned.
"General Kenobi," the cadet repeated. "And General Skywalker, too! I heard you went on a mission with both of them. What was it like?"
"Look, kid, I don't have time to answer all your questions about Jedi-"
"That's fine!" the cadet told him. "I already know everything there is to know about the Jedi. I want to know more about your experience, specifically."
The muscles in Alpha's jaw flexed and you quickly interrupted. "What's your name?"
"Dogma, ma'am," the cadet told you, making an apologetic face. "I know names are against regulations, but my batchers won't stop calling me that. My designation is CT-4287."
“Nice to meet you, Dogma,” you said politely.
Dogma's cheeks darkened and he gave a tight nod. "You too, ma'am."
"Stop flirting with the poor boy," Alpha chided and you gaped at the captain. So much for trying to help him.
"Dogma, I'm sure Captain Alpha would love to answer any question you have," you told the young cadet, grinning triumphantly at Alpha.
"Wait," Alpha ordered, catching at your wrist before you could stand up. His hand was ridiculously huge and you found yourself shackled by his gentle grip. "You haven't finished eating."
You grinned wider at him, slipping your wrist out from between his fingers. "I'll take it with me. Have fun, you two!"
Dogma gave a half-hearted wave while Alpha glared.
---
The rest of the afternoon was spent locked away in your office, working on the second major project you had to complete. Your concerns about the deadline were unfortunately proving correct. The icy grip of stress and fear were squeezing your heart, and you were honestly relieved when someone knocked on the door of your office.
“One moment!” you called to the unseen visitor, but they didn’t seem to hear you. Instead, they continued to pound on the door until you opened it. You were unsurprised to see Alpha on the other side, glowering down at you.
“You’re mean for a nat-born,” he grumbled, brushing you aside as he pushed into the office.
After letting the door slide closed once more, you followed him over to your desk and plopped down in your chair. Rather than sit in one of the chairs opposite you, Alpha leaned his hip against the side of your desk, much closer than you were comfortable with.
In a show of belligerence, you crossed your arms and lifted your chin as you replied, “Serves you right for being rude about my outfit.”
“I didn’t say anything bad about your clothes!” Alpha denied, befuddled.
“Yeah, well, you didn’t say anything nice about them, either,” you argued childishly, conveniently forgetting his half-compliment at lunch.
Alpha frowned. “You want me to… talk about clothing with you?”
Well. Put that way, it did sound a little silly. Of all of the things you were sure Alpha did well, deep discussions about fashion might be beyond him. Honestly, they might be beyond you, too. You sighed. “No, I don’t want you to talk about clothing with me, but I was trying to look nice today. I put a lot of effort into this.”
“I don’t understand why,” Alpha said. “You look… fine… every other day.”
“Fine,” you repeated dryly. “Thanks, I was going for fine.”
“I don’t understand what I did wrong.” You were able to hear the growing frustration in his voice. “What do you want me to do?”
“Maybe don’t act like I’m wearing a ballgown to work if I show up wearing a necklace!”
“What is a ballgown?”
You stared at Alpha, the simple question making your brain screech to a halt. It was like a chasm had opened between you, and it made you reconsider a few things. Since you had arrived on Kamino, you had treated the clone troopers as if they were people you might meet out in the galaxy, but that wasn’t exactly true. You still believed that they were people - of course you did - but you were only just coming to realize how different they were from anyone you had ever met. While the troopers shared their own experiences on Kamino and had been trained to be perfect soldiers by the time they shipped out, they were startlingly young by the standards of the rest of the galaxy.
“You know what? It doesn’t matter.” You fiddled with one of the many datapads littering your desk rather than meet Alpha’s intense gaze. “I am sorry for siccing Dogma on you, though.”
“You should be,” he growled. “He asked ten questions before I could shake him off. Ten!”
“Wow, that’s what? Five days worth of questions?” you teased.
“Five days for you,” Alpha told you seriously. “For anyone else, that’s more than I would ever answer.”
You were unreasonably touched by the reminder that Alpha let you learn things about him that no one else would ever know. Moved by a sudden surge of warmth for the ARC captain, you repeated your prior sentiment, but more fervently. “In that case, I honestly apologize for unleashing Dogma. If there’s anything I can do to make him back off, please let me know.”
Alpha’s stare was level and unwavering. “Yeah?”
“Of course,” you agreed immediately, not understanding what a wildly stupid idea that was. That was fine - you would learn… and it didn’t take long.
That night at dinner, Alpha came in and sat across from you, but instead of starting the meal in silence, he leaned across the table slightly to get your attention. Lowly, he asked, “Are you still willing to help me with Dogma?”
“Yes,” you agreed simply. “Do you have a plan?”
“Yeah. Flirt with me.”
You fought not to react visibly to that. Carefully keeping your face blank and your voice flat, you replied, “What.”
He leaned even closer, eyes lit with excitement. “I’ve been threatening and trying to alienate Dogma all day, but the only time he was uncomfortable was when you flirted with him.”
“I didn’t flirt with him!” you reminded him. “I just said it was nice to meet him.”
“Fine,” Alpha conceded. “We’ll just have to do better than that if we’re going to convince him to leave me alone.”
Abruptly feeling like this was the worst idea anyone had ever had, you tried to speak in your own defense. “Alpha, I don’t think this is a good idea-”
“You said you would help me,” he reminded firmly. “He’ll be here in a minute. I need your answer.”
Your heart was pounding, one of many warnings that this was a bad idea, but you nodded anyway. Alpha smiled - he actually smiled - and the expression looked menacing on his face. “Good.”
In a moment, he had circled the table to sit beside you, his huge frame making you feel ridiculously tiny in comparison. He wasn't wearing any armor at all now, and you could feel the heat of his skin through what little space there was between you.
You tried not to obviously tense as he spoke next to your ear. "There he is, get ready."
Impossibly, Alpha managed to get closer to you, tugging behind your knee slightly so that you were angled toward him. When he had finished posing you, Alpha’s large hand lifted to cradle your face. His fingers brushed over your cheekbone before trailing down to your jaw.
"My little neverd," he murmured to you, face filled with affection.
You didn't have to feign embarrassment at the warmth in his tone matched with the intense eye contact he was giving you. When you replied, you tried not to sound squeaky but only managed to sound shaky instead. "You know Mando'a is my weakness."
He laughed, a low chuckle that sent delicious chills running over your skin. “Why do you think I use it?”
“Alpha…” you chided, managing to sound mildly flirtatious.
“Come on, little one,” he urged you, voice velvet in a way you hadn’t known it could be. “Let’s go back to your- Ah, one moment, neverd. Dogma, sit down.”
You looked over to see Dogma standing at the other side of the table. You had never even noticed, your entire focus narrowed down to Alpha. Dogma looked as embarrassed as you felt. While you were focused on Dogma, Alpha’s arm snaked around you, pressing against your waist to pull you flush against his side. Your face flamed and Dogma glanced away.
“Sir, I- I’m sorry, I forgot I’m on duty tonight,” Dogma muttered, speaking so quickly it was difficult to understand him.
“Sorry to hear that, cadet,” Alpha replied gravely, flexing his fingers against your side. It made you push a little closer to him in reflex, the tip of your nose brushing the space under his jaw as you tried to look up at him. Alpha shivered, and you weren’t sure how much of the motion was acting. “Maybe later.”
Dogma gave an awkward nod and hurried off.
Alpha started laughing even before he let you go, his muscular chest shaking against your shoulder. After a moment that felt like it had stretched an hour, he pulled his arm back and slid away a bit. You immediately felt the loss of his closeness and suddenly you were horribly uncertain of what expression you were wearing. Just in case it said more than you wanted it to, you looked back at the entrance of the cafeteria.
“I feel bad,” you admitted.
"Don't," Alpha advised, looking toward the door as well. “He’ll be fine. He’s a good soldier, just a little…”
He trailed off, apparently content to let his thought stay incomplete. You glanced over to him with an eyebrow raised, but his eyes were fixed on the door. “You can see every access point in the room from here.”
“That is why I chose this spot,” you agreed.
“Switch with me tomorrow.”
“Not a chance,” you refused. “This is my spot.”
“Then I hope you like sitting next to me,” Alpha told you. Surprised, you laughed up at him and he met your eyes. “You know, I’ve never seen anyone blush on cue.”
“Hidden talent,” you explained vaguely. Alpha didn’t seem convinced, so you changed the subject. “What does neverd mean?”
“Civilian.”
You laughed before you could stop yourself. “Civilian? That’s what you used as a term of endearment?”
Alpha blinked blankly at you. “What’s wrong with it? You are a civilian.”
“Yes, but,” you thought over it for a second, “-it’s not very romantic. Usually, people say things like ‘dear’ or ‘sweetheart’.”
“How should I have known that?” Alpha asked.
It was the ballgown situation all over again, and more than you were willing to tackle that day. “Well, some warning before you want me to go undercover would be helpful.”
Alpha snorted. “How much warning do you need?”
You pretended to consider that for a moment. “Two business days, minimum.”
He frowned fiercely. “If you get two full days of warning, I expect more. I need you to show up in a disguise with three different accents ready.”
“Harsh terms,” you told him with a smile. “With those negotiation skills, you’d make a great senator."
Alpha gave you the darkest scowl you had ever seen him muster. “Watch it, neverd.”
Idly, you wondered if Alpha would protect you from himself, but the amused glimmer in his dark eyes told you it would be unnecessary.
---
A/N - Pretty sure Broadside is wildly OOC, my bad. Also, sorry for the weird image for this chapter. I didn't really want the text bubbles in there, but I needed to keep Alpha's sassy hip lean.
Taglist - @imabeautifulbutterfly @cagrame @mysticalturtleenthusiast @marvel-starwars-nerd @lackofhonor
#star wars#star wars fic#star wars fanfiction#star wars the clone wars#prequel era#reader insert#alpha 17#alpha 17 fic#alpha 17 x you#alpha 17 x reader#star wars reader insert#clone trooper dogma#dogma#captain alpha 17#broadside#clone troopers deserve better#more to come#gar cabur#Gar Cabur
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Caught (Bakugou Katsuki x Reader)
ari0425
said:
Hi! Um I was wondering if you could write a Domestic Bakugou where they were doing the do and there two kids caught them? Just wondering😁
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Word Count: 1,675
Rated: Explicit
Warnings: slight smut, bad language, slight edging
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Yooooo, I had so much fun writing this lmao. I literally love writing all things Bakugou as a husband! It’s kinda short and it might be shitty lol so I apologize in advance. @ari0425 I hope I wrote this to your liking!😭😭😭 sorry it’s so late! Obviously requests are open and I’ll try and get to as much of them as I can. I’m so sorry for not being as active with my own content, life has just been super busy for me😭 My best friend is coming over tomorrow to chop off my hair so hopefully that goes well lol, and I will be officially out of my boot (hopefully) in the next week! I’ve honestly been walking on the broken technically since last week since it wasn’t hurting so hopefully I didn’t fuck anything up. Guess I’ll find out in a week! ANYWAY, I hope you guys have a wonderful weekend and don’t be shy about any comments or requests! I literally adore you all so much and I’m so very thankful and happy you guys like reading my shit💕💕💕🤗 stay happy and safe!
~~~~
“Why not?” Bakugou growled, his muscular arms folding across his chest. The sudden movement distracted you for a moment, and you couldn’t help but appreciate your husband’s strength.
His bulging arm muscles were thick and taut as they rested across his chest, his broad shoulders exposed to your greedy eyes; tank tops were designed with your husband’s physique in mind, you were sure of it. But you were also sure that he knew exactly what he was doing, because a smirk began to tug at his lips.
“I told you Katsuki, we have a busy day tomorrow with the kids.” You sighed, folding your own arms over your chest, your back leaning against the counter, an eyebrow raised; challenging the large hero before you.
His smirk dropped, a large scowl now taking its place. “It’s always about the fucking kids.”
You rolled your eyes at his statement.
Despite the rough words, you knew what he meant. Bakugou adored his children, he was a doting father, in his own way; but everyone knew that he would go to the ends of the earth for his children, he would protect them and cherish them no matter what. The minute he knew that you were pregnant, both times, he had never been happier. Bakugou could account for the five happiest times in his life, when you agreed to go out with him, when he became a pro hero, when you married him, and when you gave birth to his beautiful daughter, and then his beautiful son.
So, while his children were his pride and joy, sometimes… sometimes… he just wanted them to fucking go away.
He couldn’t remember the last time he was able to have you all to himself, and fuck, did he miss you. He craved having all of your undivided attention, being able to be alone with you. It had been far too long.
“Why can’t they go have a sleepover at Deku’s with his kids?” he huffed angrily.
You rolled your eyes again. “We can’t just pawn off our children to Izuku whenever you want to get your dick wet Katsu. Besides, they all hung out last week, when you and Izuku had that call about the hostage situation. I watched all of them.”
His eyes flashed in annoyance at your statement, his tall frame stalking over to you. You could never get used to how big Bakugou was compared to your small frame, his entire being radiated strength and power, it made you feel safe, secure… and most of all, it made you nervous.
Not because you were scared of him, far from it, but because it had been a long time since the last time you two were intimate. The physical aspect of your relationship was always there, always important to you, but recently it had just been hard to find the time to be together in that way, especially with how clingy your son started being, and how your daughter was involved in more activities at school that needed attention.
You could feel your heart racing as he towered over you, his large arms caging you in as his hands rested against the counter top on either side of your body, forcing you to meet his gaze.
“I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me princess, it’s not just me that wants to get my dick wet. I’m sure you’ve been wanting to use that mouth for other things than just back talking to me.” He said lowly, his voice deep and dark, one of his hands came up to grab at your jaw, the rough pad of his thumb rubbed gently against your lower lip.
Your breath hitched in your throat, a familiar ache beginning to settle at the bottom of your stomach.
How did you get such a gorgeous husband?
