#calamari press | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

impossiblescissorspeachpaper · 1 year

Text

even in those quiet moments, i hear your voice

elriel month prompt six: words unspoken

NSFW.

Another Secret Dating Modern AU installment. Read other fics in the series here

It was the laziest of Sundays, but it had been a while since Azriel had spent the entire morning in bed. He probably hadn’t done so since his teen years, when he’d sneak out of the house with Cass and Rhys and binge drink the cheap beer they’d bought with a fake ID in the local park all night, coming home just before the sun rose and sleeping the entire following day away. But honestly, if all his mornings included Elain Archeron tangled in his sheets, her jasmine scented hair splashed across his pillows and soft skin pressed up against his, he would do it more often.

Azriel had never thought he’d be the type of guy to be down so bad for a girl, but the more layers of Elain he got to uncover, the more he realised he was made for someone like her. The broody guy who loitered in shadows, falling for the sunshine flower girl. He snorted at the absolute irony of it.

He’d promptly ignored the incessant texts from Cassian at seven am, his brother hounding him to meet at the gym for a session. It wasn’t going to happen. Not today. Today he was going to do nothing but lounge around with his girl. She’d been busy all week with work and assignments, and he’d barely gotten a chance to see her.

If it was just their schedules that kept them apart, he may have been more compliant in her absence, but they had the unfortunate burden of also having to sneak around their nosy siblings. He loved that Elain was so close with her sisters, and he with his brothers. After all, they were all each other had.

Their little group had only grown closer since Rhys and Feyre had introduced them all, and he loved the bonds he shared with each, but sometimes they were all just so damn clingy.

He chuckled, wondering what their group must look like to outsiders. Probably something like the Cullen’s… Azriel grimaced, it was Elain’s fault he even knew that reference.

Elain had come over late last night after a dinner shift at the restaurant. Tired and cranky, she had dumped her bags in the doorway and made a beeline straight for his shower, complaining she smelled of fried calamari and beer. Azriel had laughed, thinking she was being melodramatic. She always smelt fucking amazing.

She had emerged from his tiny ensuite twenty minutes later, wrapped in an oversized towel with her hair thrown up in a messy bun and steam wafting out of the door behind her like tendrils of smoke. It had taken all his willpower not to stalk over to her, whip that towel off her body and throw her onto the bed. Fuck, she was gorgeous.

She had further sealed his fate, driving home the final nail in the I Love Elain Archeron coffin, when she’d gone rummaging through one of his drawers. She’d turned around with a proud grin on her face when she’d found what she was looking for; an old band tee he’d had since college. Throwing on the faded tee she loved to sleep in so much, she’d curled up in bed beside him, giving him a soft peck on the cheek before settling in.

Azriel’s eyes had almost rolled into the back of his head. She smelled like his shower gel, and that, paired with the oversized t-shirt she wore, had him internally peacocking in some fucked up, masculine alpha-male type of way. Whatever. He loved seeing Elain in his clothes, even if that did make him some sort of primitive, territorial bastard. She tucked herself into his side and Azriel had all but beamed in male pride.

He’d thrown on a Netflix movie for them to watch, but it had barely been ten minutes in before she had fallen asleep, her face pressed into his chest as her breath fanned across his skin. He’d simply smiled down at her and pulled her closer, rubbing a hand down her back, bringing his palm to rest at her waist. He’d let her sleep, his own eyes growing heavy as the warmth from her tiny form drifted over him and lulled him into a peaceful slumber not long after.

The following morning, he'd awoken early but remained in bed, not wanting to disentangle himself from the limbs she had wrapped around him in their sleep. Elain dozed peacefully as he looked over at her, and not being able to resist her thrall any longer, he gingerly rolled over onto his side. Gently pushing aside the hair that had slid over her face, scarred fingertips fluttering over her serene expression, he pressed the softest of kisses to her nose.

She didn’t stir.

He leant forward again, peppering her face with feather-light kisses, brushing his lips lightly over her cheeks, her eyes, her temples, her jaw.

With a deep exhale and a stretch of her legs, Elain’s eyes finally fluttered open, blinking as she adjusted to the light. The soft morning sunlight filtered through his window and gilded her hair in streaks of brilliant gold and honey brown. He couldn’t help but gape in awe at her, she’d never looked more beautiful.

“Morning,” she croaked, her voice still thick from sleep, face half buried in the pillow.

His lips twitched into the ghost of a soft smile. Elain had breezed into his life just a few months ago, but in that short amount of time, she’d managed to awaken something deep within him that had long been slumbering. Something he had not even been sure he would ever possess, that vulnerable ability to open oneself up to another person entirely and just… trust. Yet here she was, making him fall head over heels for her in close to no time at all.

Beneath the rumpled sheets, she hitched a leg to rest over his hip and his skin prickled in response, delighted at her proximity.

He smirked, running a hand down her smooth thigh. “Morning, tater-tot.”

She chuckled at the ridiculous nickname, and Azriel catalogued that laugh to memory. He couldn’t recall how it had started but every day since they’d been together, he’d think up of a new— albeit random— nickname to call her. She laughed every time, often remarking about the increasing ridiculousness of the names he gave her. He liked to keep her on her toes that way, and tater-tots were cute. Only psychopaths didn’t love potatoes.

Snaking an arm around her waist as his other hand gripped the thigh she had hitched on his hip, he tugged Elain across the sheets and into his embrace. Plunging his hand into her thick hair, he angled her face and kissed her, lazy and slow.

Her soft body melted into him as she sighed into it, kissing him back decadently as her hand came up from beneath the sheets to cup his cheek. He shuffled even closer to her, sidling up beside her, pressing their chests together. Elain in turn shifted, hitching her leg higher on his waist, sinking deeper into his sheets, all but mewling at his unhurried attention.

Azriel felt her delicate fingers creep up to card in the hair at the nape of his neck, her tongue laving at the seam of his lips. He opened for her, allowing his tongue to lazily caress hers as he kissed her, nice and slow, sucking her bottom lip into his mouth gently.

A small whimper escaped her throat, her hips canting softly into his, and that was all it took to spur him into action. Gripping her thigh in his palm, Azriel rolled them over, settling himself on top of her, his hips cradled in the soft space she created for him between her split thighs.

He tore his lips from hers, a true testament to his will. Or perhaps it was just proof of his hedonistic desire to simply stare at the way Elain was sprawled out beneath him, that debauched urge all but demanding he visually engross himself in how tantalizing she looked whilst spread out in his bed.

She always looked beautiful, but there was something about this moment; the way her doe eyes would soften, the way her hair would lay tousled around her, the adorable pink flush colouring her cheeks… he would never tire of it. If he had any talent with a paintbrush or skill behind a lens, he would capture it to keep forever, but instead it was another thing he promised to commit to memory.

Holding himself above her, a muscled forearm resting on the pillow beside her head, Elain merely gazed up at him, a small, secret smile blooming across her lovely face. They never needed words, and yet they could always discern what the other conveyed. In the short time they’d been together, they’d become so proficient at quietly observing each other, they could often converse simply with a pointed look across the room or a subtle twitch of an expression. He loved that. He loved feeling seen by Elain, and in turn documenting her every little quirk, interpreting the meaning of each one of her silent cues. He intended to be proficient in the unspoken language of Elain Archeron and nothing could sway his determination.

He was so fucking done for.

Elain drew her arms up, slinging them about his shoulders, hands hanging limply behind him as her fingertips brushed his shoulder blades. Goosebumps erupted across his skin, and he couldn’t help but sink into her warm embrace, her body so supple and welcoming beneath him.

The old t-shirt she wore had ridden up around her hips, and as he drew himself closer to kiss her, he pressed his hips firmly into the warm centre of her.

Something akin to a squeak escaped her lips, causing her in turn to wrap her long legs around his waist. He marvelled at her warmth, relished in doing nothing but exist in Elain’s hold. Kissing her deeply, keeping his machinations unhurried and languid, he couldn’t help but think he would happily live and die in this very spot.

Shifting beneath him, Elain’s hands trailed up his body and dove into his hair, deepening the kiss as her thighs split imperceptibly wider, allowing his rapidly hardening cock to nestle snuggly against her. She loved it. She let loose a little breath, her back arching at the increased pressure on her sensitive folds. She bit his lip gently, unable to control the pleasure slowly building, and rolled her hips, seeking more friction where she needed it the most.

Azriel chuckled, pulling back once more to look down at her. Her pupils were blown wide, all traces of sleepiness gone. In its place was a sultry, sexual profligacy, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she gazed back up at him.

“Az, I need… uh!” she trailed off at a particularly delicious roll of his hips.

Azriel tenderly brushed the golden strands of hair that had fallen into her face. “I know, baby,” he cooed, placating her with another languorous thrust of his hips, benevolently rolling into her, burying her deeper into his sheets with the motion.

Elain’s mouth popped open, her eyes heavy lidded, the brown of her irises sparkling with desire behind them. He lived to see her pleasure splashed across her face.

Running a hand down his chiselled abdomen, Elain pried open the waistband of his underwear and eased one slight hand beneath the cotton. Her fingers were exploratory, fondling him lightly before finally wrapping them around his shaft. His head flopped heavily between his shoulders at her touch, his mouth falling open with an exhale.

Her touch immediately sent sparks of pleasure ricocheting through his veins, her fingers well practiced in his preferences. The pressure she applied was just how he liked it. Fuck.

Gathering his wits, he gripped the hem of the tee she wore and slowly pulled it up her torso, exposing her iridescent skin one slow inch at a time. Her grip around him tightened, unhurriedly stroking the hard length of him.

Pulling the shirt up to her collarbones and exposing her breasts, his mouth watered at the sight of her curves, her peaked nipples ready and waiting for him to steal a taste. Lowering his face to her chest, he puckered his lips around the hardened bud of one, his tongue laving hungrily at her skin. A soft cry escaped her as she flung her head back into her pillow, her back arching beautifully.

The movement allowed him to twine a hand beneath her, pressing his palm firmly against her back to push her breasts into his face, effectively smothering himself in the swell of her curves.

Releasing her nipple from his mouth with a soft pop, Azriel licked his way across the valley of her breasts to the other side, lavishing the second with the same attention. He traced a broad hand around her waist and up to cup her breast, sinful fingers replacing where his mouth had just been, his tongue continuing to lick and suck at her chest with a reverence he reserved solely for Elain. He moaned at the taste, the scent and feel of her skin engulfing his senses completely.

He sucked and pulled and licked at her skin, teeth nipping the sensitive swells of her breasts until he’d left several blooming violet marks splashed lovingly across her chest. He knew she loved the little reminders of his passion, that the thought of wearing his love bites hidden beneath her clothes excited her. And he loved giving them to her. He could never get enough.

A short yelp escaped her at a particularly enthusiastic pass of his teeth against her hard nipple.

Seemingly decided she was done with being teased into oblivion, Elain had grown increasingly needy and pointedly pulled his cock free from his boxer briefs, stroking him with increased fervour.

She gripped him hard and twisted her hand around his shaft, just how he fucking liked it. Azriel shivered at her touch, hazily admiring the way she was able to work him up just as effectively as he had her. His blood pounded in his ears as he grew almost painfully hard, his cock leaking and standing at attention.