“So, let’s just drop off the shitty kids with the old lady and be together already.” he finished, his fingers sliding down, wrapping themselves easily around your throat. He squeezed his fingers carefully, but there was enough pressure that caused a soft whimper to escape your lips. Bakugou sneered down at you, he knew your body far too well, knew exactly how to touch you to make you bend to his will.
But when your mind finally registered what he had said, a large scowl covered your lips, the arousal you were feeling simmering down dramatically.
“Don’t call our kids shitty, and we are not dropping them off with your mom when she just saw them yesterday. You either calm yourself down Katsuki or I’m not going to touch you for an even longer time.” you threatened, your palm resting flat against his muscular chest.
He growled angrily, stepping back away from you and shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “Why are you denying me so much? You fucking shit, aren’t you supposed to be taking care of your husband?”
“Shut up and go set the table Katsuki.” You sighed, turning towards the stove to finish dinner.
It was silent for a moment, and then his large arms wrapped carefully around your waist, hugging you softly to his muscular body.
A soft smile tugged at your lips when you felt his plush lips gently press against your cheek, and then he was gone. You turned to look at him stalk out of the kitchen and into the living room, probably to go round-up the kids.
Bakugou Katsuki might be rough, but underneath that hard exterior that man was entirely soft when it came to you and his kids.
****
This wasn’t how you imagined this morning going.
Soft moans were being muffled by hungry kisses, the sound of ruffling sheets and skin slapping against one another surrounded the quiet room.
Perfection.
That was this was.
“Fuck, you feel so perfect wrapped around my cock princess.” Bakugou growled, his hips thrusting deep into your core.
You whimpered softly, your eyes rolling into the back of your head at the immense amount of pleasure. He filled you to the brim, your tight heat engulfing him completely.
This was what he had been missing, what you had been missing. The pleasure, the intimacy of feeling each other’s bare bodies sliding against one another, it was all too much.
“Katuski, w-wait…” You panted out, your hands grabbing at his broad shoulders, sliding down to hold onto his forearms, the familiar pressure was beginning to bubble up again, filling you up and aching to break through.
“Again? This is your third one princess, did you miss my cock that much?” he mocked you, one of his hands reaching down to rub at your clit, ghosting over the bundle of nerves, not quite putting pressure down, but the touch alone was enough to cause your body to arch up off of the bed in pleasure. You could feel tears prickling at your eyes, your body aching for release, except now that Bakugou knew that you were close, he was going to drag it out as much as possible.
The cruel bastard.
“Katsuki please,” you cried, his thrusts slowing down, he dragged his member out of your body before pressing back into your tight heat deeply, savoring every second of your begging, of your wet core.
“Beg harder princess.” he growled out, a sadistic smirk etching itself onto his lips. “I want to hear you beg for it.”
A whimper tore through your lips at his cruel words and slow pace.
You ached for release now, no words being able to form in your mouth, which didn’t sit well with Bakugou since he gave a particular hard and deep thrust at your silence.
His thumb suddenly pressed down hard against your clit, rubbing fast and rough, causing a jolt of pleasure to ripple through your body.
You felt it then, the wall cracking as your release began to build up and up and…
“Mama?”
You and Bakugou froze, both of your heads snapping over to the small child that stood near the now open door. Your son rubbed at his eyes sleepily, his teddy bear dragged against the ground in his other hand.
You would’ve thought it was the most adorable sight you had ever seen, except for the fact that your husband was still buried deep inside of you. You silently thanked the universe for the fact that the sheets were still wrapped around your guys’ body, covering you up completely.
Your son looked at you in confusion for a second, taking in the scene before his little three-year-old eyes and then…
His face turned angry. He was the spitting image of Bakugou, except for the eyes and his personality, that took after you.
“Wow really?” your daughter suddenly appeared at the door, looking at you guys in disgust. While your son might look like your husband, your daughter looked just like you, minus the hair and her personality. Those of which she inherited from her father.
The personality part was a bit unfortunate, especially considering how much she and Bakugou butted heads, especially now that she had just turned nine.
“Get off my mama!” Your son began to yell. “You are hurting her!”
Your eyes widened in surprise and you watched as your son began taking a step towards you guys only for your daughter to grab his hand.
“She’s fine.” She said curtly. “Let’s go watch cartoons. Leave mama and shitty papa alone right now.”
Your lips twitched in amusement at her words, she was definitely Bakugou’s first born, that much was obvious.
“Oi, you shitty fucking brat what did you just call me!?” Bakugou growled, a tick mark appearing above his head as he looked at his children.
“Shitty papa.” Your daughter said simply and closed the door as she walked off with her brother in tow.
“What the fuck! Who the fuck taught you that word you little shit!?” Bakugou screamed out.
Laughter bubbled up through your lips, causing Bakugou to scream at you next for laughing.
But you couldn’t help it, your heart was entirely full right now.
#bakugou katsuki#bakugou x reader#bakugo smut#bakugou smut#bakugou fluff#bakugo fluff#bakugo katsuki#bakugou katsuki x reader#bakugou katsuki x you#bakugo katsuki x reader#bakugo katsuki x you#bnha x reader#bnha smut#bnha bakugou katsuki#my hero academia#bakugou imagine#bakugou requests#noya one shot#pro hero bakugou#pro hero bakugo#husband bakugou#husband bakugo#requests are open#requests are welcome
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a/n: in which mirio and tamaki come together for the one they adore.
warnings: gn!reader, established relationship, university au ua, quirk kink, kabeshiri, very mild yandere tamaki, masturbation, voyeurism, cum eating, forced oral, dubcon, reader is a little bitchy.
word count: 1.6k
Part of this was your own fault, but you knew that most of it was because your boyfriend just couldn't mask his emotions, no matter how hard he tried. When he was happy his smile was dazzling, when he was upset you could feel it radiating off of him--and when he was horny you just couldn't get away from him, even if it was the middle of the night and you knew his roommate was sleeping just on the other side of the thin dorm walls.
Mirio had his warm hands around your waist, his grip like steel while he was yanking you back to meet his thrusts and chasing that delicious pleasure he never got enough of. You were only lucky enough that you got to steady yourself against the wall, your face just a few inches from it and your thoughts distracted by the fact that you were definitely going to be walking weird afterwards. Absolute filth spewed from his lips, to the point that your boyfriend swatted your ass with an open palm just to make you whimper--and when you did, and his name rolled around on your tongue, that was when you felt your balance start to shift and your eyes widened in shock as you fell face-first into the wall. But instead of bashing your nose and reprimanding him for it afterwards, you pitched forwards and went straight through it like it was made of nothing but air, only for the feeling to tighten around your waist and cause you to realize that you were stuck from the waist down.
“Mirio! Don’t just sit there, get me-!”
You hoped at once that you wouldn't get caught, that the lump of blankets on the bed you hovered over was empty and Tamaki had gotten up to use the toilet--but then they moved, and he sat up with a jolt, and your face burned even brighter as the covers slid off him and you were met with a sight you thought you'd never see.
“T-Tamaki-?!”
Your boyfriend's best friend whom you'd seen on so many occasions, the one who would quietly smile and wave whenever you entered their dorm, who would use his manners whenever you offered him food, who seemed to be a shy but upstanding young man...his clothes had been abandoned at the foot of his bed, and he sat with a hand wrapped around his cock that twitched to attention as soon as you laid your eyes on it.
"P-Please, don't-!"
His voice cracked behind chattering teeth, but Mirio cut off whatever plea he had in mind as he called out to you from the other side of the wall, where your lower half still remained.
"Honey? Is Tamaki there? What's he doing?"
The question was too blunt and you were in no mind to try and decide whether to make up an answer or not, so you just let your response spill out.
"He--mmph!"
Pouncing on you at the last second, Tamaki clapped a hand over your mouth and frantically tried to shush you. His palm smelled of sweat and tasted as such when your lips parted on instinct and your tongue met warm skin.
"I'm sorry..."
He whispered, eyes alight with fear more intense than usual. Tamaki had crouched by your side to catch your mistake and because of it, you had a full view between his legs that he only then seemed to realize. He rushed to use his free hand to grab his covers, or maybe a discarded piece of clothing to throw over himself--but only until the worst happened. You felt your boyfriend shift forward, and his roommate's eyes widened like saucers as Mirio's face popped out from the wall in his most typical fashion.
For a moment silence reigned over the bedroom, and though it was ladened heavily with tension you would have preferred it to what Mirio blurted out.
"Tamaki? What are you doing?"
Caught. Tamaki was done, as far as his expression went. Terror gripped his features in seconds and he pulled his hand off of you, shuffling as far away as he could on his tiny little dorm mattress. Excuses rose up and died on his tongue half-formed, words falling away sooner than he could catch them but it was obvious that he knew that Mirio knew exactly what he had been up to. The walls were thin. The only question was how long he had been doing it under your noses.
But while you and undoubtedly Tamaki as well imagined what his punishment might be, or whether the blond might throw him out completely and renounce their friendship--something had evidently been brewing in Mirio's mind, something that would start with him reaching through the wall with his quirk and grabbing Tamaki by both of his arms.
"W-Wait-!"
No hesitation whatsoever, Mirio yanked his best friend forward so far that Tamaki himself plunged face first into the wall--and with his cheek pressed uncomfortably against it, you were left with little room to get away from his hips sidling up right against your face, and his cock thudding against your cheek from how closely he was forced to move.
"Mmph-! M-Mirio-!"
With the sweat and musk invading your senses and the firmness of his flesh grinding against your smooth skin, you struggled not to open your mouth too much to avoid anything further...but that didn't seem to be an option once Mirio bucked into you from behind, and the moan that ripped through you so suddenly caused your lips to part around the base of Tamaki's spit-shined dick. Thin, wiry hairs scratched at your skin and the heady smell of him was starting to make you feel woozy, and it only got worse when Mirio loosened his grip for Tamaki to pull himself away only to yank him back--and this time, you didn't even have the chance to close your mouth when he slipped by your lips and bashed the back of your throat by accident. It didn't feel like it was entirely though, considering the stuttery mess of sounds that fluttered from Tamaki's throat at your mouth enveloping him in warmth that his hand could never match.
Perhaps those sounds weren't entirely normal for him, though, because before you could bat an eyelash or close your lips around him he was thrusting against you in sharp, short little bursts, until he couldn't take it another moment and spilled himself down your throat without warning in a searing flash flood. Cum jetted towards your stomach and you choked, gagged, coughed around the cock that was already making your jaw ache, but he couldn't be moved for anything and he settled in like cement with a deep sigh as he fed you every last drop he had saved up. He must have been edging for so long, you thought briefly--but did it matter? Tamaki was a dirty pervert and now you'd have to live with the fact that you swallowed his cum like some weird slut. You still weren't over the fact that he had been jerking off to you, even if Mirio was part of the picture as well. Or maybe that made it especially strange.
"Sweetie? Are you okay?"
You muffled a weak reply around the softening mass of flesh tucked into your mouth, bitterness spreading over your tongue at some of the excess that spilled over. Mirio rubbed his warm hands over your hips to calm you, his own cock still twitching within you...and Tamaki's palms came to rest in your hair, his body no longer pinned up to the wall like some demented man intent on peeking on his neighbors.
"...I think Tamaki has a crush on you, honey. I had a feeling he'd be listening…so maybe you should help him out one more time? Just to get it out of his system?"
If you could talk, you would have a million questions--but not only was Tamaki making it impossible with the way he stuffed your mouth full, but Mirio was rolling his hips in an effort to distract you, soft grunts and mewling of your name as he let his cock catch on your rim before sinking it slowly back in, and feeding you every inch like your body was swallowing him itself. It was a curse that Mirio didn't even have to bother with messing around with your more sensitive bits, since he could bring you as much pleasure as you could take with just his cock and a few sweet words.
"I-I'll last longer this time...I pr-promise!"
Tamaki's plea alone was enough to warn you that this was all a big ploy. Mirio was never so careless and Tamaki was never this bold. Idiot boys thinking that they could get away with setting you up like this just pissed you off….but even if you were going to chew them out later, and maybe even deny Mirio any more privileges for a couple days, you might as well enjoy the pleasure they were offering up for now. Just like you would do any time you and Mirio snuck away on your mock patrols, you flicked your tongue against one of the thick veins on Tamaki's shaft and he melted instantly. So sensitive it was almost pathetic, and Mirio wasn't much better--he couldn't even wait once he heard his best friend moaning through the wall, and smacked you from behind just to feel you tighten up as he rocked into you like he was just so desperate.
"Last longer" your ass, they wouldn't be able to keep it in for a couple minutes considering the filth that spewed from Mirio's mouth and trembled under Tamaki's breath. Maybe you could get away with a bit of harmless guilt-tripping for this "accident" of sorts….but only once they at least tried to make the person you never realized they had been fighting over cum.
#mirio togata#mirio togata x reader#mirio x reader#yandere tamaki amajiki#yandere tamaki amajiki x reader#yandere tamaki x reader#bnha#yandere bnha#yandere lemon#love-toxin kinktober#kinktober 2020#love-toxin
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cacoethes
part two: bring your sweet loving
rating: E (18+ ONLY) || pairing: ezra x f!reader || word count: 10.5k
chapter summary: as the night winds down and tensions simmer, we learn more about you, pieces of your past, and your relationship with ezra.
warnings: ezra’s gigantic mouth that won’t shut up (suggestive language) and two criminals not knowing how to act; caretaking, i guess? reader cleans ezra but it’s nothing erotic; SMUT; handjob and graphic depictions of a glorious dick; dirty talk; dubcon maybe bc painkillers but he’s enthusiastic abt it; praise kink; switches having a great time; ezra’s subby in this but i promise he’s a dom too just not tonight; mentions of death, killing, tattoos, scars; mention of past drug use, bad coping mechanisms; mm i hc that ezra is a tiny tattoo guy so there’s that; fluff bc im sweet; author is a southern peach, forgive her if it gets a little slow and twangy up in here
a/n: un-beta’d bc mistakes are sexy. i’ll go back later and fix whatever i find but for now. enjoy. i’m literally just making shit up about this universe as we go but it’s working out for the best so bear with me. lmk if u want me to add u to be tagged here. tagging: @pedros-mustache @jk7789
crossposted to ao3 :) || playlist || one || two || three
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“Here, Cee,” you said, adjusting the threadbare blanket over your cot and splaying a hand over it while she eyed you from across the tent, still standing amongst the carnage of a violent field surgery, “I’ll sleep on the floor tonight.”