Elain continued to expertly stroke him, whilst the fingers of her other hand twined in his hair. Administering a sharp pull, the tug caused him to reluctantly tear his mouth away from her plush breasts.

He crooked a brow at her insistence, injecting a low timbre in his voice he knew drove Elain wild. “Yes?”

Her only answer was another soft whine as he pointedly rolled into her dripping folds again, her own hand still wrapped around his cock adding to the friction.

He gazed down at her, a smug grin blooming across his lips at the desperation he saw leaching from her. Her chocolate brown eyes smouldered and she all but trembled with want, his hips pinning her resolutely beneath him.

He watched the way her throat bobbed as she swallowed thickly, the way her nipples had turned a bright pink from his ministrations, how her kiss-swollen lips parted as her breath panted out before her. She gazed at him how a hungry beast may observe its prey, and he knew that same desire was reflected in his own eyes. Stooping down for one last peck to the little dip between her collarbones, he settled onto his forearms, pressing his chest flush against hers.

Sensing her small hands fumble to line up his cock at her needy entrance, Elain exhaled contentedly, eyes beautifully fluttering into the back of her skull as he began to sink slowly into her.

So soft. She was always so fucking soft, and tight and warm for him. And wet. She was so fucking wet.

He shuddered above her, pausing halfway, allowing her to adjust to the intrusion before he continued. Biting her lip, she slung her arms over his shoulders once more and urged him onwards with a small tilt of her hips, imploring him to go deeper. Silently begging him for more.

Rolling his hips into hers, she cried out as he finally pushed all the way in, her slickened walls enveloping him deliciously as she trembled beneath him. She looked up at him with that burning desire they both felt so acutely written across her face, her teeth sensually sinking into her plush bottom lip. She all but begged him to move, her eyes expressing everything she needn’t voice.

Pressing a kiss to her jaw, her neck, behind her ear, he nuzzled his face into her silken hair as he started to move.

Rocking in and out of her slowly, he lengthened his strokes, feeling her clench deliciously around him with each pass. Her arms came to wrap around his middle and her nails scraped down his shoulder blades, a sure sign that Elain was holding herself back from tumbling over that edge too soon. He knew she wanted him to come with her. Knew she loved it when they found their pleasure simultaneously in a puddle of heaving chests and garbled pleas. He’d let her have it, but he wasn’t going to make it easy for her.

Edging their way ever closer to their pleasure, he continued to plunge impossibly deeper into her, over and over, the feeling of her delicate muscles beginning to flutter around him. Their chests had grown slick with sweat causing them to slide against each other with each stroke, only adding to the debauched eroticism. Knowing she loved the stimulation to her nipples, loved his weight atop her, he pressed her more firmly into the mattress beneath them as he continued fucking into her.

“God— Az!”

It was a desperate, reverent plea, her fingernails scraping down the skin of his back leaving red marks in their wake.

Elain attempted to clasp her knees together, her taught thighs pressing into his sides as he continued to drive into her wet heat. Pulling his face from its resting place nuzzled against her neck, he lay his forehead against hers.

Their hot breathes mingled in the space between them, gasps and moans falling from their lips as Azriel drove into her over and over, as deep as he could possibly go. Nudging that elusive knot of nerves he knew would have Elain seeing stars with every drive of his pelvis, a small cry bubbled from between her lips, her fingertips digging into his muscled back as he pounded into her.

Feeling his own orgasm looming, he swiped his tongue into her mouth, catching the whimpers and cries she let loose like they sustained his very lifeblood.

Trying and failing to hold his composure, his movements grew sloppy and frantic as they both hurtled toward their climax, their bodies slamming together and edging ever closer to that summit. His head emptied of all other thoughts but Elain, Elain, Elain; and with one final, heavy thrust, she cried out, her face twisting into a pageant of pleasure.

Her hands clutched frantically at his biceps as she came around his cock, her breath catching in her throat as her plump lips opened into a pretty O. The sounds of her orgasm reached their crescendo, and only moments passed before Azriel was following closely behind.

With a stuttered grunt and an echo of her name he spilled into her, her folds fluttering around his shaft, her tight inner muscles heightening his pleasure.

His mind short-circuited in his bliss, but he focused on the feel of her flushed breasts pressed beneath him, their mingled releases dribbling around him, her breath fanning across his sweaty face. Elain. He could never fucking get enough.

They remained tangled around one another and panting. Brown and hazel eyes screwed shut, but parted lips softly grazing the others’ as he sloppily rocked them through the final throes of their pleasure.

Azriel’s arms gave way as he slumped heavily into Elain’s embrace, her tense muscles now softening and turning pliant once more. She glistened with sweat, the golden-brown hair at her temples curling against her glowing skin.

His mind had gone blank. Utterly quiet in the wake of his climax. All except for one thought that emerged from the heady fog: this.

This. This. This.

This is how he wanted to spend all his days. With her. Irretrievably intertwined in each other. Warm, safe, peaceful. In their own little haven of quiet understanding and unbridled desire. The way she understood him, saw him, without the need of any unnecessary words.

Yes, this was fucking it. He’d never be able to go back to life without her.

As the haze of passion cleared, he became conscious of his entire bulky frame completely smothering his tiny girlfriend beneath him. Fuck, he was probably crushing her lungs.

Pressing a chaste kiss to the hollow of her throat he attempted to pull their sweat-slicked bodies apart, but she only mumbled something that sounded like not yet and pulled him soundly back on top of her, wrapping her legs securely around his waist to hold him in place.

Ok then, he wasn’t going to argue.

Instead, Azriel just smiled into her neck, gently brushing the hair away from her face as he murmured into her skin, “Love you, too.”

She only hugged him tighter.

*******

A special thanks to @tswaney17 for helping me pull this out of the trash💚

EM tag list:

@waternymphia

@shedoessoshedoes

@nightcourtseer

@tealeaves-and-rosepetals

@jasmineandshadows

@zdenkah

@dottielovegood

@casuallivi

@azrielslight

@ultadverb

@tswaney17

@batboyazriel

@duskwhisperer

@thoughtsaboutshows

@mardereads19

@a-frog-with-a-laptop

@123moiaussi

@reverie-tales

@britishwings

@glasscupsss

@gracie-rosee

@massiveattackangel

@thesistersarcheron

@dreamsandwings

@shadowflorecita

@elainsweetcobalt

@demarogue

@lesolehabitantdelalune

@elrielbaby

@happy-go-lucky-fangirl

@nivem565

@broodybatboy

@edanmaia

@booksnightowl

@saz-griffin

@swankii-art-teacher

@elriel-month

#elriel month 2023 #t writes #elriel #elriel fic #prompt six: words unspoken #acotar #elain x azriel #elriel month #acotar fanfiction #elain archeron #azriel #secret dating modern au #elriel smut #smut

222 notes · View notes

velidewrites · 1 year

Text

Summary: Nesta is having the worst time on her vacation—until she spots a handsome stranger in a restaurant. Lucky for her, he's determined to show her a good time.

Pairing: Nesta x Cassian

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: Smut, mature language, Mrs Archeron

Read on AO3

The only source of light in the restaurant were the candles, laid atop each table and flickering whenever the evening breeze dared to gently whoosh inside. There were no windows in the space—the climate here was warm enough to not have to bother with such things—so instead, someone had opted to carve rounded, open archways into the sandstone walls. Every now and then, the wind would find its way in, prompting the small flames into a dance that threatened to smother their enthusiasm for good.

Such cruel fate had been suffered by the fire burning over at Nesta’s table, its only remnant the thin swirl of smoke that was now slowly trailing upwards. Nesta’s eyes, however, remained fixed on the blackened wick, as if she could still feel the soft flame casting shadows over her face.

It had only been seconds, and yet the wax had already begun freezing into place as it dripped down the candle’s ivory length. To Nesta, though, the moment had somehow managed to extend into eternity—a fate even more cruel than the flame’s unfortunate death. Right now, she would do just about anything to simply evaporate into the nightly air.

A light click sounded somewhere near her side, and time resumed in an instant. A symphony of voices poured into her ears—conversations in too many languages to discern, tangled between the music playing quietly from the speakers hung in the gap between the back wall and the ceiling. Everything became too loud, too rushed, like an impending wave of the sea, the same kind that was now crashing into the shore overlooked by the restaurant. With a will of their own, Nesta’s eyes squeezed shut, as though shutting off one of her senses could somehow ease the fervour of the other, and she quickly blinked, realising there were too many gazes on her to allow an escape into her own head.

When her eyes opened again, her candle was burning anew. The fire rose from from the spent wick, resuming its dance as if never interrupted at all.

Nesta blinked one more time before finally looking up.

The waiter stood over their table, a sleek, electric lighter in his hand. He flashed her a smile, his perfect set of white teeth nearly brighter than the flame itself.

“Are you ready to order?” he asked in a thick accent. Nesta thought it made his question sound like a song. Rich and lovely—each word enunciated, each syllable important.

She opened her mouth when another movement caught her eye—a glimpse of lustrous silk, reflecting the light softly. Pink.

Nesta’s mouth closed with a flat exhale. Elain always managed to select the perfect fabric for the occasion—as if she could somehow predict how the setting would best compliment her outfit. Indeed, her own pencil skirt and a sleeveless top were no match for her sister’s dress, which could probably challenge the very sun with its own gleam. Nesta’s all-black ensemble, on the other hand, seemed to suck in all the light.

Seated to her left, Elain’s brown eyes narrowed as she scanned the menu carefully. “Do you have any vegetarian options?” she asked, brows creasing in worry.

Another movement—opposite from Nesta, this time. Her eyes darted to its source, just in time to catch the wave of their mother’s dismissive hand.

“She’ll have the octopus,” she told the waiter, whose own frown mimicked Elain’s before he quickly jotted down the order. “We’re at the seaside, after all.”

Elain’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

“My eldest will have the calamari,” their mother continued, gesturing to Nesta. “Grilled, not fried. And the mussels for me.” And with that, she returned her gaze to the menu.

Elain cleared her throat pointedly, though the sound was hardly acknowledged as the woman flipped onto the last page, already examining the restaurant’s wine selection. Their mother did not deign to look up as Feyre spoke.

“I’ll have the salmon, please,” she said quietly, something strained in the back of her throat.

All the numbness Nesta had carefully cultivated in her chest prior to this evening vanished at the sound, a fire much more angry than the candle’s filling her instead. A ruthless, icy flame.

Her fury must have been evident in her eyes, because before Nesta even managed to make her feelings about mother’s obvious dismissal perfectly clear, Feyre’s slender hand wrapped around her wrist.

Nesta’s head snapped toward her little sister.

It’s not worth it, blue-grey eyes told her, even as their mother continued to question the waiter about the bitterness of the local wine.

Nesta swallowed. Hard.

Then, she looked to Elain—who shook her head quickly, honey-brown curls shifting over her shoulder.

Fine, then.

Nesta let out a deep, deep breath, and did not stop until all the fire was out and that familiar numbness filled her again.