The poor girl was scared. Well—not scared, not anymore.
Vengeful, for certain, though it seemed to dwindle with every minute she watched you interact.
Definitely wary of the two of you.
Which was appropriate, given that Ezra had killed her father and left her alone on an uninhabitable moon, only to be scooped up by his partner and deceived into thinking she was safe, and then forced to perform impromptu surgery to hack off an arm. But she appeared more wary to accept help from you than wary of you.
And honestly, if Ezra hadn’t just lost a limb and you didn’t want to hover beside him after not seeing him for a month to make sure he didn’t slip the veil in his sleep or disappear beneath your fingertips—and if you weren’t trying to earn her trust, you’d have made her take the floor.
But things were different now, they might always be. She had saved his life. You owed her your cot to sleep on.
“Wait,” Ezra said, swallowing thickly as he blinked, seeming to just process the words you had spoken, “You think so little of me that I’d let you sleep on the dirt after the day you’ve had? Now, I agree that our guest should find comfort in a cot of her own, but I will not deny you the simple respite of sleep. That would prove me an unworthy companion.”
“Ezra,” you said, giving him a look of incredulity that seeped into your tone, “You can’t be serious.”
He eyed you and clenched his jaw, still stomaching the fact that he had one less limb to worry about, and a bunch more problems to deal with. It was a look that told you he was not arguing with you, you were going to sleep on the cot. He would not be coddled like a child just because he lost an arm.
Which was, in itself, ridiculous. You didn’t plan to coddle him—you weren’t the type, not really. But. He’d lost a fucking arm. But he was also still delirious from the anesthetic, so that didn’t help his desire to prove something to the universe.
“You’re taking the cot, I’m not having this conversation,” you said, wiping his sweaty brow with your sleeve, “Tap into the ruthless outlaw inside of you and take it without regret. You know I hardly sleep anyways, I’ll live without a bed for the night.”
“Then I must insist you share it with me, precious angel,” he sighed, and you could almost see the cogs in his head turning as his distant gaze darkened into something hungry, “I’ve longed to feel your body pressed against mine since I left with Number Two. The divinity of your skin.” He hummed, eyes fluttering shut, “More…more precious than the ore we risk our lives for. Sweeter than fruit. Fresher than a rainstorm.”
“Ez,” you warned, snapping a glare at him.
“Your body…so tender, warm,” he continued, entranced in his own fantasy, not even hearing you when you warned him yet again, “All soft and pliant beneath my touch. It has been far too long since we partook in a pleasure as indulgent as one another—before our partnership with Two, if I can recall. Grant me heaven tonight. I deserve the satisfaction of watching you drip honey for me—”
“Hey! None of that,” you snapped, cocking an eyebrow—and fighting the flutter in your chest and the heat tingling down your core, “There are young ears present, Shakespeare Erotica. Not to mention young eyes.”
You would do no such thing with him as long as this teenager remained in close quarters and under your care. He turned to look at Cee, as if he’d forgotten all about her for a moment. Or maybe it was that he didn’t care. Bastard.
“I’m okay as long as you guys don’t fuck in front of me,” Cee sighed, resigned to have dealt with too much in her past to be worried about flirting—no, verbal-fucking.
“We won’t be doing any of that,” you assured her, giving Ezra another pointed look before slinging his arm around your shoulders and helping him to the cot. He grumbled incoherently, moaning and groaning the few steps it took to ease him down into the squeaky frame.
When you finally got him down—forced him to lay down—he let out another soft whimper of pain, followed by your name. “Don’t go.”
Brushing the hair off his sweaty forehead, you bent down to press a kiss there, “M’right here, Ez. Rest. I’m gonna clean you up, okay?”
It was the least you could do—and that way you could take inventory of every inch of him to ensure he didn’t have any other wounds hiding and festering and threatening his life. Just as this wouldn’t be your first time tending to him while he laid incapacitated, he’d done the same for you plenty of times. There was very little, if anything at all, the two of you hadn’t seen of each other. Vulnerability had another name here: normalcy.
“After—” he rasped up at you, coughing and then righting himself, “After we find our way off this Kevva-damned moon—which we will—I understand if you no longer deem me…worthy of your affections. It’s the only explanation I can find for your denial of my offer to dote on you. I only pray you make good on your long-standing promise to drop me where I stand should I ever disappoint you, dear heart of mine.”
Okay, you didn’t know where all the insecurity and sentiment was coming from, especially hearing it from the mouth of your dear old confident mean-streak Ezra, but he couldn’t possibly be serious. It made you ache to think that he didn’t trust you to stay with him, that he viewed himself as lesser because he lost his arm. Well, he was lesser, but only by mass.
Also, really? The only explanation he could find for you not wanting to sleep with him was that you hated him and didn’t want him because of his injury? He couldn’t think of any more glaringly obvious reasons, those of which had just been pointed out to him?
With a sigh, you brushed your thumb across the silvery scar on his cheek, “Rest now, chatterbox. I’ll be here when you wake up—and every morning after, for as long as I can. Only death could pry you from me, and me from you. You’ve got me, forever….I still see you as you are—a hundred percent you, a hundred percent mine.”
The words felt foreign on your lips, but he was bound to forget them the moment he fell asleep, so you didn’t feel as weird waxing poetic right back at him. The man had rubbed off on you in more ways than one. You normally didn’t speak to one another so frankly—at least, you didn’t, given the nature of what it meant to care out here and how you’d already unofficially established that you two were something more—but tonight you couldn’t fucking help it.
Ezra leaned into your touch, pawing at it with his hand, grabbing onto your fingers and kissing into your palm. A dull smile poked at his mouth and he let it engulf him. “Quite the charmer you are, siren.”
You didn’t respond, only half-smiled and wriggled—reluctantly—from his grasp to grab a few clean cloths and fill a bucket with water. After squirting the sanitizing solution in the water, you simmered the lights down to the lowest setting, to where your eyes had to adjust for a moment before you could make your way across the tent. His gaze bore into you—no, both Ezra and Cee watched every move you made; one in lazy admiration and the other in curiosity.
“Do you need me to put a drape over the post? I’m strippin’ him,” you asked Cee as you slung Ezra’s clean shirt from off the drying line onto your shoulder—you smiled at the floor, thanking yourself from hours ago for deciding not to burn it. You grabbed the bucket and tottered over to him, nodding at him to scoot. He obliged, giving you room to sit by his hip so you could ease his clothes off.
Cee shook her head when you looked to her for a response, opting to sit on your cot facing away from you with her nose in her book, so you shrugged and tugged the fabric off of Ezra in slow, deliberate motions, wincing every time he grunted.
As you took the time to clean off the grime and dirt and sweat of the Green, he told you about running into Cee and her father Damon; how he tried to take his entire harvest from the few cycles he’d spent with Two; about Two’s untimely, irrational outburst that cost them their life. About the Queen’s Lair and the mercs, and the plan to ravage and plunder and take it all for themselves. You thought the Queen’s Lair was a rumor. Not even a rumor—a myth, a legend, something fabricated by desperate fools with hazy minds of dust and their eyes set on fortune. But Ezra told you he’d seen part of it marked on Cee’s map, that her father was contracted to help extract the deposit. Cee even pulled her map out to point to the marked areas, albeit with clinical movements and short words.
So you made a plan to head out at first light, with the trip taking most of the daylight, and they’d be cutting it close but there was no way you’d let Ezra hike so many klicks in his state—not without a few hours’ rest first.
After you’d managed to clean his legs, his hips, his feet and get him into something more comfortable than compression pants, you moved to his torso and traced over each scar marring his skin, each jagged edge where something hadn’t healed right or wasn’t stitched properly. He’d lost some weight under the harsh conditions of the Green—you both had. But he still held onto muscle from the toil that came with survival on such harsh terrain; and he was naturally broad, he always would be, which made him sturdy.
Your fingers ghosted over a few microtattoos he’d gotten; one beneath his ribcage, one on his hipbone, and the one you’d given him yourself on his lower sternum. That one, as you brushed over it with a wet cloth, never failed to make you smile. A sad smile, but a smile nonetheless.
A tiny, unfilled heart, a mere outline, barely a centimeter in size. It was messy, simple, done in minutes. But it meant something, meant exactly what you’d never quite been able to voice.
My heart is yours. Take it.
You’d done it one night when the two of you had gone on a two spin bender, which happened more towards the end of your glory days, when the drugs came easy and heavy and the illusion of time slipped by like sand on the wind.
Any time someone hired your services as cleaners, it took a toll. They didn’t do it often because of that, but the payout was worth the work. No matter how many times you swore you would never do it again, you went back. Because it was hard to ignore the way it felt to flood a deserving someone’s mouth with the taste of their own blood, or to slip a knife in between their ribs and let it slide like butter and watch the light die. It was hard to ignore that you liked it, especially when it was so violent—one of the worst sins to commit, and you enjoyed it.
The act of killing had become cathartic for you. It made you feel more alive, reminded you that you had a beating, bloody heart, and a brain, and veins that pumped blood, and muscles that tore apart and rebuilt themselves stronger. Killing came easy when you didn’t know the target. It felt like a game.
Ezra didn’t enjoy it as much as you did—not to say he didn’t enjoy it at all, for he most certainly did. But he didn’t process it the same way you did. He saw killing as a means to survive and a means to get where he needed to go. He enjoyed turning it into a game, making fun out of whatever circumstance presented itself.
But that one—the last one—it had gone wrong. Messy, slow, noisy, choppy. There was only supposed to be one person in the house: typical target, a man who owed the wrong people a whole lot of money and refused to pay up.
One man.
One man was all you’d expected.
One man was all you’d been instructed would be in the condo.
He went down easy enough, quiet enough—Ezra snuffed him and stuffed him and you’d made to transfer his points into the right pockets.
And that was that.
They had tossed the bodybag over the high-rise balcony and into the pits of the bottomless highway next to the building, with a blinker-bomb inside just in case.
That was that.
Except it wasn’t, it was so fucking far from it.
Ezra, being himself, had wanted so bad to sneak in a quickie before heading back—an unholy, immoral ritual you two had initiated, to fuck where you killed—and who were you to protest? Who were you to say no to pretty words and soft eyes glittering with an untamed wild? To say no to the hands that already ripped at gear and pushed beneath underwear just to get a taste—you couldn’t, it was impossible.
Fresh off a high of adrenaline, pulsing with nervous energy—he was always so good, he always got you right where you needed and then that much further.
And Ezra—being himself—could not keep his fucking mouth shut. The stereotype about men holding in their moans, about them never whimpering or whining or groaning or grunting—yeah, that was a load of Bearkie-shit.
Maybe it held true for some men, but.
Not your Ezra. Not even a little bit.
He talked like heaven’s mouthpiece—or maybe the devil, given all the sinful things he’d whisper to you in the crux of any given night. He let loose whatever noise he deemed necessary to make.
They’d only just made it to the dried, bloody stain on the carpet (a bed on which to copulate), knocking over a floating hilolamp and pulling a chuckle from your paramour, when a shout rang through the apartment and shattered your moment into a thousand pieces.
It was only supposed to be one. One man.
Instead, you were met with another man who you’d later learn to be his brother, the target’s mother, and his pregnant wife.
The man held onto some type of curved sports bat, keeping it up threateningly as if warning you of something imposing. Ezra didn’t hesitate to shoot him in the head, not even bothering to get up from where he’d pressed his hips between your legs. But then you’d had to go and check the other rooms, effectively killing any mood the two of you had shared.
Because fuck, where the men had no fight in them, the women wouldn’t go down without a struggle. Or maybe it was that you pitied them, and it distracted you. They’d already peeked their heads out from behind the door of the master bedroom, worried and doe-eyed and determined.
Maybe if they hadn’t seen your faces—if they’d still been asleep while you swept for warm bodies after the first assailant—maybe they’d have gotten out with their lives. But who were you kidding? You killed without thought. You’d likely have put a pillow over their heads before aiming your thrower and firing twice for good measure, had you been sharp and not distracted by a tongue in your mouth.
Instead, Ezra had the audacity to try to bargain with them. Something about having a soft spot for mothers—his own having been a beacon in his life until she left him orphaned as a young boy. He made it a point not to kill women and children. It was one thing in which he remained unwavering. (He’d kill a grown woman if she gave him reason to, like he had on Exon-5, but that was another story for another time, and a different circumstance which called for such measures, namely that of protecting you.) But he should have known better, he should have known not to try something like that. He should’ve known that he’d have to let go of the final shred of morality he held onto.
So Ezra took down the old woman in a way you still have yet to ask about and don’t care to know; and you’d ended with the pregnant woman choking on her own blood when you twisted your knife into the dip of her throat—and you felt awful about it after watching her crumble beneath you, but she’d hit you upside the head with a thick textbook of outdated skimmer-craft modules and it made you see red among pinpricks of stars.
And that night, after all was said and done they’d spent a fortune on getting high—just to forget, just to be okay.
That night they’d locked themselves in a self-imposed prison of satin sheets and destructive tendencies. Two days buzzing with no food, little water, just him and you and needles and spoons and eyedroppers and blades and pills. Like you couldn’t breathe if he didn’t fill you with all of him, you wouldn’t be able to stand upright if he took his hands off you and stopped letting you flood your veins with a chemical glow. Heavy eyelids, messy sex, raw arms and red eyes.
It felt fucking awful, coping that way, but it felt too fucking good and it made you forget about the lives you’d taken in (somewhat) cold blood.
So after sprawling beside him on the gigantic plush bed with his hand ghosting over your spine, you’d found a part of yourself snagged at the corner of this wild-eyed man’s tar-black soul, and you had thought about what could have happened in an alternate universe.