She never thought she’d say this, but Nesta missed New York. Missed her apartment, however small, and the peace and quiet it offered on days like these—days when she felt forced to exist in the moment, to flow with its relentless current. She would give just about anything right now to be able to curl up on the grey couch in her living room and disappear under her favourite, plush blanket. She’d left a book on the coffee table beside it—she meant to bring it along for the journey, but it seemed that her mind had been too preoccupied with the destination to remember. The story—four hundred pages of her favourite romance—would have been the perfect escape for this occasion.

Frankly, Nesta had wanted to turn back and go home the moment she’d stepped on the plane. Her mood had only darkened when she discovered a raging six-year old was seated right behind her. The child had been intent on making her life even more miserable, opting to spend over half of the ten-hour flight frantically kicking her seat until his legs finally gave out about two hours before landing. The insufferable kid had been carried out by his mother, sleeping soundly in her arms and no longer resembling the devil’s spawn that he was—until they’d reached baggage claim, of course, where he’d taken the carousel for his personal playground, jumping right over her suitcase before Nesta had managed to fish it out.

The air had been warm and humid from the minute she’d left the airport, and it had only grown heavier since then. Not even the occasional breeze seemed to lift it as it swept over her face—as if mocking the beads of sweat that had begun to gather under her hairline. The climate didn’t bother her that much, to be honest—the island was beautiful, after all. The golden sand sparkling in the beaches, the turquoise water surrounding it. The palm trees growing on both sides of every stone-clad alley. Perhaps, in different company, she’d even be able to appreciate this place.

But alas, this trip was not the case. She and her sisters had been putting off this trip for two months now, though none of them had ever voiced their lack of enthusiasm aloud. Feyre would always cite her classes as an excuse, Elain was quite literally elbows-deep in work, and Nesta…after her fifteenth job interview, she was practically losing her mind.

Now, though, with the semester over and summer quickly approaching, the three of them found themselves with a lot of free time and too many missed calls from their mother. And so, when Nesta suggested they get on the plane and get the whole thing over with, neither one of her sisters even tried to protest.

It wasn’t that Nesta didn’t love her mother—they all did, truly. But love was a complicated thing, almost as complicated as the woman herself, and sometimes…sometimes it overwhelmed her.

She did feel guilty, of course. Mother’s health had been deteriorating over the past few years until finally reaching its critical point in early January. Her doctors strongly recommended a change of climate—a place where chaos didn’t thrive as wildly as it did in New York. Somewhere warm—somewhere quiet, where she could live out the rest of her days undisturbed by other worldly afflictions.

All of it was merely delaying the inevitable—even their mother knew that too well. Still, Nesta supposed, a remote island far away from the rest of the world did not seem like the worst place to turn to for comfort. She would have probably done the same had she found herself in a smilier predicament.

Except that comfort seemed to elude Mrs Archeron no matter where she fled—in fact, Nesta was starting to believe there wasn’t a single place on Earth that the woman could truly be satisfied. Even here, surrounded by nature’s radiant beauty, there was something missing. Sometimes, it was her favourite boutique in New York. Other times, the friends she’d left behind there, the weekly card games they always held at the Plaza. And lately, it was her three daughters, who, after all had not visited her in six months.

She’d seemingly forgotten that it had been Feyre who’d helped her move all the way across the world—who’d taken care of all the planning and paperwork until their mother had set foot in her new, beachfront suite. Her youngest sister had missed an entire week of lectures because of that trip, and would later sacrifice her sleep to catch up on the material overnight.

“Did you hear what I said?”

Nesta blinked, the question snapping her focus back into the present. The waiter was long gone—instead, mother had now seemed to engage Elain in a conversation, from the exasperated flush on her sister’s cheeks.

“Nesta,” Feyre murmured.

God, she needed to get it together.

“I’m sorry,” Nesta said carefully. “I got distracted for a minute. You were saying?”

The woman let out a long-suffering sighed. “You spend too much time in your own head, Nesta, and I know very well why.” Nesta’s brows furrowed in confusion. “I’ve always told you should read less—or at least, read something more productive than those silly rom-coms I’ve seen on your shelf.”

Suddenly, Nesta regretted ever inviting her mother to her apartment. She’d only come over for tea once—and apparently, it had been enough for her to restock her ammunition for later.

Forcing a smile which came out a bit crooked, Nesta met the woman’s gaze. Blue-grey eyes, the same exact shade as hers and Feyre’s, stared back, adorned by wrinkles not yet smoothed out by botox. “What was your question, mother?” she asked.

Another sigh, aimed to make her disappointment clear. “I was saying you should perhaps speak to your boss about Elain,” she suggested.

Nesta angled her head slightly. “Whatever for?”

“Mother,” Elain cut in, “I told you it’s not—”

“A job, of course,” she said, dismissing her daughter completely. “You work for a high-profile company.” It was the closest to a compliment Nesta had ever heard fall from her lips. “Surely they could find something for Elain, too.”

“Elain already has a job,” Nesta reminded.

Her mouth twisted in distaste. “A different job.”

“There is nothing wrong with what I do now,” Elain spoke again, her tone sharper now, colder.

Their mother raised a hand, the golden rings on her fingers glistening under the candlelight. “Of course there isn’t, dear. You misunderstand me again.” She turned to Nesta. “I’m only saying you could ask your boss if there are any opportunities. I’m sure Elain could use the extra money.”

“I’m doing perfectly fine where I am, mother. But,” Elain added through gritted teeth, “thank you for your concern.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “I take it business is going well, then?” She never called Elain’s bakery by what it was—as if the mere thought of her daughter spending her days dabbling in flour already filled her with some unimaginable horror.

“Yes,” Elain said tightly. “Perfectly well.”

Mother shrugged. “If you say so. Still,” she looked to Nesta again. “It wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

Elain’s face practically burned red.

“Fine, mother,” Nesta quickly said, making sure to squeeze Elain’s hand under the table. “I will.”

She sure as hell wasn’t asking Tomas Mandray for anything. As of Monday, she’d never have to see him again.

Her mother didn’t have to know about the resignation latter, saved on her laptop and waiting to be sent out the second she returned. If she found out Nesta was planning to quit her stable, corporate job…not even the island’s lovely climate would save her.

Mrs Archeron nodded. “Good. You should ask him about your promotion, too,” she added. “I keep hearing about it, and yet nothing ever happens.”

Nesta tried not to cringe at the displeasure in her voice.

“A fine man, that Mandray,” she mused innocently. “Good looks…good social standing.”

Dread began to build in her stomach. Please, don’t, she begged her silently. I hate him.

Something twinkled in her mother’s eyes, and she opened her mouth.

“Greysen and I broke up,” Elain announced loudly.

Mother’s face whipped to her middle daughter, and Nesta’s shoulders sagged with relief.

“Why?”

A one-shouldered shrug, so similar to the one mother had given her only a minute ago. Thank you, Nesta wanted to shout across the table, though she suspected Elain hardly needed her gratitude. She was clearly enjoying this—especially as she added, “He wasn’t good for me.”

Mother was practically seething. “Greysen Nolan is a good match,” she said, as though unaware they were living in the twenty-first century. “His father and I are friends.”

“Just how good of a friend is he?” Elain shot back.

Nesta stilled.

Beside her, Feyre’s eyes widened.

Slowly, their mother leaned back in her seat.

“Ladies,” a deep voice sounded. “Your drinks.”

The waiter appeared as if out of nowhere, leaning to set their wine atop the table. Nesta had never reached for her glass quicker, urging the crimson liquid to flush down the heart lodged in her throat. Feyre, it seemed, had opted to do the same.

Only when the man pulled back, moving to approach another table, did Elain finally sway the wine in her hand, her gaze still levelled on her opponent. While mother had taken Nesta under her wing from a very young age, and completely dismissed Feyre as anything other than a tiresome presence in her house, she’d never seen Elain as anything beyond her looks—it was no surprise that she’d quickly become their father’s daughter—calm and unyielding, unafraid to face her head on and risk her disapproval. Mother had always underestimated her.

She seemed to realise that at last, as lightning seemed to rage in her blue-grey eyes, just barely restrained—an ancient storm ready to ravage a blooming land.

Not good.

So Nesta spoke, “Mother, did you know Feyre passed all of her finals with an A this year?” Feyre’s head snapped to her at that, even the freckles on her face paling. “Tell her about your post-colonialism class, Feyre.” And when Feyre didn’t manage to utter a single word, Nesta turned back to their mother, explaining, “It was the most difficult one, and she got the best grade out of her entire cohort. At NYU.”

Feyre released a breath. “It’s nothing,” she murmured.

Those icy flames licked at Nesta’s chest again. Acknowledge her, she wanted to scream. Praise her.

“It’s not nothing,” she told her sister. “You’ve been brilliant, I—Mother?” Nesta frowned, realising the woman had already risen from her seat.

“Oh, please, keep going,” she waved a hand. “Don’t let me disturb you—I’m just going to go find the restroom. I need to freshen up.”

And with that, she was gone, the light click of her heels on the stone floor following her to the back of the restaurant.

Nesta eyed the movement, willing that inner fire to stifle its rage—until her eyes settled on something else entirely.

“You broke up with Greysen?” Feyre spoke beside her, but her voice was distant now, as if sounding from miles away. “When?”

“Last month,” Elain answered. “But he had it coming long before that, really,” she added quickly.

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I’m sorry, Feyre. You were dealing with your finals, I—I didn’t want to add more onto your plate.”

A sigh. “I get it. Just—please know you can always talk to me?”

“Of course. Besides, Nesta was—Nesta?”

But Nesta had long stopped participating in the conversation.

For sitting at the table a few away was the most ridiculously beautiful man she’d ever seen.

She would’ve spotted him right away had it not been for her mother’s seat shielding him from view the entire night. It was impossible not to take notice of him—and not simply due to his size, the broad chest, the strong, golden-brown arms, their muscles practically glistening under the soft light. He looked like he’d spent the entire day on the beach, his dark, windswept hair loosening a few strands over his forehead—over his hazel eyes, bright with amusement as he listened to his companion.

And his companion…of course he’d come with a date. A woman so beautiful she seemed as though the sun itself had crafted her, her golden hair cascading down the red silks of her dress, down her exposed back. What the hell did they put in the wine in this place?

From the corner of her eye, Nesta could just barely make out Elain following her gaze.

“Go talk to him,” she urged.

At that, Nesta turned, schooling her features into cool indifference. “Who?”

Elain’s brown eyes narrowed. “Don’t act stupid now, Nesta. You were practically drooling.”

“Is it a crime to appreciate a good looking man?” she asked innocently.

“It’s a crime not to do anything about it.”

Feyre huffed a laugh. Nesta shot her a glare.

“Just do it, Nesta,” she told her.

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. He’s clearly here with a date.”

“Could be his sister,” Elain supplied helpfully, though there was little confidence in her tone.

“They look nothing alike.”

Feyre sighed deeply. “Nesta, just go talk to the guy.”

“She’s right, you know.” Elain’s head tilted slightly to the side. “When was the last time you’ve been on a date?”

Nesta’s jaw clenched. “I’ve been busy.”

“Exactly,” Feyre said. “And now you’re on vacation—you deserve to…let off some steam.”

Elain chuckled.

“Is that so funny?” Nesta challenged. “Maybe you should go talk to him, Elain—a little rebound’s never hurt anybody.”