A moment when he was the target, you were (somehow) the pregnant wife, and you watched him die before succumbing to the dark of your own soul escaping you. And it made you desperate to cling to him as he was in the moment, desperate to know that he was yours and you were his. It was then that you’d asked him if you could mark him. Claim him, to know that he wouldn’t leave you like that, and if he did, he’d have a piece of you everywhere. He’d go down with a piece of you.
Ezra had been delighted, of course, as he was always one for symbolism and deeper meaning even if he didn’t quite understand the rhetoric. And it wasn’t the first time you’d marked each other, just a different time with a different meaning. So he let you dip a sterile needle in ink and plunge it into the tender skin of his chest.
You had one too, a heart on your sternum. Nestled between your breasts, just close enough to your heart to feel like it mattered, like it meant that he felt the same. But you didn’t even let yourself go that far—you two were doped up and delirious and he enjoyed marking you in any way he could, so an opportunity to stick and poke his way further into your skin than he already had was an opportunity he could not pass up. At least, that was how you saw it. Nevertheless, it made you happy to see it there on his chest, and to have one that matched.
Ezra’s soft voice snapped you from the memory.
“What’s crossed your mind to make you so delicate in your touch, so solemn in your stare?”
You realized you had stopped your ministrations and had planted your palm on his chest, staring just over his shoulder and onto the canvas beside him. With a careful hand, you resumed gentle motion over his pecs, up his clavicle, his throat.
“Thinking about Beta-Mobilia,” you whispered, unable to meet his eye, “And after.”
“Mm,” he grunted in recognition, the vibration tickling your fingertips, “Regrettable night. Unavoidable, necessary. But I dwell in shame identical to yours.”
“I don’t deserve to be here after that. I didn’t deserve to live after the Exons, The Grime. Why am I still alive?”
“We’ve discussed this in great length by now, siren. Don’t doubt your existence. It���s beyond sense, beyond comprehension.”
You nodded, still unable to look at him. But then he latched onto your wrist, brushing his calloused thumb over the delicate skin there, and this time you couldn’t keep your gaze away from the soft smile that begged to form on his lips.
“And I appreciate your tender care, wildfire,” he hummed, eyes glittering up at you like two dark pools of amber, “Where would I be without it? Mmm…mhm. Dead, likely. Or bitter. Wicked with taciturn rage. No meaning could come from that.”
“You, bitter and unspeaking? Unthinkable, I’d sooner pronounce you dead,” you drawled, thankful for his kindness to grant distraction, and he granted you an eye-roll. But his expression softened when you sat him upright and maneuvered behind him, wiping down his back in gentle strokes. You folded the cloth over once the side turned brown with grime, and moved up to his neck, scrubbing over his shoulders and giving short strokes down his nape and behind his ears.
“So you planned to go ravage the Queen without me, huh?” you asked quietly, irked that he hadn’t even come to find you before setting out on that venture, “Planned to leave me to rot on the Green, take the money for yourself and steal away with the girl.”
Ezra sighed, and you could see from behind his shoulder how he worked his jaw, formulating what to say.
“Understand that I do nothing without you willingly. Birdie over there’s about as fleeting as a real one. But trust that I planned to come get you—I’d never leave you stranded. I just couldn’t introduce another person into the threadbare alliance I had forged until the time was right.”
“She likes me,” you countered, smiling over at Cee, who now laid with her back facing you as her ribs contracted with the first breaths of sleep. A sign of trust. You didn’t know when exactly you’d earned it, but you’d accept it nonetheless. She had also taken both of your throwers (something you protested and Ezra waved off), so maybe that helped.
“No doubt—there’s plenty to like about you.”
Ever the flatterer, even when delirious with pain.
With a coy smile, you scrubbed over his head and then his face, careful to avoid his snapping mouth that reached out ever so often to nip at your hand—there was that playfulness, the natural effervescence of his presence. When you decided your work was done, you eased him back down on the cot and he allowed it with no protest.
You fluffed his pillow and moved the book you’d stashed beside it. He turned his head and pressed his nose to the pillow, grunting in mild appreciation.
“Smells like you down here,” he remarked with a half-smile, eyes drooping, “You sleep on my cot while I was away?”
“I missed you,” you whispered, nodding, just now aware of how much his presence affected you. To think that you had resolved to try to move on without him—it seemed ridiculous now.
“I missed you,” he returned, “You haven’t the slightest idea how much I wanted you beside me. Number Two was a fond ally but not a companion. Nothing like the banter we exchange, nor the secrets we share.”
“They never talked. I imagine your time away was just as lonely as mine.”
“Absolutely. I regret agreeing to leave with Two. But you know we couldn’t have trusted them to stay at camp while we went off—not absolutely. Not when they’d never spoken a word,” he chuckled and then coughed, a quiet rumble you felt against your leg as it zigzagged through his chest.
Thank Kevva you had a plan to leave now. The spent filter had taken a toll on Ezra—and it wasn’t even his to begin with. He insisted on giving you his when the one your new suit came with was almost completely used up.
Fuck the man for caring about you; he’d gone soft during your time on the Green, and you hated how much you loved it. Hated it because he needed to focus on himself, needed to stop putting you before him. Hated it because every day it made you feel like somehow, he loved you back. That somehow, he thought of you as more than just a constant in his life, more than a body to fuck and a brain to pick.
You’d grown used to each other. But his unpredictability oozed into every aspect of himself, every nook and cranny of his life, and you were too worried about fucking up a good thing over a simple conversation. All it took was one sensitive topic breached and you’d surely find yourself shit out of luck. He was all you had left of the scraps of a fucked up life. Without him, you’d make do but not without a struggle and not without reluctance. Some part of you knew he’d be the same even if he initiated a split.
The thought had you hurrying to tug his shirt on before gathering the cloths and scurrying to place the bucket near the front of the tent.
And you shouldn’t have been so scared to be honest with him—the two of you rarely kept things to yourselves. But to love someone so fully within your heart, to never want to be away from them, to never grow tired of their presence no matter how tedious they may be or frustrating they could get, it scared you.
“A kiss for the wounded?” Ezra asked, brown eyes wide and mouth pouty enough to break you from your racing mind. You softened then, padding back over to him on tiptoe and settling back at his side for a brief moment.
With a gentle smile, you leaned down to grant him a kiss to his lips—the first one you’d shared with him in fuck knows how long. Too long, that was for sure, because when your lips notched with his chapped ones you melted, every worry and every qualm simply washed away in a swirl of pink pleasure.
You couldn’t help yourself—an indulgent, quiet moan pooled in your chest and slipped from your throat before you could stop it, and he hummed right back when his tongue pushed between your lips and you let him devour you. Always the ravager, ever a greedy bastard when it came to his pleasure, he licked up into your mouth and tangled his tongue with yours. It took very little for you to melt right into his chest, pressing your own against him and whimpering when he sneaked his hand up the hem of your shirt to rub circles over the skin of your back. You remained sloppy and almost lazy but intentional as you held either side of his nape and toyed with the strands of his still-damp hair, pouring yourself into this kiss like you’d never kiss him again.
Fuck. Fuck, you wanted him so bad. You missed this man with every vibrating inch of you. You missed his body, you missed his voice calling to you from the very depths of himself, you missed everything about him, and you needed him as close as possible. Closer than close, you needed him.
But fuck. You couldn’t. When you pulled back for air, it didn’t surprise you when he pressed his palm flat on your back to keep you from moving too far.
“Mm, baby—you’re divine. I ache for you,” he all but whimpered into your mouth, breath brutally hot and heavy as he fed you his soul, “Come sit down on me—come take what’s yours. I want to feel you strangle me, show me just how much you—”
“No, Ez,” you cut him off in a biting whisper, lips kiss-swollen, hating how, if there had been literally any other person in the tent beside you, you might’ve taken him up on the offer, “I want to, I promise you that. But she’s a kid and I have limits—one of those limits is fucking in the same room as one.” You glared at him with half a heart, then leaned down to run the tip of your nose along the curve of his ear, smiling when he shivered, “I swear, once we get out of here I’ll make it up to you so many times you’ll forget your own name. You get first choice—however you want me, I’m yours to take.”
“Fuck—alright, I apologize for my eagerness,” he smiled, tilting his head to kiss your forehead.
“But,” you whispered, your heart racing as you glanced over to be sure Cee had fallen asleep before inching up to look back into his eyes. Fuck it, he deserved it. “If you stay quiet, I’ll take care of you right now.”
His eyebrows raised in deft interest at your offer.
“Will you let me take care of you, Sailor?”
Ezra would never admit it, and you’d never tease him about it because it made you feel some kind of way—but he fucking adored when you used his callsign. You were his siren, after all. Only made sense for him to draw to you like a dying man at sea when you called for him. You used it rarely aside from in the field, opting for your preferred chatterbox—because he was more that than anything else—so it came as a treat when you decided to pull it from your bag of tricks.
“I can hardly refuse such a tempting offer.”
“Quiet, though,” you reminded him, tiptoeing your fingers across his chest and tugging the waistband of his pants and his underwear down. Just enough to spring his cock free, which was already hard and leaking for you.
Fuck, he was such a gorgeous sight, and you couldn’t help the urge to cup his balls and nudge them free too, to admire every glorious inch of him.
Spreading your fingers out over his groin through the coarse curls gone wild with mistreatment, you paid extra attention to the white patch of hair ghosting over the base of his cock and spreading out near his abdomen before stopping abruptly on the left and diverging back down into dark brown. You remember when you’d first noticed it and had all but squealed in delight.
Every bit of him was a pleasant surprise, just as you’d found yourself more than eager to let him ruin you for anybody else with the sheer size of him.
Nobody fucked you like they were dying and you were salvation; nobody but him. And shit, did he tear you open. As if he’d carved a space inside of you just for him, each time he’d leave you with a hollow ache that only he could sate.
“Baby,” you purred in a whisper, kissing his hipbone and then leaning up to wrap your hand around the girth of him, rubbing your thumb over the weeping red of the head, “You’re so pretty for me like this.”
Forever a glutton for compliments, he whimpered his soft appreciation and you hushed him accordingly. He was so thick, so big that you struggled to touch the tip of your middle finger to your thumb, so long that if you had planned to swallow him down tonight, you would’ve been needing your hand to help. But tonight you could not risk the absolutely filthy noise of you gagging on him; he’d likely cum faster and in less time to worry about waking up a certain tentmate, but you wanted to watch every muscle in his face twitch, wanted to see him take his pleasure unobstructed by your tears. This way was quieter.
So with that thought in mind, you shifted to straddle one of his thighs so you could watch him without tiring your hand in an awkward position. Then you let a string of spit drool down and over him and you gave him a twist and then more, sharp and sudden and fast in your movements as opposed to the slow, appreciative way you’d unsheathed him.
Ezra hissed out a curse, bucking up into your hand, “Shit, darlin’—“
Arching an eyebrow, you halted your work on him immediately. His pulse beat through the throbbing vein jutting out
“What did I tell you?” you snapped. With your free hand you reached up and wrapped your fingers around his neck, feeling the column of his throat contracting as he swallowed. Wide brown eyes looked up at you, a tinge of amusement in their stare.
“Are you gonna be good for me?” you asked in a low rasp, tightening your grip on his neck and giving him a little shake before going slack again, “I don’t wanna hear a single word come outta that pretty-boy mouth. If I do, I’m blue-balling you. Fair?”
Ezra nodded, his gorgeous fat mouth blessedly shut for once.
“Good boy,” you cooed, kissing him before forcing his jaw open and spitting in his mouth. It would’ve been cruel but you meant it so affectionately, and his gentle moan told you he was more than willing to accept it.
You felt his cock twitch beneath your fingers and you simpered, giving a little shimmy of your shoulders in appreciation.
Controlling this stubborn man, resorting him to silence made you feel powerful. It made you feel respected, worshipped; if the man who never shut up and always called the shots would gladly take the backseat and grant you the power to take charge, that meant more than you could wish for.
So you resumed pumping his cock, working him with both hands and then switching to hold onto his throat again before going back to two hands. The act still made quite some noise—filthy and wet and sloppy—but at this point you were less concerned about it than you had been prior. When you decided, despite his tip dripping precum, to spit down onto him again for the fun of it and twist him with a gentle tug, he couldn’t stop the whine that left him even with his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. It had you darting to clamp over his mouth, shooting daggers down at him as he stared up with a silent apology in his eyes, one you might have taken as genuine if not for the way the brown of his irises had disappeared into black, blown out with lust and glassy with pleasure.
“If you’re gonna cum, let me know so you can do it in my mouth. I just cleaned you up and I’m not doing it again.”
The last bit came out harsher than you meant but he took it all the same, biting back a grunt in the form of a sharp exhale as he twitched violently in your hand. Yeah, he didn’t really need to let you know when he was about to blow; you knew him too well. At that, you took it upon yourself to remove your hand from his mouth in favor of scooting to lean down and put your mouth over his angry, swollen tip, flinching at the way the frame creaked but ignoring it and opting to swirl your tongue over him instead.
“There it is,” you whispered with an arguably evil smile—quickly, before pulling him back into the heat of your mouth, resuming your work and grunting when he bucked up into your mouth, chasing the high you were drawing out of him.
Ezra came with a muffled, broken sob, his face buried in his arm as he bit down on his bicep, flexing and squeezing his fingers. A thick stream of his cum hit the roof of your mouth and you indulged him, taking him in further so you could swallow everything he gave you. Ropes and ropes and ropes of cum, like he hadn’t let himself get off in so long, like he’d been saving all of it for you. The thought made you whine around him, and you pulled off when he finished, flashing him your dripping tongue with his spend still on it and drawing it back in before any of it could spill.
“Holy fuck, baby,” he sighed, letting out a quiet, breathy laugh as he tugged on the front of your shirt to kiss you, tasting himself on your tongue.