Elain sipped from her glass. “Normally, I would,” she started, a small twinkle appearing in her gaze. “But I don’t think Lucien would appreciate it.”

Feyre’s jaw practically hung open. “Lucien? NYU Engineering Lucien?” She shook her head. “No, scratch that—my friend Lucien?”

Pink bloomed on Elain’s cheeks, and Nesta suspected it had little to do with the wine. “He came by the bakery a few days after your party.” That’s right, Feyre’s end-of-exams party—the one she’d quite literally begged her to show up to. The one she’d told Tomas about when she requested a day off—and so naturally, he’d made her work overtime well into the early hours of the night. “We’re going on a date next week.”

Feyre’s arms folded over her chest. “I can’t believe that asshole didn’t tell me,” she grumbled. Lucien may have been two years above Feyre—but he was still a good friend. At least, that was Nesta’s understanding from the one time she’d met him.

“I know what would lift your mood right up, Feyre,” Nesta suggested, a sly smirk curling up the corner of her mouth. “Go talk to the guy.”

Her eyes gleamed with challenge. “I will if you don’t do it first.”

She gestured towards his table. “Be my guest.”

Feyre groaned loudly.

“Nesta, would you please stop being so stubborn?” Elain begged.

“I’m not going to make a fool of myself,” she huffed.

“We’re literally on the other side of the world,” Feyre argued. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

What indeed?

Nesta considered—they were leaving after the weekend. If the golden woman really was his date, and Nesta was about to face a blatant rejection—she’d never have to see him again. She would probably have to avoid every beach on this island for the next two days, but now that she thought of it, she’d always been more of a winter person, anyway. And then, she’d simply go home and never think of him again.

If he was single, on the other hand…

Nesta sighed. “Fine.”

Elain squealed in delight.

“Ask him what he ordered—it’s good small talk,” Feyre advised.

“I can see what he ordered from here,” Nesta protested. “Besides, his plate looks horrible. Who orders steak in a place like this?”

“You’re starting to sound like mother,” Feyre cautioned.

Oh, god.

“Do it your way, then, Nesta,” Elain hurried. “Just go.”

Alright then.

Nesta set her glass, rising from the table carefully. She did not nearly have enough wine for this, she realised. Her body felt warm—but not warm enough to untangle the knots that had managed to form in her stomach. It wasn’t like her to put herself out there so…publicly. Honestly, she’d never had to work this hard to catch a man’s attention before.

“Have fun.” Feyre smirked. “We’ll be watching.”

Nesta hissed, “Don’t you dare.”

The sound of her sisters’ quiet giggles carried her through the space. She didn’t think she’d ever walked more slowly in her life, each step determined to drag this out for as long as possible. God, did she at least bother to check her hair beforehand? What if she’d smudged her mascara by accident?

Too late—she was so close now that she could make out just how perfectly the man’s stubble shaped his sharp jaw. Could see how large his hands were as he clasped them together, seemingly in excitement at whatever the woman had just told him.

She could see the perfect fullness of his lips as he leaned over the table and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

Well, shit.

Nesta practically lunged for the bathroom, making a turn so sharp she almost slipped on the polished stone floor. Damn her and her stupid heels—everyone wore sandals in this place, anyway. What devilish forces pushed her to leave all of her flat shoes back home, she did not know. She could only pray no one saw her obvious escape—or the heat that was no doubt burning her face red.

The restaurant had been booming with conversation and music all night, and despite this, the only sound she was convinced everybody could hear now was her heels, loudly carrying her away as she disappeared into the corridor that led to the restrooms.

The door swung open before she’d even managed to reach for the handle.

“Ah, Nesta,” Mrs Archeron said, and Nesta almost stumbled back a step. Her mother reached for something in her handbag as she continued “Here, use this.” She fished out a small packet of tissues and pressed them into Nesta’s palm. “Public restrooms are an atrocity.”

And just like that, she left.

Nesta stared at the packet for a few seconds before finally entering the quiet room.

It was a cozy space, with golden-framed mirrors, hanging from an old mural of the sea, and marble sinks. She placed the tissues atop one of them and faced her reflection at last.

Well. She did not look half bad, at least.

Her makeup was still intact—by some miracle, even the dark wings of her eyeliner remained sharp. She’d braided her hair into an updo earlier, and though a few loose strands had fallen out to frame her face, the entire ensemble looked somewhat presentable. Nesta reached for one of the tissues, dabbing it lightly over her face in places where the heat of her embarrassment melted her foundation slightly, and sighed. What was she thinking?

She made herself count to ten before going back into the dining area, her mind already crafting a pathway back that did not involve walking past the guy’s table. There was a staircase on her left, in the corridor right by the bathroom door, that she hadn’t noticed before. The sign next to it had been written in a language she did not understand, though the message seemed pretty obvious—no entry. Shame. Nesta would have done just about anything to hide upstairs for the remainder of the night.

“I was wondering where you went,” a voice appeared beside her.

Nesta stilled. He sounded exactly as she’d imagined.

Please, let this be a dream, she begged silently. A hallucination from the humidity.

If only.

Slowly, she turned from the stairs and faced him.

Up close, he was almost criminally beautiful. He knew it, too, there was no doubt in her mind about that—not as he folded his golden-brown arms over a powerful chest, leaning against the wall with a smirk. He was so ridiculously large that he shielded most of the restaurant from view—barely, just barely, she could make out her sisters’ forms, sure to be watching them intently.

The idea made her thoughts sharpen, like a fog lifting from her gaze—pretty or not, he was still a man, and Nesta was hardly one to fall at their feet at first glance.

And so, schooling her features into what she hoped was cool indifference, she asked “Excuse me?

A chuckle.“When you left your table, I was hoping you were coming over the say hello,” he mused, his voice like a melody sang by the darkest night—low and smooth over her skin, penetrating every fibre of her being. Nesta nearly gritted her teeth as a new fire awoke inside her—hot, teasing and wet.

He’d sought her out.

“I don’t think your date would share the sentiment,” she said, careful to keep her tone aloof.

His brows knitted over hazel eyes—from up close, she could see the speckles of green dancing around his pupils. “My…” he paused, a shadow of confusion clouding his face as he took in her words. “Oh.” A smirk curled the corner of his lips. “Mor is a friend.”

“You have very pretty friends.”

He hummed. “Wouldn’t hurt to have one more.”

She couldn’t help it—couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at her own lips. “You’re very cocky for a…” A what? With a face like that, she couldn’t really blame him.

He flashed her a grin, as if he knew exactly what was going on in her mind—and enjoyed every last bit of it. “What’s your name?” he asked. God, she liked his voice. She liked everything about him.“Nesta,” she said, extending a hand.

He lifted himself off the wall, stepping in close enough to take her hand into his. That delicious heat stirred in her again at the contact—at the warmth of his skin, the slightly calloused fingers. She began wondering what he did for a living—until all thoughts evaporated from her head as he leaned to brush his mouth over her knuckles in a light kiss.

“Cassian,” he said, and the liquid fire descended down to the deepest, most aching part of her.

“Cassian,” Nesta repeated, testing out the name on her tongue. It did not sound nearly as nice on her tongue as it did on his—though Cassian hardly seemed to agree, from the way his eyes darkened at the sound.

He released her hand much too soon for Nesta’s liking. “I was about to have some dessert. Would you like to join me, Nesta?” he asked, motioning to the stairs and up.

Nesta’s brows furrowed. “Upstairs?” she questioned. “Isn’t it a private area?”

Cassian smiled at her again, and suddenly, she stopped caring about signs altogether. “Oh, it is,” he said. “Lucky for us, my brother owns this place.”

Lucky indeed.

“What of your date?”

He snorted. “I told you—not a date.”

“You know what I mean.”

Cassian jerked his chin to his table, a secretive twinkle in his eyes. “She was waiting for somebody else.”

Nesta followed his gaze—to where the beautiful woman, Mor, now smiled openly as she took the hand of her new companion. The woman who had taken Cassian’s seat returned her expression, her dark eyes shining brightly.

“Oh,” Nesta simply noted.

“Yes,” Cassian agreed, something like amusement creeping into his tone. “What’s your final verdict, then?”

Nesta shot a quick glance at another table—where Feyre was now giving her what seemed like a thumbs up.

“Lead the way,” she told him.

Cassian, it seemed, did not need to be told twice.

The room upstairs was a lovely studio, the interior similar to that of the restaurant. A small but well-equipped kitchen made up the corner on the left side of the entrance, divided from the rest of the space by a dining table of dark, polished wood. A couch stood by the windows toward the back wall, overlooking the village beneath. Nesta moved closer to the sight—it only took her a few steps to reach the other end of the apartment—as though unable to help herself, to admire the soft lights glinting from inside every household. The sea laid on the other side of the building, but she could still hear the gentle rustle of waves docking ashore. Now, with a peaceful view and a change in company, she felt her appreciation for this place grow.

“It’s beautiful.”

Somewhere behind her, Cassian hummed. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Nesta turned on her feet to meet his gaze—only to find it occupied. Cassian’s eyes surveyed her closely, sweeping over the curve of her hips, her waist, her breasts—until they finally settled on her mouth, something bobbing in his throat at the sight.

For some reason, Nesta’s mouth felt dry. “Do you stay here often?” she asked, but her words felt distant, absent even as she spoke them.

Cassian shook his head, his gaze reluctantly moving to meet hers again. “Only sometimes. My other brother usually watches the place.”

“You have two?”

He nodded.

“I have two sisters,” she said.

He took a step towards her. “I saw.”

“You were watching me?” she asked, the question no more than a breath. He was so close to her now—she could wrap her hands around his neck if she wanted to.

His voice was hoarse as he admitted, “I was.”

Nesta went molten, all the heat he’d rallied inside her fluttering in her belly and swirling down to her core. She needed him to touch her now—anywhere, everywhere, all at once. She wanted to know how those fingers would feel as they traced the curve of her breasts, how they’d stroke that aching place deep inside her that thrummed under his stare.

He saw her—had spotted a stranger in the sea of candlelight and decided to wait for her move. The thought sent a shiver down her spine—she fascinated him just as he did her.

Perhaps this trip had not been such a bad idea after all.

Feeling bold, Nesta closed the distance between them and laid a hand on his broad chest. She tried not to gasp at the hard muscle she felt underneath—at the heartbeat that began to race under her touch. She couldn’t help but smirk.

A large palm covered her own. “So, Nesta,” Cassian said, the low rasp of his voice caressing that desperate tightness inside her. “Tell me what brought you here tonight.”

She had a feeling he didn’t mean the restaurant. “I wanted to have some fun.”

Something twinkled in his gaze as he asked, “Not enjoying your time on the island so far?”

She slid her hand up to his neck, her thumb reaching to brush the roughness of his stubble. She could’ve sworn he shuddered slightly at the touch. “Could be better,” Nesta teased.

His eyes darkened. “Let me show you, then,” he pleaded. “Let me show you a good time.”

“Yes,” Nesta breathed.

In a quick and definitely practiced move, Cassian grasped both her hands in one of his palms, lifting them above her head. A sharp gasp tore from her lips as he pinned them to the wall behind her, his grip on her deliciously firm. Nesta’s exposed shoulders brushed the stone, its cold touch instantly smothered by Cassian’s hot breath on her skin as he leaned down to crash his lips into hers.