This time when you pulled back and smiled, you granted him a toothy grin, goofy and knowing. It took you a minute not to giggle like a little kid as you carded your fingers through his hair. He grinned right back, still catching his breath. To you, he was gorgeous, inside and out, flaws and all. You wanted to fuck him right then. You wanted to make love to him, to let him fill you entirely and to sob into his mouth, showing him everything you couldn’t tell him.
“Get some sleep,” you settled on instead, slipping off the cot with little grace after replacing the waistband of his pants, “We head out early tomorrow.”
“Hey now, what about you?” Ezra asked, brows drawn together in concern that you wouldn’t find the same enjoyment he did.
“You’ll just owe me.” You winked then, and gave him one last kiss, which he hummed into with a great appreciative rumble.
Then you pressed your forehead into his, “Mine—you’re mine. Never leave me again or I’ll hunt you down and kill you myself. You’re everything.”
Because he was.
“Nothing without you.”
That was his response, always always always. To hear it again pricked tears in your eyes, so much so you squeezed them shut.
And once again, you caught yourself wanting to say it. This time it had ghosted in your throat, almost making it into the curve of your mouth for you to hold its shape and give voice to a thought. But you stopped it before it could get far. Those three words, the same ones that now haunted you since you’d decided to indulge in every reminiscence involving them. Somehow he had come back to you, a feat which could not be commended enough, but now you ached for him—yearned for him even stronger than if he had well and truly died.
As you settled down onto the floor beside him, those three torturous words surfaced into a memory. The one that, among other fears, made you ever so hesitant to admit just how much you loved him.
————————————
“—In that vein, I don’t find myself in particular need of a great, star-shattering love story. If love is all-encompassing, I can do without the obstacle. Romanticizing my life and its quarrels is satisfaction enough.”
You didn’t know why you were still listening. You just knew that if Ezra kept it up, you’d find a way out of this cell just to break into his and strangle him. Anything to get him to shut the hell up. Banging your head methodically against the wall that separated the two of you, you didn’t even try to hold back your groan of displeasure as he rambled on.
“Now, don’t doubt my skill in worship. I have plenty of practice in the art of copulation”—you could hear the shit-eating grin on his face—“To say I haven’t affixed my interests on one soul or another at some point in time would ordain me a liar. I simply prefer to remain lovers in action…and not in name nor feeling. Companionship…yes, it’s something we all yearn for. It can’t be helped. A warm body, a brain to pick. All wonderful facets to enjoy for the sake of one’s own baser desiderata. But—“
“Shut up,” you bit out through gritted teeth, tugging at the roots of your hair when he kept going and you had to repeat yourself, “Shut up, you goddamned chatterbox. I don’t give a fuck about your love life. Why are you even talking about this?”
A brief silence occupied the space, as if he was thoroughly perplexed by your outburst. Then he let out a huffed laugh, amused.
“You inquired about the specifics of my occupation, little thorn.”
Every time he used that nickname for you—the thorn in my side—it made you bristle. Especially when he used it almost affectionately, soothingly, full of calm and charm that had you balling your fists and pricking the skin of your palms with your fingernails. You despised him, and he treated your existence as a joke, or as a little pet he would grab from its cage and admire before tossing it back and neglecting it until he deemed its presence acceptable again. Everything was funny. Everything could be laughed at. Sometimes you didn’t mind when the guards came to beat him bloody; it made him shut up, whether from pain or because he had passed out.
“Prospecting has nothing to do with love,” you snapped, shoulders tense despite the ache in your body. If these fuckers holding you captive didn’t kill you, the stress of surviving next to this fucker surely would.
“No, it doesn’t,” he agreed, suddenly serious, “Love for others, at least. Love for the dig, love for the hunt and the adventure—that’s a different narrative altogether. Which is why I deemed it appropriate to explain such measures. The lifestyle I settled for is no small undertaking. It comes with sacrifice.”
His condescension was unintentional but still stabbed and poked at you like keepers at a circus.
————————————
It comes with sacrifice. That it did.
That long-ago night haunted you to this day.
But Ezra had his mind focused on softer dreams as he broke you from your self-destruction once more.
“Nights like these make me keen to hear you sing for me again,” he lilted out through the dark, a reminiscent simper pulling at his mouth and crinkling his eyes as he shifted to look down at you, “The melody of your voice haunts the halls of my midnight reveries. But it is such a sweet possession—as though I willed a ghost to enchant me with her gift. A siren indeed. Lure me into the sea of your deception, try to pull me under like the rest of them. But not me. No…not me—I float like driftwood in the breeze…follow the tides of your affection. Somehow I remain unscathed, and you lap at me in gentle waves.”
“Such powerful words from a man who should be asleep,” you chuckled quietly, pressing your lips to the back of his hand where you held onto it now, fingers laced.
“I am but a vendor of poetry. And you, a weaver of melody. Sing for me, siren,” he murmured, his voice thick with the drowsy pull of lassitude. He hadn’t asked that of you in so long you had almost forgotten what it felt like to hear it. Almost. And you would have agreed to it, but—
“No, the girl, she—“
“I don’t mind,” Cee interrupted, quiet and soft. It surprised you; you thought she had fallen asleep—you didn’t want to wake her with your singing. And then you were—
Shit. You sincerely hoped she had just woken up due to Ezra’s long-winded soliloquy about your singing, and hadn’t heard anything else beyond that. Mm, no. You think she would’ve said something about how fucking gross it was. Or pulled a thrower on you.
“As well you shouldn’t,” Ezra chuckled, turning his head to grin at the girl where she had turned to face him on the opposite cot, “She sings like Kevva strung her throat with gold. Or the very strings of a harp.”
You blushed and ducked your head into your shoulder, embarrassed by his flattery. Looked to him and found his honey-dark eyes drinking you in from above, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he flattened his palm over your chest and rubbed it affectionately.
“What would you like to hear?” you asked, running a hand over your hair and shifting on the floor to calm your nerves.
It was just Ez.
…and a girl who harbored a teen angst bigger than ten moons; fuck if you wanted her to judge you.
“Whatever tickles your fancy,” he replied, his grin wider now that you’d agreed, “You know I’m not particular to any one hymn—I find myself enraptured by it all.”
“Okay.” You pondered for a moment before settling on one of your favorites.
Then you sang.
Quietly, nervously at first in an unpracticed rasp, then growing more steady and mellow and soft.
Some swirling folk melody from your childhood in your native tongue, one you’d never forget even if someday you lost your memory. A lullaby for village children; a lilting work song for the women to hum when laundering clothes at the stream, soothing the babies strapped to their backs or their chests or both.
It told the story of a curious young girl who loved the stillness of the ocean, found peace in its silky depths. She liked the silence so much that she would spend hours beneath the water, training to hold her breath and exploring the creatures of the reef and listening to the wavering silence.
Until one humming summer night she swam so deep the water turned black. She was scared she wouldn’t be able find her way back home but she reveled in the quiet—the quiet that not even the nighttime forest could provide, nor the village when the hunters and scavengers left for work. It was then that she saw a light shining from the deep, and decided to chase it.
Down, down, down.
And down. Until the light became so bright it surrounded her, seeped into her until she did not know where she began and it ended. No pain, no fear surrounded her. Just a sense of calm, and peace.
And she became the moon, the biggest one in the sky. The silence up there was incomparable.
The song was meant as a warning to the village children not to wander too far from the town and somehow find themselves in the cove breaching the outer mountain range. A warning to stay away, else you’d become one of the many moons in the sky, never to return to your family and the life you loved.
But you’d always found it more compelling than that, more meaningful, because the story originated from a similar legend of the moon goddess your village worshipped, the deity of the biggest satellite in your skies. The minor difference came in the detail that she chose to become the Great Moon after divine conversation instead of chasing a light down into the deep on a whim. And there was a ceremony held to initiate her transition into a celestial body.
When you’d wrapped up the lullaby you found yourself more at peace than you’d felt in a long time. You didn’t like to think about your planet, nor your village, nor the tragedies that occurred there. But this memory was a happy one, filled with sleepy eyes and chubby fingers grabbing onto mothers’ cloaks, and getting tucked into warm soft blankets by a fireplace.
“Sweet siren,” Ezra whispered in a drowsy slur, giving your hand a gentle squeeze as he turned to rest on his back, “Never fail to soothe me even when ’m in utmost anguish.”
And with that, he left you in silence, and you knew he wasn’t far from sleep.
By the time his breath evened out, you felt your eyes drooping.
Fuck, you were exhausted.
This spin had been arguably more eventful than any you’d had in a long while, and it didn’t occur to you that you could be tired when you’d hardly done much until the action rolled in.
The floor was actually not half bad, given that you laid on the tarp that absorbed heat but quickly cooled when you moved. The nights here got cold, surprisingly. But Ezra’s hand hanging down and resting across your chest felt so good. The weight of him, the heat of him, it grounded you. You circled patterns into his upturned palm until you became too sleepy for that, settling on threading your fingers with his and feeling his pulse beneath your fingertips.
How dare he think you’d care for him less with only one arm? If anything, it showed his perseverance, his will to move forward and make hard decisions. Only something a man with determination could do.
He felt so warm and sure—steady. He was safe now that he had come back. You felt the inky black of sleep begin to wash over you as organized thought became jumbled feeling.
You didn’t have to worry anymore, not about his whereabouts. Everything was alright. It was as good as it had been in quite a while.
Everything would be alright, you could just…
Just…
“I wish my parents had loved each other like that,” Cee murmured in the quiet dark of the tent, rendering you wide awake with a jolt, as if someone had plunged a shot of adrenaline into your chest.
“They separate?” you managed, knowing it came out strange but not wanting to confirm or deny anything about you and Ezra. The silence that greeted you implied that she had had no intention of you hearing it. But she spoke regardless.
“No,” she scoffed, then went quiet for a moment, “My mom died when I was little. And I can’t remember what they were like together. We were always working so there wasn’t a lot of time for love between them.”
Oh. An orphan. It softened you a little more for her, made you more sympathetic to the fact that Ezra had killed her last living parent. You were an orphan too. So was he.
“We’re all missing parts of our family in some way or another. People with worldly attachments don’t usually sign up for this level of intensity. Not the strays, anyhow.”
“But you have each other,” she insisted.
“By chance alone. We didn’t start off liking each other. And we’re not…married, or anything.”
The last bit came out strangled—you’d never…said something like that aloud.
You and Ezra, married? It was odd, to say the least. You never thought of yourself as one to desire marriage in any respect—ceremonial, legal, the like. It just didn’t sit well with you. Too many complications, a lot of governing body involvement that you didn’t care for.
And Ezra…he wasn’t too fond of it either. But not because he didn’t want it, that much he’d admitted to you one night after admitting the complications of his feelings on his love life, ones that somewhat contradicted the first time he told you about it all; he couldn’t have it, he’d never let himself believe even a fraction of him deserved it. The life of a floater—and sure, just as Cee’s parents had prospected and been married (you assumed) and had a kid, many others did the same. But then you supposed it ended with kids like Cee, and she was lucky to not lay dead next to her idiot father, or trapped and sold as a body in the Dark-Spawn Trades. Lucky Ezra wasn’t filthy and depraved, lucky you were once young and scared like her and so took it upon yourself to keep her in your sights for now.
“How’d you meet?”
A chuckle bubbled out of you as you sat up and ran your fingers through Ezra’s hair, watching his chest rise and fall in even strokes, thinking back on that night so long ago.
“Stealing supplies from the same drop company. Two feral dogs fighting over who deserved it more. We bickered and threatened so much we lost track of time and made a mess and a ruckus and got caught.” A smile threatened to break your features and you let it, for just a moment. It faded as you recalled your awful encounter, “Captured, tortured for information because they thought we worked for a rival mining company. They wanted the locations of dig-sites we didn’t have, mining techniques we didn’t know. When he brought up the Wastes earlier…that’s what he meant. Surprised we didn’t die, but they really thought we were valuable or something.”
You gave yourself a minute before continuing. In a panic, you rubbed circles over the tattoo on the web of Ezra’s hand between his thumb and forefinger, trying to ground yourself as wicked, blood-specked memories flooded your head.
Deep breath. You’re safe, he’s here. This will be good to get off your chest. You’ve never spelled it out to anyone before. Nobody’s ever asked. Maybe this girl is a gift from the universe, maybe she was sent here to give you space to heal. Deep breath. You’re safe. He’s here.
You eventually pressed the back of his limp hand to your cheek, and found your voice once more. You didn’t need to worry about waking him; once he conked out into REM sleep it took a freight train to wake him up. At least, when he was with you he always slept deeper. He’d told you one night; how it helped to have you there, like you dragged all the bad memories and nightmares away, pulling them so far out of reach he only found thoughtless, worry-free sleep.
“Hearing someone’s screams from the other side of a cell wall makes you more susceptible to care about them. A bonding experience, so to speak. He’d talk to me for hours on the nights they made us sit and anticipate another session. Recited poetry, recalled stories from his time as a prospector as an escape from our reality. I would sing for him, when we knew the guards had left. It was how we got to know each other. It’s—that’s why he calls me his siren. The reason I call him a chatterbox, among other obvious explanation.”
“How’d you get out?” Cee asked, resting her cheek on her hands as she laid on her side, watching you with keen interest.
“Killed them,” you rasped, not wanting to go into the gory details, “Every single one.”
For nights you had laid awake, haunted by memories of blood staining your only pair of clothes, blood splattering into your mouth, chunks of brain matter on Ezra’s gloves as he dragged you through a maze of tents and established buildings, viscera on your recovered suit, the way you’d had to swallow bile back down your esophagus at the sight of all the lives you’d taken. But you had to do it; it’s what you told yourself when the images would replay every time you closed your eyes.
Vengeance, necessity, paired with Ezra’s seemingly insatiable bloodlust—and your own. Your own shameful desire to incite violence, one you bred in the early years of your youth and had stuffed away until needed.
But you hadn’t been able to deny that, when Ezra shot a man who’d pinned you to the ground and then finished him off with a knife spurting blood out his neck, it stirred your blood something wild. Hearing him panting through the transmitter, grunts and curses as he tore through humans and humanoids and alien creatures alike right beside you. Hearing him call out targets, watching your six, taking single-word direction from you when you did the same.