He tasted like fire and the richest of wines, the feel of him nearly dizzying, consuming. His other hand rested heavily on her waist, trailing upward as if wanting to explore every last inch of her. Nesta’s lips parted slightly when he cupped the side of her breast, and his tongue slipped forward to meet her own like a hungry flame.

His body pressed in closer, and Nesta arched into him, desperate for more friction. Like a bolt of lightning, pleasure rocked through her she felt the hardness bulging under his trousers, digging into her stomach in repressed need.

“Take this off,” she commanded between breaths. Cassian chuckled.

As he pulled away, sliding his shirt off in one, swift motion, Nesta allowed herself a moment to admire the man before her. With his chest laid bare to her, he looked like one of the marble sculptures that decorated the space downstairs—like some kind of ancient warrior, crafted from iron and flame. He was intoxicating.

With her hands freed, she moved to trace the cords of carved muscle with her fingers, delighting in the sight of his chest falling in uneven rhythm. “I was right,” she mused, more to herself than him.

“About what?” Cassian asked, his question no more than a rasp.

Nesta flashed him a smile. “This is going to be fun.”

His lips found hers again at that, the kiss deeper now, more desperate, as if he wanted to ingrain the feel of her into his memory forever. A rustle of fabric signalled his hands on the hems of her shirt, and Nesta raised her hands, suddenly feeling very smug about her decision not to wear a bra for the evening.

A low, feral noise escaped Cassian’s throat as he took in the sight. Nesta shivered, and it had little to do with the breeze that made its way in through the open windows she was nestled between.

His hands slid down her body, and Nesta stopped breathing entirely as he circled the tip of a finger around her pebbled nipple. Her nails dug into his arms, the sensation of his touch on her sensitive skin tantalising. She needed more of him—and she needed it now.

Then, Cassian flicked her nipple, and a wretched moan ripped free from her throat. Cassian snickered in delight and flicked again, the touch drawing just enough pain this time to spur another, clawing ache that dripped between her thighs.

“Cassian,” Nesta pulled away, panting. “Wait.”

He stopped immediately, moving back an inch to meet her frantic stare. “What is it?”

“The windows.”

Cassian frowned slightly. “What about them?”

“They’re open,” Nesta said, her breath still uneven. “There are guests downstairs—”

A very satisfied smile curved his lips upwards. “Well,” he teased, his hand on her side moving to wrap under her thigh. “I guess you’ll just have to be very quiet, then.”

And with that, he lifted her up.

A thrill shot down Nesta’s spine as he pinned her to the wall again, and she hooked her legs around his waist, pulling him in to settle between them.

“Just like that,” he praised, his other hand sliding down to grip her ass. There was a feral edge to her smile as she looked up at him, and a low rumble reverberated through his chest. “Nesta—”

She let her name drown in his mouth as she brought her lips to his, her legs wrapping tighter around him. The core between her thighs throbbed with her need, her anticipation, begging to be filled—to be given what she so badly wished. Keeping one of her hands on his neck, she slid the other down to the buttons of his trousers, working them quickly until another, grey fabric appeared.

Cassian groaned into her mouth as she skimmed her hand down his length.

“Who’s quiet now,” she mocked, her fingers teasing him again.

“Bossy,” he panted, his own hand moving to spring himself free at last. Any smug retorts her mind began crafting died on her tongue as she took in his cock, the breath in her chest hitching at its size, at the velvety shaft promising to completely and utterly wreck her.

He pulled her own, black skirt up to her hips before she’d even realised, as desperate for her as she was for him. Cassian’s hand moved to cup her ass again, fingers digging into the pliant flesh deliciously, as the other reached down to guide himself to her entrance.

His cock brushed the thin layer of her underwear, practically soaked with the pleasure he’d coaxed from her. “You’re killing me,” Cassian breathed, feeling the wet heat welcoming him, urging him in. She could not longer endure it—the feel of the blunt tip of his cock so achingly close, and yet not nearly close enough.

He seemed incline to agree as the sound of a ripping fabric filled the space between them. Cassian discarded her underwear to the floor before Nesta managed to open her mouth in protest, the darkness in his eyes drowning out the hazel.

“You won’t be needing it anymore,” he told her simply, his hand returning between her legs.

Her gaze followed the movement. “Is that so?”

The asshole had the audacity to wink. “I promised you a good time, did I not?” he asked, another wide smirk blooming on his beautiful face as he lazily teased a finger at her entrance, her aching cunt coating him in her slick. “Seems to me like you are,” he hummed, crooning his digit inside her.

Nesta gasped, her walls immediately clenching around him, pulsing with need. He hissed at the sensation, his cock twitching impatiently beside his hand, begging to take its place. Nesta could not agree more—she needed more, needed to feel the fullness of him inside her, to find out just how deeply she could take him. Her vision glazed with lust as she watched him add another finger, stretching her with ease.

“Cassian,” she urged, her voice tight now, strained as those fingers retreated and dipped into her again, stroking in a slow, steady rhythm that threatened to push her over the edge. Too soon—she had to find out now, had to get her craving satisfied, had to have him fill her entirely before she exploded. “Cassian,” she said again, louder, this time as her thighs shook slightly around him. It felt so fucking good and he knew it, from the smile she felt on her neck as his mouth lowered to nip at the exposed skin.

“So impatient,” he purred, his breath hot beneath her ear and shooting that familiar lightning through her again, setting every nerve in her body on high alert, tingling. His pace quickened, pulling in and out of her increasingly tightening centre, and she rolled her hips into his hand, pushing him deeper, her efforts messy, needy. “I want you to come for me, Nesta,” he told her, his lips descending on her neck again as he added, “Before the real fun begins.”

Release crashed into her without warning, her inner muscles clenching him tight as she moaned loudly, unable to contain her the sweet, white-hot fire inside her any linger. Cassian’s mouth found her own again, the kiss muffling out the sounds of her pleasure from any unwanted spectators as his fingers continued to ride her through it. Nesta’s tongue darted into him, scraping over his teeth, not nearly satiated enough—she wasn’t sure she would ever get enough of him.

He did not break apart from her as he wrapped both arms around her again, taking them to the couch a feet away. She straddled him the moment his back rested against the cushions, the feel of his hardness against her now dripping core rekindling that greedy fire inside her. She rolled her hips once, twice, relishing in the feel of him, in the guttural sounds he was making in return. His palms rested on her sides, lifting her slightly before flashing her a wicked smile.

“Ready, sweetheart?” he teased, the broad tip of his cock nudging at her entrance again.

God, she was in such deep shit.

Without another thought, Nesta slid her hands to his neck and drew him inside her.

All the air was sucked from her lungs at the stretch of him, of every aching inch as she lowered herself on his cock. Cassian hissed sharply, his grip on her hips tighter now, as though he needed to restrain himself from thrusting deep inside her, to give her a moment to adjust to the thickness of him.

But Nesta was done waiting.

She grasped a hand at his shoulder, urging him to move closer, deeper, to move with her until she could no longer see anything but stars. She could practically hear how wet she was as his strokes grew steadier and devastatingly precise, each one of them reaching further into her core, each one making her breaths go shorter and her legs grow weaker.

“Nesta,” Cassian panted, his head dipping to the crook of her neck, “You feel incredible.”

Maybe it was the way he spoke her name, low with a flash of possessiveness in his dark eyes, or the praise he’d thrown at her, but she shuddered with delight as she sunk fully onto his length, her walls gripping him tighter. Cassian swore loudly, the curse in that language she didn’t understand yet still shooting jolts of pleasure through her body. She looked down to where they joined, to where she was split open around his cock, where he dragged himself up and down the slick folds of her cunt.

Her pace quickened at the sight, something in it breaking the last shred of composure within her.

Nesta mewled as he pushed in deeper than ever before, his cock hitting the back of her cunt, stroking that sensitive spot inside her that made her melt entirely. She moaned his name, no longer caring for whoever might hear—there was only the fire erupting inside her as he filled her, the sound of his heavy breaths as he matched her pace, the wildness in his eyes as she moved on him, deeper and deeper.

She felt the inevitable tug of another climax, creeping in closer and closer with every thrust, every flutter of her cunt around him. Her legs trembled, threatening to give in the next time his cock found that secret spot inside her, her breasts bouncing with her movements.

“Cassian,” she choked, throwing her head back as his hands slid up to cup them.

Cassian’s mouth closed around one of her nipples, and she exploded.

Her walls clenched around him hard as she came, Cassian following swiftly after as his thrusts became messier, more chaotic until he finally gave in. His groan reverberated into her body, settling deep beneath her skin, caressing every shuddering inch of her as she rode them both through their joint release. They recovered together, their heaving breaths syncing into one, and it felt so good and so right that she never wanted to leave.

When Cassian’s eyes searched her own again, flickering brightly, Nesta couldn’t help but grin.

“I believe you promised me dessert,” she told him.

His gaze swept over her body, over the mess she’d made of him, and when it returned to hers at last, it was filled with a new hunger that sent heat into her once more. “Yes,” he hummed. “I believe I did.”

Taglist: @sv0430 @queercontrarian @asnowfern @helhjertet @isterofimias @octobers-veryown @fieldofdaisiies @teamazris @a-frog-with-a-laptop @jmoonjones

169 notes · View notes

justagalwhowrites · 10 months

Text

Beskar Doll - Ch. 28: Dreams and Drives

You and the Mandalorian capture a quarry and deal with the fallout of danger. A continuation of Beskar Doll Ch. 1-27 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Female Reader

Warnings: SMUT :D, PTSD. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ only

Length: 5.3K

Din was right. You caught up to the Mon Calamari that afternoon. He only caught him because of the tracker, the man fully submerged. The Mandalorian silently directed you up a nearby tree and you obeyed, drawing your weapon as he pulled the man from the water.

He had been asleep, his large eyes blinking open in shock.

“Crimi Acha,” Din said, setting the man on his feet. “You jumped bail. I’m here to bring you in. If you come quietly, this will be a lot easier on both of us.”

“Please,” the man shrunk down. “I only jumped bail because…”

“Doesn’t matter,” the Mandalorian cut him off. “I can bring you in warm or I can bring you in cold. My partner prefers warm. I don’t care. It’s up to you.”

You tightened your grip on you blaster. This guy seemed shifty. You were waiting for him to lash out, try something. Not that Din couldn’t handle himself. It just made you uneasy to watch him put himself in harm’s way.

“If I come with you,” the man’s voice trembled. “You won’t hurt me?”

“No,” Din replied. “I won’t cause you harm unless you wish to do harm to me or my companions.”

The man thought for a moment before holding his hands out toward the Mandalorian. Din paused before cuffing him and giving you a nod. You jumped down from the tree, landing with a splash alongside him. The quarry jumped.

“Maker!” He yelped. “I didn’t even see you!”

“Good,” you smiled. “That’s the point.”

The trek back to the Crest was about as miserable as the trek out. Better in that it was shorter - no more changing direction to keep track of where the quarry was. Worse in that you now had to take shifts watching the quarry any time you stopped. But eventually, you made it back, exhausted and water logged.

“Put the kid in his pod,” Din ordered. “I’ll meet you in the shower.”