They worked like a well-oiled machine, like you two had never not known the other. And he was sloppy in his technique, grounded more in brute force than strategy—but you made up for that in quick, evasive maneuvers and stealth. Both of you had near-perfect aim and could work around the clunky gear of your suits.
Messy—pools of blood, the sickening crunch of bone and cartilage crushed beneath your hands and your feet and your knife and whatever other weapon you scavenged along the way.
It felt like a ritual. A baptism of carnage that ensured neither one of you could live without the other.
So of course, when it all was over and the last vertebra snapped—
—there had been filthy, unhinged, surely unsanitary, bio-hazardous fucking in a tent surrounded by carnage.
Fucking in way you could only describe as feral.
Unrestrained.
Hot, Kevva’s saints was it brutally hot and so needy—but also so, so tender.
Full of soft emotion. Unspoken, even for Ezra’s standards. Almost loving.
Your aching bodies, exhausted and weak and battered, dragged lazily against one another once both of you had ceased the initial writhing pace of passion and the adrenaline ebbed. It tasted tinny like blood and musky like spit and salty with sweat and tears, and if nothing more, it was real. Whispering about how fuck, they’d made it and god, they were on the same level, we made it, baby—can’t live without you, I need you I need you I need you—
That day was quite possibly your favorite memory as well as one of your darkest. The day that you knew, in the charred, most twisted part of you, that you’d follow this man to the ends of every planet, to the far reaches of the universe—and he’d very well do the same.
Of course, you shared none of that with Cee.
“We took down the main base of the entire company. They were small but well-endowed. Got to transfer points into our accounts and sort through the mining equipment and the food,” you offered instead after a long bout of silence, “And the spoils of their labor. We were rich, could have retired early.”
“Why didn’t you?”
You debated whether to lie or tell her the truth, deciding on the latter. This girl wasn’t a threat, she genuinely wanted to know. “Ezra and I have—had a certain…interest in finding thrill wherever we can.”
Cee quirked an eyebrow, and you elaborated, “It’s not something to romanticize, we certainly weren’t smart about our spending. Gambling, drugs, slingshot scooter racing, smuggled creature ring-fights. The risk makes winning worth it. It was addicting. We earned a lot. Uncountable amounts of money. But we spent it all and then spent more. Pulled stunts that not even the most daring would try. Heists, intel-theft for enemies of certain people. We got caught up in it. Eventually drowned in a swamp of debt and unrequited favors. Got put on watchlists by the head crime syndicate and peace officers alike in the Core Worlds because we got cocky. Sloppy. So many people want our heads on a stake that we’d be better off dying out here. It’d be ironic, given the executions we deserve.”
You shuddered at the thought of Karolclan and their unusual procedures for punishment. They wanted you the most—you owed them the most. Them and Omni-Five. But Karolclan was decidedly worse.
“Why are you still mining? Wouldn’t it be easier to hide somewhere less dangerous?”
“We have debts to pay, bird,” you sighed, fond of the nickname Ezra gave her as it fit her well, “It’s the only honest work we can get without a biotracker recognizing our scans or someone realizing that the burner names and scouting codes we give them are bullshit. We work alone—no drop company, no mining corps. Until we can get our names cleared and our bio-scans off the watchlist, we can’t do shit else.”
If nothing more, Karolclan did allow debt payoff. But only if you could evade their capture, and only if you had the means to satisfy compounded interest. They were brutal, ruthless.
“He said you had a crew…and a ship…before you ended up stranded.”
“We did. A group of people like us. But you can imagine that a group of outlaws don’t always see eye to eye—buncha hotheaded criminals. Fought over aurelac, argued over fair shares, resources, everything.”
That wasn’t the whole story.
It started as a dispute over aurelac, but had quickly turned into a spat against Ezra, why he had so many successful harvests and surely he was stealing or cheating, how it wasn’t fair that you two were attached at the hip and didn’t section off when you split into groups to cover more land. In the heat of argument and the desperation of man, that had morphed into threats against you—Why don’t you fucking share her, Ezra? We all have needs and she’s barely good at the dig-sites. Put her to use somewhere else or we’ll find a use for her, and that devolved into Might take her right from under you if you don’t watch yourself, don’t be surprised if you hear her struggle tonight.
You had gotten used to the crude commentary, the snickers and wolf-whistles when you bent over, and if they had tried to somehow steal you away in the night, they’d have been reminded that you slept fully armed and showed no mercy to anyone who touched you unless they knew just where to start—and only one person did.
But that…that had not gone over well with him. It ended before you even knew what he did, and pretty soon you had a dead crewmate spilling blood over your boots while the familiar sound of throwers charging up rang in your ears, all of them pointed at the man panting beside you. The only one from the group to live and remain on the Green had been Two, and honestly you were never fond of them but weren’t surprised when they helped you and Ezra take the heat off your backs—they always teamed up with you two and they were good at what they did. It was a shame they were gone—despite their silence and threatening demeanor and sometimes uncalculated moves in a plan, they never made a move to harm either of you; they just wanted to harvest and get out like you did. Better them than Ezra, though. You’d have genuinely lost your mind if they had shown up in his stead.
“Did you kill the crew too?”
“Only a few,” you said honestly, “The others left us stranded when they realized we’d kill them next. Number Two was our only ally. Now they’re dead.”
You laid back down and put Ezra’s hand across your chest again, “Get some rest now. We’ve got a long day ahead of us. And if you choose to kill him while we sleep—kill both of us.”
You didn’t know why you’d felt compelled to say that, but revealing such a dark part of yourself to her convinced you that she’d plant a bolt in you or Ezra’s head and run. Ezra was the more likely target, given his history with the girl. It was irrational, for the most part; if she truly wanted him dead she would have let his wound kill him. Or she would have shot him sooner. But you couldn’t be too sure.
And you’d sooner die than wake up to him cold next to you.
#ezra (prospect)#ezra x reader#ezra x f!reader#ezra (prospect) x reader#anya writes#ohhhh boy! a second installment#pedrostories#ezra smut#cacoethes
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for the august prompt list!!! random au 11. prince/princess with andrei svechnikov? :)
au 11. prince/princess
pairing: andrei svechnikov x fem!reader
word count: 1.5k
warning: alternative universe, mentions of arranged marriage, potentially only part 1 of a series
Andrei knew what was expected of him as the second son, and the younger brother of the Crown Prince. He’s known his entire life what was expected of him, the path he was meant to take, the choices he was meant to make. He was a diligent son, and he loved his brother and his parents, he knew he would do anything to guarantee the success and prosperity of his home.
As the sister to the Crown Prince of your Kingdom, you knew it was inevitable you would one day have to do your duty to guarantee the prosperity and reign of your country. It was something you had been dreading for so long, dreading the inevitable unhappiness that would one day come to guarantee the safety of your country.
“It’ll all be worth it in the end; do you know how many families you’re saving from being ripped apart? How many young men you’re saving from the hardships of a never-ending war?”
It was the sentence you had heard from everyone, everyone telling you that the arrangement was for the best. Not only did it guarantee the end to a decade-long war, but it also instilled that you would do anything to guarantee the success of your Kingdom and its people.
“I’ve heard he’s a real catch, ya know? Heard he’s one of the most sought out bachelor’s in Barnaul. And I’ve heard he’s very handsome, even better looking than the Crown Prince.”
Groaning as you looked at the girl, a cheeky grin flying your way. Lyra had been the one and only lady-in-waiting you had accepted to come on the journey to Barnaul, a tight-knit friendship forming over the years.
“Ly, I don’t care if he’s the most handsome bachelor there is. Do you know how dehumanizing it is having to marry so your younger brother doesn’t have to deal with a war basically caused by a cockfight between my father and my future husbands’ father? It’s pathetic.”
Shrugging her shoulders with a sympathetic smile, the girl smiled tightly in your direction. “Maybe you’ll end up liking him, just because the situation itself isn’t the best, doesn’t mean he’s awful.”
The trip to Barnaul wasn’t a long one, the time flying by and before you knew it, your father and his guards were walking into the throne as you and your mother trailed in behind him, guards flanking both of your sides.
“Ah, King Igor! It has been far too long, my friend.”
You tried to hide the grimace that started to cross your face when you observed your father and your future husband’s father embrace. It was a tense hug, years of animosity floating through the room, everyone on edge as they waited for what was to come.
“Y/N! Come here please, darling,” obliging, the guard’s allowed you to pass by them so you could stand next to your father.
A curtesy was directed towards King Igor, a pleasant smile overtaking your lips as you observed the man in front of you. His accent was strong as he addressed you, the kindness in his eyes the only reassuring measure of his persona.
“Even more beautiful than your father said, you and my son will make a beautiful pair,” gesturing with his hand behind him, you followed his gesture to meet the eyes of a tall man. His hair was gelled back, a maroon suit covering his skin as he made his way forward. It was easy to tell that this was Andrei, your intended, the man you were meant to marry to unite your kingdoms.
At least Lyra was right about one thing… he was incredibly good-looking.
Bowing towards you, a curtesy was met in return before he grabbed your hand to place a gentle kiss on the back of your knuckles. A warmth instantly shot up your neck, your body tingling at the feeling of his lips pressed against your skin.
“Princess Y/N, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Welcome to Barnaul.”
His voice was smooth, but deep and heavily accented. He had a kind and happy exterior, his smile bright and his eyes welcoming.
“The pleasure is mine, Prince Andrei. I’ve seen only a small amount of it, but your home looks incredibly beautiful. I look forward to seeing more of it.”
Your response was met well, a proud smile adorning King Igor’s and your father’s faces, Andrei smiling slightly in your direction. You had forgotten that he too was being forced into a situation, unable to choose his future bride or the person he wanted to marry. He was just as much of a victim as you were, you couldn’t blame him for the actions of his parents, regardless of how much you itched to do so.
The days in between your arrival and your upcoming wedding passed smoothly, there was only minimal interaction between you and your fiancé, as you opted to remain with your parents for the short duration they had planned to stay in Barnaul.
The day of your wedding came quicker than you were expecting, observing yourself in the full-length mirror as the white silk was slowly wrapped around you. You couldn’t deny that you looked beautiful, the dress fitting to your body in all the right ways, the makeup adorning your cheeks a beautiful addition.
You didn’t hear the small tap on the door until Lyra hoisted it open, just to slam it shut immediately.
“You can’t be here! It’s bad luck!”
The knock against the door was heard again, Lyra pushing herself out of the room to confront the person on the other side, who you could only assume to be Andrei if it was bad luck that they were here. Who cared about luck when you were already marrying just to prevent your Kingdom’s from destroying each other more?
The door opened, but instead of Lyra, Andrei popped himself through, gently closing the wood behind him. No point in hiding yourself now.
“You know, it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,” quirking an eyebrow at you, all the man did was shrug his shoulders as he grabbed one of the empty champagne flutes from the table.
“We’re getting married so our fathers don’t put each other in an early grave. I don’t think we had much luck to start with, darling fiancé.”
The attempt to hold in the snort that dropped from your lips failed, a grin taking over his face at your reaction. He had a nice smile, you could admit that, realistically you knew that if you had met him under any other circumstances, it probably could have turned out wonderfully, but it was hard to determine how an arranged marriage would come to be.
“I wanted to come and… talk to you before we had to vow our lives to each other. I know you’ve been spending time with your parents before they leave, and I’ve respected that and didn’t want to overstep. I just… I can’t force myself to marry someone I’ve had one conversation with in passing. I don’t want a loveless marriage, Y/N.”
Scoffing slightly at his words, you rested your arm against the couch as you sat down across from him. “Would you like me to be honest, or would you like the diplomatic response I’m sure you’re expecting?”
“I’d prefer the honesty, but if you’d rather the diplomacy than that’s your choice,” shrugging at your words, he pressed the edge of the champagne flute to his lips and sipped at the now-filled cup.
“I’m sure you’re not an unlovable person, you actually seem quite lovely. And maybe… to a certain degree, I have been avoiding you, but I’m not sure what’s expected of me here. I can’t force myself to love someone I barely know, I didn’t even have a choice in this marriage, but I sure as hell have a choice in my own feelings.”
Nodding in understanding, you watched Andrei’s hands shake as he placed the champagne flute back on the table in front of him before he stood up and made his way to the couch you were sitting on, gently occupying the seat beside you.
“I don’t expect you to love me yet, but I hope you’ll at least give me a chance. I promise there’s a little bit of substance behind my pretty face, not much, but some,” rolling your eyes with a small laugh at his words, you shrugged your shoulders slightly.
“I never planned on not giving you a chance, I just hope you don’t expect it to work-out overnight. Unfortunately, it took me two years to even like my younger brother. You’ve got a lot to live up to.”
A mock scoff dropped from his lips as Andrei smiled towards you again. “Good thing we have until death do us part, huh?”
note: ah anon i know you weren't technically asking for a series... but that may be what comes from this. even if it doesn't, i hope you like it!!! thank you for sending one in <3
#andrei svechnikov#nhl blurb#nhl fic#nhl imagine#hockey fic#hockey imagine#hockey blurb#hockey drabble#nhl drabble#andrei svechnikov x reader#andrei svechnikov fic#andrei svechnikov imagine#nhl fics#nhl blurbs#hockey blurbs#hockey writing#nhl writing#dj's august prompt list
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Royal Affairs - I
A Choice is Made
Rating: T (Will change to M in future chapters)
Warnings: None, for this chapter.
Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader (no use of y/n)
Word Count: 4k
A/N: Hey all!! This is a brand new AU that I’ve decided to dive headfirst into!! An anon sent @absurdthirst a message, asking if anyone had written King Din before, and I saw it on my feed, and that inspired this series!! (on the off chance that that anon follows me, if you wanna send me a message or something, I’d be glad to credit you as the inspiration behind this story!) This is an AU story where Mandalore never fell to the Empire, and Din is the King by right of conquest (winning the Darksaber). More of the AU will be explored in the story, but if you have any questions, feel free to send me some asks! I’ll gladly answer what I can, as long as it doesn’t spoil anything!! I wholly blame @mxndoscyarika for being the reason this chapter is out so soon. She is an enabler. (@ollypopp also got to hear a lot of rambles about this au... i’m not sorry). I hope you guys like it!!!!! Please let me know what you guys think!!!
Please consider reblogging and leaving a comment!! I love hearing what you guys think!!
When you’d gone to bed last night, you certainly weren’t expecting anything monumentous to happen today. Today was supposed to be just another day spent running your little apothecary with your sister, before going to sleep and doing it all over again tomorrow.
But as you stared down at the small little green alien child hiding behind your counter, you knew that today wasn’t going to go the way you planned.
“Hey, little one,” you murmured, crouching down, but staying far enough back that he wouldn’t feel trapped by you. “How’d you get in here, huh? Where are your parents?”
He looked up at you with his huge round eyes, his little lip quivering, and your heart broke.
“Hey, it’s alright sweetheart,” you whispered, holding your hands out. “I’m not gonna hurt you, it’s okay–” You were a little thrown off when he waddled straight into your arms, and you instinctively clutched him to your chest. He buried his little face into your tunic and began to cry, little heart-wrenching sobs as his tiny body shook in your arms.
Standing, you quickly moved to the back room, seeing your sister in the middle of bottling some healing bacta salve.
“A’denla, can you cover the shop for me?”
She turned, about to ask why when she saw the sobbing child in your arms. You mouthed that you’d explain later, and she just nodded, turning and heading for the counter, leaving you alone in the back with the little one.
You rocked the little baby back and forth, humming softly as you tried to get him to calm down. You didn’t have a whole lot of experience with children, but you knew enough from helping watch the children of other villagers while they ran their shops when you were younger.
His tearful cries eventually slowed to little whimpers and hiccups, and you were able to encourage him to detach from your shirt. He rubbed at his eye with his little arm, and you were startled to see a dark green, almost black bruise on his tiny wrist.
“Who hurt you, little one?” You gently took his hand, inspecting the bruise. He whimpered when you brushed your fingers over his skin. “I bet that hurts something fierce, huh?”
You take him over to where your sister had the bacta salve out, setting him down gently on the countertop. “Can I use some of this, sweetheart? It’ll help you heal faster.” You’re not sure if he can understand you, but then he takes a long moment to look at the little bottle of blue gel you’re holding before looking up at you, solemnly nodding, his big ears flapping a little with the motion.
You step away to wash your hands, grabbing a small strip of gauze as well. Dipping your fingers into the salve, you gently brush it over his bruise, your heart twisting every time his little features scrunch up in pain. Once his arm is sufficiently covered, you carefully wrap the gauze around the bruise, securing it with a small clip.
He looks at his arm before looking back at you, cooing, a wide smile on his face, showing off his baby teeth. His arms raise in the universal sign for “up please!” and you’re unable to deny him, scooping him up in your arms, and cradling him once more to your chest.
Pressing his face against your skin with a contented sigh, he nuzzles against you for a moment before you feel his breathing begin to even out. “It must be exhausting being so little, huh?”
You carry him over to the small bassinet you have set up for when you’re watching your brother’s baby girl when he’s busy. The little child fits easily in the small padded space, and you carefully cover him up before stepping back. You have no idea how he got to your shop, and he’s not exactly a race you recognize. Hopefully his parents are somewhere nearby, otherwise you’re going to have a hard time finding them. Although, you’d noticed that his bruises seemed to be in the shape of a hand, and you really didn’t want to place him back into the arms of abusers.
The tinkling of a bell rang through the shop, signalling the arrival of a customer. You quickly shut the door on the small room with the bassinet, walking towards the counter where your sister is. A’denla isn’t exactly the best with people, and you know she prefers to work in the back, so as soon as you get to the counter, you nudge her away so that she can go back to packaging up products.
She gives you a grateful smile, ducking into the back as you turn to face two of perhaps the strangest customers you’ve ever met. One is a Rodian, which isn’t necessarily odd in of itself, but usually they tend to stay away from Mandalore. Most Mandalorian’s aren’t exactly known for their tolerance towards other races. The other appears to be human, but you’ve learned to not judge people by their outward appearances.
“We’re looking for our bounty,” the Rodian grunts in Huttese, and your eyes widen a bit. Bounty hunters. You should’ve known. You’re also surprised that Huttese is the language he chose, especially considering the two main languages on Mandalore were Mando’a and Basic. Luckily for him, you’ve always been a fan of learning different languages, and you understand basic Huttese. “It got away from us. It’s very dangerous. Have you seen it?”
You raise an eyebrow. “What does your bounty look like?”
The other hunter chimes in, this time in Basic. “It’s fifty years old but looks like a child. Some weird green frog-like thing with big ears. It’s incredibly dangerous, and you need to tell us right now if you’ve seen it.”
You manage to school your features, but internally, you’re shocked. Their bounty is the little green child you just patched up and is now sleeping in your back room? And he’s fifty?
Something about the way the two hunters are acting strikes you as odd, and you make a split second decision. You lie.
“I’ve not seen any creatures like that,” your voice is smooth and calm, betraying nothing. “But I’ve been in my shop all day. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”
For a moment, you think they don’t believe you, but the human quickly nods, grasping his fellow hunter’s arm and tugging him out of your shop. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, sagging a little as the door swung shut.
You ducked back to the backroom, seeing your sister waiting with her arms crossed.
“You wanna tell me why you just lied outright to two bounty hunters?” She hissed, eyes flashing. “Do you know how kriffing stupid that was?”
You stared blankly at her. “Do you really think I’d lie to bounty hunters without a damn good reason?” Your voice was incredulous. “I’m not a di’kut, A’denla.”
She huffed, crossing her arms. “Alright, what’s the reason then?”
You sighed, slumping against one of the tables. “They said their bounty is fifty years old, but the little one who came into our shop? He’s a baby A’denla. He may be fifty, but it’s clear he doesn’t age the same as us! What could a baby do to warrant a bounty? He was hurt, and he was hurt badly. He was sobbing and shaking and it’s clear he was terrified. I wasn’t about to hand him over to the bounty hunters who probably hurt him that bad in the first place!”
A’denla looks shocked at your little outburst, before softening slightly. She’s got a soft spot for little kids too, and you know she wouldn’t be okay with handing a child over to bounty hunters.
“Fine, but if this brings hell down on us, I’m telling buir it was your fault, okay?”
You rolled your eyes, grabbed a basket of products, and went back out front to restock the shelves.
***
The little one had slept for a couple of hours, but now he was wide awake, and demanding your attention. You’d done your best to keep him occupied out of sight in case the bounty hunters came back, but so far, the coast had been clear.
The door suddenly burst open, and Vyshena rushed inside. She owned a shop a couple doors down that sold mechanical parts, so she was a regular, often needing basic medical supplies to patch herself up after being a little too careless with a socket wrench.
“What do you need to–” You started, only to be cut off as Vyshena practically flung herself onto the counter, her grease stained fingers gripping the wood lightly.
“Did you hear?!”
You almost winced at the squeal, and you felt little claws dig into your legs. You looked down, to see the child grasping your leg, his ears drooping as he looked up at you with sorrowful eyes.
“Did I hear what, Vys?”
You bent down to pick up the little one, smoothing one hand over his ear as Vys started in on a rant.
“The King is coming! Apparently his kid went missing and he’s tracking him down! Y’know, he used to be a bounty hunter, so it only makes sense that he’d track his own kid down, apparently there’s a bounty from the Empire on the little guy and–”
You looked up as Vys suddenly stopped, and your brow furrowed as she made a choking sound, her eyes wide as saucers as she stared at you.
“And what, Vys?”
Instead of answering, her arm raised shakily, pointing at the little bundle you held on your hip. Her mouth was gaping, and she looked like she was about to pass out.
“Vys, are you alright?”
Her eyes flickered between your face and the kid multiple times before she sucked in a gasp. “WHAT?”
You actually flinched back at her sudden shout, and the kid whimpered, burying his face in your side.
“Vys!”
“I’m sorry, but how do you– where did– HOW DID YOU GET THE KING’S KID??”
Your eyes widened. “I’m sorry, what?”
“YOU HEARD ME!”
“What is all this racket about– oh, hi Vys.” A’denla came out from the back, her hands full of bottled bacta salve. “What’s going on?”
Vys sputtered, and so you mumbled “Apparently this is the King’s son?” As you gesture to the giggling baby on your hip.
A’denla’s jaw dropped, and she nearly dropped the bacta salve. “Are you kidding me??”
You shook your head, feeling faint, and Vys started laughing hysterically, which got the little one going too. “Not helping,” you muttered, but you couldn’t help but smile at how happy the little one looked.
“Maker, what are we gonna do?”
Your sister’s moan was mostly drowned out by the giggling, but you frowned thoughtfully. “Vys, hold him please,” you said, handing her the still laughing child, even as your request caused her to audibly shut her mouth. You rummaged through the drawers behind the counter before you found a spare sheet of paper and a pen. A’denla tried to see what you were doing but you waved her off, writing as fast as you could.
“There,” you muttered, folding up the paper, handing it to Vys in exchange for the kid. “Take this to one of the guards. They should be able to get it to the King quickly enough. It states that his son is safe, and here in the apothecary. We’re gonna close early just as an added precaution.”
Vys nodded, and you turned to A’denla. “I also wrote what I could remember about the two bounty hunters who came in, they’re probably the ones who kidnapped the kid to begin with.”
“Yeah, that makes sense,” your sister sighed. “Maker, am I glad you lied to them when they asked about the kiddo.”
“Me too.” You turned back to Vys. “Go, get that to a guard. I’ll wait here.”
Vys nodded shakily, still a little pale, but she dashed out of the shop. A’denla opened her mouth, but closed it again quickly.
“Go on, spit it out.”
She shook her head. “Buir is never gonna believe this.” You snickered, imaging your mother’s face when she found out that the King of Mandalore’s son had wandered into your apothecary.
“You should go home and tell her. I’d hate for her to hear about this from someone else.” A’denla looked worried, but you shook her off. “I’m closing the store anyways. It’s not like I won’t need your help.”
“If you’re sure?”
“Yes, go.”
After a little more persuading, A’denla finally left, leaving you and the little one alone in the shop. He was still perched on your hip, and for a moment, you stood in the middle of the store, mind racing.
“I can’t believe you’re actually the King’s son,” you muttered, looking down at the wide-eyed child. “Just my luck, huh?”
He cooed at you, playing with the fabric of your top. Your eyes fell to the gauze wrapped around his arm, and you sighed. “I guess we better check on that, buddy. Make sure you’re healing alright.”
Just like before, he was a good patient, not too squirmy as you carefully unwound the gauze. His bruise was healing nicely, and you carefully applied a little more bacta for good measure, re-wrapping his arm. Right as you were pinning it in place, a loud banging sounded from the front door.
You jumped, hand flying to your chest. Carefully picking the kid up, you made your way to the door, peering through the curtains, eyes widening as you realized just who was standing there.
Unlocking the door, you pulled it open, stepping to the side to let the odd looking group inside.
You recognized Fennec Shand, a notorious bounty hunter and partner to Boba Fett, who was also a part of the group. Both were known for their close kinship with the King. There was a woman you didn’t recognize, but judging by the small tattoo on her upper cheek, she had ties to the Republic.
Finally, clad in full beskar’gam, was the King. His beskar was unpainted, the silver gleaming in the low light of your shop. He had no shortage of weapons, his spear was strapped to his back, and a blaster and various vibroblades were strapped to his legs. But the most prominent was the Darksaber that hung from his belt.
Dropping into a curtsy, you bowed your head in respect, a quiet “my king,” leaving your lips. You’d heard stories about the King, about his strength and speed in battle, but especially from his time as a bounty hunter. He’d been one of, if not the best bounty hunter in the galaxy, before winning the Darksaber from Maul in a duel, granting him the right to the throne of Mandalore.
Some said he was cruel, terrifying and dangerous, not to mention volatile. You had no way of knowing. He wasn’t one for major public appearances, so knowledge on his true personality was reserved for those closest to him.
There was a tense silence for a moment when suddenly, the child on your hip reached his little arms out towards the King, babbling loudly. He had a large smile on his face and was wriggling desperately to get out of your grasp.
The King took a step forward, his own hands stretching out towards his son. You carefully handed the child over, your bare hands brushing over the King’s leather gloves as you transferred the little one to his father’s arms.
“Su’cuy, ad’ika.”
The King’s voice was barely more than a whisper as he pressed his helmet against the little one’s brow, his hand pressing against the child’s back to hold him close.
You fold your arms in front of you, absently noting the way that you already miss the comforting weight of the kid on your hip. You look away from the King and his son, not wanting to intrude on their reunion.
The others seem a little uncomfortable, like you, and thankfully, the woman you don’t know breaks the awkward silence.
“You said in your note that you had two bounty hunters come looking for him?”
You’re looking at the woman, so you don’t notice the way the King’s head whips in your direction, nor the way his hand falls to rest on the hilt of the Darksaber.
“Mmhmm, a Rodian and a human.” You pause. “Actually, I’d almost forgotten, we had security cameras installed about a month ago, they should be on the holos.”
“Why bother with security cameras?” Fett cut in, and you were taken aback by the blatant suspicion in his voice. “This isn’t exactly a high crime area.”
You sighed. “We had a break in a couple months ago. Some di’kut took off with half our supply of bacta salve. We’re one of the only apothecaries on Mandalore licensed to make it, and unfortunately, that usually means we have a large stock, and the prices are pretty steep.”
“You didn’t report it.”
You narrowed your eyes at the accusatory tone. “I figure if someone’s going to go to all that trouble just to steal bacta salve and not even touch the register or safe, they probably needed it. It’s diluted when it’s in a salve, so it can’t be sold on the black market, unlike pure bacta.”
“What’s this?”