“In the shower?” The quarry looked between you. “Oh! I thought I sensed something going on between you two….”

You groaned.

“Let’s go,” Mando dragged him off toward the carbonite chamber. “It’s not too late to opt for cold.”

The child was already passed out in his bag, so you just carefully lowered him into the pod, keeping your fingers crossed that the change in environment didn’t wake him. He was out of it, though, so you sealed him in and went to the shower, heat starting to flow through your exhausted limbs.

You were enjoying the heat of the water over your sore body, feeling warm for the first time since you’d left the ship. It didn’t take long before the door opened. You instinctively closed your eyes, even though the room was dark and all you could see was the Mandalorian’s silhouette in the doorway. You faced the wall as the door slid shut, leaving the room pitch black again.

“Doll,” he growled. His voice was unmodulated. You swallowed.

“Din,” you said, turning your head so your ear was turned toward the sound of his voice, his fucking gorgeous, unmodulated voice.

“Why didn’t you listen to me in the field,” he said it more than asked it, his naked body pressing against the back of yours.

“Because you don’t get to tell me to watch you die,” you said, voice thick with want, pain, frustration.

“I get to tell you whatever I want,” he growled. “It’s my puck, my mission, my ship. The deal was you do what you’re told.”

You could feel him, thick and long and hard behind you. But he wasn’t giving you anything, not the way he usually did. He was against your body but was hardly reacting to you, as though you were a wall.

“For safety,” you were panting for breath, pressing yourself back into him, desperate for it. “That wasn’t for your safety.”

“No, it was for yours,” his mouth was against your ear. “And you disobeyed me.”

His lips traveled to your neck and your hand flew out to the shower wall, bracing yourself as your knees threatened to buckle. He kissed down the side of your throat to your shoulder before he sank his teeth into your flesh, making you gasp.

“It was…” you gulped in air, half collapsing against the wall. “An unreasonable ask.”

You pressed your ass back against him, feeling the wetness between your thighs, his hard length resting between your cheeks.

“You’re needy,” he said, running a finger over your lower lips. You groaned, relieved at the attention. “What makes you think you deserve to get what you want?”

“I saved you,” you managed to gasp out.

“That’s true,” he said, taking a half step back from you before notching his cock head against your entrance. “I may not be here to fuck you without your help.”

He slid into you in one swift, demanding stroke, making you hiss and groan. It was the first time he’d ever entered you when he hadn’t helped prepare you first. It had been almost a week since he’d last been inside you and your walls weren’t ready for an intrusion of his size. He pulled back and slammed into you again, the force of it demanding, the stretch all painful pleasure.

“So fucking tight,” he groaned, picking up the pace and reaching a hand around to the front of you to rub your clit. You stumbled where you stood, head swimming. “Taking me so well…”

He fucked you hard and unrelenting, his fingers bringing you close to the edge but pulling back as you got closer to it, waiting for your near-climax to ease before pressing into your clit again.

“Could have lost you,” he growled in your ear before pressing his lips to your neck. “Could have gotten yourself killed…”

“Din,” you managed. “Please…”

He pulled himself from you and turned you around, slamming your back into the shower wall before grabbing your leg and hitching it around his waist, thrusting fully into you again.

“Please what,” he ground out.

“Kiss me,” you pleaded, reaching for him. But he pinned your hand to the wall. “Let me cum, please…”

“Those are privileges, Doll,” his mouth went to your throat, biting and sucking you before trailing his lips along your jaw, leaving them hovering over your own. “This is what happens when you break the rules.”

He brought you just steps away from the edge and stilled inside you, filling you with a strangled groan. You almost cried, body tight with aching need, as he pulled out of you. He ran a hand over your core, cleaning you, before turning the water off.

“Close your eyes, Doll,” he said, voice less pissed now. You obeyed and he tugged you off the wall and against his body, guiding your arms around his neck and your head to his shoulders. He lifted your legs and you instinctively put them around his waist and he carried you, wrapped around him, to bed.

***

He’d been cruel, he knew. That had been the point. Something had to get through that thick skull of yours. He had to make you understand, your life wasn’t disposable, not to him.

It was a hard idea to get through to you. Which made sense when he stopped to think about it for even a moment. You’d spent your entire life being disposable, something to sacrifice for some greater cause or person or purpose. You’d survived as long as you had as much by skill as it was sheer fucking luck. There’d been someone else who died before it got to you or someone else who was a less valuable pawn in the fight against the Empire that fell on the sword.

Now, you kept trying to plug yourself into the same damn role and he kept watching it happen. He’d seen it the first time you were on Hosnian Prime, you just willing to throw yourself at a problem because you thought you were remotely capable of solving it, to hell with the rest of the consequences. Again on Coruscant, going back back inside to burn the slaver’s house to the ground, assuming you were going to be left to burn with it. On Bakura you flat out refused to stay where it would be safest, instead going wherever you thought you could do the most good, regardless of the risk. Over and over and over, your life was at the bottom of your list of concerns. It was infuriating. It was terrifying. He couldn’t handle it, the thought of losing you like that. Especially if he lived because of it.

But since he’d carried you to bed, you’d managed to put as much physical distance between the two of you as you possibly could while still being in the same, small bed. You were on your side, stretched out straight against the wall, arms tight against your stomach, back to him. It couldn’t be comfortable. He hated the distance. Not as much as you putting yourself at risk but it felt… wrong. Not touching you. Knowing he was the reason for it.

“Doll,” he said softly.

“Hm.”

“Can I touch you.”

You paused, like you were considering saying no. You gave in.

“Yes.” Your voice was thick.

He slipped an arm around your waist and gently pulled you away from the wall and into his body. It took a moment, but you melted into him, back curving over his torso, legs folding around his own, your head leaning back until it was against his chest. He pressed his face into your hair - fuck you smelled good with nothing between you - and kissed the crown of your head. His hand caressed your stomach, skimming over your skin, traveling up, between your breasts until it fanned out against your ribs, cradling you against him.

“I don’t understand…” you said softly, but then stopped.

“What don’t you understand,” his lips were still muffled by your hair. It tickled his chest when you breathed. He didn’t mind.

“Why did you do that?” Your arms were out in front of you, like you were holding yourself back from touching him in return.

“I thought I made that clear,” he kissed the top of your head again.

“But why do you…” you paused, like you were searching for the words. “Care that much. I don’t understand.”

“Cyare,” he breathed, his fingers pressing into you, pulling you tighter against him. Your hands drifted toward him, one reaching behind you to find his hip as you squirmed a bit against him. “Are you still needy?”

You just nodded slightly.

“Trust me to take care of you?”

You nodded, faster this time. He slid the arm that was below you down the front of you to the apex of your thighs, finding your swollen clit and rubbing it gently, You gasped at the first brush he made, still wound tight from his treatment in the shower. His arm against your stomach squeezed you closer.

“It’s OK, Cyare,” he said. His voice was soft, soothing as he tenderly worked your slit. His motions were slow, predictable, easy. He let your pleasure build gradually, feeling your muscles ease as you relaxed more and more, like the wall you’d tried to build between you was crumbling. “Just let go. I have you, it’s OK.”

“Din,” the hand at his hip tightened, your voice breathy.

“Yes, Doll?”

“I…” you squirmed back against him. “I…”

Your strangled moan silenced you.

“Say what you want, Doll,” he said softly after you did nothing but pant and try to hold him closer for a moment.

“You,” you gasped out. “I want you, I just want you, please…”

He slipped a finger into you and you moaned, turning your face to press into the mattress.

“I’ve already told you, Cyare,” he said. “You have me. I’m yours. Now let go for me. You’re safe here, just let go.”

You came with a shuddering moan, your sex throbbing around his finger, whole body tense and rigid for a moment before you went slack with a gasping sob.

“Oh Doll,” he breathed, pulling his hands away from you to roll you over and pull you against his chest. You shook, crying into his chest, sobbing so hard it was like you were choking on your pain. He clutched you to him, his fingers tangling in your hair and you clung to him for dear life, pressing yourself so tightly against him it was like you were worried you’d vanish if you weren’t holding onto him. “I have you. I have you. I have you.”

He said it again and again and again. A prayer, of sorts. The Mandalorian faith had long ago shifted from the supernatural to the practical. He did not pray to gods or think of them when making decisions - just the guiding principles of the faith. But you were a prayer he knew, the only one he wanted to know.

“I have you. I have you. I have you.”

He wasn’t sure how long he held you like that before you fell asleep, your face still wet with tears. He didn’t care. He had you. He had you. He had you.

***

There was something… not right. You’d been here before. You knew this place. Near the palace, you knew just where to turn to get there, could picture the path ahead of you. Well, what the path had been, before the Empire had started blasting your home, trying to reduce it to ash. Trying to reduce you to ash.

But it still wasn’t right. The stormtroopers weren’t sharp figures against the rubble, they were almost smears of white and black… like you were looking at them through sheets of water instead of air and dust. You couldn’t estimate their numbers this way. You didn’t think you had enough cartridges on you to kill them all, even if you felled one with every bolt. But there were bodies everywhere, so many bodies, almost no one else was left standing, you were all that was left to protect the palace, the city…

The man in the pilot’s uniform walked toward you, but he was fuzzy, too. His features lost, the colors of his uniform winding and twisting until he became taller, broader, metallic. But his face was still a mystery, just a golden tan blur.

“Cyare.”

The voice you knew. It was one that didn’t belong here.

“No,” you shook your head. “No, you have to go, this doesn’t end well, you have to go…”

He ignored you, walking through the rubble as though it didn’t exist, almost like he was walking through the city before the Empire tried to level it.

“Din, you have to go,” your feet were stuck, you were knee deep in brick and twisted metal and you couldn’t move. “You have to take the kid and get the fuck out of here, the Empire is coming, you have to get him out of here, please!”

He pressed on anyway, ignoring everything you were saying, ignoring the blaster fire and the screams of the dying, ignoring the damage done to your planet. It was inconsequential to him. It was going to get him killed.

“NO!” You were screaming it now, could feel the word shredding your throat, ripping up from deep within you, threatening to pull everything you were out with it. You collapsed with the force of it, you knew what was coming, what happened next and you were rooted to the spot, couldn’t move to change or stop it and he wouldn’t fucking listen to you. He went down on a knee, almost on your level, lifting your chin to force you to look at a face that didn’t exist. “Please, please, you have to go, you’ll die here, you have to go…”

“Cyare.”

That word again, that fucking word that you wanted to mean what he said it meant but in this moment you hated it so damn much you thought it might kill you. He pressed his lips to your forehead, familiar and soft. He was so close that you felt him disappear, felt his body turn to smoke when they killed him.

“NO!”

“Cyare.”

You were straining against something. It wasn’t metal or brick but was warm, caging you in. Your legs couldn’t move, your arms weren’t much better, pushing uselessly. You couldn’t see a thing, you weren’t sure if you were blind or if it was just that dark but it only made your panic worse. You couldn’t get a full breath, couldn’t get leverage to move, couldn’t see…

“Cyare!”

You froze, whole body going rigid. His arms cautiously loosened from around you, his hands finding your face, holding you gently, thumbs ranging over your cheeks. You’d been crying, you realized, your skin was soaked.

“Are you with me, Cyare?” His voice was soft.

“You’re alive,” you managed through choking, gasping sobs. You realized then that you’d been shoving on his chest and you ripped your hands away from him, not wanting to accidentally put him any further away. His legs were around yours, holding you still. He let you go there, too, his hands still on your face.

“I’m alive,” he said gently. “I’m OK. Everyone is OK. The kid, you, me, we’re all OK.”

He brushed your hair back and pressed a kiss to your forehead and you nodded, still trying to remember how to breathe.

“I… I felt you die,” your hands drifted back to his chest, just to touch him. You needed to touch him, feel his heart beating. “It was so real, I felt it, it felt just like…”

You couldn’t say it, couldn’t say what it was like watching someone you loved die for you, feeling the entire galaxy crumble as their body fell, the pain that was your body being turned inside out.

“I’m OK,” he said it again, stroking your hair. You realized you’d started hyperventilating again. “I’ve got you, it’s OK.”

You nodded and tried to focus on breathing.

“Where… where are we,” you managed, scrambling for something to focus on. You couldn’t remember anything from the last few days at least, it was worse than being drunk. “I don’t… where are we, what happened.”

“Toydaria,” he said gently. “We had a quarry. We got back to the Crest last night. Haven’t taken off yet, I’ll get us off world once you’re OK. We’re going to Tatooine next.”

“Toydaria,” you repeated, breathing calming, grasping at things in your mind.

“That’s right,” he said. “We got the quarry a few days ago, but it was through swamp and it was slow going getting back.”

Things were coming back to you now. The general misery of being cold and wet for days. The kid seemingly enthralled with all the life in the swamp. The quarry - a Mon Calamari you’d caught off guard - was shocked that anyone had found him in the swamps.

And Mando getting pulled under by that… thing. And almost drowning. Ordering you to run.

“You almost died,” you voice cracked.

“Did not almost die, Cyare,” he said. This time, his gentle tone sounded condescending.

“Bantha shit you didn’t almost die,” you snapped, part of you wanting to push him away but too relieved that he wasn’t fucking dead to actually do it. “I had to beat the water out of your fucking lungs, Mando, that’s almost died…”

“Cyare…”

“No,” you snapped, getting teared up again. “No, you don’t get to tell me that I just have to watch you die. I can’t do that, not again. I can’t do that, I can’t…”

You were hyperventilating again. He pulled you against him and held you as you trembled. It was like you were fighting off that gutting feeling again, except it was somehow worse, even though you knew it wasn’t real. Just the thought, the idea of losing him. It eviscerated you.

“I’m sorry, Doll,” he whispered, his arms tight around you.

You remembered the night before now, realized exactly why you were both naked - really naked, no helmet, nothing - in bed. It had been like he was trying to prove a point at first. He’d always done the opposite of what he did the night before, made sure you came until you couldn’t see straight and couldn’t cum again. Last night, he’d expertly dodged your orgasms, leaving you desperate. He’d taken care of you later but the shower still stung. Even though part of you had… liked it. You couldn’t process that part quite yet.

You put your arms around him as best you could, focusing on how much of him you could feel like this. You never got this much access to him, he almost always kept part of himself - beyond his head - covered. He was so big, so solid, it was comforting. It was hard to think something like that could just vanish. Be fragile, mortal. You knew he was but you could deal with that later, too.

“Think you can sleep, Doll?” His lips were in your hair. “You were only out for a little while, you need more rest than that. Especially now.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Your voice was thick. You were trying to sound offended but weren’t sure if you’d managed it.

“I don’t know what just happened but it was… bad,” he said, his hand running over your back in a slow, steady rhythm. “You need to recover. We have hours until the kid is awake, we’re in no rush to get to Tatooine. Rest.”

You pulled your face from his chest and looked up to him, so you’d be looking him in the eye if you could see.

“Will you be here?”

“Yes, Cyare,” he said. “I’ll be here.”

He was. You weren’t sure he’d moved at all, his body was still aligned with yours, you were still in his arms, still tucked against his chest. You kissed his chest.

“Cyare,” he said.

“Din,” your voice was harsh and raspy, throat scratchy. You must have been screaming the night before and not realized it.

“Kid will be up soon,” he said quietly. “Are you…”

“I’m fine,” your voice sounded a little clearer this time.

“If you need more rest…”

“I’m fine, Din,” you insisted.

He smoothed your hair back, pulling away from you slightly.

“Can I kiss you?” His voice was hesitant, soft.

“You can always kiss me,” you all but whispered it.

He cupped your cheek and gently tilted your head toward his before covering your lips with his own.

It started soft and slow, like a reconnection, before it shifted. The familiar aching want drew low in your stomach, suddenly acutely aware that you’d never had him like this - nothing between you, no flight suit, no helmet - except the night before in the shower, and that had been a practice in denial. You’d never kissed him while he was inside you and you suddenly - desperately - needed to.

There were three sharp little taps from low on the door.

“Patu.”

It was so quiet you could hardly hear it. You groaned and Din laughed, separating from you and getting out of bed.

“Is he out of his pod?” You asked, twisting toward the door.

“Think so,” Din’s voice was modulated again. “I’ve got him.” You sighed and flopped on your back, listening to him get ready in the darkness.You heard his flight suit zip up before his hand appeared against your cheek.

“I like being able to kiss you,” he said softly. “But I like being able to look at you, too.”

“I think I prefer the kissing,” you smiled a bit. “But I’m biased.”

“There are clothes you can use,” he said. “Panel below the bunk. When you’re ready.”

You pulled the blanket over your chest and he opened the door to the hold and you squinted against the light.

“Patu!”

“Sorry kid,” he said, scooping him up as the door closed, leaving you alone.

You lay there for a moment, staring into nothing. You wondered if he’d figured out that you were in love with him yet or not. The Mandalorian wasn’t the most emotionally in tune person, maybe he’d missed it. You’d rather he had. It couldn’t be healthy, for you to care this damn much about another person. Not someone who was connected to you so tenuously.

You sighed and got up, finding the light panel so you could see something, obediently borrowing some clothes of Din’s and making your way to the rest of the ship.

He’d already settled in the cockpit, the kid happily eating on his lap while he did the early stages of a launch. He glanced at you as you came in and sat in your designated seat.

“I can take him if you want,” you offered, but he just shook his head. You watched him continue prepping the ship, the kid sometimes flipping something off that Din had just flipped on, Din automatically correcting it without so much as a second glance. They understood each other. Belonged together. It was a glimpse of what their life together must have been before you, the interloper, showed back up.

You braided your hair while the ship took off and Din set the jump for Tatooine.

“Should be there in just under a day,” he said. “We’ll be landing in Mos Eisley. Anything that will cause problems for you that way?”

“If the Hutts are still looking for me it could be trouble, but that’s the case with any Hutt-controlled world,” you shrugged. “Shouldn’t be anything too bad there.”

He just nodded slowly. You fidgeted with your pant leg for a moment, wanting to fill the silence with… something. You couldn’t think of anything.

“I’m going to go train if that’s OK,” you said, flinging your braid back over your shoulder. “I want to break in those throwing stars, get some practice with the electrostaff.”

“Please don’t break my ship, Doll,” he turned in his chair to look at you as you headed for the hatch.

“Such little faith,” you gave him a half smile and descended into the hold, leaving him and the child to spend some time alone.

You started with the staff, leaving it off at first to get a better feel for it. After Toydaria, you wanted more up melee than just your knives. You weren’t the most comfortable with the weapon that had once cut you open to the bone but you knew your way around a staff and the extra caution kept your mind busy. Anything to keep from remembering your dream the night before, the pain of feeling like Din had died in front of you. It would devour you if you let it and it was just a dream. You couldn’t let it.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been working when Din brought the kid into the hold, but it had been a while. The clothes you’d borrowed from the Mandalorian were clinging to you in places, your body sticky with sweat. You just gave Mando and the kid a nod when they came down into the hold and he stood in an out of the way corner, the kid tucked under his arm, you not breaking your motions. You’d practiced offensive and defensive moves, one-on-one tactics and group, things meant to protect someone else and things meant to prioritize yourself. The electrostaff was a little weightier than you were used to working with - wider, too - but you were nearly to the point that your body remembered the motions before your brain thought of them.

As you were about to start your next round of motions, you caught the kid’s eye. He was fascinated, the sparking staff leaving streaks of light in the air that he was enthralled by. You smiled, happy to give him a little entertainment.

After one more round, you were breathless and your limbs were sore but you felt a little better equipped. You shut the staff off and collapsed it down, the child’s disappointment eating at you for a second.

“I know, I’m so sorry buddy,” you smiled at him. “I’m very selfish, turning off the thing you liked so much.”

“Still… strange,” Din said. “That you can read him like that.”

“You’re sure it’s not you,” you half smirked, joining them across the room and leaning against the wall.

“You’re the only person I know who can do it,” he replied.

“Guess it’ll be our thing then,” you smiled, brushing your thumb over the kid’s wrinkled forehead before looking to his father.

“Got anything I can use for target practice?”

There was some scrap insulation that worked well to practice sinking throwing stars into. It took a little figuring out but, eventually, you got the hang of it, the disks sinking into just about the right place every time after a few hours of work. You weren’t nearly as accurate as you were with a knife or a blaster but they had the potential of being a very handy weapon when used the right way. There was a small case that came with them, one that held them ready to go and attached to your belt. Din just sat and watched you work, absently entertaining the baby on his lap as he did.

“You must be bored,” you said after a while as you went to retrieve the blades from the insulation yet again.

“No.”

You frowned.

“How?”

“Doll,” he almost laughed. “I’m Mandalorian. Watching you work with weapons is for me what I imagine watching a musician is for you.”

You blushed a little at that, some of the heat from what almost started in the morning igniting in you again.

But that night, the kid was in rare form. Unwilling to sleep or fully calm down.

“We pushed it too much this morning,” you sighed. “I should have paid closer attention to his schedule…”

“We’ll bring him to bed with us,” Din said simply after more than hour of trying to get him to calm down. “You need to rest, Doll. You’ve been pushing yourself today.”

The three of you went to sleep in the small bed, Din’s broad arm over you and the kid as you all seemed to try to get closer to each other in the darkness. It was almost strange, being in bed with the Mandalorian with your clothes on now. But, with the child there, it was a different kind of intimacy. One that you weren’t sure you’d really had before. Your heart swelled with it, the idea of being a part of something like this. Even if it was just temporary.

The next morning, you held the baby on your lap as you approached Tatooine, the swirling yellows and oranges of the planet looming large in front of you. He was almost like a talisman, keeping you sane as you looked down at the world you’d once called home. The place where your parents’ bodies lay - or what was left of them. The place you’d been literally put back together from the Empire. You didn’t think you’d ever be back here and now you were. It was terrifying. It was invigorating. You weren’t sure what leaving this time would look like.

“Doll?” Din asked. You kept your eyes on the planet.

“Yes.”

“Are you OK?”

You weren’t. You weren’t going to say that.

“Let’s find out just what’s waiting for us.”

A/N: I don't know about y'all but I love me some Din getting dommy while Doll gets subby.