You started at the King’s voice, turning to look in his direction, seeing him inspecting the gauze wrapped around the little one’s arm. You frowned. “The little one had a pretty bad bruise, it was nearly black. I applied some bacta salve and wrapped it. I checked it just before you got here, it looks a lot better.”
“And I suppose you just thought it was okay to–”
“Fett.”
Your eyes widened at the King’s tone, looking away as the green-armoured bounty hunter grumbled, but stayed silent.
“I’m a licensed medic, and I have been for close to ten years now. I know what I’m doing.” Perhaps your voice was a little defensive, but you weren’t going to apologize for easing the kid’s pain, no matter the opinion of grumpy men in beskar.
“Thank you.”
You nodded at the King, eyes flicking up to his helmet before looking away, your cheeks growing warm. You weren’t sure what it was about him, but something about the way he seemed to stare directly into your soul, even through the beskar made you feel... odd.
He handed the little one to the woman with the tattoo, before turning back to you. “May I see the holos?”
You nodded again, turning and walking towards the back of the shop, where the holos were stored. It wasn’t a large room, an old refurbished closet really, and it was a bit tight for one person, let alone a second covered in beskar. You opened up the data station and pulled up the holos from earlier, trying to ignore the silent mountain of a man behind you. You could feel his eyes on your back, and you tried to suppress the shiver that ran down your spine.
You found the correct timestamp, and enlarged the holovid, pointing to the figures on the screen. “This is when they entered.”
Suddenly, there was a large warm hand on the small of your back as the King stepped up behind you, his other hand coming down to rest on the surface of the table, caging you in as he leaned forward. He was peering over your shoulder, and you inadvertently sucked in a breath at the sudden closeness.
The two of you watched the footage in silence. Unfortunately, you didn’t have audio to go with the holos, so all the King would have to go off of is the visual.
“Is there anything distinctive about them that you can remember?” He murmured, the rasp of his helmet’s modulator doing nothing to hide the exquisite way his voice sounded in your ear.
“Um–” You trailed off, trying to focus, which was especially hard with the King so kriffing close. “Uh, the Rodian? He spoke Huttese.” You could’ve smacked yourself. Of course the Rodian spoke Huttese, it was a common language bounty hunters learned, and Rodian’s were known for speaking it along with their native Rodese.
The King let out a sigh, and just as you were about to apologize, he thanked you.
“That– that helps. Thank you, very much.” His hand pressed a little more into your back, and you fought the urge to arch into his touch. You weren’t some child with a crush damn it, you were a village shopkeeper and he was your king. It would be entirely inappropriate, although your traitorous mind was quick to remind you that his touching you could be considered inappropriate as well.
You told your mind to shut the hell up.
“You’re welcome, my king.”
There, that was a perfectly respectable answer. Now all you had to do was avoid embarrassing yourself any further, and–
“Please, darling. Call me Din.”
Well, there went that plan.
You bit your lip and looked down at the keyboard, hoping that the King–Din, didn’t see your hands tighten at the sound of his voice when he called you darling.
“Can you give me a copy of these holovids?”
You nodded, grateful for something, anything to distract you from the peculiar man at your back. Copying the holos onto a drive unfortunately didn’t take very long, and when you turned to hand them to the Ki–Din, your eyes widened when you realized just how close he was to you. Your chests were practically touching, and you had to tilt your head up to be able to look at his helmet, which was aimed directly at you.
He carefully took the drive, tucking it into one of the pockets on his belt, before stepping back, crossing one arm over his chest and bowing. To you.
“You’ve done me a great service. I won’t forget it.”
You swallowed harshly. For a moment, it had sounded like he’d said “I won’t forget you,” although it had to be wishful thinking on your part. He was your King, you were so far removed from royalty it wasn’t even funny. He was just being polite.
“I’m just glad you were able to reunite with your son. He seems to love you a lot.”
“His name is Grogu. I was blessed with him as my foundling, and I treasure him greatly.”
You smiled. It was clear as day how much the King loved his son, and how the little one returned those feelings tenfold. To be blessed with a foundling was a great honor, and it didn’t surprise you one bit that your King had been blessed in such a way.
He stepped back to make space for you to leave the small room, and you hurried to where the others were undoubtedly waiting, only just now realizing how long the two of you had been gone.
Fett and Shand were gone by the time you got back to the main floor of your shop. Just the woman and the little one–Grogu–stood their waiting. The King easily plucked Grogu from the woman’s grasp, and with a tight nod, she left your shop as well, leaving you alone with the King and his son.
He turned back to you, his helmet once more trained on your face. “I must thank you again, for everything.”
You felt your cheeks grow warm at the gratitude dripping from his words. “It was nothing, my king,” you murmured, curtsying once more.
As you slowly straightened back up, the King reached out and ever so gently lifted your chin, the leather of his glove pressing into your skin. You were forced to look at him, even as the fluttering in your stomach renewed with vigour.
“I’ve already told you, darling. Call me Din.”
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#royalty au#king!din au#king!din#din djarin x reader#fic#the mandalorian#the mandalorian au fic#Din Djarin is a king#and we love him#no use of y/n#chapter 1#I'd say this is gonna be long cause its a slow burn#but that'd be a lie#it's long cause there's a lot of smut#it's not a slow burn at all#boba fett#fennec shand#cara dune#little baby grogu#reader falls in love with grogu#like always#royal affairs
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All We Are
Pairing: Johnny Silverhand x female!V
Summary: V is jealous after Johnny’s date with Rogue, which leads to an honest discussion about where they both stand.
Words: 1.7k
Warning: spoilers for Blistering Love side job, a little angst
A/N: Requested by an anon. This may be a bit different than what you were expecting, but I was in the feels™. Hope you still enjoy :)
Also, can we please talk about how adorable he looks in the gif??
The long drive back to the apartment was silent; the utter stillness in the car weighs heavily on V’s mind. Hands gripping tight on the steering wheel, she tries to ignore this unsettling ache she has, not allowing even an ounce of thought to pass. Though she chalks it off as a side effect of the pseudoendotrizine, this strange, hollow feeling of hers continues to stir deep inside, burning, burning and burning.
And so, she switches on the radio and focuses ahead on the stretch of road winding down the North Oak hills, the approaching lights of Night City glowing brighter against the inky skies. A fresh breeze flows into the open windows, dulling the tension for a moment.
A moment of tranquility that ends far too soon, yet it was a moment V’s at least grateful to have.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Johnny points out, the gruff baritone of his voice piercing the air. “An enny for your thoughts?”
Kicking his feet up on the dashboard, his aviators glint in the silver moonlight, making him appear impossibly more obnoxious than he usually is. He acts as if he’s not aware of the recent thoughts plaguing V’s head, but perhaps that truly was the case. If it were, then she would be surprised— Johnny often invades her mind, poking and prodding at things he shouldn’t be. For a while, she assumes he knows.
“Just tired,” V replies monotonously. Her answer was far from a lie; she really was tired. Exhausted, even. All she wants is to collapse into bed, pass out, and hope that for a few short hours, she can forget about today, about everything.
“Huh,” he breathes out, and V spares him not a single glance. “Pretty sure somethin’ was up. You’ve been actin’ weird since we left the drive-in.”
A chuckle rumbles through her chest. V still finds it unusual for Johnny to act so… concerned. Almost caring, if she had to be honest. She’s noticed a change in him recently, which became apparent after their conversation in the oil fields. He’s a lot softer now, sometimes sweet, both in his own unique way, of course. As if his rough edges were slightly smoothed out with sandpaper, enough that they no longer cut and make her bleed.
V would often catch him staring when he thinks she’s not looking. She also doesn’t fail to miss the small smile that creeps across his face as she talks. And in those passing seconds that lasts an eternity when the relic malfunctions, Johnny was there to offer her comfort. He’d kneel down to the ground while she coils in agony, whispering promises that this will all be over soon. That one way or another, they would get rid of that goddamn chip slotted in V’s head and ultimately save her life.
Life. Life has a funny way of unraveling itself. Fuck, this all seems like a cruel joke the universe is playing on V. Fate is rarely kind to her, a sad fact she’s accepted over the years. Never would she have imagined that after experiencing the pain of heartbreak and loss, she’d find herself falling for someone at the worst possible time.
And that someone is the imprisoned digital ghost of a rockerboy-turned-terrorist studying her from the passenger seat.
But V’s adamant in denying it. Her life was too fucking complicated for this right now.
“Are you capable of shutting the fuck up for two seconds?” V bitterly snaps, the hands on the wheel clenching stiffly as her jaw. “You got what you wanted tonight. Finally got your dick wet after fifty years, so leave me the hell alone, would’ya?!”
She doesn’t mean to act on her muted anger, but it manages to get the best of her. V knows why, and because of it, she crumbles. She crumbles like the walls she’s built around herself. Like the facade she’s been hiding behind for the past couple of months. Because underneath the dirt and grime, V was just a poor, tragic soul, more worried about losing the man she couldn’t have than her awaiting death.
“Really think that’s what happened?” Johnny asks, pushing his shades up to his head as he shifts to sit up straight in his seat.
V grits her teeth, eyes remaining locked on the road. She had woken up an hour or two after Johnny took over, finding her lips still warm, still swollen. Her hair was tousled, and she had been stripped off of most of her clothes; the scent of Rogue’s perfume lingering on her skin. She didn’t need him to recount; it was all clear to her what had transpired. It was what she agreed on to make him happy, a date with the Afterlife fixer and whatever it could lead up to.
In the end, V regretted it, not because Johnny used her body to sleep with someone. But because even after the rollercoaster ride, the dog tags, the private concerts, and the heart-to-heart they had at his gravesite, she still wasn’t his. He was too hung up over Rogue, and she couldn’t blame him. Having shared a lengthy history, there was no doubt Johnny wouldn’t snatch up the opportunity to win her back.
But then where does that leave V?
“The fuck is wrong, V? Don’t make me figure it out by myself.”
Biting the edge of her lip, she ignores Johnny’s latest question and contemplates swallowing an omega blocker. She doesn’t even care that he’s threatening to search for the truth without her permission. Choosing not to do so, he keeps pressing on regardless, and V was getting pissed off. When he doesn’t stop, she loses her temper and slams on the brakes, the Porsche coming to a screeching halt on a dead street.
Huffing, V pulls over to the side, shutting the car’s engine as Johnny is left bewildered by her actions. Peace and quiet. She yearns for peace and quiet, and the pills would do the trick in an instant. Her hand reaches for the bottle in her jacket pocket, the pounding of her heart echoing in her ears. Popping the cap open, she turns her head to the side, unable to help herself. She sees the tenderness etched in his features, a wordless plea shining in his dark eyes.
“V… Tell me.”
V’s gaze slowly falters, her consciousness at war with itself. The storm of anger in her calms, yet she needs to know what her next move is. She’s always been terrible at this sort of thing, dealing with her feelings and shit. Growing up in the streets of Heywood, she’s learned how to shut people out and keep them out. Biggest rule she had imposed on herself was to never, ever fall for a choom, but this time was different. Despite him being a mere figment of her imagination, she feels safe around Johnny, appreciated and content. The two understand each other on a level nobody else has done. They’ve been through literal hell and would only sink further into it to find a way to survive.
A chrome palm comes to rest on V’s cheek, the sensation oddly warm, oddly familiar. Her attention flickers back to Johnny as he strokes her weary face. His touch was delicate, movements careful and controlled. He treats her as if she were porcelain, afraid that his metal hand would cause her to crack. V exhales deeply, relishing the feeling she’s longed from the moment she had broken that dumb rule of hers.
“Go ahead,” she mumbles, giving Johnny consent for him to read her mind. It only takes a second, maybe even less. V half expects his shit-eating grin to make its appearance. She couldn’t forget how cocky he was, and she thought this would certainly rub his ego.
It never comes. Instead, Johnny’s lips turn up into a genuine smile, one softer than the way his black hair falls to frame his face. V swears she was floating; this doesn’t feel all that real to her. It couldn’t be real. But as the first faint slivers of sunlight appear on the horizon, she starts to believe that she isn’t dreaming nor hallucinating. She was still very much wide awake.
“Didn’t know you were the jealous type,” Johnny quips as he leans closer. “You had no reason to be jealous, princess.”
“Why not?”
“Nothin’ happen between Rogue and me,” he clarifies, his fingers pushing back her locks. “Yeah, we made out a little, but I couldn’t go through with it. Wanna know why?”
V nods.
“’Cause I realized that ship sailed a long time ago. We’re too different people now; she’s got her own life, while I got mine sittin’ right here.”
“Johnny…” she murmurs his name as he brings up his other hand to cradle her face. “I wanted to have what you and Rogue had, minus the shitty things you did. But I could feel how much you loved her, how you basically worshipped the ground she walked on. Then I thought, can’t compete with her. She’s a livin’ legend, a badass. Meanwhile, I could be dead the next minute or two, either by this fuckin’ relic or a bullet.”
“Trust me, V, you wouldn’t want that,” Johnny returns, resting his forehead against hers. How could he feel so real? “What you and I have is special. Ain’t felt this way before, not even with Rogue or Alt. Like I said, you’re the fuckin’ closest to me. These feelings you’re afraid of? Shit, I have them too, and I’m fuckin’ terrified. But knowing that you’re here and we both share them, it makes things a lot less scary.”
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
Johnny laughs softly. “Gotta spell it out for ya, huh? Well then, here it goes; V, I love you. I don’t throw that word around randomly, but know that it’s what I feel whenever I think of you.”
V doesn’t waste a second longer. Her lips meet his for a kiss that is gentle and bruising, all at once. They hold one another close, their grasps taut so that the other wouldn’t slip away, not wanting to lose what they’ve gained. Time goes by, ticking in the background as they kiss again and again, but to them, it’s slow, nearly everlasting.
And when it was over, when they finally had to part, they were breathless, panting.
“Love you too, Johnny,” she murmurs into his skin, tone dripping with affection as he hums in response.
Night melds into day, and the city comes back to its fullest life. V kisses Johnny a final time before driving back to the place she calls home, even though she’s found her true one in his heart.
—
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