How these two fools deal with the other one being in mortal peril is going to become more and more important as the story ramps up here. There's a lot at risk - and baddies we haven't met yet but have heard tell of - that mean the stakes are very high. Just how will two control freaks navigate that? Just have to find out :)

#mandalorian fanfic #fanfic #smut fic #enemies to friends to lovers #din djarin #the mandalorian #slow burn #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x f!reader

71 notes · View notes

dathomirdumpsterfire · 5 months

Text

Chat writes the plot! Time for more 👑🐲🐟 KotD!

Want to be on the tag list? Have an idea for next chapter? Clicked the wrong option? Reblog or Comment! New? Check the very bottom for the Ao3 link. Latest chapter is down below the cut!🔥

~King of the Dragonfish Chapter 6~

Kenobi moves in his sleep. A lot. Maul knows this, because the jedi rolls to a new position approximately every twenty minutes. Primarily, the other man seeks the heat of the magma rock, curling around it until he's over heated. Then, he flops away from the heat and over onto Maul.

This provides a series of interesting discoveries.

For one, Kenobi is affectionate when unconscious, pressing his face to the sith's chest, and holding onto him wherever his flopping arm lands. The jedi's warm breath tickles the soft skin of his gills, and his legs keep trying to tangle with another pair that isn't there.

Amused, Maul winds his tail over Kenobi's restless limbs, and finds that it settles the man. The jedi only wiggles closer, like he wants the weight.

This is oddly pleasing.

Another thing is that he mumbles in his sleep, talking to various people. Someone named Ahnahkin needs to clean his room. Someone named Qwin needs to go away. Various others are complained at or dismayed over. This is the first glimpse, however removed, that Maul has heard or seen of the outside world in years. With the gungan fleeing from him on site -as is right and proper- he has simply not had opportunity.

The dragonfish sith takes note of every name and mumbled secret. He puts together stories, hungry for mental stimulation.

The third thing he learns while watching Kenobi is that he can stay unconscious for a very long time. A. Very. Long. Time. Maul waits, unwilling to sleep while exposed, for what feels like twice the time he would normally rest himself. Still the jedi sleeps.

His bruising has faded away over the course of this hibernation, colorshifting until the skin is cream toned again, and the scrapes and abrasions are nothing but faint lines. On one hand, he is disappointed to see the markings fade. On the other, a blank canvas invites new paint…

Eventually, Maul grows too bored to tolerate. Even with a selection of fresh calamari to nibble on. He shakes the other man, calling him back from his endless rest, “Kenobi. Awaken.”

The jedi groans, burrowing closer.

“Jediiii,” Maul hisses, “Wake. Up.”

Kenobi rolls away, batting at the hands which shake him, wiggling to the magma rock instead.

Squinting, Maul pins exactly one hair from his head between two claws, and yanks.

The other man makes a sad noise, ducking his head further under the rock.

He pinches another hair, and yanks-

Kenobi comes half awake with an angry noise, elbowing him, then burrowing into his own arms.

Maul grins, entertained, and gets ahold of a single beard hair, and yanks-

The jedi punches him in the side of the head, making his ear fin sting something fierce.

“RrrraaaaahH!” Maul shrieks, somewhere between rage and glee, and grabs the other man by his tunics to rattle him about.

Finally, Kenobi truly wakes, muzzily batting him off and rolling away with a groan. “Ye gods, you're a monster, and it has very little to do with your career choices.”

Maul preens. “You brought it on yourself, jedi scum. You would not wake.”

“Have you considered that, perhaps, that was because I needed more sleep?” the man snaps in a cranky rasp, kicking him.

Maul wacks him with his tail fin.

Kenobi kicks him again, harder.

It quickly escalates. The jedi yanks on his horns, making Maul gasp as a strange zing runs down his spine. He gut punches Kenobi for the trouble. Maul snaps his many sharp teeth at an offending arm, and tears a hole in his robes that makes the man cry out in dismay.

The dragonfish sith is tossed across the room with the force, and immediately shows the jedi how terrible of an idea that was by springing back at him like a compressed coil.

Both of them are bleeding a bit by the time Maul is satisfied. Not that Kenobi seemed settled, but it is hard to effectively complain with hundreds of pounds of amphibious sith on top of you.

Maul pins the jedi's shoulders as he leans over him. “We are done now.”

“Go kriff yourself, Maul,” the other man says dryly, flat on his back and trapped under the weight. “I haven't done anything, I've been nothing but compliant! Why are you beating me?”

The dragonfish sith grins, all teeth. The jedi may act disdainful, but his body shows interest in the fight. His pulse is fast, he's supressing a grin, he feels excited in the force, and his blood isn't the only thing that's up.

Good. Maul likes to fight. “You would not wake up, and, you kicked me.”

“I was tired and you woke me up by pulling out my hair.” Kenobi says defensively.

“I was bored. You slept for half a day, at least,” Maul returns, “Such weakness.”

Kenobi sighs heavily, scrubbing hands over his face. “Yes yes, weak as a babe.”

The dragonfish sith giggles like water tossed on a campfire, and licks the trail of blood running from the jedi's split lip where it drips down into his beard. He mouths at the bloodied chin, stealing away all the iron taste. Kenobi makes a choking noise, eyes going wide as he freezes in place.

Maul’s grin only grows, broad and sharp and cunning.

“Must you… do that?” the man complains, cheeks turning red and barely managing a scowl as he looks at the ceiling over Maul's shoulder.

“Yesss,” the sith affirms with a spiteful laugh, writhing his tail over the legs pinned beneath him. He moves just so, and Kenobi’s back arches up off the ground, head tilting back as he moans.

Maul's brain empties itself as he sees throat bared to him.

Pale.

Thin skin.

A pulse, a fraction away from the surface, that would font if nicked in the slightest..

His hindbrain gibbers mixed signals at him like a badly tuned radio. The dragonfish in him says ‘food’, the zabrak says ‘submission’ and ‘trust’, the sith lord and trained assassin says ‘opportunity’... and the man that is all of those things and more just stares at that enticing expanse of throat.

He makes a little noise when it goes away.

No no… he… what was that? He…

Maul roils over top of Kenobi again, hoping to elicit that same…

The jedi paws at him, blinking rapidly. He looks confused with himself. "I, ah..."

“Again!” Maul demands.

“Mngh?” the man asks, limp underneath him.

“Your throat! Show me-

Kenobi makes more choking noises, scrambling out from under him in a flail of limbs and putting his back to a wall.

The jedi swallows, but it is so dry his throat clicks loud enough to hear “...force, I am so thirsty. Very thirsty! And hungry. I'm really wasting away here. Aren't you going to feed me? I'm probably losing kidney function as we speak.”

Maul makes a face, slowly rising up and looking towards the water, considering. “You cannot drink salt water…?”

“... no,” the jedi confirms. “That will kill me in hours.”

“Mnngnngn,” the sith replies. Yes... yes he knew that. “There are… fruits I can bring?”

Kenobi perks up, “Fruit sounds wonderful.”

“Mnnn,” he decides, “Fruit it is. First, we must move you to a more secure location. If one gorogoro found you here, more could come.”

The jedi makes a face himself, glances over at the water, then rotates his neck to look around the walls. “Move… how? I don't see any other caves.”

Maul sloughs over toward the water, pulling on the jedi's arm, “Through the tunnels. Come.”

Kenobi scoots away. “Or, consider, we could… not do that.”

A growl of annoyance rolls out of him. “Kenobi.”

Blue eyes flash at him, challenging. “The water is cold. I'm not well. My robes are covered in dried octopus viscera and crunch with salt, and there's no fresh water to bathe in. I don't want to be wet again on top of all that.”

Maul sneers at him, but pulls back, fists clenching and unclenching as he tries to think through what of that was whining pathetic jedi and which parts could actually kill him.

Dehydration… deadly fast.

Cold… deadly fast.

Poor hygiene… deadly eventually.

Maul hisses in annoyance, he did not like those results.

“I will… mnnnh… I will get a new heat stone, first. I will put fruit there. Hnnn… I will make it warm enough that you do not need clothes.”

“What, no,” the man says.

The sith nods. Yes, this will work. Not cold, not unclean, not hungry, and only wet briefly.

“Maul,” Kenobi says, pained, “You're going to the surface for fruit, yes? Please, just, bring me a container of fresh water? Please do not make me walk around naked. Leave me some dignity.”

The sith thunks his fist on his forehead a few times, then discards all of the difficult thoughts in favor of action. “I will consider it, jedi. For now, I will make the safer room… better.”

“Wait!” the other man calls.

“Mnh?” He turns.

Kenobi licks his cracked lips, “What if another octopus comes while you're gone? Leave me a way to defend myself.”

Maul hisses again, leaning forward, “You think I would give you a weapon? You would use it against me!”

“Just! Just think about it,” the jedi pleads. “If one comes, I can only dodge it. One slip up, and I'll be dead on the ground and half eaten before you ever get back.”

The sith shrieks his denial at that result. “No!”

Kenobi approaches him by the water's edge, reaching out to touch fingertips to Maul's left wrist. “I solemnly swear, on the force, if you give me my lightsaber to defend myself, when you return I will relinquish it without complaint or hesitation. Please. That… that pain. I don't want to die that way.”

Maul vibrates in place with displeasure. The jedi had a point. The jedi was certainly lying. What was the worst risk? Which result was less good?

…

… he would not lose his revenge to a mollusk.

“Fine,” he snaps, “stay here.”

The sith takes to the water with no small amount of aggravation. Down and through the warren of caves, he goes quickly to the distant nook where he had buried the blade and rebreather. Quick as he can, Maul returns to the unsecure prison cave.

He emerges just enough to check that a gorogoro has not appeared in the interim minutes. Seeing nothing but a pacing Kenobi, he rises up enough to catch the man's attention, and then tosses the hilt at him before quickly diving again before he can attack.

They can fight again, later, after there is food and water and warmth waiting for his fragile prisoner. A place for the jedi to recover after he is beaten for his lies.

The dragonfish sith gathers another magma ball, rolling it up and carrying it back in the force. The new cave is a little smaller, and does not have the under-floor water ways that the original one did -which Maul had intended to use to harass the jedi- but, it is much more defensible. Two ways in and out, plenty of oxygen and bioluminescent plants, various boulders, and a relatively flat floor. Also, none of it is splattered in blue blood.

He takes a brief moment to check on the jedi, who is curled up by his heat source, before taking off for the surface. It is not a short trip to the islands with the fruit trees, so he plans to take many.

The sith also steals the laundry off the line of a fishing boat, and uses a sheet to bundle all the things together, but then he has to stop scavenging and descend. It is too bright up here, and the air feels wrong in his lungs. Too thin.

Maul dives for the depths again, eyes scanning the water for escaped jedi, or, conspicuous corpses floating upward. To his surprise, pleasure, and suspicion Kenobi is still in the cave where Maul had left him. He makes a lap to drop off his finds, and returns for their fight.

“Kenobi~” the sith sings, “I am back. Will you kneel before me and hand over your saber?”

The jedi master turns towards him, then looks down at his unlit blade.

-Tag list- (Comment if you want added!)

@obimaulartfire @savageopressbignaturals @icequeen8043

New? Start from Chapter 1! 👇🏽

🔥🔥 don't forget to reblog tysm! 🔥🔥

25 notes · View notes